Mestral’s Legacy: Chapter 37

“I don’t have any brothers,” Alaia said flatly. Their captor only laughed, coming closer and bringing with him a scent that washed over T’Pol. Not only was the Terran unclean, but the musky undertone put T’Pol on edge for reasons that she could not pinpoint.

“Ever the little scientist, aren’t you?” He said, setting the lamp down between Alaia and T’Pol.

“Always so precise,” he said, his voice strangely calm, “so perfect.” In one swift movement he pulled Alaia’s head back so that she was forced to look at his face only centimetres away from hers.

“What about half-brothers? Got any of those,” he demanded harshly.

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Well, Apenimon isn’t as good of a shot as he thinks he is and I swim real good for a dead man.” Alaia struggled to loosen his grip on her hair. He let her go suddenly as T’Pol inadvertently made a noise, drawing his attention to her. Alaia’s head snapped back as the hand that she was struggling against suddenly disappeared. There was a thud as her head hit the cave wall. Her unconscious form slumped to the side leaving T’Pol alone with their captor.

* * *

“Do you have any idea where he might take them?’ Archer gripped the counter hard enough to turn his knuckles white, resisting the urge to shake the information out of Daniel.

“I’m not sure, but when we were kids we used to go spelunking in some of the island caves off the coast. When we got older Michael used to disappear every once in a while, sometimes I would find him living in the caves.”

“How many caves are there?”

“Hundreds,” Vorak said flatly. Archer felt a crushing weight settle in his chest.

“I think I can narrow it down,” Daniel offered.

“How?”

“One of the caves. It had things in it, things that shouldn’t have been there. Chains, knives, ropes. Things you would use to–things you would tie someone down with.”

“Where?” Archer asked.

“I’m not sure. I need a map and a minute to think.” Archer resisted the urge to tell him that they didn’t have a minute. Vorak, on the other hand, had no such reservations; he crossed the floor to where Daniel was sitting, grabbed him by the throat with one hand and lifted him to his feet. “Think faster.”

Message delivered, he released Daniel who fell back into his chair, wide-eyed. Archer made no move to reprimand the vulcan. Daniel looked at Phlox, then back at Vorak, realisation dawning on him. “He has it, doesn’t he?”

“We’re all anxious to find them,” Phlox said diplomatically.

Archer tapped the console in front of Daniel but was frustrated to find that the region they were interested in was not in the databanks. The best he could find was a surface map from a test scan that had been conducted to test Enterprise’s scanners several years ago and hundred-year-old archival data.

“Our nation doesn’t allow scanning by other governments,” Daniel offered. Seeing Archer’s frustration threaten to boil over, he added, “these will do. We’ll have to beam down outside the cave and walk in though. It’ll take a while.”

* * *

T’Pol watched their captor’s interest turn to her. She resisted the urge to retreat; there was nowhere to retreat to.

“Well, you’re awake,” he said, seeing T’Pol watching him. He crouched down beside her and slide a hand along her thigh. Considering her position there was little that she could do to avoid his attentions. Instead she distracted herself by pulling on the loosened stake keeping her right hand chained to the floor. Michael’s attention was clearly elsewhere.

“Are you going to give me a hard time?” he asked gruffly, as his hand made its way along her inner thigh. T’Pol gasped as his emotions buffeted her mental shields, unbridled lust battering her defenses. He traced her body greedily with his hands. A knife appeared in one hand, and in one swift motion he slit her blouse down the front, exposing her to the damp air of the cave and his lustful gaze. She gasped in shock as he squeezed her breast rougly as he slide his other hand down between her legs.

“Leave her alone, Michael,” T’Pol heard Alaia’s slumped form mumble beside them. T’Pol felt the hand disappear from its increasingly intrusive position as Michael moved to deal with the distraction.

“What’s the matter, Sis?” Michael asked, crouching in front of Alaia. “Feeling left out?” He asked, caressing her face. Alaia moved her head but the caress turned into a vice grip.

“You’re a pig,” Alaia managed through clenched teeth. The rage that T’Pol had felt in Michael now threatened to boil over at the taunt.

“Really?” The word was quiet and dangerous. “Is that what you tell him when he can’t stand it anymore? Every seven years, isn’t it? Is he a pig then?”

“That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It’s biology.”

“So is this.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Yes,” he said, lifting her to her feet, shaking her violently as he did so. “Yes, it is. It’s exactly the same which is why I need her,” he said, eyeing T’Pol hungrily. He let go of Alaia, discarding her as his attention returned to T’Pol–his Grail, his cure, his deliverance.

* * *

Despite Vorak’s insistence that they needed to go now, they–Daniel, Vorak, Archer, and the MACO–stopped by the quartermaster to collect night vision gear and some other essentials before beaming down.

“Why would he take your sister?” Archer asked as they moved towards the transporter room.

“I don’t–he wouldn’t . . . unless she just happened to be in the way. You said the other crewmember was that Vulcan woman, right?” Archer nodded, wondering why Phlox couldn’t hypospray Daniel into speaking faster. “He was probably after her.”

“Why?”

“I, um, I might have given him the wrong idea when I talked to him at the hospital.”

“What kind of wrong idea?”

“This . . . problem . . . that he has, it’s kind of like a Vulcan thing. If he went after a vulcan–maybe he thinks she can fix him, make it go away.”

“Can she?”

“I wish.” Seeing Archer’s curious look, Daniel amended, “No, she can’t.”

* * *

“It doesn’t work that way,” Alaia said. Between her and Vorak’s emotions and the ones coming off of Michael, she was having problems focussing. If she could just him hold off a little while longer, Vorak was coming for her; she could feel it.

“Yes, it does,” he said. His eyes travelled greedily over T’Pol’s dimly lit form.

“No, it doesn’t. You said it yourself: it’s every seven years.”

“Shut up! It’s because he’s with you, not a real vulcan.”

“No. It doesn’t matter, it’s always every seven years.”

“Shut up, shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup!”

His eyes glittered in the darkness and for a moment she thought he would knock her out again, but he was too drawn to T’Pol to spare any more time for her. Taking a knife to her pants, he cut them away leaving her fully exposed.

“She’ll cure me, make it go away, make it all go away,” he insisted, desperately pushing away the tendrils of doubt that tried to grab hold of him. He freed himself from his own clothes, kneeling between T’Pol’s thighs and pulling her resisting form to him. “Make it go away,” he repeated breathlessly.

When the blow came, he was caught completely off-guard.

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