First Flight 13empress
This is a stand‐alone story set in a universe where the Vulcans who followed Surak leave their homeworld instead of the group that became the Romulans, and end up colonizing a far flung corner of space. They are attacked by Thread, a microrganism that is dormant in the freezing temperatures of space but becomes deadly, destructive to all living tissue, when it enters the atmosphere. They genetically engineered dragons from the native flying lizards on the planet, and adapted to life under the conditions, but Thread has already devastated them ‐ they lose a lot of their knowledge and technology. Two thousand years later, several Earth colony ships are flung to the planet through a wormhole and the two races meet. Humans gradually take over the duties of fighting Thread and tending dragons, their faster repopulation meaning that they quickly dominate while Vulcans focus on regaining lost knowledge and technology to improve the standard of living, and contact space‐ faring races whom are surely out there ‐ possibly their homeworld.
He awoke to a sudden shadow falling over his face, too dark and quick to be clouds. One eye opened, quickly followed by the other, and then the boy shot up from his stolen afternoon nap in the hay, startled by the swoosh of birds and stampede of sheep fleeing. Scrambling up, he was barely on his feet before there came the crunch of crisp grass being flattened by giant claws. Jim’s head jerked towards the noise, his sleepiness dispersing in a rush of adrenalin. Dumbstruck, he stared back at the dragons regarding him inquisitively, and found himself suddenly unable to move. A bronze, a blue and a brown – a typical candidate search party. The urge to throw up went through him, but he held it in. He always felt like that whenever he saw a dragon up close. It wasn’t that he was scared of them– just that they made him...uneasy. The one who had landed closest was a bronze, his rider wearing the distinctive leathers of a Wingleader. The brown dragon bore upon his back a pretty girl who had probably just passed training, and the blue dragon carried a woman in middle age, though Jim wouldn’t have been able to tell until she took her helmet and goggles off. She was looking at him very intently, making the boy wonder if he had something on his cheek. Surreptitiously he tried to wipe at his face while making it look like a yawn. Why hello... I’m Nimrath, what’s your name? I’m thirsty, got any water? Jim shook at the sound of the voice in his head and looked over the dragon who had spoken, feeling a sense of alarm. No one had spoken to him that way in a long, long time. Not since he was only a small child. He barely remembered those days, but he did remember enough to know that he’d been brought up surrounded by the sound of dragon voices. The dragon was an old bronze, not old enough to retire but past his youth. Not that it mattered to him, the boy
reminded himself. As far as he was concerned, the sooner the dragonriders got what they came for and left, the better. They were scaring the animals. I also wish to drink, the brown dragon said, my name is Sanath, pleasure to meet you... Jim refused to respond, and apprehensively glanced towards the blue dragon, wondering if it would also attempt conversation. The blue dragon just stared at him. That was just as unnerving, he decided, deliberately looking away. “Good afternoon,” the bronze rider called out, dismounting. The others followed. “Good afternoon...” Jim said suspiciously. For some reason, he had the feeling that he’d seen the man before but where, he wasn’t sure. “Are you lost?” The dragon snorted loudly, making him jump at the huff of grass and pollen that went flying. “I’m sorry to be imposing on you, but we’ve travelled a long way and if you could offer us some water, it would be much appreciated.” “Water?” He said incredulously, before he shut his mouth, not wanting them to stay any longer than necessary. “Right, water...” Jim rushed over to the paved water well and quickly hoisted a bucket up, first for the strangers to refill their water canteens and then for the beast trough. Shuffling forward with a delicacy he wouldn’t have thought such a large creature could possess, the bronze dragon gave an appreciative murmur before bending to drink. When the bronze had finished, the other dragons shuffled forward complacently, and drank their fill. He filled the trough three more times before their thirst was slaked. In between bouts of exhaustive water‐fetching, Jim stared, fascinated by the large creatures, his fear forgotten in the face of their gentle yawning, stretching and clawing – they reminded him of the giant housecats kept in the barn. He had completely forgotten about the others until the bronze rider cleared his throat loudly. The boy broke from his observation and peered suspiciously at him. “I’m Pike,” the man introduced himself with a smile, “I’m looking for a kid, you might know him, he should be your age just about now. Name’s James Kirk, I hear he’s living and working out here in Riverside.”
He glanced from the man to the girl and then back again. “Who wants to know?” There’s no use hiding! Pike remembers you from the day you were just a tiny screaming tot attached to your mother’s arm! Don’t we, Pike? Pike smiled at the surprise on the youth’s face, taking note of the direction that those blue eyes looked in – straight at Nimrath, and not a stark look of fear, but curiosity and comprehension. “Jimmy,” he said gently, “I’ve been looking for you for a long time.” It had been ten years since he’d last seen this boy, the son of the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman who were charged with the solemn responsibility to prepare the Solkar Weyr for the upcoming thread. Instead the plague had come first. He had never come so far in a search for candidates before, but this was the last clutch left by the old queen before she’d died. It was absolutely imperative that every single hatchling bind itself to a human and survive. He needed strong youths, and he was seeking anyone who was willing – but this boy, both his parents had been telepathically‐gifted and Pike needed that, needed it desperately. History proved it consistently time and time again that the children born to a bronze or gold rider had high potential to be riders themselves. With their numbers so low, every hatching mattered – and for that they needed mentally strong candidates to bond with the new dragons. The boy shook his head. “I think you made a mistake.” “I don’t think so,” Pike said, stepping forward as Nimrath roared from beside him. The other dragons rumbled their approval, gazes fixed upon the boy. Jim stepped back, rattled. “How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen at most?” “Yeah... so?” He examined the boy, carefully deciding what he should say. “I served under your father as a weyrling, he Impressed four years ahead, two clutches before mine, and I knew of your mother – an excellent junior Weyrwoman. Even if you can’t remember them, I remember them, and you, when you were born. I’ve been looking for you for a long time.” “Well I’m sorry‐ even if I were this person that you’re looking for, Wingleader, I’m not interested in being a rider,” Jim announced, and turned dismissively to tend to the anxiously
milling animals. Before his foot had finished leaving the ground, Nimrath stuck out his neck and butted the boy with his forehead, sending him toppling with an oomph of surprise. “Hey, what the heck!” Oops, sorry, but really you were asking for it... Holding his smile in, Pike went and helped the boy up. Jim dusted himself off with a huff. “You got a problem with me? I gave you the water didn’t I?” Nimrath gave what was the dragon’s version of a shrug and ambled away, an air of satisfaction about him. Pike stared down at the boy with a broad smile, already pleased with his choice – despite awareness of their intelligence, few people treated dragons as more than giant beasts. Jim only reached his chin right now, but he’d grow fast in the next two years‐ he was going to be a fine lad. And a good candidate, Pike added silently, if only he would give it a chance. “What?” Jim demanded, catching his look. The bronze rider’s smile widened. “I’ve spoken to your uncle, and he’s agreed to let you go.” Of course he did, Jim thought miserably. His foster parents both had family members who had fought in the last Thread fall, and were rightly proud that they had the genetic predisposition to handle dragons. Knowing that Jim was wanted as a candidate probably had given them something to gossip about at the next gather, never mind that they weren’t blood‐related to him at all. He ignored Pike and started back towards the Hold on foot. “Where are you going?” “Home!”
Pike watched the boy’s retreating back and physically restrained himself from chasing after him. Jim didn’t belong here, wasting away in some Hold tending animals for a roof over his head, clothes, and meals! Since the plagues, the Vulcans had tested all the youth and kept fastidious records on the gifted few who could handle dragonkind. Jim was on that list, and Pike was determined to recruit him. “Thread is coming!” He shouted. Jim paused but didn’t turn around. Having gotten the boy's attention, he continued. “You know the signs, Jim, you were educated by a Master. There are only two Weyrs left after the plagues, with less than two hundred riders. Your mother was a great rider, and if you’re half the leader your father was, we could use someone like you.” Jim started walking towards the Hold again. “Our breeding Queen just passed, and this is the last clutch she’s left us with!” The bronze rider shouted at his back. “If you participate and Impress, you could be a fully‐fledged rider in three years, and have your own wing in five! You do understand what we do, don’t you? No dragons means that Thread is going to fall and no one will be around to stop it!” The boy kept going, and didn’t look back.
Dinner was always a noisy affair at the small Hold‐ the couple who ran it were not related to him, or to any of the other children, but they’d set themselves up as Aunt Rona and Uncle Harv to all the orphans they’d gathered under their roof. They’d seem surprised to see him back alone, and Jim realized that they had expected him to be leaving with the search party. He could tell they were a little disappointed, but they left the subject alone, which he appreciated. Where there had once been families sitting at tables in the dining room, there was instead a sea of young faces, survivors of a plague that had affected every level of society. Even the Weyrs and their riders, who were usually blessed with good health and long life, due to their profession, had suffered. No one had been untouched‐ entire Holds had been decimated, standing walls housing rooms devoid of occupants. Memories came to the forefront of his mind, sending a shudder through him as though someone had stepped upon his grave. Jim clenched his fists and begged off early ‐ it was just too much, too soon. A few noticed him leave, but, blessedly, no one asked him why, or stopped him. From the expression on most of their faces, people already knew about the dragons who’d visited today, and were eagerly waiting for his response.
Jim came to a stop on the outside stoop and sat down, tiredly looking out over the empty fields before turning his gaze toward the night sky. Before the visit from Pike today, he hadn’t thought of his parents in a long time. He didn’t remember much from when he was little, but he remembered the inhuman screams, the sound of the utter anguish of dragons at each sick riders’ passing and... He took a deep breath and let the memory go back into the darkness. The plague had turned his connection to the creatures into a curse. Since the plague had passed, everyone had been working hard toward rebuilding and preparing for Thread, which was only six years away. He knew that the Weyrs had been hard hit by the plague. The disease had spread easily due to the close living arrangements there, the communal lifestyle meaning that everyone ate in the same place, at the same time, shared living quarters; it had taken a devastating toll. It was the same at the Holds, but it didn’t have the same impact; dragons could not live without their human partners, so when riders died, the dragons had followed. Pike wasn’t lying about the need for candidates. The Weyrs had been struggling for years to boost their numbers, and had only just now begun to grow. A full Weyr was five hundred dragons at least, and now there were under two hundred spread between two Weyrs. That was hardly enough to protect the Holds that looked to the Weyrs for protection – even if they were to combine their dragons and fight together. The queens always rose to mate more often when Thread was near, but post‐plague many had died with their riders, while only a few new queens had been born; he wasn’t certain how many were alive now, but it couldn’t be more than a handful. Plus, dragons couldn’t survive past their hatching without an Impression, took at least two years to reach maturity, and there were only five years left until Thread – just how many eggs could a single queen or even two clutch in that time, even with instinct urging them on? Jim wrapped his arms around his shoulders and sighed into the night, standing to take a walk around the house. Even if he felt uneasy about dragons, he had to seriously consider an offer to be a candidate if only...because Thread was coming and they didn’t have enough dragonriders. From inside, the table burst into a cheerful and noisy song for one of the younger children, who was having a birthday. The guilt washed over him in a wave. There were at least five other boys at the Hold who would have leapt at the chance to be a dragonrider, and not one single person he knew otherwise would turn down an offer. When it came down to it, he had no choice but to go. Standing up, Jim headed back to the dining room to help with the cleaning up. Afterward he gazed unseeingly through his telescope before falling into his unmade bed. The next morning he had barely sat down for breakfast before two of the younger girls came tearing into the room, shouting that there were dragons coming. Everyone ran out to greet them, chattering excitedly and pointing at the magnificent creatures from the front porch
gardens. Jim was one of the last out the door, and watched in silence as two bronze dragons, a brown and a blue dragon, all swerved to their left and dove low, skimming along the fallow fields before landing elegantly. Only the brown dragon seemed a little out of beat, and even with the rider all covered in gear, Jim could tell straight away it wasn’t the girl from yesterday – too tall and broad in the shoulders. Pike took off his helmet and dismounted by leaping lightly down from his seat, causing a happy flutter among the girls. “Good morning, ma’am, I hope I’m not interrupting.” “Not at all, bronze rider,” Aunt Rona gushed. “What can we do for you?” It was almost painful to watch. Jim glanced over to where Uncle Harv was standing, and found the man looking highly amused. “We passed through yesterday and we spoke to Jim, one of your wards. Is he available?” Instantly, twenty pairs of eyes flicked to him. Jim fought down his blush, and pushing roughly past the people in front, he grabbed Pike by the arm to drag the man away as fast as he could. “Jim? What about breakfast?” He scowled at Pike, who gazed back at him calmly. “In a moment!” Sensing that there was a tense conversation ahead, Uncle Harv and Aunt Rona ushered everyone indoors, then invited in the other riders for breakfast with their usual tact. As soon as the door shut, he whipped around to confront the bronze rider head on. “I’ll go.” Pike smiled. Jim wanted to punch the man, if only to kill that smug glint in the man’s eyes. Whatever else he was going to say, he swallowed down, too angry to speak without starting a fight. Someone was probably spying on them. He let the man go with a muttered curse, and angrily stormed back into the house. Flying up the stairs to his room, Jim allowed himself a moment to fume before beginning to pack his things. Coming here like this, announcing their intentions to everyone – they’d practically humiliated him into going to the Hatching! Everyone knew that with the circumstances, people didn’t turn down the offer to be a candidate.
Silently, he crept downstairs, bag slung over his shoulder. Pike and the other riders were waiting for him. Outside, he was helped onto the back of the brown dragon and met the rider for the first time. McCoy was older than him by five years and already an Assistant Weyrlingmaster. He also possessed a faint greenish tinge about his face. “Best not to get too close – I may throw up on you,” the man announced with an accent straight from the historical South as soon as Jim was settled. “I get motion sickness.” He gave the man a weird look, “You’re a dragonrider – how can you get motion sickness?” McCoy snorted derisively, and rummaged through a side pack, producing a pair of goggles that the rider thrust at him. “Here, put them on. You say that now but wait till you go between– an icy hell wrapped in darkness and silence, that’s what it is.” So Jim had heard. “I’m wearing a jacket.” He pointed out; the brown rider merely smirked at him. There wasn’t any warning before the dragon tensed and, with a leap that almost sent him flying off the back, they were in the air and climbing steadily. With his hair wildly whipping about and the safety straps cutting into his waist, Jim turned to look down at the fields, the orchards, the blobs of white or brown that the animals had been reduced to from this height. Suddenly he wasn’t sure why he’d been so against the idea of being a rider – he wanted to stay up here forever! Exhilarated by the rush of the wind and the seeming endlessness of the deep blue skies, Jim felt his spirits lift until he was smiling so hard it hurt. “Okay, kid,” McCoy shouted over the winds, “we’re going between. Just hold your breath for a second, and it’ll be over. Come on, grab hold of me!” “Hold my breath!” Jim stammered, alarmed, and moved to wrap his arms around the rider’s stomach. “I thought –“ Whatever he thought was lost as suddenly the world disappeared, sensation falling away into unending void. Just as he was thinking about how freezing it was, the sky reappeared. Instead of farming fields beneath them, massive forests were spread across majestic mountain ranges. There was a lake far below reflecting brightly the blue heavens and even the dark bird‐like shapes of the dragons crossing it. Jim’s eyes widened in wonder, his complaint about the bitter cold of between already forgotten.
Zefram Weyr was the tenth Weyr to be founded, an architectural marvel built by the ancient Vulcans to house the first human dragonriders, directly constructed into the rims of the volcano centralized around the caldera bowl – a massive stretch of open space that could easily fit a full set of orchards, as well as farming and grazing land. Jim’s eyes flicked to and fro excitedly taking in all the details – dragons ambling about the rims, sunbathing on ledges, people rushing about doing their chores appearing from and disappearing into doorways as nothing more than little figurines. The dwellings were stacked on top of each other, each lower level’s dwelling roof acting as the walkway/dragon ledge for the dwellings above. It was done neatly but unevenly, some ledges being longer (and some dwellings larger) while others were a step higher or lower, to take full advantage of whatever stone was available. The greenery and beast herds spread into the distance on one side of the open flat Weyr grounds. The overall effect was harmonious and interesting, especially with the array of potted plants and lazing dragons decorating the place. Slowly a steady humming noise rose to fill the entire air as they got closer and closer. Jim peered below at the Weyr grounds – something was happening. The bronze dragons roared, diving down towards the bowl with deadly elegance. “Aw, heck!” McCoy groused before following, sending Jim’s stomach flipping at the sudden drop. “What’s happening?” “The Hatching has already started,” McCoy shouted over the wind, “We gotta get you down there, hang on!” Jim was grateful that he had not eaten breakfast as they feinted downwards to roughly land and he was promptly pulled off. Total strangers stripped him without mercy for his embarrassment while he was still disorientated from the flight, and forced a simple white shift over his head. Someone had even wrenched off his boots while he’d been passed around. “Come on,” an old woman barked, taking him firmly by the wrist. Jim stumbled along, surprised at how warm the sand was. His eyes sweep across the grounds and then overhead, realizing that all the dragons were watching from their ledge perches and there were a good deal of human spectators too. The old woman dragged him to where the people were gathered and pushed him roughly to take his place among boys who were of a similar age ‐ some were obviously older and a few
obviously younger. Most were excited, though a few looked like they were going to faint, but all were mesmerized by the giant eggs. Especially glorious was the queen egg, huge and glowing, sitting in the distance where most of the girls were gathered. Jim estimated that at a squeeze, he could probably get in there. There were a decent spread of them, and he’d heard the excited whispers that there were bound to be a few browns and bronze in the thirty or so eggs that were to hatch. Not enough, Jim thought as he counted them again. Even if all of them were brown or bronze, which was impossible, it wouldn’t be enough. Soon the sounds of the crowd rose as the eggs began to rock violently. All at once, three eggs burst open, but a bronze dragon was the quickest, careening out of his shell like he was being chased. He was as big as a pony, and quickly zeroed in on one of the boys, who bewilderedly announced the dragon’s name to a pleased crowd. Jim smiled, basking in the delight the pair emitted. Four of the green dragons went for girls, while the rest picked boys. A small blue dragon approached a girl with curly brown hair, and introduced himself by butting into her legs – she toppled over, arms flailing and Jim had to laugh. It was rare, but not unheard of for girls to Impress a blue or brown dragon. Jim watched the commotion, eavesdropping on the mental conversations between the pairs and found himself smiling. Several who had Impressed started leaving the grounds with their newly hatched dragons. After a moment, he followed them, finding himself ambivalently relieved that he had not Impressed, and then looked to the side where someone was trying to get his attention. It was McCoy, who was waving at him with both arms, the female brown rider that he’d seen on the first day, Pike and a – he blinked at the unerring Vulcan gaze that pinned him in place. He’d never seen a Vulcan before, in the flesh anyway, though he’s seen pictures of them in books. Vulcans lived in the Western desert forts, beyond the mountains and next to the sea, where only dragons and airships could reach. They were lore keepers, historians, and trained the Masters who taught the arts and sciences, everything from governance to cartography and pharmacy. He wondered why one was here, so far from his home, unless... He was a bronze rider, Jim realized with a start. The Vulcan was wearing a very archaic uniform, and the stripes of a Wingsecond. No Vulcan had ridden dragons in hundreds of years, and here was one as if he’d walked from a history book! He hid his smile but promised himself he’d speak to the Vulcan later, if only to ask him questions about the grand libraries belonging to the Surak clan. Distracted by the Vulcan, Jim dismissed the brown rider’s waving and turned back to watch the rest of the Hatching. He began to wonder if Pike would force him to stick around if he didn’t Impress this time, hoping that Jim would later, but didn’t get to finish the thought as he was tackled onto his back with a pained grunt. Oh Jim, the dragon nuzzled at him, damp and warm. Smart, funny, nice Jim.
A hush fell over the crowd and Jim stared in shock at the golden‐hued dragon gazing deeply into his eyes. Love washed over him in a warm wave – adoration, respect, joy. I am Preth, and you are my Jim.
Spock kept his surprised reactions to himself as per the custom of his people. “Fascinating,” he said quietly, watching as the young man stammered that the newly hatched queen’s name was Preth before looking equally aghast and smitten with his charge. An attendant came and led the pair out of the grounds, looking like she didn’t know how to react. Pike turned to look at him. “Is that even possible?” the man hissed under his breath. Naturally, he wanted to say. By the ancient warrior tradition of Vulcan, dragonriders had once been exclusively male – even the gold dragonriders had been men. This had once been the norm and not the exception, but of course it had all changed when humans took over the Weyrs. Since humans did not suffer from infertility, miscarriages did not seem to impact upon their population levels as seriously as it had upon Vulcans, allowing for female riders to join the ranks. Before he could explain this to the shocked Wingleader, Nogura descended on the grounds and immediately headed towards them. “What just happened?” the Weyrleader demanded, his eyes wide and tense. “Who was that boy?” “James Kirk,” Pike said simply. Nogura obviously recognized the name, for he nodded and quickly regained his usual composure. “I see. What do you think, Spock?” The man turned to him, “Your people ever come across something like this?” “There is precedence,” he stated, slightly irked by their surprise. “The dragon chooses and cannot make a mistake in this matter. She knows to whom she belongs. We cannot change her mind nor should we – there is logic to a dragon’s choice, even if we do not readily comprehend it.”
Actually, Spock thought that it was highly logical. A female rider would not be as physically resilient as a male, and would no doubt fall pregnant on one of the mating flights – and there would be many intense mating flights this close to Threadfall, with only one breeding queen at the Weyr. A male rider would not have this issue and it was better, Spock thought, to not put the queen rider through the arduous physical strain and emotional distress that a miscarriage would cause. Mollified by his reply, the Weyrleader hurried back to his party of Lords and several prominent Holders who had all come to observe the Hatchings. Spock watched the exchange of respectful small talk for a moment, listening to the various Holders expressing pride at having this or that individual from their lands become accepted by a dragon, before Charoth rumbled quietly that he was hungry. He retrieved his dragon, and spent the rest of the afternoon hunting for wild wherry, whom the Humans called ‘giant turkey’ though Spock thought it was far too big to be that. Famished from the long flights taken the last ten days to search out candidates, Charoth glutted himself on the first kill and leisurely ate five more before he was satisfied. Spock was silent all the while, basking in the dragon’s enjoyment, deep in thought. What are you thinking of? The new queen Preth, and her rider. He knew the boy’s name, Kirk – there had been a Kirk, Weyrleader of Solkar Weyr from years ago who had not survived the plague. This was the son, Spock presumed – a worthy genetic successor, judging by the Impression, who had inherited his family’s empathic gifts. Uhura had met the boy yesterday with Pike and did not understand why the Wingleader was so insistent on having him present for the Hatching. She did, however, sense that he had a strong mind, and the dragons had liked him. Actually, according to her, Nimrath and Hiseth had both been friendly, and even Sanath seemed to respond to the boy on some level. Uhura had been insulted on Pike’s behalf that the boy had actually the audacity to turn down the offer to be a candidate, and had refused the offer to fly out with Pike to collect the boy today. He wondered how she had reacted to the Impression since one day James Kirk would be her leader. A good choice, a very nice boy, but you are the only one for me. Warmed by Charoth’s regard, Spock absently petted the dragon’s side. Come, let’s return. We should bring back some food... Moruth says the stores are empty and the new queen is still hungry.
If Moruth commands it, then I suppose we must. There was a rumble of agreement from his dragon, then they were back in the air. It took a few minutes to locate the animals but once they were sighted, four of them were quickly dispatched and they returned to the Weyr, bound wherries clutched between Charoth’s claws. After dropping the kills off at the kitchen for cutting so the young dragons could be fed, he took Charoth to one of the many large natural springs in the area to bathe him. When his duties to the bronze dragon were completed, Spock washed up for supper in the bathing chambers he shared with three other riders on his level. The dining hall was already noisy with chatter and filled with cheerful lively music by the time he arrived, though food was still only just being laid out on the tables. His preferred table was occupied by honoured visitors; given the fact that it was Nogura himself who sat with them, they were likely to be prominent Holders. Wingleader Komack held court at the other end of the long table, and gestured for Spock that there was a free seat, but the Vulcan declined. The idea of sitting with the Holders did not suit him. There would be many prying questions from the Holders who undoubtedly met Vulcans even less often than the dragonriders, and Spock wanted a peaceful meal. Weyrlingmaster Barnett sat with the new queen rider at one of his other usual dining spots. Pike sat by the boy’s other side. Heading in that direction, Spock nodded greetings to his fellow Wingriders and took the only chair left at the table which, unfortunately, sat right in the middle of the table where it was noisiest. The others, being used to him, thankfully left him alone to contemplate his meal, only bothering him to pass this dish or ask him about tomorrow’s schedule. Out of the corner of his eye, Spock observed the boy, noting the stiff lines of his shoulders. Kirk was obviously uncomfortable with all of the attention, and glanced several times with longing at the weyrling table where others closer in age to him sat. The Vulcan could readily sympathize. He had not appreciated the excess attention he had received either when he had Impressed and begun life at the Weyr, even though the attention had never been anything except friendly. Moruth’s rider wants you to visit. Spock looked to Nogura who was indeed discretely signalling for him to come over. Standing, he went to the Weyrleader. Do you know what he requires? Hmm...Moruth says he needs to know about the ancient riders.
Besides being Pike’s Wingsecond, Spock doubled as the acting archivist for the Weyr. Traditionally a human who was selected for their mental abilities, archivists studied for ten years with a Master Historian ordained by the Vulcan High Council. During the chaos of the plague, the profession had not been deemed important, and was thus in short‐supply. Undoubtedly the humans were fretting over the fate of this Weyr, indeed the continuation of dragonkind in general, simply because the sex of the queen rider was male, and required a Master’s word to allay their fears. “Ah, Spock, glad you made it.” Nogura stood to greet him, his easy smile at odds with the seriousness of his eyes. “We were discussing earlier that it’s not so unusual to have a queen choose a male to ride her, isn’t that right?” The Holders followed the Weyrleader to their feet in respect, and quickly a spare chair was found. Though Spock would have preferred to stand, he sat so that the others could sit. The young Vulcan eyed the men in front of him impassively, and was faintly bemused when they all straightened, intimidated by his gaze. One of them, an older woman with scarlet hair and shrewd eyes spoke first. “Dragonrider, I understand that this has happened before, when a gold dragon would choose a man – but if it has, I have never heard of it. The traditional position of the queen’s rider is that of ‘Weyrwoman’ – and we can’t call a boy that.” Internally he sighed, though on the surface no one except a Vulcan would have been able to tell. “The ancient dragonriders were exclusively male Vulcans, lady – the position was never referred to as ‘Weyrwoman’ until more recent times.” At their surprise, he realized they would require a more detailed response. Pushing away his exasperation and weariness, Spock explained the structure of the Weyr as it had been over a thousand years ago when Vulcans had still flown. He listed the logical benefits for the queen to have a male rider – indeed, why Vulcan riders had always been exclusively male for these reasons – and his hypothesis for why Preth would have found her ideal match in a human male to bring the Weyr through these difficult circumstances. The Holders were respectfully silent and seemed to be satisfied that there was nothing to be concerned with by the time he closed. Soon after, the conversation drifted to something else and Nogura excused him with a nod. Grateful to escape the scrutiny of the Holders and the general din of the crowds, Spock retreated to his weyr with the intention to sleep, but as he crossed the caldera, he found himself following the sounds of voracious feeding and happy chatter to one of the ground caverns used by the dragons as a nursery or healing room. He knew that it couldn’t be the weyrlings who used the largest ground cavern on the other side of the bowl. Though his mind had already arrived at the conclusion that it was likely to be Preth, as the queens were always
cared for away from the others, Spock investigated anyway. He found McCoy, a brown rider that Barnett took on as an assistant, directing Kirk on caring for the golden dragon. “You’re pretty good at that,” said the brown rider, a pleasantly surprised tone in his voice. The young rider merely shrugged and leaned over to scratch at the little queen’s neck, cooing at her. More oil was smeared on until the paddle was glistening. The boy’s hands became involved, smoothing the oil where the blunt clunky paddle was not suitable to reach – that crease between the front and hind legs that connected with the belly, around the ears, the tail. It was soothing to watch, Spock decided, remembering his own experiences of caring for Charoth when the dragon has still been just an infant. What are you doing? Charoth’s sleepy question reminded the Vulcan that he was intruding and to leave before he was noticed. Taking a ride up with a senior weyrling back from Holder‐ferrying duty, Spock retreated to his weyr as intended, bathed, then went to bed. The next fortnight was long and busy with the weyrlings all in various states of exhaustion from the constant care that the young dragons required. The queen rider was only sighted by him twice, and appeared to be just as tired, though in fine spirits. Spock helped the weyrlings when he could, between updating the written archives with recent events and the training drills with the rest of his wing. He lost himself in work, but then suddenly the day was upon him to bring news to the Forge. It was an unwanted duty, but one he had been forced to take as a Vulcan. That day, he did not join the others at breakfast, using that time to oil Charoth, then do a final inventory, and left after only drinking some tea. The sun was still low on the horizon when he left, casting everything in an orange glow and filling the shadows with blue. By the time he had made several jumps between, picking up the various supplies he was to deliver to the Forge in his visit, the sun was already past the midpoint of the sky. If it were not for the dried berries and fruits he had brought to eat whenever he rested between jumps, he would have been starving when he finally appeared at sunset above the Vulcan settlement. Charoth dropped the cargo off at the designated drop point and went to the beach to frolic in the waves. Spock watched his dragon go with longing, then squaring his shoulders, obtained transport to Surak Hold. He had drawn looks the first time he had returned dressed in riding leathers, the archaic uniform of the dragonriders having long since been renounced. This time no one paid him any particular attention as he was ushered into the courtyard and taken up to
his room. Standing around in his childhood bedroom, the young Vulcan realized that he no longer felt comfortable in the space that had once been his sanctuary. None of the furnishing in the room truly belonged to him, or indeed, had even been chosen by him. After he washed himself, he selected a nondescript robe to wear and went down stairs to join the evening meal. T’Pau was present, as was his father, which made the entire thing doubly unpleasant for him. Few words were exchanged, and for the most part, the young Vulcan focused on his dinner. He knew that Weyrleader Nogura thought he was doing Spock a favour by allowing him to be their conveyor to the Vulcan settlement whenever important news needed to be announced‐the man thought that it would give Spock a chance to visit with his family, when in truth it was the exact thing the young Vulcan wished to avoid. Brusquely, he relayed the news of the Hatching to the Elder of All, as well as golden Preth’s bonding to a human boy. “It is gratifying to know that the line continues. Congratulate the boy for me.” T’Pau responded in slow patrician tones. Though he knew it was not her intention, Spock felt discomforted at the comparison between their manners of speech. Had he changed so much? “I will,” He said quietly, head bowed. “His name?” “James Kirk, Lady.” “James...Kirk.” The old woman repeated in her powerful matron’s voice. “We shall visit the Weyr in the coming months. Send word for us.” Spock tipped his head, acknowledging the request. The head of the House turned away, and interest in him returned to zero – the way he preferred. Spock sequestered himself in his room as soon as it was polite‐ calling for Charoth, he quickly mounted, and left for a ride along the seashore. This visit home was as he dreaded – thoroughly unpleasant. The young Vulcan had left home many moons before, having just finished his education and making the rounds of the Holds in the human realm as a scion of Surak was meant to. There had been an opportunity to attend a Hatching and he had taken it – he had never thought it would lead to anything but he had hoped...You are the one for me, Charoth intoned fondly, picking up on his thoughts. Yes, Spock replied, stroking down the side of the bronze dragon’s neck, yes I am. Compared to the days he would have had here at the Forge, he far preferred the active life of a dragonrider.
At dawn as he prepared to leave Spock found himself face to face with T’Pau, who offered him a book wrapped in hide‐skin. “The new gold rider shall need this, when the Time is due.” She said, “Live long and prosper, Spock,” and then was gone, returning to the house. He looked down at the book, but did not give into his curiosity, merely stowing it securely in the side pack strapped to Charoth’s side. The journey back to Zefram Weyr was much faster, as Spock was not required to make quite so many stops to pick up cargo. It took him only four jumps to reach the Weyr, with a long break for Charoth to hunt. It was only midday when the Vulcan arrived, just in time to join the communal meal in the dining hall. He reclaimed his usual seat next to Pike, who preferred to sit on the other end to Nogura. Just as he began to pour himself some juice, someone sat down opposite him with a huff and grabbed a scoop of the meat stew without even a greeting. It was the queen’s rider, and he appeared to be disgruntled. Spock wondered if something was wrong but Pike reacted with bemusement at the boy. “Jim, slow down.” The Wingleader said, “Komack looks like he wants to come over and offer another lesson on table manners.” The boy didn’t slow down, but shot the older Wingleader Komack a disdainful, challenging glare and gulped a large mouthful of stew, chewing vigorously. Spock kept his reactions to himself at the display. “If he says one more word to me, I’m not going to be responsible for what I do.” At that Pike laughed loudly, which startled Kirk out of his dark mood. The young rider smiled pleasantly, his entire demeanour shifting to amiable as he forgot about the other Wingleader and engaged Pike in conversation. Though the Vulcan did not comprehend what the relationship between the two were, he knew that the Wingleader was fond of the boy, and seemed nostalgic whenever he looked upon him. Spock had never heard Pike speak of the late Kirk and Winona of Solkar Weyr, but he did know that the man was one of many riders who had been sent to Zefram to bolster the Weyr’s numbers, and thus must have some knowledge of the boy’s parents. “Spock,” Pike waved him closer. “Spock, I want you to meet Jim. Spock is my Wingsecond, and has mastery in History, Botany and Astronomy – he teaches the classes on navigating at night by the stars.”
There was something rather unnerving about the blue‐eyed gaze that shot to him. The young rider smiled strangely, as if he knew something that Spock didn’t. “Charoth’s rider.” “Yes,” he replied, hiding his surprise for Charoth had not mentioned that he had interacted with or even seen the young queen and her rider. “My apologies for neglecting our introductions.” “If you need help with anything and I’m not around, Jim, you can always go find Spock here.” Spock glanced at his Wingleader in surprise and wondered if the man knew how it would appear to the others if the rider were to approach him. He had no desire to lead the Weyr as some of the other bronze riders did but... “It would please me to offer you assistance,” he said, though internally he hoped the boy did not take him at his word. Why not? Charoth rumbled with bemusement, he is a lovely thing, or so Preth tells me – but she could be exaggerating. But Moruth agrees, says his rider wants to take the boy and display him along with Sanath’s rider, says the humans like to look at them, it’ll make the humans happy. A strange rider, Moruth’s one... Having become used to the way dragons spoke, Spock felt the edge of his lips quirk up at what Charoth was trying to tell him: Weyrleader Nogura had noticed that the boy was physically attractive, and had intentions to bring him and Uhura along to the next seasonal gatherings at the Holds to promote relations with the Weyr. Humans had long‐held the notion that riders were always attractive individuals. Spock found the idea preposterous, since obviously the dragons had no concept of human beauty. However, it was true that due to the physical requirements necessary to harness a dragon, riders were likely to be in excellent health and therefore conforming to certain standards that were desirable to humans. Correlation, not causation‐ recognition of this distinction was often lost on humans. You never told me you knew him. Jim is kind. He scratches me when I itch and you are not there. He is very good at scratching itches. Then I should thank him, shouldn’t I? But Spock did not thank the gold rider ‐ Kirk left before he could finish his lunch, for apparently the young queen was hungry again. At the back of his mind, Charoth murmured approval at the
boy’s priorities and Spock found himself agreeing; devotion to one’s dragon was the most important trait in a successful dragonrider. Catching the direction of his gaze, Pike met him with a warm smile. “He’s going to work out amazingly, you just wait.” Considering the fact that Wingleader had singlehandedly picked at least five successful candidates for the Hatching, Spock considered it plausible to believe the man’s optimism, and mentally made a note to keep track of Kirk’s progress. As Pike was often away, carrying out duties that Nogura could not complete, it became a ritual for Spock to report on the young man’s endeavours while the Wingleader had been away. Meanwhile, it was not lost on the gold rider that Pike was fond of Spock. Over six months passed. Spock taught his classes, visited Holds who requested his expertise in botany, astronomy or history, and attended the regular drills, as well as a gathering to cerebrate a newly established Hold. He worked on improving the yields of corn and legumes through selective pollination, and identified a new plant that worked effectively as a sleeping draught. His days filled with activity, the Vulcan only had the evenings for leisure and usually spent the time stargazing or reading before going to bed early. His path crossed with the gold rider’s almost every day, but they were both always on their way elsewhere, and never exchanged more than a brief greeting, if that. With Pike and Nogura commonly absent, the boy was often in the company of Komack, who took over duties as Kirk’s teacher to the boy’s misery. The gold rider often used mealtimes to escape the company of the Wingleader in favour of his fellow weyrlings, and thus what time they may have spent conversing at the high table during meals was lost. Through the weyrlings that Spock occasionally assisted he found out that Kirk had made himself known to them, and the other young riders were a wealth of information on the gold rider. Kirk was almost sixteen, having Impressed Preth when he was just four months past his fifteen birthday – the typical tender age of candidates, including Spock himself when Charoth had plucked him from among the spectator stands. The young man was from one of the Holds near Riverside, enjoyed reading, was good with animals, was skilled in making his own slingshots, bows and arrows for hunting, and an experienced rider of herd beasts. Everyone accepted Kirk as Preth’s rider and their future leader, even those annoyed with his lively attitude or tendency to speak bluntly. According to Uhura, he was relaxed and easy‐going to the point where she considered him ill‐suited to take on the rigorous duties of leading a Weyr. Nevertheless, she was quick to add that he was good with Preth, working very hard to take care of the dragon’s needs, never begrudging the fact he had to rise early to bath and oil Preth, feed her, walk her and still attend to his lessons. He was, according to the Masters who
taught at the Weyr, a quick student with a keen mind, eager to learn. Even so, he largely remained unknown to Spock, except by general observation. It seemed to Spock that the young goldrider had adapted to life in a Weyr relatively smoothly in comparison to some weyrlings. He got along with others, and often the Vulcan would pass him in the dining hall happily chatting away with Sulu and Hannity, blue and green riders respectively. Spock knew both, for he instructed the weyrlings on the constellations, preparatory work for later when they began night time flying exercises. Despite Sulu’s maturity, he was still a child at only thirteen years of age and often left out by the others, thus it was pleasing that Kirk took care to include the younger boy, and slowly allow the other weyrlings accept the boy through association with the gold rider. On this point, Uhura grudgingly gave her approval of the gold rider – he treated others well, regardless of station. After observing the boy’s interactions with caretakers, and noting the loyalty and the camaraderie that the goldrider seemed to have built up in a short time, Spock had to admit that there was something charismatic about Kirk’s lively disposition, in the warmth he extended to others. He considered this an excellent trait in someone who would one day end up in a position of leadership, and silently praised again the engineering of his ancestors that allowed the dragons to choose their right rider for them. “What do you think of him?” Pike asked him one day as he concluded his report. There was a shrewd glint to his Wingleader’s eyes that gave the young Vulcan pause to consider his answer carefully. “He possess qualities to become a worthy leader.” “Really?” The older man queried. At once, Spock realized that he was being tested in some manner, though what type of test and to what end, he didn’t really understand. “Spock, you’ve been keeping track of his development for – how long, eight months?” Seven months and three weeks, the young Vulcan thought, but didn’t correct the man. “Surely you’ve got an opinion on him yourself.” Catching the teasing lilt of the older man’s smile, the Vulcan deduced with astonishment that Pike’s ultimate goal was to herd him into forming a personal acquaintance with the gold rider. Spock felt his jaw snap shut with an abruptness that startled even him. Vulcans had never been completely comfortable with the innate sensuality of dragonkind, for it drew out the violently passionate side of Vulcan nature that they strove as followers of Surak to rise above. His sharp reply, to correct Pike on his misinterpretation of Spock’s professional regard as archivist to be personal interest, was cut off by the sound of a loud bang.
The subject of their conversation flew from his room and down the flight of stairs, stalking across the Weyrbowl, followed closely by a yelling Komack, who demanded at great volume from the second‐level ledge that the boy return for lessons immediately. Turning and making a rather rude gesture, the gold rider disappeared into the narrow stairwell caverns leading to the kitchens. “Does that happen a lot?” Pike asked dryly. Spock arched an eyebrow delicately. “Occasionally.” Admittedly, it was more than once that Spock had heard raised voices as the boy argued with Komack over some issue or other. Wingleader Komack was a man of the older generation, and ill‐suited to Kirk’s liveliness, which he interpreted as impetuous and cheeky. Despite Spock’s respect for elders and his awareness that Komack was deeply haunted by the deaths of friends and family, the Vulcan found the man to be overprotective and rather overbearing. A strict follower of rules, he disapproved of anything he considered potentially harmful to the Weyr’s repopulation efforts, and was dismissive of anything that did not contribute to the Weyr’s immediate wellbeing. “What do you mean golds only fly for mating? It says right here in black and white! Can’t you read? Besides, what good is being a dragonrider if I have nothing to ride! You’ve been teaching me how to cure leather and make my own gear – how is that even relevant if you won’t even let me fly!” Spock stopped at the doorway of a weyr built to accommodate a queen and her rider, uncertain if he should proceed inside while the two continued their shouting match. A large spacious dwelling on the second floor with a broad ledge for Preth to rest on, it held an antechamber, a well‐appointed office, private bathing chambers and lavatory, and two bedrooms. As it was, with rare scrolls, books, and tomes spilling off the tables, as well as ornate tapestries mapping the lands, a display of Zefram’s crest, it looked very much like the living space of a Weyrleader. “Look, it clearly sets out here that the ancient Vulcan dragonriders fought Thread with everyone they had, even the gold riders, ‘who flew low and light below the others, destroying Thread with lashes of fire from their iron gloves’ – you can’t tell me that queens didn’t fly!” “She’ll fly when she needs to and no sooner!”
Kirk opened his mouth to retort but stopped when the young man caught sight of him. “Spock, good, you’re here – tell this man that golds are supposed to fly along with everyone else.” The gold rider ordered imperiously, refusing to even look at Komack. The Vulcan looked between the displeasure on the older man’s face and Kirk’s own flushed appearance. “Wingleader Komack, I mean no disrespect, but Preth does require the same training as any other dragon, for–” the rest of his sentence was cut off by the boy’s loud, “Thank you – FINALLY!” The older man stiffened, mouth opening to protest but Spock pressed on: “The mating flight shall neither be long, nor will a gold dragon be able to climb to a sufficient height to guarantee an adequate clutch if she has not built up the muscle strength, reflexes, instincts and techniques for flight. Dragons are born with a genetic memory, that is true, but a body still needs to be trained. While it is true that Kirk has been placed into your care, and therefore you may forbid him from flying, I advise that you allow it.” “Is this your recommendation as a historian?” Komack asked quietly. Spock gave the affirmative, and left as soon as he was dismissed, not wanting to become further embroiled in the dispute. The next day he was in the middle of confirming a set of newly drafted star maps for night time navigation, when he became disturbed by a commotion outside in the Weyrbowl grounds. “What’s happening?” he demanded of the weyrling standing outside his door, bearing freshly folded laundry. The boy pointed to the sky. Spock looked up, only to immediately jerk back reflexively when a golden body lunged in his direction, pulling up at the last moment to swerve to the side. It was Preth, ridden by a laughing Kirk, executing ever widening circles around the ancient volcanic caldera as he gained altitude. The Vulcan watched with the others, mesmerized by the sight of sunlight hitting golden dragon hide until rider and dragon disappeared over the rim. From nowhere, a large bronze body shot past him and after Preth. Seated on the bronze and radiating righteous fury was Komack. Alarmed, Spock called for Charoth and went to grab his gear. As soon as the bronze landed, he mounted and ordered for them to give chase. Is this practice? Charoth asked with interest once they were clear of the Weyr. No, you are far too young, Spock replied, uncomfortable with the
implications of the question posed. Spoilsport, his dragon replied with a sniff, I would not mind Preth – and you think of her rider far too much. Ignoring Charoth’s comment, Spock dug his heels in and tightened his hands around the straps, pulling them taut as they quickly gained altitude, the mountains and lakes stretching out below them into the horizon. Ahead he could just make out of bronze glimmer of Winganth, but with the sun in his eyes, the gold of Preth was hard to see. But she was just ahead, he could sense it through the innate awareness that Charoth had of her, and gaining altitude quickly, intending to soar with the clouds. Despite the circumstances, he noted distantly that Kirk was handling Preth with ease that was usually born of experience, and that the pair were in perfect harmony as they dove, swerved and rose with the currents. Hurry, he urged Charoth. So this *is* practice, was his dragon’s pleased reply before they suddenly accelerated. Cold harsh winds nicked at the exposed flesh of his cheeks, and Spock had to huddle down against Charoth as they rose up after the golden queen and Winganth. Gravity pulled at him, and his muscles went stiff as he fought to stay mounted. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted them passing Winganth and Komack, struggling in their older age to keep up with the speed and stamina of the young queen. Winganth says that they are turning back, but his rider orders us to continue. Letting out a trumpeting cry as a farewell, the older bronze fell away, gliding gently into a turn before the pair disappeared from view. Tell him that we shall ensure Preth returns safely. With a bugle, Charoth swooped through the clouds joyously, high on the thrill of a good chase, soaring through a foreign place where clouds spread before them as mists along the ground. Even Spock found himself taking a breath of awe at the sight, seen rarely by even dragonriders. Preth flew before them, her hide gloriously golden as it was bathed in direct sunlight. Suddenly before his eyes, they disappeared. And did not reappear. NO! Spock mentally yelled, his stomach plummeting. The shock hit him and he almost let go of his reins. The goldrider had gone between, but to where, or if he should even come out again – They are well! Charoth assured him excitedly, they went someplace that Kirk knows. Preth showed me – I think she likes me. Come, I shall take us. We go between. In a flash they were in the total darkness of between. Spock opened his mouth in surprise at the freezing temperature, unprepared for it but then he was shaking off the cold above an idyllic river shore hedged by trees on both sides. Across the water he could see the plumes of smoke from Holds, a spread of orchard trees hiding the dwellings from view. He searched frantically, turning to and fro until he saw them; Preth gliding to a gentle landing under them next to the
thicket of forests blanketing this side of the shore. The sickening coldness of his belly turned to queasiness and flutters of relief. Ordering Charoth to come alongside the young queen, Spock jumped from his mount before they came to a complete stop. Kirk smiled at the Vulcan, and taking off his helmet, shook out his hair. “Phew, that was intense!” A few strides closed the distance between them. Spock felt his composure crack at the smile upon the goldrider’s face. His hand shot out, grabbing Kirk by the arm. “Ouch!” “That was irresponsible to the extreme!” He spat, the fury rising within him like a tidal wave. He searched the other’s face, in disbelief that the goldrider would attempt to go between without even basic flight training. “I am no expert on your life before you came to us, but you are Preth’s rider, and thus your responsibility is to the Weyr. You could have jumped and never returned from between! You would have perished, and Preth with you! That is unacceptable, do you understand me?” Anger rolled through him anew when Kirk tried to pull away. Spock tightened his grasp and shook the boy, his voice rising despite his best to control it. “Did you think of that before foolishly–” The sound of Preth’s roar shook him from his angry tirade, and Spock let go of the punishing grip he had on Kirk’s arm. The young man wrenched away immediately. Preth is upset – please Spock, don’t upset her rider. The Vulcan looked to the golden dragon, noting the angry tint of her reddish eyes then deliberately stepped back. He had overstepped an invisible boundary by laying a hand on the rider and had shamed himself as a follower of Surak, his forefather. “If I didn’t respect you so much, I would have punched you in the face for doing that,” Kirk spat, eyes hard upon his, their blue depths simmering with restrained anger. “I apologize for my actions,” Spock breathed harshly, “but what you did was inexcusably outrageous.” “You agreed that Preth is meant to fly didn’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted testily, “but – not like this!” They both glared at each other. It took several minutes for the bronze rider to regain his calm. Finally Spock spoke, “Do you promise never to do such a thing again?” Kirk’s jaw tightened. The gold rider shot him an obstinate look. The Vulcan mentally sighed. He knew from experience that gold riders could be painfully stubborn. It was clear that telling the young man that he couldn’t do something was a waste of time; Komack had tried to restrict him, and all it had led to was this. If the gold rider had been permitted to fly in the first place along with all the other weyrlings who had taken to the skies two and three months prior, this could have been avoided. Taken out daily to fly whenever the weather permitted, Kirk would have had no reason to take matters into his own hands. After all, dragons had been constructed by his ancestors to fly; trying to punish the pair for following their intrinsic purpose seemed both illogic and boorish. Coming to a decision, Spock broke the confrontational stare down. “You fly well,” he said, “You’re connection with Preth is strong and you have excellent command over her – one key issue with all riders at the beginning is that they try and impose their instincts over the naturally superior flying instincts of their dragon, but you do not appear to have that problem.” Walking over to the queen, he gave a short bow then touched her suede‐like gold skin gently, stroking along an area of the neck where dragons often itched in apology. She made a rumble of approval and turned her head the other way, pressing her neck towards him. “To go between like that was dangerous. The basic concept is easily understood and most Holders know of between from their schooling. But the act...” Spock scratched at the queen’s neck with his coarse riding gloves and looked to Kirk. “Many forget how to exit between, losing themselves in the endless darkness and cold. You must understand‐our worry is not baseless; as many as three in ten weyrling pairs are lost before training has finished, gold rider. To lose a green is devastating enough, but there is only Preth left at Zefram. Be mindful of your position, and know that the others look to you.” “I know.” Kirk admitted uneasily, “But I can’t just sit around all day – Preth needs to fly, dragons are supposed to fly.” “I agree.” His response surprised the gold rider. “Really?”
“I could inform you otherwise, but you would simply ignore me.” Spock remarked dryly, and was pleased when this produced a chuckle from Kirk. “There is no other solution – if you insist on flying, then I shall have to train you myself.” “Are... you saying that seriously?” Kirk asked, his disbelief warring with his excitement. Spock nodded. With a whoop of delight, the gold rider embraced him tightly. “OH thank you, thank you, thank you!” Pulling back, Kirk clapped him on the shoulder and beamed brightly. “You won’t regret it. We’ll show them won’t we Preth?” The young queen gave a bugle of happy agreement. The young man went to his dragon and threw his arm around her neck, laughing.
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