Title: The Prize
Author: Ray Newton
Series: TOS
Original Date: 1981
Rating: NC-17
Codes: K/S; A/U; slavery; bdsm
Part: 0/ ; historical background
Summary: On a Vulcan where Surak's Reforms never 
happened, the warrior Spock acquires a Human slave.

This story was originally published in "The Price and the 
Prize", copyright 1981 by Gayle Feyrer. Anyone who
remembers reading the story in its early years and who 
has information, insights, or reminiscences to offer, 
please post them; or send your comments to Doctor Science 
(mecurtin@alumni.princeton.edu) and I'll collate 
them for posting.

This work is being posted as part of the "Foresmutters 
Project", an anarchic effort to make some of the older 
zine-published Star Trek fanfiction available online. No 
work will be posted without the express consent of 
the author or hir estate.

Disclaimer & Copyright notice: Copyright 1981 by 
Ray Newton and Gayle Feyrer. Star Trek is the 
property of Paramount/Viacom. This is a work of 
noncommercial amateur fan fiction; it is not published 
for profit or material gain. The author and the posters 
have no intent to infringe any intellectual property 
rights held by the owners of existing copyrights in 
Star Trek or its derivative works. Gayle Feyrer owns 
the right to first publication of this story. The 
author retains copyright to this work.

Typed by Kath Boag and Islaofhope; proofread by Jin 
Katkin and Doctor Science. Archive: at the Foresmutters
Project site, 
http://www.eclipse.net/~mecurtin/foresmut.htm
and ASC/EM; all others please ask the poster.
 - - - -
part 1
The Prize
by Ray Newton

 - - - -
"Will you compete for the human, Spock?"

The young Vulcan warrior acknowledged his friend's 
arrival and resumed his interested scrutiny of the slave 
chained in front of the Warleader's tent.  Humans were 
rare on Vulcan--something in the planet's atmosphere, or 
perhaps the harsh rays of its sun, affected them so that 
they sickened and died.  Spock had heard it said that of 
each hand-picked cargo only some 40% survived to reach 
the slave market.  Females, he remembered, were rarest of 
all, being even more susceptible than the males though as 
a child he recalled a Human female in his mother's 
service.  The males did become available on rare 
occasions, commanding high prices, and to own one was 
something of a triumph.

For days the camp had been alive with the rumor that 
Selon, leader of the warrior band, intended to produce 
one of these exotics to be competed for by the trainee 
warriors under his command; for once rumor had proved 
true--that very morning the slave had been set on view so 
that the warriors might see the prize for which they 
competed.

Spock had never seen anything to equal the strange beauty 
of the slave he studied now.  The Human was male, of 
course, even if one had been available, no female would 
have been allowed in the camp or considered appropriate 
for a warrior, and young, although it was difficult to 
judge age in aliens.  Its hair and eyes were the warm 
color of the golden wine of the Langoc valley, its skin 
the exact shade of honey-sweetened cream.  The most 
unusual features were its small, shell-shaped ears and 
the delicate, crescent-curved eyebrows.

"Compete?  I think not," Spock answered his friend at 
last.

"Why not?  You must know that you'd win--and to gain such 
a prize . . ."

"Satak, we have discussed this before."  The two young 
men moved aside, slightly apart from the group of 
warriors who surrounded the slave.  "You know that it is 
my hope one day to be the chosen of another equal to 
myself--to be S'Kanderai.  I have no desire for a lesser 
relationship."

"Yet you've used slaves before."

"In my time of need, yes," Spock conceded.  "To save my 
life I have taken the body of a slave, as I would eat to 
avoid starvation.  But to have a bed slave permanently in 
my tent, one who cannot refuse my commands, who submits 
out of fear--where is the honor or pleasure in that?"

"True, though I would not have thought it so," Satak 
admitted.  "Yet I have found much pleasure in a compliant 
slave."

"It is a purely personal attitude," said Spock, resuming 
his study of the Human.  The youth was indeed beautiful.  
He stood erect, his head high; the strange eyes were 
wary, but held no trace of fear as he surveyed his 
captors defiantly.  He was like some spirited animal, 
Spock thought, a half-wild hunting cat not yet subdued to 
the will of a master.  It would be interesting to tame 
him . . .   Then with a mental shake he set the thought 
aside.  No slave, however beautiful, could be the 
companion, the equal, the lover he dreamed of.  No, he 
would wait.

Spock was just about to suggest leaving when one of the 
other novices moved closer to the slave, reaching out a 
hand to ruffle the light hair.

"Like silk," he called to his companions, and continued 
his exploration over the smooth face, down the column of 
the neck.  The Human endured the examination in silence, 
but when the Vulcan reached under his tunic he reacted 
violently, twisting in his bonds and snarling defiance in 
his own barbaric language.

"Not such a prize after all," Spock said with a nod as 
they turned away.  "The creature is unpredictable, 
savage, obviously untrained.  His new master will have 
much to teach him."

"Don't you know?" Satak looked at Spock in surprise.  
"When I was last home my father was discussing the 
purchase of work slaves with one of the traders.  Nareth 
told us that the Humans are not told what their service 
will be.  They are given only basic training as a body 
servant--the rest is kept from them deliberately."

"I do not understand."

"Nareth said that on their world males rarely mate--it is 
considered shameful.  So great is their revulsion that 
when they finally understand, their struggles excite 
their masters."

"I do not approve," said Spock sternly.  "They should at 
least be warned what to expect, and given time to become 
accustomed to the thought."

"I agree with you, though many of our  people would not.  
However, it is no concern of ours, since you do not 
desire to compete.  The slave will probably fall to 
Savak.  I do not like him, but there is no denying that 
after you he is the best warrior in the group."

"Then for the slave's sake it is to be hoped that he 
learns quickly.  I do not think Savak has over-much 
patience."



The following day Spock joined the others to watch the 
contest for the Human slave.  Satak had declared his 
intention of competing, but did not seem too disappointed 
when he was eliminated in the third round.

"It was worth a try," he explained as he joined his 
friend, and the two stood together to watch the remainder 
of the contest.

As they had expected, Savak was declared the winner, and 
Spock watched with impersonal curiosity as the golden-
haired youth was led forward and pushed to his knees 
before his new master.  The creature was certainly 
beautiful, but he was undisciplined, untrained, and--the 
Vulcan suspected--as savage as a wild sehlat.  Spock knew 
a moment's uncharacteristic pity for the proud spirit 
that would quickly be crushed, then he shrugged, 
wondering at himself.  Of what importance was the fate of 
one slave?  For himself, he was content to know that he 
would have defeated Savak had he chosen to compete.

It was, Spock considered, something of a relief that the 
ownership of the disturbingly attractive slave had been 
settled; now, perhaps, the unsuccessful contenders would 
return their attention to the rigorous training that 
still lay ahead of them.  His motives, he acknowledged, 
were purely selfish, for this graduation was important to 
him--the reputation he earned now would go a long way 
toward fulfilling his life's dream. 

S'Kandarai!  The goal of every warrior, achieved only by 
the most worthy: to be chosen as life-mate by one of his 
equals, matched mentally and physically with a 
completeness possible in no other relationship, a 
companion to love and to honor, to share his life and 
death.  But first he must prove his own worth.  Already 
spoken of as the finest warrior of his generation, he was 
encouraged by the Warleader's promise of an invitation to 
join his own band of followers if, or rather when, he was 
granted initiation.

It seemed, though, that he was not to be allowed to 
forget the Human so easily.  Savak's absence for the next 
two nights from the communal tent where the warriors ate 
together was noted and commented on, and the man 
certainly seemed very pleased with himself when he 
reported for duty, but he kept the slave confined within 
his tent.  Even Satak joined in the speculation, but 
Spock held himself aloof.  Slave the Human might be, but 
he had not chosen his state, and to Spock it seemed 
unbecoming that the warriors should gloat over his 
misfortune.

On the third day the entire camp was assembled to witness 
the punishment of a recaptured slave.  It was known that 
escaped slaves of all races formed together into 
marauding bands, hiding out in the mountains and avenging 
their captivity by savage attacks on any Vulcan who came 
within their reach.  They were dangerous, bloodthirsty 
killers who could never again be trusted, and if such a 
feral slave was retaken, he was always killed, both as a 
punishment, and as a warning to any of his fellows who 
might contemplate escape.

Spock watched impassively as the blue-skinned alien 
screamed vainly for a death that would not come for many 
hours.  Had it been his decision, he would have killed 
the man quickly, for he did not believe that this example 
would truly deter any slave who wanted freedom badly 
enough, but it was the law, and he had sworn to uphold 
the teachings of his mentors.

Looking around, he saw that the camp slaves were huddled 
together close to the site of the execution.  In the 
front rank he noticed the Human, who was staring directly 
at the suffering slave.  Something about his unfocused 
eyes and white face convinced the Vulcan that he was not 
really aware of what was happening.

It seemed that another thought so, too, for the elderly 
slave who acted as overseer reached out and flicked the 
Human with his lash, breaking his trance-like state.  The 
Human stared for a few seconds in utter horror, then 
turned aside and vomited helplessly.  The overseer shook 
him roughly then turned him back, holding him so he was 
forced to watch.

When at last the punishment was over, the bleeding, 
scarcely alive body was left hanging in its bonds.  It 
would remain there until the skeleton fell to pieces, a 
warning and a reminder to any who passed that way.  With 
relief, Spock turned his back on the macabre spectacle 
and returned to his tent.

It was sheer coincidence that only the next day Spock 
again encountered the Human.  He had just returned from 
weapons practice, and feeling thirsty, he paused by the 
camp well to drink.  Several slaves were drawing water, 
and he approached the nearest, aware of an unexpected 
pleasure when he saw it was the Human.

"Give me water," he commanded.

The slave obeyed, kneeling with his eyes respectfully 
lowered as he handed the cup.  Spock drank frankly 
enjoying the sheer beauty of the youth at his feet, 
wondering if the fair hair was indeed as soft as it 
looked.  Perhaps unnecessarily, he passed the cup back 
for a refill.  Just as the slave offered the brimming cup 
a second time a warrior brushed heedlessly against him.  
The Human lost his balance and spilled water over Spock's 
sandals.

"Careless one!"  The overseer hurries up.  "You will be 
beaten for this--report yourself to your master."

"Wait," Spock could not have said why he intervened--the 
youth must learn to accommodate to his masters, even when 
they were at fault, "there is no harm done.  No doubt he 
will be more careful in the future."

"You are generous, my lord."  The overseer bowed.  "Thank 
the warrior, Human, you are fortunate to be spared."

"Thank you, my lord."  The voice shook and the soft-
spoken words were scarcely audible.

Spock looked down curiously, wondering why the slave 
should be so grateful to have avoided what would have 
been only a mild punishment.

"Do not repeat the fault," he said firmly before turning 
away.  Within moments he had forgotten the incident.



"Spock, will you join me?"  Selon greeted his protégé the 
next day.  "I grow stale in camp and feel the need for a 
few days hunting.  Will you join me?"

"Gladly."  The younger warrior flushed with pleasure at 
this sign of his leader's approval--and at the chance to 
learn further from this renowned warrior and hunter.  
This was how it would be, he thought, when he had earned 
his own reputation.  He would be sought out by men like 
Selon who would desire him as mate.  Who would choose 
even the most beautiful slave over a full and equal 
relationship with one of his own kind?  It was sheer 
chance, he told himself firmly, that as he turned in his 
saddle to wave farewell to Satak, the last thing he saw 
was the slim figure of the Human emerging from Savak's 
tent.

When the hunting party returned to camp Spock and Selon 
each carried a le-matya pelt strapped to his saddle, but 
the skin Spock displayed to his admiring companions was 
the rare silver-white much prized by Vulcans.

"It was a fine shot.  See, the skin is scarcely damaged.  
Spock does credit to my training," the leader boasted.  
"The brute was dead before I even saw it."

"A magnificent trophy indeed."  Savak had edged forward 
through the crowd and was stroking the soft fur.  "My 
father had long coveted such a skin.  It would be a fine 
gift for him.  Will you wager for it, Spock?"

There was a subtle challenge in his voice and Spock's 
eyes narrowed.  If he refused the wager, Savak would 
undoubtedly claim that he feared to test his skill.

"Under what conditions, Savak?"

"The archery trial tomorrow."

So.  Savak had chosen well.  With the bow, both were 
evenly matched.  For a moment Spock hesitated, then 
nodded.

"As you wish.  What will you stake against the pelt?"

"My Human slave."

The value of the stakes was judged equal and the wager 
recorded.  Spock joined Satak, who smiled briefly.

"It seems you will have the slave after all, Spock."

"Perhaps not, Savak is my equal at archery.  I could not 
refuse the wager, but it would be a pity to lose the 
pelt.  My own father would have liked the fur.  Now I 
must lose it or gain a slave I do not want."

"You could always sell him," Satak said, "unless you 
change your mind--or I will relieve you of the burden of 
choice, and the fair beauty, too."

"First I have to win."  And he intended to.  Only Satak 
knew that it was because he wished to keep the pelt, 
rather than acquire the slave.


It was as the young warrior had predicted--a close match.  
Spock and Savak scored equally well at the stationary 
target, and all depended on the final round.  Two swift, 
delicate kwiat were released at the same moment, and, as 
the horned creatures fled for safety, dodging and weaving 
erratically, each man picked his moment to shoot.  Both 
animals fell to the first arrow, and only after 
consideration by the Warleader and his captains was 
Spock's judged the cleaner kill.

"You shot well," Savak admitted, his anger only thinly 
veiled.  "I would have liked the skin and I will miss the 
slave.  You will find he has . . . interesting . . . 
qualities.  He will be delivered to your tent this 
evening."

Spock was half tempted to tell Savak to keep the slave, 
but there was no pleasing the man.  A poor loser might 
take generosity for arrogance.  He had won fairly.  It 
would be less trouble to take the prize.

Turning to Satak, he said, "I think I will swim now, will 
you join me?"


Spock lingered for some time by the pool, and when he 
returned at last to his tent, it was almost time for the 
evening meal.  He intended to change, and join his 
friends at the communal table, but as the tent flap fell 
behind him, he saw that a low table had been set for a 
meal, and a rich savory smell came from the small stove.

Startled, he glanced at the youth kneeling by the table, 
noting the bowl of water scented with herbs that stood 
ready for his refreshment, and the light robe that lay on 
the bed.

The slave rose and carried the bowl forward as Spock sat 
down, and without being told, he unlaced and removed the 
Vulcan's sandals, washing and drying his master's feet.  
He held the robe while Spock stripped off his tunic, and 
assisted him into the garment.  Then as Spock reclined at 
the table he served the meal, all in complete silence.

He shows proper respect, Spock thought approvingly.  He 
remembered the struggling barbarian of a few days ago.  
Savak had trained him well.

Idly he asked, "What is your name, slave?"

Head respectfully lowered, the youth answered promptly, 
"Lord Savak did not choose to give me one, master.  It is 
a my lord wishes."

"I meant your own name-- the one you had before you were 
captured."

"Kirk, my lord, James Kirk."

"Exotic.  I like it.  That  is what you will be called."  
He felt a curious wish to see the alien's eyes.  "Look at 
me."

The youth obeyed, and Spock studied him with interest.  
Yes, the wine-gold eyes were as beautiful as ever, but 
they seemed curiously blank, providing, now, no clue to 
the Human's thoughts.

I hope Savak hasn't broken his spirit completely, Spock 
thought.  It might be interesting to know what that 
golden gaze hid.  "How did you know what to do?  I gave 
no instructions, but the meal is prepared to my taste."

"During the voyage to Vulcan I was given some training in 
the duties of a personal servant, my lord.  I wasn't sure 
what you would want, so I asked one of the general slaves 
who had attended you, and followed his advice."

Intelligent and conscientious, most slaves would have 
lounged around waiting for orders.  He saw that the youth 
had also occupied himself by tidying the tent.  With 
proper training he might be valuable indeed.

"You have done well."  Spock rose and indicated the 
remaining food.  "You may now eat.  When you have 
finished, I will retire."

While preparing his weapons for the morning Spock 
covertly watched the youth at his meal.  He seemed 
hungry, but ate neatly, using only his fingers, as slaves 
were taught.  When he had finished he rinsed his hands in 
the bowl and came to assist his master to undress.

"The bath is through there," Spock indicated the rear of 
the tent.  With no further instruction the Human bathed 
him deftly and wrapped him in a towel.  Better and 
better.

"When you have cleared away the meal, you may bathe."

Lying propped up on the cushions of the bed, he watched 
as the slave moved quietly about the tent.  Occasionally 
there seemed to be a slight awkwardness to his movements, 
but that might have been mere shyness at being observed.  
His presence was pleasing rather than otherwise, he was 
far less intrusive than any other slave who had attended 
Spock.

Unbidden, curiosity stirred and Spock remembered the 
tales he had heard of these Humans, of their sensuality 
and responsiveness.  It was impossible to arouse a Vulcan 
unless he consented, but Humans, he had heard, could be 
stimulated into sexual heat however unwilling they might 
be . . . and the youth was beautiful in his alien 
fashion.

"Bring me some wine," Spock directed as Kirk emerged from 
the bath.  He took the silently offered goblet and sipped 
absently, gazing the bowed, golden head.  Curiosity 
fought with resolution and won.  He did not wish for a 
permanent bed partner, but it would be interesting to 
test the truth of those old tales for himself.  Making up 
his mind he set the cup aside and turned back the bed 
covers.

"Undress and come here."

The Human raised his head and the strange eyes were 
bright with fear; he stood, and his hand trembled as he 
unfastened the coarse tunic that was his only garment.  
He allowed it to fall and stood naked in the lamplight.

"By all the gods!"  Spock swung himself up to sit on the 
bed, staring in horror and disbelief.  From shoulder to 
knee the Human's pale skin was bruised and scratched; 
long weals furrowed his belly; the marks of teeth showed 
distinctly around his nipples.

"Turn round."  More marks, the prints of a lash, some 
still bleeding, patterned the Human's back.  His blood 
was red and had not shown on the dark tunic.  His 
buttocks carried the imprint of cruelly-gripping hands, 
even to the crescent-shaped indentation of finger nails.  
Fresh, bright blood smeared his thighs.

Spock reached out.  Involuntarily the slave shrank back, 
then checked and submitted to being touched.  Spock 
lifted his hand and turned it, exposing rope burns on the 
delicate wrists.

"Who did this to you?"

"It was--Lord Savak, my lord.  I tried to stop--the 
bleeding--"

"This must be tended!"  Suddenly realizing that the youth 
scarcely had the strength to stand, Spock rose and 
steadied him.  Again the slave flinched.  "I am not going 
to punish you.  Lie down."  Impatiently Spock lifted and 
placed him on the bed.  Then pulling on a robe he went to 
the doorway of the tent, called the sentry on duty and 
ordered him to fetch the healer.

The Human had understood that order.  As Spock looked 
down at him he closed his eyes and slow tears ran 
silently down his cheeks.  It was the first time Spock 
had seen a man weep and he had no way of knowing that it 
was the unexpected kindness that broke the Human's 
control.  He knew, of course, that Humans had no more 
control over pain than they did over their sexual drives, 
but Kirk must have been in pain all along, yet he had 
shown no sign of it until now.  It was very puzzling.  
The slave was a valuable possession, why had he been so 
abused?  His claim that Savak was responsible Spock 
discarded as ignorance or deceit.  No warrior would do 
such a thing.

The arrival of the healer interrupted his train of 
thought, and he retired to the far side of the tent while 
the man examined the slave.

At last the healer completed his work and approached.  "I 
have given him a sleeping draught.  The injuries are 
severe--these Humans are delicate and they cannot be 
treated roughly--but he will recover in time.  To be 
blunt, if you use him sexually, you will lose him."

"What happened to him?"

"Isn't that obvious?"  The healer snorted indignantly, 
taking advantage of his calling.  "He's been violated, 
carelessly and brutally over a long period of time--most 
recently within the last few hours.  There was internal 
bleeding.  Unless you wish to kill him, leave him alone 
while he heals."

"I will," Spock promised.  "What should be done for him?"

"For tonight, just let him sleep.  I will return in the 
morning.  That's the slave you won from Savak, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Then he's in better hands, now.  You know Savak's 
reputation."

Spock was not sure his own knowledge that Savak was a 
braggart and a bully was what the healer referred to, but 
he made no reply.  One did not discuss a warrior's faults 
with his inferiors.  When the healer had gone he stood 
looking down at the sleeping Human for a moment, then he 
shrugged, threw a cloak over the slender form, dimmed the 
lamps and retired to bed.


The following morning Kirk started abruptly awake 
struggling in panic at the touch of hands on his thighs.

"Be still, slave!  Would you undo my work?"  The voice 
was unfamiliar, but there was no threat in it, and he lay 
back, puzzled by the sudden relief from pain that had 
grown to be a constant of his existence.  The hands 
touching him were gentle, and he recognized the yellow 
robe of a healer, so he let himself relax as his injuries 
were smeared with salve, then re-bandaged.  He had a new 
master, now, and--Spock?--must have ordered that he be 
cared for; he felt grateful for a moment, then realized 
that he had been damaged too badly to be of use.  The 
Vulcan was only ensuring that his valuable slave was made 
fit for further service.

"Let him rest, today," the healer was saying.  "Tomorrow 
he can resume light duties, but I advise you not to take 
him to bed until the torn muscles have had a chance to 
heal."

"As you advise," came the remembered deep voice.

For a time there was silence, then he heard movement in 
the tent and opened his eyes reluctantly wondering what 
was going to happen now.  One of the general slaves, the 
man who had told him how to serve Spock's food, now 
brought a tray to the table beside the couch.  Spock 
moved into view and indicated the tray.

"The healer says you must eat.  You are also permitted 
wine.  You have lost much blood."

Kirk ate obediently, aware that his master was watching 
him critically; when he had finished the slave was called 
back to remove the tray, and Spock seated himself at the 
foot of the couch.

"Tell me how you came by your injuries," he commanded, 
and Kirk felt the shamed blood rise in his face.

"I was told . . . that I was a slave, that I must obey," 
he began hesitantly.  "I was going to try.  I knew there 
was no escape, and one of the slavers said that 
sometimes, on Vulcan, a slave who had proved his worth 
was allowed to--to hold a certain measure of 
responsibility.  In my own world I served in the Security 
forces.  I thought--in a world of warriors--perhaps I 
could . . . "

"Go on," Spock prompted as the slave's voice faded.

"What they didn't tell me was that I'd be sold as--as--  
Sex between men is wrong, shameful!  When Lord Savak told 
me what he expected, I refused.  He-- he . . . "

"Slave, do you understand what you are saying?"  Spock's 
tone was stern.  "You claim that a Vulcan--a warrior of 
Vulcan--is responsible for your condition?  I think it 
much more likely that your fellow slaves have abused 
you."

"No!  It was Savak!  He and his *friends.*"

Rising, Spock paced the tent, frowning in indecision.  He 
was still convinced that the Human was lying, but it 
would be as well to demonstrate to the youth that deceit 
was useless with Vulcans. However he had come by his 
injuries, the memory was obviously painful and 
humiliating, but that could be no excuse.  A 
demonstration of power now would not only give him the 
truth about Kirk's condition, but preclude any repetition 
in the future.  His decision made, Spock returned to the 
couch and sat down, taking the Human's face between his 
hands.

"James, I will see your mind.  The truth of the assault 
you suffered.  You will hide nothing.  You will be unable 
to lie."

"I'm not lying, please--"  Kirk shrank back, coloring 
fiercely.  Spock, believing the Human's reluctance to be 
an acknowledgement that he had lied, became even more 
determined.  Holding the struggling body easily in one 
arm, he touched his fingers to Kirk's sweating face and 
probed the terrified mind for the memory he sought.  Kirk 
fought like a cornered le-matya, but he was no match for 
the Vulcan physically, and although his mind was 
surprisingly strong, he had not the least idea how to 
resist.  Spock reached deep into the exposed mind, 
commanding 'Think of the attack, remember in detail, 
remember how it was.'  In response the Human's mind 
shuddered but obeyed; the layers of self-protection 
parted, and the scene began to unreel for the watching 
Vulcan.


Hands still tied in front of him, he stood inside a tent 
richly furnished with wild animal skins and strange, 
barbaric weapons.  The Vulcan, Savak, he had been told 
was now his owner, lounged on a pillow-strewn bed, 
looking him up and down.  The Vulcan's robe was open, 
exposing his long heavy penis.  It was greenish and two 
ridges, not one, set off the head.  Devil ears, devil 
eyes, and a devil's sex, too, thought Kirk.  Savak 
fondled it as he explained to Kirk the true nature of the 
service expected from him, obviously enjoying the slave's 
horror and revulsion.

He could not . . . just the thought of it made him sick.  
He bit his lip and managed to shake his head.

"You may not refuse me . . . slave."  He saw how the word 
rankled.  The green penis was erect now between the 
stroking fingers.  Savak smiled unpleasantly.  "Come 
here."

"No . . . I won't . . . I can't . . ." Kirk paused, 
pulled himself together.  "Set me some other duty, and 
I'll do it . . . but this . . . it's wrong."

"On your world, perhaps," Savak shrugged.  "Here your 
body is the only thing of value you have."

Moving with a speed Kirk did not expect, Savak rose from 
the bed and caught Kirk in his arms.  First Kirk tensed, 
then he tried to pull away.

"Fight me if you will," Savak mocked.  "You will submit 
in the end--you will have no choice."

The Vulcan bent to kiss him and Kirk brought his knee up, 
aiming for the soft scrotum.  Not in position, the blow 
was quickly deflected from its target.  Savak slapped 
him, knocking him across the tent, then came after him 
again.

Kirk's resistance was fierce, desperate, and futile from 
the beginning.  He fought long enough to exhaust himself, 
long enough to infuriate Savak, and long enough to know 
it was hopeless.  With his hands tied, he had only his 
feet and arms as weapons.  His strength was not recovered 
from the long space journey, his body not accustomed to 
the Vulcan heat and gravity.  He was a trained fighter, 
but so was Savak, and the Vulcan was stronger.  His bones 
felt like iron even to Kirk's kicks.  Useless as it was, 
he fought on.  His pride and fear would not let him quit.

Finally, panting, sweat dripping in his eyes, he 
stumbled.  Savak caught him, crushing him to his chest, 
squeezing the breath from his body.  Hard fingers twined 
in his hair and jerked his head back sharply, so that he 
gasped at the sudden pain.  Savak bent to take his open 
mouth in a bruising kiss, the hot tongue thrusting deep, 
suffocating him.  Kirk struggled, desperate for air, the 
tent spinning in dizzy circles as he began to black out.

Suddenly released, he was thrown across the bed.  Savak 
crouched over him, ripping the tunic from his body, the 
coarse fabric leaving stinging cloth burns on his skin.  
Kirk struggled to get his balance on the bed, but Savak 
lifted his hips, wrenched his legs apart and thrust into 
him.  Kirk screamed, trying to free himself.  Snarling, 
Savak shoved his face deep into the pillows, holding Kirk 
as he rammed into him again and again.  Then the hot 
spurt of semen shot into him as the Vulcan gave a 
triumphant cry and stiffened in climax.  Savak withdrew, 
letting Kirk drop onto the bed.  Instinctively he curled 
in on himself, trying to muffle his choked sobs.  He lay 
like that for a time, listening to the sounds of Savak 
washing, to a muffled conversation with a general slave.

Still holding Kirk's mind, Spock withdrew to the edge of 
the Human's consciousness.  He was disturbed by Savak's 
cruelty.  The slave had indeed been inexperienced and 
there were ways to make the first time easier.  To cause 
pain would only reinforce his fear and reluctance.  He 
had always felt even a slave should be given some 
consideration.  Still, the Human had resisted and he must 
be taught obedience.  If Savak had been . . . 
overenthusiastic . . . who could blame him, with such a 
beauty.  Spock considered withdrawing from the Human's 
mind--such prying was distasteful to him.  The mating 
attempt had been unnecessarily forceful, but Savak had 
been within his rights as master.  Then Kirk's memory 
darkened, terror welling up, and Spock lingered to see 
what would happen next.

Kirk felt Savak's hand on his shoulder.  He was turned 
over to face the cold eyes and a thin, sharp knife at his 
throat.

"You are good sport, Human, fierce as a le-matya cub.  I 
could enjoy such a match again."  As Savak spoke he 
slowly began to run the knife down Kirk's chest and 
belly, dipping the point into flesh along the way, 
leaving a red trail of narrow cuts.  "But now I have 
invited some company, and it would be most impolite for 
you to struggle.  If you do . . . " here he dug the point 
into Kirk's groin, " . . . I will cut the fight out of 
you.  A pretty castrate will serve my pleasure as well as 
a virile youth.  Do you understand me?"

"Yes," Kirk whispered.

Savak rose from the bed and crossed the tent.  Opening 
the flap he gestured a welcome to the group of warriors 
who entered.  "Come in.  You are in good time.  I have 
broken him--now he is ready for us."

Kirk rose to his knees on the bed, watching as they 
cleared a low, round table and dragged it to the center 
of the tent, set lamps around it to illuminate the 
surface--trying not to believe what was all too apparent.  
Savak came and lifted him to his feet.  He swayed as he 
stood, legs weak and trembling.  Savak tugged the last 
scraps of the tunic from his body and pushed him over to 
the table forcing him to kneel in front of it.

"Look around you," Savak commanded, and Kirk obeyed, 
staring in horrified fascination as each of the Vulcans 
in turn stripped off his robe.  "You were reluctant to 
serve one master--now you will service my friends.  
Selka, you drew first lot I think.  I will hold him for 
you."

The strange warrior took his position behind Kirk, as 
Savak came forward and grasped his arms.  Selka reached 
out and grasped Kirk's buttocks, squeezing his cheeks.  
One hand released him, straying inward along the crease, 
then two fingers were suddenly thrust into him, so Kirk 
gasped with pain, cursing himself as he did so.

"By the gods, he's tight, Savak."

"Tight, but there's room enough," Savak answered, and his 
friend laughed.  The fingers teased deep into him, and 
the warrior leaned over his back, breath hot in his ear, 
licking at his neck and ear.  His free hand reached under 
Kirk's belly and grasped his penis, tugging and stroking 
until the insistent stimulation excited his response.  
Miserable and furious, he tried to twist away as he felt 
his flesh harden in the Vulcan's hand.  Selka laughed and 
whispered something he was glad he could not quite hear.

Then, swiftly, Selka parted his buttocks and thrust into 
the tender, bruised channel.  Kirk cried out, his spine 
arching against the penetration, but Selka's hands on his 
hips and Savak's on his shoulders held him down.

"Yes . . . " Selka hissed, "you will scream, golden one, 
but it will be a sweeter scream than that."

Selka called for oil, and some strange scented stuff was 
poured into his hand.  As he began to thrust, panting, 
into the cool flesh, he reached under Kirk again, his 
slippery hand working Kirk's penis fiercely.  Kirk 
stopped struggling because his own movement was arousing 
him further, but there was no way to avoid the persistent 
stimulation.  He focused all his will on not coming, not 
letting them degrade him with his own submission, but his 
body betrayed his mind, his hips jerked, began to thrust 
back against the hated flesh inside him.  He screamed out 
in anger and wretched pleasure as the long denied orgasm 
exploded, the Vulcan's screams echoing his own.  Selka 
released him and he collapsed across the table, sick with 
pain and self loathing.

"Look!"  Selka held up his hand, displaying the 
glittering fluid that moistened it.  "The slave has 
achieved climax!"

"A most advantageous peculiarity of the species," Savak 
said.  "If the correct stimulus is applied, they must 
respond."

"Truly?  I did not know this."  Another of the Vulcans 
edged forward, his hand on his penis, stroking it to 
erection.  "I must test this for myself.  Turn him over.  
I want to watch his face as I take him."

Revolted, Spock withdrew his awareness.  The Human had 
not lied after all.  Yet it still seemed incredible that 
any warrior could have acted so.  In a small act of 
mercy, he veiled the events in the slave's mind, dulling 
the harsh immediacy of the memories.

"That was the first day?" he asked, holding the slave in 
a light trance.

"Yes."

"And you had never been with a man before?"

"Never."

"You will describe how you were treated thereafter."

"They came . . . again and again.  Savak would permit 
them to . . . to use me as they desired.  It excited him 
to watch."  Kirk spoke with a faint hesitation, but in a 
dreamy monotone, as though the words he spoke had nothing 
to do with his own experience.

"Continue, James."

"Savak boasted that he'd break me to his will.  He said 
he'd tame me, make me crawl to him, begging for it . . ."  
The strange eyes flashed defiance for a moment.  "But I 
never did.  I couldn't escape them, but they had to 
enforce my submission.  Then, yesterday, Savak told me I 
was to be the stake in a wager.  I'd prayed you'd win 
me."

"Why?"  Spock was curious.  "You know nothing of me."

"I knew that you understood justice, even for a slave.  
You wouldn't let them beat me that day I spilled the 
water.  And besides . . ."  Kirk shrugged and continued 
with a certain naive honesty, "I reasoned that I couldn't 
be any worse off than I was.  If you were like Savak I 
had nothing to lose.  And perhaps . . . perhaps you 
wouldn't be so . . . so demanding."

"How do you account for the severity of your present 
injuries?  The healer informs me that you almost died."

"That happened after Savak lost the wager.  He was very 
angry.  He . . . he called his friends, and they . . . 
they . . . I knew I was badly hurt, but I couldn't stop 
the bleeding.  I didn't know if I was permitted to ask 
for help.  When they'd . . . finished with me, Savak had 
me brought here . . .   He said he'd win me back . . . 
that you . . . you wouldn't keep me long."

"Enough."  Even through the control Kirk's voice was 
increasingly unsteady.  Spock gathered himself and spoke 
coolly.  To show too much compassion for the slave would 
be a weakness on his part, one which James would no doubt 
try to take advantage of later.  Still--the Human had 
spirit worth preserving.  "I will speak plainly with you, 
James Kirk.  You will remain in my tent as my slave and 
body servant, and I demand instant and total obedience 
from you.  You will familiarize yourself with your 
duties, and if, after you have learned them, you fail to 
please me, you will be whipped.  I will not take you to 
bed, not out of any consideration for your customs, which 
are irrelevant here, but because I do not wish a bed 
slave.  However, as you are considered valuable and 
desirable, it will be safer for you, and less awkward for 
me, if my companions assume that I use you in the 
customary fashion.  If they thought I did not, they would 
approach you.  You will therefore dress and behave as is 
expected of a pleasure slave; you will not speak of what 
passes between us in this tent and you will inform me at 
once if any sexual approach is made to you.  Do you 
understand?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Then sleep now.  Tomorrow you begin your duties."


The next few days passed quickly.  Grateful to be free 
from pain and fear, Kirk quelled his anger as well as he 
could and set himself to learning his new master's 
preferences.  Spock was patient with him while he 
learned, and his duties were not in fact difficult.  He 
learned to care for Spock's clothes and weapons, to keep 
the tent in order, and to prepare and serve food to his 
master's liking.  He attended Spock in the bath, helped 
him to dress, and was careful to obey his every command 
promptly.

Spock kept his word, and no sexual advances where made to 
him.  In the beginning Kirk was nervous and suspicious, 
especially on the first night after the healer had 
declared him fully fit.  He saw Spock settled into bed 
and was turning to seek his couch, when his master said 
quietly, "You will sleep here."

Looking round he saw that Spock had turned back the 
bedcover, and his eyes widened with fear.

Spock frowned impatiently.  "Get in.  A pleasure slave 
shares his master's bed and now that you are recovered, 
it would be thought strange if the work slaves saw that 
you do not sleep with me."

His heart pounding, Kirk slipped beneath the covers and 
lay tensely, waiting for the caresses he was sure would 
soon begin.  To his relief and astonishment, Spock turned 
onto his side and in a few minutes was asleep.  Gradually 
the Human relaxed as he realized that Spock did not 
intend to claim him and thereafter he took his place in 
his master's bed without fear.

He was well fed, for whereas Savak had made him eat with 
the general slaves, Spock insisted that he share his 
meals.  His bloodstained tunic disappeared, to be 
replaced by garments of fine silk, which, while more 
revealing than he would have liked, were certainly more 
comfortable than the coarse tunic Savak had given him.

He even had some free time, for Spock commanded the 
services of a general slave to do the heavy work such as 
the carrying of water, a task Savak had insisted he 
perform.  Indeed, as time passed, Kirk realized that 
Spock was taking special pains to ensure that he had no 
reason to leave the tent alone--his only exercise was the 
occasional walk with his master.  Slowly it dawned on him 
that Vulcan was treating him like some exotic, valuable 
pet, establishing in the minds of his companions that his 
slave was jealously guarded, and not to be tampered with.  
His conviction was confirmed by the occasional envious 
remarks of his fellow slaves.  Since they all depended on 
the whims of the warriors for their very lives, no slave 
despised another for making the best of his lot, indeed, 
those like Kirk who were petted and indulged, were envied 
by their fellows who had not the same protection.

Fear touched Kirk again the night Satak dined in his 
master's tent, and he wondered if he would be ordered to 
amuse the guest, but though the Vulcan studied him with 
frank admiration and made several comments that brought 
the color to his cheeks, he made no attempt to touch him, 
and Kirk was required only to serve the food and wine.

It seemed that even Satak was to be deceived as to 
Spock's relationship with Kirk, for when the two Vulcans 
settled down to conversation, Kirk was gestured to sit at 
Spock's feet.  His master's hand played idly with his 
hair and gently caressed his face, but when Satak left, 
Spock immediately resumed his slightly distant manner.  
Kirk resigned himself to the fact that escape was, for 
the present, impossible.  Convinced now that Spock had no 
physical interest in him, he determined to serve the 
Vulcan to the best of his ability.  He would not risk 
being sold again.

One evening Spock was invited with his fellow trainees to 
dine in Selon's tent.  Though he had been carefully 
instructed in how to behave, Kirk was nervous--this was 
his first appearance in public since he had become 
Spock's property, and he knew that the warriors were 
curious about him.  He kept his eyes lowered as he 
followed Spock into the large tent and took his place at 
the foot of his master's couch.  Food was brought and 
placed on a small table in front of him so that he could 
serve Spock without leaving his side.

Many of the warriors were similarly attended, he saw when 
he plucked up enough courage to look around; but some 
were alone, served by general slaves.  He stiffened in 
fear as he caught sight of Savak among this group.

"Do not fear," Spock told him quietly.  "You belong to me 
now."

When the food had been cleared away the entertainment 
began, a display by a group of accomplished dancers.  In 
accordance with the rule of the camp all were male, but 
the dance was sensual and explicit.  As the dancing grew 
wilder, more abandoned, Spock drew Kirk down to lie 
beside him, loosening his tunic as he did so.  The 
Vulcan's own robe fell open, but even as Kirk flinched 
nervously his master leaned down to whisper reassuringly 
in his ear.  To an observer it must have seemed that they 
were fondling each other intimately, but only they knew 
that Spock's hand moved under Kirk's tunic without 
touching his skin.

"Well, Spock, what do you think of my little pet?"

At the sound of the hated voice Kirk started convulsively 
and looked up; Savak, flushed with wine, was standing 
beside Spock's couch.

"Your pet?"  A slanting eyebrow rose.  "I was under the 
impression that he was mine."

"But surely you will give me a chance to win him back?"

"No," Spock replied absently, taking Kirk's hand and 
examining it closely.

"You would refuse a challenge?"  Savak's voice rang 
clearly and Kirk paled.  The Vulcan was trying to provoke 
Spock into another contest, and this time his master 
might lose.

"What is going on here?"  Sensing the dispute the other 
warriors had gathered round, and Savak answered the 
Warleader.

"Selon, Spock refuses a challenge."

"For what reason?"  The leader glanced enquiringly at 
Spock.  "I know that you are no coward."

"I am not, but I do not choose to wager for the stakes he 
will set."

"It must be something of value if you will not risk 
losing it."

"Savak would wager for the Human.  I do not choose that 
he should again possess the slave."

"Why not?"

"Leader, I won the slave in fair trial.  He was delivered 
to me in such a condition that I could not make use of 
him.  Your own healer will testify to his injuries.  A 
beautiful and valuable slave was wantonly abused to such 
an extent that he could have been rendered useless for 
life."

"It was my right," Savak blustered.  The leader gestured 
him to silence.

"I do not dispute that, but have you learned nothing 
here?  A warrior is expected to make the best use of his 
resources.  As no intelligent man runs a fine hunting cat 
to exhaustion, so is it shameful to damage a valuable 
slave.  Is the youth defiant?"

"No, Leader.  He is obedient and willing," Spock replied 
before Savak could speak.

"Then you have foolishly misused a valuable possession, 
the prize I myself chose.  Spock has acted responsibly.  
I forbid you to wager for the slave.  It is settled."

"If you would care to name other stakes, Savak?" Spock 
asked coolly.  Savak turned away without the civility of 
a reply.  Shortly afterward Spock took his leave of the 
leader and beckoned Kirk to follow him back to their 
tent.


Later that night Kirk was engaged in one of his regular 
duties, combing Spock's flowing hair.  There was 
something curiously pleasant about the feel of the black 
silk gliding through his fingers, and he knew that Spock 
liked the attention.

"My lord," the Human began hesitantly, "I . . . must 
thank you."

"No need," Spock replied casually.  "I would not see any 
dependent fall into the hands of such a one as I now know 
Savak to be.  You are a beautiful and valuable creature, 
and it would be wasteful to allow you to be damaged."

"Yes, lord."  Kirk felt annoyed and somehow disappointed 
at this reminder that the Vulcan considered him only as 
an attractive, exotic pet with only sufficient 
intelligence to make himself useful.  He was grateful 
that Spock did not want to sleep with him, of course, but 
still . . .   With a faint sigh he put down the comb and 
stood back.

"I will retire now."  Spock rose and stretched.  "You may 
bathe, if you wish."

"Thank you, lord."  Kirk retired to the screened-off 
section of the tent where the bath was kept; one of the 
general slaves emptied it during the night, but Spock 
permitted him to use the water when he had finished with 
it--another sign of favor his fellow slaves envied.  They 
had to make do with the icy waters of the lake near the 
camping ground.

As he lay idly enjoying the warm, herb-scented water, 
Kirk felt himself becoming sexually aroused and slid his 
hand down over his belly to grasp his penis.

Since leaving Savak he had had no sexual outlet.  Even if 
he had had a mind to seek a lover among the other slaves, 
he knew it was forbidden.  A pleasure slave's body 
belonged only to his master, whether he made use of it or 
not, and for a slave to seek his own pleasure merited 
severe punishment.  Realistically Kirk knew it would have 
been unfair, and impossible, to take advantage of Spock's 
word and then seek another.  Nor did any of the general 
slaves attract him.  Yet his only release had been in 
masturbation, and he sometimes longed to feel a warm, 
responsive body pressed to his.

Gloomily, he acknowledged that as long as he remained the 
property of a warrior, he would never have the 
opportunity to have a woman; he did not fully understand 
why, but he knew the warriors avoided the company of 
females.  His thoughts turned again to the stories about 
escaped slaves.  *They* had a degree of freedom, though 
their lives were filled with hideous danger.  He would 
never forget the screams of the tortured slave.  And 
escape from the camp was all but impossible.  The hunting 
cats could track him easily.  But one day, one day his 
chance might come.  If he could reach the mountains, 
contact one of the nomadic bands--perhaps there were 
females among the escaped slaves, and if not, at least 
the choice would be his . . . someone to love, to return 
his love . . . 

He allowed his mind to drift as he milked himself slowly, 
and only when he felt the slickness of his semen in his 
hand did he realize his fantasy had taken an most 
unexpected turn . . . 

The sweetly writhing female form he had imagined taking 
under the star filled sky had been transformed into 
Spock's hot, hard body straining beneath his--a Spock 
somehow not his master, but a rebel companion.  An 
impossible thought, and dangerous; he pushed it from his 
mind.

At least he could still feel desire, he thought as he 
climbed from the bath and reached for the towel.  Under 
the perfume of herbs the scent of the Vulcan's body still 
lingered on the damp cloth.  Perhaps he should be 
grateful he still had that.  But it was not gratitude he 
felt as he lay sleepless at Spock's side through the long 
night.



Shortly after the incident with Savak, Spock found 
himself forced to re-evaluate his estimation of his 
slave's intelligence.  Vulcans were fond of a very 
complex board game known as Warlord, in which the 
opponents strove to win men to their war bands, then 
fought mock battles in which skill, courage and daring 
defeated the rival.  He and Satak passed many evenings in 
consideration of their moves, and at those times Spock 
liked to have Kirk curl up at his feet.  It was curiously 
pleasant to reach down and stroke the soft hair, as he 
might have petted a favorite hunting cat.

What Kirk thought about as he sat there the Vulcan did 
not consider, supposing vaguely that the Human dreamed of 
his past life, until one afternoon when he returned from 
weapons practice to find his slave kneeling beside the 
table, studying the board with rapt attention.

Kirk's face was intent.  He had not seen his master come 
in, and Spock halted, wondering with mild amusement what 
he was doing.  To his surprise Kirk reached out, moved 
one of the pieces, then sat back on his heels smiling in 
satisfaction.

Intrigued, Spock moved closer.  It had been his move, and 
Satak had left him with a fiendishly difficult situation.  
Kirk had made exactly the right move, one that at the 
same time removed the threat and carried the attack to 
his opponent.

"How did you do that?"

At the sound of his master's voice Kirk flushed crimson, 
then turned pale and lowered his head.  "Forgive me, my 
lord.  I meant no harm.  I would have replaced the piece 
. . . "

"I am not angry," Spock assured him.  "Just tell me how 
you knew what to do."

"The game is similar to one I played at home.  I was 
considered quite good," Kirk said shyly.  "Some of the 
moves are different, the winning of extra men, for 
example, but I watched you and Lord Satak play.  When I 
saw the problem I was interested and wondered if I could 
solve it."

"And you did, with a move worthy of a master.  
Astonishing!"

Kirk looked up, his eyes bright with resentment.  "Only 
because you think of me as a clever pet, a semi-
intelligent barbarian!" he said bitterly.  "I'm not.  I'm 
. . . "  He broke off appalled, realizing that his words 
and tone could be considered insolent.

"Go on," Spock said quietly.  "I give you permission to 
speak.  What are you, James Kirk?"

"I'm a man," Kirk said more calmly.  "Oh, I don't have 
Vulcan strength and stamina.  It seems I'm considered . . 
. desirable by Vulcan males . . . but I *am* a man."  He 
indicated the tent.  "Compared to Savak you've been kind 
to me, treated me well--but because I'm looked on as some 
sort of delicate, exotic fancy, you've kept me imprisoned 
in this tent.  I want--I *need*--the open air sometimes, 
the freedom to run--to exercise my body and my mind.  I 
need companionship, someone to talk to who'll listen to 
me, who'll take me seriously.  I used to talk to my dog 
the way you talk to me."

"I had not thought--"  With an abrupt gesture Spock 
cleared the game board and reset the pieces.  "Come show 
me what you can do."

Lacking a Vulcan's knowledge of warrior ranks, Kirk was a 
little confused as to the powers of the various game 
characters, which gave Spock a considerable advantage.  
That could be easily remedied, though, and the Vulcan 
conceded that with practice his slave would prove a 
formidable opponent.

They talked late that night, and Spock found that Kirk 
had a keen, incisive mind that matched his own.  He was 
as intelligent as he was beautiful, not merely the 
expensive toy he had seemed.  Spock retired for the night 
feeling rather shaken by his discovery, and as the Human 
joined him in bed, he studied his body carefully for the 
first time since he had acknowledged his beauty before 
Selon's tent.  Kirk had put on a little weight due to his 
enforced idleness, but his flesh was firm and well-
muscled.

Reaching a decision, Spock sat up.  "James, we must talk 
further.  There are some things you should know about my 
world."  Kirk sat up, hugging his knees, listening 
intently as the Vulcan spoke.

There were, Spock told him, many inhabited worlds, but 
only one race possessed the ability to travel among them.  
Traders by nature, the Orion's chose to use their powers 
for profit rather than military conquest, which did not 
interest them.  Instead they took from each world its 
most useful resource, giving in exchange whatever 
commodity its inhabitants found of greatest value--in the 
case of Vulcan, slaves.  From the far-off world of Andor 
came the blue-skinned people who were greatly prized as 
scribes and confidential stewards.  The Shahasi were 
sought after as artists, musicians and craftsmen, for the 
warlike Vulcans had a great appreciation of beauty.  The 
unprepossessing but powerful Tellarites were purchased 
for heavy manual labor, and the small, coppery vulcanoid 
Pavan became general work slaves.  The most attractive of 
these often shared their masters' beds, but the most 
prized of all were the Humans.  The carefully chosen 
Human males were more attractive to the Vulcans than the 
Pavan, and were more responsive than the Shahasi.  
Because of their rarity they were too highly valued to be 
exposed to any risk, and so it was the custom to cherish 
and protect them.  It had become accepted that they were 
delicate, which had made Savak's behavior so unusual.  
Spock had shared the common belief and only Kirk's 
spirited outburst led him to question it now.

"What did you do before you were enslaved, James?  I know 
little about you as yet."

"I was a pilot.  My people had begun to take their first 
steps toward space flight, but there was a war--we called 
it the Eugenics war--brought about by the attempt of 
certain scientists to breed a super-race.  They failed, 
but the conflict was long and bloody.  There was much 
destruction and much knowledge lost.  We rebuilt our 
world, retraced the steps of the early pioneers.  I was a 
pilot in the new space program.  I'd made several moon 
landings and was in line for the Martian expedition.  It 
had all been done before, of course, but we had to learn 
all over again."

"I cannot offer you something similar," Spock said 
thoughtfully.  "We know of space flight, of course, but 
we have never desired it."

"What I don't understand is--" Kirk hesitated, then 
continued as Spock looked at him expectantly.  "Why don't 
the Orions enslave Vulcans?  Compared to their weapons, 
yours are primitive.  You'd have no defense."

Spock laughed.  "Vulcans do not make good slaves," he 
said, "and the Orions are too good as traders to waste 
time on an unprofitable venture.  We are their best 
market for more docile slaves, and we give them what they 
want willingly."

"What do they want?"

"Warriors.  When the Orions discover a profitable planet, 
their policy is to conquer it, absorb it into their 
Empire, but to interfere as little as possible with its 
internal politics.  The one thing they do control 
strictly is weaponry.  All forms of weapons more advanced 
than variations on the spear, the sword, and the bow, are 
forbidden.  The prohibition serves a double purpose.  The 
conquered cannot rebel against their masters, and the 
wholesale destructive warfare which might interfere with 
profits is impossible.  Why Earth is treated differently 
I do not know.  It may be that the Orions consider that 
your planet has more to offer than merely slaves, but if 
you are rebuilding your world, you may not have yet 
reached the level they wish.  When you do, your world 
will become another subject planet of the Empire."

"Or we might defeat them," Kirk said challengingly.

"Possible, but unlikely.  The Orions have much 
experience.  However, because they do not interfere in 
the politics of their subjects, wars between competing 
power groups are common.  As shrewd traders the Orions 
profit by supplying mercenaries to both sides.  Vulcans, 
being the finest warriors in the galaxy, are in great 
demand.  We fight for the glory and so need not be 
compelled.  They know this."

"You mean you fight on other worlds?"

"I personally have not, but then I am not yet an initiate 
warrior.  Selon has fought three campaigns with his war 
party.  It is my hope to be  accepted into his band.  All 
my life I have watched the stars and wondered about the 
worlds that circle them.  I have listened to the tales of 
the warriors and I long to see the mystery and the wonder 
for myself, to explore and to learn.  One day, if I 
achieve--"  He broke off, unwilling to speak of his dream 
to a slave, however unusual.  "There is great competition 
to be so chosen," he continued,  "It is a great honor, 
and one I intend to achieve."

Kirk looked at the Vulcan for a moment with complete 
understanding.  He too had felt the lure of the stars.  
It was that call which had guided his choice of career . 
. . that risk which had resulted in his slavery.

"I'll never understand your people," he sighed at last.  
"You lay such great stress on honor, and yet you can keep 
slaves.  Don't you ever think it is wrong, to own another 
intelligent being in the same way that you own your 
hunting cats?"

"Wrong?  How can it be wrong?"  Spock looked puzzled.  
"Things are as they have always been.  A warrior is a 
warrior.  A Tellarite is a laborer.  Each performs the 
task for which he is best suited.  Would you have me, or 
Satak, draw water from the river, or have Selon tend the 
flocks?"

"It doesn't have to be like that,"  Kirk said earnestly.  
"Each to his own skill, yes, but giving service freely, 
in cooperation."

"And who controls when the Pavan decides he wishes to 
fight as a warrior?  No, James, it would not work.  The 
Vulcan is master, so that all is done that must be done.  
We house, feed and clothe our slaves, educate them, tend 
them in sickness, and provide for them when they can no 
longer work.  Would you have the infirm, who cannot earn 
their keep, cast out to starve?  It is true that there is 
occasionally a bad master, such as Savak, but the system 
has worked for generations, James.  It works because it 
is right."

"By your argument, where do I fit in?"  Kirk asked.  
"Humans are supposed to be pleasure slaves, but you do 
not treat me as one."  Suddenly realizing what he had 
said, he colored, hoping the Vulcan would not think he 
meant--.  But Spock's mind was on other things.

"The only reason I do not treat you as a pleasure slave 
is because I do not desire such a companion," he said 
absently.  "If I did, that is what you would be.  The 
sensible thing would be to sell you, or give you to 
someone who would use you as you are meant to be used--
Satak, for instance--but the service you do give pleases 
me, and though it is perhaps wasteful, I should like to 
keep you.  The question is: in what capacity?"

Spock was silent for a few minutes, then he seemed to 
make up his mind, for he spoke again.

"I do have a proposal, one which will give you the mental 
stimulation and physical exercise you have convinced me 
you need.  If you wish I will have you trained to bear 
arms so that you may accompany me into battle.  Skilled 
fighting slaves are highly valued in our society, 
especially among warriors, although they do not usually 
risk one as beautiful as you.  However, you do not share 
my bed, and you might prefer such a life to acting merely 
as my body servant."

"Yes!"  Kirk's eyes sparkled with excitement.  "If it 
pleases you, lord," he hastily added.

"It does, James."  Spock settled back on the pillows.  
"It is decided then.  Tomorrow we will begin."

True to his word, Spock applied for and received formal 
permission to train Kirk as a fighting slave, and Selon 
added the approving comment, "As you will discover when 
you travel alone, Spock, a slave who merely warms your 
bed can be a liability.  If the Human is as intelligent 
as you think, it would be foolish to waste him.  Indeed, 
I almost wish now that I had kept him myself."

Under Spock's tuition the Human rapidly proved himself 
proficient with bow, sword and spear.  The lirpa, dueling 
weapon of the warriors he was not permitted to touch.  
Even the Vulcans respected his skill as he practiced, and 
Spock's circle of friends began to treat him with a new 
seriousness, Satak to the point of supervising his 
training when Spock was absent.

Satak made no secret of the fact that he was attracted to 
Kirk, and often teased him, but it was done openly and 
good-naturedly.  The Human soon found himself able to 
laugh and reply with confidence.

He was happy, Kirk realized with a certain degree of 
surprise as he stood one night combing his master's hair.  
Spock had taken him hunting several times, and he knew 
that he had acquitted himself well.  In addition Spock 
was now more relaxed with him, permitting him to express 
his opinions, and even to disagree with his master in 
discussion when they were alone.  Although in company he 
still had to act the part of the petted pleasure slave, 
he knew that he was now considered, by his master and his 
friends, as more than just an expensive ornament.

"What are you thinking of, Jim?"  Lately Spock had taken 
to using the more personal form of his given name when 
they were alone.

"I was just--"  Kirk hesitated.  His pride would not let 
him admit that he was finding a measure of contentment in 
his new life.  "I was wondering about your hair.  On my 
world, there were warriors who grew their hair, but not 
as long as this.  Surely it's a handicap in battle.  It 
would be so easy for an enemy to catch hold of it."

"You are partly right, James.  Have you not noticed that 
Selon and his captains wear their hair shorter than 
mine?"

At Kirk's nod he continued.  "When a youth is selected 
for warrior training, he begins to grow his hair.  It is 
not cut again until he is a fully-fledged warrior.  
During my years as a cadet I must learn all the skills of 
a fighting man.  I must prove that I can obey orders, and 
give them.  I am not permitted to marry, but I must 
father two children on women selected for me in order to 
continue my family line.  Then, if I am judged worthy, I 
will be accepted into the ranks of the warriors, and my 
hair will be cut and dedicated to our ancestors.  From 
that time I must not touch a woman--that is why no 
females are permitted in camp, so that even in our time 
of need, we will not desire them."

"Will your training last much longer?" Kirk asked.

"A few months, no more.  I have already fathered one 
child.  Soon I will return home and my father will have 
made the arrangements for the second.  Once the child is 
conceived I will return to the camp for a final testing."

"I see."  Kirk finished his task in silence, puzzled by 
the feeling of instinctive denial that had swept over him 
when he thought of Spock with a woman.  Perhaps he was 
unconsciously adopting the attitude of the warriors?  
Sometime soon, when his master was pleased with him, he 
would ask if arrangements could not be made for him.  He 
did not think he could continue much longer in a celibate 
state.

Despite the improvement in his conditions, Kirk was still 
desperately lonely.  Spock was often absent for hours at 
a time, engaged in those aspects of warrior training that 
were forbidden to a slave.

Nor was he allowed to associate with his fellow slaves, 
for he was still a pleasure slave, although he was being 
trained to bear arms, and he was jealously secluded.  
More, the slaves themselves if they caught him 
unprotected, might seize the opportunity to sample such a 
prize.  His training might help him defeat one or two, 
but against a group of determined assailants he would 
stand no chance.  With memories of Savak's friends, and 
having seen how some of the slaves watched him, Kirk was 
forced to admit that Spock's restrictions were for his 
own protection; reluctantly but realistically, he spent 
most of those hours in the tent.

The closest he came to friendship was with Jorith, the 
Pavan slave assigned to Spock for general duties.  
Several years older than Kirk, he too had at one time 
been a pleasure slave, but with the loss of his youth and 
freshness had come relegation to the ranks of the common 
camp drudges.  This demotion, however, had also lessened 
the strictness of his confinement, which now seemed to 
make possible a long-cherished dream--escape.

Jorith had watched the young Human with a degree of pity; 
something about the youth made him different from most of 
the others.  Perhaps it was the loneliness that showed in 
the hazel eyes, or the memory of the nights he himself 
had spent in the beds of a succession of masters.  
Whatever the reason the Pavan took the risk of mentioning 
his plans.

He had been waiting for a suitable opportunity, and one 
afternoon as he went about his duties in Spock's tent, 
the flap was drawn aside and the Human stalked in.  His 
expression mingled embarrassment and anger, and the Pavan 
jumped up, alarmed.

"Jim, what's wrong?"

"Those Vulcans!"  Kirk threw down the bow he was carrying 
and shrugged off the quiver.  "I don't know how much more 
of this I can stand!"

"Did the master hurt you?"

"Not physically," Kirk laughed bitterly.  "Sometimes I 
think I could stand that better.  We were at archery 
practice, Spock and I, when the Warleader came up with 
two warriors who are visiting the camp.  They stood 
there, the four of them, looking me over like a pedigreed 
animal . . . discussing my . . . my points!  They even 
asked Spock what I was like in bed.  I feel like a 
whore!"

"To them you are," Jorith said quietly.  "You chose to 
live in slavery.  No Vulcan would have done that.  And 
there is no other way you *can* live in slavery.  Spock 
treats you well now.  You're a novelty, so he's 
protective, possessive, but when the novelty wears off, 
he'll begin to lend you out.  And when he's tired of you, 
he'll sell you without a second thought.  I know, Jim, 
I've been through it."

"I can't live like this!"

"Can't you?  Have you really considered the alternative?  
If you ran, they would hunt you down and you'd die like 
the Andorian.  Or, if you did win free, you might live, 
for a while, with other escaped slaves.  There is no 
luxury there.  Here--I see how you live, dressed in silk, 
the most envied slave in camp.  The master even talks to 
you as though you were an equal."

"But he never forgets--I never forget--that I'm a slave.  
But I'm not *free*, Jorith.  I would rather be free for a 
day and dead tomorrow than stay here until I *am* a slave 
in my soul!"

Kirk's impassioned words hung on the air, and something 
in the Pavan's face made him pause.  He started to speak, 
then turned away busying himself with his work.  Sudden 
suspicion made the Human lower his voice.  There were 
only two reasons the Pavan could have for listening to 
this tirade, trying to dissuade him.  And Kirk did not 
think the Pavan was a betrayer.

"You're planning to escape yourself!"  His voice was an 
intense whisper, and he caught the work slave by the 
shoulder, turning his face to the light.  "Jorith, take 
me with you!"

Slowly the Pavan nodded.  "It's possible.  I've  been 
listening, for years, to every scrap of information they 
let drop.  The mountains are north of us.  I've been 
trying to map water holes, alternate routes.  I always 
keep provisions hidden outside the camp, but not enough 
for two.  I'd have to steal more food."

"You might get a few hours grace before they missed you," 
Kirk said.  "But the warriors know I'm not allowed out of 
the tent unless Spock or Satak are with me, and--how 
could I leave at night, without waking Spock?"

"You'd really risk it?"

"Yes."

"Then don't worry about the master.  Just don't make him 
suspicious by acting differently."

"I'll be careful," Kirk promised.


Three days later Jorith managed to snatch a few moments 
with Kirk.  "Tonight," the Pavan said quietly.  "Meet me 
by the well as soon as your master sleeps."

"But--"

"Put this in his wine before he retires."  Jorith handed 
over a small bottle.  "He will sleep deeply, and not be 
aware that you have left his bed.  If the gods favor us, 
he will not awaken until late in the morning, then, of 
course, they will hunt us."

"It won't hurt him?"

"It's only a sleeping draught.  I stole it from the 
healer.  Come as soon as you can.  I can't wait too 
long."


That evening Kirk found it difficult to conceal his 
impatience as he served and cleared away Spock's meal.  
The now customary discussion of his performance during 
the day's training had never seemed so long, but at last 
Spock indicated that he was ready to retire for the 
night.  Kirk attended him in the bath, then as the Vulcan 
settled into bed, walked over to pour the small cup of 
wine he customarily drank before he slept.

For a moment Kirk hesitated, holding the tiny phial 
Jorith had given him.  Then, determined that nothing he 
did would harm the Vulcan who had spared him, he uncorked 
it and tasted the liquid, relaxing when he recognized the 
taste of the sleeping draught he had been given.  
Satisfied, he poured it into the wine, thinking the 
stronger flavor of the wine would hide it completely.  He 
handed the cup to Spock.

"Thank you, Jim."  Spock sipped the wine slowly, showing 
no sign of suspicion.  "And how is your reading 
progressing?"

"Quite well, I think, though Seren says I'll never lose 
my accent."

"Bring the book and let me hear you."

Kirk went to the small chest Spock used for his few 
clothes, and took out a carefully wrapped bundle.  Seren, 
the elderly advisor who was teaching him to read Vulcan, 
was so pleased with his pupil's progress that he had even 
agreed to lend him some of his own precious books so that 
he might continue his studies in his free time.  This 
volume, tales of some of the near legendary warriors of 
Vulcan's remote past, was Kirk's favorite.  He found his 
place, returned to sit at Spock's  bedside, and began to 
read.

The Vulcan listened attentively, occasionally correcting 
his pronunciation, but gradually his head drooped, and at 
last the empty goblet fell from his fingers.  Kirk read 
on, his voice gradually fading, until he was sure that 
Spock was asleep, then, setting the book aside, he 
settled his master back against the pillows and drew the 
cover over him.

Quickly then he changed out of his flimsy silk tunic into 
the soft leather suit he wore for weapons practice.  He 
had as yet no weapons of his own, and stole one of 
Spock's for his belt, then picked up the light bow and 
quiver the Vulcan had given him.  He was ready to leave, 
anxious lest the Pavan panic and leave him behind, yet he 
found himself pausing beside the bed.  He would never see 
Spock again.

"I wish it could have been different," he whispered.  
"I'd have liked you for a friend.  But that's not 
allowed, is it?"  He hesitated a moment longer, then 
touched the dark hair gently.  Not allowed.  He dimmed 
the light and left.

It was easy enough to evade the guards, who were set more 
out of custom than necessity.  Only a fool would dream of 
attacking a camp of warriors, and the predators of the 
region had learned to stay well clear of camp fires.  
Jorith was waiting in the shadows by the well.

"Where now?"

"This way," the Pavan led him along a gully that ran from 
the camp into the rocks, "first we must pick up the 
supplies."

Kirk followed Jorith, his eyes gradually becoming 
accustomed to the darkness.  Although Vulcan had no moon, 
the brilliant stars lit their path with a frosty glitter 
that made walking safe.

At last the Pavan halted at a clump of bushes in front of 
a low cliff.  "Through here," he whispered, and Kirk 
followed him into pitch blackness, stumbling for a few 
yards until Jorith pulled him to a halt.  A spark glowed, 
caught, and a flaring torch illuminated the narrow tunnel 
in which they stood.

"The guards,"  Kirk warned.

"Safe enough.  We've come around a bend in the tunnel.  
Besides, we'll need the light.  Come on."

The two continued along the tunnel, which gradually 
broadened into a high cave.  Kirk caught his breath as 
the torch light reflected off millions of tiny crystals 
imbedded in the rocky walls.

"Pretty, hun?"  Jorith wedged the torch in a crack in the 
floor.  "No time to admire it, though, we've a long way 
to go before dawn.  Here help me move these rocks."

The supplies were well hidden, and Jorith had obviously 
planned his escape for some time.  The cache revealed 
blankets, water flasks, bundles of dried meat, and the 
hard biscuits that were the usual journey fare, and even 
a few basic medical supplies.

"Divide everything into two bundles, and wrap each in a 
blanket,"  Jorith directed.  "That way, if we are 
separated, each of us will have a share.  In the morning 
I will draw you a map of--"

"I think not, slave."

The two men whirled at the sound of the familiar voice.  
Spock, sword in hand, stood just inside the cave.

"I have come to recover my property. And to punish the 
thief.  James, do not be foolish!"

As Kirk instinctively reached for the knife in his belt, 
Spock reached forward and held his sword at Jorith's 
throat.

"Throw down your weapons, or I will kill him."

Resigned, Kirk tossed the knife to the ground, let the 
bow slip from his shoulder.  "How did you know?" he asked 
numbly.  "The wine--"

"Was drugged?  I know.  The draught is tasteless in 
water, as you had it, but very bitter in wine.  I simply 
poured it away when you fetched the book.  I decided to 
discover what you had planned, but I confess I expected 
an assignation, not an escape."

"What happens now?"  Kirk kept his voice steady with an 
effort.

"You know the fate of an escaped slave.  In your case a 
lesser punishment will suffice--I am not minded to lose 
you so soon--but the Pavan has no claim on me.  He will 
face the executioner."

Unable, unwilling to beg on his own behalf, Kirk answered 
the terror in the Pavan's eyes with what he knew must be 
a useless effort.  "Spare him.  You could say nothing.  I 
beg it of you."

"Was he your lover after all?"

"No.  But if he hadn't waited for me, he'd be gone.  
Spare him.  Or I'll find a way to destroy my 'beauty' 
that you prize so much."  The depths of weariness, 
disgust and hatred in that threat made Spock consider.  
The slave had courage, and he could not be bound or 
watched every second.  The sharp edge of a potsherd, a 
brand from the fire . . .   He had not thought before how 
transient a thing was beauty.

"Then I will spare him the executioner's death."

Kirk released the breath he was not aware he had been 
holding, but before he could speak, Spock had drawn back 
his arm and thrust his sword deep into Jorith's chest.  
Without a sound the Pavan fell forward.  Kirk's knees 
folded of their own accord, liquid with shock, and he 
only saved himself from falling on his face by reaching 
out towards the body.  Saved from the executioner.  
Vulcan mercy.  He hardly felt Spock shake him, heard his 
next orders.  Spock was shaking out a blanket, ripping 
his clothing.  None of it seemed quite real.

"James!"  Spock slapped him, and the stinging blow 
brought him back to the now that held Jorith's body, and 
Jorith's murderer--Jorith's two murderers.  "Lie down on 
the blanket.  I have still to save *you* from the 
executioner.  Remain here.  Say nothing."  He moved into 
the tunnel, leaving Kirk alone.  He didn't know what 
Spock planned, knew it mattered, mattered desperately, 
but could not summon the will to run or fight.

The silence was broken by the sound of footsteps 
returning along the tunnel.  The guard commander, an 
initiate warrior, with the novices who stood watch that 
week, followed Spock into the cave.

" . . .agree the cave is most unusual."  Spock's voice 
was totally calm.  "The Pavan must have been hiding when 
I arrived with my slave.  Doubtless he hoped that we 
would not remain long.  A sound warned me of his 
presence, and when I investigated, he attacked."

"With the only possible result," the commander grunted.  
"If the fool had remained silent until you left, he might 
well have escaped.  Proves they aren't smart enough to 
look out for themselves.  Your slave didn't attempt to 
aid the Pavan?"  He sounded suspicious.  Kirk had already 
learned that if there was any trouble, all slaves nearby 
were assumed to be implicated.

"James was--otherwise engaged," Spock answered smoothly, 
and the commander laughed.

"You appreciate beauty in all its forms, Spock."

Kirk looked away, only to catch the eye of one of the 
novice warriors.  With a shudder he recognized Selka, 
Savak's closest companion, and the most inventive of the 
group that had debauched him.  The man grinned 
insolently, gazing with appreciation at Kirk's bare legs, 
and at the pale, smooth skin revealed by the ripped 
tunic.  He turned and whispered something to one of his 
companions, and that Vulcan, too, gave the Human an 
appraising stare.

Kirk dropped his gaze, angrily aware that the Vulcans 
assumed that he had been coupling with Spock in the cave.  
And Selka was undoubtedly telling his companion of 
Kirk's--responsiveness.

"You men, take the slave to the execution ground," the 
commander ordered.  "Spock there is no need for you to 
remain."

"Come, James."

In response to Spock's signal, Kirk climbed shakily to 
his feet and picked up the blankets.  He made no protest 
when the Vulcan slipped an arm about his waist.  He 
wouldn't have admitted it if he had to crawl, but he 
needed the support.  Did Spock recognize shock when he 
saw it, or would he think Kirk feared the punishment to 
come so much that his knees shook?

In the safety of the tent Spock ordered the Human to sit 
on the edge of the bed, and handed him a cup of wine.  
"Drink."

Kirk obeyed,  feeling the warmth begin to creep through 
his numbed body, freeing him from the icy paralysis that 
had gripped him since Jorith's death.  He was suddenly 
filled with horror at the murder that had been committed 
so casually before him, with his own apparent 
complaisance.  He struggled to his feet and threw the 
wine cup aside.

"You murdered him.  You tricked me and murdered him."  
Kirk's eyes were dark with anguish.  Sweat beaded his 
forehead.  "What harm did he ever do to you--rape you, 
steal your freedom, flog you, sell you on the block--"

"He lured you away."

"I went by my own choice. Are you fool enough to think 
even a caged bird doesn't want freedom!"

"A caged bird is not capable of choice.  It is property.  
It may however be capable of displeasing its master.  If 
incapable of being trained, it would be disposed of."

"I'm too valuable, too *pretty,* --"  The words were 
slurred with emotion, with the effect of the potent wine.

"You are insolent--and for nearly the last time.  I 
granted your request, did I not?"

"Spare him?  You murdered him."

"I spared him hours of agony.  He died a cleaner death 
than many warriors, quickly, with little pain."

"You could have let him go, just let him go."

"No.  He had already been missed.  They would have 
captured him within hours.  I could not risk it."

"Risk what?"  Despite his anger, the wine, Kirk was aware 
of a certain something in the Vulcan's tone and 
expression that he could not identify.  Risk it being 
known that he had condoned a runaway?

"You fool, you're drunk!  I should have known.  Lower 
your voice!  If taken, he would have told them 
everything.  Oh, no one would believe I had helped him, 
but that *you* would is *very* believable.  And I would 
have watched you on the executioner's field!"

Kirk was drunk, or mad.  The tent wouldn't hold still, 
and Spock sounded--sounded.  Dizzily he reached out to 
steady himself and found himself caught and held tight in 
a merciless embrace.  All the strength went out of him, 
and he sagged back against the arms that held his weight 
so effortlessly.  Spock's face hovered over his, the lips 
parted.

"You'd--really--care?"  He knew he was confused.  All his 
bones had melted, and his blood was burning through his 
veins, and Spock's eyes, so close, were soft under a 
bright film of tears.  He struggled to understand, and 
then nearly lost his balance as Spock released him.

"I do not choose to lose a valuable piece of property 
against my will.  Possessing you--the Warleader's prize--
adds to my stature in the camp.  And if I do choose to 
part with you, you would bring a large price in any 
market on Vulcan--nor would I shame myself by sending 
merchandise for sale that was not properly trained in 
obedience."

Kirk's head was clearing.  Foolish to have thought 
anything was in store but the punishment his act 
deserved.  Enough to get through that with the fortitude 
his pride demanded.

"Yes, master.  May a slave inquire what his punishment is 
to be?"  His voice was not quite as steady as he would 
have liked, but he forced his shoulders back and his chin 
up.

Spock looked at him consideringly for a moment.  "If I 
thought it would serve any purpose, you would be whipped.  
But I know it would not.  I derive no pleasure from 
pointless torture.  You were right in one thing, James.  
If the Pavan had not tried to free you as well as 
himself, he might have succeeded in his escape.  Let that 
be your punishment.  And do not confuse my meaning again.  
I do not do this to spare you anything, and if you are 
insolent or disobey me, or if it becomes expedient for 
any reason at all, even merely to assert my authority 
over you before my companions, I will flog you publicly 
and worry about your 'beauty' and value later.  They do 
not matter to me nearly as much as my status among the 
warriors. Never forget it."

"I won't," Kirk whispered.

"Then we will retire now.  It grows late and you have 
weapons practice in the morning.  Your swordmanship 
requires improvement."

He turned away, and Kirk stared at him, silently 
absorbing the lesson.  Spock might not take delight, as 
Savak did, in the pain and humiliation of helpless 
victims, but he could dismiss the death of a slave as 
lightly as that of a pet bird.  And Kirk had been a fool 
to imagine, even for a moment, there could be anything 
else between them.


It was about two weeks afterwards that Kirk awoke one 
morning to find that he had slept unusually late. 
Normally Spock, who had an innate time sense, woke him by 
rising at dawn, but on this morning the sun was high in 
the sky.  Stretching, he turned over to find that Spock 
was still beside him in bed, but he seemed to be in the 
grip of fever.  His body trembled, and waves of heat 
poured from his skin.  Alarmed, Kirk slipped out of bed, 
pulled on a tunic, and called to one of the passing 
slaves to summon a healer.

When he came, the man made only a cursory examination, 
then turned to Kirk.  "This is your first experience of 
ponn farr, I take it?  He is only in the early stages.  I 
did not expect it for some weeks yet.  Bathe him with 
cool water.  He should come out of the fever soon and he 
will tell you what to do.  There is no reason for me to 
return."  The tent flap fell behind him before Kirk could 
ask what he meant.

The Human lost no time in obeying his instructions.  
Stripping the covers from Spock's body, he began to bathe 
him with cool water.  Gradually the fever seemed to 
lessen, and at last Spock opened his eyes.

"Jim?"  His voice was unusually hoarse.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Go and find Satak.  Ask him to come to me."

Kirk hurried out, but the other Vulcan was nowhere to be 
found.  He searched the camp, until one of the slaves 
said that he had seen Satak heading for Spock's tent.  
Relieved, Kirk returned, but as he neared the doorway one 
of the Pavan slaves ran out.  His tunic was torn and 
blood dripped from his mouth. Kirk looked after him, then 
paused as he heard voices inside the tent.

" . . . your foolish games, Spock.  You want the Human."

"No.  I will not mate with a barbarian . . .  I cannot . 
. ."  Kirk scarcely recognized his master's voice.

"Spock, your condition clouds your mind.  I did not speak 
of taking a mate!  Take the slave to your bed and use 
him.  Gods, you've done it in the past.  Will you permit 
your pride to kill you?  You are not unique, my friend.  
I have, myself, experienced a temporary fixation on one 
particular slave, but that doesn't mean I intended to 
mate with one.  When the time passes, you will forget 
him."

"You don't understand.  I fear . . ."

"There is no need to fear.  The ponn farr strips us of 
everything, doesn't it?  And all of us alike."  Satak's 
voice was gentle.  "Let me summon James."

"No."

"Then you will die, Spock."  Satak was losing patience.

"Better to lose life than honor."

"What has it to do with honor!"

"I promised I would not force him.  He has never been 
mine.  And--I do not break my word--even to a slave.  
Ahhh!"  Spock's voice trailed off in a groan.

"Spock, oh, what's the use.  Here, drink this and perhaps 
you'll wake in a more reasonable frame of mind.  Good.  
Get some sleep if you can."

After a few moments Kirk entered the tent, to see Satak 
drawing the cover up over Spock.  The Vulcan's face was 
eloquent of concern.  Spock was his closest friend.  He 
looked at Kirk without seeing him.

"Lord Satak, what's wrong?  The healer said--"

Satak focused on Kirk, frowned, then controlled himself.  
"Sit down and listen, James.  Try to understand.  We 
Vulcans have a periodic sexual cycle, at which time the 
male is at his most potent, and must mate or die.  
Usually it is the signal to reproduce, and the male seeks 
out his wife, but warriors must only mate with a male.  
They must never learn to associate a woman with their 
time of need lest it come upon them on campaign where no 
woman is available.  Sometimes it happens that a warrior 
who has not yet chosen his life mate is drawn to one 
particular partner, the only one who can satisfy the 
desire.  If that partner is not available, the male dies.  
When I found Spock in this condition, he refused to let 
me summon you.  He tells me that you have never served 
him as a pleasure slave."

"He promised me," Kirk said.  "He promised I'd never have 
to--"

"That promise will kill him."

"But he doesn't want me."

"He does.  He can lie to you, to me, even to himself, but 
his body is not deceived.  I summoned one of the general 
slaves who is most skilled--and Spock attacked him.  See 
how quietly he lies since you've come in?"

Kirk shook his head.

"Yes.  He would not rest for me.  I would serve him if I 
could, but it is you he desires.  And only you can save 
him.  Has he not been a good master to you?"  The answer 
was so obvious Satak didn't wait for it.  "Save him."

"I don't . . . I don't know how, even if I were willing.  
If he woke, wouldn't he just send me away?"

"I've given him a sleeping draught to ease his pain. If 
you rouse him while he sleeps, he will be unable to 
control himself.  I can't force you to save Spock, James, 
but give some thought to your own life.  What would it be 
worth to you without his protection?"  The Vulcan rose 
and Kirk stepped back defensively.  Satak gave him a 
meaning glance, and then left the tent.

It was true, of course.  Whatever the motivation, and 
Kirk's mind made no comment, no response to Satak's 
statements, Spock was likely to be the best--owner--he 
would ever have.  It was only in his own self-interest to 
ensure that he lived.  Satak could threaten, but no one 
was here, no one but he and Spock.  He could not be 
forced.

Slowly, he approached the bed.  Spock still slept, but 
restlessly.  Lightly, Kirk drew the covers back.  Spock 
was naked--no more naked than he had been in his bath--
but now he was aroused, in his sleep, his alien sex 
swollen to an extent that must be painful.  Kirk studied 
him curiously, trying to gauge from his past experience 
what would be the quickest way to satisfy him.  During 
his time with Savak, his 'instruction' had all blurred 
into one long torture that he had closed out of his 
conscious thinking.  He could not do that now.  If he was 
to help Spock, he must be fully aware of what he was 
doing, and why.

Spock was--big--but not impossibly so.  Some of Savak's 
group had been larger.  The delicate, jade-green coloring 
was always faintly surprising, although he knew well 
enough that Vulcans were green-blooded.  The most 
striking difference lay in the head with its double 
ridges.  He remembered how they had stirred and moved 
within his body even when his master was still.

He reached out tentatively, his fingertips barely 
brushing the velvet-soft head, and even at that light 
touch the double ridges spread wide, the penis arched as 
if seeking him with blind instinct.  He flinched back, 
remembering the pain, but the involuntary response was 
curiously fascinating.  As he watched his breath 
quickened between parted lips.  It *was* fascinating, and 
suddenly he wanted to reach out again, to touch, to 
stroke, to feel the throbbing in his hand.  Savak's 
mockery sounded again in his mind.  But it wasn't the 
same.  He had a right to save his life, didn't he?

He curled his hand around the erect penis.  Spock moaned 
at his touch, and the mingled pain and pleasure in the 
hoarse voice stirred something long untouched in Kirk.  
He knew what Savak had liked, knew what he would like 
himself.  He'd survived it before.  He drew off his tunic 
and stretched out at Spock's side, his fingers continuing 
their stimulation, knew more was required.  Without 
thinking he turned and pressed his lips to the painfully 
engorged flesh. Steel under the velvet.  Not unpleasant.  
The clean scent of Spock's body, the strange spicy taste 
compelling.  His heart beat a little faster as he parted 
his lips and drew the velvet head into his mouth.

His tongue licked, coiled around the shaft, exploring.  
Greatly daring, he began to suck, holding the swollen 
organ at its root for greater control.  Slowly, 
carefully, he inched his way up the thick shaft until his 
lips were buried in silky hair and the hard bulk 
stretched into his throat.  Then, impatient again, he 
began to suck greedily up and down the length, his tongue 
circling the tip, not pausing when the warning spasm came 
and Spock's body convulsed in climax.  Thick, creamy 
semen filled his mouth, and he swallowed, fighting for 
breath, but remained in position until the last of the 
ejaculation trickled down his throat.  With a sigh, he 
raised his head to study his master's face.

Spock was still either asleep or unconscious, but the 
fever seemed to have abated slightly; his head moved on 
the pillow and he whispered something, too quietly for 
Kirk to hear.  He had helped, Kirk realized, but not 
enough.  Already the Vulcan's penis was beginning to 
engorge with blood.

His touch, growing more confident, brought Spock fully 
erect and Kirk moved to straddle his master's thighs.  
With memories of Savak's hard, dry penis thrusting into 
him, he leaned forward and bathed Spock's in saliva until 
it glistened wetly.  Then he rose in a crouch, reached 
round to spread his buttocks apart, and guided himself 
into position so that the throbbing head touched the 
entrance to his body.

Biting his lip against the pain, Kirk allowed himself to 
sink down so that the burning length slid slowly into his 
body.  It was not as bad as he remembered, perhaps 
because he was in control, but when he came to rest the 
hard bulk filled him, throbbing against protesting 
nerves.

For a moment he rested, gathering courage, then he 
tightened his muscles and began to move, gradually 
quickening the rhythm as he became accustomed to the 
sensations.  His own penis began to stiffen in excitement 
as the friction increased, but he ignored his reactions, 
concentrating on producing a response in Spock.

Suddenly the dark eyes opened, blazing with an all-
consuming lust he remembered only too well, but as 
Spock's hips began to thrust demandingly upwards, his 
fear faded in an intense relief that this would work.

Hot semen spurted inside him, and strong arms gathered 
him close.  "Jim . . ."

"Don't talk now," Kirk whispered, keeping his voice 
steady with an effort.  "Take what you need from me.  I 
give it freely."

"No . . . control . . . You will . . . will be hurt . . 
." The Vulcan choked.

"Don't talk."

For a moment the arms tightened, then he was turned onto 
his belly, strong hands grasped his buttocks, thumbs slid 
between his cheeks, opening him, and the hard driving  
thrust rammed once more into his body.  The initial 
discomfort of penetration was masked by surprised 
pleasure as a hand snaked under his belly to settle at 
his groin.  This time the rhythmic pounding was 
accompanied by the skilful milking of his own aching 
penis, and he moaned his pleasure at the touch of the 
warm hand.  Then pride, sanity, his very identity were 
lost in a scarlet haze of sensual passion as he gave 
himself entirely to the demanding flesh that impaled him.  
He surged backwards, forcing the hard penis even deeper, 
writhing in utter abandon as Spock's semen flooded him 
once more.

Kirk was completely lost now to everything except his own 
devouring lust.  He wanted more, everything, whatever 
Spock chose to do to him.  He was turned on his back and 
the Vulcan's weight covered him.  His head was imprisoned 
in strong hands, and a hot wet mouth fastened on his, the 
tongue insinuating itself between his lips to explore 
every corner of his mouth with a slow, persistent 
thoroughness.  Expertly he captured the invader and 
sucked at it, earning a gasp of pleasure from Spock; his 
hands dug into the smooth back as he trust his hips 
upward, begging hoarsely to be filled again.  Spock 
caught his buttocks and lifted him, supporting Kirk's 
legs on his shoulders so that his hand were free to probe 
the human's body, opening it to his need.

All memory of pain, humiliation and discomfort was left 
far behind.  Kirk moaned, his body arching responsively 
to Spock's every movement.  Every part of him was 
explored, taken, used to increase their joint pleasure as 
he gave himself willingly, the mindless instrument of 
Spock's lust--and his own.

The Vulcan seemed tireless, each orgasm coming with the 
power of the first.  Kirk began to tire at last, his 
tender flesh protesting at the abuse it had suffered.  He 
made no sound, but could not repress a shudder when Spock 
moved to spread his legs once more.

The Vulcan paused and blinked down at him, a fleeting 
concern showing in the blazing eyes, then he seemed to 
change his mind and leaned up from the Human.

"It's all right," Kirk whispered hoarsely.  "I can--"

"There are other ways."  Spock rose and pulled Kirk to 
his feet.  "Come."

Stumbling a little from weariness, Kirk allowed Spock to 
guide him into the screened off portion of the tent.  The 
bath had been emptied and refilled, and although the 
water was cooler than Spock normally liked it, it was 
very refreshing to the Human's sweating body as they 
stepped together into the water.

Sensing that Spock's need was under very tenuous control, 
Kirk washed them both quickly, but when he left the bath 
in search of towels, Spock shook his head impatiently.

"No need," he growled, pulling the Human close to his 
side, but as they moved back towards the bed he paused, 
looking around the tent.  "Ah.  Drink this."  He lifted 
the water jug from the table and passed it to the Human 
who drained it eagerly.

"Thank you."

Spock shook his head and pulled Kirk down onto the bed.  
He reached for the Human's thighs, then seemed to 
remember his exhaustion.  Instead he twined his long 
fingers in Kirk's hair and pressed the Human's face into 
his groin.  Strengthened by the brief respite and the 
longed-for water, Kirk responded eagerly to the urging of 
the insistent hands.  His mouth and fingers worked busily 
at the Vulcan's penis as he sucked, milking his master to 
orgasm while warm fingers curled around his own organ, 
pumping him in frantic excitement.

How long could this continue? Kirk wondered dazedly as he 
swallowed, raised his head to gasp for breath, then bent 
once more to his master's service.  Spock's hands were on 
his buttocks burrowing deep inside him, twisting and 
probing with an exciting pressure.  His penis, trapped 
against Spock's body, throbbed and pounded with its own 
urgency, and he felt the slickness of his ejaculation 
between their bodies as Spock's semen filled his mouth.

Utterly exhausted, he slumped helplessly into his 
master's arms.  Spock settled him carefully, lifting the 
Human's head to his shoulder.  Lips brushed his temple, 
and the last thing he was conscious of before sleep 
claimed him was the veil of dark hair that fell around 
his face as his master leaned possessively over him.


Kirk woke the following morning to a sense of utter well-
being.  He was still locked tightly in Spock's arms, and 
for a moment he colored as he remembered the sensual 
abandon of the previous night.  Then he shook his head, 
denying the sophistry.  He had enjoyed it.  He wanted 
more.  The tiny movement woke Spock.  The Vulcan leaned 
up on one elbow and studied him, a slow reminiscent smile 
curving the fine lips.

"So.  You chose to come to my bed."

"Yes, my lord."  Kirk felt unexpectedly nervous.  
Whatever he might admit to himself, he wasn't ready to--
if Spock just wouldn't look at him as if he knew every 
thought!

"Why?"

Well, there were a lot of reasons, if he could just get 
possession of himself and remember them.  "I--Satak told 
me you'd die if you didn't mate--that you wouldn't accept 
anyone else--"

"And, logically, you would not wish to lose a good 
master?"

"No, of course not, I mean, I--"  Damn the Vulcan, slave 
or not, he wasn't going to deny the most earthshaking 
experience he had ever had.  He had to close his eyes to 
keep the tears back, and he let himself go limp, relaxing 
totally into Spock's keeping.  "I wanted to.  If you did, 
why didn't you ever ask--?"

"One does not ask a slave.  And I had given you my word, 
which I have never broken.  Nor have I ever taken an 
unwilling bedmate, slave or free.  Now that you have 
come, however, I will keep you."

"Yes, my lord."  Kirk felt an unaccustomed thrill at the 
possessive note in the Vulcan's voice, and he began to 
tremble when a hand slid between his thighs.

"I wish to see if you have been injured."

Kirk glanced down at himself, flushing deeply as he saw 
the trails of dried semen that streaked his thighs and 
belly.  Spock probed carefully, his expression one of 
satisfaction as the Human showed no signs of pain--
indeed, his breathing grew harsher, and a soft moan 
sounded in his throat as the fingers were withdrawn.

"For the moment the mating urge is burned out in me," 
said the Vulcan.  He continued on a teasing note, 
"However, I cannot permit such an excellent slave to 
suffer discomfort."

Unbelievingly, Kirk watched as the sleek head bent to his 
groin, the hot wet mouth caressed him, the green tongue 
licked, circled, teased his penis erect.  Helplessly he 
arched upwards and the soft lips parted, drawing him into 
the heat of Spock's mouth, a slow delicious sucking 
began, travelling the full length of the shaft, and he 
entwined his fingers in the dark hair, pressing his 
master's head closer.

As the Human's hips rose, Spock slid one hand underneath, 
probing between the quivering buttocks his fingers worked 
deep inside Kirk, producing an almost unbearable 
pleasure, while his free hand pulled at each erect nipple 
in turn.  The relentless sucking quickened, and Kirk 
sobbed as he convulsed in orgasm, his semen spurting down 
the Vulcan's throat.  Then he was held close in Spock's 
arms, his master's weight bearing him down as an 
impatient tongue demanded entrance to his mouth.  With a 
sigh of pleasure, the Human abandoned himself to the 
embrace, gripping Spock tightly as he returned the 
caress.

The afternoon was well advanced when Kirk and Spock rose 
at last and went to bathe.  They washed each other this 
time, a slow process, for each was distracted by the 
proximity of the other and the gliding touch of flesh on 
moist flesh.

A call from Spock brought one of the general slaves 
hurrying with food.  They ate hungrily, then returned to 
the bed where they lay quietly together, exploring each 
other's body with a wondering curiosity, taking the time 
to be gentle until desire began to burn in them again, 
driving them to clutch at each other with blind hunger.

There was no trace of apprehension or reluctance in Kirk 
now.  He was as eager as Spock, reveling in the sheer 
physical enjoyment.  The richly sensual caresses and his 
utter abandon delighted the Vulcan.  Spock thought dimly 
that the tales he had heard of Human responsiveness were 
less than the truth.  The writhing body impaled on his, 
arching and shivering in response to every movement of 
his exploring hands, gave him a pleasure he had never 
before experienced.  He teased the Human mercilessly, 
watching with delight Kirk's helpless trembling.  For a 
moment he wondered what it must be like to endure such 
sensations, then he pushed the thought aside.  He would 
never know, for a warrior did not submit to a slave.  
Perhaps even the release he granted Kirk that morning was 
more than he should have done, but he had been curious to 
taste the cool Human flesh.  At the memory he 
instinctively sought the pinkish-brown nipples, sucking 
contently as he listened to Kirk's harsh breathing.  Then 
he turned so that the Human fitted snugly into the curve 
of his body and his hand was free to manipulate Kirk's 
penis.  With a sudden thrust of his hips he inserted 
himself into the Human, but save for the movement of his 
hand he remained absolutely still.  Kirk's trembling as 
he was slowly, deliberately milked provided enough 
friction to bring him to an exquisite climax, his semen 
pouring into the cool body as Kirk's ejaculation bathed 
his hand.  

Remaining inserted, Spock settled languidly to sleep.  
"Indeed, I will keep you," he murmured.


Thereafter, Kirk took his place in his master's bed with 
eager anticipation, knowing that while he would be used 
to the limits of his endurance, he would not be hurt or 
humiliated.  The Vulcan seemed always to take great care 
to ensure that his slave, too, was satisfied, and an 
unadmitted affection grew steadily and slowly between the 
two.

Kirk was not, however, entirely at peace.  He was well 
treated, even indulged.  He had a considerate master, his 
days were full and busy.  His nights were spent in the 
arms of a lover who caressed and wooed him to pleasure, 
not at the mercy of a sadist.  The common camp drudges 
envied him, and he knew how fortunate he was--for a 
slave.

But he was a slave.  No privileges could alter that or 
remove the metal collar locked securely around his 
throat.  However easy his position now, there was no 
security for him.  Spock could tire of him at any moment 
and sell him.  He would be passed from owner to owner, 
bed to bed, until he was old, too worn out to give 
pleasure, and then he would be cast aside as a drudge for 
the younger men who would replace him.

Sometimes he imagined how it might have been if he were 
free, Spock's chosen, freely-consenting companion.  What 
a challenge it would have been--a new world to explore 
and enjoy, his lover at his side, a new life to carve 
from this strange, beautiful and terrible world!  But it 
was an impossible dream, and he set it aside with clear-
eyed realism, thinking instead of the choices that 
actually faced him.

If he remained with Spock, he must accept slavery, put 
aside forever any hope of freedom.  He would have to 
learn to think, and act, as a slave, submitting his own 
will and desires to those of his master--or to a 
succession of masters.  It was no use pretending--any 
romantic notions that Spock might be so in love with him 
that he would keep the Human as his life companion he 
dismissed as the wishful thinking it was.

Even in the intimacy of their bed he was still a slave.  
One night, greatly daring, he had taken advantage of 
Spock's gentleness to whisper his almost unbearable 
longing to possess his master.  Spock had not been angry, 
but he had been emphatic--a warrior did not submit to a 
slave.  Spock would willingly use his hands and mouth to 
give Kirk release, but more than that was unthinkable.

Such a life was natural for Spock, molded as he was by 
generations of slave owners, but for Kirk it was 
impossible.  However much he longed to remain with Spock, 
his fierce independence could not long endure 
subjugation.

He also faced the knowledge that he would never be able 
to go home.  There was no way back.  Ever.  His only 
alternative, if he valued his integrity as a man, if his 
ideals of freedom and choice were to be preserved, lay in 
escape.  And even that held no promise of safety.  
Assuming he managed to leave the well-guarded camp 
without detection, there was an enormous expanse of 
unknown desert to cross to reach what little concealment 
the mountains offered a fugitive.  Alone, he would be 
vulnerable prey for the savage le-matyas, or the wild 
sehlats known to roam the rocky heights.  Somehow, he 
must locate one of the bands of escaped slaves and join 
them . . . join them in a life as dangerous as that of 
any hunted creature.  And if he were recaptured by a 
Vulcan . . . then he would share the fate of the pitiful 
wretch he had seen butchered in his early days in the 
camp.  But he would be free . . . and that was the choice 
a man would make . . . wasn't it?

As he asked himself the question, Kirk knew the answer, 
but for the moment he took no action.  He rationalized 
that it would be wiser to learn all that Spock was 
willing to teach him first.  The more he knew, the better 
equipped he would be to survive.  It was, Kirk 
considered, the practical, sensible decision.  He would 
take his opportunity when it came, and until then he 
would take what bittersweet pleasure he could.

Kirk applied himself to his training with a new 
enthusiasm, telling himself that now he was not merely 
pleasing his master, but actively preparing himself for a 
life of freedom.  There were many lessons to be learned, 
and not only the skills of the warriors, for Spock 
insisted that he be taught to read and write Vulcan.  His 
easy understanding of the spoken language had at first 
puzzled him, but Spock explained that the traders, to 
facilitate understanding between bewildered, confused 
slaves and their new masters, implanted in each slave a 
mechanical device that translated the new language, 
allowing the slave to understand what was said to him.  
Speech followed more slowly.  The written language, 
though, had to be learned in the normal fashion, and 
Spock had persuaded one of Selon's advisors to undertake 
the task of tutor; it was a complex, difficult language, 
but Kirk's keen mind took to the lessons with enthusiasm, 
and he made rapid progress.  The texts used served him in 
another way, for as his understanding grew, he also 
learned more of the history and customs of his new world.  
Spock, too, was perfectly willing to discuss such matters 
with him, treating him more and more as a companion as 
time passed.

There were still reminders of his slavery, some of which 
Kirk resented bitterly.  Except when they were alone 
Spock required of him the passive obedience expected of 
any slave, so that he was often compelled to serve Spock 
at table, kneeling humbly to present the dishes.  Though 
he ate the same food as his master, and it was brought to 
the tent so that he did not have to line up for the less 
appetizing food served to the general slaves, his plate 
was always filled and handed to him, and though he was 
granted the unusual concession of being allowed wine, it 
was always sipped from his master's goblet.

In other ways, his life grew easier.  His strict 
confinement to Spock's tent was eased, and he moved about 
the camp with growing confidence, learning of the life of 
the warriors.  His wardrobe, which until now had 
consisted only of the revealing silks of a pleasure 
slave, was at Spock's command enlarged to include more 
concealing garments of soft leather, and while these were 
no doubt practical for a fighting slave, Kirk was also 
very well aware, and was pleased by the knowledge, that 
his master was jealous of the admiring glances cast at 
him.  Apart from his tutors, and a few of Spock's closest 
friends, he was almost totally isolated, for he was not 
permitted to speak to any of the other slaves unless to 
relay Spock's orders.  More, wherever he went, one of 
Spock's friends always seemed to be within earshot.  He 
resented this bitterly, seeing it as proof that his 
master did not trust him, but when one day Satak appeared 
in time to rescue him from an attempted assault by Savak, 
he understood it was done for his protection, and was 
grateful--though it was not considered correct to force a 
slave without his master's consent, in practice the 
incident was ignored unless the slave was damaged.  



The days flew past for Kirk, until he was startled by 
Spock's announcement one evening that they would be 
leaving the camp the next day.  The novice warriors had 
been ordered to return home to fulfill their obligations 
to their families, and Spock intended to use the journey 
as a test of how well Kirk had absorbed his own training.  
Wiser now in the ways of this world, the Human packed 
what he considered the necessary supplies for the journey 
across the wastelands to Spock's home, then curled up 
with a chart to plan the best route to take.

Having made his decision, he submitted his list of 
supplies and the outline of his chosen route to Spock and 
was pleased when Spock commended him.

"I leave the journey in your hands, Jim," Spock said.  "I 
would ask you to remember, though, that you are as yet 
unaccustomed to traveling in the heat of Vulcan.  I 
suggest that you consider that.  It is of no importance 
if we spend a day to two longer than usual on the 
journey.  I would prefer that than having you overtax 
your strength too soon."

"I'll remember," Kirk promised, inwardly determined to 
prove his stamina.



They set off at sunrise, to begin the journey before the 
rising sun burned the early freshness form the air.  As 
the camp vanished behind them, Kirk gave an unconscious 
sigh of pleasure as he surveyed the landscape ahead.  
After his long confinement to the immediate area of the 
camp, the vast open space ahead lured him with the 
prospect of new adventures.  From the map he knew that 
they were skirting the edge of the Red Desert, so-called 
from the color of the harsh sand.  Ahead of them towered 
the craggy peaks of a mountain range, but on this trip 
they would not be required to climb.  After four days 
they would turn from the direct path down through the 
rich farmlands of the Langoc valley toward the city of 
ShiKahr and the home of Spock's family.

As he had promised, Spock allowed Kirk to set their pace 
for the day, noting with approval that the Human called a 
halt during the heat of the day.  Kirk had sensibly taken 
account of his greater vulnerability to the climate and 
had not, as the Vulcan had half feared he might, striven 
to impress by carrying on under difficult conditions.  
Instead he showed that his survival lessons had been well 
learned, improvising a shelter by using their desert 
cloaks to provide some shade from the blazing sun.  Only 
when the heat had abated slightly did he indicate his 
readiness to move on, following the course he had set 
that morning.

Despite the heat, Kirk enjoyed the ride.  His mount was 
one of the powerful stallions ridden by the warriors, 
their equipment carried by the pack beast that would have 
been his had he still been merely a pleasure slave.  On 
Earth, riding had been one of his favorite occupations, 
and he had spent many holidays in the saddle, exploring 
the wild areas of countryside that remained unsettled by 
man after the ravages of the Eugenics Wars; though this 
was not his world, and the Vulcan animals differed in 
some ways from the horses he was used to, he quickly fell 
into the old rhythm, adjusting quickly to the fact that 
his mount responded to spoken commands rather than the 
hand and leg signals he was used to.

They made good time for the remainder of the day, halting 
for the night at a small oasis which had been marked on 
Spock's chart.  Kirk glanced around appreciatively as he 
dismounted, finding the cool green of the desert plants a 
welcome relief after the harsh glare of the red sand.

The first task was to care for their mounts, and with 
this Spock was prepared to help.  A warrior in camp was 
attended in all things by slaves, but on a journey each 
understood the importance of caring first for the animals 
on which their lives could depend.

Kirk led his stallion to the water hole, and stood 
watching as the beast quenched its thirst.  The water 
looked cool and inviting, and he wondered if he would be 
allowed to swim.

"You may," Spock answered his unspoken question, seeing 
the longing in the Human's eyes with understanding.  "I 
know this oasis.  The water in the pool is fed and 
drained by underground streams.  Prepare food while I see 
to the animals, then we will both bathe before we eat."

Kirk obeyed, building a fire as he had been shown, and 
setting their food to cook.  He then smoothed a patch of 
ground and laid out the bedding they had brought.  This 
consisted of a light, warm sleeping bag large enough for 
them both.  It was, after all, the duty of a slave to 
warm his master in the cold of the desert night.

By the time they had eaten, and Kirk had cleared the 
remains of the meal, he was very tired.  He sat down on 
the cover and Spock knelt beside him, touching him 
lightly.  He wondered if the Vulcan would require his 
services.  For a moment the dark eyes surveyed him, then 
unexpectedly the Vulcan smiled, caught his arm, and 
pulled him in beside him.

"For tonight, you may sleep," the soft voice murmured.  
"I think that you are too weary to be responsive, Jim."

"Yes, I am," Kirk admitted, wondering with a shudder what 
Savak's response would have been to a suggestion that his 
slave needed rest.  "It's only because I'm still a little 
out of condition," he added hastily.

Spock's only response was a faint smile as he pulled the 
Human closer, lifting the fair head to his shoulder.  
Sleepily, Kirk snuggled into the warmth of the body 
pressed to his, and closed his eyes.
	
Dawn found them already preparing to move on.  Kirk was 
loading the pack beast while Spock refilled the water 
bottles from the pool.  As Jim bent to lift the last pack 
into place he winced slightly, then grinned.  Spock might 
have let him sleep last night, but he had certainly made 
up for lost time this morning.  If Humans were valued for 
their sensuality, he thought, Vulcan could take credit 
for more than their share of stamina.  He wondered what 
it would take to sate Spock completely and hoped that he 
would never have to find out.

Settling the pack into place, Kirk turned to saddle his 
mount, when a cry of warning from Spock brought him 
around to see the Vulcan surrounded by a band of roughly 
dressed men.  He started forward, cursing the fact that 
his sword was out of reach, but a hand caught his 
shoulder, swinging him around.

"Stay, lad.  You're free now."

His captor was a Human male in his forties.  His dark 
hair and beard were grizzled, his tanned face deeply 
seamed, his body lean and tough.  A slave collar 
encircled his neck.

"My name is Foster, all my men are former slaves."  He 
smiled reassuringly.  "All of us escaped from our 
masters, and we have a base in the mountains.  Lucky for 
you we topped here.  We've been raiding the villages 
beyond the desert."

"We've got him, Foster!" one of the men called, and Kirk 
looked round to see that Spock, overwhelmed by sheer 
weight of numbers, was being expertly bound hand and 
foot.

"Be right with you, Tyno.  Come and have a look at him, 
lad.  He's not so dangerous now."

Kirk followed Foster over to the group, noting that many 
of the slaves showed signs that the Vulcan had not been 
easily overcome.  Spock looked up at him 
expressionlessly, green blood running down his face from 
a cut on his temple.

"What's your name, lad, Kirk?  We use surnames here, 
those of us that have them.  Our masters were too free 
with our own.  Care to join us?  It's not an easy life, 
but at least you'll be free."

"I'd hoped for a chance," Kirk said slowly.  "But would I 
be welcome?  I was . . . a pleasure slave."

"We know that," Foster answered.  "I'm sorry, Kirk, but 
we saw what that bastard did to you.  We couldn't risk 
springing the trap too early in case there were more like 
him around.  As for what you were--you probably don't 
know yourself at this point.  It won't be held against 
you.  Tyno here was the same and had no more choice than 
you did."

"Then I'll come."  Kirk could scarcely believe his good 
fortune.  Not only had he found the free slaves without 
even looking for them, but he wouldn't have to undertake 
the uncertain journey to the mountains alone.  It was 
just a change in plans.  Instead of the journey with 
Spock, it would be a journey to freedom.

"What will you do with him?" he asked, indicating Spock, 
who looked away in supreme indifference.

Foster looked down at the bound figure.  "We'll take him 
with us," he said, "blind him first, just in case he 
should get away, but that's not likely.  Anyway they've 
butchered enough of us; it's worth the risk to play 
turnabout."

"I see."  Kirk had to swallow back nausea.  He could  
hate to the death . . . a quick death, such as Spock had 
given the Pavan, but beyond--blinding, torturing.  He 
felt suddenly cold and weak and Foster caught him as he 
staggered.

"You sick?"

"I--no--it's just that we traveled all day yesterday, it 
was so hot, and he wouldn't let me rest . . . "  He 
leaned on Foster, faking more weakness than he felt.  Not 
sure why.

"Never mind.  You'll have the day to rest up.  There's 
little chance of being discovered here and we prefer to 
travel at night ourselves.  You'll feel better then."

The slaves made a quick, rough search of their supplies 
and helped themselves to the dried fruit and trailbread.  
Kirk supposed it was better than they were used to.  They 
set up a sort of sloppy camp, one or two sheltering 
together against the heat.  Spock lay where he had 
fallen, and no one made any effort to provide him with 
shelter or water, even when the noon sun beat down 
directly.  On impulse, to see how far his "freedom" 
really went, Kirk took a waterskin out to Spock and 
offered him a drink.  The Vulcan turned his head aside.

"Hold his nose and make him drink," some one shouted, "we 
don't want him to die on us--too soon."

Foster had been watching.  He walked over, grabbed 
Spock's hair and pulled his head back.

"He can drink it or wear it," he said with a gesture.

Kirk let the water splash over the Vulcan's face, washing 
away the dirt and blood.  He had not really expected 
Spock to drink at his bidding.

The day seemed long to Kirk, but he was in no hurry for 
the end of it if it meant Spock's mutilation.  A clean 
death, yes, if that was the price of freedom.  But 
torture . . . 

Spock also thought the day long.  When he could, he 
watched the group of slaves, their attempts to befriend 
Kirk, Kirk's uncertain, but increasing response.  As 
treacherous as he is beautiful, he thought.  I thought 
him content, but it was merely a slave's pretense.  Can 
he be blamed for desiring freedom?  An interesting 
question, but not one he should be considering now.  A 
slave was a slave.  A hunting cat taken from the wild 
could be trained, taught--but never returned to it.  They 
lost the will to fend for themselves.  He knew the length 
of lives these slaves could expect--the poverty of it and 
the fear.  He did not want that for Jim.  A wise master 
rewarded obedience and punished defiance until there was 
no thought.  A well trained cat would attack a sehlat to 
protect its injured master, so should a slave.  The 
interval between command and compliance was the measure 
of good training--he had neglected much in his indulgence 
of this slave.  And yet bound, under sentence, he still 
knew that he wanted more from James Kirk than mere 
obedience.  And that was folly, against the creed by 
which he lived, and it had brought him to his death.

Kirk said he felt well enough to help with the meal the 
slaves prepared that evening.  "I was well trained," he 
said ruefully.  "I served enough spiced wine.  For once 
I'd like to taste it."  His suggestion was well received, 
and he watched the wine take effect, with some 
satisfaction.  Even Spock, with the cold of the night 
ahead, facing his ordeal, drank without protest.  Kirk 
had no way of knowing, and Spock would not admit, even to 
himself, that it was not the wine that warmed him, but 
the touch of one Human hand, the scent of alien flesh . . 
. 

Spock came slowly awake to realize that he was lying 
comfortably wrapped in the sleeping bag before a blazing 
fire.  His hands were free, and no time at all seemed to 
have passed, but he knew at once that they were in a 
different place.  The three beasts were tethered nearby, 
and Kirk, alone, knelt tending the fire.  His vision 
blurred for a moment, and he recognized the symptom as an 
aftermath of his head wound.  The camping place was 
familiar, too, and it was two days ride from the oasis 
where the escaped slaves had overpowered him.

The rustle of movement as he tried to sit up brought Kirk 
instantly to his side.

"Be careful," he said.  An arm slid round his shoulders, 
supporting him.  "Can you see better?  Do you remember 
what happened?"

Spock ignored the question.  "Bring me water," he 
commanded.  At the tone, some of the vitality in Kirk's 
face quietly drained away and his shoulders drooped.

"Yes,  master," he said.  There was something in the tone 
that didn't belong there, and Spock reached for the 
memory of some train of thought he had had earlier, after 
his capture, but it eluded him.  The water cleared his 
head and memory, though, and he remembered nothing that 
would explain two day's worth of unconsciousness.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"I--I drugged the renegades."

"And me?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Why?"

"Because I couldn't free you.  They were my people, and 
free men.  By now, they're far out of reach.  Safe . . . 
in the mountains."

Spock broke the silence with another command.  "More 
water."  Wordlessly, Kirk filled the cup and brought it.

"You could have gone with them.  You risked death to go 
free once before, this time there was no risk.  Why 
didn't you go?"

"You were wounded, even if I could have persuaded them to 
let you go, or tricked them somehow, into thinking you 
had escaped--you would have been alone and helpless in 
the desert.  You've been feverish--delirious.  I was a 
man before Vulcan made me a slave, Spock.  You saved me 
from torture.  Now I have done the same for you!"

"Jim--"

Kirk turned away, hiding tears of weariness, long effort, 
and hopelessness. "Please, let me alone!"

"But you have been--"

"A loyal, docile, obedient pet!"  Kirk swung around.  
"You talked in your sleep, Spock.  About how to train 
hunting cats and slaves.  I gave up my freedom for a 
discourse on behavior modification.  When is a man not a 
man?  When he's a slave.  Which I am, by my own choice!"

"If you regret . . . "

"Regret?"  Kirk laughed harshly.  "Of course I regret!  I 
could be free this minute, and I know you'll never give 
me another chance after this, and I am a fool--"  He 
swayed as he spoke, and the Vulcan looked up sharply.

"How long have we been traveling?"

"Since we left, all night and through the day.  I was 
afraid they'd come after us."

"You have had too much sun.  Jim, come here."

Kirk half fell to his knees beside Spock, dizzy, sick, 
wanting to go, hating himself for wanting to, unable to 
stop the tears.  "What could I do?" he asked helplessly.  
"They were going to kill you."

Spock gathered the trembling figure close, cradled the 
golden head against his shoulder.  "I know," he soothed, 
"I know.  It's over, now.  Sleep."

The following morning Spock had regained his strength, 
and it was Kirk who was listless and weak so that Spock 
considered resting for the day.  He decided to press on, 
however, because they were a mere half-day's ride from 
his home, and if the Human's condition worsened, he 
wanted a healer within reach.  As a precaution, he took 
the slave up before him as he rode, concealing him in the 
folds of his light desert cloak.  Kirk slept most of the 
time, relaxing confidently in the curve of his master's 
arm, and Spock found himself fighting a curious, 
possessive tenderness as he gazed down at the quiet face.

He was, quite frankly, puzzled.  The Human could have 
been free, but had chosen to remain in slavery, not 
because he wished it, or because he had been trained to 
the point of mindless obedience, but to guard the man who 
owned him, and whose ownership he resented.  Ownership--
not Spock himself.  The unguarded responsiveness was 
real.  The resentment was real.  If Kirk had been free, 
what a warrior he would have made.  Safely out of Savak's 
sadistic hands, Kirk had shown a strength of character 
that any man must respect, and for the first time Spock 
began to understand how it was possible to become . . . 
fond of a slave.  He looked down at the warm body in his 
arms.  This was no mere bed slave, the responsive body 
had its own resilience and strength.  The wine-gold eyes 
that could glow so softly with passion could also turn 
steely with determination, and the warm, seductive mouth 
harden in resolution.

Almost without realizing it, Spock had forgotten all his 
plans to take a mate of his own race.  Kirk was the one 
he wanted, and his arms tightened in determination to 
keep him.  Think--he must think, plan, find a way . . .   
The increased pressure woke Kirk, and his sensitive lips 
curved in a mocking smile.

"I thought we were sleeping," he said.

"We are almost there.  You can see the house now."

Refreshed by his rest, Kirk was sitting up alertly as 
they rode into the courtyard, but Spock had refused to 
let him resume his own mount.  He remained silent as the 
household slaves ran out to welcome Spock home, feeling a 
little overwhelmed by the sheer size of the sprawling 
edifice before him.  He followed closely at his master's 
heels as Spock hurried inside, to be greeted by a 
handsome older Vulcan who smiled with pleasure at his 
arrival.

"You are most welcome, my son."  The man gestured at the 
slave's activity.  "As you see, you are a little before 
the time we expected you."

"I might have been long after it, but for my slave."

Kirk knelt respectfully as the older Vulcan turned toward 
him.  Spock recounted his capture by the renegades, and 
his father's face darkened.

"I will order a pursuit."

Spock felt the tension in the kneeling figure beside him.  
"Useless, I fear, Sarek.  They will have reached their 
hidden stronghold by now."  Without looking he felt the 
subtle relaxation.

"A continuing hazard.  We will mount a campaign against 
them one day and end it.  But you were fortunate that 
your slave remained loyal.  Human is he not?  It is long 
since one of his race served in this house.  He is 
beautiful . . . in an alien fashion, of course."

"Beautiful, intelligent, and courageous.  He is being 
trained to serve me in battle, and has made excellent 
progress."

"Curious.  I have never heard of a pleasure slave being 
fit to bear arms.  Still, I agree, it would be a pity to 
waste such spirit.  Now, would you care to rest for a 
time after your journey?  I will expect you to attend the 
family dinner this evening, then T'Pring waits to serve 
you.  I am confident she will give you a healthy child."

"Yes, I would rest, Sarek," Spock said, more concerned 
for his slave than himself.  "Come, James."

Kirk followed as Spock led the way from the entranc