originally published as "You Always Hurt The One You Love"
Return to Valjiir Stories
The light from Canti’s double moons shone pale and silver. It gleamed dully off the helms and spears of the four guards who stood, one at each corner around the square’s central platform. Two figures hung from the wooden frames on that platform, arms outstretched, heads down. The blood on their backs had caked, the taut cording across their sides giving indication that their legs did not support them. One opened his eyes, winced at the searing fire in his muscles, stifling a groan. The guard nearest him turned and poked the prisoner’s face with his spear. The body jerked away, fresh blood beginning to well from the reopened wound on his cheek. The eyes closed, the head again dropping forward.
The guard chuckled, then whirled at the unmistakable sound of coin against coin. Someone stood in the shadows, holding out a leather pouch. It jingled appealingly. The guard considered. He’d been given no special orders concerning these prisoners. They were securely tied, and there were three other men guarding them. If someone was offering him gold, or even silver, just to leave his post for half a minute… He stepped forward.
The man never knew what hit him. Crona thrust a dagger through his throat, preventing any sound but a hissing gurgle that, to the ears of the other guards, could easily have come from one of the prisoners. The lifeless body was eased into shadow.
Tomlan killed another guard the same way. Leaan lured with something other than money, but her target died just as quickly. Silver did the same, but when the man came close to her, her hand shot out, grasping him at the point just between neck and shoulder. She stared in surprise as he fell to the ground, not knowing what she had done or why. But she took no time to ponder it. She crept, a pale shadow, onto the platform. The sight of Sulu’s bleeding face cut deeply into her and she felt tears welling in her eyes as she began sawing through the thick ropes.
“He’d better be worth the risk, Silver.” Tomlan’s voice was cold.
“Keep quiet!” Silver hissed. Leann climbed up onto the platform, followed by Crona. She looked at Tomlan’s face, and at Silver’s, then whispered to Crona.
“Crona, help Silver.” The man nodded, and she shoved Tomlan toward the other prisoner. “What’s wrong with you?” was a fierce whisper. “Silver isn’t yours. If she loves this man, it’s up to us to help save him. We took all responsibility when we took her in. That’s the way of things. You know this!”
“But the dark man said he was of the star people,” Tomlan insisted.
“And perhaps Crona is right, dolt! She may well be herself. That would explain the badge, would it not?”
“She remembers nothing before the dark man,” Tomlan pointed out. “Leaan, what if she was exiled, her memory taken as punishment? What if the dark man was her punishment? What if she was given to him as a slave, or…”
“All the more reason to help her now,” Leann said grimly.
“But if that were true, we could be sending her to death or worse by letting these star people know where she is! Better to leave them, or to finish the job ourselves…”
“Tomlan, control your jealousies for once in your life!” Leaan demanded caustically. “Silver’s been terrified of the dark man. Does she seem terrified of this Sulu?”
Tomlan turned away, grumbling. Leann sighed in disgust, then stepped back to Silver who was, with Crona’s help, carrying a half-conscious Sulu off the platform. “What of this one?” Leaan asked, indicating Spock.
Silver closed her eyes. I should help him. I have a duty… as kindred… Her mind was filled with the image of the golden-haired woman, colored by emotions of deep, abiding devotion hidden from others… push, push push… then came other images, distorted and frightening, heat and hunger and fierce, hooded eyes, strange commands and weary, frightened purple eyes – then awe and wonder and the woman was reaching for the olive-skinned one, for Spock… she who fulfills…
The pain in her head began again. She let her mind go blank and it subsided. But the knowledge of what she had to do remained.
“Bring him to the café,” she said softly to Leann. “There is one there who will care for him.”
Leann hissed orders at Tomlan who, irritably, helped her cut the ropes which bound Spock to the lattice. With obvious surprise at the weight of the slender body, they carried him to the door of the café. Then, with Silver and Crona supporting Sulu, they rushed silently into the shadows, away from the square.
Ruth couldn’t sleep. After talking with Scotty, she’d beamed back down to Canti, knowing that her flamboyancy would be missed if she stayed away from the café too long. I believe I mentioned the advantages of remaining inconspicuous echoed in her mind. I should have known. He’s always right. I could be on the Enterprise right now, helping Scotty and Bones convince Admiral Mendez to let us blast the damn Klingon to whatever hell will have him. But no. I had to be ostentatious. Men talk to a pretty girl my ass.
Scotty had been quite surprised by their news of a Klingon presence on Canti. There had been no indication. There was no Klingon ship in orbit or anywhere else in the area. No suspect transmission had been intercepted or monitored. In fact, there was no evidence of any kind – except, of course, for the fact that McCoy, Uhura, and Ruth had all seen a Klingon. Scotty had immediately called Mendez to request emergency permission to break the Prime Directive. Of course, he intended to whether permission was forthcoming or not, if necessary to rescue the captain. Kevin Riley had been found in the same mental condition as Monique DuBois; both of them had near total amnesia with almost unbearable pain associated with name, rank, the ship, the Federation – anything connected to their lives in Starfleet. M’Benga had them both sedated and unless she wanted to fall asleep herself, there was nothing Ruth could do to try to aid them until they woke. And there was still no sign of Jilla.
And so while Scotty and McCoy and Uhura all argued with Starfleet protocol, Ruth paced restlessly around the café. Scotty had cautioned her against taking any action – like marching to the damned square, cutting them down and healing them – that would reveal their presence before he had exhausted all reasonable attempts to secure permission. She shuddered, memory screaming just behind her eyes. She would have beaten the damn Klingon off with sheer mental energy if McCoy hadn’t talked some sense into her. And Z would’ve made sure I ended up a sauvrn for it. But goddess, how can I stand it? How can I let them just hang there?
Do you know what such an act would do to the captain?
Yeah, yeah, shut up, I’m not going, am I?
Shaking her head, she determinedly ordered the thoughts from her mind. There was nothing she could do but wait, not while the captain was still held captive. After a few hours, she’d check in with Scotty, and if there was still no capitulation from Mendez….
She moved restlessly around the darkened café. Her own room off the back had been far too small for the kind of pacing she needed. She glanced dejectedly across the open courtyard now devoid of tables and chairs, to the square beyond. The moonlight shone upon… nothing. The platform was empty. Empty! A wild hope flared in her. They’d gotten free, or Scotty had said to hell with Mendez and beamed them up. Bones, you couldn’t leave them, could you? She turned and started back to her room and the communicator hidden there.
Then she heard a soft moan, and quite distinctly, Miss Valley.
No, that last had been in her head, and in Spock’s voice. She slowly searched the café. There was a prone figure just inside the doorway. She quickly stepped to it, already knowing what she would find, even though not knowing how he got there.
She knelt beside Spock. He was only half conscious. She inspected his back. There wasn’t much left but congealed blood over exposed muscle and a jagged line along his side where the strips of skin had been torn away. Tears filled her eyes, and she hurriedly blinked them away. Bones could render him functional, but with the captain still captive, they needed him at peak efficiency. And he’s not going to be that pumped full of painkillers, stims, and Vulcan stoicism.
Like you’d let anyone talk you out of this anyway.
But goddess, it’s gonna hurt.
She placed her hands just above his back and closed her eyes. “Not necessary, Miss Valley.” Spock’s voice was weak, more than half a groan. I cannot cause you…
Shut up. “The ship needs her First Officer,” Ruth replied firmly, “whole and alert.”
“Dr. McCoy can…” Keheil, you mustn’t.
“Bones is busy.” And I’m better than he is.
“Lieutenant…” The captain….
“That’s enough, Commander.” Her tone was one of authority, and Spock’s surprise registered even through the pain. Ruth concentrated.
Slowly, gradually, Spock felt the pain leaving him. The fresh skin on his back itched fiercely for a moment, then that too subsided. He heard Ruth gasp, her breath forcing its way through clenched teeth. She cried out once, and dropped across him. He waited until she showed signs of stirring, then gently moved her off of him, sitting up.
“Thank you, Miss Valley.”
She raised her head, managing a weak smile.
“Don’t mention it, Boss.”
Ruth called for beam-up, and she and Spock met Scott, McCoy and Uhura in the briefing room aboard the Enterprise.
“What have ye done, lass!” Scott exclaimed. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, sir,” he added to Spock, “but when those thugs find out their whipping posts are gone…”
“Where’s Sulu?” Uhura broke in.
Ruth, who had immediately called for a huge platter of assorted meats from the replicator, tried to answer from around her full mouth.
“I do not know who was responsible for releasing us,” Spock said for her. “Mr. Sulu was not with me when I came to consciousness in front of the café.”
“Spock was lying there when I beamed back down,” Ruth said after hurriedly swallowing. “And I wasn’t about to leave him unattended with the captain god knows where.”
“You should have called to have him beamed up to Sickbay...” McCoy began.
“Where you would have patched him up and fought with him over painkillers,” Ruth interrupted.
“Doctor, with all due respect,” Spock rejoined, “in this case, Miss Valley’s method of healing was preferable. As she stated, with the captain’s life at risk, it was necessary that I be functioning at full capacity.”
“That’s all very well and good,” McCoy returned, “but with the condition Riley and DuBois are in… Well, whatever happened to them just might be happenin’ to Jim because you and Sulu aren’t hangin’ on that platform with your backs torn off.”
“Understood, Doctor, but that is hardly Lieutenant Valley’s fault.”
“But who would free both of you, leave you at the café, and take Sulu…” Uhura wondered aloud, then stopped, her eyes flashing up. She opened her mouth at the same time Ruth blurted out.
“Jilla!”
“But why wouldn’t she have wanted to save you, too?” Scotty asked.
“Perhaps she did,” was Spock’s enigmatic response. “However, it is useless to speculate. This turn of events does call for immediate action if we are to safeguard the captain. What have you to report, Mr. Scott?”
“We’ve scanned the area repeatedly,” Scott said, “and there’s no sign of a Klingon ship. How the devil he got here…”
“Have you scanned for Romulan vessels?” Spock interrupted.
“Romulan?” McCoy and Uhura asked at the same time. “I only saw a Klingon, Spock,” McCoy added.
“His appearance would not be as easily disguised as Governor Kor’s,” was Spock’s reply.
“Kor?” Scotty rejoined. “Is that the black-hearted son-of-a…”
“Yes,” Spock broke in again. “And Commander Tal of the Romulan High Command.”
“Then that explains why we can’t detect a ship,” Uhura put in. “We still haven’t discovered how to counteract the Romulan cloaking device.”
“If the sensors scan for its signature, I am certain it will be revealed,” Spock agreed.
“Well, that information will certainly help matters,” Scott said, “but it’ll take at least two days for an answer from Fleet concerning the Directive regardless.”
“It is doubtful that we will receive the permission we seek,” Spock said. “Despite the fact that knowledge of our culture is already part of Cantian mythos, and regardless of the fact that both the Klingons and Romulans are involved, it would be disastrous if these people were to gain any first-hand knowledge of our advanced weaponry. The divisive feelings between the government and the outlanders would result in complete annihilation for both sides. Therefore, what we do must be accomplished without blatantly exposing our technology.” He paused. “On the planet’s surface, I was approached by a revolutionary group asking for the help of the star people in overthrowing the established authority which we now know to be controlled by the Romulans and the Klingons.” He glanced at the other officers in the room. McCoy was staring at him, a look of shocked delight growing on his face. Scottish bloodlust gleamed in Scott’s eyes. Ruth and Uhura exchanged excited glances. “I think,” Spock finished, “they will receive it.”
“Hot damn, we get to start a revolution!” Ruth shouted then smiled contritely at Spock. “Sorry, Boss.”
Through a curtain of mist, Sulu could see Jilla, sitting just on the edge of the bed, gowned in a cloud of ebony. Her small fingers coaxed slow, sweet music from the strings of her lyrette. Her voice was a night song, full of wonder and beauty, filling the cabin with the sound of peace and desire and gentle passion. He smiled at her. She looked up at him, her eyes warm and willing, and set the instrument down, moving gracefully into his arms. He whispered her name. Her answer was full of tenderness.
I love you, Sulu.
The mist swirled and shifted and he was no longer looking at their quarters. There was a small fire with a vine-covered wall flickering in its light. Dimly he could make out figures moving. Then the pain returned, rapidly growing to overwhelm all but the memory; the whip burning, biting into his flesh, Spock’s silence, the slash across his face, all coalescing back to searing agony. Voices penetrated his thought, pin-pricks against the torment:
“Lie him here. Be careful, he is hurt!”
“These are numbing herbs. I’ll steep them for you, Silver.”
“He can barely keep conscious, Silver. Leave him to his rest and come to bed. You need sleep.”
He was about to allow his awareness to again fade to painless nothingness, when the first voice spoke again.
“Tomlan, I am bound to him. It was wrong, and I will lay with you no more. Sulu is the one I love.”
Night song, wonder, tenderness… desire, passion, warmth… deep wine red and silver… Silver… “Jilla?” he croaked.
He heard a sudden gasp, then a deep breath and a murmured, “Sulu…” He raised his head. Fire shot through him, his vision blurring, but he could see well enough to identify her. Jilla sat beside him, her eyes closed, her hands wringing a wet cloth. Her uniform was in tatters, a ragged skirt around her waist. Her pale face was smudged with dirt, her hair tangled and wild and he was certain he’d never seen anything more beautiful.
“Jilla!” he cried, the sound catching in strangled pain. He saw her face contort and he suddenly remembered the report on Monique. The pretty young navigator had amnesia, with unbearable pain associated with any mention of the ship, Starfleet, even her… I’ll steep them for you, Silver. He can barely keep conscious, Silver. He inhaled sharply, gritting his teeth against the fierce stinging from his back and spoke again. “Silver…”
Silver’s head throbbed in agony. She couldn’t understand why Sulu's voice started the pain, when it was his name that took it away. She tried to block it out, tried to fight the darkness that threatened her. She was aware of Tomlan’s bitter disappointment turning to anger even before he spoke to Leaan.
“See? I told you! He causes her pain!”
Then Sulu spoke again, calling her ‘Silver’ and the pain began to recede. She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked down into his dark, anguished eyes.
“My silver…” he said, his voice barely a rasp.
“Sulu!” Her whispered cry was both joy and relief as the pounding in her head stopped. She bent to him, pulling his head and shoulders into her arms, cradling him, kissing his uninjured cheek. She felt his wince and heard the groan that escaped him, and immediately pulled away. “Forgive me,” she murmured, “you are in pain.” Gently she urged him to lie fully on his stomach, removing the remnants of the shirt that hung from his arms. “I have a numbweed,” she continued. “It will ease you.” Carefully she squeezed the cloth onto the wound on his face, then rewet it and let its soothing coolness fall to the fire on his back. “You are badly hurt, my love,” she said. “You must rest if you are to heal. Do not worry, I will tend to you.” Her fingers brushed tenderly across his face, trailing the soothing liquid over his inflamed cheek. He choked on a hiss of pain, his eyes closing and she felt consciousness leave him. Once again wetting the cloth, she spread it carefully over his back, then got a thin blanket to cover him against the night’s chill. She lay down next to him, pressing her body to his side and knew peace for the first time since awakening to this confused and chaotic existence.
The sun was beginning to rise. Tomlan sat at the edge of the fire, staring disgustedly at the woman who had shared his bed for the past week. She knelt, the head of the one she called Sulu resting in her lap, gently washing the numbweed over his back. She had cleaned most of the blood away, revealing sharply raised welts and long, deep cuts, the flesh bruised and torn around them. The scarring would be bad. Her eyes were shining, the unshed tears glistening in them as she gazed with obvious devotion at the still-unconscious man.
He turned away. She should be at his side, not with this star man. Where had he been when she was wandering the streets, starving and feverish? It had been Tomlan who had taken her in, cared for her, held her through those first days of pain and terror. He had used her, yes, but what of that? She was a woman, and he a man. Had he not comforted her when the nightmares came, though they were frequent and she refused to speak about them? Had he not protected her, though she insisted on keeping her identifying clothing? Had he not warmed her, eased her, even to the point of rescuing one who she wanted? Where was his reward, where was her gratitude? If she was from the star people, why hadn’t they come to rescue her?
And she says she is bound to him, that he is the one she loves, Tomlan thought angrily. What use is he to her? He will not warm her, how can he comfort her? He can barely move!
He considered. He was taller, stronger than the star man, used to the hardships of street life. This Sulu had no doubt lived easy in the stars, and regardless, he was badly injured. It would take him many days to recover, even with the numbweed. What would Silver do when the nightmares returned, and all he could do was whimper and moan in pain? He laughed. Silver had said no more, but would she be so rejecting when the pain in her head overwhelmed her senses? Leaan would not let him simply take her. Even when they had first found her, Leann had insisted Silver be aware and consenting before allowing him to take pleasure from her body. He grumbled at the outlander tribal rights of elder sisters in such matters. Still, I had her consent once. I can earn it again.
That still leaves the problem of Sulu. The thought was sour. If I challenge… no. Leaan will surely forbid it until he is healed. Unless the star man challenged him. Leann could not allow her brother to disgrace himself and his family by declining an honorable challenge. And if Sulu were truly worthy of Silver, he would want to fight for her. And if not….
Tomlan smiled grimly and went back to tending the fire.
“You know, you’re liable to get crucified,” Ruth commented as she and Spock materialized together in the empty side street. Spock’s priest’s robe had been replaced, and Ruth now wore a similar costume, though hers was not hooded.
“Indeed?” Spock returned mildly.
“Well, you stopped the stoning of a prostitute and have taken her under your wing, you were scourged and miraculously healed… the story does have a certain familiar ring to it.”
“Does it.” He wasn’t looking at her, which meant he was teasing her.
“Although you do more closely resemble another prominent character in the Christian mythology…” she mused, then said delightedly, “Wait! I’ve got it! It’s not the second coming! You’re the Anti-Christ! Does the number 666 mean anything to you?”
He suddenly put a hand on her arm. She froze and heard a low whisper.
“Holy One!”
Spock turned. A young woman in rags was crouched behind a broken wagon, her eyes wide. Spock knelt beside her.
“Sosha?” he whispered.
“You escaped them…” Her voice caught and she coughed, sounding not at all healthy. “You are healed…”
“Where are Palin and Frey?” Spock asked.
“Palin was taken. I ran…” she coughed again, blood oozing between her fingers.
“Not quite fast enough,” Ruth commented, although her violet eyes were full of concern.
“Your home is nearby,” Spock said, lifting the woman into his arms. “Is it safe?”
“No… a camp…thieves… near the river… ask for Frey…” Her voice trailed off.
Spock glanced at Ruth. She knew Spock would never ask. She also knew Sosha was a revolutionary, and they would need all they could get, and she ached to heal the woman, but she was barely recovered from his healing, and there was no telling what lay ahead of them. Her back still ached when she thought of it.
They walked in silence through the side streets, the buildings getting shabbier, the surroundings growing more squalid. The pungent smell of a river used for waste disposal grew stronger and they came to a dark, dank runnel which followed the water and eventually widened to a small open air courtyard. There was an encampment hugging the stone wall, dimly lit by small fires and torches.
A man ran up to them, shouting questions.
“Holy One, how did you escape? We thought you were one of them, but… Sosha said you could not be in league with Rison! We saw what was done to you! Yet you are unhurt? How can this be? You were left for dead! Have you returned to help us, Holy One?” He skidded to a stop in front of Spock, staring at the woman in his arms. “Sosha…!" he croaked.
“Frey, Sosha is badly hurt,” Spock said. “Is there one among you who has knowledge of healing?”
Frey’s voice was stricken. “No, Holy One, we are barely existing. We cannot waste our few resources on the services of a healer.” His anguish was plain, tears forming in his eyes.
“Holy One,” Ruth interrupted, “let me take her.”
Spock had knelt to give Sosha over to her brother’s care, and he glanced at her. I must have you fit for duty, Lieutenant, sounded in her mind, and he said aloud, “There is much we need to do.”
“We will have help.” She directed his gaze to one of the campfires. Three men sat warming themselves over it, and Chekov nodded an acknowledgement.
Spock rose. “Very well, my child,” he said. “Do what you can.”
Frey moved aside to allow Ruth to kneel beside Sosha’s unconscious body, then turned, beckoning Spock to one side of the encampment. “Holy One,” he began hesitantly, “I wish to apologize. We did not know Kolm was a spy for Rison, and your… unusual appearance… Rison employs men that… it was not until you were brought to the square that we understood.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “Understood, Frey?”
“That you, too, have turned against your people, that you came to us not to solve our problems, but to solve your own.”
A plausible, logical reasoning which coincides nicely with our mission, Spock thought. “It is well you understand us,” he said. “We have considered our plight, and yours. To address our concerns breaks no law. If both aims can be accomplished together, our laws do not hold.”
Frey’s face was joyful, his voice full of savage anticipation. “Your weapons, then, your might is ours?”
“Not our weapons,” Spock returned. “That is still forbidden. You must gather as many as will follow and when the time is ripe to strike at Rison’s keep, we will bring soldiers to turn the tide of the battle.”
An awed murmuring rippled through the camp and Spock turned toward its source. Ruth lay collapsed over Sosha’s body. A growing crowd stood around her, staring, pointing.
“Begin your work, Frey,” Spock said, and made his way to Ruth’s side. He bent to help her to her feet as Sosha sat up, staring around her in wonder, her hands clutching at the lungs that were obviously no longer plaguing her. The Cantians began pressing forward, reaching toward Ruth. He felt her shrink closer to him.
“Leave her alone,” he commanded. “Sosha is healed and the priestess needs to rest and renew herself.”
The word ‘priestess’ began spreading through the camp and Spock helped Ruth to the wall. She slumped, dropping to sit against it, smiling weakly up at him. She glanced past him, and he turned to see Chekov, Kelly and Ordona approaching them.
“Your names, my sons?” Spock asked.
Chekov looked puzzled for a moment, then said, “I am called Pavel. This is Ramon and David, Holy One.”
“Will you join with those of us who will overthrow Rison?”
“We are not from this city,” Kelly said after a moment’s hesitation. “Should their affairs be ours?”
“Rison employs my people,” Spock replied carefully, "but he does not know them. They and their allies will enslave not only Liswell but your homes as well.”
“Is that our concern?” Ordona asked, his eyes questioning.
“You refuse to help? Look then on the appearance of your next captain.” Spock pushed his hood back.
The three officers exchanged glances, and Spock could see the clues coming together in their eyes. Rison employs my people – they would know he was not speaking of Vulcans. They and their allies – it was well known that the Romulans were trading with the Klingons for vessels and weaponry. The appearance of your next captain – he was First Officer, next in line for command should anything befall the captain. As one, they nodded, understanding what Spock had said: there are Romulans here, Klingons also, Captain Kirk is in danger.
“We will join you,” Chekov said.
“My thanks, my sons.”
“Holy One,” Frey said, approaching Spock with a small group of people. “You used an unfamiliar word in describing the female who came with you.” The young man’s brow wrinkled. “Priest-ess?”
“Yes,” Spock returned.
“But… she is a woman. How can a woman be a Holy One?”
“She is not of your people, Frey, nor of mine.”
“But she, too, comes from the stars?”
“She does.”
“She healed Sosha with but a touch!”
“She has that power.”
“Healing power? And she is from the stars?” Frey turned, his voice ringing out to those around him. “Do you hear! Our prophecies have come to pass! Our Goddess walks among us!”
Ruth woke slowly. Goddess, I could eat a herd of cattle! All this exertion has got to stop. She started to sit up, then noticed the ring of people surrounding her. Each pair of eyes she looked at was wide and shining, but when she met the gazes, they uniformly lowered. She glanced at the crowd, her mind racing over everything the Federation knew about Cantian culture: Primitive, D-4 on the Industrial Scale, strong religious beliefs coupled with an equally strong mythos regarding magic and the supernatural, an acceptance of prophecies and divine intervention and…
Oy vey.
The crowd began murmuring as she rose, an awed, reverent sound, and each person took a step back, though their hands reached hesitantly out to her. A word became clear in the murmurs, tentative at first, then louder and more certain, until someone shouted an accolade and the cry was taken up by the entire assembly.
“Praise the Goddess!”
Ruth quickly looked around, half expecting to see the Zehara emerge from the shadows. The crowd before her fell to thier knees, heads bowed, still crying and whispering. She saw Spock standing across the encampment, his hands clasped as if in prayer. She caught the amused gleam in Pavel Chekov’s eyes as he and Ramon Ordona and David Kelly, each went down on one knee, calling out, “Praise the Goddess!”
Goddess? she questioned silently.
Spock’s eyebrows rose meaningfully. An unexpected turn of events, Miss Valley, but one I think can be turned to our advantage.
Can it be turned into a big plate of rare qualk?
There was tolerant amusement in his mind-voice. If the goddess desires it.