Laila, Spock's Granny (Book 1: Vulcan Gladiatoress and Klingon Slave)

A New Home 2

Next morning after the one slice of bread they called breakfast, my stomach was growling from lack of food. I was still really hungry and hurried out to the creek to check my traps. There were two fish in the five bottles. I let the smaller one go and just took the larger one with me. Arriving back at the farm, I searched for the cook, which I met for the first time then.

"Hello, I'm Tsuw the chef. You must be the new one? Looks like you are a fisherman", he teased.

Tsuw was a joke. Every so often, the universe enjoyed making a joke and with that I mean creating a joke. Tsuw looked like a hybrid of a Chinese human and a Klingon. A body, which was a bit smaller than mine with an over proportionally big head. He had slit eyes and a small nose which could have been from a Chinese human and the dominant forehead of a Klingon. To make matters worse, the lower portion of his head, which might have been the Chinese heritage had a light brown skin color, while the upper head, which definitely was Klingon was a dark brown turning almost black. Weird and stubborn Klingon like hair only grew on both sides of his head. His ears could have been tipped Vulcan ears, if they had not been turned upside down. Maybe the universe was drunk, that day, when it created this Klingon. Clearly, Klingons would regard this poor individual as degenerated as impure and thus his status was close to slaves. Degenerated Klingons, had to work hard for a living, almost as hard as slaves. A degenerated Klingon, was a threat to purity and only the law prevented them from getting exterminated. But no law demanded them being taken care of properly.

I responded to his greeting: "Hi there, I'm 'ethl tits, the fisherman or more correct, the fishing Vulcan."

"'ethl tits? I thought, 'ethl tits is a gladiator?" Obviously, he had heard of me before.

I was teasing: "That's my hobby, but my profession is fishing."

"Really?" The under tone of his voice suggested, that he was not sure, if I had just told him the truth or if I had jested.

When I handed the cook the fish, a broad smile from ear to ear established on his face and he nodded in appreciation: "I will prepare it for dinner." With that said, my stomach really hoped that he indeed was a chef. My stomach hoped, that the tasty food I had received last night, had been the work of a skilled chef and not an accident.

With my belly still growling, I roamed the nearest meadow, collecting dandelion leaves and daises, then washing them in the creek and finally eating them with patience. My hunger was better after that, but I was craving for carbs. While sitting there, watching the water rush by, I knew, that I had freedom right now. Nobody told me what to do, I was my own master. My current situation was not exactly, what I imagined freedom to be like, but I decided to value it nonetheless. As simple as it was, to sit next to the creek and watch and hear the water in the creek, as much entertaining and soothing it was. Two hours might have passed that way and I decided to venture deeper into the forest, explore further. Where the forest met with the meadows, there was a farm road leading into it. As logs had been piled up alongside the road, I guessed that this was the purpose of this road.

Standard of Klingon technology was air tractors, air trailers, air harvesters and air carriers. That equipment however was expensive and needed a professional to operate it. The tractors had all fancy stuff like autopilot, remote control and whatever else on board. The new harvesters and carriers again, featured sophisticated electronics. Courses had to be taken, to fully being capable to operate them. It was equipment, which would rarely if at all be entrusted upon a slave. Old wheel based farming equipment did last for many decades if maintained properly and it was relatively simple to operate them. Therefore, wheel based agricultural equipment was still in heavy use. Country roads and highways on Qo'nos had long been abandoned and mostly taken down, because all kinds of transport was either done with aircraft or with trains, but farm roads still existed and were used often. The farm road I was on had stopped in vicinity to the creek and finding my way on that farm road had been a no brainer. I continued straight into the woods. Half an hour into the woods, I realized, that I was lost. Vulcan logic, demanded me to go back, until I hit the creek again, then walk alongside the creek, until I came across my weirs. Said and done, but about an hour later, I had not come across the creek yet. Somehow, my perception of direction had gotten fooled. What should I do now? How should I get back? Should I go back after all?