It was hard for Commander Salan to exactly establish what date or time it was, or whether it was even possible to attribute any of the standard concepts to this universe.  By now he’d ditched his uniform and wore robs very similar to those of the Pelcaza; though his were a deep blue.  He sported a fairly full beard, and had hair the now brushed against his shoulders when he removed the head scarf.

The Vulcan sat alone recalling his arrival on the planet his captors called ‘Eza’ home.  It was the first time he’d got to see anyone else who’d been taken by the Pelcaza, and the first time he’d witness their Master.  There had been 18 of them, each individual from a different race; an impressive achievement if nothing else.  None stood out for being the best their people had to offer, they’d simply been grabbed because they were convenient. 

Salan recognised those from the USS Jaxartes and MRT Atragon; noting as much the absences as those that were present.  There was also the Andorian and Tellarite from the USS Alberga; Norr the Ferengi shuttle pilot he’d encountered earlier in the year.  A rather angry look Klingon and a Borg drone were two of the surprise editions to the group.  These Pelcaza had certainly been busy collecting individuals, the Vulcan had thought to himself at the time. 

When the Pelcaza’s Master made its appearance, it was like a chilling hand had touched the Vulcans heart, squeezing it ever so slightly; the temperature within cavern were they’d all been assembled significantly dropped.  Swirling green smoke and mist coalesced into the head of an old man with a thick mane of white hair and a very bushy beard.  “Welcome.” The voice reverberated throughout the cavern and through the Commanders very bones.  “I am Helgeshran and you have been brought here to do my bidding.”  Here within the cavern, all words could finally be understood regardless of the language being used; as if the walls or very air was translating it.  No doubt the work of Helgeshran.

There was a mix of shock, anger and slight defiance from those present; but only the Klingon dared make any sort of move.  He barged forward pushing his way past those in front of him. “I am Ko’trem of the House Qogh.” He yelled back. “And I yield to no one.” The Klingon got about half way across the gap, roughly 7 metres; before the mist reformed itself into the face of Kahless and an invisible force seemed to stop Ko’trem in his tracks, dropping the warrior to his knees.

“SoH ghe’or lob.” Commanded the Entity. “Willingly or not, but you will obey.”  The more the Klingon fought the clearer it became that the power being used against him was increasing; driving his body closer to the rocky cavern floor.  It was the Andorian Lieutenant from the Runabout that made the first move towards the stricken warrior, but he too was stopped; like an invisible wall had sprung up between him and the Klingon.

That had happened three days ago, or what may have passed for days on a world that never seemed to get dark.  Three had offered themselves willingly that day.  The Borg drone, Norr the Ferengi and despite the pleas of his fellow crewmembers Hoydock the Benzite engineer.  Salan noted that Hoydock no longer wore his breathing equipment, but didn’t seem to be in any stress or discomfort.  Hachiro Jinguji the Japanese Captain seemed to take it the worst; he and the Benzite had formed a close friendship; which may have been the reason behind him excepting his fate the following day.

            **********

The Klingon sat down heavily of the bed opposite Salan, the usually angry scowl etched on his face. “Give me a weapon and I will rip every snivelling retch of these Pelcaza limb from limb!” He shouted it loud enough for any of them nearby to hear.  A couple of them turned to look, but they were starting to get used to his ranting. “Yes you.” He stared directly into the one man’s eyes, who quickly looked away and hurried off.  The warrior laughed.

“They are as much prisoners here as we are.” Salan spoke with his usual level tone. “Antagonising them won’t change anything.”

Ko’trem grumbled. “Well you’re not helping!” He retorted a few moments later. “I thought you Vulcan’s were smart?”

The Commander looked up this time. “I’m watching, listening and evaluated the situation.”

“I can evaluate this situation perfectly fine.” The warrior replied. “We’re being held against our will by some entity and his P’takh.”

“And what do we know of this entity other than the name it has chosen?” Salan Questioned Ko’trem. “Does any of this seem familiar to you?”

The Klingon sat back leaning against the wall, and marshalled his thoughts.  It called itself Helgeshran and possessed great power, but that power didn’t seem unlimited; otherwise why would he need others to do his bidding.  It had the ability to recreate the form of Gods and revered figures in the history of various races, including Kahless.  That was an insult that made the warriors blood boil. He spent the next few minutes in silence, until a distant memory suddenly clicked.

“You’re kidding me?” Was Ko’trem’s answer.

“Vulcan’s do not Kid.” Salan Replied. “We deal in logic and fact. 

“How many of these creatures are out there?” The Klingon warrior uttered.

“Unknown.  But this one is trapped here and may have been for centuries.”  Salan looked across and noticed Ko’trem had dropped off to sleep.  Come to think of it, he’d been feeling tired at odd times himself; like all his energy would sudden drain away and staying awake was a struggle. He could feel it creeping up on himself right now, like a veil was being dropped across his thoughts and mind.  Everything became mute and distant, images blurred and distorted the blacks, browns and reds of the cavern turned to a pale misty grey as the Vulcan finally succumbed to the need for sleep. 

            **********

Tired eyes struggled and fought to open, it was only by sheer force of will from a focused and well-ordered mind, that they even opened just the merest fraction.  It was like the Vulcan was in conflict with himself; a fight between, look, see and understand; or sleep and forget.

The eyes were greeted by the vision of stark white, almost blinding surroundings.  It was hard for the Commander to define any shape or depth to what he was trying to look at; like his mind only partly comprehended the situation.  His body felt numb and unconnected; but there was the sense of lying naked on a hard flat surface.  No not just lying, fastened, restrained, held fast against his will.  There were voices to; faint and incoherent, like listening to them underwater, was the best way to describe it.  One was a male talking the other female.  Salan tried focusing on those voices in the hope of at least catching part of what they said; whoever it was, stood somewhere out of his eye line; movement of his head being restricted by straps and padding.

The hypospray touched the Vulcan’s next before he’d had any sense of movement and the unknown female leaning towards him.  Darkness and oblivion followed shortly.

            ********

The Vulcan blinked twice, looking across at the Klingon in the room with him.  There was a momentary lapse in concentration as he tried to remember what the two of them had just been chatting about.  Still, it couldn’t have been that important, otherwise it wouldn’t have slipped from his mind.   Probably just Ko’trem complaining about everything that was going on, again.  Klingon’s could be so angry at times.  Ok, yes they were being held prisoner, but they were being treated well, so what was the problem.   The Pelcaza were fairly civilised people, far less advanced than races within the Federation, but never the less well-mannered and even polite.   No, this was not a time to stir up trouble. 

The Vulcan Commander closed his eyes to meditate, at least with the Klingon warrior asleep for a moment, he’d have some peace and time to reflect.