IN A DISTANT, LOGICAL PART OF HER MIND, THE PART THAT was not obsessing about food and dwelling on the agony coursing through her veins, Jekri Kaleh marveled at the efficacy of the Romulan penal system. In just a few short days, she wasn’t certain exactly how many, they had come close to breaking even the former chairman of the Tal Shiar. How did lesser mortals manage to hang on to their sanity?
The dispassionate physical exams and experiments. Waking her at odd hours while she tried desperately to sleep, to steal time to repair her injured body. The thrice-damned guard, shutting off the forcefield, firing his weapon at stronger and stronger levels, reactivating the field, then walking off laughing. The pitiful food.
Her logical self latched on to that thought. In the food had come her chance of salvation. Each meal brought something new. She was no technical expert, but the equipment was not unduly complicated. Besides, she welcomed the mental stimulation of trying to assemble the tool her mysterious benefactor was sending her. By this point she realized it was a laser scalpel. She had hoped it was a small disruptor, one of the tiny ones the Family of the Blade sometimes carried, but she would gladly accept whatever weapon she could get. Thus far, she could detect no energy cell. Whoever it was obviously planned to save that for last. If there were any investigation of the process by which her food was sent to her, it would be more easily detected than simple metal.
If only her wrist would heal. But it gave no sign of doing so. The doctors had embedded something just beneath the flesh and it was becoming infected. From time to time, they would check on it, but made no move to stop the infection. It itched, and hurt, and the flesh was a sickly puffy green. It was hot to the touch.
Jekri steeled herself and began to probe her left wrist with her right fingers. The pain was excruciating, but she pressed her lips shut against the shriek that wanted to escape and continued. The object was hard, round, and artificial. A tracking device, in case she should escape?
The thought unnerved her totally. Escape was what was carrying her through the hours of torment. It was the light that kept her focused, kept her from going mad or committing suicide. She had to remove the thing embedded in the soft, infected flesh of her left wrist.
Of course, she might do nothing more than hasten her own demise. She was no doctor. She did not know which veins lay where, or what tendons could be damaged if she tried to remove the foreign object. And once she removed it, provided she was successful, they would notice it right away. What would they do then? Probably insert another one, perhaps in her back, where she could not reach it.
Perhaps it wasn’t a tracking device. Perhaps it was a pellet of slow poison. Maybe it was—
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered fiercely. Panic and flights of terror-riddled fantasy would avail her nothing. But the thing in her wrist could be trouble if it was not removed.
The only thing missing was the energy cell to operate the laser scalpel. Otherwise, she was ready to make her move. Every day had brought a piece of the scalpel. Surely today the final piece would arrive. Jekri made her decision. The thing in her wrist had to come out. Now.
Jekri looked around her cell. Everything was filthy, even the little bit of water they gave her once a day. She’d have to risk further infection.
She recalled a Vulcan meditation, one that Dammik had told her would help her control her reactions to pain. True, pain was a physical thing. It was the body’s reaction to something amiss, a way to alert the brain to damage that could result in injury or death. But the brain determined whether the damage was great enough to warrant attention. The damage was the message; pain was just the messenger. Once one was alerted to the damage the pain signaled, Dammik had told her, one could decide what to do about it. The pain no longer served a useful function. One could ignore the pain to the point of banishing it altogether.
Jekri first made sure that the recording devices she had discovered were still broken. It had become almost a daily ritual. Jekri would break all recording devices and, while she was gone, someone would come in and repair them. But at least she had a few hours of true privacy.
Confident that she was not being watched, she sat down on the pile of rags, closed her eyes, and began to consciously calm her mind. She addressed the agony in her wrist, and acknowledged the message it delivered. Feeling a bit foolish at first, she intoned, “I have heard the pain. I know what it is telling me. I dismiss the pain, for it is no longer of use to me.” She repeated the ritual phrases several times, then opened her eyes.
She stared levelly, dispassionately, at the inflamed area. She concentrated on turning down the volume of the message the pain screamed to her, until to her surprise it was merely a throbbing ache.
Now.
One of the pieces of metal which her outside assistant had transported was long and, if not sharp, then at least sharper than her stubby fingernails. She felt for the piece in the rags, extracted it, and poised it over her wrist.
There is no pain.
With a cold focus, she began to cut at the inflamed skin.
The pain exploded along her nerves, right down to her toes, and she gasped. No, she would not be defeated by her own weakness! There was no pain, not for Vulcans, and for this moment she was no Romulan, but a Vulcan, born and bred on the red, hot planet, where there was no pain, no pain—
She placed the sharp tool against the hardness of whatever had been inserted into her body and dug around. Jekri hissed between clenched teeth, and clung to her mantra of “there is no pain” like a lifeline. Blood and pus trickled down her pale skin, and she smelled the scent of rot.
The metal tool found the base of the implant, and carefully levered it upward. Rotting flesh parted and a small circle popped up and out, to land in the rags.
There is no pain.
Except her inflamed nerve endings shrieked loudly to the contrary. There was a bloody hole in her wrist now. Gingerly, Jekri flexed her fingers. Everything moved properly, though for a moment the world went gray and she feared she was about to lose consciousness. Grimly, she bound the injured limb with filthy cloths, applying pressure to stop the bleeding. Green liquid seeped through the cloth, but eventually slowed and finally stopped. The white-hot agony subsided to a sharp, angry ache.
Sweat dotted Jekri’s face. She turned her attention to the small implant that had been embedded in her wrist. It was covered with blood and other fluids. She poured water on it, wiped it off—and joy shot through her.
Her salvation had been in her body all along. One of the doctors was part of this outside plot. Jekri held in her hands the energy cell that would operate the weapon that had been transported to her in bits and pieces. The female doctor, who had done such dreadfully painful things to her, was also apparently an ally.
Quickly she gathered up the pieces and began to assemble them. Her body was still reeling from the incredible pain she had just subjected it to, and she was growing weaker by the day for lack of sufficient nutrition. Her fingers were clumsy and her brain was not as alert, as sharp, as it ought to be, but she managed. Within a half-hour she had before her a laser scalpel. It was not the ideal weapon, but at this point, Jekri was willing to use a rusty spoon as a weapon, if it would mean getting out.
She had three escape routes. The first was the way she normally entered and exited the cell. She would somehow need to dismantle the forcefield, then find a way out of the area without being captured. If only she had had a chance to study the layout of these old prison cells, she’d have a better chance of escaping via that route.
Another was the elimination hole. She had considered and dismissed that for the simple reason that, small as she was, she could not fit down into the chute. A few more weeks, she mused to herself, and she might be able to do it. But she had no idea where the elimination hole led. Had this been a more contemporary prison, there might have been some sewage system into which her excrement was emptied. But these cells were hundreds of years old. Most likely they were simply holes, covered when filled.
The final option was the ventilation shaft. It was covered by a grate, but that would yield to the laser with ease. The shaft was wide enough for her narrow shoulders. Once, she knew she could have climbed the smooth surface with ease. Her body was strong and well disciplined. Now, she was weaker. She did not trust her body as once she used to, but there might be no option.
Jekri wanted badly to test the laser scalpel, but she knew that its operation would make a distinctive humming noise. To activate it would be to draw attention to it. She could not risk detection until she was ready to use it to escape.
Now that she had the means of escape within her hand, she felt strangely hesitant. Every step along this dark path had been familiar, though she had never experienced any of it firsthand before. She knew that what she was feeling was a predictable reaction. Some prisoners grew used to their prisons, and as a result eventually became as tractable as anyone could wish them. Jekri’s dark brows drew together in disgust at the thought of herself falling into that category. She was a warrior, a warrior of shadow. She was the Little Dagger, and she would never surrender, not in mind, not in body, not in spirit. She clutched the small tool until her hand hurt. She had to leave soon, before she lost her will altogether.
She stood and looked up at the grate. Extending a hand, Jekri probed along its edges, as she had done many times before. Her fingers could find the edges, red with rust, and see the welds that had set it deeply into the stone ceiling. Up inside the shaft was darkness, but it was from here that air came. If she could follow that shaft far enough, she—
Footsteps. The guard. Jekri almost quailed. The sadism of the guard had been the most difficult thing she had had to endure here. She could steel herself for the doctors, choke down the poor food, but the guard came at unpredictable intervals and each time he fired, the setting was one notch higher.
She flung herself down on the rags, feigning sleep. The laser scalpel was in her hand, hidden beneath the rags. He liked this the best. He was a coward of the vilest sort. Looking into her eyes while he fired unnerved him. She heard his heavy breathing, a rumble of a chuckle. The familiar sound of the forcefield being turned off reached her pointed ears.
She sprang more quickly than she would have believed. His eyes widened as she leaped on him, her mouth open in a silent snarl of pure hatred. His weapon was drawn. As if in slow motion, she saw him lift, point, squeeze.
Jekri slammed into him, bringing her damaged left hand down as hard as she could on his wrist, causing the weapon to clatter onto the stone floor. He was a big man, and scars crisscrossed his face, but now that ugly face wore an expression of terror. He knew who she was, what she had done, what she was capable of, and what he had done to her.
She brought her small, clenched right fist crashing down on his windpipe. It crunched most satisfactorily. He gurgled, his eyes still rolling in his head. Deftly she flicked the laser scalpel and heard the soft hum. It was working.
Jekri could feel him tense. In an instant he was going to utilize his superior weight and pin her beneath his large body. She had the element of surprise, but he had strength. She did not hesitate. In one smooth arc she brought the laser scalpel down and plunged it into his body.
He cried out and writhed in pain. She sprang off him, a dancer now, awaiting a second chance. As he rolled over, attempting to rise, she found and took it. She darted forward and sliced him from throat to belly. He fell forward and green blood began to pool beneath the writhing form.
It was perhaps the most morally just murder Jekri Kaleh had ever committed. She stepped back, panting and trembling from the exertion. She was so weak! She hated herself like this. Once she caught her breath, she armed herself with the dead man’s disruptor. She almost took the communication device as well, but at the last minute decided against it. Who would she be talking with? And perhaps they could trace her through it. Best not to risk it.
She quickly scanned her cell, her home for the last—who knew how long it had been. She had the only thing she needed. Hope gave her energy as she sprinted off to find an exit. She would need to hurry. She did not know the guard’s route or how long it would be until someone missed him.
The area was enormous. She guessed it was at least a square kilometer, perhaps more. And it would appear that she was the only prisoner here. She grimaced; it was a dubious honor. Moving as quickly as she could, she trotted past cell after cell. Nothing, no one, no exit. Cursing the precious time lost in this fruitless quest, she ducked into the nearest cell and looked upward. Yes, there was a ventilation shaft here as well. She lifted her face toward it and sniffed. Cold air, but fresh. And this grate was in worse shape than the one in her own cell.
Quickly Jekri thumbed the controls. A blue blade sprang to life. She wished she were taller; she could only just reach the grate if she extended her arm fully. Red chips of rust flaked down onto her upturned face. She wiped them out of her eyes and continued. One more side ….
She stepped back quickly, not knowing if the grate would fall immediately nor how heavy it was. But it didn’t move. It would require some help. Hoping that she wouldn’t be crushed by the weight—now, that would be an irony—Jekri again moved underneath the grate and tried to dislodge it.
It shifted, ever so slightly. Then, all at once and too quickly for Jekri to catch it, it gave way and fell with a loud clang onto the stone. She tried to slow its descent, but all she managed was to divert it from falling directly on her head. It caught her shoulder and almost wrenched her right arm from its socket.
She swore softly and froze, listening with all the tension of a forest creature. The guard she had killed would seem to be the only one assigned her. She moved quickly. Luck had been with her thus far. She would not tempt it more than she had to.
Carefully switching off the laser scalpel, she inserted it and the guard’s disruptor into her clothing. She wished she had a proper belt, but she’d have to make do with what she had.
She sprang upward. There was absolutely nothing to hold on to and she fell back onto the floor. Pain shot through her ankle. She had twisted it slightly. She attempted to stand. It was not broken, at least. Grimly, Jekri tried again. Again, she failed.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and centered herself. She focused on what she would need to do to succeed. Jekri went through each step in her mind’s eye: the leap that would be high enough to propel her sufficiently deep into the shaft; quickly extending her feet to wedge herself in; each move of hand and foot as she climbed upward to freedom.
When she opened her eyes, her heart rate had slowed and she was calm. She gaze up, determined where she wanted to be, and jumped.
This time, she went several centimeters higher. At once she kicked out, her arms flying outward to secure a hold. This time, she stayed, though she felt her enemy, gravity, pulling her down. It was dark, but she did not need to see. Her questing hands and feet told her what she needed to know. Centimeter by centimeter, her body straining, she began to move upward.
The rough walls scratched her already lacerated skin, tore at her clothes. Once, she almost got stuck and panic closed in. She forced her roiling thoughts to be calm and continued. Sometimes Jekri found handholds, cracks in the wall that assisted her.
At one point she extended her hand and found nothing. She flailed for a second until she realized that this was another shaft, a horizontal one rather than a vertical one. It would be much easier to negotiate. If it petered out, she could always back up and return to her vertical climb.
Carefully, she clambered up, patting around for a hold and then hoisting her torso onto the horizontal surface. For a moment, she lay there, gasping, grateful for the reprieve. Carefully, she got to her hands and knees. The corridor was wide enough so that she could move this way, though her head scraped the upper part of the shaft.
This was much faster. She scuttled along purposefully for some time until her hand landed on something hard. She snatched it back. In the utter darkness, she had no clue as to what might be in this place. Gently, she reached out and her fingers closed on something long, thin, and hard. It was like a stick of wood, but what would wood be doing here? Frowning, she kept exploring with her fingers. More sticks, of different sizes. Now she felt something soft. Material. When her hand reached something round and hard, with two holes in it, she realized what it was. It was a skeleton.
Another prisoner had tried to escape via these shafts, long, long ago. She was surprised his bones did not crumble at her touch. What had killed him? Had he gotten stuck in the narrow crawlspace? Had he starved to death, or been injured or ill?
Jekri shook her head angrily. Such musing would not serve her. All she needed to be concerned about was that she not die like this unfortunate wretch had. Determinedly she moved the old bones and clothes to the side, clearing enough room to continue, and pressed on.
From time to time, she heard voices. At such moments she would sit as still as possible, trying to breathe softly, and strain to listen. She could not make out words, but by other sounds she could sometimes tell where she was. Once, she even heard the strong voice of her Empress. Lhiau’s baritone in answer made Jekri so angry that for a moment she couldn’t breathe.
Revenge. It would be sweet.
Other shafts opened from time to time and, guided by whim, she would take them. At one point she wondered if she would ever find her way out of the maze. She thought it quite likely that she would die here, utterly lost. But at least she would die free.
Her stomach growled, eager for the poor food it had been given. She ignored it, ignored the increasing trembling in her limbs, the pain of her ravaged left wrist.
Finally, she realized that the darkness was beginning to lighten. Up ahead was a patch of white—light shining down a shaft. Hope spurted through her and she crawled forward as quickly as she could. When she reached that patch of light, she stared at it, and a slow smile spread across her face. She would get out. She was the Little Dagger.
She edged forward, blinking against the brightness, and looked up. It was too far for her to distinguish where this led. She would have to climb it. She closed her eyes briefly, allowing herself a moment of utter weariness, then rallied and began to climb upward.
The light on her face was enough. It almost pulled her along. She must not be too eager, though, and risk exposing herself too soon.
A grate came into view, but as unlike the one through which Jekri had first shinnied as could be imagined. This was made of a contemporary alloy. The ventilation holes were frequent and tiny. She listened, straining to maintain her awkward position of back against one wall, feet against the other. No sound. Whatever this room was, there was at present no one in it.
Carefully, Jekri reached inside her garments and removed the laser scalpel. It would take longer, but would be much quieter than simply firing the disruptor. And right now, stealth was key. She had not come this far to fail.
She cut through the grate quickly. This one was lightweight and easily maneuverable. Quietly, she pushed it upward and slid it aside.
At that moment, hands seized her wrists and hauled her upward. She kicked violently, trying to break free.
“Here you are at last,” came a familiar voice. Jekri turned and stared into the eyes of Verrak, her betrayer.