Chapter 3
by Trish Bennett

Kirk had walked silently, flanked on both sides by the Klingon guards. His officers followed closely behind him, the third Klingon taking up the rear of the procession. They were led to a room at the end of the rank corridor. The doors opened noisily, and the three Enterprise officers were pushed forceably into the room.

It was sparsely furnished, Kirk noted, used as a cafeteria perhaps, or some sort of recreation room. Klingon recreation, however, was something he preferred not to think about at the moment. He steadied himself and turned to face the guards.

"What is the meaning of this?" he snapped angrily. "I demand to see your commanding officer!"

The Klingon steadfastly ignored him and moved in on the Federation officers. Kirk tensed, ready to seize any opportunity, but the Klingon moved swiftly. He grasped the heavy manacles that bound the captain's wrists and forced his arms above his head, hooking the shackles securely into a niche in the overhead beam which ran the length of the room.

The others quickly followed suit, and in a moment the Enterprise officers were secured, side by side, positioned several feel apart. Kirk struggled with the restraints, but to no avail. He could not budge them.

The trio of Klingons, apparently satisfied with their work, moved toward the doorway.

"I demand to see your commanding officer!" Kirk repeated.

Their captors, however, did not even look back as they marched single-file through the doors into the corridor. After a moment, the doors slid shut, and the humans were left alone to ponder their fate.

Kirk felt absolutely numb. Everything had happened so quickly and unexpectedly that he didn't know what to think, how to feel, or how he should react.

Admiral Fitzpatrick had said that the Klingons wanted him. Well, they got him, and with little apparent effort. It had been like taking candy from a baby. So where the hell was Starfleet when a Klingon battle cruiser crossed through the neutral zone and entered Federation space? Apparently they were busy writing intelligence reports.

This wasn't supposed to be happening yet. He was supposed to be prepared for this. And more importantly, the Enterprise wasn't supposed to be anywhere around.

But the Enterprise was around, mere kilometers away. And Kirk wasn't alone, as he had intended. He had an entire landing party with him, only two of whom were still alive. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

Someone had dropped the ball. And someone was going to pay for it.

In the meantime, though, he had to concentrate on the present. He had to find a way to get himself and his landing party back to he Enterprise before anything else went wrong.

They were apparently in the Klingon brig, although a stranger set-up Kirk had never seen. Their restraints seemed to be engineered for the niches in the beam, but in the middle of a recreation room?

As he studied the shackles, Kirk was reminded of sketches he had seen of restraints used for prisoners in 18th century America...stocks, he believed they were called. Prisoners were put on public display, held up to ridicule and abuse. Perhaps that was the Klingon reasoning, as well. Confine their prisoners and amuse their crew at the same time. Kill two birds with one stone.

The manacles themselves appeared to be inescapable. It was a simple design, consisting of two solid metal bands hinged on one end and locked on the other. The arcs in the bands that fit the wrists were approximately two inches apart, and the openings were small so that cold steel bit uncomfortably into flesh at the slightest movement. The palms of his hands faced each other, a perfect position if he felt the need for a quick prayer. How convenient.

Kirk finally turned his head to look at his crew. Their faces were pale.

"Are you two all right?" he asked softly. He received two silent nod in response.

Ensign Graham's voice was a strangled whisper when he finally spoke. "I've never seen anyone die before."

The sight of Lieutenant Foster flashed quickly in Kirk's mind. He could empathize with the young man very well.

"I have," Kirk confessed grimly. "Believe me, Ensign, it doesn't get any easier."

Graham's eyes met his briefly, then quickly turned away.

"What's going to happen to us, Captain?" Martina Girard asked in a small voice.

Kirk heaved a sigh as he surveyed their dismal surroundings.

"I don't know, Lieutenant," he replied finally, looking back toward the door. "But I guarantee, there's going to be hell to pay."

"Mr. Spock," Sulu said, turning from his station to face Spock in the command chair. "If we continue on our present course, we will reach the edge of the neutral zone in approximately two hours."

"Understood, Lieutenant," Spock replied. The information came as no surprise to him. "Lieutenant Uhura, get me a secured channel to Starfleet Command. I wish to speak with Admiral Fitzpatrick."

Concern showed in her dark face as she busied herself at the communications console. Finally Spock allowed himself to look at McCoy, who was still planted firmly beside him.

"You have something to say, Doctor?" he said. It was more a statement than an actual question.

McCoy, who had been observing the proceedings with all the patience he could muster, appeared to be ready to burst.

"Well?" he demanded. "What are you going to do, Spock?"

Spock raised an eyebrow as he looked back at the viewscreen. He thought the answer to that was obvious.

"I am going to consider our alternatives, Doctor."

"What alternatives?" McCoy snapped. "The captain has been kidnapped, Mr. Spock! We have to get him back!"

He was spared the nuisance of having to respond to such a statement when Uhura's voice drifted over his shoulder.

"Mr. Spock, I have Admiral Fitzpatrick."

"On screen, Lieutenant," he replied.

In an instant, the star field disappeared and the viewscreen was filled with the kindly image of Admiral Fitzpatrick seated behind his desk.

"Commander Spock," he acknowledged after a moment. His voice was tinged with concern. "What's this all about?"

"Admiral," Spock began, carefully selecting his words. "Captain Kirk and his landing party have been abducted from Margala 3. It was a Klingon battle cruiser, Admiral. The Enterprise is in pursuit."

"What?" The Admiral's face blanched almost instantly until it was nearly as white as his hair.

"The captain and his landing party have been..."

"I heard you, Commander," Fitzpatrick snapped, then slumped forward in his chair and covered his face with his hand. After a moment, he lowered the hand and his eyes once again met Spock's.

"I suppose I don't need to ask their heading?" he said.

"They are on a direct course to the neutral zone, Admiral. We anticipate they shall reach the zone in approximately two hours."

"It was a single ship?"

"As far as we know, sir," Spock replied. "We have been unable to establish contact with the Klingon vessel and are still uncertain of their motives."

Fitzpatrick ran his fingers through his wavy white hair and pondered the situation thoughtfully before he spoke again.

"Mr. Spock," he said solemnly. "I will have to bring this to the attention of the Federation Council. Do what you can, but you are not to take the Enterprise into the neutral zone. Is that clear, Commander?"

"Quite clear, Admiral." It was also quite expected.

"Very well. I shall expect a full report. Keep me informed. Fitzpatrick out." The image on the screen returned to the field of stars.

"Do what you can?" McCoy bellowed, voicing the obvious opinion of the entire bridge crew. "What kind of advice is that? Do what you can!"

Spock allowed himself a barely audible sigh. He had far too much on his mind at the moment to concern himself with the doctor's emotional tirade.

"Control yourself, Doctor," he said absently, continuing to gaze at the viewscreen before him.

But McCoy had no intention of controlling himself. He slammed the palm of his hand on the arm of the command chair in frustration.

"Listen, you..." McCoy sputtered, then made a visible effort to control his rage. He inhaled deeply before continuing. "This could be more of a problem than you realize, Spock," he said, more quietly now but with anger still seething in his voice. "I don't know if you're aware of it or not, but the captain wasn't exactly up to physical par when he left this ship."

Spock was already aware of that fact. Kirk's noticeable fatigue of late had taken a toll on his efficiency, and he knew it. It was his job to know it. He turned his steady gaze on McCoy.

"I am well aware of that, Doctor."

"And now he's in the hands of the Klingons."

"I am aware of that, as well."

McCoy's face was red. "Then why are you just sitting here?"

Spock was on the verge of ordering him off the bridge, but he decided against it. Despite his emotional display, McCoy was a close friend to Kirk. His presence was merely an expression of his loyalty to the captain. And although Spock did not condone the emotional exhibition, he did understand that loyalty.

"We are following the only logical course of action at present, Doctor," Spock said firmly. "I ask that you accept that for now."

Without another word, Spock leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and began to formulate an hypothesis.

Admiral Fitzpatrick stared at the blank viewscreen before him for several minutes after ending his communication with the Enterprise. The Klingons had already set their plan into motion, a plan which was not supposed to be carried out for at least a month. Federation intelligence sources had been wrong. And the admiral was going to have each of their heads on a platter.

A Starfleet captain was now in the hands of a ruthless enemy. And not just any captain...they had James T. Kirk. Fitzpatrick knew that, if anyone could come through such an ordeal unscathed, it would be Kirk. But he also knew that if Starfleet were to lose this particular officer, it would have a more profound impact on the Federation than any other loss in its collective memory.

At least he had gotten the opportunity to forewarn Kirk of the Klingons' plan. But had he told him enough? Had he made a monumental error in judgement by not telling him the rest of the story?

Fitzpatrick's hand moved to the communication control at the corner of his desk. He hesitated only a moment before activating it.

"Angie," he said solemnly. "Get me the President. Priority One."

Kirk's arms were nearly numb, a welcome relief from the cold throbbing he had experienced when he began to lose circulation in them. Klingon had apparently never heard of the articles of interstellar law which provided for the comfort and humane treatment of prisoners of war. Then again, the Klingons and the Federation were not officially at war. Not yet.

He could not be sure how much time had elapsed since they were shackled to the overhead beam, but it seemed like an eternity. He had spoken very little with his crewmates since their arrival. Kirk thought it was best, snce he assumed they were being monitored. He shifted on his feet, trying to find a more comfortable position. His efforts proved fruitless.

His emotional paralysis had finally worn off and was quickly replaced by a vast array of emotions, each one as intense as the others. He was outraged at the unmitigated gall of the Klingons to abduct a starship captain and members of his crew, and he will still confused by their motives. He was angered and deeply saddened by the senseless death of Lieutenant Foster. He was also immensely curious about their captors and wondered exactly who was behind their abduction. And he was afraid, not only for himself but for the lives of his fellow captives, as well. He feared for the Enterprise and every last person aboard her. He even feared for the Federation itself.

Out of this jumble of emotions, fear was the one he dared not show. The people beside him were counting on him to lead them out of here alive. And he refused to give the Klingons the satisfaction.

Kirk heard a sound at the door and turned his head to see it slide open to admit the three Klingons who had brought them here. They were as stoic and closed-mouthed as ever as they moved to stand rigidly several feet before him.

"It's about time!" Kirk said angrily, trying to maintain some semblance of control over the situation. "Will someone have the decency to tell me what is going on?"

The sudden voice from the doorway sent a chill up the length of his spine.

"Decency is a human trait, Captain. I'm afraid you won't find it here."

It was a deliberate, menacing voice. It was also strikingly familiar. Kirk turned his head slowly to stare at the figure in the open doorway.

"Kor!" he whispered.

"Very good, Captain," the commander exclaimed as he entered the room. His tone was patronizing. He moved to stand directly in front of Kirk, just inches away from his captive.

The move, Kirk knew, was intended to make him uneasy, but he continued to gaze steadily into the Klingon's eyes.

"I seem to have left quite an impression on you during our last encounter," Kor said.

At least one mystery was solved. His abductor was someone he knew. But Kirk was not at all certain that the knowledge would work to his advantage. He decided to play it Kor's way for now.

"I don't know that I would call it an impression, Kor," he said easily. "It was more like a bad taste in my mouth."

The Klingon glared at him a moment, then threw his head back in a delighted laugh. "You amuse me, Captain," he said, backing away only slightly. "We are going to have such a good time together, you and I."

"I'm afraid I don't have time for your little games, Kor," Kirk replied, his tone still smooth and easy. "You've broken so many articles of interstellar law, not to mention the Organian Peace Treaty, I'll be spending the next two days just filling out the reports."

Kor, who had been inspecting the other two captives, suddenly turned his surprised gaze back to Kirk.

"The Organian Peace Treaty is a joke, Captain," he said. "Surely even you realize that by now."

And there it was. At least the intelligence reports had been correct on that point.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do." The Klingon grinned. "Have you ever heard of any incident, even the slightest little skirmish, where the treaty has actually been enforced?"

Kirk privately agreed that he hadn't, but he said nothing.

"And even if it were, there are so many ways to get around it." Kor's grin widened, an expression that brought the chill back in full force. "No, Captain. I would not rely on the Organians to save your neck this time."

Kirk was uncomfortable and growing tired of the banter. "What are you after, Kor?"

The Klingon seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his predicament. He gazed at Kirk steadily through small, narrow eyes.

"Two things, Captain, the first of which was you. I must admit, that one was embarrassingly easy."

Candy from a baby.

"And the second?"

"You disappoint me, sir." Kor shook his head in mock dismay. "I remembered you as being quite clever."

Kirk's face hardened. "You'll never take my ship."

The oily grin returned to the Klingon's face. "I won't have to take her, Kirk. Your crew will deliver her to me."

"I'll see you in hell first."

The Commander chuckled. "After what I have in store for you, your hell would seem like a holiday."

Kirk's stomach muscles tightened as he stared into the Klingon's gloating face. Deep down, he knew that Spock would never allow the Enterprise to fall into enemy hands, but Kor's confidence was strong enough to produce a nagging shred of doubt.

Kirk finally looked away from the commander's face to glance at his crew beside him. They were staring at him with expressions of barely masked fear, but there was still a faint glimmer of hope in their eyes. It was enough to keep him talking.

"Kor," he said finally. "I'll make a deal with you."

"You have nothing to bargain with, Captain."

"I'm offering an exchange," Kirk continued undaunted. "My life for theirs." He tilted his head toward his landing party to clarify the offer.

His effort seemed to amuse the Klingon greatly. He chuckled in delight.

"Your life is already mine, Kirk. You'll have to do better than that."

"Your quarrel is with me, Kor, not them!" Kirk snapped, then realized in frustration that he was pleading for mercy from a being who possessed no such quality. "Kor," he said, more calmly now. "If you're so certain you have everything you want, you can afford to be magnanimous."

The commander was standing just within reach. If he could just summon enough strength in his arms to pull himself up, he could lash out with his legs...

"I consider these two a bonus, Captain," Kor said. "And I do not choose to be magnanimous."

He turned for the doorway. It was now or never. Even with the manacles slicing into his wrists, Kirk managed to raise himself just enough to swing his lower body toward the Klingon. His aim was dead on target, and his feet landed squarely in the middle of Kor's back. The blow sent him crashing into his sentries.

The Klingon roared in a fit of rage and seized a metal club from the sheath of the guard closest to him. He swung it with considerable force, and Kirk braced himself for the impact. It did not help, however, and he felt his ribs give way under the sheer force of the blow. He cried out in pain that shot through every nerve ending in his body, and he would have doubled over if not for the shackles.

Kor began to chuckle again. It was an eerie, maniacal sound. He grabbed Kirk's hair in his fist and forced his head back to look at him.

"That was stupid, Captain," he said. "So tediously human." He released Kirk roughly and handed the club back to his centurion. "Blindfold them," he ordered.

The guards moved forward, but Kirk ignored them. He continued to glare at Kor, his eyes filled with hatred, until his vision went black.

He heard the footsteps, then the voice from the doorway. "Until we meet again, Captain."

And then they were gone.