
SAREK [066-118-4.7]By A.C. CRISPINSynopsisSunset on Vulcan.In the west, 40 Eridani A--Nevasa--was setting, staining the magenta skywith swaths of deep amethyst, gold, and coral. But the tall figuresilhouetted against the sunset was blind to the glory behind him; Sarekof Vulcan faced east, watching his world's sister world, T'Rukh, at fullphase. The giant planet orbited a mere 149,895.3579 Federation Standardkilometers from her companion world--and filled thirty degrees of sky.Because the two worlds were tidally locked, Vulcan's sister planet,T'Rukh, was only visible from this side of Vulcan. Looming perpetuallyagainst the high, jagged horizon, the giant world went through a fullset of phases each day. Only at sunset did the bloated sphere fullyreveal her ravaged visage.Sarek had chosen this remote location for his mountain villa in partbecause of its view of T'Rukh. Here at the edge of the civilized world,the ambassador never tired of watching T'Rukh poised atop the Forge, aninhospitable continent-sized plateau seven kilometers higher than therest of the planet. Few indeed were the individuals who saw the sisterworld's whole face on a regular basis; only the ancient retreat andshrine of Gol lay farther east than Sarek's villa.The wind, cooling now that Nevasa had set, plucked at Sarek'slight-colored tunic and loose trousers. As he watched T'Rukh intently,his lean, long-fingered hands tightened on the balustrade of the terraceoverlooking the eastern gardens. The ambassador was attempting to reacha decision.Logic versus ethics... Should the needs of the many outweigh theconscience and honor of the one? Could he compromise what he knew to beright, in order to accomplish what was necessary?For orders other than by individual consumers, Pocket Books grants adiscount on the purchase of 10 or more copies of single titles forspecial markets or premium use. For further details, please write to theVice-President of Special Markets, Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of theAmericas, New York, NY 10020.For information on how individual consumers can placeorders, please write to Mail Order Department, Paramount Publishing, 200Old Tappan Road, Old Tappan, NJ 07675.New YorkPOCKET BOOKSLondon Toronto Sydney TokyoThe sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If youpurchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it wasreported to the publisher as "unsold and destroyed." Neither the authornor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this "strippedbook."This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidentsare products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Anyresemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, isentirely coincidental.-- POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of theAmericas, New York, NY 10020Copyright 1994 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved./ STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.This book is published by Pocket Books, a division ofSimon & Schuster Inc., under exclusive license fromParamount Pictures.All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book orportions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address PocketBooks, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020ISBN 0-67179562-7First Pocket Books paperback printing February 199510987654321POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.Printed in the U.S.A.To Michael Capobianco, with loveACKNOWLEDGMENTSMany people helped me produce this book. With the caveat that any errorsare assuredly my own, I wish to thankMark Lenard, whose evocative portrayal of the character inspired Sarek.Mark is a fine actor who is also a gracious and warm human being. Hetook a personal interest in this novel from its earliest inception.For technical informationMichael Capobianco, fellow author and amateur astronomer, forinformation on planetary orbits, rings and the like. (Not to mentiondriving me to the Fed Ex depot, faxing hunks of the manuscript, fixingdinner and providing much-needed shoulder rubs and encouragement duringtough times.)Irene Kress and Judy May, for information on the effects of stroke. ixACKNOWLEDGMENTS For STAR TREK brainstorming, viewpoint and loreJohn Jobeck and Ellen Marie Konicki, my favorite KlingonsMargaret Wander Bonanno, my favorite Vulcan... well, my favorite femaleVulcan.Marc Okrand, for inventing words and phrases in Klingonese when I neededthem. Thanks, Marc. Now I know what to say if I ever make love to aKlingon!For editorial advice and assistanceKevin Ryan and John Ordover, the STAR TREK editors at Pocket Books.And, for just Being There when I needed themVonda, Nancy, Merrilee, Liza, Deb and Teresa.And last, but foremost, I have to thank my longtime friend and co-authorKathleen O'Malley, who provided valuable editorial insight andcriticism... and much, much more. Without Kathy, I doubt this book wouldhave made it into print.PROLOGUESunset on Vulcan.In the west, 40 Eridani A--Nevasa--was setting, staining the magenta skywith swaths of deep amethyst, gold, and coral. But the tall figuresilhouetted against the sunset was blind to the glory behind him; Sarekof Vulcan faced east, watching his world's sister world, T'Rukh, at fullphase. The giant planet orbited a mere 149,895.3579 Federation Standardkilometers from her companion worldmand filled thirty degrees of sky.Because the two worlds were tidally locked, Vulcan's sister planet,T'Rukh, was only visible from this side of Vulcan. Looming perpetuallyagainst the high, jagged horizon, the giant world went through a fullset of phases each day. Only at sunset did the bloated sphere fullyreveal her ravaged visage.Sarek had chosen this remote location for his mountain villa in partbecause of its view of T'Rulda. Here at the edge of the civilized world,the ambassador never tired of watching T'Rukh poised atop the Forge, aninhospitable continent-sized plateau seven kilometers higher than therest of the planet. Few indeed were the individuals who saw the sisterworld's whole face on a regular basis; only the ancient retreat andshrine of Gol lay farther east than Sarek's villa.The wind, cooling now that Nevasa had set, plucked at Sarek'slight-colored tunic and loose trousers. As he watched T'Rukh intently,his lean, long-fingered hands tightened on the balustrade of the terraceoverlooking the eastern gardens. The ambassador was attemptins to reacha decision.Logic versus ethics ... Should the needs of the many outweigh theconscience and honor of the one? Could he compromise what he knew to beright, in order to accomplish what was necessary?Sarek gazed across the Plains of Gol, considering. Long ago, he hadstudied with several of the Masters there. What would his teachers do ifthey were in his place?The ambassador drew a deep breath of the evening air, then let it outslowly as he regarded the surrounding mountains. He had chosen this sitefor his private retreat decades ago, when he and his second wife hadfirst been married. These remote hills were cooler, even during thedaylight hours, and thus easier for humans--in particular, one specialhuman--to endure than the scorching heat of the rest of his world.Night deepened around Sarek as he watched T'Rukh.Evening on this hemisphere of Vulcan did not bring darkness, though.T'Rukh, the huge world humans called Charis, provided forty times thelight of Earth's full moon. At full phase, T'Rukh was a swollenyellowish half-sphere, a dissipated eye that never blinked, even whenspumes and geysers of fire from her volcano-wracked surface penetratedher cloud cover. Sarek noted absently that a new volcano had eruptedsince yesterday; the large, fire-red dot resembled an inflamed abscesson the planet's sulfuric countenance.T'Rukh was only one of The Warchef's names; her name varied according tothe time of the Vulcan year. More than twice as large as Vulcan, T'Rukhboasted a moon of her own in a low, fast-moving orbit. TonightT'Rukhemai (literally,"Eye of The Watcher") was visible as a dark reddish sphere almost in thecenter of the planet--a pupil in a giant eye.The little worldlet, slightly larger than Earth's moon, or bited TheWatcher so quickly that its motion was almost perceptible to the nakedeye. Sarek watched The Watcher, and she stared back at him balefully.It was his habit to stand here and watch The Watcher whenever he faced adifficult decision. And the one he faced now was proving to be one ofthe most difficult choices of his career. Logic chains ran through hismind, presenting pros and cons relentlessly, over and over. Should heact? The action he was contemplating went against all the rules ofdiplomacy and interstellar law. How could he abandon those rules, he whohad devoted his life to upholding the tenets of civilized society?But ... if he did not act, did not gain proof of the insidious threatthat faced the Federation, millions of innocent lives could well belost. Perhaps billions.Sarek's mouth tightened. Proving his theory would require that he breakthe law. How could he himself flout what he had helped engineer? And yet... this was definitely a case where the needs of the many must beconsidered. Could he risk the impending threat of war?Sarek stared fixedly at The Watcher as he thought. Somewhere in thedistance, a lanka-gar called. The ambassador turned his head, catchingthe wheeling shape of the night flier as it swooped after prey on theslopes below.Glancing over his shoulder, Sarek noted absently that the garish colorsof sunse t were muted now. In a few minutes they would be entirely gone,and T'Rukh, though no longer full, would rule the night.The breeze touched him again, chill against his cheek. By midnight itwould be cool even by human standards.Even though the ambassador's aquiline features were composed, as usual,his mind would not be still.The logic chains flowed, slowed--and the equation crystallized in hismind. The decision lay before him. In this case, logic and necessitymust outweigh ethical considerations.Sarek nodded slightly at T'Rukh, bidding the giant planet farewell,knowing that his decision would require that he journey offworld. TheWatcher would wax and wane without his presence for many nights. Hewould leave as soon as possible.Turning away from the vista before him, the ambassador headed backtoward the house, his strides quick and sure.For a moment he envisioned Spock's reaction if he were to discover whathis father was planning, and experienced a flicker of amusement. His sonwould be surprised, possibly shocked, if he knew that his sire waslogically and rationally planning to commit a crime. The ambassador hadlittle doubt that, in his place, Spock would choose the same course. Buthis son was half-human--he'd long ago learned to dissemble, toequivocate ... even to lie. Yes, Spock would condone hisdecision--which, in a way, made his father's conscience trouble him evenmore.But there was no help for it--his logic was faultless. His course wasclear. He would not turn back.Reaching the villa, a low, sprawling structure with thick, protectivewalls, Sarek entered. The house was decorated for the most part intypical Vulcan fashion, austere, with only the most essentialfurnishings, but its very bareness lent a feeling of spacious comfort.In the living room, presence of the villa's human occupant was reflectedin the antique desk with its faded petit-point chair, in the matchingcoffee table, and in the handwoven hangings that lent soft touches ofrose, turquoise, and sea green to the walls. A water sculpture made afaint susurration within the protective field that prevented evaporationof the precious liquid.Sarek paused in his office and contacted his young aide, Soran,instructing him to make arrangements for them to travel offworld. TheAmbassador's office was devoid of ornamentation, except for the paintingof an icy world beneath a swollen red sun.Next door to his office was the bedroom, and through that lay his wife'ssitting room, with its view of the eastern gardens. Sarek already knewfrom the bond they shared that Amanda awaited him there. He hesitatedfor a moment before the caryen portal leading into their room.Knowing that his wife had sensed his presence through their bond, Sarekopened the door and passed through the bedroom to the sitting room.Amanda occupied her favorite chair as she sat gazing out at The Watcherand the rocky spires of her garden.The light from Vulcan's sister world shone on her face, revealing newlines that had not been there a month ago.Her bones seemed more prominent, the lines of cheekbones and noseshowing through flesh. He studied her for a moment, noting that Amanda'sflowing garment now clearly outlined the angles of her shoulders andcollarbone; she had never been a large woman, but during the past monthshe had clearly lost weight from her already small frame."Sarek," she greeted her husband, her mental and audible voice filledwith warmth and welcome as she held out her hand to him."Greetings, my wife," the ambassador said, permitting himself the smallsmile that he reserved for her alone.Extending two fingers, he ceremoniously touched them to hers. Thegesture, so simple on a physical level, was, between a bonded couple,capable of nearly infinite shades of meaning--at times merely a casualacknowledgment, the mental equivalent of a peck on the cheek, at timesnearly as passionate as anything experienced in the throes ofponfarr.Sarek's touch conveyed a depth of feeling that the ambassador had nevervoiced, for speaking of such things in words, aloud, was not the Vulcanway."Is it cool out tonight?" Amanda asked, gazing out at her garden. Shehad planted it shortly after Spock's birth, using unusually shaped andcolored stones to complement the native Vulcan cactuslike trees, as wellas desert plants from a dozen Federation worlds."The temperature is normal for the season and time of day," Sarekreplied."I thought of joining you on the terrace," Amanda said, glancing out atthe garden, "but I must have fallen asleep. I only awoke when I feltyour presence next door."Sarek sat down next to her, his gaze traveling over her features, notingwith disquiet how drawn and pale she appeared. And she tired so easilythese days ...Concerned, the Vulcan raised the light level in the room, then studiedhis wife's face intently. Even without The Watcher's eerie illumination,Amanda appeared drawn and pale. No trace of pink remained in her cheeks,once so rounded and healthy.As she grew aware of his fixed regard, her blue eyes, once so direct,refused to meet his own. She busied herself capping her old-fashionedpen, then closing her journal and placing it back in the drawer of herdesk.Sarek leaned closer to her, his eyes never leaving her countenance."Amanda," he said quietly, "I noted the other day that you appear tohave lost weight ... have you been feeling unwell, my wife?"The thin shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "I expect I may have pickedup a cold, Sarek. Please don't worry about me. I will be fine."The ambassador shook his head. "I want you to contact T'Mal, and arrangefor her to conduct a thorough evaluation of your physical condition."Amanda glanced at him; then her eyes shifted quickly away. "All I needis a few days' rest, Sarek. There is no need to visit my physician.""Please allow the Healer to make such a judgment," Sarek said. "Promiseme that you will arrange to see her as soon as possible, Amanda."She took a deep breath, and Sarek sensed through their bond that she wasstruggling to keep some strong emotion from him. "I have a great deal toaccomplish this week," she demurred. "My editor wants to move up thepublication date for the new book. She told me today that there is atremendous amount of interest in having the writings of Surak'sfollowers translated.""Indeed?""Yes," Amanda said, clearly warming to her subject, "and when I told herabout--""Amanda," Sarek interrupted, raising one hand, "you are changing thesubject deliberately. Do not think that I did not notice."His wife opened her mouth to protest, then closed it abruptly and staredfixedly at her hands. Sarek's concern sharpened. Amanda seemed to haveaged a decade in a matter of a few weeks."I regret that I must leave you, tomorrow morning," Sarek said. "I mustgo to Earth to consult with the Vulcan consulate and arrange to meetwith the Federation president.It will aid me in concentrating on my work if I know that T'Mal will bemonitoring your health while I must be away.""You have to leave?" Amanda repeated, and something darkened her eyes.Sarek tried to catch her emotion, but she had been studying Vulcanmental disciplines as well as the Vulcan language for decades, and hewas unsuccessful."How ... how long will you be gone?""A week, possibly two," the ambassador said. "If I could postpone this,I would, given your apparent ill health, but I cannot. The situation onEarth regarding the KEHL has worsened considerably in the past weeks.""I know," Amanda admitted. "It makes me ashamed of my whole planet--theKeep Earth Human League used to be just a haven for ineffectualcrackpots and ignorant fools.But today's news said there had been demonstrations in Paris in front ofthe Vulcan consulate! It makes me furious!" For a moment her eyesflashed sapphire with indignation, and she almost appeared her old self."Those idiots are trying to convince the entire planet that Vulcan isresponsible for every disaster from the Probe's devastation to theKlingon raids along the Neutral Zone!""The KEHL does appear to be set on fomenting discord between my peopleand yours," Sarek said. "I have not heard any reports of incidents atthe Andorian or Tellarite consulates.""Do you believe that the KEHL's sudden renaissance is due to Valeris'sinvolvement with that secret cabal?" Amanda asked."The Terran news agencies certainly highlighted the Vulcan, Klingon, andRomulan conspirators far more than they did the activities of AdmiralCartwright or Colonel West when Chancellor Gorkon was assassinated andthe Khitomer Conference disrupted," Sarek conceded. "Which, under thecircumstances, is unfortunate, but not surprising."His wife gazed at him intently. "Sarek ... does this resurgence of theKeep Earth Human League have any connection with your current project?"Sarek sat back in his seat and glanced out the window at T'Rukh, itsupper limb now shadowed. The ambassador was silent for nearly a minutebefore he spoke. "I have reached a number of conclusions of late,Amanda," he said. "I have a number of suspicions. However, I have noevidence to support my theory that is not statistical, circumstantial,or purely inferential. I need concrete proof before I can bring myfindings before the Federation officials and the president.""And that's why you are going to Earth? To get some kind of proof?.""Yes." After a moment, the ambassador amended, "If possible.""I see." Amanda's mouth tightened, but she did not pursue her line ofquestioning--which, almost more than the physical changes he had noted,alarmed the ambassador.If his wife had been feeling like herself, she would never have given upso e asily. She would have kept after him until she'd satisfied hercuriosity. But now she leaned her head back against her chair, gazingout at The Watcher in silence, her eyes half-closed with weariness.Sarek's breath caught in his throat as he regarded her, and heidentified the feeling that had been growing within him ever since hehad entered the room.Fear."Amanda," he said, keeping his voice from betraying any shade ofemotion, "I insist that you call the Healer and arrange to see her. Ifyou will not promise, I will postpone my trip a day and do so myself."She gazed at him, and he sensed deep emotion through their bond.Sorrow--but not for herself. Amanda's grief was for him. "Very well,Sarek," she agreed, at long last."You have my word that I will make an appointment this week.""You will call tomorrow?""Yes."The ambassador drew a deep breath, somewhat relieved, but stilldisquieted. "Perhaps I should call someone to stay with you while I amgone," he said. "One of your friends, perhaps ..." Swiftly, he reviewedoptions, and realized that most of his wife's human contemporaries haddied within the past several years. "Another possibility is our son.Perhaps he could take leave, return home for a visit if I contacted--""No!" Amanda's voice was sharp and final. "I don't want you worrying ourson. There have been Klingon renegades raiding all along the NeutralZone, and I'm sure the Enterprise is one of the ships patrolling outthere.""If Spock knew that you were feeling unwell--""Absolutely not," she said, in a quieter but even more positive tone. "Iexpect you to respect my wishes in this, my husband," she added,sternly.Sarek hesitated. Amanda fixed him with a look. "My promise for yours,Sarek. Do we have a bargain?"The ambassador nodded. "Very well, Amanda. You will contact the Healer,and I will not contact our son."She nodded at him, her blue eyes softening until they were the color ofher homeworld's skies. "I wish you a safe journey, Sarek," she said, andthen added, with a faint, tender smile, "Whatever you're planning ... becareful.Never forget that I love you ... illogically and madly.Remember that ... always."The Vulcan gazed back at her, his eyes never leaving hers.Slowly, formally, he held out two fingers. "I will be careful, my wife."In response to his gesture, his wife's fingers brushed, then settledagainst his own. The warmth of their bond enfolded them, eliminating theneed for spoken words.Sarek of Vulcan stood at the window of the Vulcan consulate in SanFrancisco, gazing out with growing disquiet. Today's demonstration bythe Keep Earth Human League had begun with only a few picketers, somecarrying homemade placards, others more sophisticated holosigns, but,even in the short time he'd been standing there, the crowd had grownrapidly.Now a full score of shouting humans milled before the gateway. Sarek'sVulcan hearing could easily make out what they were chanting "KEEPEARTH HU-MAN! KEEP EARTH HU-MAN!" interspersed with occasional, stridentshouts of "VULCANS GO HOME!""Illogical," murmured a voice from beside him, and the Vulcan ambassadorglanced sideways to see his young aide, Soran, standing beside him, hisdark eyes troubled. "Last year, the Keep Earth Human League wasconsidered a refuge for weak-minded racists. I examined the records ...there were no more than forty or fifty members on this entire planet.But now, Federation Security estimates their numbers to be in thethousands. Why this sudden growth, Ambassador?"Sarek hesitated, on the verge of giving a vague answer, but insteadshook his head slightly, warningly."Ambassador Sarek?"The two Vulcans turned as one of the young diplomatic attaches, Surev,approached. A few minutes ago, the young Vulcan had asked the ambassadorif he could spare a moment to be introduced to a human friend of his,and Sarek had graciously agreed. Now, however, Surev's unlined featureswere even more somber than usual. "Ambassador, I believe we must cancelthe meeting I mentioned.""Why?""I just received a communiqu6 from the Federation Security Office," heannounced. "The security chief, Watkins, asks that we stay inside thebuilding until they can dispatch sufficient officers to control thecrowd. It is not safe to go outside, and they say that under nocircumstances should you agree to meet with the KEHL leader,Ambassador."Sarek raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Has such a meeting been requested bythe leadership?"Soran cleared his throat slightly. "As a matter of fact, it has, sir,"he said. "A message arrived a few minutes ago from the demonstrators.""Why was I not informed?" the ambassador demanded, turning to faceSoran. His aide was obviously taken aback by the question."Ambassador, I never considered that you might wish to accede to theirdemand for a meeting--that would be most unwise. Possibly dangerous."Soran sounded faintly aggrieved, and Sarek could not blame him. But hisaide, as yet, knew nothing of the ambassador's hidden agenda. He wouldhave to take Soran into his confidence today, Sarek decided.He would need help when he made his next trip. And the youth was goodwith computers--almost as talented as his own son. Those skills wouldprove useful."Who requested the meeting?" Sarek asked."The planetary leader of the KEHL," Surev said. "His name--or, at least,the name he goes by in the organization is Induna. He is from theAfrican nation of Kenya."Sarek looked out the window again. Surev pointed to a human who stoodnearly a head above the others. "That is Induna," he said.The Vulcan ambassador studied the imposing figure of a dark-skinnedhuman, who wore a silk robe brilliantly patterned in black and red. "Iwill speak to him," he said, reaching a sudden decision. He needed moreinformation about the KEHL, and firsthand observation would not beamiss."Ambassador--you must not! It is not safe, sir!" Soran half-barred thedoorway, struggling to maintain his composure in the face of what mustseem extremely anomalous behavior on the part of the senior diplomat.Sarek merely looked at him for a long second. Soran hesitated, thenstepped silently out of the way. Surev half-bowed. "May I at leastaccompany you as far as the gates, sir?"Sarek nodded graciously. "Certainly, Surev."Leaving the domed building and walking down the ramp, Sarek heard thecrowd as it caught sight of him, flanked by Surev and Soran. Insultswere hurled at the Vulcans, many of them personally directed toward theambassador himself.The sight of Federation security officers around the fringes of thecrowd was reassuring.The Vulcan approached the demonstrators, seeing that someone had closedthe gates to the consulate, which had always stood open before this.Shouts and epithets filled the air"They want to take over Earth! Spawn of the devil!""Dirty aliens, think they're so smart!""Go back to Vulcan!""Vulcans go home!"Approaching the gateway, Sarek raised his voice to be heard. "I amAmbassador Sarek," he called out. "I understand that Induna wishes tospeak with me. Which of you is Induna?"In response, the crowd (which now numbered forty or fifty people)parted, and the KEHL leader stepped forth. "t am Induna," he announced.His voice was a deep, bass rumble."Greetings, Induna," Sarek said, raising his hand in the Vulcan salute."I wish you peace and long life.""I accept no good wishes from Earth's enemy," Induna said coldly."I assure you that I wish only good relations between our worlds," Sareksaid. "I invite you to enter the gates, so we may speak together."The man drew himself up, clearly antagonistic. "I have nothing to say toyou, Ambassador, that cannot be said within hearing of those who followme. And I refuse to speak with a being so cowardly that he hides behindgates.""I am not hiding, nor do I have anything to hide," Sarek corrected him,his tones civil but firm. The ambassador heard shouts from the crowd,but Induna appeared to be able to control his followers. "Very well,then, I will come to you, so we may speak together like civilizedbeings." Before either of his companions could remonstrate with him,Sarek reached out and opened the gate. Head high, still flanked by theyoung diplomats, he strode forward into the crowd, straight for Induna.The moment he stepped into their midst, brushing against thedemonstrators, Sarek was nearly sickened by the miasma of hatred that hesensed from the humans in the crowd.His planet and this world had been allies and friends for over acentury. How could such a thing be happening now?The KEHL leader was clearly taken aback as the ambassador approachedhim, but recovered his aplomb quickly.Turning to the crowd, he motioned for quiet--but insteadthe shouting intensified."Vulcans go home!""Sarek sold out Earth to the Klingons!"Induna gestured again, more peremptorily. "Let me speak to this Vulcan,my friends and comrades," he ordered. "If I can make him see that he andhis kind have no place on our world, then he will leave Earth! We do notwant war, we want peace--they can keep to their planet, as we shall keepto ours!"The protesters closest to their leader obeyed, but others, farther backin the crowd, continued to hurl abuse."Go back to Vulcan?"Vulcans go home! Vulcans go home!"The crowd surged wildly, and then someone threw a clod of dirt. Otherrefuse followed. Sarek smelled rotting vegetables."Stop!" Induna shouted, and the missiles halted--but the crowd wasclearly getting out of control. "Quiet down!" the leader commanded. Thenoise abated slightly."We have no designs on your world," Sarek cried, raising his voice to beheard above the demonstrators. "Our species have been allies fordecades. We--""Go back to Vulcan, damn you!"The angry shriek cut through Sarek's voice like a knife.The crowd swelled and heaved like a storm-tossed sea."She's right! Go home!" screamed another protester. "Devil's spawn!"yelled yet another."Quiet!" Induna roared. "Let us speak--"But the leader's words were lost as the crowd surged forward. Missilesfilled the air. An egg spattered against Soran's robe. "Filthy aliens!"screamed an old woman.The missiles grew harder, more dangerous. A rock struck Sarek on the armwith force enough to bruise. He flinched back, realized that Induna wasstill yelling for the crowd to quiet down, and knew the KEHL leader hadlost all control of the mob--for mob it now was.Federation security officers moved in with crowd-control stunners andforcefields. Sarek was shoved, hit hard on the back; he turned andgrappled momentarily with his attacker.With a quick thrust, he shoved the woman aside.As the mob surged, shrieking and yelling, the Vulcan and Induna werethrust almost into each other's arms. Sarek struggled to free himself,felt the KEHL leader flail at him, whether out of fear or anger, hecouldn't tell. It no longer mattered. Sarek's hand came up, searchingfor the correct location at the juncture of the human's neck andshoulder.Steely-hard fingers grasped, then squeezed--Induna sagged forwardbonelessly.But Sarek did not release his grip on the leader's shoulder.He fell to his knees, half-supporting the big human, his breath catchingin his throat. He, like most Vulcans, was a touch-telepath, and themoment his fingers closed on Induna's flesh, Sarek had received flashesof the human's mental state--flashes that literally staggered him.Induna was not acting entirely of his own volition, Sarek realized,stunned by his discovery. The KEHL leader was under the influence of atrained telepathic presence. Using expert mental techniques, the unknowntelepath had inflamed this man's tiny core of xenophobia into a ragingfirestorm of hatred and bigotry.On his own, Induna would never have been more than mildly distrustful ofVulcans and other extraterrestrials.Someone had exploited his incipient xenophobia, someone expert enough toenter his thoughts and influence them so gradually, so patiently, thatthe subject came to believe that everything in his mind had originatedthere.Someone had molded and influenced and delicately reshaped this human'sinnermost desires and fears into all-out species bigotry--and that someone was Vulcan.Sarek could scarcely believe the evidence of his own senses. Such mentalinfluence was contrary to every ethical and moral tenet his people haddeveloped over millennia of civilized existence.But he could not have been mistaken about the mental "signature" thetelepath had left on Induna's mind. Sarek came back to the here-and-now,blinking, and realized that he was crouched in the center of a fighting,trampling mob.Induna still sagged against him. The ambassador struggled back to hisfeet, heaving the KEHL leader up with him, lest his unconscious body becrushed in the frenzy.Even as he gained his feet, he was nearly knocked down again by thepanicked rush of retreating demonstrators.Federation Security was routing the mob, stunning many and taking theminto custody. Others were running away at full speed. In only seconds,it seemed, he was left alone, still supporting the KEHL leader'sunconscious form. Soran and Surer were still on their feet, nearby. Bothyoung Vulcans had obviously been in the thick of the fray--their robesand hair were disheveled, and Soran was bleeding from a cut over hiseye."We're terribly sorry about this, Ambassador Sarek!" exclaimed the headof the Federation security force, as he was hastening toward theVulcans. "But we warned the consulate against having any contact withthe demonstrators!""Your warning was received," Sarek said. "I chose to attempt to speakwith the protesters personally. The decision was mine alone. I take fullresponsibility."The human glanced sharply at the unconscious KEHL leader. "Is thatlnduna?"Sarek nodded."We'll take him into custody, Ambassador," the officer said, reachingfor the leader's limp figure. Sarek surrendered him to the authorities."I wish to state for the record," the ambassador said,"that this man did not order the mob to attack us. In fact, he orderedthem to desist, but they did not obey.""Okay, Ambassador," the officer said, beckoning to a subordinate with astretcher, "I'll be sure to put that in my report."Sarek stood for a second longer, watching as Induna was placed in one ofthe emergency vehicles. Then he turned back to the two young Vulcans."Let us go back inside," he said.Safe once more behind the closed and electronically locked gates, Sarekdismissed young Surev to his duties, then turned to Soran. "As thehumans would say, "One more piece has been added to the puzzle.'"The young Vulcan raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "Indeed, Ambassador? Towhat puzzle are you referring?""The puzzle that has occupied me for over a year now," Sarek said."There is a great deal to tell you, Soran. Let us walk in the garden,and talk. The weather is pleasant, today."The young Vulcan seemed surprised. "You do not wish to go inside,Ambassador?"Sarek shook his head. "I will be able to speak more ... freely ... inthe garden, near the water sculpture," he said.The youth stared at him for a moment; then his eyes widenedfractionally. "You suspect listening devices, sir?""Under the circumstances," the ambassador said, gravely,"I would prefer to take no chances that what I am about to impart to youwill be overheard."Together, they walked around the curving path that circled theconsulate, and were soon in a stone garden modeled on those on Vulcan.Sarek was reminded vividly of Amanda's garden, and wondered, briefly,what her visit to the Healer might have revealed. "What do you know ofthe Freelans, Soran?" Sarek asked.The youth cleared his throat slightly. "Freelan ... an isolated worldlocated in the middle of the Romulan Neutral Zone. Perhaps surprisingly,the Romulans have never laid claim to the planet, possibly because it isso inhospitable and remote. Freelan exists in the grip of an extensiveice age, with only the equatorial regions supporting life andagriculture.The technological level of the inhabitants is high, especially in thecryogenic sciences and related products, but Freelan is resource-poor.""Correct," Sarek said. "For someone who has only been my aide forforty-seven point six Standard days, you are well informed, Soran.""You have been the diplomatic liaison between Freelan and the Federationfor seventy-two point seven Standard years, Ambassador. It is myresponsibility to be familiar with all your duties," the aide responded.Sarek nodded approvingly."Freelan," Sarek said quietly, "is, as you probably also know, somethingof an enigma."Sarek was deliberately understating the situation. Freelan was unique inthe explored galaxy. The Freelans did not possess space travel of theirown, but their contacts with the Federation had, for decades, led totheir world being included as a regular stop on local trade routes. Theplanet had never affiliated itself with any political or diplomaticalliance.Freelan was not a member of the Federation, though it did send delegatesto many trade, scientific, and diplomatic conferences. Its delegates,however, remained scrupulously neutral in all their dealings andcontacts with other planets.Cultural exchanges between Freelan and other worlds were virtuallynonexistent, due to the Freelan taboo--religious or cultural, no oneknew which--that prohibited Freelans from revealing their faces orbodies. When the natives had any contact with anyone not of their world,they shrouded themselves in concealing garments. Their muffling cloaks,hoods, and masks were made from material impregnated with selonite,which prevented them from being scanned by tricorders or medicalsensors.Those wishing to meet with a Freelan on business or diplomatic mattershad to travel to the mysterious world, where the Freelans maintained aspace station to accommodate "guests." The station was fully automated,and all meetings were conducted via comm link with the surface below.Other than that concession to outside contact, Freelan remained a closedworld. No offworlder had ever landed on Freelan.All that was known of the reclusive race that lived there was that theywere bipedal, and roughly humanoid-shaped, with two arms. All else wasconjecture."I had never encountered a Freelan personally," Soran said, "until Iattended the conference at Camp Khitomer last month.""Did you actually speak to the Freelan envoy?" Sarek asked."No, sir. As you 'know, the Freelans are not noted for mingling withpeople from other worlds. I did, however, meet the envoy's aide, a youngVulcan woman who introduced herself as Savel. During the evening break,we passed time by playing a game of chess."The ambassador raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? It is common for Freelans toemploy young Vulcans as aides. So you played chess with this Savel? Whowon?"Soran cleared his throat. "I did, sir. However, I found her a ...challenging ... opponent.""I see," Sarek remarked, mildly, noting, with amusement, that his youngaide was not meeting his eyes. "I have, for years, played chess with thediplomatic liaison from Freelan.Taryn is a formidable opponent. This ... Savel ... I believe I recallher. Short hair? Slender figure? Wearing a silver tunic and trousers?""Yes, Ambassador," Soran said, shifting sligh tly on the bench. The youngVulcan was clearly uncomfortable under Sarek's regard.The elder Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. I am not surprised that you... enjoyed your game. You are unbonded, are you not, Soran?"The young Vulcan nodded. "Yes, Ambassador. My family does not ascribe tothe ancient tradition of bonding while children. My parents chose eachother as adults.""I assume from her name that Savel was also unbonded?" Sarek inquired,blandly. Most young Vulcan women altered their names with the T' prefixwhen they became betrothed."That is what I gathered from our time together," Soran said, somewhatpuzzled by the ambassador's continuing interest in his brief encounter."I found the information that she was unbonded ... to be of interest."He cleared his throat again. "Of interest to me personally, that is."Sarek nodded encouragingly. "I do not find that fact surprising. Savelappeared ... quite intelligent.""Yes," Soran agreed. "However, Ambassador, there was something ... oddabout her."Sarek was not surprised to discover this. Under the circumstances, hehad been expecting as much. "What was that?" he inquired."I ... enjoyed ... the time I spent with Savel," Soran admitted. "Iwished to encounter her again, but I realized, when the conferenceended, that I had no way to contact her. Freelans curtail theirinteractions with the outside world, as you know. So, when we returnedhome, I made inquiries, intending to discover Savel's family, in theevent they would consent to forward a message from me."Sarek leaned forward, suddenly intent. "And what did you discover?"The youth took a deep breath and met the ambassador's eyes squarely."Sir, there was no record of a"Sayel' being born on Vulcan within thelast thirty years. According to Vulcan records--and you know howcomplete they are--no such person exists."Sarek nodded, his suspicion confirmed. "Soran ... what I have to tellyou now must remain strictly between us.""Understood.""For some time I have become increasingly suspicious of the Freelans. Ibelieve they are ... not what they seem.During the last year of studying them and their system, I have come tobelieve that Freelan presents a serious threat to the peace thatcurrently exists in the galaxy.""The Freelans, sir?" Soran did not succeed in concealing his surprise."How could that be?""I do not wish to prejudice you any more than is necessary to gain yourhelp, Soran. I would prefer that you draw your own conclusions, as acheck on my own logic," Sarek said. "Suffice it to say that I believethe Freelans constitute a threat to the Federation, and I intend to gainproof of that threat before I can present my findings to PresidentRa-ghoratrei." Sarek paused. "When I first arrived, I had thought tospeak with the Federation president of my suspicions ... but he iscurrently offworld, and will not return for nearly a week. By the timehe returns, I anticipate having the proof I need.""But surely you could speak to the undersecretary, or Madame Chairman ofthe Security Council," Soran asked,"if this threat is as grave as you believe?"Sarek hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Soran ... today I gainedproof--not demonstrable proof, except to a telepath, unfortunately--thatundue mental influence may be at work on this world ... and possiblyothers. As a matter of fact ..." Sarek stared intently into the other'sface. "If you will permit me?" He raised his hand in a meaningfulgesture.Soran, catching his intention, nodded permission. Sarek gently touchedthe side of his face for a moment, then nodded. "Your thoughts areentirely your own," he confirmed.-Soran nodded. "So you intend to gain proof while the president isoffworld, then present it to him upon his return?""If possible. I will require your help, Soran," the ambassador said. Asthe youth started to speak, he held up a warning hand. "I must cautionyou, before you agree too quickly ... gaining the proof I seek willrequire that we travel to Freelan and infiltrate the memory banks oftheir planetary computer system."Soran's eyes widened. "Espionage? You intend to commit espionage,Ambassador? But that is ..." He trailed off, shaking his head."An interstellar crime, as well as a violation of every law ofdiplomacy. I know," Sarek said, heavily. "Nevertheless, I havedetermined it is necessary in this instance. Will you help me? If yousay no, I will understand, and ask only that you say nothing of this toanyone."The youth took a deep breath, and his eyes never left the ambassador's."Serving as your aide is an honor I have aspired to for years, sir. Ifyou have determined that your intended course of action is necessary topreserve the safety of the Federation, then it will be my privilege toassist you in gaining your proof."Sarek nodded at the youth, genuinely touched by his loyalty. "Thank you,Soran. I will contact Liaison Taryn and arrange a meeting to review thecurrent trade policies between Freelan and Vulcan. If he agrees to themeeting--and there is no reason why he should not--I wish to embark forthe Freelan space station tomorrow.""I will make the necessary arrangements, Ambassador." Sarek nodded, andremained sitting in the garden as his aide left, moving quickly. Slowly,the ambassador climbed to his feet, and walked back around the consulateto stare thoughtfully at the area outside the gates. Discarded holosignsand placards still littered the area, but all the demonstrators weregone ... where?Sarek, remembering the shock of touching Induna's altered mind,repressed a shiver. The sun had vanished behind clouds, and the breezewas now chilly ...Peter James Kirk rifled through the selection of clothes available tohim and swore impatiently. This is ridiculous, he told himself, andreached for a clean uniform. You don't spend this much time dressing fora date!Or did he? It'd been long enough since his last real date that itwas hard to remember. Running a hand through his sandy-red hair, hesighed disgustedly. Well, maybe you do. Who cares? Make a decision, andlet get out of here. He'd be late if he didn't hurry.Your big chance to finally meet Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan, he thought,feeling a flare of nervous excitement, followed by chagrin. Yeah, andwon't he be impressed if you're late?He'd first become acquainted with Sarek through the Vulcan's writingsand speeches, some of which were mandatory reading at Starfleet Academy,where Peter was currently a senior cadet. Then, when he'd attended atalk the diplomat gave at the Academy two years ago, Peter had foundSarek's approach to diplomacy so interesting, he'd studied theambassador's eminent career during his spare time. Having met theambassador's son many times gave his interest a personal aspect.It was ironic, really. His uncle, Jim Kirk, had spent years workingbeside Sarek's son, Captain Spock. If things had worked out right, nodoubt Spock, whom he'd met many times during his uncle's sporadicvisits, would've been happy--or the Vulcan equivalent--to haveintroduced Peter to his father. If things had worked out right ...Well, Peter mused, things had worked out well enough for someone who'dlost his parents tragically at the age of seven.He glanced at their picture, taken on Deneva just months before theirdeaths. George Samuel and Aurelan Kirk were laughing, their hands ontheir gangly son's shoulder. Their twenty-five-year-old mementos stilltraveled everywhere with him, and thanks to family albums and vidrecords,Peter had a clear recall of his mother's voice, his father's sense ofhumor, although his actual rearing had been entrusted to his lategrandmother, Winona Kirk.Peter was nearly halfa head taller than his uncle, and built on slender,rather than stocky, lines. His hair, which as a boy had been a deepauburn, had lightened over the years to a sandy red. Much to his relief,his freckles had also faded, though any exposure to the sun brought outa rash of them across his nose and cheeks. His eyes were a bright, clearblue, like Earth's sky at midday. Until his mid-twenties, he'd beengangling and awkward, but the years--and Starfleet's self-defensetraining--had solved most of that.These days Peter moved confidently, even, at times, gracefully.He'd inherited his looks from his mother, but the rest of the Kirklegacy that sometimes sat too heavily on his shoulders came straightfrom Uncle Jim. Staring at the cadet's uniform he was holding, Peterwondered if that was why, at the age of thirty-two, he was still inschool.Peter Kirk hadn't decided on a career in Starfleet until he was in hismid-twenties--almost a decade after most cadets entered the Academy.He'd spent that decade attending the best colleges, gaining degrees inxenolinguistics and xenocultural interfaces with minors inTerran/xenopolitical interaction, before deciding that he would finallyfollow the family tradition and join Starfleet. While Uncle Jim hadalways encouraged his varied interests, and never tried to influence hischoice of careers, everyone else had automatically assumed he'd pursueCommand track. He'd done so, though Peter was sure that he'd neverpossess his uncle's calm air of command.We'll find out soon enough if you're a real Kirk, Peter told himselfmockingly. After all the degrees, all the varied quests for knowledge,and these last few years in Starfleet Academy, Peter was, at last, inthe final stretch. The past two weeks had been one grueling exam afteranother--most of which he'd aced. Just like a real Kirk. He'd had onejust this morning, and that, too, he'd completed successfully.Now there were only two more to go. One tomorrow, and the last a weekfrom Friday. Then, three d ays after that, the final. The big one. TheKobayashi Maru.He realized he was crushing the clean uniform in his hands and put itback. Why did he have to think about that now?Because you can't ignore it anymore, it's just a few days away. They'vecompletely reprogrammed the simulation.There's a whole new situation, a whole new setup--and nobody knowsanything about it. But that hasn't stopped them from taking bets as towhether or not you'll be the second Kirk to beat the no-win scenario. Herubbed his face tiredly. He had to stop worrying about it. It was justanother test. Wasn't it?The odds are twenty to one against you. Just being a Kirk isn't anyguarantee of success, mister.He shook his head, trying to shed his pessimistic musings.The chrono chimed softly, yanking him back to his immediate problem. Hehad to get ready for lunch. He was meeting Surev, a young Vulcan he'dbefriended while researching Sarek's work. Surev had invited him to havea meal at the Vulcan consulate because Sarek might be there, havingarrived yesterday. Surev was distantly related to Sarek's aide, andwhile he was careful not to make a commitment, the young Vulcan thoughthe might be able to arrange an introduction. Peter was really lookingforward to shaking hands (or rather, offering the Vulcan salute) to thediplomat he so admired. Lunch at the Vulcan consulate would provide awelcome respite from the drudgery of studying and finals. Maybe, forjust an hour, he could forget about that damned Kobayashi Maru.That2 what you need to do, just forget about it, Peter decided. Forgetabout the Academy, Uncle Jim, ancient history, the whole thing. Reachinginto his closet, he grabbed a stylish suit, a piece of "civilian" garbhe hadn't worn in months. He wanted to seem totally professional in easehe was introduced to Sarek. Peter wasn't normally self-conscious aboutbeing an older cadet, but today he didn't want to risk being prejudged.He didn't want to be Peter Kirk, Jim Kirk's nephew who's only nowgraduating Starfleet Academy. He just wanted to be another Terran whocould discuss some of Sarek's ideas with him knowledgeably.Donning the suit quickly, he smiled. The colors made his eyes bluer.Hey, who knows? he thought wryly. You can meet a lot of interestingpeople at the Vulcan consulate. I've seen some really nice-lookingfemale attachds going in and out ... Of course, that was an area wherehe and Uncle Jim differed. Unlike the elder Kirk, Peter's luck withwomen was less than fabulous. Maybe that's something that comes withage.As he adjusted the suit so that it hung right, then quickly combed hishair, he turned on the vid link to catch a glimpse of the news. Sarekmight be featured on the noon report.Instructing the link to search for any reports about Vulcans, Petertensed when the headline EMBASSY PROTEST flashed on the link.As Peter watched, images of San Francisco's Vulcan consulate--hiscurrent destination--filled the screen."The Vulcan presence on Earth," a fair-haired, attractive femalereporter said solemnly, "has rarely generated controversy, but the peacethat normally surrounds this quiet enclave was shattered today as theKeep Earth Human League announced their intentions to surround theconsulate day and night."Peter stood transfixed as the view of the front entrance of the statelydomed building came on-screen. A group of humans were clustered beforethe elegant gates, at least three dozen men and women, more than a fewholding small children. Some carried traditional placards mounted onpoles, while the rest brandished the more common holosigns. The imagefocused on one nondescript bearded man who had a holosign hovering overhim that read, EARTHBELONGS TO HUMANS--LET'S KEEP IT THAT WAY! Another sign came into viewthat said, JOIN THE KEEP EARTH HUMAN LEAGUE TODAY!--SAVE EARTH FOR YOURCHILDREN!Peter stared in consternation, although this wasn't the first time he'dheard of the KEHL. But he'd had no idea that this fringe-lement movementhad been able to lure in enough members to mount such a largedemonstration.The reporter approached an attractive young woman in a shiny silver coatwhose holosign read, VULCAS Trunk Tmy'REO SMART--AREN'T YOU SICK OF BEING PATRONIZED? Beside her stood a youngboy with a hand-lettered sandwich board that simply demanded, VULCANSC,O HOME!"Excuse me, Lisa Termant," the reporter asked the woman respectfully."You're one of the leaders of the San Francisco branch of KEHL. Tell ourviewers why your organization is staging this vigil in front of theVulcan consulate.""Members of the Keep Earth Human League are Terrans who have finallycome to their senses," the woman told the journalist earnestly. She wasof medium height, a little stocky, with dark skin and big black eyes.Her features were chiseled and delicate, except for a rather squarechin, and she moved with confidence, as though she knew exactly what shewas doing in life and how to go about it."Our president, Induna," the demonstrator continued,"has called for a show of our support, so we have assembled." Sheindicated a tall, very dark-skinned man, probably African, who wasstanding near the consulate gates, lecturing to the crowd. "Vulcans aretrying to take over our Federation, and make humans into second-classcitizens," Termant continued. "We won't stand for it any longer!""But, Ms. Tennant," the journalist continued reasonably,"most Terrans consider Vulcans our loyal friends, our closest allies.Many of Earth's politicians have been quoted as saying that we needthem, that they're the most civilized people in the galaxy.""I doubt seriously," the woman retorted coolly, "that we need friendsthe likes of Lieutenant Valeris. It's clear to us that she was theringleader of the terrible plot against Earth, that she was working forthe renegade Klingon general, Chang."Peter shook his head. The Romulan ambassador, Nanclus, and the twoStarfleet officers, Admiral Cartwright and Colonel West, had alsoconspired with General Chang to assassinate the Klingon chancellor,Gorkon. Uncle Jim and his medical officer, Leonard McCoy, had beenfalsely accused and convicted of the crime, then sentenced to hard laboron the prison planet, Rura Penthe. It was strange, Peter thought, that,although the crime had only happened a month or so ago, the public'smemory of those events appeared to be altering. Lately, even the mediahad a tendency to downplay the roles played by the humans and theRomulan, making it seem that General Chang and Lieutenant Valeris weresolely responsible."Lieutenant Valeris," the KEHL leader continued, "is merely an exampleof the kind of subtle espionage Vulcans have been guilty of for years.But now the KEHL is on to them. There are chapters of the KEHL springingup all over--even on some of the Terran colonies. And we know exactlywhat we're dealing with!""What do you mean?" the journalist pressed."Everyone knows," Termant elaborated, "that Vulcans are telepaths.Lately, it's becoming increasingly obvious that they're using theirabilities to influence minds, and make susceptible humans do thingsagainst their own kind!Those politicians that are so quick to defend Vulcans are, no doubt,their unwitting victims. After all, everyone knows how easy it is toinfluence a politician's mind!"Hard to argue with that, Peter admitted grudgingly. But the notion thatVulcans would use their telepathy in such an unethical way outraged him."The Keep Earth Human League is gaining new members every day," Termanttold the reporter smugly. "We are funding our own candidates to run inlocal elections, people who are not so easily influenced. It's only amatter of time before the Vulcan conspiracy is completely exposed. Ourvigil here is to let them know their days on Earth are numberedt"The woman's self-assurance shocked Peter. She didn't have that wild-eyedlook of lunacy he usually associated with the off-kilter KEHL.An old woman suddenly stepped in front of the reporter, demanding thejournalist's attention. "Vulcans are the spawn of the devil," she hissedviciously. "Satan marked 'em as his own, anyone can see that. Don't youhave eyes, woman?"Now, that had to be a founding member, Peter thought.He realized his jaw ached from clenching his teeth. Didn't these peoplerealize how crazy they sounded? What was wrong with them?The crowd rallied around the Tennant woman. "Keep Earth Hu-man! KeepEarth Hu-man!" they chanted. Angrily, Peter slapped the vid off switch.Why did those nuts have to picket the consulate today, when Sarek wouldbe there?Good thing the Federation provided security to all offworld embassiesand consulates. He felt confident that Security had the situation wellunder control. Yet, even though the vid link was now silent, Peterimagined that he could still hear that hate-filled mantra.As the cadet left his room to head for the consulate, he found himselfmulling over the news report. The KEHL had been around for centuries,ever since Zefram Cochrane invented the warp drive, and humans made itinto space and met the Vulcans for the first time. It was nothing morethan a small group of hard-line xenophobes. But lately, the KEHL wasanother story altogether. He wondered if Starfleet Security was mountingan investigation of their recent activities. If the KEHL kept gameringmembers and publicity at the same rate in the coming months, they couldturn out to be a real problem.Peter moved quickly out of his apartment and onto the streets thatsurrounded the Academy. If he hustled, he could still arrive in time tomeet Surev.As young Kirk turned the corner to approach the familiar consulate, hewas shocked to find that the crowd of protesters he 'd watched on thenoon report had grown even larger.While some of the people massing around the curving, neutral-coloredcompound must have been simply curious onlookers, there were now so manyholosigns that the floating messages were blending all together into ahuge mass of gibberish.Peter slowed as he neared the gates, watching the Starfleet Securityforces as they worked to keep the crowd from getting too close to theentrance. Was the mob actually going to rush the gates? Near thesculptured metal portal Peter spied Surev, but the Vulcan wasn't lookingtoward him, so he didn't bother to wave. Surev's attention was turned inthe opposite direction, and Peter peered to see what he was looking at.He squinted. Was that ... could that possibly be ... Sarek himself?.Peter realized it was the ambassador himself standing safely behind thegates, with his aide, Soran. Surev had arranged it! He was actuallyabout to meet Sarek!As Peter tried to skirt the fringes of the throng, a tall figure pushedhis way through the opening crowd. Peter recognized the president of theKEHL.Now Sarek and the KEHL president were face-to-face.Starfleet Security drew closer to the crowd. Shouts filled the air."GO BACK TO VULCAN[ STOP SELLING OUT EARTH FOR VULCAN INTERESTS!" threeKEHL members shouted in unison."Back to Vulcan! Back to Vulcan!" the crowd chanted, surging forwardthreateningly.Sarek was the picture of composure as he stood straight and tall in hisVulcan robes, his face the epitome of Vulcan control. Both Surev andSoran were young men, and their control was not nearly as perfect as theelder Vulcan's. Even from this distance, Peter could see the two youngerVulcans conferring with each other behind the ambassador's back, concernplain to read on their faces. Sarek merely nodded serenely. Then, toPeter's dismay, the ambassador opened the gate and calmly strode outinto the crowd.Dimly, he heard the KEHL leader telling the crowd to quiet down, but itwas no use. A minute later, the mob completely broke ranks. They surgedforward wildly, screaming, throwing things, overwhelming the outnumberedsecurity forces. Within seconds the protesters had completely envelopedboth Sarek and the two younger Vulcans."NO!" Peter shouted frantically, and flung himself unheedingly into thethick of the mob. Furious and sickened, he charged his way bodilythrough the crowd, shoving, pushing, not caring whether he crushed feet,or sent the bigots staggering. He had to do something to help AmbassadorSarek!For a brief instant he found himself tantalizingly close to his goal. Heglimpsed the ambassador's formal brown and gold robes only a meter ortwo away. By now the crowd was in a frenzy, hurling refuse and rottingvegetables at the beleaguered Vulcans. As a man beside Peter took aimwith a fist-sized rock, the young Kirk managed to surge forward andknock his arm so that the rock landed on another KEHL member instead.Sarek's young assistants were defending themselves ably, and even theambassador sent an attacker flying.Almost at the same instant, Peter heard the whine of transporter beams,and knew that the Federation security forces must have beamed inreinforcements. The officers were busily using crowd-control stunnersand forcefields, careful not to catch the struggling Vulcans in thebeams.Suddenly, Peter saw Sarek grappling with the KEHL president. To theyoung Kirk's relief, the Vulcan handled the tall human easily, renderinghim helpless with a quick neck pinch. For just a second, Peter thoughthe saw a flicker of surprise pass over the ambassador's normally calmexpression; then both attacker and Vulcan were lost to sight in thepress of the crowd.Three KEHL members next to Peter suddenly collapsed, unconscious, andthe cadet realized that he might be next.He was wearing civilian clothes instead of his uniform, so there was noway anyone could differentiate him from these lunatics! In fact, therewas a very good chance he was about to be arrested, if not stunned,mistaken for a KEHL member. He searched for Surer, desperately wantingto get his attention. The Vulcan could vouch for him ...Out of the corner of his eye he spied a security officer taking dead aimat him."Hurry! Come with me, now.t" a female voice shouted in his ear, at thesame time a strong hand grasped his suit sleeve and hauled him back. Twopeople in front of him collapsed in the path of the stun ray. "We've gotto go now!" the woman insisted, tugging at him and another woman nearher.He then recognized Lisa Termant, the KEHL's second-in-command."Come on!" she urged, pulling him behind her."We can't let them get all of us! Let's go. Follow me!"Did this lunatic woman think he was part of her nutcase organization?Peter was infuriated by her assumption. Then four people directly infront of him collapsed under the minimized stun rays. If she hadn'tpulled him out of the way ...The security forces weren't asking questions, they were assuming thesame thing about everyone in this crowd that she was. If he didn't getout of here, lunch wouldn't be the only thing he'd be missing. The nexttime Tennant yanked on his arm, he cooperated.After a moment's pushing and shoving, they broke free.Peter found himself running pell-mell down the streets, away from thescreaming, hysterical demonstrators. Had Sarek made it through allright? he wondered, even as his legs moved automatically, running,running, as he followed the woman to safety.They were on a side street now, Federation Security aircars followingthem, trying to round up all the demonstrators.The cadet realized that if he didn't get out of this quickly, he wasgoing to be spending the night in jail. He might even have to contacthis Uncle Jim for a character reference! What would that looklikemcaptain Kirk's nephew incarcerated for supporting a violent KEHLdemonstration?Envisioning his own face on the next news vid, he sprinted faster.Tennant led her small crowd down a narrow street, then into an alley.There was a door, which opened as if by magic as they approached. Thesmall group raced in, Peter entering right behind the dark-haired woman.When the door slid shut behind them, the group half-collapsed, heavingand panting for breath. Peter tensed as he listened to the sirens of theaircars that were still searching--searching for me, Peter realizeddisgustedly. What a mess!"Everybody okay?" Tennant asked the group. "Anyone hurt?"There were murmurs from the group of a half-dozen men and women,assurances that everyone was all right. Peter looked around at theragtag group he'd found himself a part of.A man came up to Termant, someone new--the person who must've been here,ready to open the door for them in just such an emergency. "Do you knowall these people, Lisa?" he asked quietly.Peter's heart thundered in his ears. If they discovered who he was ..."No, Jay," she said, looking over the group. "No, I'm sorry. Everythingfell apart. There were massive arrests. I think one of the Vulcansmight've killed Induna. These people were near me, fighting side by sidewith me. I couldn't leave them behind.""Of course," Jay said, as he looked over the group."I'm Mark Beckwith," one of the men said by way of introduction as hecaught his breath. Peter recognized him as the rock thrower. "I'mpresident of the Peoria branch."Lisa shook his hand. "Of course, I've spoken to you many times."To Peter's relief, the rest of the group were just average members, orpeople who'd seen the demonstration on the vid and "believed in thecause.""I'm Peter ... Church," he finally said, when it was his turn. "I'm ...a data-recovery technician. I work nearby.I've ... always been interested in the KEHL," he lied glibly, "and whenI saw that you were calling for support, I came on down.""Thank you," the woman said sincerely, then repeated it to the others."Thanks to all of you. What you did today was courageous and ambitious.Your personal involvement will make it easier for the millions whosilently agree with our cause to come forward and join us. Thank you allso much."Crazy, Peter thought, slumping tiredly. Would he ever be able to get outof here and back to reality?"I think the security forces are gone," Jay announced, after checkingwith a computerized sensor. "It should be safe for you all to leave now,if you go out one by one."Tennant thanked them all again, reminding them all of the nextgathering. The demonstration at the consulate, she told them, wouldn'tbe able to continue until the arrested demonstrators had been freed fromjail and the current permits renewed. Each person assured her beforeleaving that they would be at the consulate as soon as word reached themthat it was time to assemble. Their faces were filled with a hatred anda commitment that made Peter's stomach lurch.Peter plastered an appropriate expression of sympathy on his own face asLisa finally turned her attention to him. She suddenly peered at himintently, and he found himself grateful that he didn't resemble hisfamous uncle more closely."I hope you weren't injured," she said quietly, her eyes never leavinghis face. "You came awfully close to being stunned."He blinked, gathering his wits about him. Coum she be interested in me?Peter wondered, taken aback. It figured, in a perverse way. His UncleJim seemed to be able to attract any woman in the universe with nothingmore than a little-boy grin and a twinkle in his eye--an ability that,if it was an inherited trait, seemed to have skipped Peter. But everynow and then the "Kirk charm," as the captain called it, did seem toshine on Peter--but only at the wrong moments. Like now. He gazed at theKE HL leader, his mind racing."I'm fine," he assured her. "Really. You ... saved me back there. Ishould be thanking you."She smiled warmly at him. "I'm so glad you're all right.That is ... there are so few of us ... true believers. We can't affordto lose ... even one."She was attracted to him! Peter began to wonder if Federation Securityhad any real idea, before today's violent demonstration, how dangerousthis group was becoming.Whatever information they had on the KEHL couldn't have been veryaccurate, or the security forces would've never been caught soshorthanded at the demonstration.Tennant thought he was a member, a "true believer." Could he string heralong long enough to gain critical inside information--information hecould relay to Starfleet?"Listen, Peter," Lisa said, guiding him to the door, "my assistant,Rosa, was one of the people stunned today. I'm going to be lost withouther, and I know what it's like to be stunned. She won't be feeling wellfor a day or two. I need to make a lot of calls, arrange hearings, bail,tons of stuff. That means that my real work won't get done. So ... Iwas wondering ... you're used to manipulating data. Rosa was working oncross-referencing the membership lists with some special informationwe've received lately about ... a clandestine Vulcan operation. Ireally need to get this project completed. Do you think you could helpme?"How would Uncle Jim handle this? Peter wondered, but of course healready knew. James T. Kirk would simply lay on the charm, the famousKirk charm, and within hours she'd be putty in his hands. Forget it.That won't work for you!As he hesitated, she offered, "You'd be working with me directly ...but, I'll understand if you're not interested.What happened today was enough to make anyone think twice aboutsupporting the group ... ""Oh, I'm interested!" he assured her. "I, uh, didn't realize ... we'dbe working together. I'd like that, Ms.Tennant. Uh ... working with you, I mean." Smooth, mister, real smooth.A Tellarite would've managed a classier delivery ...She opened the door for him and touched his arm. "Call me Lisa, Peter.I'm glad you're willing to help me. I reallyneed an expert's assistance. How about ... Saturday?Around noon? Can you find your way back here?""Sure," he said, managing not to stammer this time. "I'll see you then."His gesture of farewell included both Lisa and Jay. "Saturday, noon.I'll be here.""It'll just be you and me, Peter," Lisa assured him warmly, followinghim a few steps into the alley."Jay ... will be busy with something else. I'll see you then."He managed a credible grin despite his uneasiness."Great. Till Saturday." She stepped back and the door slid shut, leavinghim alone.Peter walked out onto the main street, then began a circuitous routeback toward the Academy, suddenly nervously aware of every figurepassing him on the street.Whatever had possessed him to play Mata Hari with the KEHL's leader?These people were definitely more dangerous than Federation Securityrealized. What should he do now? If he went to the security offices atthe Academy, or to the officer of the day, and related this wild story,they'd no doubt tell him to stay out of it. His advisor, a grizzled oldTellarite lieutenant commander, would forbid him to have anything moreto do with this group. She'd be right, too. He had exams to complete.And the Kobayashi Maru.I don't have time for this. ! have to stay focused. I've got a career toworry about.But ... through sheer happenstance he'd managed to find himself on theinside. He had an opportunity to discover what was really going on withthis radical group of dangerous xenophobes. Would Uncle Jim walk awayfrom this opportunity? The hell he would! Captain Kirk would play thecards dealt him.Can I do any less?Peter scowled down at his feet as the moved along the sidewalk. Whatharm could there be in keeping his Saturday date? He'd just spend timewith Lisa Tennant, work on her reports.She said I'd get to work on the membership lists ... That would be aunique opportunity, one he doubted Security could manage. And, bytalking to her, he could draw her out, discover something about thissilly Vulcan "conspiracy" she purported to have discovered. Maybe hecould find out other things, too. More serious inside information.And, when he had that information, he'd take that to Starfleet. Theycouldn't ignore him then, not if he had information about how the KEHLhad suddenly gained so many new members.If his plan worked out, it certainly wouldn't hurt his career any. And... it was something a real Kirk would do.Something Uncle Jim would do in a heartbeat. Of that, Peter was verysure.Sarek sat at the comm link in his assigned quarters aboard the Freelanspace station, facing the cowled figure of a Freelan. Although there wasno way to be sure, owing to the concealing cloak and mechanical-soundingvoice interface, he thought he recognized the other as Taryn, theFreelan liaison he'd been dealing with for nearly seventy Standardyears."Greetings, Taryn," he said aloud.The cowled and muffled figure was suddenly very still."Greetings, Ambassador Sarek," the flat, mechanical voice said. "Yourecognized me?"Sarek shook his head and dissembled, diplomatically, "I made a logicaldeduction as to your identity, Liaison. After all, during my meetingsaboard this space station, you have been my contact during negotiationseightysix-point-three percent of the time."The shrouded figure seemed to relax again. "I suppose I have. We haveknown each other a long time, Sarek of Vulcan.""Indeed we have, Taryn of Freelan," the ambassador agreed solemnly."This time, you did not come alone," Taryn said.Sarek beckoned, and Soran stepped forward from the back of the room andseated himself beside the ambassador."You are correct, Liaison. I brought my new aide, Soran, so he couldbegin familiarizing himself with Freelan/Vulcan trade agreements.""Why?" the other asked, bluntly."My health is not what it once was since my heart trouble twenty-sevenyears ago," Sarek said, smoothly, having anticipated this question. Hisresponse was accurate, if deliberately misleading. Actually, his healthwas now better than it had been for decades. "Someday," the ambassadorcontinued,"perhaps in the not-too-distant future, I will retire. I cannot continueto be the sole contact between our worlds. I wish my aide to becomefamiliar with our negotiations.""I see," Taryn said slowly. "Very well. Greetings, Soran.""Greetings, Liaison Taryn," the young Vulcan said, raising a hand insalute. "May you live long and prosper.""Only if I can induce Vulcan to reduce their import tariffs!" theFreelan shot back. "It is difficult to prosper under the crushing weightof unfair tariffs!""As a matter of fact, tariffs were one subject I wished to exploretoday," Sarek put in, smoothly. "May we begin?"The cowled figure inclined his head. "Assuredly, Ambassador."Soran observed, for the most part in silence, as the two diplomats wentover the trade agreements in question.Sarek's mind was only partly on the subject at hand--with anotherportion of his mind, he was going over his plans for later thatstation-designated "night."The two diplomats finished their discussion of tariffs, and went on todiscuss modifications to a long-standing trade agreement.Taryn seemed slightly suspicious of Sarek's motives in bringing up thatparticular agreement. "I must admit that I am surprised to hear youreopen this topic," he said. "I had thought that the agreement we forgedregarding those cryo-memory inserts actually favored Vulcan. I fail tosee why you would wish to alter or revise it ... ""The modifications I have in mind are minor, Liaison," Sarek said. "Theyshould not take long to discuss. Perhaps, after our talk, we could ...have a game?""As you know, I am extremely busy," Taryn said, but then he hesitated."However, I must admit that you are one of the few players that I find... stimulating. Very well, then. A game. When we are finished."Sarek went ahead with his list of proposed changes to the tradeagreement. They were, as he said, minor, most of them points that theyhad haggled over when the original agreement was forged, three yearsago. He actually found himself losing some ground in the negotiations,partially because the was not devoting his full attention to the problemat hand.Finally, they were finished. Soran excused himself as both diplomatskeyed their terminals to produce a 3-D chess board. "Standard time limitper move?" Sarek asked, after graciously accepting white at Taryn'sinsistence."Of course."The Vulcan studied the boards, planning his opening."I must warn you, Sarek," Taryn said, "our discussion has sharpened mywits. Prepare to lose, Ambassador."Sarek inclined his head in a half-bow. "I am prepared, Liaison." After amoment's consideration, he moved a pawn. Taryn leaned forward, studyinghis representation of the board, then made his own move. "You know," theFreelan said, and the Vulcan gained the impression that he was confidingsomething highly personal, "I truly do find our games ... stimulating.""You mean 'challenging,'" Sarek said dryly."As I recall"--Taryn's mechanical tones did not vary, but the ambassadorthought he detected an edge in the quickness of the Freelan's retort--"Iwon, the last time we played.""Yes, so you did," Sarek said, evenly. "My game was definitely off thatday." He could not resist needling the liaison just a little. Taryncould, at times, be induced to play recklessly. The Freelan hated tolose, and Sarek had learned preci sely what it took to bait him until hemade a fatal mistake.Sarek moved his knight onto the queen's level, then sat back to studyhis opponent's reaction.Taryn's answering move caused the Vulcan to raise an eyebrow."Stimulating indeed," he murmured, his mind running through moves andtheir consequences with lightning speed, even as part of his braincounted off the seconds remaining for him to reply to Taryn's boldstrategy."Perhaps ... challenging." With a swift, decisive movement hetransferred a rook to the king's level.Taryn regarded the board, and Sarek thought he detected skepticism inthe mechanical voice. "Jobeck's gambit?" His cowl moved slightly, asthough he had shaken his head ruefully. "A human move ... and not aparticularly inventive one, at that. I will taste victory today." Hepaused, his mitt hovering over the board as he considered his next move."A human gambit ... a surprising move for one of your kind to make,Ambassador.""My wife is Terran," Sarek said, "and I have spent many years on Earth.I learned that gambit there. Humans may not possess Vulcan logic ... butthey can demonstrate surprisingly intricate strategy, at times.""For myself, I have never had cause to respect their intelligence,"Taryn commented, his mitt still hovering over the board. "Take this neworganization that has sprung up, for instance. The Keep Earth HumanLeague. From all reports, it consists of a collection of bigoted misfitswith stunted intellects. They detest all nonhumans ... even yourpeople, Ambassador."Sarek had to guard against a betraying start of surprise. It was Taryn'sturn to needle him--almost as though the liaison knew why the ambassadorwas here, hoping to gain proof for his theory about a Freelan conspiracy..."These fringe groups come and go," the Vulcan conceded blandly. "Theyhardly pose a concern to the long-standing amity between Earth andVulcan.""Of course not," Taryn said, sitting back in his seat, his shrouded headlevel, as though he were staring directly into Sarek's face, searchingfor any betraying emotions he might find there. "No one could hope toalter such a close alliance."Sarek raised an eyebrow. "Really, Liaison, you surprise me. If this is astrategy on your part, I should think you could be more creative than toattempt something so ... antiquated."The Freclan's cowl jerked slightly, as if he had stiffened."Antiquated? What ... what do you mean?"Sarek gestured at the board. "Why, engaging me in conversation while youexceed your time limit for a move.Or ... had you forgotten that it is your move?""My move ... oh, yes. Of course I had not forgotten." Taryn hastilymoved his bishop.As the game progressed, Sarek tried with all his diplomatic skills togain information from his longtime contact.Taryn, who had recovered his aplomb, fenced back at him, seeminglyenjoying their verbal sparring.It was a very hard-fought game, but, to his own surprise, Sarek won onceagain. Typically, Taryn was not a particularly good sport about hisdefeat. The moment endgame was in sight, he signaled his board to topplehis king, then, with barely a civil word of leavetaking, broke theconnection.After dinner, the two Vulcans retired to the adjoining rooms in theirsuite. Sarek set himself to doze until the middle of "night" aboard thestation.Hours later, the ambassador opened his eyes, then rose quietly from hisbed to pull on a dark tunic and trousers, and soft-soled desert boots hehad brought with him for this occasion. With his minuscule Vulcantricorder in hand, he seated himself before the Freelan comm link. Theambassador had been planning for this day for months, and had preparedprograms to cover all of the most probable contingencies.Sarek's first task was to disarm the alarms on the station's securedmaintenance area. He studied the sleek, horizontal console for only amoment. "Manual input, please. Standard Federation interface." Themanual control board slid out of a concealed opening, and he swiftlyenabled the external data link. That was the easy part. Now came thechallenging task of causing a calculated "malfunction" in the systemthat would camouflage his efforts to access the main data banks.The Vulcan ambassador quickly set his trioorder to run through thestandard external data conventions, sending handshake messages atvarious wavelengths. When the tricorder's screen indicated success, theVulcan's lips tightened.Not Federation standard. Working efficiently, he called up the mostlikely communications protocol and linked his tricorder into the Freelancomm link, then was gratified to see the connection established. Thetwenty-five-year-old espionage done by his son aboard a Romulan vesselwould suffice to accomplish his goal.Confident now of the specifics of this particular computer system, hedownloaded the first of several valit programs and instructed thelow-level operating system to execute. A valit was a small Vulcancreature that could burrow its way through the hardest soil, capable ofadapting its complex mandibles to numerous functions. Unless theoperating system was massively dissimilar to what Spock had reported,the valit program would be able to adapt and invade, opening up thesecure portions of the software. And, by returning countless errormessages to the central processors, this first valit program wouldeffectively disguise his efforts to intrude further.Although Sarek did not actually have to enter the central maintenancearea to gain further access to the no-longer-secure data, he wanted tosee the Freelan computer with his own eyes. The comm link in hisquarters was encased in a shell that differed little from those found onany Federation world. In a sense, he had proven nothing so far. TheFreelans could have purchased their comm units and software from theRomulans. The ambassador had to see the central computer itself, becausehe knew that the Romulan cloaking system depended on the massiveprocessing capabilities of these machines; the Romulans would neverwillingly part with this technology to outsiders for mere profit.Before leaving his quarters, Sarek tapped softly on Soran's door.Moments later, his aide emerged, also clad in dark clothes, with softfootwear. "The security alarms?" he whispered."Disabled," Sarek replied.The ambassador had visited the Freelan station many times, and knewprecisely where to go. When they reached the doors that were labeledMAINTENANCE--NO ADMITRANCE in several languages, including Vulcan, Sarekstopped, motioning Soran to stay back. He tapped on the entry pad, andthe portals shot apart.Sarek stepped into the maintenance area, Soran at his side. The youngVulcan halted suddenly at the sight of a surveillance vid unit, but theambassador shook his head reassuringly. The valit was overloading thecondition-recognition software to the point where it would not beon-line for the time of their visit."We must move quickly," Sarek said softly. (Even though there was no onein the area, the urge for silence remained, illogical though it was.)"The valit will not delay the security system indefinitely." He led theway past a transporter room and into the nerve center of the station.The enormous room contained a gigantic computer system, black metalwithout decoration, identical to the one Spock had seen a generationbefore. Apparently the Romulans were conservative about changes in atechnology that worked. Sarek nodded grimly. It was as he hadconjectured."Ambassador, you must know what you are looking for," Soran said."Otherwise you would not have been able to devise a valit program.""Logical," Sarek said, approvingly, seating himself before the closestcomm link and taking out his tricorder. "You have deduced admirably. Ifmy theory about the Freelans is correct, then you shall soon see theirtrue identity for yourself.""This system bears no resemblance to any in the Federation," Soran said,watching as Sarek's experienced hands flew over the tricorder controls,feeding in another valit program, this one designed to follow on theheels of the first valit. It would make all areas of the memoryaccessible to external control, and display on the visual monitorswhatever was accessed.As the two Vulcans watched, random areas of memory began to appear onthe screens. Soran's eyes widened as he made out the characters. "Thatscript ..." he breathed."Romulan!""Indeed," Sarek said. "As I expected. But I must capture more thanrandom kitchen requisitions to justify our suspicions." He held up thetricorder's photo chip to the screen."So the Freelans are Romulans?" Soran said slowly, obviously takenaback. At Sarek's quick glance, the young Vulcan hastily composed hisfeatures."Yes," Sarek said. "They are Romulans. I have suspected it for a longtime, but gaining proof has been difficult.Ah ... personnel data banks. We are in." Raw information began to flashacross the screen--words in Romulan script, operating-system symbols,and numbers, all in a jumbled disarray. Hundreds of screens of data,most of it garbled, appeared in quick succession. Suddenly Sarek leanedforward and signaled the tricorder to backtrack through the images. Aquick tap froze the output. Intently, he studied the scrambled data."What is it?" Soran asked."A name--one of the few Freelan names I would recognize.Do you read Romulan, Soran?""No, sir. I will remedy the deficiency as soon as feasible," the youngaide promised. "What does it say?" Sarek indicated a name in flowingRomulan script."Taryn," he said, simply. "This is a list of Romulan officers, alongwith their ranks. Taryn is listed, if I am reading this correctly, as awing commander." The e lder Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "A high-rankedRomulan officer indeed." He continued recording data, studying it.Slowly, he made sense of the scrambled information. He generated adecoding algorithm in his mind, and mentally overlaid it on the jumble,seeing order amid chaos.Minutes later, he was reading it swiftly. Sarek scanned the shippingdata first, noting with grim satisfaction that it, too, proved histheory. Military vessels from Romulus and Remus made regular voyages toFreelan, and Freelans voyaged to the Romulan worlds. Romulan officerswere logged as being "detailed" to Freelan.Freelan also had a small fleet of birds-of-prey located inprobe-shielded hangars that were camouflaged by the simple expedient ofplacing them beneath massive ice shelves, with roofs impregnated withscionitc.The communications logs listed hundreds of subspace messages between theRomulan worlds and Freelan. Government communiqus listed Freelans on"missions" to various worlds, particularly Earth--and, nearly always,the Freelan merchant, diplomat, or scientist was accompanied by an aidewith a Vulcan name.Sarek automatically memorized those names, knowing however, that furtherchecks would reveal that they--like Savel--were not Vulcan citizens.None of the evidence Sarek uncovered was a direct link between the KEHLactivity and the Freelans--or Romulans but the ambassador found thecircumstantial evidence damning.Without warning, a sudden, familiar sound made him freeze.Soran heard it, too. "Ambassador--a transporter beam!""Attempt to distract the newcomers, while I disengage the valits," Sarekcommanded, his fingers flying. Without a thought he abandoned his hopeof copying further Romulan data banks. If he and Soran were caught here,spying, the Romulans would be within their rights to summarily executethem for espionage.Quickly, he injected the last of the valits, the one designed toeradicate all evidence of his tampering. He could hear footstepsapproaching from the direction of the transporter room as he leaped up,tricorder in hand, looking for a place to eliminate the evidence of hisspying. Without the tricorder as evidence, he might be able to pretendto have awakened in the night, ill, and to have been searching for thestation's automated med center. There was little chance that he would bebelieved, but, without hard evidence, the Freelans might hesitate totake him into custody. Seeing a disposal unit, Sarek dropped thetricorder in and cycled it, not without a pang at the loss of his proof.Logic dictated, however, that he save himself.Glancing around him, the ambassador realized that the computer room wassingularly devoid of hiding places.Silently, he resigned himself to being caught, and having to feignillness, when a loud crash sounded next door, in one of the engineeringchambers that held banks of automated equipment.The approaching Freelans exclaimed--in Romulan!--and went toinvestigate. Peering out of the computer area, Sarek warily scanned thehallway; then he made a swift, soundless retreat back to the entrance.The ambassador knew that his young aide must have caused the crash thathad distracted whomever had come to investigate the "malfunction." WouldSoran be able to escape, also?A second later Soran, soundless on his soft-soled shoes, hurried upbeside him. Quickly, the two Vulcans left the maintenance area andreturned to their quarters.Later, as he relaxed in the narrow bunk, the ambassador allowed himselfa faint, ironic smile in the concealing darkness. It is not endgame yet,Taryn, he thought. Today you may have had me in check, but mate is stilla long way off.The next day, Sarek waited tensely for some indication that hislate-night foray had been discovered, but apparently the last valit hadbeen successful. Taryn displayed no indication of suspicion during themorning's negotiating session.The ambassador was just beginning the afternoon's session when Soranapproached, a guarded expression on his normally calm features."Ambassador? There are two messages coming in from Vulcan. They are ...important."Hastily, Sarek excused himself and went to his quarters to view them inprivate. The first was a written message from his wife that read,simply, "Come home if possible, please.Amanda."Staring at it, the Vulcan experienced a rush of unease.Never, in over sixty years of marriage, had his wife ever interruptedhim in the midst of a mission to ask him to return home. What could bewrong?His silent question was swiftly answered by the second message,prerecorded by his wife's physician, T'Mal. The graying Healer staredstraight into the screen, as though she could see him. Her expressionwas calm, as usual, but the ambassador could discern a hint of sorrow inher eyes."Ambassador Sarek, you must return home immediately.Your wife is gravely ill. I do not expect her to live more than anothermonth ... possibly less. I regret having to impart such news in thismanner, but I have no choice. Return home immediately."The ancient, stone-walled room was buried deep in the foundations of thehuge fortress-manor on Qo'nos, the Klingon homeworld. Outside thoseage-darkened stone walls lay nothing but soil. The room had been tested,retested, and verified to be free of all recording or surveillancedevices, which was why such a dank, dark room had been chosen for thisparticular meeting.Valdyr sat in one of the modern chairs that had been brought into theroom, feeling the chill pluck at her body, even as the words she washearing chilled her mind and soul.Hesitantly, she glanced up at her uncle, the esteemed Klingonambassador, Kamarag, as he spoke forcefully to the officers assembled inthe room, around the venerable, dagger-scarred table that hadundoubtedly been here for hundreds of years.He is perilously close to treason, she thought, struggling to keep theshock she was feeling from showing on her face.The officers watched the speaker with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Thesoft lights from the lamps glimmered off oiled black leather andpolished studs."Warriors," Kamarag was saying, his trained voice carrying suchconviction that it was nearly hypnotic, "we have all seen what ishappening to our Empire in the past months, since Praxis was destroyed.The foundations of our exis tence are being eaten away! If thiscontinues, soon there will be no place for our race in this galaxy! TheRomulans will overrun us, for we will have grown soft, and weak asfemales!"Valdyr, the only female present, glanced up at him, but was careful toconceal the resentment his words caused. Her uncle was the head of herfamily. When her father had been killed attempting to board and conquerthe Federation starship Enterprise, Kamarag had taken his widow and fourchildren under his protection, providing for them, even sending Valdyrand her brothers to school.And last month, when her mother and eldest brother had been killedduring one of the devastating meteor showers that had bombarded Qo'nosever since the destruction of Praxis, Kamarag had taken Valdyr and herbrothers to live with him in the ancestral home.Her uncle was the head of her family, and she owed him everything. Ifnot for Kamarag, her brothers would never have been able to go to schooland learn the skills necessary to serve aboard starships. They would allhave been relegated to a backwater existence in some hamlet, grubbingfor sustenance on land that was increasingly hostile to agriculture.Valdyr owed Kamarag unquestioning loyalty. Still, his sneering referenceto her entire sex made her grind her back teeth. Her fingers clenchedagainst her own armor. At the mention of the word "females," one of thecaptains, Karg, east Valdyr a leering glance."Females have their place--but what should that place be? Remember whonow sits in the chancellor's seat of our government, my brothers! Awoman.t Gorkon's daughter, to be sure, but she is not Gorkon, as she hasproved many times in the past days. Azetbur demands our loyalty, even asshe opens her arms to Federation influence--influence which may welllead to Federation control. Who among us, brothers, wishes to live underthe heel of the Federation?"A concerted growl from the officers present was his only reply.Azetbur's ascension to the chancellorship had given Valdyr the courageto continue her schooling past the age when most Klingons of her sexwere relegated to the home, their only power whatever they could obtainby influencing the males in their lives. Valdyr respected Azetbur forattempting to forge a true and lasting peace between the Federation andthe Klingon Empire.To hear her revered uncle denouncing the new chancellor secretly enragedthe young woman. She glanced up at him as he spoke. Kamarag had been aformidable warrior in his youth, and his stance as he addressed theseofficers was that of a combatant throwing down a formal challenge."Consider, my brothers!" he was continuing. "Consider what me must do,each and every one of us, to uphold our honor as warriors! Each of usmust search his own heart to discover the best way to serve ourEmpire--even, should it prove necessary, by serving outside thestrictures of official government policy. We must have the courage, thehonor, the valor to serve our Empire as warriors, as leaders--not merelyas those who blindly follow orders given by our nominal superiors!"Valdyr's eyes widened. Her uncle was skirting the boundary of advocatingsedition ... outright treason! Such talk was dishonorable! How could hespeak so? Glancing over the faces of the assembled starship commanders,Valdyr saw that their eyes were fastened on the ambassador with an avidgleam-- all except one. Keraz ha d drawn back in his seat, and wasshaking his head. Suddenly, the commander sent his gauntleted fistcrashing down on the aged table so hard that the ironlike wood groanedin protest. "Kamarag, you go too far!" he growled. "I have no love forAzetbur, or her new policies, but I cannot disobey my oath as a Klingonofficer!There are more renegades raiding across the Neutral Zone every day, andI have no intention of becoming one of them!" Valdyr had to restrainherself from leaping up and saluting the commander.Kamarag drew himself up, as though deeply offended--but his niece couldtell that his indignation was feigned."Keraz, you mistake me! I have said nothing about disobeying oaths. Ihave merely requested that each and every one of us assembled here todayspend some time in thinking about our current situation, and how it maybest be improved!There was no talk of oath-breaking in that!" Valdyr sighed inwardly asKeraz obviously lost some of his confidence. His brows drew together inconsternation."Yes, Keraz, were you not listening?" Karg growled sarcastically."Did you stay out last night drinking and wenching, only to fall asleepjust now and dream talk of oath-breaking?For there was none of that voiced today!""Right!""Karg is correct?"We have our honor!" The other officers snarled their support of Karg'srebuke.Keraz sat back in his seat. "Perhaps I misheard you, Kamarag," he saidgrudgingly.The Klingon ambassador nodded, and within minutes the clandestinemeeting had broken up. The moment she could do so without seemingsuspect, Valdyr left her seat and hurried out into the corridor. She'dcaught Karg ogling her with an appreciative eye, and she wanted to avoidthe captain at all costs.But her way out of the deep cellars was blocked by the officers, wholingered, talking in groups, or waiting their chance to speak personallywith Kamarag. Valdyr shrank back into an alcove that had once held winecasks.She'd been standing there long enough to grow chilled from the dampstone surrounding her on three sides when she heard two familiar voices.Kamarag and Karg were talking softly."It went well, I thought ..." Karg was saying. "Except for Keraz. Heshould be Azetbur's personal servant, if he wishes to clean her bootswith his tongue. I knew he would be trouble.""We handled it, between us," Kamarag said smugly."Keraz may not join us--but he will not betray us to Azetbur. He has nolove for her himself. Tell me, how did your latest raid go?""The best yet," Karg said. Valdyr could almost see him smacking his lipsover the memory. "One of those mixed colonies, mostly Tellaritesgyoushould have heard the females and the young ones squeal as we cut themdown!There was very little worth taking on Patelva, true, but it waswonderful to feel the heat of battle and smell the richness offresh-split blood again." Valdyr swallowed. Klingons gloried in war andbattle, true, but there was no honor in mowing down noncombatants.Karg's words made her belly tighten with disgust.Suddenly a new voice broke into the conversation. One of the otherotcers had come up to slap her uncle on the shoulder and congratulatehim on a stirring oration. Peering out from her niche, Valdyr saw thatthe newcomer's back blocked her from view, so she seized thatopportunity to steal softly away down the corridor.Later that evening, as she sat in her chamber studying for her nextexamination in Federation Standard, the Klingon woman heard a knock onher door. After bidding the visitor enter, she saw it was her uncle."Uncle!" she exclaimed, standing respectfully. Even though she did notagree with what he had done that day, he was still her family's saviorand head. Klingon tradition decreed that her first loyalty be to him."I have something important to discuss with you, niece," he said in hisdeep, resonant voice. "It has come to my attention recently that you areof an age to wed." Valdyr's eyes widened. "Yes, I suppose so, Uncle,"she said. "But I am so busy with school these days, I have not thoughtmuch on the matter of prospective husbands.""Your mother arranged no marriage for you before her death," Kamaragsaid, seating himself on the narrow, shelflike bed. "Was that yourchoice?""We never discussed it," Valdyr said. "My mother married according toliking, not for family advancement. I believe she intended the same forme, but I do not know for certain.""My sister married beneath her," her uncle said grimly.Valdyr stiffened at hearing her beloved father denigrated so,but Kamarag did not notice. "However, there is no point in rehashing herunfortunate choice, since it all lies in the past.We must look to the future--your future. Someone offered for your handtoday, and I accepted." Valdyr held her breath. Who? Keraz? I do notlove him, but he is a warrior with honor ... no, that cannot be. Kerazis married, I remember hearing that. Who elseg A sudden thought occurredto her, and, with a sinking sensation, she heard her uncle confirm herworst fears."Karg is a veteran of many battles, a warrior of considerable renown. Hefancies you, niece, and he is well able to provide you with anything anyfemale could want. I accepted his offer." Rising, he strode to the opendoor and beckoned. The Klingon captain stepped in from the hall, andgrinned broadly at his promised bride."Karg ..." Valdyr whispered, faintly. The knot in her belly turned over,and she had to lock her knees to keep from trembling. To wed and bedKarg? NOT I would embrace my dagger as bridegroom before thatdishonorable Denlbya'qatlh!As though he could read her mind, Karg gave her a mocking half-bow. "Mywife-to-be ... your uncle has'done me a great honor.""Hah!" Kamarag barked out a shout of laughter, and slapped the suitor onthe back. "The honor is all ours, Karg!" He gave Valdyr a smug glance."I Bo not wonder that she is speechless with joy." I cannot marry him, Icannot! I hate and despise him, Uncle.t Do not make me do this.t But,seeing the pleased expression on Kamarag's face, Valdyr forced herselfto take a deep breath and regain her control. She might not be warriormaterial herself, being slender and not tall, but the blood of a noblehouse of warriors flowed in her veins. She would not dishonor herself bybegging. "Uncle, I must think about this seriously. Karg needs a wifewho has high social position and much ... beauty," she said,cautiously. "I have neither. I do not believe the match would besatisfactory for such a high-ranked warrior.""Such modesty!" Karg chuckled richly as he stepped over to the youngwoman and ran a caressing hand up her arm, testing the muscle that laybeneath her sleeve. For a lingering moment his hand trailed perilouslyclose to her left breast, and Valdyr went rigid. Would he dare to fondleher in front of her uncle? If he does that, I will kill him here andnow, she thought.But Karg contented himself with kneading and prodding the muscles of herarm and shoulder. "Small, but there is good, wiry strength there," heremarked approvingly. Then, glimpsing the outrage in her eyes, he added,sardonically, "Ah, my bride ... you are so young, so innocent ... youwarm my heart."Grasping Valdyr's chin and forcibly turning her face to and fro, hecontinued to examine her as he might a prospective mount for hisstables. "You know nothing of what excites a male ..." he saidcaressingly, obviously enjoying her humiliation. "But have no fear ...innocence excites me greatly. Do not worry, my targhoy. There is beautyin you. With the flowering of your womanhood, it will come, Valdyr-oy.When you are my wife, your beauty will blossom like chal flowers inspring."His endearments and the love suffix attached to her name made the youngwoman long to shriek with fury. Her mind filled with images of herplunging the dagger she wore strapped to her forearm into his heart.As his fingers touched her cheek, Valdyr could not repress a shudder ofdisgust. "Look, Kamarag, she trembles for me already? Karg chortled;then he seized her in a bruising embrace and pressed his face into herneck, his teeth fastening on her throat so hard that the woman gaspedfrom the pain."Enough, Karg!" Kamarag ordered, and the captain released her. Raisingher hand, Valdyr touched her throat, then stared unbelievingly at thesmear of blood on her fingers. "I know you are hot to take a bride, butthe wedding will not take place until after our triumph. The taste ofvictory will add extra savor to your wedding night, Karg."The captain was breathing hard as his eyes ran over Valdyr's body, andhis voice, when he spoke, was thick."Very well, Kamarag. But she is sweet enough to tempt any male ... "Headdressed the young woman then. "Do not concern yourself about yourfitness to be my wife, Valdyr-oy.Just as the beauty will come, you will learn the intricacies of society,until you are ready to take your place with me, to help my advancement.Your uncle assures me that you possess high intelligence, for a female."Valdyr wanted to flay him alive for his words, but she held herselfback. She must be clever, use all of her wits to escape this fate thatloomed before her. Allowing Karg to see her true feelings would onlymake them watch her closely until the day of the wedding.Perhaps she could run away. Or, if she could not refuse Karg, perhapsshe could postpone the marriage for a while.Karg was a warrior. Perhaps he would be killed. The thought made hersmile.So, steeling herself, Valdyr forced herself to say, "At the moment,school occupies all my time. Perhaps when I finish this term, I willfind myself more ... prepared for marriage, Uncle."Kamarag frowned. "You will not need further schooling now that I havearranged such a successful match for you, aldyr. Better you should turnyour attention to the management of households. That in itself is ademanding life.""Your uncle is right, Valdyr-oy. I have a large house, but it hassuffered from the lack of a woman to care for it," Karg added."No further schooling?" Valdyr struggled to control her temper. If shemade her uncle angry, it would bode ill for her brothers, as well as forher. She must not allow them to know what was in her mind. "But, Uncle..."Perhaps sensing her distress, her uncle said, "You may finish out thisterm, as long as it does not interfere with your duties here, and withyour spending more time in the kitchens, learning the duties of a wife."He gave Karg a smug glance. "I will not have Karg say that you did notcome to him properly trained for your new role.""In addition to the kitchens," Karg said, his gaze roving over her bodyagain, "do not forget that you must learn the ways of the nursery,Valdyr-oy." With a toothy grin, he slapped her uncle on the back andleft the chamber.Once they were alone, Kamarag regarded his niece with a touch ofimpatience. "Well, girl?" he barked, finally. "Have you nothing to say?"The young woman exerted rigid control as she forced herself to replyquietly, "Uncle, I will do as you say.""See that you do," he grumbled. "You do not want to appear ungrateful,do you, niece?""No, sir." Relaxing visibly, her uncle rocked back on his heels, andsmiled as he changed the subject. "The meeting went well today, did itnot?""They all seemed to share your point of view," Valdyr said, treading acareful verbal path. "All except Keraz." Her uncle dismissed thecommander with a wave of one blunt-fingered hand. "Hundreds of yearsfrom now, our names will be remembered as the ones who saved the Empireand the Klingon way of life," he said, earnestly, his deep-set eyesgleaming."But ... current policy of our government is to make peace with theFederation," Valdyr reminded him. "Peace with the Federation, friendshipwith our old enemies--even peace with James Kirk, who saved thechancellor's--""Kirk!" roared Kamarag so loudly that Valdyr started."Niece, I cannot hear that name without anger--do not think to provokeme by letting it fall from your lips so casually! May Kirk be devouredby ten thousand demons on his way to oblivion! Kirk lives still, and Ihave no peace!" Furious, the ambassador strode back and forth in thesmall chamber, his boots resounding on the floor like ancient war drums."Kirk! Kirk is the enemy, and I will never regain my honor until he isdead, until I can dip my hands in his warm blood and dye them scarlet--Iwill never rest until Kirk and all his line are wiped out!""But, Uncle." Valdyr was taken aback. Kamarag's temper was legendary,but she'd never seen her uncle in such a rage."Kirk saved Azetbur's life. She will never agree to having him killed.""I care nothing for her!" Kamarag was livid. "She is the spinelessdaughter of a spineless coward. She will not stop me, niece.""Stop you in what, Uncle?" Valdyr asked, curious and repelled at thesame moment."Stop me from carrying out my plan," the ambassador said, and smiled.The sight of that smile chilled her, even though her chamber was warm."What plan?" she asked.His smile broadened, revealing a mouthful of teeth. A cunning, predatoryexpression replaced the anger that had been there. "You will see,Valdyr," he promised softly. "Just wait, and you will see ... "Journal of Amanda Grayson Sarek September 16,2293 What is it like todie?Vulcan& of course, have their katras ... a word no one has ever beenable to translate with any degree of precision. Not quite a soul, notexactly a personality, more than a memory, less than a living being ...I suppose one has to be born Vulcan to have any hope of understandingVulcan mysticism.Spock and Sarek will live on, after their deaths. Will I?Many of Earth religions hold that I will ... but there is no certainty.And if there is an afterlife, would individuals from different worldsmingle there?Now I am getting metaphysical--and silly. Speculating about such thingsis fruitless ... illogical. Life after death will either happen, or itwon't, and there is nothing I can do about it either way ... exceptbephilosophical.I dread Sarek return from Freelan, even as I long for it. I suspectT'Mal contacted him, and that she was as blunt with him as she wasevasive with me. No doubt she was concerned that the truth would be toomuch for a human to bear.Little does she know this particular human. I have known what ishappening to me for months, now. I can't remember when I first realizedthat my body wasrunning down, sputtering to its inevitable halt ... the knowledge justgrew in me, day by day.It seems that I have Reyerson's disease. It isn't always fatal,especially to those in the prime of life--but I am ninety-three.Luckily, itg not an illness that causes a great deal of pain. Its mainsymptom is continuous exhaustion, which, at my age, is fairly commonanyway.I've spent time these past few days reading over my old journals. Themoments come back so clearly, it almost seems as though the past is thereality, and this present, with its exhaustion and inevitable ending, ismerely a bad dream.When I read about them, the memories revive, as fresh as if theyhappened only yesterday. I cannot believe I have lived this long--it allseems to have gone by at great speed. Every time I look in a mirrorthese days, I am shocked to see a woman who is, beyond a doubt ... old.I don't FEEL old.t--not inside. The aches and pains remind me of my trueage, but my mind and my heart feel as young as ever. Young Amanda is inhere with me, in my head, and Old Amanda has trapped us within thisshell of aged bone and flesh.Curious, isn't it? I wonder if every human feels this way ... or am Iunusual? l,'ulcans, of course, feel exactly as om as their chronologicalage. Anything else would be illogical ... Can I really be ... dying?At times I have to fight off panic, but those episodes are growing lessand less frequent. They are simply too tiring, I suppose, for a bodythat is ... shutting down.Of course, I would not want to live forever ... but I don't want todie, either. I want to live--there are still so many things to do, somany places to go, so many things to see-- I want to live ... yet Iamcoming to realize that I will not, at least, not for much longer. Bythis time next year, probably much sooner, the universe will be going onwithout me. Amanda Grayson, Madam Sarek, the Lady Amanda ... I will begone, will be no more.I am dying.There, I've admitted it. Writing it out in black and white like that hasactually been a relief. Facing the worst the future has to offer isbetter than mincing around, shying away from an all-too-possiblereality.Of course, the Healers are treating me, trying to arrest the disease.But I know without asking that my prognosis is dismal. And, even if amiracle happened, and I were cured of this particular illness, at myage, the inevitable can only be staved off for a short time.There is one journal entry that I've been saving as a treat, for when Ifeel particularly low. I believe that tonight is the night to read it...June 14,2229 ... a few minutes past midnight My hand trembles as Iwrite this ... I can scarcely believe what happened tonight!After allthese months of seeing him, trying to make myself believe that hisinterest was not solely that of a diplomat befriending a student of hisculture ... trying, but never quite succeeding--I can hardly believewhat I am about to write--tonight Sarek kissed me/ It was not really akiss as a human knows it--but it happened. Just the softest brush of hisfingertips against my lips, but I trembled as we turned and walked homein silence. Even now, as I sit here writing, I feel as though I havecaught some exotic fever.Is it possible that we have known each other for only four months? Itseems incredible that my life could have changed so radically, soirrevocably, in such a short time. Four months, almost to the day.My work was everything to me ... teaching was my only passion. Beingable to convey to my students the wonder and richness of alien cultureswas my fondest dream, a goal to be striven for, my heart's greatestdesire. The day I won the T'Relan Award for Excellence in Teaching was,I thought then, the pinnacle of my life.All this time, these past months, wondering, trying to fathom why such adistinguished diplomat wanted to spend time with a teacher who happenedto win an award for teaching and thus was invited to an embassyreception ...Once or twice I thought, "Perhaps he's attracted to me," only to backawayjkom the thought at warp speed.Vulcans do not form romantic attachments, after all.Either they bond at a very young age, or they make a reasoned, logicaldecision later in life. Romance? Don't be ridiculous, Amanda.t Buttonight ... was romantic. I believe that even Sarek felt it, wasaffected by the spell of the night ...The three-quarter moon was setting over the Pacific as the couple walkedalong the beach. Amanda Grayson picked her way over the wet sand,smiling as the white-tipped waves curled ever closer to her feet. Dinnerhad been excellent; Sarek had taken her to one of the finest restaurantsin town.As they'd eaten, she'd caught curious glances from their fellow diners.It was unusual, she knew, for a human woman and a Vulcan male to be seentogether. And her escort was a noted diplomat at the Vulcan Embassy--awell-known public figure.Thankfully, after they'd left the restaurant, none of the curious hadfollowed them. Now, watching the moon slip down toward the waves, theywere completely alone. The tide was coming in, lapping ever higher.Amanda watched her escort coverfly as he gazed at the ocean, hisexpression quiet and serene.She was so intent on watching Sarek that an importunate wave caught herunawares. Amanda jumped and gasped as cold water sloshed over her feet,and she bumped hard against the Vulcan. Automatically, he caught her armand steadii her. It was the first time he had touched her in the fourmonths since she'd met him."Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed. "If I'd fallen in, I'd have gottensoaked." Glancing up at him diffidently, she caught her breath insurprise as she realized that he was ... smiling. There could be nodoubt about it. Sarek's austere,aquiline features had softened, and his normally stern mouth curvedupward on both ends. The Vulcan's dark eyes held an amused spark.Sarek is smiling. At me, she thought, amazed and touched.I didn't know he could smile.tShe smiled back at him, feeling a rush of happiness so pure and strongthat it was like some euphoria-inducing drug. As they stared at eachother, their eyes locked, the next wave caught both of them in its wash.This time they both jumped. Amanda, glancing down, saw that theambassador's boots were soaked. "Oh, dear.Your boots.""They will dry," Sarek said, ignoring his footwear."Amanda ... tell me something.""What?""Is there anyone ... special in your life?"He can't possibly know what that question means on Earth, she thought,blankly. "Of course there is," she said, struggling not to blush. "Ihave my parents, and my students, my family and my friends. They're allvery special to me ... Sarek."It had been hard for her to call him by only his name without histitle--he was such a formal person, so reserved.It was growing easier each time she did it. "And of course, back East Ihave several friends that I only see a few times a year, becausethey're--""Amanda ..." She couldn't believe that he'd interrupted her. He'd neverdone that before. The Vulcan stepped closer to her, so close she couldfeel the heat of his body against her face and throat."Yes, Sarek?""I wanted to know whether there is a special male in your life."She stared at him unbelievingly, but managed to compose herself. "No,Sarek. There is no special ... male." Her heart was pounding harderthan the surf."So you are free to choose a ... mate?" he asked."Yes," she whispered, but hardly any sound emerged from her throat. TheVulcan leaned closer, indicating that even his acute hearing had notpicked up her answer. "Yes," she repeated. "Yes, I am.""That is good to hear, Amanda," he said quietly; then he leaned forward,slowly and deliberately, and kissed her mouth with his fingertips.Even as he drew back, Amanda instinctively knew that her life hadchanged forever. There was only one possible explanation for Sarek'swords and action--he wanted her for his wife. She knew from her studiesthat Vulcans did not waste time in casual dalliance.For a moment he regarded her intently, his eyes filled with all thethings he could not say aloud. Then, without another word, the Vulcanoffered her his arm to help her back up the beach. Amanda went with him,her whole body conscious of his touch, of the heat of his skin beneathhis sleeve.I love him, she realized. I've loved him from the first, and didn'trealize it until now.September 16,2293Just finished rereading that journal entry. Oh, my/ Was I ever thatyoung?And yet ... if I close my eyes, I can still taste that kiss, even aftersixty-four years.I have had a good life. I have been blessed. There are few regrets ...But for now, I am tired ... must rest ...Captain James T. Kirk stood in the coruscating glow of the transporterbeam, dreading what he would see as soon as he materialized on the worldcalled Patelva. Yesterday the Enterprise had been summoned to the colonyworld that had been decimated by a raid. The captain had made one quickreconnaissance to the planet, then returned, sickened, to his ship,leaving Dr. McCoy and his medical staff to their grim work of trying tosave as many of the pitifully wounded survivors as they could.As the transporter beam faded around him, Kirk could hear the sounds ofthe wounded. The beam-down coordi nates were in the center of a group ofhastily thrown-up bubbletents, so, unlike yesterday, he was notsurrounded by shattered and torn bodies ... which was a relief. But thesounds were bad enough.Medical personnel scurried to and fro, racing frantically to beat theirancient enemy. In a distant field, filled with crops that would never beharvested now, security personnel stoically attended to the hideous workof disposing of the corpses."Captain ..." Kirk turned away from the grim scene to find his firstofficer at his elbow. "I have completed my interviews with the fewuninjured survivors I could locate.Their reports all concur Klingons did this."The captain gazed around him, and sighed. There hadn't been much doubtabout who the assailants were--the patterns were all there. "I know," hesaid. "I just finished speaking to Chancellor Azetbur on subspacecommunications.She confirmed that their sensors have picked up a number of Klingonvessels crossing the Neutral Zone lately, but swore to me on herfather's honor that none of them has been authorized to do so by hergovernment.""More renegades," Spock said, his normally expressionless featurestouched with sadness. "Chang has set a precedent, I fear.""I'm afraid that Azetbur's going to go down, Spock," Kirk said."Everything looked so hopeful last month at Khitomer, but now ..." Heshrugged slightly. "The media back on Earth are having a field day withthese renegade raids. Many of the delegates to the Security Council arecalling for Ra-ghoratrei to withdraw his support of Azetbur'sgovernment.""I know. And without the support of the Federation, Azetbur has littlechance to remain in power.""The chancellor is the Empire's only hope for survival, Spock!" Kirksaid wearily. "If I can see that, so can others."The Vulcan nodded, his dark eyes bleak. He started to comment, butbefore he could do so, a familiar voice made both officers turn."What's the news on the Federation hospital ship?" Dr. Leonard McCoydemanded, coming up from behind the two officers. The chief surgeon'smedical tunic was splashed and streaked with drying blood and even lesspleasant substances, and his blue eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue."Dammit, Jim, my people are ready to drop, and I can't spare a one of'emfor a break. We've got to get some reliefl""The ship's on its way, Bones," Kirk was quick to assure the medicalofficer. "ETA is thirty-six hours from now.""Damn!" McCoy growled; then he sighed. "Can you at least beam down somemore security people? They're not trained, but they can help clean upand make sandwiches for the staff." Kirk nodded and, taking out hiscommunicator, quickly gave the order. McCoy busied himself dispatchingthe security teams to where they were most needed, then turned back toregard his friends wearily. "Thanks, Jim. This is one helluva mess ...""I know, Bones.""Who did it?" McCoy demanded, staring out across the jury-rigged medicalcompound. "As if I didn't already know from the disrupter patterns onthe bodies.""Klingons, Doctor," Spock said. "But Chancellor Azetbur has stated thatthey were renegades, not governmentally sanctioned troops.""I suppose so," the doctor said, rubbing a hand over his face, leavingsmears across his forehead. "Damn, but what I've seen in the pasttwenty-four hours almost makes me regret spending the past monthstudying Klingon anatomy and medical procedures.""The Empire is in chaos, Bones," Kirk said. "Any time you get asituation like this, you find terrorism on the rise.Any time you try paring down a huge standing army, you get soldiers thatdon't want to give up war.""Especially considering that war has been the main focus of the Klingonculture for several thousand years," Spock said, quietly. "If the--" TheVulcan broke off as his communicator beeped. "Spock here," he saidcrisply."Mr. Spock, I'm receiving a Priority One personal message for you, sir,"Commander Uhura's voice reported. "It's from your father.""Relay it on screen, please, Commander." Kirk tensed as he watched theVulcan scan the message on the tiny camp computer screen, noting the wayhis friend's eyes narrowed and the skin over his jaw tightened. WhenSpock looked up, he took a step forward and touched his friend's armlightly with his fingertips. "What is it, Spock?" The Vulcan took a deepbreath. "It is my mother, Jim. I just received a message from my father,saying that she is seriously ill." He paused, then seemed to force thewords out, as though speaking them caused him pain. "Actually, Sarekused the word 'terminally' ill." Kirk had lost his own mother a fewyears ago ... Spock's words brought back the grief of those days alltoo vividly."Spock, does it say what's wrong?" McCoy asked, his blue eyes filledwith concern."She has contracted a blood disease." Spock's normally even tones werestrained. "Reyerson's disease is somewhat rare. It is extremely serious,especially to the very old or the very young. My mother," the Vulcanfinished bleakly, "is in her nineties." Kirk's mother, Winona, had beenin her late eighties at the time of her death. In the twenty-thirdcentury the human life span was longer on the average than it had everbeen, but only ten percent of the population lived for a century ormore. Kirk drew a deep breath. "Go home," he ordered. "Go now. Take theshuttlecraft to Starbase Eleven. You can get a transport from there, andreach Vulcan in five days," he said.Spock hesitated, glanced around him. "But we are on a mission ... myduty is to my ship ...""Dammit, Spock, this is a medical mission," McCoy said."If you've got a medical degree it's news to me. Go. We don't need youhere. Your mother does." The Vulcan finally nodded. "Very well. Thankyou, Captain.I will depart immediately." Moments later, Kirk and McCoy watched thelast flicker of maroon vanish in the transporter beam, and knew theVulcan was on his way."Jim, this is terrible," McCoy said, his eyes shadowed."We've known the Lady Amanda for so long ... and now we're all going tolose her? It's ... not fair.""How many times have you said that when you're confronted with death,Bones?" Kirk asked.McCoy gave him a grim smile. "At least ninety-five percent of the time,Jim. But that doesn't keep me from feeling it again, each time.""After that hospital ship relieves us here," Kirk said,"we're heading for Vulcan."McCoy nodded. "Good. But how are you going to justify a trip to Vulcanwith Starfleet Command?""Scotty has performed his usual miracle patching up the ship after Changused us for a skeet target," Kirk replied,"but he told me yesterday that he's completed all the repairs he can,working on the ship from the inside out. He said we'd have to put intospacedock for him to finish with the structural repairs and pressurechecks. Vulcan has an excellent spacedock."McCoy nodded, then wearily straightened his back. "No rest for thewicked," he said. "I've got a patient to check on."Kirk looked at him. "Could you use one more pair of unskilled hands,Bones?""You bet," the doctor said. "C'mon, and I'll order you around for achange ... "Together, they headed for the nearest bubbletent."Enough, Peter, enough!" Lisa Tennant insisted, getting out of theold-fashioned hard-backed chair and stretching her spine. "You're worsethan Rosa. I never thought I'd find anyone who could work as hard as shedid. How about some coffee?"Peter nodded. "Sure, Lisa. Coffee's fine." He could use a cup right now.It was nearly midnight and because of the time he'd spent here, he'dhave to pull an all-nighter to cram for his exam tomorrow. He rubbed hisface tiredly. Hewasn't eighteen anymore. Staying up all night studying would take itstoll ... and what did he have to show for it?He'd been coming to this dingy basement room nearly every day since thatSaturday. That first day, he'd thought that he'd be able to garnerenough information to take to Starfleet Security once he got into theKEHL files. But that Saturday, he never got near the computers. Instead,he'd ended up helping Lisa with the technicalities of bailing out mostof the demonstrators.He'd been right about her, too. She was interested in him, and kept himclose by her side most of the time, flirting lightly, never saying ordoing anything too forward, too aggressive. He played along in the samevein, waiting and hoping to get access to their computers. When thatdidn't happen, he'd ended up coming back the second night, and thethird. Last night, he'd finally gotten into the machines, but the onlything she'd let him work on was a tedious reworking of the datastructures, which told him little.He promised himself that tonight was the very last time he'd come here.If he didn't get any information valuable enough to bring to StarfleetSecurity, he'd forget his brief sojourn into the world ofcloak-and-dagger and force him self to focus on the really importantmatters in his life.Like the Kobayashi Maru.Peter groaned at the very thought of that test, only a little more thana week away. Just today, one of his friends had confided that the oddsagainst him were mounting steadily.Peter wasn't surprised. If he had been a betting man he'd have betagainst himself, too. Was he studying the old scenarios to see howothers handled them? Was he reading up on the theory behind the testitself, to get a handle on what the new scenario might require of him?No, he was hanging around a subversive organization, flirting with itsleader, and coming up with nothing for all his efforts.A cup of steaming coffee suddenly appeared by his elbow, along with asandwich. "You've got to be starving," Lisa said quietly, sitting besidehim. "You've been working steadily since you got here. I'm afraid Ihaven't been taking very good care of you.""I didn't think that was your job," he replied. "As your impromptuassistant, I thought it was my role to take care of you."She brushed against him, and the faint scent of her perfume made hisnostrils twitch with the faintly musky, exotic odor. In the few dayshe'd been associating with her, he'd found her an enigmatic person. Shewas bright, sensitive, and quite intellectual. In many ways she was anintriguing, exciting woman, not the kind of person to spout the bigoted,paranoid nonsense she obviously believed wholeheartedly.He thought more clearly when she wasn't quite so close to him. Finishinghis sandwich, he eased out of the chair and wandered around her small,spare office. Curiously, he browsed the shelf of real-paper books shehad prominently displayed.There was a mint-condition volume of Wuthering Heights, a slightlybattered edition of Have Spacesuit, Will Travel a collection of EdgarAllan Poe's poetry, and ... He paused, staring at a slim volume perchedneatly between the others. The Diary of Anne Frank."It's a nice collection," Peter said softly. "Do you read them?" Unlikehis Uncle Jim, many collectors did not.Lisa nodded proudly, coming to stand beside him. "I don't read thevolumes themselves, of course--they're much too fragile. But every bookI buy, I look it up in the library files and read it.""That's great," Peter said, his voice low. He tried to imagine how shecould've ever read the words of Anne Frank and still become so involvedwith the KEHL. "It's nice to meet someone who appreciates books."She gave him a smile, and a spark of warmth touched her huge, obsidianeyes. "Are you a collector, too?""Not exactly," Peter admitted. "But my uncle is, and I enjoy his books."Peter hesitated, then bit the bullet. "You know, I've never gotten thechance to ask how you got so involved with the KEHL."Lisa showed no sign of self-consciousness as she replied,"I haven't been a member that long, Peter. Just a few months. It's funny... I'm a sociology student, and I know something about how groups likethis start ... Usually there's one charismatic individual--likeInduna--who founds such a group, and he or she finds followers along theway, people who think along the same lines. But the KEHL, at least herein San Francisco, wasn't like that at all." She glanced at him, herblack eyes earnest. "Which leads me to believe that we were justdestined to be--that it was time for us to rise and make our voicesheard.""Have you always disliked aliens? Particularly Vulcanst' Peter wascareful to keep his tone one of polite, if casual, interest.She frowned a little as she thought. "It's funny, Peter. Up until a fewmonths ago, I scarcely ever gave the matter much thought. I'd neverknown an alien personally, and only met a few as casual acquaintances.I'm from a little town in Indiana, and we don't get manyoutsiders--human ones, much less extraterrestrials. I guess it was justa subconscious decision I made back in August ... that humans evolvedon Earth, so it's our planet, and they don't have any place here.""Do you think Earth should stay in the Federation?""I don't know ..." She chewed on her lower lip, hesitating."Since Earth is the most powerful planet in the Federation, with onlythe Vulcans capable of posing a serious challenge to us, I suppose weshouldn't dissolve the Federation until the Klingons and Romulans havebeen dealt with.As long as we can get the Vulcans out, that is."Peter was having a difficult time staying civil. "Why?" he asked,struggling to keep the edge out of his voice.She faced him, holding his gaze with her own intense one."Do you know anything about Vulcan history?""A little," Peter said cautiously."Let me show you something." She walked back to the computer terminaland selected a computer tape, then plugged it in.As Peter seated himself in front of the screen, images coalesced infront of him. The predominant one was an image of the Plains of Gol, ascene familiar to anyone who watched popular media entertainment.Splashed across the desolate scene were the words The True History ofVulcan.He groaned inwardly. Propaganda films were not among his personalfavorites."Are you aware that the Vulcans fought major wars on their planetseveral thousand years ago?" Lisa asked, as the film moved forward,illustrating her question with vivid, computer-generated film sequencesthat seemed shockingly real. "Wars that make Earth's World Wars and theEugenics War look like skirmishes by comparison?""I think I remember reading something to that effect," he mumbled."Well," Lisa leaned forward and murmured confidentially,"they still have the weapons from those wars, stockpiled in secretinstallations. Weapons that could turn Earth into a smoking cinder in amatter of minutes."As the images on the film confirmed her wild allegations, Peter's mouthdropped open, and he didn't have to feign astonishment. Where in helldid she get that idea? They had to have faked these images! Vulcan hasno weapons except defensive ones--and hasn't for four thousand years!"You're kidding!" he managed, feebly. "Where did you find out aboutthat?"She shook her head. "Everyone in the KEHL knows.We can't ge t the Terran government to admit it, but it's true.""Wow," was all Peter could say. "That's hard to believe.""You think that's bad, you haven't heard anything, yet," Lisa said. Shetouched the computer controls and changed the scene from massivestockpiles of terrifying weapons to another, more fantastic landscape.There was a towering cathedral-like edifice in a searing desert. Insidewere cavernous, smoky, dimly lit rooms packed with peculiar, glowingorbs, pulsating as if with a mysterious force."The Vulcans are in control of ancient Vulcan ... personalities, I guessyou'd call them," Lisa said. "Spiritswithout bodies. They're called katras, and they have hundreds ofthousands of them stored up, just waiting to turn them loose to possessthe people on Earth. Unless we can stop them, they'll conquer us withouta shot being fired!"This last was almost too much for Peter. He knew he had to cajole heralong, try to learn more, but all he wanted was to escape listening tosuch noxious paranoid fantasies."But don't worry," she consoled him, misinterpreting his expression. Sheplaced a warm hand on his arm. "We're on to them now. And our membershipis growing, bringing in new committed people--people like yourself. Ourvoices will be heard." When he didn't respond, she asked, "What made youjoin up?""Self-preservation," he said, letting her take it any way she wanted to."But I ... had no idea ... things were so bad ... "Her bizarreaccusations merely gave him more incentive to accomplish the task he'dcome here to do."Lisa, you told me you needed my help in a special task.Something about a Vulcan conspiracy ... ?"She nodded. "Boy, you're inexhaustible! I wasn't going to bring it uptonight, but ..." She glanced through a number of tapes then pulled oneup. "We've found information that's coming straight out of the Vulcanconsulate that will shatter this whole holier-than-thou sham the Vulcanshave set up. This information will prove that Vulcans are using theirtelepathy to influence powerful members of the Federation--perhaps eventhe president himselfl"Peter's eyes locked on the small tape. In his pocket sat blankcassettes, enough memory to copy anything he should find of value here,but so far, nothing seemed significant."How can I help with that?""Needless to say, this information was very difficult to come by," shetold him. "A lot of it has been lost in the transference--special codes,significant schedules. Since you're a data-retrieval technician, Ithought ..."He nodded. "Sure! I'd be glad to help. I can take it to work tomorrowand ..."She shook her head. "Oh no, this can't possibly leave here.In fact, Jay's not real happy with my even letting you see it.But ... for some reason ... I can't help but trust you, Peter Church."Lisa leaned forward almost imperceptibly, at the same time Peter felthis own body drawn toward her. When their lips met, his face flamed withembarrassment that his body had so little regard for his own internalethics."I'll ... be happy to work on it here," he said huskily, when they drewapart. "I can probably ... tap into my workstation ... use my fries atwork to decode some of the lost material."She nodded. "That would be great." And kissed him again.They both jumped when they heard the door behind them whoosh open. Jaystood there, frowning disapprovingly.Lisa moved away from Peter self-consciously. "I ... didn't think you'dbe back so early," she stammered.Jay didn't respond, merely glanced at Peter and said to the womanneutrally, "Can I see you in my office a moment?Something's come up.""Is it Induna?" she asked worriedly, standing. They'd found out that thepresident of KEHL had survived Sarek's "assault," but had beenhospitalized (at his own insistence, Peter knew). "Is he all right?""Let's ... talk in my office," Jay reiterated, nodding his head in thatdirection."Wait for me," Lisa said to Peter, "and I'll show you the problem withthose files."He nodded and watched her walk toward Jay's office with the other man.The moment they were both out of sight and earshot, Peter snatched upthe "conspiracy" tape and plugged it in. Grabbing one of his empty ones,he downloaded the whole thing, sight unseen. After copying the secretcassette, he copied the extensive KEHL membership lists, and thepropaganda films as well. He had just finished copying the annualagenda, and sliding his tapes back in his pocket, when Lisa came backinto her office. Jay was not with her. Peter stood to greet her."Everything all right?" he asked. "Is Induna okay?"Lisa nodded, smiling warmly. She slid her arms around him and hereturned the embrace. "Jay is such an alarmist!Induna's out of the hospital, and will be back here tomorrow.""Great! Why don't we get started on those Vulcan files?"She pulled him closer and murmured, "Is work all you think of, Mr.Church?"He swallowed, unsure of how far he could take this charade. "Well ...this would be the best time for me to access my workstation ... "Therewouldn't be many students in the Academy library at this time. He hadn'tquite figured out how he was going to log on without revealing who he"worked" for ... or his real name."Tomorrow will be soon enough," she assured him, and reached up foranother kiss.He obliged her, realizing uneasily that his body was responding to her,even if his mind wasn't. Hastily, he raised his head, staring down ather. "Okay. Tomorrow. It is late.I'd better go.""See you tomorrow, then," she agreed, and released him, smiling warmlyas he let himself out of the basement.With a twinge of regret, he thought, Not bloody likely. In spite of thelate hour, he made a beeline for the Starfleet Security offices on theAcademy's campus. Those offices were staffed all night. Someone would bethere that would be interested in his story. And then he'd never have togo back to that basement again, never have to war within himself overLisa's feminine charms and her absurd, even dangerous politics. Onething was for sure--no matter how many mixed feelings he might haveabout taking the Command track at school, he was now certain that he hadno interest in working in Intelligence!Twilight on Vulcan.Sarek stood alone on his terrace, watching T'Rukh at full phase. Theambassador had returned from Freelan the previous night, and the day hadbeen taken up with visits to the meal center and consultations with hiswife's physician.Now, gazing at the full, bloated sphere, Sarek reached out and graspedthe stone balustrade so tightly that his knuckles shone greenish whitein the eerie glow of The Watcher.Silently, the ambassador struggled for calm.As he watched The Watcher, the gigantic world seemed to loom evencloser, as though it were about to topple out of the sky and crush him.The chilling breeze stirred his thick, iron-gray hair, as refreshing asthe touch of a cool, human hand on his brow. Sarek swallowed, feelingdull pain in his midsection. Surely he was not ill ... A quickassessment of his physical condition assured the ambassador that he wasphysically healthy ... the pain he was experiencing had no physicalcause.Sarek leaned heavily on the railing, experiencing again that rush ofvertigo at the thought of Amanda. Amanda was with him now, for themoment, but soon, the Healer said, she would not be here anymore.Because Amanda ... Amanda was dying.Dying. His wife was gravely ill, and, even though they were attemptingto treat her condition, T'Mal held out little hope of recovery.Dying ... Amanda. Dying. So the Healer said--and one glance at hiswife's face yesterday had convinced him.Sarek stared blindly at The Watcher, thinking of all the times he hadstood here, during many of the epochs of his life.How many times had he stood thus? Absently, the ambassador retrieved thenumber. He had not seen the giant world until he was an adult, when hehad built his villa here. Also, he had spent much of his working lifeoffworld. Still, Vulcan's days were shorter than Terran days, and Sarekwas 138 Federation Standard years old. 122,474 times. 122,474 times ...The ambassador had watched T'Rukh the night that his firstborn had beendeclared outcast and departed his homeworld, and known within himselfthat he would probably never see Sybok again. Nor had he.He'd watched T'Rukh during the early hours of his second pon farr,experiencing the heat of desire, concerned that human flesh and bonemight not withstand the flames consuming him. But human flesh and bonehad proved more resilient than he had thought. During that night, hissecondborn had been conceived.The ambassador had watched T'Rukh the night that Amanda had deliveredtheir son, and again when Spock had announced that he had passed theentrance requirements for Starfleet Academy, and was forsaking theVulcan Science Academy to go offworld. Memories of that "discussion"still had the power to make the ambassador's jaw muscles tighten.T'Rukh's light had illuminated his son's tall form as he'd walked awaywithout looking back. His father had thought never to see him again,either. But that time he had been in error, and never had he been morepleased to be mistaken.Sarek drew deep, slow breaths of the cool air as he let hisconsciousness sink down, deep inside himself, seeking that place ofquiet repose that every Vulcan was taught in childhood to retreat toduring times of trouble.He could not find the place. Calm acceptance continued to elude him.With a sigh that was almost a moan, Sarek sagged against the railing,raising both fists to press them against his temples in a gesture hewould never have permitted himself had he not been alone. Every mus clein his body was taut; his indrawn breath hurt his lungs.Logic ... his logic was gone, the core of his mental balance wasgonemand in its place was pain ... and fear.And grief. Sorrow filled him, until he felt that he could hold no more.There was no quiet center that would release him from his pain, thisfear, this grief. How could he stand it, if he could not find hiscenter? How did humans manage, with no silent retreat or sanctuary toshield them from the constant onslaught of emotion--how could they standthis?No wonder some of them broke with reality, retreating into insanitybecause they could not deal with their pain, their fear, their grief.Sarek stared at T'Rukh unseeing, unblinking, until his eyes began toburn. The physical pain distracted him, and he found a brief respite init.Sarek ... The call resounded softly within his mind. Sarek ...Immediately the ambassador turned and left the balcony.He strode swiftly through the living room, down the short hall; then hehesitated before the carven portal. The call came again. Sarek ...Quickly he sent back a wordless reassurance, a sense of his proximityand imminent arrival. Then, drawing a deep breath, the Vulcan put out ahand and rested it against the carven portal, seeking strength from itssolidity, its age.Letting the breath out slowly, he summoned calm, seeking at leastoutwardly--control. When he was certain that his features betrayednothing of his inner turmoil, he straightened. Squaring his shoulders,he pushed the door open and stepped into the room he had shared with hiswife for more than sixty Earth years.The chill of the air-conditioning struck him immediately.Amanda's physician had insisted, over her protests, that she must nottax her remaining strength by enduring her adopted world's notoriousheat. Cold air blasted against his face, driven constantly so a pressurelock would not be necessary.The ambassador's gaze rested first on the bed, but it was empty, thelight, silver-blue coverlet Amanda had woven decades ago thrown back.Even as he turned toward the small sitting room that looked out over therear garden, he sensed her presence, waiting for him.Quickly, Sarek strode through the bedroom and into the adjoining sittingroom. Amanda occupied her favorite chair as she gazed out the window ather garden, her pale skin seeming doubly unearthly in T'Rukh's light.She sat quietly, not turning her head. During the past days she had losteven more weight ... now she seemed little more than a wraith. OnlySarek's iron control kept him from betraying his distress at herappearance.Sarek ... Her mental "voice" filled his mind. "Amanda," he said,allowing just a touch of reproach to shade his voice, "you were supposedto rest for the remainder of the day. The Healer emphasized your needfor rest. Logic demands that you heed her advice." When he reached herside and stood looking down at her, only her smile was unchanged ...gentle, full of affection."I'm tired of resting," she said, holding up two fingers toward herhusband. "And you know how I love to watch The Watcher shine on thegarden at night.""I know," Sarek replied, touching her fingers with his own."Is it pleasant out tonight?" she asked, a hint of wistful eagernesstingeing her soft voice."Yes, it is," Sarek replied. "However, to answer the unspoken corollaryto your query, no, it is not cool enough for you to go outside, my wife.The Healer's directions were quite specific on that point. Logicdictates that you must husband your strength ... and the heat depletesit.""For heaven's sake, Sarek," Amanda said, her eyes flashing withindignation, "I've lived here most of my adult life! I know it's hotoutside! But I have been cooped up in this house for nearly a week, andI am tired of seeing nothing but these four walls, tired of resting. Iwant to sit in my garden, damn it!" Her voice gained strength and volumeas she spoke, but faltered and cracked on the last line.Sarek was taken aback at her vehemence--he knew Amanda had a temper, hadknown that since before their marriage, but he could have numbered onone hand the occasions when his wife had resorted to profanity."Amanda ..." he began softly, then stopped."Besides," she added, her eyes filled with weary resignation,"what difference will it make, really?" The ambassador gazed down ather. Under the circumstances, he could not find it in himself to denyher wish. It was such a small request ..."Very well," he agreed. "Do you have your respirator with you?" Smiling,Amanda patted the pocket of her robe, indicating that she did. "Whatabout the logic of following the Healer's orders?" she asked him."Logic tells me that you will expend far more energy arguing about thisthan you will in a brief interlude outside," Sarek retorted as he bentover and scooped her up as he would have a child. She was hardly heavierthan one.Perhaps, Sarek thought, a brief excursion outside would bolster herflagging appetite.When Sarek reached the garden, he carefully lowered his wife's slightform onto a stone bench, then seated himself beside her. Amanda's eyesshone as her gaze took in the beauty of the night, the garden, and thehovering planet that dominated the sky. "It is lovely," she breathed. "Iknew it would be.""It is good to see you here again," Sarek said. "The garden's appearanceis not aesthetically complete without its creator." Amanda, recognizingthe compliment despite its subtlety, smiled roguishly at her husband."Sarek, I do believe you are getting sentimental," she teased.Her husband's lips curved upward as he permitted himself the faint,answering smile that few besides his wife had ever seen. "Nonsense, mywife. My comment was entirely logical. This is your garden; you designedit, planted it, and nurtured its growth. It is a reflection of yourcreative instincts, so, logically, it appears at its most attractivewhen you are present to complement and complete it. There is nothing'sentimental' about that--I was merely stating a fact." Amanda chuckled,and to Sarek's ears the sound was more welcome than any strain of music."Now you're rationalizing, my dear--as well as teasing me. It is a goodthing our son isn't here to hear you. Spock would be shocked." DespiteSarek's control, the muscles in his jaw tightened fractionally at themention of his son's name. Amanda was watching him intently, and herhusband realized that she had not missed that tiny betrayal. Her smilefaded. "Have you heard from Spock?" she asked anxiously. "You didn't--"She broke off at her husband's nod, and her eyes flashed again, thistime with anger. "You didn't!" she exclaimed. It was an accusation, nota question.Sarek gazed up at T'Rukh fixedly. "I sent a subspace message to Spockbefore I left the Freelan system," he admitted quietly."How could you?" Amanda was furious--as he'd known she would be. "We hada bargain! You gave me your word! I did not want him told, you knewthat! I--" She sputtered indignantly for a moment, then subsided, tooangry to speak. Finally, her chin lifted and she glared at him, her eyesnow cold. "Your action was entirely illogical, my husband," she said inslow, careful Vulcan, using one of the ancient, formal dialects. Thenshe turned away, staring fixedly at The Watcher. It was no longer full;its upper limb was now shadowed.Sarek was taken aback by her accusation--in ancient days, it would haveconstituted an insult. "Amanda--" he began, then waited patiently fortwo point six minutes until she finally looked at him. "My wife," hesaid softly, hearing the tension in his own voice, "Spock had to beinformed. If anything happened to you, and I had not told him, he wouldnever speak to me again--and I could not fault him for his decision."Amanda sighed, and Sarek immediately knew that her anger had turned toresignation. "You're probably right," she said quietly."Amanda," Sarek said slowly, "I regret going against your wishes, butlogic and duty demanded that I make my own decision.""But our son has been through so much in the past couple of years!" shemurmured, twisting her wasted hands in her lap. "He lost his ship,Valeris betrayed him, my god, he lost his very life--he needs to finishputting the pieces back together, not have other concerns added!""Would you deny him the chance to see his mother again?" Sarek said, andthe phrase "for the last time" seemed to fill the quiet garden.It was a long time before Amanda replied. "No, I suppose not. I supposeyou did the right thing, as well as the logical thing. But I wantedSpock to--" She broke off on a ragged breath."You wanted him to what?" Sarek asked, quietly."I don't want him to see me," she admitted, dully. "I thought it wouldbe better if he remembered me the way I used to be ... ""That' never occurred to me," Sarek said, slowly. "Your attitude isillogical, Amanda ... and vain. Human vanity, I believe, is as foreignto my son as it is to me.""I know that," she said softly. "I've lived here for decades, and neveryet managed to figure out how Vulcans can be so arrogant without beingat all vain.""You have learned much about my people," Sarek conceded, quietly. "It ispossible that no human understands us better."Sarek crossed her fingers with his, but, in addition, he gently tracedthe contours of her face with two fingers of his other hand. Theintimacy of the caress, outside of their bedroom, made Amanda's eyeswiden; then she closed them, concentrating on their bond, and thecloseness it gave them.Finally both stirred, and Sarek dropped his hand. "We should go in, mywife," he said gently. "I sense your fatigue.You must rest."Amanda nodded, but, when he would have risen, put out a hand toforestall him. "Just five more minutes," she pleaded. "Who knows ...when ... or ..." She hesitated, but did not say "if" aloud. "Anyway,there is no way to know how long it will be before I'll be able to bewith you in the garden again. Five minutes more, Sarek ... please?"Sarek gazed down at her, then nodded. "Very well," he said. "But youmust agree to put on your respirator, Amanda."She frowned, but then her features smoothed into serenity once more, andshe obediently slipped the little mask over her mouth and nose.Together, fingers once more touching, they gazed at The Watcher, whilethe night breeze caressed their faces.Spock felt the surrounding heat even before his body was completelyrematerialized. Nevasa was almost directly overhead, blazing furiously.The transporter chief had beamed him down into the gardens behind hisparents' mountain villa. It had been nearly five years since his lastvisit here, and Spock noted absently that Amanda had expanded the cactusgarden to include species from the deserts on Andor, Tellar, and RigelVI. The plants were brilliant shades of lime green, amethyst, andturquoise, doubly arresting next to the dusty greens and reds of theTerran and native Vulcan plants.He walked slowly up the crushed stone path, feeling the heat envelop himlike a blanket. He welcomed the hot caress. Vulcan. No matter that hehad spent more of his life with deck plates beneath his boots than hehad treading the sandy soil of his homeworld--when he was back onVulcan, he knew he was home.The mountain villa was a low, redstone building with solar panels setinto its flat roofs. Its design was deceptively simple and austere; fromoutside it appeared smaller and more rustic than it actually was. Thesurrounding foothills and the paths leading up to the mountain crestswere as familiar to Spock as the corridors of his starship.Just as he reached the kala-thorn hedge that enclosed the garden, a dooropened onto the rearmost of the roofs and Sarek emerged. At his father'ssignal, Spock halted and waited for him. Sarek took the side ramp downto the ground, then skirted the edge of Amanda's garden until he stoodbefore his son.The Vulcan officer held up his hand in the salute of his people."Greetings, Father," he said in their native tongue."I trust you are well?"Sarek nodded. "Greetings, my son. Yes, I am well. It is good to have youhere."Despite his father's reassurance, Spock was concerned about theambassador's health. The lines in Sarek's face had deepened, and hishair was grayer than it had been a month before. His shoulders seemedsmaller, and the flesh of his hand, as he returned his son's salute, wastightly drawn over the bones of his fingers."How is Mother?" Spock asked."Sleeping," his father replied. "The monitoring devices will indicatewhen she awakes. The Healer has stressed her need for rest." Theambassador glanced around. "We should go in."Spock nodded. "Nevasa is ... formidable today. One forgets, after yearsaway."Together they went into the villa, then sat down in the living roomAmanda had decorated with handwoven wall hangings. Spock sippedappreciatively at a cup of relen tea, covertly watching Sarek as hisfather paced restlessly around the room, gazing at the bone-white wallsand the desert-hued hangings as though he'd never seen them before.Finally, Sarek turned to face his son. "Your mother ..." he began, thenhe fell silent."She ... is dying?" Spock asked, feeling his throat contract over thewords."Yes," Sarek said, seeming relieved that his son had spared him havingto say it aloud. "The Healer holds out little hope of recovery, eventhough she is being treated for Reyerson's disease. The illness, in oneof her age, is too debilitating."Spock nodded silent understanding.Father and son occupied their time while waiting for Amanda to awaken bysharing a simple lunch. It had been years since he and his father hadbeen alone together long enough to share a meal, Spock realized, and hefound himself enjoying Sarek's company. They spoke of the Klingons andthe Khitomer Conference, of the current political situation in theFederation, and a host of other diplomatic concerns.Spock rose from his seat and wandered over to examine the watersculpture in the corner of the room. Every time he came home, its designand flow were slightly altered--Amanda changed it periodically. Thistime, there was something different about it--the flowing lines weresharper, more angular than before. The water ran in clear perfection,instead of taking on colors from the underlying crystal and stone."It is different," he said to his father, indicating the sculpture.Sarek nodded. "I programmed it this time. Your mother did not have theenergy to do the work herself, but she was tired of the old design."Studying the piece of art, Spock finally nodded. "Yes, I can see that.This design is far more ... logical." He hesitated, trying to frame therest of his thought in a way that would not offend."But not as aesthetically pleasing," Sarek finished for him. Taking inSpock's surprised glance, he nodded. "I saved the old designs, every oneof them. As soon as Amanda grows tired of the current design, I willreactivate one of her programs."Sarek hesitated for a long moment, then continued."There is something that has been concerning me for some time now. Ineed your advice on a problem I am facing."Spock's gaze sharpened with curiosity. "A problem?" he prompted. Neverbefore had Sarek asked him--or anyone else, insofar as he knew--foradvice."Recent events have convinced me that a serious problemis facing the Federation from an unsuspected quarter," Sarek said,steepling his fingers on the table before him."What do you know of the Keep Earth Human League?"Just as Spock opened his mouth to reply, the monitor in the cornerbeeped softly. The ambassador quickly rose to his feet. "Your mother isawake."Soft-looted, Spock followed his father down the hall to his parents'bedroom. Even though he had thought himself prepared for his mother'sillness, he was shocked by her extreme pallor and thinness, as she layin the middle of the huge bed."Mother ..." Spock said gently, leaning over her to take one of herhands in his own. The bones beneath her papery skin seemed no moresubstantial than those of a songbird."Spock ..." she whispered, even before her eyes opened.Her familiar, loving smile shone out of her face, transforming it,making it suddenly familiar again. "Oh, Spock, it is so good to see you... "The first officer stayed with his mother for nearly an hour, talkingquietly to her. When Amanda's eyes began to close, he squeezed her hand,then left.Sarek was sitting at the table when his son reentered the dining room.Spock sank into a chair, and took a deep breath. "I did not want tobelieve it," he said, dully."I know. I experienced the same reaction," Sarek said quietly.Father and son gazed at each other in silent accord.Laser torch in hand, s'kara straightened up slowly from her crouchbeside the massive combination planter-harvester.Overhead, Kadura's small orange sun, Rana Delta Eridani), was trying tobreak through the winter cloud cover ... and almost succeeding. s'karaturned her face up, enjoying the brush of warmth against her dark greenOrion skin. Her short, curly black hair, liberally shot with the goldthreads of age, stirred in the chill breeze that cooled the sweat on herforehead.Looking off across the fields, rusty brown instead of summer blue-green,s'kara let her gaze wander to her village of Melkai. There were snuglittle homes, painted in shades of blue, yellow, green, and mauve, theirrooftops black and studded with solar collecting cells.The Orion woman grimaced a little as she rubbed her back with one hand.Squatting beneath the combine all morning while she tried to weld itssequencer into position again was a sure guarantee of a backache tocome. Still, the combine would have to be used soon for planting, forspring, despite the cold grayness of the sky, was only a few weeks away.With a heartfelt groan, s'kara bent her knees and prepared to squatbeneath the machine again, laser torch poised.Just as she ducked to crawl beneath the combine, a dark shadow loomedoverhead. s'kara caught it out of the corner of her eye andinvoluntarily looked up.What was that? she wondered. It almost looked like a ship going by.s'kara's heart pounded as she slid back out into the open and stood up.Her eyes widened with fear.A ship was swooping in for a landing not half a tern away--a Klingonship. Klingons! Great Mother of us all, help your children! Klingons.tHeart slamming so hard she could scarcely breathe, s'kara fought theimpulse to crawl back beneath the combine and hide.Stories of rape, murder, and stomach-churning atrocities ran throughs'kara's mind as she began to run toward the settlement. She had to warnthem!Hearing a shout from behind her, she forced her legs to an even swifterpace, the chill air hurting her lungs. The whine of a stun ray filledher ears. Dodging frantically, she raced across the field, her feetflying so fast that she feared she'd overbalance and fall, breathsobbing in her chest.The whine came againm and, without knowing quite what had happened toher, s'kara found herself lying on her face in the field, completelyhelpless. Her eyelids were closed, and she couldn't open them.Frantically, she tried to pray as she lay there, wondering how long thestun beam would hold her. Her muscles screamed with pain, but shecouldn't adjust her position by so much as a sendisat.Time went by ... s'kara finally began countin g her own heartbeats, andhad reached 412 when she heard footsteps approaching. A voice barked anorder in Klingonese, and the whine came again. Abruptly, she could move,and her entire body convulsed in agony as all her muscles went intospasms. Rough hands grabbed her, hoisted her up.Flingohs ... five of them, all armed. One of them grinned, showing amouthful of snaggleteeth, and reached for the front of her insulatedcoverall, clearly intending to rip it open.s'kara closed her eyes tightly. She braced herself--only to have anotherof the Flingons reach out and strike down the hand of her would-beattacker. He snarled something that sounded like an order, and the otherFlingon reluctantly stepped back.This Flingon was wearing a more elaborate metal sash across his broadshoulders. He eyed her, then said, with a strong accent, "Do you speakStandard, woman?" s'kara nodded. "Yes, I do.""Good. We talk, you translate. Help us, and you will not be harmed."A shrill shriek rent the air, and s'kara darted an anguished glance inthe direction of the village. Another scream followed."We are under Federation protection, here," s'kara told the leader."When they find out what you are doing, it will mean war with yourgovernment."The leader uttered a short, ugly bark of laughter. "We have nogovernment, woman. We are our own law, our own government. I amCommander Keraz. You will address me as 'my lord." Is that understood?"s'kara nodded sullenly. One of the Klingons holding her cuffed hersharply. She took a deep breath. "Yes, my lord.""Better."All of them glanced up as yet another Flingon bird-of-prey hurtled outof the sky. Keraz gave an order to one of his men, and the Flingontrotted off."We will go into the village," Keraz said to s'kara. "We will assemblethe people. You will speak to them in your own language. What you willtell them is this We are in control, and we will stay in control. Aslong as they obey us, they will not be harmed. Resist, and we will killthem--or worse. Is that clear?"s'kara stared at him, wanting so badly to spit right into his swarthyface that her jaw muscles worked. He watched her as though she were somekind of mildly interesting insect. After long seconds, s'kara nodded,then, as one of her guards raised his hand, said hastily, "Yes, mylord."Another scream rose out of the villagema scream that was cut off in themiddle by a whine of disruptor fire. s'kara tensed, her throat an achingknot of despair. Keraz nodded at her guards, and they all started acrossthe field, passing the big combine.I will survive this, Klingon, s'kara thought grimly. When this is over,I will be alive, and free--and you will be sorry. By the Mother Goddess,I swear it ...As the little party entered the village, s'kara forced herself to noteevery horror they passed, so she could tell the authorities when theycame. They would come, she told herself. The Federation took care of itsown. They would come ...But would anyone still be alive to be rescued?"What is this threat to the Federation, Father?" Spock asked, later thatsame day, as he and Sarek walked in the gardens behind the villa.Sarek's young aide, Soran, was watching the monitors that would signalwhen Amanda awoke again. "You aroused my curiosity with your referenceto the Keep Earth Human League."Overhead, Nevasa was past its zenith, declining toward the horizon, butsunset was still more than an hour away.Sarek glanced about him at the stark beauty of his wife's garden. Thenhe quietly spoke of the Freelans, summarizing his discovery that theywere actually Romulans in disguise, and speaking of his discoveriesaboard the Freelan space station."I have been collecting data for over a year," he finished."I would appreciate it if you would review it for yourself tonight."Spock nodded. "If it were anyone else telling me of this, I woulddismiss his words as illogical paranoia," the Starfleet officer saidslowly. "That you have seen proof of your theory convinces me, but ...how did you know? What made you suspect the Freelans?" Sarek had knownthat Spock would ask. The ambassador drew a deep breath, steelinghimself. "It is a long story," he began. "One that I did not think Iwould ever speak of to another." His son raised an eyebrow inquiringly."Obviously you have access to information the rest of the Federationdoes not. How did you obtain it? The Freelans are the most secretive ofbeings No one has ever seen a Freelanhis or her mask " Slowly, deliberately, Sarek shook his head from sideto side."Not true," he said, heavily. '7 have seen the face of a Freelan.When the incident first occurred, I remained silent about it for nearlyseventy Standard years, because I could not be sure of what I saw thatday. But now ... now the puzzle is complete, and I must inform theauthorities of what I have discovered.""Seventy years?" Spock was clearly taken aback. "Please elucidate."to the bench that faced T'Rukh, Sarek sank down, arranging his robesmeticulously while he searched for words."It began when I was a diplomatic attache at the Vulcan Embassy on Earth... some seven years before I met your mother. I had been bonded toT'Rea, the priestess"--the ambassador used the archaic Vulcan wordreldai, which in the old days, when Vulcan was ruled by the theocracy,meant both "female religious leader" and "female ruler or princess"--"aswas traditional, when we were both seven years of age. I had not seenT'Rea since we were children; she was a stranger to me." Sarek paused,remembering his first wife as she'd looked the last time he'd seen her... her intense black eyes, herbeauty, her proud, stern features. Mostly he remembered her hair, arippling obsidian curtain that had hung down past her hips. It had feltas silken as her diaphanous wedding robe."As the newest of the diplomatic attaches on Earth, many of the routineor less-desirable tasks fell to me," Sarek continued after a moment."One of those was being appointed the diplomatic liaison to Freelan. Iwas fifty-nine Standard years old, and had not yet experienced my firstTime. I knew that most males undergo their first Time in their thirtiesor early forties, so this delay was somewhat unusual ... "He shruggedslightly. "But I also knew that residence offworld could affect one'scycle, and I had lived much of the past fifteen years on Tellar, Earth,and several other worlds.Many factors, as you know only too well, Spock, can affect the onset andfrequency of our Times." Spock nodded gravely."It was raining that day in San Francisco when the ambassador summonedme to his office," Sarek continued, his voice deepening as the memoriestook hold, transporting him back to the past. "I was still new enough toEarth to find such an abundance of precipitation fascinating ... evenmesmerizing."I been the liaison to Freelan for three years at that time. Freelan hadonly come to the attention of the Federation shortly before I wasappointed, so, as it happened, I was the first person to travel to thatdistant world to discuss trade policies.""How many trips had you made?""Over the course of three years ... seven in all," Sarek said, after amoment's thought. "Naturally, of course, I was not permitted to set footon Freelan soil. I stayed on board their space station.""Had you ever met a Freelan personally?" The ambassador shook his head."No. At that time, no one had.They did not leave their world until decades later. All contact was bycomm link. Despite all this, my contact on Freelan, a diplomatic attachenamed Darov, was someone I had come to know and respect over the years.Darov and I had fallen into the habit, following a day's negotiation, ofplaying chess after our respective evening repasts. Darov was achallenging player," the older Vulcan continued after a moment. "Many ofour contests ended in a draw, and, more than once, I lost."His son raised an eyebrow in surprise. "That is indeed ... impressive,"he murmured. It had been many years since father and son had sat down toa game, but the last time they had played, Sarek had still been able towin more than half the time."As we played, we talked ... about many things. Darov was careful notto reveal much in the way of information about his people, or himself,but, over the years, I learned some things about the Freelans thatoutsiders did not know.For example, I knew that Darov was young, about my own age, that he wasmarried, and had a family that he was quite ... devoted ... to. A sonand two daughters, I believe.""Did you gain any knowledge of Fredan society and culture?""Yes, though Darov was extremely cautious and secretive.I gathered that his political leanings tended toward the moderate. Darovfavored increased contact with other worlds ... while the Freelangovernment's official position was that outsiders constituted apotential threat to the Freelan way of life.""Darov wanted to change the way his world interacted with others?""I gained that impression over the years," Sarek said,"though he never said so specifically.""Fascinating," Spock murmured. "You did indeed learn more than isgenerally known even now about Freelan and its people. I had no idea theFreelans had political parties, or that not all Frcelans favored theirisolationist policies.""There are many things you do not know about the Freelans," Sarek saidgravely. "That day in San Francisco, Ambassador Selden assigned me totravel to Freelan to conduct trade negotiations concerning ore that hadrecently been discovered on a moon in the Freelan system. This ore,crysium, was a vital element in the construction and use of a newdiagnostic and treatment machine recently d eveloped by the Healers atthe Vulcan Science Academy."Sarek's mouth quirked ironically. "At the time the ambassador spoke withme, I was experiencing some minor physical symptoms of illness ... Ihad not been sleeping or eating well. I considered asking him to sendanother in my place. But I told myself that my symptoms were simplythose of mild fatigue due to overwork, and that a chance to rest aboardship would be beneficial ... "As Sarek talked, the memory of that fateful voyage and its aftermathgrew in his mind, eclipsing for the moment his surroundings. Amanda'sgarden faded into the neutral-colored walls of his tiny cabin aboard thefreighter Zephyr ...Soft skin beneath his hands, long, silken hair spilling over his body,the brush of a mind that inflamed him past all ability to resist ...Sarek groaned aloud as he reached for T'Rea. She wore only thediaphanous overtunic of her wedding garb, and he could clearly see herbody beneath the silken fabric.The sight of her made him gasp and tremble; his mind and body wereaflame, hot as the sands of Gol, burning like the volcanoes thattormented T'Rukh, searing him beyond all ability to resist. Sarekreached for his bride, his hands catching in her garment, ripping it,and then he was touching her flesh ...With a gasp and a muffled cry, he sat upright on his narrow bunk aboardthe Zephyr, realizing that he had been dreaming. He was shakingviolently, so aroused that it was several minutes before he coulddiscipline his mind to overcome the fever racking his body.So this is what it is like, Sarek thought finally, when he could oncemore think rationally. Port farr ... and I am parsecs away from Vulcan,and T'Rea ...Through their bond, he could sense her, knew that her body wasexperiencing that drawing, even as his was. For a moment he wonderedwhat it would be like to be married to her for the rest of his life, butthe rest of his life seemed like an insubstantial, faraway thing incomparison to the heat of his desire.The drawing was physical pain, his need to mate was torture. How longbefore he succumbed to the madness, the plak tow? Grimly, Sarek setabout using biocontrol techniques to subdue the pon farr so he couldreason logically.Minutes later, he rose from his bunk, outwardly composed, inwardly moreat peace It was early, yet. He had several days ... perhaps a standardweek ... before the blood-fever would consume him utterly.Vulcan was five days away. Should he request that the captain take himto Vulcan instead of docking at Freelan's space station in an hour?Sarek shrank from the idea that anyone--any outworlder, any human--mightsee him in his extremity. And yet surely he could hold out for a day,maintain control long enough to meet with Darov and formalize theore-trade agreement. Much of the negotiation had already beenaccomplished via subspace messages back and forth.Surely Sarek could handle one day's work before sealing himself into hiscabin and preparing to wait out the agony before he could reach Vulcanand his wedding T'Rea ... He had met her only a few times, and not everin the past twenty years. T'Rea had become an Acolyte of Gol, and hermental skills were formidable. People spoke of her with respect, and alittle awe. Rumor had it that she was a candidate to ascend to the rankof High Master.Was she now High Master? What would it be like to be wed to the HighMaster of Gol, someone whose telepathic skills greatly exceeded his ownmodest ones? What would it be like to be wed to someone who had achievedkolinahr--a person who had succeeded in purging all emotion from herbeing? Someone who lived by Perfect Logic?For a moment something in Sarek rebelled at the realization that therecould be no personal sharing between himself and such a woman, nointimacy, no ... companionship. No warmth. No ... kindness, nogentleness.After a moment he pushed the thought away, rejecting it as illogical.His work was in the diplomatic corps ... he lived on his homeworld onlya few days each year. He and T'Rea would live apart, that was the onlylogical solution.They would meet during their Times, and that would be all.And children? a voice whispered inside him. What if there are children?It was unlikely that the High Master of Gol would have either the timeor the inclination to raise children, Sarek decided. If a child shouldbe born as a result of this Time ... his blood heated at the thought ofthe act necessary to engender a child ... then he would take that childto raise. His work was difficult, requiring much traveling, but a child,especially an older child, would gain much from such exposure to theuniverse and its varied cultures.A soft chime came from the intercom; then the steward's voice informedthe Vulcan that the Zephyr would be docking with the Freelan station inthirty Standard minutes.Sarek spent half of those minutes in deep meditation, checking hisbiocontrol, verifying that the mental barriers he had set up against theheat in his blood were holding, would hold long enough for him toaccomplish his duty. The moment the negotiations with Darov wereconcluded, he would return to Zephyr and order her captain to take himto Vulcan at the freighter's maximum warp.Then he would lock himself in his cabin for the duration of the trip,and fight to keep control over the madness that would be nibbling at thefringes of his mind.Minutes later, dressed and outwardly as cool and composed as usual,Sarek walked through the short tunnel linking the Zephyr's airlock withthe Freelan station.The station was empty at the moment, save for him ... there were noother outworlders staying here as they met with the Freelans on theplanet below via corem link.Sarek was relieved that he would be spared the necessity of engaging insmall talk with other beings. He did not even enter his sleepingquarters--a neutral, pastel chamber as bland as any hotel room--butbypassed them to go directly into the adjoining office with its commlink.Within moments, Darov's figure materialized before him.Sarek was used to facing the cowled, swathed figure, completely muffledin shimmering garments as colorless as a Taka moth's wing. Darov'smechanical voice echoed in his ears. "Greetings, Liaison Sarek! I wasnot expecting you until this afternoon.""My ship made good time," Sarek said neutrally. "Greetings to you,Liaison Darov. I trust you are well?""Entirely, thank you," Darov said, and Sarek imagined that he could heara touch of genuine warmth tingeing the artificial voice. "And you?Perhaps you will honor me with a game of chess after we conclude ourmeeting?"Sarek bowed slightly. "I regret that I must respectfully decline, Darov.I am ... fatigued, and am looking forward to reaching my homeworld, soI may rest."Darov's cowl jerked slightly forward, as if the Freelan had moved hishead suddenly to peer at Sarek's face. But the liaison said only, "Howunfortunate that you are not feeling up to playing. I will miss our game... it has become one of the few pleasures I still allow myself, withmy busy schedule." He straightened slightly, briskly. "If you are notwell, let us by all means conclude these few points quickly, so that youmay rest. Shall we begin?""Certainly," Sarek replied, activating half of the screen to show thedata he had brought concerning the crysium ore."Now, concerning these subsidiary mining rights ..."Hours later, they were nearly finished, when Darov suddenly turned hishead, then announced, "Excuse me, Sarek.I am being summoned on a priority channel. Would you wait for a moment?""Certainly, Darov," Sarek said. The Freelan's image vanished, and hebusied himself going over the points they had negotiated. He experienceda brief flare of satisfaction at his own performance. He'd protectedVulcan's interests in all major areas, while giving in on minor pointsthat would no doubt allow Darov satisfaction regarding his ownnegotiation strategies.Halfway through the list, the Vulcan attache gasped suddenly as painlanced through his mind and body like aphaser blast. T'Rea! Her desire called to him, reached out for him,threatened to engulf him. Wait, he attempted to transmit along the bond,I am coming to you ..."Sarek? Sarek? Sarek, are you--" Dimly, Darov's voice reached theVulcan. He swayed, opening his eyes, found himself still in his seat,clutching the comm board as though it were a lifeline."I ... am fine," the Vulcan managed after a moment."Perhaps a brief rest ...""I did not know that Vulcans could lie ... until now," Darov saidflatly. The shrouded figure of the alien nearly filled the comm screen,as though he were leaning forward, peering intently at the Vulcanattache. "Our station has a fully equipped automated med center. Perhapsyou should--"Agony lanced through Sarek again, rolled over him in waves so crushingthat they left nothing in their wake except blackness ... a dark sodeep that it had no end, a dark that should have been cool, but wasinstead an inferno of black flame, and he was burning, burning, burning...Hands on his shoulders, a voice in his ears, calling his name. T'Rea? Helunged blindly at the hands, at the body he sensed hovering over his,pulling at him, dragging him.T'Rea! It had to be she, for the hands on his shoulders were not cool,as human hands were, but the same temperature as his own fevered flesh.It must be T'Rea!Sarek called her name, reaching out, then opened his eyes to see a darkform bending over him. Moments later he was lifted in arms as strong ashis own, lifted and carried."T'Rea ..." he gasped, only to hear a male voice say, "No,she is not here. Come, I will help you."Not T'Rea? A male? A rival?He was being challenged! T'Rea had chosen the Icad-if fee--how dare she?Enraged, Sarek thrashed, striking out, then found himself falling. Hecrashed to the deck of the space station with stunning force.Space station? Wasn't he on Vulcan?)But he had no time to ponder his location, for his rivalwas bending over him, grappling with him. With a bellow, Sarek struckout, grabbing madly at the other male's dimly seen figure, his handsseeking the challenger's throat.Cloth met his fingers, impeded them from their goal.Snarling, Sarek ripped savagely, felt the cloth give and come away inhis hand.But he was on the Freelan space station, wasn't he? I, Vasn't thisDarov, who was trying to save him? This couldn't be a rival Vulcan.t)But it was. As the shrouding cloth parted, Sarek saw features swimbefore his eyes--features that nearly mirrored his own! He was right! AVulcan male was trying to take T'Rea from him! He must kill him, killhim ... kill him ...A voice crying out, a voice he recognized, despite its lack ofmechanical quality. Darov voice, calling his name ... and those wereDarov features? Slanting black brows, proud black eyes, high cheekboneschiseled like his own, black hair, rumpled now from their struggle, and,amid the black locks, ears that were ... that were--)"I regret this, my friend," the dimly seen figure said, as Sarek frozein shocked confusion. The arm drew back; then Sarek saw the shoulderroll forward with sudden movement.Something struck him hard on the chin, and he knew no more ... "Whathappened then?" a voice said, pulling Sarek out of the haze of memoryinto which he had sunk. The sun was setting behind him, and, before him,T'Rukh loomed at full phase, T'Rukhemai disappearing behind it. Spockwas gazing at him intently."Obviously you survived to reach Vulcan. How did you manage it, if youwere deep in plak tow?""When I regained consciousness," the ambassador said,"I was in the med center aboard the Freelan space station, and I wasalone. The automated machinery had evidently diagnosed my condition,then administered sedatives and hormones that allowed me to functionwith some semblance of normaicy. It also helped that T'Rea, unknown tome, had contacted the consulate on Earth, discovered that I was severaldays' journey away from home, and was shielding her mind, blocking mefrom reading her ... desire ... through our bond."Under the influence of the medication, I reboarded my ship, whichreached Vulcan before the end of the fifth day.My marriage ceremony took place less than one hour after the Zephyrachieved orbit around Vulcan.""And that was when Sybok was conceived?"Sarek slanted a surprised glance at Spock. It wasn't like his son to asksuch personal questions ... but perhaps that was because he'd nevergiven him an opening before. "Yes," the ambassador replied simply."T'Rea hid his birth from me, though. I did not know he existed untilher death, years later. When she ascended to be High Master of Gol, twoyears after our wedding, she divorced me. This was legal, under theancient laws, because the High Master is expected to sever all ties tothe outside world in order to more fully embrace kolinahr and theteaching of that discipline to the Acolytes.""Did you regret her action?" Spock asked. Two highly personal questions!The ambassador took a deep breath. "No, I did not. I was immersed in mywork, and had just been appointed under-ambassador.Besides," he added, with a glance at the villa, "if T'Rea had notdivorced me, I would not have been free when I met your mother. Myrelationship with Amanda is eminently more ... satisfying ... thananything I shared with T'Rea during our single, brief encounter. She was..." Sarek paused, remembering." ... a typical kolinahru.""What really happened that day with Darov?" Spock asked. "Pon farr can... distort ... one's sense of reality.""Precisely. For that reason, I dismissed what had happened as a plaktow-induced hallucination," Sarek replied."I concluded that I must have blundered around the station, at one pointrunning into a mirror and deciding that my own reflection was achallenger in the kal-ocfee ... then, by sheer happenstance, wanderedinto the med center, where the automated equipment took over and savedmy life.""Under the circumstances, that would be the most logical deduction,"Spock agreed. "But now you know that is not "Yes. My first suspicion ofthat was when your ship, the Enterprise, discovered twenty-sevenStandard years ago that the Romulans, whose faces no one had ever seen,were plainly of Vulcan stock.""Indeed," Spock said, obviously recalling the incident.One corner of his mouth twitched. "I recall the first moment when ourviewscreen gave us a glimpse of the Romulan commander. It is odd thatyou mention that Darov bore a resemblance to you ... because thisRomulan did, also. I was rather startled when I first saw his imageon-screen.""Perhaps he and Darov were related in some way," Sarek speculated. "Atany rate, from that time on, I could not dismiss the notion that theFreelans were not what they seemed. Two years ago, when the Romulansbegan to emerge as a serious military threat to the security of theFederation, I began researching Freelan exhaustively. As I did so, apattern emerged.""What kind of pattern?" Spock asked."I believe that the Romulans are behind the sudden popularity andhigh-profile activities of the Keep Earth Human League," the ambassadorreplied.Spock blinked. "Please explain that allegation. How could the Freelanshave anything to do with the KEHL?The KEHL is against all extraterrestrials ... including Romulans."Sarek rose from the bench and began pacing back and forth as he spoke."Consider, Spock. Every time the KEHL has experienced an upsurge ingrowth, at least one Freelan has been attending a diplomatic, trade, orscientific conference within the same city."Spock raised an eyebrow. "Every time?"His father nodded."What are you postulating, Father? Some form of mass coercion? Drugs?Hypnotism?" The younger Vulcan could not disguise his skepticism.Pausing in midstride, Sarek turned to regard his son levelly. "Mentalinfluence." His words were clipped, terse.Quickly, he summarized his encounter with Induna, and what he'ddiscovered from the KEHL leader's mind."But Romulans do not have the ability to meld or mind-touch," Spockprotested. "It could not have been a Freelan who influenced the KEHLpresident.""I know that Romulans do not share the Vulcan telepathic ability," Sareksaid, somewhat sharply. "I am not suggesting that they are influencingKEHL members personally. During the past three years, Freelans havebegun using Vulcan secretaries and aides in increasing numbers. Have younoticed this?"He watched his son in T'Rukh's lurid illumination as Spock mentallyreviewed the data stored in his mind. "I have only recently begunattending diplomatic conferences, but you are correct. Every time I haveseen a Freelan envoy, he or she has been accompanied by a Vulcansecretary or aide. The Khitomer Conference is a case in point.""Yes," Sarek said. "Soran was rather taken with the Freelan aide he metthere.""Father, the practice of hiring Vulcans as administrative aides ishardly unusual.""True," Sarek agreed. "Many young Vulcans take employment on otherworlds as a way of traveling after completing the first stage of theireducation. However ..." He fixed his son with an intent gaze, his voicedropping to a near-whisper."None of those Freelan secretaries or aides were born on Vulcan.""Indeed?" Spock blinked, then his eyes narrowed."Fascinating ..." he murmured, suddenly comprehending what the other wassaying. "None of them?"The elder Vulcan shook his head. "None. Including the young woman namedSavel. I have traced every young Vulcan traveling offworld for the pastfive years ... and no records show that any of them have been hired byFreelans.""Yet I saw the Freelan envoy with her at his side myself," Spock said."I recall them clearly.""As do I," Sarek agreed. "But whoever that young Vulcan woman was, shewas not born on this world.""Then where did those young Vulcans who are influencing the KEHL leaderscome from?" Spock asked."They came from Freelan." Sarek's voice was harsh and flat, and heswallowed to ease the dryness in his throat."Spock, the Romulans have been systematically hijacking ships withVulcan passengers for decades. I have studied the shipping reports, thepassenger lists, for every nearby sector, and there is aneightysix-point-seven-percent correlation between the disappearance ofa ship and the presence of one or more Vulcans on board.""Continue," Spock said, his expression grim."It is my belief that those abducted Vulcans were taken to Freelan andforced to produce offspring. Their resulting children grew up underRomulan influence and training--and they serve the Romulans. Thesechildren learned to use their telepathy in ways Vulcans raised on thisworld are taught to abhor."Spock was quick to follow the ambassador's logic. "So now we haveFreelan envoys, merchants, and scientists traveling to Earth and theTerran colonies on a regular basis, most of whom are accompanied by aVulcan secretary, or aide. And those young Vulcans, trained in Vulcanmental disciplines, but lacking our ethical prohibitions, are usingtheir telepathy as they mingle among the populace. They influence humanswith a buried streak of xenophobia, inflaming them into becoming primematerial for the KEHL.""Exactly," Sarek said. "I must admit that at first I doubted that Vulcantelepathy, which is traditionally accomp lished by touch, could be usedfor such a purpose." He paused for a second, then continued in a lowertone,"However, recent events have convinced me otherwise."Spock nodded, a shadow in his eyes mirroring the sadness in hisfather's. "Sybok," he said. "I saw him influence minds from aconsiderable distance. His mental powers were ... unusual, however. Butthe ability to influence minds more subtly ... I possess that capacitymyself."This time it was the ambassador's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Really? Idid not know that.""I have done so several times," Spock admitted. "Though never to effectany lasting mental impression or change in the subject's mind. But I didit on Eminiar Seven, and again on Omega Four." He paused. "And I am onlyhalf-Vulcan.Thus I find the possibility of Vulcan offspring who possess the mentalabilities, without the ethical constraints we are taught, entirelyplausible. And ... disquieting."Spock was silent for a moment; then he asked, "Did you ever discuss withDarov what happened that day you went into pon farr? You said that youwere friends ... ""I might have," the ambassador said. "Except for the fact that I neversaw Darov again. I never discovered what had become of him. I suspect hewas executed for helping me that day. Darov was replaced by Taryn. Myimpression of him is that he is considerably younger than Darov ...though I cannot be certain, of course, since I never knew Darov's age.He is a far different individual. Much colder ... and possessing, Ibelieve, a formidable intellect.We have never discussed politics, but I am certain that Taryn is farfrom the moderate Darov was." Sarek paused, thinking. "I have gained theimpression, over the decades, that the liaison is ... patriotic.Possibly a zealot."Spock raised an eyebrow as he considered the ambassador's words. "If heis indeed a wing commander, that would not be surprising. Manyhigh-ranking Romulan officers favor all-out war with the Federation."The Starfleet officer rose from the bench to pace beside his fatheralong the garden paths. "My final question is, why?Obviously, all of this ... the Freelan base, the captured Vulcans, theKEHL--this entire plan took years ... decades ... to set into motion.What do the Romulans hope to gain?"Sarek did not answer directly. Instead he asked, "What are the goals ofthe KEHL?""As I understand them ... to remove all nonterrestrials from Earthitself. Especially Vulcans.""Not just from Earth," Sarek said. "From the Federationitself. I have researched the KEHL, also. The organization is adamantlyopposed to the continued presence of Vulcan as a member of theFederation." Spock nodded slowly. "That does not surprise me." Hisfeatures tightened. "If the Romulans are successful in driving a wedgebetween Earth and Vulcan, to the point where Vulcan either secedes or isexpelled from the Federation, then Earth will have lost its mostpowerful ally.""Yes," Sarek said. "A Federation without Vulcan would be weakened inmany ways. Also consider What is the current situation with theKlingons?""Extremely unstable. When I left the Enterprise, we were orbiting aplanet whose colony had been devastated by a Klingon attack. ChancellorAzetbur assured us that the raiders were renegades, and that she wasattempting to capture them and bring them to justice. I believe her, butmany others will not. The entire Federation/Klingon situation isunstable. James Kirk referred to it last week as 'a powder keg waitingfor a spark.'""An essentially correct, if somewhat dramatic way of putting it," Sareksaid, dryly."Instability in the Federation could well provide such a spark," Sarekcontinued. "Azetbur's government is struggling to stay in power. She haspopular support, but many of the older, high-ranking families object tohaving a woman as chancellor. A number of high-ranking officers haveturned renegade, deserting the fleet and using their vessels to commitacts of piracy.""Actions which only fuel the xenophobia the KEHL is fostering.""Precisely." Bathed in T'Rukh's garish light, Spock's features weredrawn so tightly they appeared fleshless, skull-like. "It is alsopossible that the Freelans are using their trained Vulcans to influencehigh-ranking Kling-Ohs ... fomenting dissent, inciting the Empire intocivil upheaval, and then war with the Federation. The humans have anancient phrase for such strategy"Divide and conquer.'""Indeed," Sarek agreed. He sighed wearily, feeling himself relax for thefirst time in ... how long? He could not tell ... "My son, it is a ...relief ... to speak of this all, after holding silent so long," theambassador said, sinking down onto another bench. "I have discussed myconspiracy theory with only two people before you--Soran, just recently,and your mother. It is difficult to know who to trust. Any high-rankingofficial could now be under Freelan influence." Spock shook his headslightly as he considered that. "A situation that might justifiablyinduce paranoia," he concurred."Last year, when I first began to suspect that the Freelans were usingtelepathy to influence people, I advised all members of Vulcan'sdiplomatic corps to work on strengthening their mental disciplines, sothey could not only detect, but shield against, any attempt at mentalinfluence. I traveled to Gol nearly every day for months, training withone of the high-ranking Acolytes.""I learned similar techniques while I was at Gol," Spock was quick toassure his father. "My shielding is better than average.""Good." Sarek gazed around him at the garden in T'Rukh's waning light."All indications are that the Romulan plan is reaching fruition. Ihypothesize that we may have only months ... perhaps less ... to actto stop them.""What is your recommendation?""First, we must gain concrete proof of the Freelans' true identity andpurpose in order to expose them. Your skills with computers equal myown. It is my hope that, working together, we can break into the Freelansystem more successfully than I was able to that first time. Then we candownload their memory banks.""That would constitute indisputable proof," Spock agreed. "We mustpresent that proof in open session of the Federation Security Council.""I agree.""We do have time," Spock said. "The KEHL is still a long way frominfluencing Earth to expel Vulcan from the Federation.""Do not be too sure. Elections will be held in two months, and the KEHLis sponsoring many candidates ... some openly, others with secretaffiliations. Some of these candidates are vying for offices at veryhigh levels in Earth's government."Sarek rubbed his forehead as fatigue washed over him so strongly itseemed to gnaw at his bones; he felt every one of his 128 years."Something else to consider, Spock If the KEHL keeps growing, Vulcanwill not struggle to remain a member of the Federation. Our people donot react well to being ... insulted."Spock nodded grimly. "I suggest that we discuss the matter with JamesKirk and ask his help in gaining positive proof, and in bringing all ofthis before the Federation Security Council and the president.""I agree," Sarek said.It was full night now, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Theyounger Vulcan glanced around him at the eerily lit garden and represseda shiver. "It is late. We should go in.""Yes. Your mother will be waking soon.""So, you're Jim Kirk's nephew!" Commander Gordon Twelvetrees exclaimed,holding out his hand.Standing stiffly at attention, Peter accepted the warm handshake fromthe tall, stately Lakota Indian who was Admiral Idota's aide. Theadmiral was one of Uncle Jim's friends, and while Peter hadn't reallyexpected to find anyone in at such a late hour, he'd hoped to leave amessage for Idota with the desk clerk. He was pleasantly surprised tofind the admiral's aide still at work."Oh, at ease, son," the commander said, waving him to the couch in hisoffice. He poured a cup of fresh, fragrant coffee into the fineStarfleet china that every admiral's office had, and handed it to thecadet.Peter nodded his thanks, and took a sip. It wasn't anything like thebrew at the cadet's commissary. This was a hearty, robustblend--Jamaican, probably. He relished the taste."You got lucky finding me here tonight," the commander said. "Usually Ikeep the same bankers' hours as the admiral."The young Kirk smiled thankfully at his superior. "I'm glad you couldsee me. Why the late hours?""I was here waiting for a communiqu6 from the Neutral Zone. Somethingthe admiral's been expecting. When they told me Jim Kirk's nephew had aproblem ..."For once Peter didn't flinch at the reference to his relative.At times like this, being Uncle Jim's nephew came in handy."Thank you, sir. I'm most grateful for your time." He tugged his cadet'suniform into place, glad he'd taken the time to change and freshen up.He hesitated, trying to find the right place to begin, then finallystarted from the top, telling Twelvetrees about trying to meet Sarek forlunch, the demonstration, the riot and his involvement, and how he foundhimself at the local KEHL headquarters.The story didn't take very long, and Twelvetrees never interrupted,listening to every word with complete attention.As he neared the end of his tale, Peter withdrew the three tapes withthe pilfered information and showed them to the commander."I know it was probably a foolish thing for me to do, sir, to pretend tobe a member of KEHL, but I felt it was a unique opportunity I couldn'tpass up, in spite of the risks.And I think it's paid off. These tapes hold the entire files of theirmembership rolls, their agenda, and the stolen information they obt ainedfrom the Vulcan consulate. I think they're enough to discredit thisorganization for once and all. They're really getting dangerous, sir,and they're no longer willing to work within the law. Their violation ofVulcan communications alone is proof of that."Commander Twelvetrees took the computer tapes almost reverently, staringat the innocuous bits of flat plastic as heturned them around in his big hands. "You certainly are a Kirk, son.That's the same thing Jim would've done in that very circumstance. Hemust be proud of you."Peter was about to say that his Uncle Jim didn't know anything aboutthis, when a troubling realization began gnawing at his gut. Despite thecommander's words, he realized that the aide wasn't taking himseriously. Not at all.Twelvetrees sat back against the couch, and pocketed the cassettes. "Iwant to thank you for the effort you took to obtain this information,Peter. Most people--working to complete their finals, cramming day andnightmwould only have their own personal problems in mind, and would'veturned their back on this. You've got the kind of heart, the kind ofbackbone Starfleet needs to bring us successfully into the future. Iwon't forget what you've tried to do here.However ..."Peter felt as if ice crystals were forming in his stomach." ... I have to tell you that Starfleet has had the KEHL undersurveillance for quite some time. We've even had several peopleinfiltrate the ranks. I can understand your alarm, but the truth is theKEHL is just a fringe-element, disorganized group. They've been gainingpopularity due to the media exposure, and, unfortunately, we wereunder-staffed at the consulate the day of the demonstration. But theKEHL is no threat to anyone, Peter.""But ... those tapes ..." Kirk protested."Oh, don't worry, Peter ... I'll take a look at these before I handthem over to Starfleet Security--just in case there's something in therewe can use. They'll probably decide to warn the Vulcans about the breachin their security. But don't forget, none of the KEHL's plans have evercome to anything. And we both know there's no such thing as a Vulcanconspiracy." He stood, indicating the interview was at an end. "You haveyour navigational final tomorrow morning, don't you?""Yes, sir," Peter responded desultorily, as the commander walked him tothe office door."You focus on that, son. I barely made it through that one myself. Don'tyou worry about these tapes, the KEHL, oranything but your exam. I'll make sure this information gets theattention it deserves, and if we find anything of any importance, I'lllet you know." The commander extended his hand again as his doorswhooshecl open, practically demanding Peter's exit.The young Kirk took the hand offered him. "Thank you, sir. And believeme, if you really look at that information, I think you'll be surprised... and concerned.""Don't you worry, Peter," the commander assured him, his deep voicecalming and sincere. "Starfleet Security has the situation well in hand.Thanks again for your concern."Peter watched the doors slide closed behind him and slumped against thewall, despondently. He hadn't been born yesterday; he knew a kiss-offwhen he saw one. Despite the commander's promise, Peter couldn't shakethe feeling that the officer was probably going to toss his tapes in thenearest recycler.The cadet shrugged.He could still get in a few good hours of studying if he hurried. Thecommander was right about one thing. If he was going to ace thenavigational final, he'd need to be sharp, focused. Peter straightenedup and squared his shoulders.He'd get focused, all right. As soon as he tended to one more thing.Minutes later, young Kirk strode briskly up to the communications centerthat sat in the center of the massive Starfleet Security headquarters."Can I help you, sir?" the young man manning the desk asked."Yes. I want to send a message to a Federation starship." Peter realizedthat he had no idea where his uncle was right now."And what ship is that, sir?" the operator asked casually."The Enterprise. I want to send a message to Captain James T. Kirk."The communications clerk glanced up, faintly surprised."Well ... that ship is currently on assignment. A message could take along time to ...""Send it Priority One. I am Captain Kirk's nephew. It's regarding afamily emergency.""Of course, sir," the operator agreed, all business. He handed Peter amessage pad and stylus. "If you'll encode your message here it will besent on the private-messages channel, Priority One."Peter picked up the pad, and, stylus poised, stood pondering justexactly what to say.Spock stood waiting outside the door of his parents' room, forcinghimself to remain still, hands clasped behind his back, his expressioncontrolled, remote. Inwardly, however, the Vulcan wanted nothing morethan to pace restlessly.Movement would have aided him in dispelling some of his disquiet.This morning, the Enterprise had entered the Vulcan spacedock, and, inresponse to Spock's request that he evaluate Amanda's condition, LeonardMcCoy had beamed down to the villa.The doctor was currently in Amanda's room, examining his mother.Spock's sensitive hearing picked up the swish of the pressure curtainmoving aside, so he was prepared when the door opened, framing McCoy.The doctor's expression was somber as he walked out into the corridor.In silence, the two officers went into Sarek's office. When theambassador saw them, he rose from his desk and the three walked out tothe living room. McCoy sank down on the couch and glanced around. "Youhave a lovely home, Ambassador Sarek."The elder Vulcan inclined his head. "My wife's doing, for the mostpart," he said."The view outside is magnificent, too. I never saw anything like theForge on any world I've visited.""It is a relatively unique configuration," Sarek agreed.Spock, who was sitting beside the medical officer on the couch, shiftedimpatiently. "Doctor ... what did your examination indicate?"McCoy shook his head. "I'm sorry, Spock. The Healersare correct. The Reyerson's is, for the moment, in remission.But I'm afraid that when I speak to Dr. T'Mal, I'm going to recommendthat she halt your mother's treatments."The first officer glanced quickly at his father, then back at the human."Why, Doctor?""Because they're causing a tremendous strain on your mother's alreadyfrail system. While I was examining her, she suffered a smallstroke--and my findings indicate that wasn't the first one.""A stroke?" Spock half-rose from the couch."It was a good thing I was there. I was able to arrest it, and preventany significant damage. My sensor readings indicate that she's had atleast two others within the past week or so.Minor ones, but they take their toll.""What is your prognosis, Dr. McCoy?" Sarek spoke for the first time inminutes."Well, I can't really say definitively. These things differ withindividuals ..." the human began, evasively.Sarek stared levelly at the Starfleet medical officer. "With all duerespect, I must remind you that you are not speaking to a human family,Doctor. Please do not dissemble."McCoy took a deep breath. "All right." He stared levelly at theambassador. "The Healer was, if anything, optimistic.I would say it's a matter of a few weeks ... possibly only days."Spock drew in a soft breath as the doctor's words struck him like ablow. It wasn't until that moment that the Vulcan realized, bitterly,that he'd hoped his old friend would be able to work some kind ofmiracle. Illogical the Vulcan part of his mind whispered. Illogical ifnot irrational ... hope is a human emotion.All at once he was acutely conscious of the automatic time sense markingoff the hours, minutes, and seconds in his brain. Usually, the Vulcannever thought about it, unless he needed to, but suddenly, it was aspervasive as the ticking of some huge, old-fashioned Terran clock.Time ... Amanda's time was running out. 'Without a word to the others, he rose from his seat and beaded for hisroom. Fingers numb, he pulled on rough, outdoor clothing and desertboots. He was not thinking, he was simply obeying a strong, almostinstinctive need to move, to be outside, to walk the rough soil andclimb the jagged stone of his homeworld.The heat struck him as he headed into the hills, but Spock ignored it.He was too conscious of the seconds ticking away inexorably in his head..."Ambassador?." Sarek looked up at the sound of Soran's voice. Theambassador was sitting by Amanda's bedside, her hand in his, so he wouldbe there when she awakened.On McCoy's advice, he had engaged a Healer's aide to monitor his wife'scondition, but he and Spock had been taking turns remaining with herduring most of their waking hours, ever since Dr. McCoy's revelation twodays ago.Now, seeing the concern in his young aide's eyes, the Vulcan hastilyleft the bedroom and stepped into the hallway. "What is it, Soran?""Ambassador, a priority call just came in for you from PresidentRa-ghoratrei," he said. "The president wishes to speak with you. He saysit is urgent."Sarek nodded a quick acknowledgment as he headed for his office. Momentslater, he was seated before his comm link. A presidential aiderecognized him, nodded briefly; then the image wavered and was replacedwith that of the Deltan Federation president. Ra-ghoratrei nodded asomber greeting to the Vulcan."Ambassador Sarek. Your aide told me of your wife's illness. I regrethaving to call upon you at such a time, but I have no choice.""What is it, Mr. President?""A band of Klingon renegades has captured an Orion colony--the planetKadur amand they are holding several thousand colonists hostage. TheKlingon leader is threatening to kill the hostages unless the Federationagrees to negotiate a release and monetary settlement with him." Thepresident took a deep breath. "Ambassador ... a greatmany lives hang in the balance. For this mission we need our bestnegotiator--and that is you. The meeting will take place on Deneb Four."Sarek briefly reviewed what he knew of the conference center on DenebIV. It was at least three days' journey at maximum warp. A week to gothere and return, as well as whatever time the negotiations wouldrequire ... he would probably be away from home for at least two weeks,possibly three ...The ambassador knew without consulting T'Mal or McCoy that, given herpresent condition, Amanda would probably not survive long enough for himto travel to the neutral site, handle the negotiations, and return. Ifhe left his wife now, it was unlikely that he would ever see her aliveagain.Nevertheless, there was only one logical course of action.The Vulcan took a deep breath. It is my duty. I cannot risk so manylives. The needs of the many ... "I will go, Mr. President," he said,steadily.Ra-ghoratrei breathed a sigh of relief. "The Federation thanks you,Ambassador. The hostages will now have the best chance to keep theirlives and regain their freedom.""I will need a complete report on the Klingon Commander," Sarek said. "Iwill depart this afternoon, provided my pilot can ready my transport.Send the information about this Klingon via subspace message, if youwill.""I will direct Admiral Burton, the head of Starfleet Security, to doso," the president promised."Very well. Sarek out.""Thank you again, Ambassador. Out."Rising from his seat, Sarek quickly gave Soran instructions to preparefor the journey. Then, knowing it was for the last time, he went to bidfarewell to his wife."Amanda." The voice reached her in the darkness, pulling her back tolight and awareness. The voice was familiar, known, beloved. Anauthoritative, precise voice with a faint resonance. Pleasantly deep,extremely cultured. The voice of her husband.Amanda opened her eyes. Strong fingers grasped her hand gently butfirmly. Sarek's fingers."Sarek," she murmured, gazing up into the face she had known and lovedfor so many years. "Have I been asleep long.\*""Several hours. My wife, I regret having to wake you, but I must speakwith you ... before I take my leave."Amanda's eyes opened wider. "Leave?" she asked faintly, too weak toconceal the dismay his words caused her. "Why?Where are you going?""There is an emergency on the planet Kadura," Sarek said. "I justfinished speaking to President Ra-ghoratrei. He asked me to negotiatethe release of a Federation colony that has been seized by Klingonrenegades. There are thousands of colonists whose lives are in jeopardy.I must go, Amanda.It is my duty."Her heart contracted at his words. "How ... how long will it take?" sheasked, her words scarcely audible above the faint hum of the medicalmonitors. "Must you go?""Yes. I must take ship for Deneb Four within the hour. It is difficultto say how long I will be gone. Ten days, at the minimum. If thenegotiations proceed slowly ..." He trailed off and his fingerstightened slightly on hers."I see," Amanda whispered. "Very well, Sarek. I understand."Her husband regarded her, his dark eyes shadowed with grief. Gently, hereached out and touched her hair, her cheek. "Amanda ... if I could, Iwould stay here with you.You know that, do you not?"Silently, she nodded, fighting to hold back tears. His dear, familiarface began to swim in her vision. No! she thought, blinking fiercely. Iwill not cry. I will not let tears steal my last sight of you. I willnot let weeping mar our last farewell."Sarek ..." she whispered, turning her fingers so her hand grasped his,returning the pressure. "I will miss you, my husband. I wish you did nothave to go.""I will return as soon as possible, Amanda," he promised, his eyes neverleaving hers. "The instant Kadura is free, I will come home."But you will almost certainly be too late, and we both know it, Amandathought, her eyes never leaving his face for a moment. She hated even toblink. In a few minutes her husband would be gone, and she would neversee him again ... at least, not in this life."I want you to remember something," she said, struggling to keep hervoice even."What, Amanda?""Never forget that I love you, my husband. Always." She gazed at himintently, holding his eyes with her own. "You will need to rememberthat, Sarek, very soon now. Promise me you won't forget.""My memory is typical for a Vulcan," he said, quietly. "I forget verylittle, my wife.""I know. But remembering my words in your head, and remembering themhere," freeing her hand, she gently laid it on his side, where his heartlay, "are two different things.Promise me.""You have my word, Amanda," he said, his dark eyes filled with profoundsorrow.I know that you love me, she thought, gazing up at him.But I will not embarrass you by telling you so ... "Spock will be herewith you," Sarek said. "Do not forget that, my wife.""His presence will be a great comfort," she said, softly.Her gaze moved over his face, tracing the angular lines.Putting her hand up, she touched his cheek, his eyes, his lips, thinkingof the many times she had kissed him there."Sarek, hold me. I want to feel your arms around me. Hold me."Gently, he reached forward, scooped her up, and cradled her against him.Amanda slid her arms around him and laid her head on his chest with along sigh. Briefly, she abandoned herself to the moment ... her soulwas content.Finally she raised her head. "Sarek, I want you to promise me one morething."He had difficulty meeting her eyes ... Amanda could tell through theirbond that he was profoundly moved. "What is it, Amanda?""I want you to read my journals ... afterward. Take the first one withyou now, my husband. Promise me you'll read all of them. Please?"Sarek nodded; then, with infinite gentleness, he helped settle her backonto the bed. Going into her sitting room, he returned with a slim,red-covered volume. On the spine was affed the number 1. "This one?" heasked, holding it up."Yes, that one," Amanda said, regarding him steadily as she lay proppedup on her pillows. "Read it. And when you've finished that one, go onand read the next ... until you've read them all.""I will do so, Amanda.""I know you will," she said, and holding out her hand, two fingersextended, she smiled at him. Somewhere deep inside herself, she wascrying, but she refused to let him see.Let him remember me smiling, she thought.Her husband held out his hand, brushed two fingers against hers, andthey remained that way for many seconds.Then, with a last, grave nod, Sarek walked away, pushing through thepressure curtain without looking back.Spock saw the pressure curtain move; then his father appeared. Theambassador's eyes widened slightly as he realized that his son must havebeen listening to him as he bade farewell to his wife; then theynarrowed with anger.Before his father could speak, the first officer signaled curtly forsilence and beckoned the ambassador out into the hall.Only when the tekla wood door was firmly closed did Spock turn to regardhis father."Eavesdropping is discourteous, my son," Sarek said, and Spock couldtell he was irritated, though his voice was carefully neutral.Spoek ignored the mild rebuke. He held his father's eyes with his own,and his own voice was cold. "Soran told me that the president called,and why. He also told me that you have ordered your transport prepared.You intend to go to Deneb Four?""Yes," Sarek said, eyeing his son with a touch of wariness."I have just taken my leave of your mother.""So I heard." Spock's voice cut like a shard of obsidian. "I must admitthat I found it difficult to believe. You actually intend to leave her?In her present condition?""I must," Sarek said, quietly. "The needs of the many outweigh theneeds--""To quote an appropriate human phrase, "To hell with that,'" Spock brokein, his voice rough with anger and grief."You cannot leave her like this.""I recall a time," Sarek said, "when you chose to remain at your post,when only you could save my life."Spock paused. "Yes," he said, after a moment, "but I have grown sincethen. It is a pity that you have not."Sarek's eyebrow rose at his son's words and the unconcealed emotion."Spock, we all have our duties to consider. The situation at Kadura iscritical.""So is my mother," the first officer said flatly. "She will not survivelong enough for you to return, and you know it.Your leaving in itself will very likely hasten her end." He regarded hisfather unwaveringly.The ambassador paused, and Spock knew that the thought of his leavingactually harming Amanda had not occurred to him until now. "You will behere with her," he said, finally. "She will not be alone.""She needs her family with her," Spock said obdurately."You are her bondmate--her husband. Your loyalty should be to her. Thereare other diplomats on Vulcan. Senkar has handled situations of thisnature before. Let him negotiate for Kadura's release.""The president requested that I handle the negotiations personally,"Sarek said."He cannot order you." Spock's gaze never wavered as he held hisfather's eyes. "Refuse ... under the circumstances, no one willquestion your actions."Sarek straightened his shoulders. "Spock, I have no more time to discussthis. I must leave now.""You mean that you wish to leave," Spock said, his voice cold and flat."You do not have the courage to stay and see her through this."Answering anger sparked in Sarek's eyes. "I will notremain to hear such acrimonious--and illogical--out-pourings, Spock. Isuggest that you meditate and attempt to regain your control." He drew adeep breath, and added, in a tone that was intended to be conciliatory,"Remember, my son, you are Vulcan.""At the moment, if you are any example, being Vulcan is hardly acondition to be desired," Spock snapped. Without another word, hebrushed past his father and headed down the corridor. Behind him hecould hear the ambassador's footsteps receding.When Spock regained control, he gently opened the door to his mother'sroom, and entered, parting the pressure curtain with both hands.Amanda was awake. Spock noted the unmistakable signs that she had beencrying, but there were no tears present when she smiled at him wanly andheld out her hand. "I was just about to eat my lunch," she said, noddingat a tray placed across her lap by the Healer's aide. "Would you like tojoin me, Spock?"The Vulcan nodded and drew a chair up beside her bed.Amanda was making a valiant effort, he could tell, but she had to forceherself to swallow several small mouthfuls. She smiled at him. "Do youknow what I dreamt of last night?" she asked. "It was so strange ...after all these years on Vulcan, being a vegetarian ...""What, Mother?""I dreamt that I was eating an old-fashioned hamburger.It tasted wonderful--nice and rare, with cheese and lettuce and tomato... "She smiled, shaking her head."If you would like one," her son said, "I will contact my ship and askthem to beam one down immediately.""Oh, no, don't," Amanda said. "I'm sure that eating meat after all theseyears would make me quite ill. And the real thing could never match howgood it tasted in my dream ... "She chuckled slightly. "But it was oddto dream about that after what ... sixty years?""Indeed," Spock said, cautiously. He sensed that his mother waschattering on as a way of working herself up towhat was really on her mind. Sarek, he thought, was probably aboard histransport and leaving orbit by now."Spock," Amanda said, softly, putting down her spoon and gazing at himdirectly, "what is death like?"Spock stared at her for a long moment. How many times had he been askedthis same question in the past three and a half years? Never before hadhe attempted an answer, but this time ... he cleared his throat."Mother, I cannot tell you what death is like. In a way, since my katradeparted to reside in Dr. McCoy when my physical body expired, I was nottruly dead, as humans understand the term.""Oh," she murmured, disappointed. "I'm sorry if that question was ...disquieting. My curiosity got the better of me ... under thecircumstances."Spock forbore to comment on her reference to her "circumstances."Instead he said, gently, "I cannot tell you what death is ... but Iremember dying. I know what it is to die."Amanda sat up a little straighter against her pillows, pushing her trayaside. Her blue eyes never left his. "Really?Tell me if you can, Spock.""It was painful," Spock admitted, and if he had been human, he wouldhave shuddered. "I had been exposed to enough radiation to literallyburn me. In addition, my mind, while clear in some ways, was affected,and thus I could not control the pain. I suffered, but I knew before Ieven entered the chamber that I would not survive, so I also knew that Iwould not have to endure for long ... "Amanda's eyes filled with tears. Spock knew that imagining her sonburned, poisoned, and dying of massive radiation exposure was upsettingher. He hesitated, watching her."Mother ... if this is too painful for you, I will ...""No," she said, fiercely. "It's a relief to talk about death, Spock. Icouldn't, not with your father. It would have distressed him too much.But you ... you, of all people, you can understand.""I do," he said, quietly. His hand slid across the coverlet and graspedhers, holding it tightly, reassuringly. "As my body shut down, the painstopped, and I experienced relief when that happened. All the while Iknew that I was dying, but as soon as the pain ceased, I realized withsome surprise that I was not frightened, or distressed. It was more asif what was occurring was simply a further, entirely natural step in theorder of things. I found myself at peace ... such peace as I have neverfelt.""Peace," Amanda whispered. "No fear?""Fear," Spock reminded her, "is a human emotion. No, Mother, there wasneither fear nor pain. Do not forget that I had established a linkbetween myself and McCoy, so I knew that my katra would ... continue.""No fear, no pain ..." she mused, plainly attempting to envision such astate. "What was there, then?""For a moment, I had a sense that knowledge was waiting for me, infiniteknowledge. It was a heady sensation, and lasted only for a moment--thenmy consciousness blanked out, and I did not return to awareness until Iawakened on that pallet with T'Lar standing over me.""Did you have a sense of an afterlife?""No, there was none of that. However, my leaira was residing within Dr.McCoy, so I cannot categorically state that there is no afterlife.""Do you believe in an afterlife?" his mother asked slowly."I do not know. I have no objective data to allow me to draw aconclusion."Amanda smiled dryly. "Spoken like a true Vulcan, Spock."Attempting to lighten the moment, the first officer bowed slightly."Mother ... you honor me.""Oh, stop it," she said, chuckling despite everything."You and your father ... when you do that, I want to throw something atyou!" She grasped one of the pillows, but her strength was notsufficient for her to make good on the implied threat ... instead shesank back against her pillows, gasping.Amanda's mention of his father caused all of Spock's anger to returnfull force. His mother did not miss the change in his expression, slightas it was. "Spock," she said, putting out a hand toward him, "try not tobe angry withyour father. Sarek is simply doing what he has to do, being who and whathe is." Pride surfaced for a moment on her features. "And he is thebest, Spock. Never forget that.Those people on Kadura could not have a better champion than yourfather.""Senkar is also an experienced diplomat who has handled situations ofthis kind before. My father could have allowed him to negotiate withthis Klingon renegade.""You're really angry with him, aren't you?" Amanda's eyes were huge andfull of distress. "Oh, Spock ... long ago I begged Sarek to try andunderstand you, instead of simply judging you and finding you wanting.Now I ask you the same thing ... try to understand your father! Forgivehim ... I know I do.""Mother, I cannot," Spock said flatly. "You are his wife.His place is by your side."Visibly upset, his mother closed her eyes, shaking her head as she layliraply against her pillows. "Oh, Spock ... don't be so hard on him. Weall make mistakes."The Vulcan regarded her with concern, realizing that she was fightingback tears. He'd never meant to distress her ...Spock put out a hand, closed it comfortingly over his mother's. "Verywell, Mother. I will attempt to be more ... understanding."Amanda nodded weakly, her eyelids drooping. "Thank you, Spock ... "The Healer's aide suddenly appeared from out of the shadows in thesitting room, where the monitor screens were placed. Motioning to Spockto go, she whispered, "She will sleep now, Captain Spock. I suggest youleave and return later."The Vulcan nodded quietly, and left the chill room and the slight,silent form of his mother.Peter Kirk unfastened the front of his uniform jacket even before thedoor to his apartment opened. His garments seemed to have absorbed someof the sticky fatigue that he felt must be seeping out of every pore.Stepping inside, heyanked the collar of his shirt open, feeling as if he were about tostrangle.He was so tired he wasn't even sure how well he did on his navigationexam. Oh, he was sure he'd passed, but this was one test he might nothave aced. To know he might've dropped a grade because of the time he'dspent with the KEHL made him feel like a fool.He tossed the tired uniform into the recycler. And as he did so, hiscomm link sounded, signaling an incoming call.Fearing it might be Lisa, Peter braced himself and accepted the call. Heblinked in surprise when he found himself staring at his uncle. He'donly sent Jim that message early this morning, and the elder Kirk wasthe last person he'd expected to hear from. Uncle Jim couldn't possiblyhave gotten his message yet ... could he?"Hello, Peter," Kirk's image said, though he didn't smile."Uncle Jim!" the younger man exclaimed. "This is a surprise! I thoughtyou were out near the Neutral Zone someplace?""I'm here in San Francisco," his uncle said, his words sounding clipped,as though he were rushed, or angry. He was wearing full uniform, butPeter couldn't tell where he was calling from ... his uncle's imagefilled nearly the entire screen."You are? Well, that's great!""I'm at my apartment," Kirk said, solemnly. "I need to see you, Peter.Can you come over?"The younger Kirk felt his spirits rise. If anyone would know how to dealwith the KEHL, how to get around the skepticism of CommanderTwelvetrees, it would be James T. Kirk."I need to see you, Peter," Jim repeated. "Can you come over hereimmediately?""Well ... sure," Peter said, glancing at the chrono with an inwardgroan. He desperately needed about six hours' sleep. But if Jim neededhim ... " I'll be there as soon as I can. About half an hour.""Good," Kirk said, and the comm link went dark.Peter stared at the screen for a moment, puzzled. Some thing about thecall seemed odd, but Peter decided his brief association with the KEHLwas making him paranoid. Oh, well. He'd find out what was going on whenhe got there.After a brisk sonic shower, he wearily dragged on the first clothes thatcame to hand--a pair of loose exercise pants and a baggy white shirt.Glancing at his chrono as he hastily ran a comb through his hair, he sawthat it was a few minutes after midnight; Peter groaned inwardly.Another night's sleep ruined--and tomorrow he was supposed to work withLisa again, bright and early. Not to mention that there were only a fewdays left before his Kobayashi Maru test!I've got to slow down, or I'll drop in my tracks, he thought, as he lefthis apartment and hurried down the corridor toward the elevator.He decided to walk; his uncle's apartment was only ten minutes away, andthe brisk fall air would wake him up. It was a weekday, so there werefew people out this late. The cool breeze nipped at him, and Peterwished belatedly that he'd thought to put on a jacket.As he strode quickly down the sidewalk, not allowing his steps to lag,something moved in an alley to his left. In the glow of the streetlight,he caught a flash of silver. Peter checked, peering into the darkness,and a voice reached his ears. "Peter?"The voice, though choked and breathless-sounding, was familiar. Thecadet frowned and started toward the alley."Lisa?" he called softly. "Is that you?"A moment later, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness away from thestreetlight, he saw her. She was walking toward him, obviouslydistressed. "Peter!""What is it, Lisa?" he asked, concerned. Much as he detested her bigotedviews, he had grown attached to Lisa the woman. "Is something wrong?""Yes," she whispered, moving toward him. "It's ... it's Induna. Heneeds us, Peter, he needs us terribly. I need you to come with me!""Well, I--"The cadet caught a flash of movement out of the corner ofhis eye, felt a rush of air on his cheek, and, in accordance with all ofStarfieet's training, ducked. As he moved to the side, a blow caught himacross his upper arm with numbing force. Lisa gasped and franticallyscuttled back, toward the mouth of the alley."Get help!" Peter yelled at her, as his assailants closed in.Two men, one tall, the other short, both burly, both obviouslyexperienced street fighters. Peter lashed out with a side kick towardthe shorter one's chest, but the man was too fast, and he hadn't struckhard enough. Accustomed to pulling blows in class, he did not connectwith enough force to disable his opponent. Before he could follow upwith a front punch, the taller man's fist smashed against his cheekbonewith head-spinning force.Training stood him in good stead as he reacted without thought, grabbingthe man's shirtfront and turning his fall into a back roll. As he wentdown with the man atop him, Peter brought his knee up into the other'sstomach, hearing the breath whoosh from his attacker's lungs.Letting his opponent sail on over his head, Peter regained his feet intime to meet a rush from the shorter man. He struck at the man's neck,but again this one was too quick to allow the blow to land full-on.Peter leaped at him, his body twisting in midair, his foot coming up ina tornado kick. This time he had the satisfaction of feeling his instepconnect solidly with the side of the man's head. Shorty went down, andstayed down.Whirling, hands and feet at the ready, Peter was just in time to block ablow from the tall man, but seconds later he took a smashing kick to hisrib cage. Gasping for air, he aimed a back punch at the man's chest, andfollowed it up with a quick foot sweep.Two down. Panting from the stabbing pain in his ribs, Peter spun,half-staggering, half-running as he headed for the mouth of the alley.He glimpsed Lisa's silver coat just ahead of him. "Run, Lisa!" he triedto shout, but his breath was too short for much sound to emerge.As young Kirk raced toward the mouth of the alley and the comparativesafety of the well-lit street, Lisa stepped out to bar his path. Thecadet had only one shocked instant to realize that the faintly shiningobject she held in her hand, pointed straight at him, was a phaser.No! he thought, frantically. She set me up! It was a trap!"Stop right there, Peter," she commanded, in a voice he'd never heardher use before.Peter had been trained how to deal with an armed opponent. Hit her, hither, his brain screamed, but for a critical instant he hesitated.Damn! he thought bleakly. What would Uncle Jim do?But he had no time to ponder the question, for, without further ado,Lisa Tennant gave him a brilliant smile, aimed carefully, and triggeredthe phaser.Peter heard the whine, glimpsed a flash of energy, and then there wasonly blackness ...Sarek sat at a comm link located in his private suite in the conferencecenter on Deneb IV. Before him, on the screen, Chancellor Azetbur'sthree-dimensional image gazed out at him. "Ambassador Sarek ..." shesaid, inclifting her head slightly, one equal to another."Madame Chancellor," the Vulcan returned the greeting."I gather that you have been briefed regarding the situation on Kadurat'"I have," she said. "I regret what has happened, Ambassador Sarek.""I understand, Madame Chancellor," Sarek said. "I discussed the matterwith President Ra-ghoratrei upon my arrival last evening, and heinformed me that you had spoken together regarding this crisis."Azetbur's exotic features were tight with tension, and the mantle ofleadership was clearly taking its toll on her. Sarek was vividlyreminded that she had lost both husband and father barely a month ago."This entire incident is unfortunate," she said. "Commander Keraz ... Imust admit that when I heard that he had initiated this raid, I wassurprised.I have known the commander for years, and, while he can be ...headstrong ... he has always been loyal. Keraz is--was--a warrior whoserved the Empire with distinction, in the most honorable manner.""I see ..." Sarek said. "I have yet to meet the commander.Our first session begins in a few minutes. May I ask why you called,Madame Chancellor?""I want the renegades extradited, Ambassador Sarek.Have the Federation take Keraz and his men, and hand them over to me, sothat I may make an example of them ... an example that will speakvividly to any others who may be contemplating such treason against mygovernment."Sarek took a deep breath. Azetbur was many things, but "soft" or"merciful" was not one of them. "I regret, Madame Chancellor, that Icannot do that. I have no authorization from the president to do so ...and my priority in this unfortunate situation must be the safety of thecitizens of Kadura. I must decline your request.""I see." Azetbur stared at him, her jaw muscles tight.Sarek had been prepared for her demand--Ra-ghoratrei had warned him lastnight of what the Empire wanted. "Do you propose, then, to simply letthem go free?""If that is the agreement I negotiate, then that is what I must do,"Sarek said. "However ..." He paused for a moment in feigneddeliberation." ... what happens to Keraz after he leaves the planet isnot my affair.""We will catch him, Ambassador. Of that you can be sure.The honor of my people depends on these traitors being captured anddealt with."Sarek nodded.Azetbur's expression thawed still more, and she actually chuckled aloud."Ambassador Sarek," she said, "I understand for the first time thestrength of your people. You excel at making others decide that what youwant is what they, also, desire most."The Vulcan inclined his head. "You are most gracious, MadameChancellor."After both parties signed off, Sarek stood at the window, gazing out atthe lush wilderness that lay beyond.Sarek approved of Deneb IV, also called Kidta, precisely because of itsextreme isolation. The strictest security was being maintained only askeleton staff was allowed at theconference center, and Sarek, Soran, and the Vulcan ambassador to Orion,Stavel, were the only Vulcans. If Sarek had to negotiate with Klingons,he wanted to make sure he was dealing with Klingons acting on their own,under no duress from an outside influence. As nearly as he had been ableto discover (and he had run extensive checks), there wasn't a singleFreelan in this sector, much less on this world, or at the conferencecenter.Which was the way Sarek wanted it.Any moment now, his aide would call him to the table to beginnegotiations with Commander Keraz and his captains.Sarek had already braced himself to endure the presence of Klingons.Their emotions were primal and close to the surface, worse even thanhuman emotions, and most Vulcans could sense them without being inphysical contact.Sarek had no reason to suppose that Keraz would be different.He was still puzzling over the Klingon renegade's request fornegotiation as a solution to this crisis. It was out of character forKlingons to sit down and talk their way out of a problem, rather thanjust blasting everything around."Ambassador," someone said quietly, from behind him.Sarek turned to see Soran."Are we ready to begin?" he asked, and the young Vulcan nodded.Sarek straightened his formal robe, making sure the heavy, bejeweledfolds hung properly, then followed Soran down the hall, into theconference room. It was a medium-sized room, with neutral-colored walls,two of which could be made transparent to show a view of the forest. Along table occupied the center of the room, an d chairs suitable forhumanoids surrounded it. There were two doors, one at each end of theroom. From the door on Sarek's left, Admiral Smillie and an aideemerged, and from the other, four Klingons. One of the Klingons held agreen-skinned Orion woman by the arm, marching her along peremptorily,but without any intentional cruelty.Sarek raised his hand in the Vulcan salute to the Klingon in the lead."Commander Keraz, I presume?"The short, rather stocky Klingon nodded sharply. "Ambassador," he said.His voice was much more mellow than most Klingons'. His skin was verydark, the color of antique leather.The representatives seated themselves around the big middle table. Sarekeyed the Orion woman and was relieved to see that, aside from stress andfatigue, she did not seem to have been harmed. She stared back at himlevelly out of eyes the color of onyx. When the round of introductionsreached her, she said quietly, "s'kara. I represent the people ofKadura."Sarek nodded, then looked over at Keraz. The Klingon seemed nervous,fingering his sash, picking at his belt as though he could not believethere were no weapons hanging there. Feeling Sarek's glance, the leaderlooked up, then burst out, "We desire an honorable settlement to thissituation, Ambassador. My ships and crews have not damaged the planet orits inhabitants"--at this, s'kara's eyes flashed indignantly, but shedid not interrupt--"and, frankly, I have no interest in occupying acolony world composed mostly of ... farmers." His mouth twisted withdistaste."We are warriors, not colonists. We have no wish to becomeplanetbound--Kadura is no fit place for warriors."Sarek inclined his head, noting that, beneath Keraz's deliberately gruffexterior, the Klingon seemed genuinely eager to negotiate. "That ispromising to hear," Sarek said solemnly. "What are your terms,Commander?""We are prepared to withdraw ... for the right price," Keraz said. "Wemust be allowed to take our payment and leave Kadura unmolested by anyStarfleet vessel."Sarek stared at the Klingon. Only a lifetime of habitual Vulcan controlkept him from revealing his surprise. For Keraz to offer to withdraw atthe beginning of the negotiations was the last thing he'd expected.Smoothly, giving no hint of his inner thoughts, Sarek said, "I am surethat, under the circumstances, something can be arranged."For a moment Sarek thought about his discussion with Azetbur. If Kerazthought he could successfully leave Fed eration space and find refugeacross the Neutral Zone, he was sadly mistaken.Studying Keraz's face, as the Klingon began outlining his position,Sarek wondered with part of his mind what had induced the commander toturn renegade. Was it disagreement with his government's new, peacefulovertures to the Federation? Was it greed? Had Keraz snapped under pressure, and suffered some temporary madness?Or ... was it something else?With stern resolve, Sarek concentrated all his logic, all hisexperience, on bringing the Kadura situation to a peaceful, swift, andsatisfactory resolution. Amanda was still alive Perhaps he could fulfillhis duty and still return home in time. Perhaps ..Considering the circumstances, Peter Kirk decided, it would be better ifhe just didn't wake up.His most recent attempts to swim toward consciousness had been sounpleasant, he'd come to the conclusion that it simply wasn't worth it.He'd much rather stay in this dark, muzzy netherworld, not asleep, butnot awake, where he could keep his various aches and pains at bay andinsist to himself that they weren't real. That none of this was real.He'd just lie here, thank you, and think about the Kobayashi Maru.Pondering that dreaded event was infinitely preferable to opening hiseyes and facing what had happened to him. Peter had a feeling that nosimulation, no matter how real-seeming, could possibly equal the messhe'd somehow gotten himself into.He groaned. Here he was. Peter Kirk, nephew of the Federation hero JamesT. Kirk--a Starfleet cadet so clever, so bold, that he'd allowed himselfto be duped and kidnapped by a bunch of reactionary bigots toodisorganized to run a successful demonstration No. It was worse thanthat.He'd allowed his confused feelings for a woman he barely knew to causehim a critical moment of hesitation.Why didn't you just surrender, mister, and save everyone the trouble?Would Uncle Jim have hesitated to slug a woman if the fate of theEnterprise was at stake? Hell, no.Peter couldn't deny reality anymore; his conscience wouldn't let him. Hewas indisputably awake. Groaning aloud, he opened his eyes. His headthrobbed as he struggled to focus on his surroundings. Squinting at theceiling, he thought it seemed too high, and the wrong color. Wrong colorfor what? he wondered foggily, but couldn't remember.Peter moved slowly, as painful awareness of his battle in the alley grewsharper, more persistent with every passing second. His arm and headhurt. His right side throbbed with every breath.Cautiously, he turned his head, his gaze traveling across the small,narrow enclosure with its dingy, gray bulkheads.Reality. He swallowed, as fear finally set in. Where the hell am I?Biting his lip, Peter gingerly pushed himself up until he was sitting onthe edge of the standard bunk, his head in his hands. And what is thatsmell?Sighing, he turned his attention to the plain room. It was small, barelyfour meters by three, and, except for the bunk, which folded out of thewall, nearly featureless.There were a few indentations that might indicate servo panels concealedin the walls, but no windows. Peter shuddered, swallowing a sudden surgeof claustrophobia.He felt light-headed and nauseated from the stun shot, and his kneeswere weak. Sitting silently on the bunk, he paused, just listening.There was no sound, no sound at all.Or was there?After a moment's intense concentration, Peter began to sense something.Was it a faint noise? A vibration? Or just a sixth sense that told himhe was no longer in normal space-time? Suddenly, he knew.His engineering instructor had said you could sense the spacewarp, evenif you couldn't see it.He was aboard a spaceship, traveling at warp speed, destination unknown.This wasn't a room, it was a cabin.Peter's mouth went so dry that he couldn't even swallow.Wanting to give himself something constructive to do be sides panicking,Kirk rose and systematically began to explore the cabin's flat, drabwalls.The whole place had a well-worn, grimy patina that testified toextensive use, and the panels that made up the walls were uniform andinterchangeable, allowing the dimensions of the cabin to be alteredaccording to need. The only door was heavy, with no viewing ports. Whilehe could see where the mechanism for manual overrides probably lay,there was no way he could get through it--even if he could figure outthe system--to force the doors to open. He searched for a surveillancesystem and couldn't find one--but that didn't mean there wasn't onetrained on him at all times.Methodically, the cadet pressed one of the innocuous indentations on thewall, and a tiny water dispenser revealed itself. He stared, mesmerizedby clear, fresh-smelling fluid, but in spite of his parched mouth,passed it by. The water, he suspected, would probably be drugged. Itwould be the most logical way to keep a prisoner under control. He wentabout examining the other wall indentations and discovered an odd holein the floor. By its smell, he decided, it could only be a head--but thestyle was unfamiliar to him.When was the last time this thing was cleaned? he wondered, realizingthat this was the source of some of the smell.Water and a toilet, he mused. But no food. His eyes strayed back towardthe water fountain. So, how long do you think you can last withoutwater? The memory of the cool-looking fluid was working on him already.Just then a soft machinery sound hummed, breaking into his thoughts. Hewhirled, crouching, his instincts on override, but it was just a servingpanel extruding from a niche in the wall. There was a tray on the panel,as colorless as the panel itself. Whoever had designed this starship hadbeen really fond of monochromatic schemes. Peter approached the tray.Piled in a small, equally colorless bowl were dry ration pellets. Theydidn't resemble the rations he was used to, but they had that sameprocessed-food-for-space-travel lookabout them--a soft gray green in color, tubular, about two centimetersin length, and maybe halfa centimeter in width.He sniffed. The mealy-looking pellets had a pungent, fishy smell. Theywere entirely too reminiscent of the prepared food Grandma Winona usedto feed her parrot.Except this stuff is probably full of drugs, he suspected. He could seethe packaging now-- UNT SYLVIA'S KIDNAPPERCHOW. REDUCES STRESS. INCREASES COOPERATION. Yes, there'd be somethingin there to keep him quiet, calm ... cooperative. He frowned at thefood. It wouldn't be long before even its unappealing scent would makehis mouth water. While he could last without food a lot longer than hecould without water, that didn't mean that he could afford to wastethese.He spilled the pellets onto the tray and started lining them up in rowsuntil he'd spelled out, in English words, "Who are you?" Then hecarefully pushed the tray back into the wall. Of course, the "leftovers"might be jettisoned directly into the recycler, but somehow, he didn'tthink so. They'd want to weigh how much he'd eaten, know how much drughe might absorb ... to determine just how much trouble he was going tobe when they arrived.Arrived where? he wondered, frustrated. It could be anywhere.He didn't even know how long they'd been traveling.If they'd stunned him repeatedly (and his headache argued that theyprobably had), he might have been unconscious for days.Peter walked back to the bunk and sat down. Why in the world would theKEHL kidnap him, then ship him offworld? That was the part that reallyhad his head spinning.Or was that the safest way they could think of to deal with him, oncethey'd figured out who he really was?Had he been sold to the highest bidder? There were still slave tradersin the galaxy, though Starfleet had mostly shut them down. But would theKEHL have handed him over to aliens? That thought was the hardest toswallow, but there was little about this room that suggested ahuman-designed ship. Aliens would explain the smell, too. It was analien odor, the smell of body chemistries that were not human inorigin. Every species had its own distinct smell, Peter knew, some morepleasant than others. While the soiled head's contribution wassignificant, the underlying scent was simply that of a, differentspecies mone he'd never encountered before. Not Tellarite, or Orion, orAndorian or Horta or Vulcan ... unfamiliar. Alien.Peter could understand the KEHL wanting to get rid of him. But why notsimply kill him? Why hand him over to aliens? Why go to all this troubleto get him offworld?It had to be more than just the KEHL involved. Somebody had paid LisaTennant and her goons to set him up and hand him over ... but why?Why in the name of the Seven Tellarite Hells would anyone want to kidnaphim? He was only a cadet ... he had no access to restricted data. Hehad no rank, and he wasn't rich. Uncle Jim made a respectable living, hesupposed. But enough to make the risk of abducting his nephewprofitable?Highly unlikely.It didn't make sense. No rank, no riches, no enemies ... Wait a minute.Peter straightened suddenly. He didn't have any enemies, as far as heknew ... but he knew someone who did. Someone who'd led an adventurouslife, taken plenty of risks, trodden on numerous toes. Someone who hadcertainly made enemies over the years ... moreenemies than you could shake a stick at ...James T. Kirk.Somebody intended to use him to get to Uncle Jim.As for Peter, he expected to take his oath and become a Starfleetofficer in a month. Did whoever was behind all this honestly think hewould just sit here and allow his uncle's enemies to use him like that?A prisoner's first responsibility was to escape. Right now, it didn'tseem as if he had many options while trapped in this cabin. That meanthe'd have to play a prepared hand when this ship finally stopped movingand those doors eventually opened. He'd have to overwhelm whoever wascoming for him, steal this ship, and pilot it back home. He was a fairpilot, and a good navigator. That part wouldn't be difficult--it was thefirst part that could be trouble. Howmany would there be? And what species? There were numerous aliens thatPeter knew he could easily fight his way through, but there were alsomany others whose strength was far greater than the average human's.And thatgyou, mister--average. Maybe, in strength. But, he'd beenstudying self-defense and martial arts since he was in his teens. By thetime he'd gotten to the Academy, he was already pretty good, andStarfleet put on the final polish. He could hold his ownmwhen he wasthinking clearly. Unbidden, the image of him falling prey to LisaTennant's stun gun burned in his mind.Peter wished he could exercise, keep up his skills, his physicalstrength, but that wouldn't be possible. He must be under surveillance,so that meant he'd have to portray himself as passive, maybe evensickly. He'd have to sleep a lot, or pretend to, and act slow and weak.If he did that, the less on their guard they might be when they came forhim.And that might be his only advantage. He really would be weak from lackof food, and reduced water, so he'd have to rely on surprise, if he wasto have any hope at all.Yes, his kidnappers would do what they could to keep him cooperative,compliant. But Peter had already decided just how much trouble he wouldbe. As much as humanly possible, mister.He was a Kirk, after all. And he would not be surprised again. Not ifthey threw the most beautiful, most interesting, most desirable femalesof every species in the galaxy at him.He would get out of here, or die in the attempt. And ifi don't make it,he thought, smiling to himself, at least I won't have to take theKobayashi Maru.Sarek sat at the negotiation table, listening as the Orionrepresentative bickered with Admiral Smillie about Federationrestitution for the attack on Kadura. To his right, the Orion woman,s'kara, stared expressionlessly at the Orion male, but Sarek sensed herdistrust, her revulsion ... perfectly logical, under the circumstances.Finally, he raised a hand, and as soon as Smillie and Buta, the Orion,noticed him, they fell silent. "These matters canbe resolved later," Sarek said. "For the moment, I request that wefinalize the agreement with Commander Keraz concerning their terms forwithdrawing from Kadura. As you will recall, the commander said that he..."Sarek continued, going over all the points agreed upon so far. They hadcome a long way in just a few days ... but not quickly enough for him.The speedy Vulcan courier ship was standing by, ready to take him homeat warp eight, but Sarek doubted he could ever get home in time tocomfort his wife.Wearily, Sarek finished outlining Keraz's demands, received a confirmingnod from the Ktingon. Smillie made a counteroffer to one part of Keraz'splan, wherein the renegades would be provided with dilithium as a ransomfor the safe release of Kadura. Keraz countered, lowering his demandfractionally. Sarek listened with part of his mind as they came closerand closer to an agreement. If they could reach agreement, then perhapshe could be finished today ...The wrangling continued for the next two hours, with Sarek mediatingbetween them, attempting to find compromises that would work.Finally, he realized a refreshment break was long overdue, so hedismissed the factions. The room emptied rapidly as the occupants leftin search of food, lavatories, or comm links. Finally, only Sarek,Soran, Keraz, and his second-in-command, Wurfi, were left.The Vulcan wislxed once again that he could arrange to speak to Kerazalone. The commander's demeanor at the negotiation table during the pastdays was not what one would logically expect of a Klingon renegade.Keraz was entirely too eager to negotiate, to give ground. It was almostas though he regretted having taken Kadura, and would like nothingbetter than to wash his hands of the whole business ...Barely noticing his surroundings, occupied with his thoughts, Sarekwalked slowly toward the door. Soran and Keraz were ahead of him. TheVulcan looked up, wondering where the Klingon's aide was.Movement--there was movement behind him--a bloodcurdling battle yell filled the air as the Klingon officer,Wurrl, leaped at the Vulcan ambassador. Sarek flung up an arm, glimpseda flash of metal, even as something sharp sank deeply into his leftbicep. He grappled with the Klingon, managing to hold him off despitehis injured arm, grateful for superior Vulcan strength.The ambassador groped for a neck pinch, but his fingers could notpenetrate the heavy leather and metal of the Klingon's armor. He changedtactics, struck Wurrl sharply on the bridge of the nose, and saw theassailant's eyes cloud over. Contact with the would-be assassin's bareflesh told him that he was dealing with another case like Induna's.Tal-shaya? Sarek wondered whether he would have to kill the Klingonoutright in self-preservation. Would it work on a Klingon?Locked together in a grisly parody of an embrace, the ambassador and theKlingon careered across the room, slamming into the conference table,scattering chairs. Suddenly Keraz was there, bellowing Klingonobscenities and threats at his aide, as he slammed a knife-hand blowinto Wurfi's throat. The treacherous aide staggered, his grip on theambassador loosening. Wurrl's breath rattled in his throat, even assteely hands grasped him and lifted, hoisting him clean off his feet.Soran swung the Klingon in an are, then sent him crashing against thewall. Wurfi slid down it, and lay there, unconscious."Ambassador! Ambassador, you are wounded!" Keraz sounded thoroughlyshaken. Sarek grasped his bicep, applying external pressure, even as hesought within himself for his training in biocontrol. A moment later, hefelt the bleeding slow to a trickle, then stop. Automatically, hecontrolled the pain."I am not seriously injured," Sarek said. "Where did he get thatdagger?" All participants in the conference were screened automaticallyeach time they walked through the door.Keraz went over to the downed Wurd, and, bending over and using the tipof his metal-reinforced gauntlet, he picked up the green-smeared dagger."Assembled," he growled, holding it out. "See? Pieces of trim from hisuniform, altered so they would slide together and form a weapon. He musthave put it together under the table while we met today."Sarek raised his voice. "Security, please report to the conferencechamber," he said.His verbal request was not necessary. Barely a second later, the doorsburst open, admitting four guards and Admiral Smillie. Quick questionsand answers followed.Smillie, Sarek saw, was all for taking Keraz into custody along with theseriously injured Wurrl. The Vulcan raised his hand, forestailing theStarfleet admiral. "Commander Keraz was not responsible for thisincident," he said. "I am certain of that."As Sarek spoke, he c aught a quick glance from Keraz, saw the flash ofgratitude in the Klingon's eyes. "Commander," Sarek said, gesturing tothe open door, "let us leave security to its job. I would like to speakwith you privately."Sotart stepped forward to protest, and so did Smillie, but both gave waybefore the ambassador's determination.Keraz nodded, and together the two left the wrecked conference chamber.As they walked down the corridor, Sarek said, blandly,"Commander ... I know that you are not responsible for that attack justnow. I have some idea, at least generally, who is, though. Could youanswer a few questions, please?""What kind of questions?" Keraz growled."In the first place, after days of discussion, I still do not have aclear idea of what you hoped to gain by your occupation of Kadura.Perhaps you might enlighten me as to your reasons?"When Keraz only stared stonily, the ambassador added,"The greater my understanding of what you hoped to gain, the moresmoothly I will be able to conclude matters. I understand the Federationmind-set on this matter ... but I am still uncertain as to yours."The Klingon commander hesitated; then he walked out into a courtyard andsat down by a tinkling fountain. Sarek, understanding that he thus hopedto foil any listening devices, sat down with his knees almost touchingthe Klingon's. "What did I hope to gain?" Keraz's effort to keep histones low only accentuated the mellowness of his baritone. "Ambassador,at one time my actions seemed as clear as a Darlavian crystal to me, but... no more.""What do you mean?""I cannot explain!" Keraz said, his voice lowering to a growl. "I havethrown away my warrior's honor, and my life will likely be forfeit,along with the lives of my crew ... " He glared at Sarek. "Do not byany chance think, Vulcan, that I am unaware that my government standsready to capture me and punish me as a traitor without honor. If I haveany hope in conducting these negotiations, it is that all of theresponsibility for my actions will be focused on me, not on my crew.""You are speaking as though you regret your actions since you ... brokewith your Empire," the Vulcan observed, his heart quickening. He'd neverheard a Klingon speak like this before."I do regret them," Keraz said simply. "I did not agree with theEmpire's new, craven policies toward the Federation, and I told anyonewho cared to listen that. But turn renegade? Traitor? Pah!" He spat onthe flagstones at his feet."But your actions recently have gone against orders," Sarek pointed out."I know!" Keraz's voice was a muted howl of frustration."My loyalty to the Empire was complete, until ... until one day Irealized that I was being a fool, that there were riches waiting for me,and glory ... and I realized that I could wage war on the Federationwhether or not my government had the courage and the honor."The Klingon scowled, his corrugated brow even more wrinkled than usual."My path seemed clear, until, two days after Kadura was mine ... Iawoke one morning, realizing exactly what I had done. How my governmentwould regardme. I knew that I would soon be surrounded by half the Federation'sstarships." He gave a short, hitter growl of laughter. "And you ask mewhy, Vulcan? That is your answer--that I have no answer! I do not knowwhy!""But I do," Sarek said. "Or, at least, I believe that I know, Commander.Recently, I have encountered two individuals who became violent as aresult of outside mental influence ... telepathic influence. One was ahuman, on Terra. The other was ... your aide, Wurrl. Just now.""Wurrl?" Keraz stared at the ambassador incredulously."What are you saying, Vulcan? That I have also been influenced? Thatsome telepath made me take Kadura?""I do not believe they can control actions," Sarek clarified."But they can influence, provide mental catalysts, as it were. Yes, I dobelieve that, Commander."The Klingon had paled as they spoke. Not surprisingly, he found the ideaof not being his own master repugnant, revolting. "How can you tell?" hewhispered hoarsely."How did you know about Wurrl?""I touched him," Sarek said."Could you tell with me?"Sarek nodded silently. Keraz took a deep breath, then, sitting stiffly,rigidly, nodded. "Do it," he commanded.Slowly, the ambassador raised his hand and brushed it across theKlingon's high, bony forehead. He found what he had expected to find,and Keraz read the truth without Sarek having to say it aloud. Thecommander threw back his head and voiced a wordless bellow of rage andfrustration, then cursed vividly in at least six different languages.Finally, Keraz subsided, panting, and sat glowering in silence forseveral moments. "Kamarag," he said. "This is his doing. That cursed,dishonorable slime devil has stolen my honor. For this I will rip outhis gizzard and feed it to my targ!""What do you mean, he stole your honor?""He was trying to persuade us all to turn renegade, and ever since thatmeeting most of the warriors there have committed honorless raids onnoncombatants--just as I did.""What meeting?" Sarek asked.With a savage glare that the Vulcan knew wasn't directed at him, Kerazexplained about Kamarag's clandestine conclave."Fascinating," the ambassador murmured, trying to picture Kamarag inthat setting."Kamarag has no honor, Vulcan," Keraz said bitterly."But you ... you are different. You have courage, as well as honor. Acoward would not have been willing to be alone with me after Wurrl'sattack.""You possess a warrior's honor," Sarek said, honestly. "I knew you wouldnot attack me."Keraz gave him a sideways glance. "I heard that your woman is ...gravely ill," he said, gruffly. "You have also shown honor in remaininghere in performance of your duty. I respect such honor, Ambassador.""Is that why you agreed to speak frankly with me?" Sarek asked."Yes," Keraz said. "Such a demonstration of honor is admirable, nomatter what species displays it."The Vulcan inclined his head in recognition of Keraz's words. "Perhapswe may conclude the negotiations quickly," he said."I will keep that in mind," the Klingon replied. With a curt nod, herose and left Sarek alone beside the fountain.Spock sat alone in the small courtyard of the med center.This area was designed to be a peaceful refuge where friends andrelatives of patients could meditate and wait in peace.The walls were pale yellow, the floor was red-ocher tiles.Benches stood ranged around the central water sculpture, facing theshining spray within its protective field. Spock gazed at the watersculpture without really seeing it.The Vulcan was attempting to make his mind a blank, preparatory tomeditating, but every time he thought he'd succeeded, thoughts, likethieves in the night, tiptoed into his consciousness.His mother was much worse. Last night she'd had another stroke, a majorone. T'Mal had ordered her beamed directly to a hospital room in the medcenter.Hearing footsteps, the Vulcan glanced up to see Leonard McCoy enter thesolahum. As he took in the expression on the doctor's face, the Vulcanrose slowly to his feet."How is she?" Spock demanded, hearing his voice ring hollowly in thesilence.Silently, the doctor shook his head. "Not good. She's still alive ...but she can't last for long, Spock. Vital systems are just ... closingdown." Spock stared at his friend, speechlessly. He'd thought he wasbraced against any eventuality, but now shock held him silent.McCoy sat down on a bench opposite his. The doctor's face was drawn andhaggard with mingled fatigue and sorrow. "We've managed to stabilize heragain, but her body is just worn out. The strokes have caused metabolicirabal-ances and neural damage, despite everything the Healers and Icould do to prevent that. Now her kidneys are shutting down ... and herheart is compromised. I'm afraid it's just a matter of time.""How long?" Spock asked, forcing the words past the tightness in histhroat."Not long. Days ... possibly only hours." Spock rose to his feet, pacedback and forth, his boot heels echoing on the tiles. McCoy's blue eyesfollowed his movements."Spock," the doctor said after a moment. "If there's anything I can do... if you want someone to talk to, I'm here. Jim should be beamingdown any minute.""I must make a call," Spock said, turning abruptly. "Wait here for me. Iwill not be long." Minutes later he sat at the nearest public coremlink, facing Sarek's aide, Soran. "Greetings," he said, curtly, in hisnative language. "I would speak with Sarek. it is urgent." The youngVulcan's forehead creased, ever so slightly."That will be difficult. The ambassador is in the midst of theafternoon's negotiations. May I relay a message?""No," Spock said flatly. "I must speak with my father personally. Be sokind as to summon him at once." Soran hesitated for a long moment, then,after studying Spock's face, nodded. "I will inform him immediately,Captain Spock. Please wait." Several more minutes passed, while Spocksat rigidly, words running through his mind. Finally a figure movedbefore the screen in a flash of formal ambassadorial robes, and then hewas looking at Sarek. "Greetings, my son. You required a conversationwith me?" Spock nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir. Mother has suffered anotherstroke. Dr. McCoy says that her time is very short.""It will not be possible for me to leave," Sarek said, his voicebetraying no emotion whal[soever. Had Spock seen something flickerbehind his eyes? There was no way to be sure."You said the negotiations were proceeding smoothly.Cannot Ambassador Stayel take over?""That is not an option," Sarek said firmly. "I must han dle thispersonally. There is more at stake here than I realized." Spock drew adeep breath. "I ask that you reconsider," he said, tightly. "My presencedoes not comfort her. She is calling for you." Sarek's eyes closed, andthis time the pain on his features was not masked to someone who knewhim well. "Spock I cannot." His face smoothed out, became impassive oncemore. "Farewell, Spock. I must return to the negotiation table now." Theconnection was abruptly broken. Numbly, Spock rose from his seat andreturned to the solarium. There he found Kirk and McCoy waiting for him.McCoy checked the tricorder he was holding. "The monitors say she'ssleeping, Spock," he said. "Tll know the instant she wakes up. Sit downfor a minute. You look done in." As the Vulcan obeyed, Kirk glanced at MCoy. "How is she?" Quickly, the doctor summarized Amanda's condition."Is Sarek coming home?" Kirk asked Spock.The Vulcan's eyes narrowed. "No. The negotiations take precedence."Kirk's hazel gaze widened slightly as the captain evidently realizedhe'd touched on a sensitive subject.McCoy shook his head grimly. "Lousy timing. That Klingon commander wasout of his mind to pull a stunt like this. He couldn't possibly havethought he'd get away with it!""Having seen Klingon 'justice' close up, I'm surprised that any amountof greed could induce a commander to commit treason against the Empire,"Kirk agreed.Spock stared at his captain for a long moment. "Interesting that youshould employ that particular word, Jim.Perhaps that is indeed the case ... that Keraz was induced to invadeKadura."Kirk's hazel eyes were bright with curiosity. "What do you mean, Spock?"The Vulcan hesitated, then said, "I had hoped to broach this subjectwhen Sarek was here, so he could relate events firsthand, but ... thereis no way of knowing when my father will return to Vulcan." His voicewas hard and flat in his own ears, and Spock saw Kirk and McCoy exchangequick glances."What do you mean? What's going on?" the captain asked.Spock reached out and took McCoy's medical tricorder, propped it wherethey could all see Amanda's monitors displayed. "If she wakes, I willhave to stop," he warned the others. "Sarek told me the entire storyonly a few days ago ... "The Vulcan continued, summarizing Sarek'sfindings about the Freelans and the KEHL.When the first officer finished, the captain and chief surgeon exchangedglances; then both officers shook their heads dazedly. "I swear, Spock,if this were anyone but you tellin' me this," McCoy said, "I'd say hewasn't firm' on all thrusters. Romulans walking around the Federationwithout a by-your-leave? It sounds like the worst kind of paranoiddelusion!""If it were anyone but a Vulcan saying this, I'd agree, Bones," Kirksaid. "But Sarek is definitely sane ... and if he's right about allthis, he's right that this poses a serious threat to Federationsecurity."McCoy, catching sight of a change in the monitor, pointed wordlessly.Amanda was awake.Quietly, the three officers entered the sick woman's room.Spock sat by Amanda's bedside, and his friends sat in the back of theroom, their silent presence offering quiet support.Even though Amanda was conscious, she seemed unaware of their presence.Occasionally she would call "Sarek?" in a questioning tone, then pause,plainly listening for a reply.Spock's murmured "I am here, Mother, it is Spock" made no difference.Amanda remained unresponsive to the voice of her son.After a half-hour had passed, the Vulcan rose and motioned his friendsto join him in the corridor so he could speak freely."I will stay with her," he said. "I appreciate your presence, but I knowyou have duties aboard ship."McCoy nodded, understanding the Vulcan's unspoken plea for privacy.Kirk cleared his throat. "If you would like some company, Spock ..."The Vulcan nodded. "Your offer is appreciated, Jim, but at the moment... I would prefer to be alone with her.""I understand completely. If you change your mind ..." Spock was wearingcivilian clothing, a Vulcan robe, but he reached into the pocket andremoved his communicator and held it up."Okay," Kirk said.McCoy put a hand on Spock's arm. "The same goes for me, Spock. She couldgo on like this for some time. Don't forget to eat something today,okay?"The Vulcan nodded. "Is she in pain?""No, I don't believe so," McCoy said. "And, Spock?" He cleared histhroat awkwardly. "It's common for stroke victims to fixate on oneperson or one thing. Sometimes the person can be sitting right there,but the patient won't recognize them, so ... there's not much you cando about it. Even if your father were here, she might not realize it.""I understand, Doctor."Spock gazed at his two friends, knowing there was nothing more to say.Both Kirk and McCoy hesitated, then nodded, and silently turned away.Sarek paced slowly down the corridor toward yet another negotiatingsession. It was morning on Kidta, but the new day brought no lighteningof his spirits. The Vulcan wondered whether he should attempt to contactSpock and inquire about his wife's condition. Sarek knew, only too well,how angry Spock was over his failure to return home.He knew that, under most circumstances, his son was as logical as anyVulcan ... but he also knew how deeply Spock cared for his mother. Ashe himself had once said to T'Lar, when it came to questions about thewelfare of a family member, one's logic became ... uncertain.As the ambassador hesitated in the corridor of the conference center,wanting to contact Spock, he was strangely reluctant. Sarek foundhimself concentrating on Amanda, trying to feel her presence, sense hermind through their bond. He closed his eyes, concentrating ...concentrating ...A thread, so faint ... he traced it, followed it, opening his mind,sensing it. Amanda ... she was there, in his mind, but her mentalthread was weak ... was weakening, even as he touched it. Sarek'sbreath caught in his throat as he realized that he was too late ... toolate. As he stood here in this hallway, his wife was dying.Amanda/It was a mental cry of anguish that resonated within his mind.Grief struck him like a blow, grief' and regret so agonizing that heswayed as he stood.Quickly, realizing he needed solitude, Sarek turned to a small, emptyconference chamber and entered it, not activating the lights. In thedarkness, with nothing to distract him, perhaps he could find her, couldreach her mind, even across space. It had been done before, by strongertelepaths than he ... although he'd never been able to accomplish it.But he had to try ...Spock sat by his mother's bedside, holding her small, cold, wasted handin both his own, as though he could somehow transfer some of his ownstrength to her by so doing. Amanda's blue eyes were open at the moment;she had been semiconscious all afternoon.The room was bathed in sunlight, and the monitoring devices weresubdued, nonintrusive.As Spock watched her, wondering whether she would take a sip of water ifhe offered it to her, Amanda's lips parted, and she spoke. Barely morethan a breath escaped--a breath that was a name."Sarek ..."She had been calling him for hours, and the sound of it wrenched herson's heart as nothing in his life ever had.Spock leaned over and said, softly but distinctly, "I am here, Mother, Iam here. Spock ... I'm here with you, Mother."She opened her eyes again, stared vacantly at him.Fretfully, she tugged her hand away from his. "Sarek?" she murmured,turning her head on the pillow, seeking someone who wasn't there."Mother?" Spock called softly. Amanda turned her head to gaze at him,and for a moment he thought he saw a flash of warmth and recognition inher eyes; then it faded. Her eyes moved again, and she stirredrestlessly."Sarek?"Spock sighed. A few minutes later he coaxed her to take a sip of waterfrom a straw; then she seemed to slip off into a doze.An hour later Amanda's right hand moved restlessly, plucking at thecoverlet. The Vulcan reached over to hold it.This seemed to calm her for a few minutes, and she dropped off again.Spock fell into a doze himself; he'd scarcely slept since this hadbegun, and even his Vulcan constitution was wearing down. He jerkedawake an hour and thirty-two point nine minutes later, hearing hismother call, "Sarek?" Her voice held such sadness, such utter desolationthat his throat tightened.Glancing up at the monitors, he saw that the levels weredropping ... she was fading, fading away. Healer T'Mal came in, checkedher patient, and when Spock, with a glance, whispered, "How long?," thephysician simply shook her head."Sarek?" Amanda's voice cracked on the word. Spock attempted to give hersome water, but she turned her head away, fretfully."Mother, it is Spock. I am here," he said aloud, seeing that her eyeswere wide open, and she was staring straight at him."Sarek?" she called.This is unbearable. Spock got to his feet and paced restlessly aroundthe room. There is almost no possibility that Sarek will arrive in time.But ... unless he is here, she will have no peace. I must find a way tohelp her achieve tranquility, serenity ... but how?Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. But was Amanda strong enough towithstand what he had in mind?Sarek sat alone in the dark, his head bowed in his hands, struggling toreach his wife. With all his being he wanted to be with her at the end,wanted to give her a sense of his presence along the tenuous pathway oftheir bond. Sarek pressed his hands to his eyes, shutting out all light,and proceeded to systematically blank out everything except the sense ofAmanda's presence in his mind. Am anda, I am here. My wife, I am withyou. Amanda ... I am with you ... hear me, know it is I. Amanda, mywife, I am with you ...Over and over he repeated his message, casting his mind along thatfragile link, not knowing whether he was succeeding His sense of herpresence grew, eclipsing everything else; his entire existence wascentered on the mental link he shared with her. Memories flashed throughhis mind, memories of times past--their wedding night, Spock's birth,his Times with her, the heat of the passion between them seeming to fillthe whole world--and for a moment he thought he sensed that she wassharing those memories with him. But he could not be certain ... couldnot even be sure that she was aware of him. If she was unconscious, hemight be touching some last dream, instead of her thinking, consciousmind.Amanda ... my wife, I am with you. You have made my life better in somany ways, and I thank you ... Amanda, feel my presence. I am with you... Spock glanced reflexively at the monitors, and what he saw theremade him cross the room in one long stride. Am I too late? Spock'sfingers went to her head, brushing aside Amanda's hair, seeking theproper contact points.The Vulcan sent his mind out, searching, seeking his mother'sconsciousness. She was almost gone ... Dimly he sensed herpersonality, the last sparks of life and consciousness, and sent hismind surging toward hers, seeking for contact. Desperately, he tried tolocate and link with that last, faint spark of life. He was determinedto give her peace, give her what she wanted so badly--her husband'spresence.He would call up a memory of Sarek so vividly that she would believe hisfather was actually present.As he struggled to establish contact, time seemed to stretch, as thoughsome uncanny relativistic space-time pocket had taken over theroom--even though Spock's inner chrono told him that less than a minutehad passed.He was failing ... the spark that was her life, her consciousness, wasfalling away in the dark, fading like a burnt-out cinder. Spock tried,but he could not touch her mind, could not capture that dying spark.Beneath his fingers, Amanda twitched, then gasped reflexively, once,twice--Spock summoned all his mental strength for one last attempt, sending hismind hurtling after that fading life-spark ... My mind to yours ...our minds are one ...But it was no good. She eluded him, fading out, falling away, going toodeep for him to catch and still live. Mother.t Spock whispered silently,and knew she did not hear him ... was not aware of him ...Amanda was aware, faintly, of the presence trying to touch her mind, butshe had gone too far to turn back ... From where?She had no idea where she was, where she was going. All around her wasdarkness, shot with strange colors, hues that even Vulcans had no namesfor ... She regarded the colors with passing interest, but continuedto move. Was she walking? Floating? She did not know. All she knew wasthat she was moving.Spock ... she realized, recognizing the presence that was questingafter the tiny spark that remained of Amanda Grayson. She felt a rush oflove and warmth for her son, but she could not halt and let him catch upto her ... she knew only that she must keep moving, that she had nochoice.For a moment she wondered where she was going, but rational thought didnot seem important to her anymore.Only the need to quest, to seek ... to move ... Seek? she wondered,vaguely. Yes, she was seeking something ... or was it someone. And thatsomeone was ...Sarek. She wanted Sarek. He was here, somewhere, he had to be. Herhusband had been part of her mind, part of her universe for so long ...he must be here, somewhere.Was she m6ving toward Sarek?She must be, Amanda thought. Spock's presence was far behind her now,and she did not let him distract her any more. She could not turn back,she knew that instinctively.Sarek? she thought.Amanda had a vague impression that she was moving faster. For a fleetingmoment, it occurred to her to wonder just where she was going, but thatdid not seem important, either. Only one thing still linked her to herSelf, the essence of Amanda Grayson ... and that was Sarek. He had tobe here, somewhere ...Sarek?Something was near her. What? She had no fear of it, whatever it was. Itloomed closer, closer ... Suddenly, as she sped along, another presencewas withher, enveloping her with its essence. Joyfully, Amanda recognized it.Sarek!He was with her, beside her, around her, within her ... he surroundedand pervaded her with the sense of his presence. Sarek ... she thought,happy that they were together. My husband ...But she was still moving ... Sarek was not the destination.He could accompany her only partway, for a short while. With a faintpang of regret, Amanda felt him drop behind her. She was moving too fastfor him ...Moving ... rushing, now. Hurtling. Where did not matter.There was no fear, no pain, no weariness. There was ... peace. Peaceand movement ...Peace ... and nothingness ...The last spark of individual identity that had been Amanda Grayson Sareksurrendered to the peace, losing herself, expanding beyond Self, beyond... everything ..."Sarek?"Spock's eyes snapped open in amazement at his mother's whisper. Shesounded suddenly younger, almost girlish. As he watched, her crackedlips parted in a loving smile, as though she saw something he could not."My husband ..." The words were barely discernible ... a final, softexhalation.Amanda gasped sharply ... then her chest did not rise again.I failed, Spock thought desolately, as his eyes automatically went tothe monitors; there he read what he already knew.It was difficult to believe that his mother was dead. He let his fingersslide down her temples to her throat ... nothing.No pulse.Spock stood there for a long moment, trying to assimilate what hadhappened. It seemed inconceivable that Amanda would never open her eyesagain, never smile, or speak.Never ... the word had an awful sound. Something struggled inside himto break loose, to achieve expression, but he repressed it sternly. Hewas a Vulcan.Gently, Spock placed her limp hands on her breast atop the coverlet. Hismother's eyes were half-open, and, automatically, he reached out andclosed them. His hand lingered for a moment on Amanda's cheek; then,resolutely, he stood up. Healer T'Mal, he thought, would be here anymoment, having seen Amanda's readings from the monitoring station in themed center.The Vulcan debated whether he should draw the sheet up over his mother'sface, but decided not to ... she appeared very peaceful the way shewas. Her face even bore traces of that last, faint smile.Spock turned and walked to the door, hesitated, glanced back. Thereseemed no reason to stay any longer, but he could not decide what heshould do. Healers, aides, and patients passed him in the corridor, andit seemed incredible and somehow unconscionable that everyone andeverything should go on so normally, when there had been such a loss ...Spock realized with one part of his mind that he was not reactinglogically, but, for once, that did not seem important.T'Mal came toward him, halted. She was a small, graying Vulcan, who worea blue-green medical tunic and trousers."Captain Spock," she said, in the most ancient and formal of Vulcandialects, "I grieve with thee on the death of try mother."Spock nodded, wondering whether his expression betrayed any of his innerturmoil, but apparently it did not, for T'Mal's face did not alter asshe gazed at him. The Vulcan nodded, then said, matching her formality,"We grieve together, Healer T'Mal. I thank thee for thy care of mymother these many days."T'Mal gazed up at him, and some of her formality vanished. "Go home,Captain Spock. Rest. We will place her in stasis, until your fatherreturns, so he may see her if he wishes. Tomorrow will be soon enough toarrange for the memorial service."Spock nodded. "Thank you, T'Mal. I will contact you ... later." Turningaway, he headed for the med center's transporter unit.Alone in the small room on Deneb IV, Sarek of Vulcan struggled, sendinghis mind out, striving to reach his wife, never knowing whether he hadsucceeded. And then ... he felt Amanda die.One moment her presence was there, a warm spark in the back of his mind,a tenuous link stretching between them--and then the link snapped ...the warmth was gone, leaving an aching void.Sarek leaned his head in his hands, feeling grief engulf him past anyability of his to control it. Amanda ... Amanda ... he thought, asthough her name were some kind of litany or spell that could call herback. But no ... she was gone, truly gone, and he would be foreverpoorer for her loss. Amanda ...Alone, in the dark, Sarek of Vulcan silently mourned. His world seemedto have tilted out of alignment, losing its focus and color. Amanda,dead? For the first time, the Vulcan realized how much of his strength,his legendary calm and wisdom had come from his wife's presence in hismind. And now ... gone ...Forever.The word was too large, too all-encompassing for even a Vulcan mind tograsp. Sarek rejected the idea. Logic might dictate that his time withAmanda was ended, but ... one's logic was uncertain at times, whenfamily was concerned.Someday, somehow, he would touch the essence of his wife again. Sarekknew it.But ... what was he to do until then?The answer to his question returned him swiftly. He would do his job ...his duty. He would gain freedom for the people of Kadura. He wouldcomplete these negotiations.And then, he would do what h e must about the Freelan threat. He would dohis duty, as he had always done.Amanda would expect that of him, as he expected it of himself.Rising from the table, the ambassador straightened his formal robes, andhis shoulders. Then, his expression calm, remote, he walked slowly backto join the others around the conference table.Spock materialized inside the mountain villa. He could have gone to thehouse in Shikahr, which was within walking distance of the med center,but there he would have had to take calls, talk to people, acceptexpressions of condolence and inquiries about the time of the memorialservice. Here, his solitude, should he wish it, could be complete.Spock wandered through the empty house, noting that someone had made hisparents' bed. The Healer's aide, probably. The Vulcan's fingers trailedacross one of Amanda's woven hangings, and he pictured her weaving it,as he'd seen her at her loom as a child.Remembering something, he took out his communicator."Spock to Enterprise sickbay," he said."Sickbay," replied Leonard McCoy's voice. "McCoy here.""Doctor ... she is gone," the Vulcan said steadily."Spock, I'm sorry," McCoy's voice came back."Please inform the captain of my mother's ..." He searched for a humaneuphemism." ... passing, and tell him that I will speak with him soon.There will be a brief memorial service when ... when my father returns.I will inform you as soon as a time is determined."McCoy hesitated, then said, "I understand, Spock. Do you want me or Jimto beam down?""No, Doctor. At the moment, I would prefer to be alone.""I understand," McCoy said. "Spock ... I grieve with thee."McCoy's High Vulcan was very weak, but Spock appreciated the gesture."Thank you, Doctor," the Vulcan replied."Spock out."Some random impulse drove him out of the house. It was the middle of thenight here, on this side of the planet, and Amanda's garden was quietand serene. Spock sat on thebench, facing The Watcher, gazing around him at the beauty Amanda hadcreated. The well-ordered paths, the graceful desert trees and shrubsfrom a dozen worlds, all complemented the natural stone formations thathad been there when the villa had first been built. She had done this,much of it with her own hands ...Spock remembered working in this garden with her as a small child,carrying colored rocks that she would arrange in swirling designs,remembered helping her rake sand into graceful patterns ...Something inside the Vulcan loosened, relaxed, and this time he allowedit to surface for a brief moment. Spock leaned forward on the bench,arms crossed over his belly, as the pain of her passing filled him,engulfed him. Hot tears welled in his eyes as he sat there, but only onebroke free ... and fell, to splash the soil in his mother's garden.Journal in hand, Sarek seated himself at the desk in his cabin aboardthe transport vessel. The negotiations had been completed yesterday;Kadura was, at last, free, and he was headed home for Vulcan.Alone in his cabin, he placed the journal on the desk and, opening it,located the place where he had left off the night before. His wife'shandwriting, symmetrical, flowing, and refined--a schoolteacher'selegant cursive--traveled over the white pages, bringing back memories,almost as though she were here, speaking directly to him. Yesterday he'dread her account of their first meeting and their courtship, up untilthe point where they had left Earth together. Now, seeing the date atthe top of the next page, the ambassador braced himself for anotheronslaught of bittersweet memory.September 16,2229Within the hour we will be in orbit around Vulcan--my new home. Ithardly seems possible that so much has happened in such a short time!I am alone in my cabin, as I have been throughout the trip ... eventhough I am a married woman, by every law on Earth. But my husbandfollows traditional Vulcan ways, and insists that we wait until aftertheVulcan ceremony before consummating our marriage.In the four months since that first walk on the beach, the first time hekissed me, Sarek has allowed me to see deeper into his mind and heartthan I could ever have imagined. Not that he has been exactly ...forthcoming.But I have learned to read even the tiniest change of expression on hisface, learned to recognize every faint alteration of tone and inflection... learned to interpret meaning from what he doesn't say as much asfrom what he actually says.And today, in anticipation of the Vulcan ceremony this evening, therewas the Bonding.How can mere human words describe what no one on my homeworld has everexperienced? Physically, it was simple, undramatic. Sarek gravelyinvited me into his cabin (for the first time in our week-long journey),and solemnly poured a glass of some dark, heady-smelling brew into a cupcarved from a single crimson stone veined with dull gold. He addedseveral pinches of herbs, then gestured me to a seat, all withoutspeaking a single word ... Sarek watched his betrothed sit down on thelow couch in his cabin, arranging her long, pale turquoise skirtscarefully.When they had taken ship for Vulcan, Amanda had adopted the traditionalgarb of his homeworld for the first time, commenting that they wouldtake some getting used to after the short skirts and trousers she wasaccustomed to.With a grave, formal gesture, the diplomat passed her the cup. "Here,Amanda. Drink."Gazing up at him over the ornate rim, she took a hesitant sip. "Oh ..."she breathed, staring mystified at the contents."That feels like liquid fire ... but it's not liquor, is it?""No, it is not ethanol," Sarek said. "The drink does have a relaxingeffect, but not an intoxicating one." He paused, watching her sip again,then continued. "Amanda, you know that, on my world, husbands and wivesare bound by more than law and custom.""Yes, Sarek," she replied. "They are linked telepathically.""We call it 'bonding,'" Sarek said. "No marriage would be completewithout it. This evening my world, my people, will witness the ceremonythat will make us, as your people express it, 'one flesh." By tonight weshall be married, under the laws and customs of both our worlds. Butfirst ... first there must come the bonding. That is something done inprivate, between the betrothed pair--either when they are children, orbefore the marriage ceremony."Amanda hesitated in her turn, then said, "Is it difficult?Can we do it now?"Sarek gazed at her, intent, profoundly serious. "It is not difficult forVulcans," he said finally. "But it has never been attempted with ahuman.""I am not telepathic," she reminded him. "You know that.""I know. But I do not believe that is necessary. Our bond will not bethe same as that shared by a Vulcan couple, but I believe it will be aslasting, as deep, in its own way." The Vulcan raised his hand slowly,ceremoniously. "Will you let me try, my wife-to-be?""Yes," Amanda said, evenly, though he could see her pulse jump in herthroat. She took a deep, final draft of the cup, then set it aside.Sarek gave her the faint smile that he reserved for her alone, pleasedby her courage. "It will seem strange to you," he warned. "My mind willmerge with yours, in a very deep meld. It may feel ... invasive. But Iwould never harm you, Amanda, remember that.""I will," she said, her voice still calm--but she licked her lips, asthough her mouth had gone dry.Holding out two fingers, Sarek extended his hand toward his wife-to-be.Slowly, steadily, she raised her hand to meet his.Sarek sent his consciousness questing outward, and felt his mind brushAmanda's. He shared her awareness of him, of the first stages of themeld; the heat of his touch against her hand ... the seeking tendrilsof his mind touching the outer fringes of her thoughts.He went deeper, cautiously, carefully, anxious lest he cause her pain.Her love and trust surrounded him. She opened to him, like some alienflower spreading its petals to the sun. Slowly ... very slowly ... heeased deeper, strengthening the meld.Raising his other hand, he spread it against the contact points on herface, feeling her cool flesh against the warmth of his. Deeper ...deeper ...Amanda was now aware of him stirring in her mind, coming to life, thefibers of his being joining to hers, linking, bonding, melding her mindwas becoming sealed to his in a joining so profound that it could onlybe broken by a High Master--or death.Sarek could feel her instinctive need to pull back, away--and could feelher fighting it, forcing calmness and acceptance.He send a wordless reassurance that she would not lose her individualityby this bonding, then felt her relax. He felt a wave of pride; she wasbrave, this woman he had chosen. Such a deep meld was enough to makeeven a Vulcan resist ... but she strove for wholehearted joining.Surrounded now by her mind, Sarek experienced Amanda's goodness, herintelligence--and her heartfelt love for him. The awareness moved him asnothing ever had. The bond he had shared with T'Rea had been a paleshadow compared to this, a travesty of intimacy.Now he was completely within her, and the sharing they experienced wasmore intimate than anything either of them had ever known. He felt thelast of her fear melt away, experienced her joy in their union. Amandahad longed to be one with him--and now, after so many months, she was.Her happiness suffused him, bathing him in unaccustomed emotion--butSarek did not retreat from that emotion, here in the privacy of theirjoined minds. It was appropriate for a bonded couple to share suchcloseness ...Their mental sharing was so complete, so total, that by the tim e Sarekwithdrew his mind, his fingers encounteredmoisture. Tears streaked Amanda's face, and she grasped his hand tightlywhen he moved it away. "Oh, Sarek ..." she whispered. "That was ...wonderful. Will it be this way from now on?"He nodded. "It will," he promised. "We will always be conscious of oneanother. We will be together as long as we both live."Raising his hand to her lips, she kissed him gently."Thank you," she said, softly. "I wanted to be part of you ... and nowI am ...She shook her head, put her hands up to her temples. "So many images,"she murmured. "Things I never saw before are now in my mind. Those areyour merv, ories, aren't they?""Yes. The infusion may be ... chaotic ... at first, but it will sortitself out, given time.""Faces ... conversations.. so much to absorb ..." she whispered softly;then her expression tightened. "Wait a minute." She sat up straight."There's an image ... Sarek, who is she?" she demanded, in a tone thatbrooked no opposition.The Vulcan had an uncomfortable notion that he knew what she was talkingabout, but he said only, "To whom are you referring, Amanda?""This woman. The one in your mind. Lovely, delicate features, masses ofblack hair. You ... desired ... her. It's in your mind. You ... you..." She groped for a word."You were intimate with her." Amanda's eyes flashed cobalt.Sarek sighed. "T'Rea," he said. "My first wife.""You were married? And you didn't tell me?" She sat bolt upright,furious. "How could you?"Sarek regretted his lapse. Amanda's temper was not one to be trifledwith. "Yes, I was married to T'Rea. Briefly. But she divorced me.""Why didn't you tell me?""Because, to explain how she became my wife, I would have to revealsomething so private to Vulcans that it is never spoken of tooutworlders. But you are my wife-to-be,so I must tell you. I had intended to wait until after the marriageceremony, however "He spread his hands upward."Explain, then," Amanda said, waiting. launched into a fairly composed,concise explanation of the Vulcan mating drive, and how a Vulcan couplein the throes of pon fart could mate, and yet have little interaction ineach other's lives. He concluded, hesitantly, "Amanda, there is onefinal thing you must know. I never ... shared ... with her, what Iexperience with you. Understand that.My marriage to T'Rea was not a marriage in terms of what you and I willexperience as a married couple. We have agreed to share our livestogether, which is far different than the brief encounter I experiencedwith T'Rea when my Time came.""I see," she said, finally, thoughtfully. "And will you experience this... pon farr again? When?""I cannot tell," Sarek said, honestly. "But I believe that I will, andthat it will be soon. My Time with T'Rea was almost seven years ago,now.""What a honeymoon," she murmured, shaking her head. "Oh, Sarek, I wishyou had told me all this before!""I explained--I could not speak of it to anyone except my wife. Nooutworlder must know.""I understand," she said, finally.Just then, the ship's intercom chimed, informing them that they wereabout to enter Vulcan orbit. Amanda jumped up from the couch, clearlyflustered. "Oh, dear. I have barely an hour to make myself presentablefor the wedding!""You should assume the traditional garb," Sarek said. "But yourappearance is ... everything that could be desired, Amanda."Meeting his eyes, she flushed. "What a lovely compliment," she said."Now I know why you're such a successful diplomat. But my hair ..." Shepeered at the mirror in his cabin. "I must run," she said. "I will seeyou in an hour.""In an hour," he promised ...Remembering his wedding, Sarek turned the page to see what Amanda hadwritten aloout it.September 16, LATER l am so tired, and yet before l allow myself toclose my eyes, I must note down my thoughts, my feelings, lest they slipaway by morning's light.I am sitting here at a small table in the corner of the bedchamber.Vulcan beds are hard, barely yielding, but I suppose I will becomeaccustomed to that with time. I am writing by the light of my pen, cladonly in my lightest nightgown--because, despite Sarek's havingair-conditioning installed specially for me, it is hot. By midnight,Sarek assures me, the temperature will have dropped, as it does indesert climates.My husband is asleep. I can hear him breathing, lightly, slowly. Iwonder if any Vulcans snore? Thank all the gods that ever were, Sarekdoes not/The ceremony went well, all things considered. It was held in astone-pillared and rock-walled sort of natural amphitheater that Sarektold me was the traditional marriage site for his people for many, manygenerations.It reminded me of Stonehenge. 40 Eridani hovered just above the horizonas we spoke our vows, staining the red stone even redder. I managed tofollow Sarek's cues without any horrible gaffes, and though the fewwords of Vulcan I managed to speak probably sounded like nothing everheard before on the planet, no one reacted.The marriage rite was presided over by two Vulcan women--T'Kar, theoldest female in the family, a wizened old creature who seemed to behalfasleep during the entire ceremony, and the person who actuallyoiciated, named T'Pau.I don't quite understand T'Pau's exact relationship to Sarek--Vulcankinships are complicated, and somewhat differently structured thanhumanfamilies--she is something on the order of his eldest great-aunt, Ibelieve.T'Pau is some kind of matriarch, either by right ofblood, or natural authority. Her word is, apparently, law. I suspectshe's not exactly thrilled at having a human join her family ... butshe could teach Emily Post a thing or two about tradition andcutting-edge etiquette!Fortunately, the ceremony only took about fifteen minutes--if it hadbeen any longer, I'd have dropped from the heat, I'm sure. We thenboarded ground transport and returned to the ancient family enclave,where the reception was held.I gather that many receptions are held outside, in the gardens, but thisone, in deference to my human constitution, was held in the centralhall. The temperature controls had been adjusted downward a few degrees.All the Vulcans were wearing jackets and shawls, while I could hardlywait to shed my outer robe, light and gauzy as it was/)Earth's ambassador, Eleanor Jordan, was the only other human present.She offered a typical human toast to the wedded pair, which all theVulcans courteously drank.As soon as was decently possible, Sarek touched my arm, and we slippedout. He led me through stone corridors opening onto chambers filled withancient furnishings, down a winding staircase to a transporter padinstalled in the basement of the building--it looked so anachronisticset into that millennia-old red stone floor!Sarek's house is located in Shikahr, and is quite nice.Sparsely but impeccably furnished. It was long past sunset when webeamed here, so I received only a hazy impression of the outside. Sareksays there are gardens, which pleases me immensely. I brought somedesert plant seedlings with me, in the hopes I can coax them to grow andthus have some touches of Earth here on my new home.Even while he is asleep, I can sense Sarek mind brushing mine.Today, before the ceremony, Sarek enlightened meabout Vulcan sexual drives. Very different from a human's libido! Itseems that Vulcans undergo something he called pon farr ... much likethe heat cycles experienced by some Terran creatures. Vulcans arecapable of mating and conceiving at other times, but, during pon farrthey must mate--if they don't, they can diet Sarek, my husband ... Ican scarcely believe it, even after tonight. It seems too wonderful tobe true, that we can now share the same bed, and that I will wake upnext to him tomorrow, and tomorrow, and for all the tomorrows we willhave together ...Sarek closed the journal with a sigh, unable to read any more. Restinghis head in his hands, he strove to mealirate, but images of Amandaintruded, filling his mind. Amanda, he thought, feeling grief fill himanew. Amanda ... that was the happiest night of my life, too.Valdyr watched Karg salute her uncle, then exit, leaving them alone onthe cloaked warbird's small bridge. The last thing Karg did before thedoors slid shut behind him was give her a long, promising leer.I can wait for our wedding night, his expression said, for my wait willnot be long.Valdyr glowered at him, touching the hilt of her dagger, and her gesturewas just as suggestive. His very presence sent her blood boiling withpassion--but not the passion he wanted. You will wait, Karg, she thoughtwith murderous hatred, until Qo'nos's polar caps melt. Unfortunately,with the destruction of Praxis and the subsequent environmental problemsthe Klingon homeworld was facing, that might not be very long indeed.If she could only talk her uncle out of this disastrous plan of his! Sheturned to face the ambassador, who was absorbed, watching thesurveillance screens."Uncle," she said with a firmness she did not feel, "we must talk."He glanced at her, then went back to watching the image on the screen. Alone human male lay curled in an embryon ic position on the narrow,shelflike bunk. "Niece, come see your charge."Valdyr moved closer to him, staring at the silent, unmoving human. Shecould detect no movement, not even breathing. Was the prisoner stillalive?"He will be your responsibility," Kamarag reminded her."The warbird's crew tells me that young Kirk has eaten nothing in thefive days since his capture. He only uses his food to ask questions, andspell out his name, rank, and some meaningless number. Wo rse than that,he has drunk only a small amount of water. For the last day, they said,he has not moved at all."How grotesque, Valdyr thought, to just curl up and surrender.This is what her uncle thought was an honorable prisoner?"Typical," Kamarag remarked, studying the prisoner and shaking his head."Most humans, it has been my experience, are a weak, spineless lot. Iregret that this one will probably not afford you much amusement,niece."In Klingon society, guarding prisoners of war was traditionally women'swork. And, for the most hated prisoners and humans certainly qualifiedfor that category), the female jailers took delight in administering thebe /oy '--the ritualized "torture-by-women."In a world controlled by Klingon warriors, a woman could release much ofthe frustration engendered by the male-dominated society on a strong,healthy prisoner."It is critically important that this man live and be healthy, do youunderstand, my ' ?"intruded on her thoughts. niece. Kamarag's order Valdyr scowled. Shewould have to nurse this feeble weakling? Klingon prisoners were notusually coddled. A touch of hope glimmered in her breast. Was her unclefinally realizing the magnitude of his actions? Was this his way ofsoftening the offense? Yes, that had to be it. He would strengthen thedying human so as to have a healthy hostage to return in exchange forCaptain Kirk. It could, perhaps, salvage some honor in the end."He must be strong, so that when Kirk comes to claimhim," Kamarag explained in his most rational, ambassadorial voice, "thissniveling weakling can endure a good, lengthy bejoy'--while his uncle isforced to watch!"aldyffs color deepened and her eyes widened against her will. Where wasthe honor in that? There was no craft in this plan, no politics, justduplicity and cruelty. The shame of it made her glower at thedeckplates."Don't worry, my dear niece," Kamarag said comforting ly, giving her acongenial hug, "that task will be yours as well. A reward for thedistasteful work ahead of you--guarding this stinking alien, this bloodkin of va Kirk! His torture will be my wedding gift to you--something towhet your appetites and insure a passionate night with your newhusband?"Valdyr had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from erupting intogales of hysterical laughter. Had all she learned at her father's sideof honor, battle, and glory been lies? Was this really the way Klingonsconducted themselves by betraying their leaders, lying, cheating, andabusing the helpless? Her father would have killed this man for what hewas about to do."Now, what is it you wished to speak to me about?" The young womanblinked, having nearly forgotten. She swallowed, knowing already howfutile this would be."I ... I wish to speak once more ... of my plans. The plans I made formy life, while my father was still alive."Kamarag drew away from her, his face taking on his more "official" look."My father, as you must know, encouraged my learning," she reminded him."He trained me himself, along with my four brothers, in all thewarriors' arts."Kamarag nodded. "You were your father's favorite, of that, I'm wellaware. Training you was his way of proving your worth, since he made thehealers work so hard to save you in infancy."She nodded, lowering her eyes. In many families, a weak, small, sicklybaby as she had been would have been allowed to die. But her fatherwould not permit it and demanded thehealers save her. Perhaps it was because she was his only daughter. Hermother liked to tell her that he'd bellowed at the doctors that Valdyr'swill to live was proof that she carried a man's share of noble warrior'sblood. And he'd trained her as stringently as her stronger brothers.She'd loved him for that."My father," she reminded Kamarag, "felt my mind was as strong as myskills, as strong as my will to live. He wanted me to continue myschooling. He knew I was not strong enough to serve as a warrior ... buthoped I might have other skills almost as valuable to offer the Empire.He hoped--and I shared his dream--that I might follow you, Uncle, intodiplomacy."Kamarag raised his head in surprise. It was a compliment, and she couldsee he was taking it as such.She continued quickly, before he could stop her. "At the time, it was adream, a fantasy, but now ... with Azetbur holding such an importantpolitical role, it would not be thought so unusual if I ..."The ambassador glowered. "Azetbur! The role she has usurped is atravesty! If she were a decent female she would have married again!Then, she could hand her seat over to her husband, as it should be!"Valdyr yearned to remind her uncle that Azetbur's husband had beenkilled in the same attack that had killed the chancellor's father--butthat it had been Azetbur herself that Gorkon had wanted to succeed him."And it is this depraved female you would model yourself after?""Oh, no, Uncle, it is you I would ...""Do not flatter me, niece! I have been a politician since long beforeyou were born!" He was furious now, and Valdyr had no idea how toplacate him."But ... my father--""Your father is dead. t" he reminded her brutally. '7 am the head ofthis family, and you will follow the life I prepare for you! You willmarry Karg, and be a faithful wife, and bear him as many male childrenas your body can grow. Yourglory will be in the success of your husband and male children. You willnot live a life of perversion and depravity as that damnable Azetburhas. Do you understand me?" Valdyr was stunned by her uncle's reaction.Stunned and heartsick. But she showed not a trace of it on her face. Shewould not shame her father's memory by displaying weakness."Yes, my uncle. I understand clearly.""Then, let us be family," he said quietly, "and never speak of thisagain." He turned back to regard the surveillance screens. aldyrstruggled to control her disappointment. She'd hoped that her unclewould listen to reason ... but he would not.While she and her uncle had had their brief discussion, she'd beenperipherally aware of the screens that displayed Karg's progress throughthe warbird. His lieutenant, Treegor, accompanied him. The two officershad picked up Peter Kirk from a rendezvous point on the edge of exploredspace, from the tramp freighter/contraband runner that had smuggled himoff Earth.Now, after landing on Qo'nos, at Tengchah Jay, the spaceport closest toDu'hurgh, Kamarag's huge estate, it was time, at last, to remove theprisoner from his cell. As Karg stalked through the corridom, he carriedin his gauntleted hand an electronic key that was the only means ofopening the door to the security cell.Through all of this, the figure on the bunk had never stirred, nevertwitched. Yes, Karg, Valdyr thought bitterly, bring my uncle his deadprize.Finally, Karg and his lieutenant reached the prisoner's cabin. Karginserted the key and left it in, so that the doors would remain open.Both men were relaxed, talking and laughing with each other, confidentthat the human, even in health, could be no match for them.Karg leaned over the prisoner and shook the man's shoulder. There was noresponse; the captive's arm swung limply, then hung, flaccid."He ... cannot be dead?" her uncle muttered, as if contemplating thatpossibility for the first time. "If he is dead ..." You have nothing,Valdyr thought, nothing but shame. "No, he lives!" Kamarag muttered asKarg and his assistant lifted the limp form by the arms, slapping himlightly. The man seemed almost boneless, his head lolling back andforth, his eyes shut, his mouth sagging open.He had to be alive, or his body would have stiffened with the deathrictus. Karg slapped the human's face again, harder, but there was noresponse.Suddenly, the prisoner groaned piteously and sagged even more. Karg andhis lieutenant bowed over his form to prevent him from collapsing to thedeck, and for a moment the human was lost to view, blocked by thewarriors' broad backs.Then, in the next instant, the two Klingons lurched toward each other,their heads meeting with a resounding crack. They fell backward,staggering. The human had suddenly awakened, grabbed the warriors andforced them together.The human was upright now, his entire demeanor changed dramatically.Spinning on one foot, he lashed out with his other, catching Treegor onthe chin. The warrior crashed to the deck, unconscious. Karg was up now,and in a murderous rage, blood trickling from a head-plate cut. With aroar, he charged the human, who moved low and struck the warrior withhis fists hard, once, twice, three times just below the breastplate, ina warrior's most vulnerable place.The air rushed out of Karg's lungs, and all he could do was swingwildly. He managed to strike the human on the shoulder, but the man tookthe blow well, and punched Karg twice, in his right eye.This human knows us, aldyr realized. He'd wasted no energy attacking theplaces where warriors would feel little pain. Her gaze sharpened withinterest. She had not realized that humans could fight so well--or be soclever!Karg lunged after the human, meaning to snatch him up and throw him intothe nearest wall, but the smaller male held his place until the lastsecond, then dodged the attack.Grabbing Karg by his armor, he shoved the big warrior hard, and Karg'sforward momentum ran him right into the bulkhead. His head struck withstunning force, and he slid down the wall, dazed.Without a wasted moment, young Kirk raced out of his cell, grabbing theelectronic key on his way out. Karg struggled to his feet to pursue hisescaping quarry, but the doors slid shut in front of him, locking himinside. Valdyr stifled her laughter as she took in Karg's stupefiedexpression."Hu'tegh!" Kamarag cursed, slapping his palm on the alarm button. Theraucous sound of the blaring klaxon instantly filled the air.They watched the human on the surveillance screens as he raced down thecorridors. Kamarag's hands flew over the control panel, and on anotherscreen the two warriors Karg had gotten the key from suddenly appeared.They were in the mess hall, eating. They looked up in response to thealarm."Hurry!" Kamarag yelled through the intercom. "The human is loose in theship!" As the warriors abandoned their meals and ran out, the ambassadorsecured all airlocks.Valdyr headed for the bridge doors."And where are you going?" Kamarag demanded as the doors slid openbefore her."I'm going to recapture my prisoner," she informed him matter-of-factly.He seemed about to protest, but Karg's shouting as he hammered againsthis prison door quickly distracted him. She was in the hall before hehad another second to think about it.The human will head for the bridge, she decided. It would be the onlyway he could effect a genuine escape. Leaving the ship would merelystrand him on a planet where he would be the only one of his kind, andentirely too easy to find. No, he'd need to get to the bridge,commandeer it. No doubt he'd figure out where it was in a matter ofminutes. He was clever, this human.Those of us that are not as strong must develop our mindsall the more, she thought, grinning with the excitement of the pursuit.She was eager to go against this man. This warrior, she thought,shocking herself. And what else should he be called? Starved,alehydrated, and inactive for days, this human had managed to have boththe strength and the cunning to overcome two of Kamarag's best warriors.Valdyr raced down the corridor, heading toward the prisoner's cabin. Sherealized then that she had no weapon but her knife, and her fightingskills. She could not stun the man; she would have to fight himbarehanded. She frowned.Would he fight her? Or would he give her that look, that patronizingexpression warriors always gave her? It would be shameful for a warriortojight a woman, she was always told.And she always responded, No, it is only shameful to fight her ... andlose. Gritting her teeth, she slid to a halt behind a juncture ofcorridors. This was the path to the bridge. To reach it, he would haveto come through her.Valdyr heard the thudding of feet on deckplates, then a Klingonwarrior's guttural shout. She peered around the corner , her body hiddenby the angled wall. The human, who'd been headed her way, spun around toface a Klingon racing toward him from the rear. Young Kirk waited untilthe warrior was nearly on top of him, then with an earsplit-ting yell ofhis own, leaped high in the air, smashing both feet into the warrior'sface. The Klingon hit the deckplates so hard they shuddered. Kirk landedbadly himself, pulling himself up with an effort. Panting for breath, hemoved steadily toward her.The Klingon woman stepped into his path from behind the curve and hestopped short. Chest heaving, he gulped for air. It had cost him, thisfight, and she could see he was near the end of his strength."It is over," she said clearly in English. "You have fought well. Beproud. Now yield, and come with me." Kirk was clearly surprised to hearher use his language.His shoulders sagged, as if in defeat, but she didn't trust him and wentinto a defensive stance. His gaze moved over her, taking in her posture,and his expression hardened with determination. "In a pig's eye!" Kirkanswered.She blinked, unable to translate the idiom. "You will yield!" sheordered, and launched herself at him.Valdyr felt ashamed of her advantage. She doubted he would use the sameforce on her as he'd been willing to use on the Klingon males. Hisunwillingness to do that would allow her to conquer him, but shewouldn't enjoy it. She was still thinking that when his fist hit hercheek with stunning force.Her head snapped back harshly, and she growled as blood poured from thecorner of her lip. Drawing back, she landed a powerful right to his jaw,and he staggered. She moved to follow it through with a left, but heblocked the blow. Kirk brought his hand down in a hard chop at her neck,but she dodged and it landed ineffectively on her leather shoulder pad.Bringing the heel of her hand up under his chin, she snapped his headback with the force of the blow. Kirk grunted and went down.Before he'd even finished landing, however, he'd scissored his legsbetween hers and knocked her to the deck. He landed on her roughly,struggling to get a grip on her hair and slam her head against thedeckplates. Swinging her legs up, she flipped both of them end over end,then straddled him. "Yield, human!" she bellowed, and struck him hard inthe face. His head cracked against the floor, he gave a sigh, and hiseyes rolled up.Valdyr eased off her prisoner carefully, fully aware that he might befeigning unconsciousness. Klingon boots thundered down the hall, andwhen she looked up, Karg, Treegor, the two crewmen, and her uncle werethere, their eyes moving between the unconscious human on the floor andher. She was panting and sweating over him, the blood from her lipdripping puce droplets onto her armor.Raging, Karg snarled, "Let me kill this Ha'dlbah now!" and lunged forthe helpless body."You will not!" Valdyr heard herself shout as she thrust herself betweenthem, shoving the warrior back roughly.He moved on her, but by then her dagger was out of its sheath and infront of his face. He paused. Valdyr's warrior blood was coursingthrough her now. "Is this how a Kiingonwarrior kills his enemy?" she taunted her betrothed. "Waits until he'shelpless and kills him in his sleep? Is that your path to honor, Karg?"No one in the corridor moved. Karg's face flamed with shame. Valdyr wassurprised when her uncle said nothing, merely stared at herreflectively.Treegot grumbled at her, "This human is not worthy to be our enemy. Heis a parasite, brought down by a woman. He deserves no honorableconsideration.""Be careful, Treegor," she warned. "This human brought you down with oneblow, and outfought and outwitted the rest of you. He did that after along fast and in a weakened state. He has earned the respect due awarrior."Without another word, she sheathed her dagger. Then, reaching down, shegrabbed the unconscious human by the wrists, hauled him up, and slunghim over her shoulder.Valdyr struggled not to stagger; Kirk was heavier than he looked, butshe could not afford to show weakness in front of this group now."Valdyr," said Kamarag quietly, "where are you taking him?""To the prison cell you have prepared for him," she said, managing tospeak clearly in spite of her burden. "I will take him in the aircar webrought. He is my prisoner, is he not?He needs medical attention, and possibly force-feeding.Your orders on the matter of his care were very clear.""Do ... you not wish help?" Kamarag asked."Do you think I need it?" she challenged, meeting his eyes.He raised his head as if insulted, but when Karg attempted to speak, heheld up his hand to silence the warrior.Karg looked outraged. "No," Kamarag said quietly. "I do not think youneed help." And with a gesture that was almost a salute, he permittedher to leave.As Valdyr stumped toward the airlock with her heavy burden, she heardKarg say angrily to her uncle, "I will not tolerate such insolence whenwe are wed.\* I will beat that smugness out of her the first night!"To her pleasure she heard Kamarag reply, "I do notbelieve a warrior's heart is so easily conquered, Karg. You may have torethink your approach."See, Peter told himself, you were right the first time. You should'venever woken up! He lay perfectly still on the unyielding surface wherehe'd been tossed. The truth was, he was afraid to move. Every singlepart of him hurt--not just a little, but with a bone-jarring,muscle-deep, migraine-type pain the likes of which he'd never known.Well, what did you expect, mister? You took on the whole damned Klingonarmy.Klingons! He'd been kidnapped by Klingons. Well, everything he'd everread about them was true. They could fight like mountain gorillas, andthey seemed about as strong. His aching body testified to that.But why would Klingons want to kidnap him in the first place? Ever sinceJim Kirk and his crew had saved Chancellor Azetbur, his uncle had becomea favored person among the Klingon populace.But not every Klingon, he knew, supported Azetbur's rule.He tried to recall the two soldiers who'd come for him.Their garb had been military--black and dark gray leather studded withmetal, spiked boots and gloves--but the official insignia of the KlingonEmpire was not pinned on their left sleeves. Instead, there'd beenanother insignia stitched on the leather, intertwined with what musthave been the sigil of a high-ranking house.He tried to gauge the gravity of this place by the weight of his body asit lay still. It was hard to say without moving. He was heavier than hewas on Earth, just a fraction, perhaps, but there was a difference. Ofcourse, some of that could be due to swollen muscle tissue! He wonderedif he was on one of the Klingon worlds, or on Qo'nos itself. And hewondered if he'd ever find a way out of this mess. Despair washed overhim like a bucket of ice water.Klingons rarely kept prisoners, but when they did ... there was plentyof speculation about what happened to those unfortunates. Would theykill him? Torture him?Tales of the infamous Klingon mind-sifter ran through his memory.Determinedly, Peter took deep breat hs, in through his nose, out throughhis mouth, until he felt calmer."I know you are awake, human," a highly accented feminine voice growledat him.He knew that voice. He'd heard it at least once before.Yes. Before its owner whipped the tar out of him. He allowed one eyelidto creep open.There she was, all right, the woman of his nightmares. She loomed overhim, but carefully remained out of reach. As if he had enough energyeven to lift his head, never mind take her on again. What a punch shehad!"You are dehydrated, human," she told him. "You need water and food. Iam prepared to force-feed you if you will not cooperate with me. Thechoice is yours."Her English was amazingly good, if oddly accented, Peter realized. Heopened the other eye.She was small, barely tall enough to reach Peter's shoulder, andslenderly built. Her long dark hair, braided into a rope as thick asPeter's wrist, hung over her shoulder and fell to her thighs. TheKlingon woman's skin was the color of warm honey, her features delicateand feminine. Even the ridges on her forehead were elegant--sharplydefined, but not as massive as those of the male Klingons. The effectwas almost charming. Like the lovely head of the cobra, Peter thoughtwryly.She wore the same military-like garb that the males had, with the sameinsignia on it. As Peter's eyes met hers, she lifted her chin and staredback at him levelly."You will sit up, or I will pull you into a sitting position," sheordered him.The last thing he wanted was for this Amazon to handle him again. Herolled onto his side and struggled to sit up without groaning. Easinghis legs over the ledge of whatever he was lying on, he settled into theordered position, only to sag back against a wall."I know you now, human," the female Klingon informed him, "so do notattempt to deceive me. I defeated you once and will happily do soagain."Holding up his hands, Peter tried futilely to moisten his mouth andspeak. He craved water as he'd never craved anything before; he didn'teven care if it was drugged. In fact, he wished it was. It mightalleviate some of this pain."Here, drink this," she ordered him, holding a squeeze bottle out tohim.He clutched at it, his hands covering hers, as the fluid streamed intohis mouth. It was clear, clean, pure water, and tasted more wonderfulthan anything he'd ever consumed.Cruelly, she pulled the bottle away before he'd had more than a fewswallows."Slowly!" she snapped. "You have been weakened by your battle. Too muchfluid too soon will only make you ill. Here, swallow these, and you mayhave more water to wash them down."He stared uncomprehendingly at some tiny pills in her palm."They are human medication. They are for pain. Take them ... or no morewater."He took them willingly and again clutched her hands as she allowed himmore water from the squeeze bottle. Her skin was so warm.This time, when she took the bottle away, her face seemed to soften alittle. He released his grip on her reluctantly, wondering when she'doffer the water again."There is warm broth in this bottle," she told him, showing it to him."It is Klingon, but it is specially made for injured warriors. It isfood and medicine all in one. I have consulted with the information wehave on human physiology and I assure you it will bring you no harm. Youwill drink it ... or I will feed it to you like an infant."Peter nodded at her. He'd drink it ... the water had awakened an echoof hunger. He moistened his Flps again and asked, "Why do you care?" Hisvoice was little more than a croak.She frowned, confused."Why should you care if I eat or not? Whether I drink too much water andget sick? Why do you care?""My uncle has assigned me to see to your welfare," she explained, hertone curt, but no longer fierce. She handed him the bottle of broth. "Iam to restore your health."He nodded. Her job. That explained everything, and nothing. He sippedthe warm brew gingerly, no longer interested in the politics ofhunger-striking. Surprisingly, the liquid was savory and satisfying. Asits warmth traveled through him, he found his spirits improving. Peterwondered how long it would be before the pills took effect. He was tiredof pain following every faint movement.Taking another sip of the broth, he looked around his new environment.All his great battle had done was earn him more scars and a new cell.This one was not much larger than his prison aboard the ship, but heknew very well that he was no longer in space.The windowless walls were closely fitted blocks of stone that had beencemented over, not altogether successfully, because patches of theancient brownish gray stonework showed through. He was perched on asleeping platform consisting of a slab of stone with some kind of wovenblanket thrown atop it.On his left was a hole in the ground, what he now recognized as theKlingon version of a no-frills head. This one didn't appear to have beenused within the last century.The door was ancient wood reinforced with metal, but the locks holdingit closed were modern--incongruous against the old wood. Beside the doorwas a clear observation panel with a speaker set beneath it. Afour-legged stool was placed near it.The walls around him seemed as tough as neutronium. He thought of a bookhis uncle had brought him once--The Count of Monte Cristo.Sure, he thought. Give me a spoon, and I'll be out of here in a merefourteen years ...This was definitely not the Klingon Hilton.Peter took a deep breath, trying to take stock of his situation. Whatwould Jim Kirk do? he wondered; then,glancing at the young Klingon woman's slender but attractive figure, herepressed a grim smile. Yeah, right. I know just what Uncle Jim woulddo! Even with a Klingon, if she was as nicely built as this one ... toobad I don't have his luck.Taking a few more healthy swallows of the broth, he savored the taste.It was spicy, burning his tongue, but he'd always won the chilicook-offs in school. He loved hot food.He looked at the bottle, surprised to be feeling some of his acheseasing up already. "This is very good broth." She cocked her head at himsuspiciously. "I had always heard that humans were too weak to tolerateour food." He shrugged cautiously. "I'll make you chili some day and wecan discuss it. I like this well enough. And I'm feeling better. Thankyou." She seemed wary, then uncomfortable, but finally said,"I, too, thank you." He stared at her, at a loss. "What for?""For fighting me. For treating me as an honorable opponent.It was a good battle! I believe ... that if you were well ... youmight have won!" Peter sat up straighter, forcing his brain intoalertness.Klingons put a lot of store in honormr was everything to them. But womendidn't get much benefit from the heavily patriarchal system. He startedto introduce himself. "My She cut him off abruptly. "I know who youare." He raised an eyebrow. Of course she knew who he was.She'd helped kidnap him, hadn't she? "And ... my honorable opponent is... ?" he prodded. The ploy was deliberate.It would become harder to think of him as her victim if he startedbecoming a person to her.She hesitated, and he wondered if she knew that. Finally, she saidquietly, "I am Valdyr." He nodded. Interesting name. He wondered if itmeant anything. Yeah. She-who - mops - the -floor-with - Starfleet-cadetst "Valdyr, have I earned the right to know why I'm here.\*" He waspushing it, he knew, but what could she do, besides refuse? And beat thehell out of you again?She seemed suddenly troubled, and glanced around the cell. He didn'tspeak, just took a few more sips of broth and waited patiently. Finally,she spoke. "My uncle has declared a blood feud against your uncle. Thegovernment no longer wants vengeance against James Kirk, since he savedthe life of Chancellor Azetbur. So, to regain his honor, my uncle mustact on his own. James Kirk will be sent a message to come alone to acertain place in space. There my uncle's guards will take him, and bringhim here. Once he is here," she paused, staring at him for a longmoment, then finally continued, "you will be released." Sheg lying,Peter thought, but decided not to pursue it.He didn't have the strength to face his possible future as a Klingonprisoner. "What will happen to my uncle once Kamarag has him?" Peterasked, even though he already knew.Valdyr refused to meet his eyes. "My uncle has a debt of honor to settlewith him. If you know what that is, you know what will happen." Tortureand, eventually, execution, Peter thought grimly."Why the blood feud, Valdyr? I know my uncle has fought your peoplethroughout his career, but our peoples are working toward peace, now.""Your uncle left a Klingon to perish on an exploding world," Valdyr saidquietly. "That warrior was my uncle's closest friend and prot6g.""Kruge? I mean, Captain Kruge?" Peter was nonplussed."But ... that was over three years ago!""'Revenge, like a targ, rouses hungry after a sleep,'" she said,obviously quoting an old proverb."Wait a minute. Captain Kruge ordered my cousin David's death," Peterargued. "Kruge's men murdered him in cold blood. If anyone has an oldscore to settle, it's us, not you." Valdyr frowned. "What is this, 'coldblood'?""Uhhh ... that means that Kruge thought about David's murder, thenordered it and was obeyed. He didn't kill him during a fight, or killhim by striking out blindly during an argument.""That is not true!" Valdyr defended hotly. "David Mar cus was a prisonerof war, who was executed while attacking a guard."Peter glared at her. "That's not the way I heard it.""My uncle told me," she said, matching his intensity.They glowered at each other for a moment; then Peter relaxed. This wascrazy, he decided. They were acting like the Hatfields and the McCoys."Neither one of us was there, so we'll never know for sure. It's been myexperience that the truth usually lies somewhere in the middle."Valdyr gave him a surprised glance, then nodded slowly."That has been my experience, too, Peter Kirk." The way she said hisname made it sound like "Pityr."She moved toward the heavy wooden door, but never turned her back. Shewasn't going to be as easy to outwit as the goons they'd sent into hislast cell, he realized. "I have brought you clean clothes." She nodded,indicating a pile of fabric that sat perched on the end of the stonebunk. "There are cloths in there ... you would say for washing, fordrying. There is soap. I will be bringing a basin for washing when youare no longer so thirsty and are ready to bathe.Your odor is too strong! If you do not willingly bathe, I will be forcedto wash you myselfi"He couldn't help it. The mental image of this lovely but alien womanforcibly stripping him and lathering his naked body forced a smile ontoPeter's bruised mouth. He winced even as he did it.Her face darkened, and she advanced on him threateningly."What is funny?"He held up his hands placatingly. "Come on, Valdyr!Think about it. Don't Klingons have a sense of humor?Have you ever given a grown man a forced bath out of a basin before?What a ... fascinating ... image that idea presentsl"She scowled, but slowly her expression thawed, as if against her will."Do not imagine that having me strip you and bathe you would be apleasurable experience, Kirk, just because I am female!"Peter widened his eyes innocently. "Why, Valdyr, such athought never crossed my mind. But apparently ... it crossed yours."Her eyes narrowed as she digested this, then her skin visibly darkened.She g blushing!"Of course ... it is a potentially appealing scenario!" he continued,giving her a sidelong glance. "I don't believe humans and Klingons haveever had such ... an intimate interaction. Truly an interstellarfirst!"Valdyr's mouth dropped open, just slightly; then she whirled, opened thedoor, and slammed it shut almost before he realized what she was doing.Peter heard the locks on the other side activating in rhythmicsuccession. His jailer appeared on the other side of the observationport, glaring at him balefully.Keep pushing your luck, mister. With a little more provocation, she justmight beat you to death! He leaned forward and said quietly, "Nodisrespect intended to my most honorable opponent." He prayed his voicewould carry through the port.She seemed to relax at that, and her fierce expression lightened. Then,suddenly, a male Klingon appeared at her side, surprising both of them.Oh, no, Peter thought, stunned as the man came into view.This was her uncle? Could it really be? He recognized Kamaraginstantly--the Klingon who had declared so publicly that there would beno peace while James T. Kirk lived.Peter swallowed. Things were becoming entirely too clear.Kamarag was big, his long dark hair and thick beard shot with gray, withheavy, jowly features that appeared never to have smiled. He glared atthe young Kirk, and Peter could feel his hatred, as palpable as aclenched fist. The ambassador was not in uniform, but wore a 1ongishoyster-white tunic over dark gray trousers, with a dark cape slung overone shoulder. An intricately carved leather strap held it in place. Thestrap bore the same insignia as the other Klingons wore--the insignia,no doubt, of the house of Kamarag.The cadet stared at the ambassador. Ambassador? hethought. What a joke. Sarek was an ambassador, a diplomat, a man ofpeace ... this jerk was nothing but a warmonger, a kidnapper, a pompousass, a ... Peter ran out of silent epithets4his rage was suddenly tooall-encompassing to be vented with mere insults. He had been drugged,kidnapped, beatenmand it was this man's fault. Trembling with fury, heglared at Kamarag, feeling a tirade on the verge of erupting.Slowly, the impulse faded. What good would cursing and insulting Kamaragdo7 He needed to keep his wits about him, Peter realized. Jim Kirk mightlose his temper at an enemy, but Sarek never would. And right now, he,Peter Kirk, needed to be diplomatic."Ambassador Karostag," he said, and nodded politely to the older male.But the Klingon ignored his greeting as he leaned forward and stared atthe human. Slowly, his thick lips parted, and a terrible smiletransformed his features. Peter felt every hair on his body rise. Thenthe Klingon turned to his niece. In Klingonese, he said, clearly, "Heate and drank?"She nodded."Good," he continued, still in his native tongue. "I am depending onyou, niece. Do not fail me. Make your prisoner strong and healthy. Treathim well." He patted the woman fondly on the shoulder. "He must be ableto withstand your ..."Peter couldn't translate the last word, and searched his mind for itsmeaning, but came up blank. He'd caught the word for women, or female,in there, but as for the rest ... he'd be willing to bet it wasn't atrip to the local equivalent of an amusement park that Kamarag wasreferring to. Ordeal? Trial? He had no way of knowing.Kamarag was still conferring with Valdyr, smiling solicitously.When the older man turned back to stare at his prisoner once more, Peterfound that the look the ambassador gave him chilled his blood. Then theelder Klingon stalked away. Peter turned back to Valdyr to ask her aboutwhat that term, be9oy; meant, and found, to his surprise,that her rich amber color had paled into a sickly yellow. Her eyes werewide as she watched her uncle stride away."Valdyr?" Peter asked softly, trying to get her attention."What does be.Toy' mean? I couldn't translate it. Hey, Valdyr!"Her head snapped around and she stared at him wild-eyed."Do not speak to me, human!" she commanded."Remember your place. You are my enemy. My prisoner.And I am a Klingon!"He was stunned to see her eyes filled with frustration and genuinegrief; then she turned and stormed away, leaving him alone in his stonecell.Sarek materialized on the windswept plateau high in the steppes aboveShikahr only minutes before sunset. Before him lay the steps leading tothe top of Mount Seleya, where the ancient temple and amphitheater werelocated. The ambassador's robes flowed around him as he strode forwardand began climbing. The stairs were steep and long; the Vulcan's heartwas pounding by the time he reached the top, but he did not pause tocatch his breath. Instead he detoured around the ancient,cylinder-shaped temple, heading for the small amphitheater.The Vulcan was surprised by the number of people on the steps and rangedaround the old temple. Glancing ahead, he could see that theamphitheater, reached by a narrow stone walkway that hung precariouslyover a thousand-meter gulf, was even more crowded.Many people, it seemed, wished to pay last respects to the memory of hiswife.The ambassador had arrived on his homeworld only thirty minutes ago.First he had gone to the reed center, where, after spending a fewminutes with the physical shell that had housed his wife's spirit, Sarekauthorized the cremation.Now he was at the temple, barely in time for the memorial service. Theceremony would be brief ... his son had asked T'Lar, the High Master ofGol, to preside, and she had agreed.As Sarek moved toward the small, shallow amphitheater, the crowd partedbefore him. The ambassador's gaze touched many familiar faces from hishomeworld ... diplomatic personnel and their families, as well ashigh-ranking government officials whom Sarek and Amanda had entertainedduring official functions. Members of his family whom he had not seen inyears were there, heads respectfully bowed as they murmured thetraditional words, "I grieve with thee." Amanda would be gratified thatso many of those who initially disapproved of our marriage have come tohonor her memory, the ambassador thought, as he moved through the crowd.As he crossed the narrow bridge, he saw that the highest-rankingofficials and closest family members were awaiting him in theamphitheater--and there was his son, wearing a formal dark robe withancient symbols embroidered in silver on the breast. Spock was standingwith his crewmates from the Enterprise. As Sarek walked toward him,Spock glanced up, recognized his father, then, deliberately, lookedaway.Sarek had not spoken to his son except for the brief, stilted words theyhad exchanged when Spock had called to inform his father of Amanda'spassing. By the time Spock called him, the ambassador had known fornearly six hours that his wife was dead. When Sarek had attempted tospeak about her, Spock had cut him off, then curtly informed his fatherthat the final repairs to his ship would be completed within forty-eightStandard hours, and that he would be leaving Vulcan with his vessel.As Sarek walked to the forefront of the gathering, Spock, still avoidinghis father's gaze, silently took his place beside the ambassador.Together, they walked up to stand before the two huge, smooth pillars onthe raised platform. From the side of one of the pillars, there wasmovement; then T'Lar, accompanied by two Acolytes, stepped forth. TheHigh Master wore a dark brown robe with a pale gold overtunic.As Sarek and Spock stood there, T'Lar began to speak "Today we honorthe memory of Amanda Grayson Sarek," she began, speaking StandardEnglish in deference to the humans present. "She was a human who honoredus with her presence on our world."From Amanda Grayson Sarek, we learned that our people and humans couldlive together in peace ... that they could be allies, friends, andbondmates. Amanda Grayson Sarek possessed great strength, fortitude, andcourage the strength to survive a world that poses great hardships foroutworlders; the fortitude to endure the suspicion and distrust in whichhumans were frequently held; and the courage to forever alter the wayVulcans view the people of Terra. She changed us, not through stridentprotest, but by quietly prevailing, becoming over the years a livingtestament."Today we honor her ... we honor the wife, we honor the mother, wehonor the teacher, we honor the person of Amanda Grayson Sarek. Her lifeis one to be held in highest regard and esteem." T'Lar delivered herwords in measured tones, raising her voice only to be heard above thewind, for the large crowd stood in complete, respectful silence.After the High Master had finished, by tradition the spouse was supposedto speak. Sarek hesitated for a long moment after the last echo ofT'Lar's voice had faded into silence, then said "As a diplomat, I usewords as a builder would use tools. But words will not serve me today.Grieve with me, for, with Amanda's passing, we have all lost someonevery ... rare. I can say no more." Spock glanced at his father insurprise; then his expression hardened and he deliberately looked theother way.Sarek waited a moment to see whether his son wished to say anything,then he raised a hand in salute to the waiting crowd. "My family, myfriends ... I wish you peace and long life.""Live long and prosper," T'Lar said aloud, speaking for the crowd. Manyof the watchers held up their hands in the Vulcan salute, headsrespectfully bowed.The ceremony was over.Unlike human funerals, etiquette following a Vulcan memorial servicedemanded that the family of the deceased be left in private. Sarekwatched as James Kirk came up to his son and said something quietly tohim; then the group of Starfleet officers silently took their leave."What did Kirk say?" Sarek asked, when he and Spock were alone, standingamid the stark peaks surrounding Mount Seleya."He asked if we could both meet with him tomorrow at nine hundred hoursaboard the Enterprise to discuss the Freelan situation. I gave thecaptain a brief overview while you were gone." Spock still did not lookat his father as he spoke. Instead his eyes remained fastened on themountain peaks, scarlet from the reflection of Nevasa's sunset."Good," Sarek said. "I was going to request such a meeting with Kirkupon my return. I have new information to add to what I have alreadytold you." The Vul can hesitated. "Spock," he said finally, "about yourmother ... I would have returned home if it had beenpossible. I--""She called for you," Spock interrupted, staring straight ahead. Hisfeatures seemed carved from the same rock that surrounded them."Whenever she was conscious, she called for you. Her decline was rapid,after you left.""The situation with Kadura was grave," Sarek said."Lives were in jeopardy Amanda told me that she understood.""She understood very well." Spock's voice held a bitter edge."But the fact that she understood and forgave you does not make youractions correct. Any competent diplomat could have negotiated asettlement for Kadura's freedom.But only you could have eased my mother's passing."took a deep breath. "The entire time I sat there beside her ... twodays.. there was only one thing in the world that she wanted--you. Andyou were not there. Without your presence, there was no solace for her... no tranquility.She called for you, and would not be comforted.""Her ending was not ... peaceful?" the ambassadorasked, his voice a hollow whisper. Pain that was nearly physical in itsintensity struck him like a blow.hesitated. "Even her sleep was restless," he said finally.A muscle twitched in his jawline. "She was not aware of my presence atall." closed his eyes, struggling for control. He experienced a briefimpulse to tell Spock how he had attempted to reach Amanda, but that wasa private thing ... not to be spoken of. Grief washed over him anew. So... I did not reach her, there at the end. I thought I might have ... Ithought perhaps she could detect my presence ... but it was not so,evidently ... "You were not there to ease her passing," Spock went on,inexorably."Despite my presence, she died alone."the elder Vulcan drew himself up, gazing impassively at Spock, his facea cold mask. "These highly emotional recriminations are both illogicaland distasteful, Spock.Your logic has failed you, my son ... which is regrettable, butunderstandable, under the circumstances. You are, after all, Amanda'schild as well as mine. You are half-human ... and it is your human halfI am facing, now."Spock turned his head and met his father's eyes. Their gazes locked. Theyounger Vulcan's mouth tightened ... his gaze was as scorching as thedesert that lay around them.But his voice, when he finally spoke, was icy. "In that case, I willtake my distasteful human half and depart ... sir. I bid you farewell."Spock swung around and walked away, his pace light, even. His controlwas perfect; his movements betrayed nothing of the anger Sarek hadsensed. The elder Vulcan hesitated, wanting to call him back, but he hadbeen perfectly logical--and right. One did not apologize for beinglogical or correct ... As the ambassador watched, his son crossed thenarrow bridge, then strode away into the gathering darkness, leaving hisfather alone.James T. Kirk sat in his conference room at 0855 hours, awaiting Sarekand his first officer. Spock had returned to his cabin aboard theEnterprise to spend the night, instead of remaining with his father. InKirk's estimation, that did not bode well ... he'd seen his friend'sreaction when he spoke of Sarek's leaving when Amanda was dying. Kirkhad known Spock for many years, but had never seen him like this. If hehad to label it, he would call it anger.Spock's brief revelation three days ago concerning Romulan molesmasquerading as Freelansma whole damned planet of them, apparently, wasextremely wordsome.James T. Kirk had had many run-ins with both Romulans and Klingons inhis career, and, while it could not be denied that Klingons were fiercewarriors and made awesome enemies, Kirk had decided long ago that hewould rather confront Klingons in a knock-down, drag-out rather thanRomulans.There was something about Romulans ... a subtlety, a canniness ... Itwas the idea of Vulcan intellect without Vulcan ethics that Kirk foundfrightening.And now ... the Romulans were planning something big, if Sarek wasright. That did not bode well for the Federation.Kirk recalled the moments after he had saved President Ra-ghoratrei atCamp Khitomer. The delegates and envoys had milled around,congratulating the Starfleet officers, everyone exclaiming over the factthat the supposed Klingon assassin had actually proved to be ColonelWest, a human.While Kirk was standing there, being congratulated and thanked byPresident Ra-ghoratrei and Chancellor Azetbur, he'd noticed the Freelanenvoy, shrouded in his or her muffling robes, facing Ambassador Nanclus,the Romulan who had plotted with General Chang and Admiral Cartwright tobring about war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Besidethe Freelan had stood a young Vulcan woman, lovely and serene, her shortblack hair cropped to reveal her elegant ears.Kirk shook his head, slowly, his mind churning with questions andspeculations. If someone had ripped the Freelan's robes away, what wouldthey all have seen? If Sarek was correct in his reasoning ... andVulcans were, after all, noted for their reasoning abilities ... thenthey would have all seen a Romulan face beneath that muffling cowl andmask.If that was true, then what did the Romulans want out of all this? WasSarek correct in his deductions? Was the Freelan goal to cause warbetween the Federation and the Klingon Empire?The door slid open and Ambassador Sarek entered. He was wearing hisformal robes of state, but even their bejeweled elegance could notdisguise the Vulcan's fatigue, the deeply shadowed eyes, the hair thathad turned nearly white. Sarek's expression was positively grim as henodded to Kirk. "Captain."Kirk, who had stood respectfully when the senior diplomat entered,nodded back. "Ambassador ... thank you for coming. And ..." Hestruggled to form the Vulcan words this ship's computer had told himwere proper. "I grieve with thee ... "He took a deep breath, returnedto Standard English. "Mrs. Sarek was a wonderful woman, sir. We allrespected and admired her deeply.""Thank you, Captain," Sarek said, and for a moment the grimness relaxedfractionally, allowing just a bare glimpse of sadness to slip through.The door slid open again, and Spock, back in uniform, entered, followedby Dr. McCoy. The Vulcan ignored his father as he nodded a quickgreeting to Kirk.Uh-oh, the captain thought. Will they be able to work together at all?McCoy and Sarek exchanged greetings and the doctor expressed hiscondolences to the ambassador. When the formalities were finished, Kirkwaved them all to seats."Ambassador Sarek," he began, "Spock has given us a brief summary ofyour concerns about the Freelans. But I would like to hear the wholestory from your own lips, if you don't mind. And I'd like to see thedata you've compiled.""I have already transferred it to the ship's computer, Captain," Spocksaid, keying in a code word on the comm link. A fde menu appeared on thescreen.Sarek began to speak, his beautifully modulated tones and measured,precise delivery le nding credence to what would otherwise have soundedlike wild nonsense and rampant speculation, coming from anyone but aVulcan of his reputation. Kirk listened intently, interrupting every sooften to ask a question or request that the ambassador amplify a point.Grimly, he and McCoy studied the charts and data the ambassador hadaccumulated over years of study and research, and with every moment thatpassed, Kirk's certainty that Sarek was correct in his reasoning grew.The very idea of Freelan being a Romulan world had been outrageous atfirst ... now, the more Kirk thought about it, the more the wholescheme seemed like very typical Romulan reasoning ... clever, devious,audacious ... and, unfortunately, it seemed that it might actuallywork.When Sarek finally finished his account, the captain of the Enterpriseshook his head grimly. "This stuff about the KEHL ... you're rightabout how it's growing. Two days ago I got a priority message from mynephew, Peter, telling me that he managed to gain access to the KEHL'scomputer systems, but that Starfleet Security hadn't paid any attentionto the data he managed to get. He was asking my help in getting a fullinvestigation of the group started.""What kind of data did Peter have?" Spock asked."Membership rolls, propaganda films ... things like that.I also gather that the KEHL has breached security at the consulate,Ambassador, and copied Vulcan data that they claimed would prove theircase that your world has a master plan to take over Earth.""Take over Earth? The Vulcans?" Leonard McCoy looked thunderstruck, andthen he laughed out loud. "What a load of ... uh.. 2' He glanced atSarek, and altered what he'd been about to say to "That's absurd!""Something happened during my negotiations with Com mander Keraz thatlends more credence to my theory," Sarek said."What was that, Ambassador?" Kirk asked."One of Keraz's aides, Wurrl, attempted to assassinate me. Both he andKeraz, I discovered, had been subjected to telepathic influence."Hearing that his father had been attacked, Spock stole a quick look atthe elder Vulcan, as if checking him for injury."Maybe what we ought to do is just grab some Freelan at a conference andrip his ask off, McCoy suggested. "Serve them right.""In the first place, such tactics abrogate diplomatic munity as well ascivil law," Sarek pointed out evenly. "And if we engaged in such ...peremptory ... behavior, we would lose the goodwill of many delegates,no matter how exemplary our motives for doing so.""Yeah, well," McCoy grumbled, "who knows what damage they've beencausing, poking around in other people's minds? I'll bet the Freelanshad a hand in Chang's conspiracy, too.""I suspect you would win that wager, Doctor," Sarek said, steepling hishands before him on the table. So that where Spock learned that ... Jimthought. "During the recent crisis, President Ra-ghoratrei summoned me,Ambassador Kamarag, and Ambassador Nanclus to discuss the Klingon demandfor your extradition after the assassination of Chancellor Gorkon. Justafter Kamarag left, Admiral Smillie, Admiral Cartwright, and ColonelWest entered the office. The Starfleet officers had prepared a militaryplan of action designed to rescue you and Dr. McCo .""I never knew that, Jim? the doctor exclaimed, eyes widening withsurprise. "I thought Starfleet just decided to throw us to the wolves.""Admiral Smillie told me about it at Khitomer," Kirk admitted. "But hesaid Ra-ghoratrei wouldn't go along with it.""That is true," Sarek affirmed. "But what is significant to us now isthat, during this discussion, Ambassador Nancluspointed out to the president that the Klingons were vulnerable.. andthat there would never be a better time to begin a full-scale militaryaction against them. He was quite ... emphatic.""Nanclus was openly advocating war between the Federation and theKlingon Empire?" Even in the light of subse quent events, Kirk wassurprised that the Romulan would be so overt."I heard him myself," Sarek said simply."But Nanclus was working with General Chang and Admiral Cartwright tostart a war. He wasn't giving the official Romulan position "Kirk'svoice faded out. waited a beat, then lifted one elegant eyebrow. "Wasn'the?" he asked softly. "How do you know? Subsequent events made it seemthat Nanclus was working in concert with Chang and Cartwright ... butwho really started the plot?" The captain drew a deep breath. "Duringhis court-martial, Cartwright claimed under oath that Nanclus came tohim, and that both of them then presented the idea to Chang--who wasonly too happy to take over. But if the whole thing was really Nanclus'sidea ...""Precisely," Sarek said."Was the Klingon assassin's attack on you a result of telepathicinfluence, Ambassador?" Spock asked, his tone cool and formal. Kirkrealized it was the first time he'd addressed the elder Vulcan."Yes, I believe so.I only gained a brief impression of Wurrl's mind during the struggle,"Sarek replied. "The Klingon suffered a fractured skull during the fight,and lapsed into a coma.I have no idea whether he is still alive. Starfleet took him intocustody." Sarek was looking at Spock, but, Kirk noticed, the Vulcan'sreturn gaze was remote."And Commander Keraz also been subjected to undue mental influence?"Spock pursued the topic, still in that cool, toneless fashion."In what way?""When I asked the Klingon commander why he had chosen to take such anaction in seizing a Federation colony, he informed mereally did not know why he had done it. It was strictly an impulsivedecision, one that puzzled him in its aftermath.When I told him what I had discovered about Wurrl, he asked me todetermine whether he, too, had been affected.I touched him ... and knew that he had.""Oho," McCoy said."You think some Freelan and his trained Vulcan pup compelled Wurrl totry and murder you, and Keraz to turn renegade and invade Kadura?""I would say that 'compelled' is too strong a term," Sarek said."'Influenced' is more apt, I believe. But as to the Freelans beinginvolved ... of that, I have no doubt.""Ambassador," Kirk said, as an idea occurred to him, "is it possiblethat Kadura was a setup to lure you off Vulcan, so that you could begotten out of the way? Is there any possibility that the Freelans knowthat you suspect them?" Sarek blinked. Obviously, Kirk's idea was a newone to him. "Possible, I suppose," he murmured. "Taryn did seemsuspicious the last time I visited their station.""Is there any possibility that your valit program did not completelycover your entrance into the Romulan data banks?" Spock asked. "Couldthey have discovered some evidence after you left Freelan orbit?" Theelder Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "My valit was well designed," he said,with a touch of surprise that Spock would question his expertise withcomputers. "In the event any tampering was detected--which I considerunlikely--there would have been no way to trace the intrusion back tome.""But circumstantial evidence might enough to arouse Taryn to take actionagainst you," Spock said. "Possible," Sarek conceded."I think we should go to the president immediately with all of this,"Kirk said."And to Starfleet Security, Vice-Admiral Burton." The captain looked atSarek, was surprised to see the Vulcan shake his head in negation."No, Kirk," he said. "Not yet. Not until I have incontrovertible proof.""Just the fact that you're suspicious will be enough!"McCoy burst out. "A man of your reputation, Ambassador of course thepresident will pay attention.""I must speak to the president about this only in person," Sarek said."Otherwise, I cannot be certain that his mind has not been influenced.The same applies to your Vice-Admiral Burton. Also, we must guardagainst any of these speculations becoming public knowledge. Theconsequences, should that happen, would be grave.""What consequences?" McCoy asked, taken aback."The fragile peace with the Klingon Empire, for one," Spock said, beforethe ambassador could reply. "It might appear to Azetbur that theFederation is attempting to stir up trouble between the Romulans and theKlingon Empire ... by accusing the Romulans of influencing the Klingonsto turn renegade. Also, do not forget the KEHL.Most of the followers are undoubtedly hapless dupes ... innocent ofeverything except being easily led. Charges that they are Romulan pawnscould lead to witch-hunts.""What kind of proof do you propose to get, Ambassador Sarek? If theRomulans suspect that you know, they will undoubtedly recall all theirFreelan personnel, and escalate their efforts to cause war between theFederation and the Klingon Empire.""Indeed. We must be cautious, and not move until we are ready," Sarekagreed. "I would still like to access the Freelan data banks and copytheir contents. If it is done properly, we could gain proof, withoutalerting the Romulans that we know of their plans.""Can you do it again? And get away with copies, this time?""I believe that I can," Sarek said, glancing at his son. "If Spock willassist me."Spock sat in silence for a moment, then nodded. "I will do my best," hesaid. "I will need to study the valits you used before, to attempt torefine them so they will work more smoothly."For a moment Kirk sensed a flash of indignation from the ambassador,even though the Vulcan's calm expressionnever varied. "Very well," he said. "I will provide them to you."Kirk looked from father to son, thinking that if anyone could break pastRomulan security, it would be these two.Still, he was hesitant about not going straight to Starfleet Securitywith news of this plot. But if delaying a few da ys would provide proofpositive ..."How close would you have to be to Ereelan to tap into the data banks?"Kirk asked."Given the resources of a starship's computer system, anywhere withinthe boundaries of the system should suffice," Sarek said. "I wasdependent, remember, on a small tricorder. Kirk, how long would it taketo reach Freelan aboard this vessel?""Two days, at warp six.""Excellent," Sarek said. "That should be sufficient time for me toacquaint Spock with my plan for accessing the Freelan system." Theambassador nodded approvingly at Kirk. "I thank you for yourcooperation, Captain.""It's my duty to investigate a threat to Federation security," Kirk saidsimply. "When can you be ready to leave Vulcan?""I anticipated that I would be leaving with your ship, Kirk. I cameprepared to do so.""Scotty said the final paint job would be completed--" Kirk, who wasalready reaching for the intercom, broke off as it beeped. Impatiently,he opened the channel. "Kirk here. I thought I gave orders that I wasnot to be dis--""Captain," Commander Uhura's voice interrupted, "I have a Priority Onepersonal message for you, sir, from the commandant of StarfleetAcademy.""The commandant?" Kirk was nonplussed. What could Commandant Anderson bewanting with him? "Relay it, Commander.""Yes, sir ... "She paused for a moment. "Captain ... CommandantAnderson reports that your nephew Peter has disappeared. Theirinvestigation leads them to believe he did not leave of his own freewill. Sir ... the commandant reports that he suspects foul play."Kirk swallowed. Peter was the only close relative he had.If anything had happened to him ... "Commander," he said tightly,"inform the bridge crew to begin preparations to depart drydock on mycommand." He clicked to a different channel. "Set course for Sector53.16 ... the Freelan system. Mr. Scott?""Scott here, sir," replied the familiar burr promptly."How soon can we cast off moorings and get out of here?""We'll be ready in another twenty minutes, Captain.""You've got ten," Kirk snapped."Aye, sir," came the engineer's casual reply. "We'll be ready.""Good, Scotty. Ten minutes. Kirk out."Snapping off the intercom, the captain looked at the others grimly. "Itnever rains but it pours," he said."Murphy's Law."The ambassador raised an eyebrow. "Murphy's Law?""A human aphorism that states, "Whatever can go wrong, will,'" Spockexplained."Yeah, and at the worst possible time," McCoy added."Jim ... what could have happened to Peter?""I don't know, Bones," Kirk said. "The temptation is to think that,because he was investigating the KEHL, they're responsible for this. Butthat might not be true." Opening a channel to the bridge, he said,"Commander Uhura, please contact Commandant Anderson for me.""Yes, Captain. I'll put through a call immediately, sir." Kirkhesitated, thinking furiously. Should he turn command of the Enterpriseover to Spock, and take a transport for Earth? He couldn't abandonPeter! And yet ... duty came before personal concerns. "Ambassador,"he said,"assuming you have your proof in a few days, what are you going tosuggest that the Federation do about this situation with the Romulans?""Some elements in Starfleet would advise a preemptive strike," Spocksaid. "I can visualize Admiral Smillie approving such a tactic, givensufficient provocation.""War? All-out war?" McCoy was aghast. "There must besome way to prevent that!" He glanced at Kirk. "Isn't there, Jim?""I don't know," Kirk said, forcing himself to put Peter out of his mindand concentrate on the subject at hand. "It could be that the Romulanswould back off if they knew they'd lost the element of surprise, andthat they couldn't push the Federation and the Klingons intohostilities.""It is possible," Sarek pointed out, "that they might evacuate theFreelan colony and deny everything. Taryn, I believe, is ruthless enoughfor such an action.""In that event, what would happen to the second-generation Vulcanst'Spock wondered. "Technically, they are hostages. We are under a moralimperative to free them.""If these Vulcan kids have grown up brainwashed by the Romulans, theymay think of themselves as Romulans, rather than as Vulcans," McCoypointed out. "They may not want to be rescued." He turned to Sarek. "Doyou have any idea how many there are?"The Vulcan shook his head. "From the numbers of Vulcans who wereabducted, I can speculate that there may be as many as one hundred ...perhaps two hundred. No fewer than fifty, certainly."Kirk's hazel eyes were bleak as he held the Vulcans' gazes."Knowing the Romulans, they're perfectly capable of simply eradicatingthe hostages, rather than taking any chances of them being used as anexcuse for a military rescue by Federation forces."Father and son nodded silently, grimly."I think we should--" Kirk began, only to be interrupted by theintercom. "Kirk here," he said."Sir," Uhura said, "Commandant Anderson is standing by.""Put him through," Jim ordered.A moment later, Kyle Anderson's features coalesced on the small screen.He was a distinguished looking black man, balding, with a heavy,iron-gray beard. "Captain Kirk," he said. "You received my message?""Just a few minutes ago," Kirk said. "What's happened to Peter?""He's vanished without a trace, Captain. Our security people havedetermined that he disappeared shortly after midnight on Wednesdayevening of last week. But we're having finals here, so nobody realizedhe was missing until the day before yesterday. It took us a day to trackdown your ship ... I'm sorry for the delay."Kirk drew a deep breath. "But.. he's been gone for days! And you stilldon't know where he went?""No. He's disappeared so thoroughly that we now suspect he was takenoffworld. We're in the process of tracing all ships that departed fromEarth or Earth orbit that night," Anderson said. "But, as you canimagine, that's a tall order."Kirk nodded wordless agreement. "What makes you suspect foul play?" heasked."We managed to retrieve the last message that came in for him at hisapartment. It had been automatically scrambled after playing.. but theyunscrambled it just this morning." He pressed a button. "Here it is."Kirk watched with growing horror as his own features replaced Anderson'son-screen. He listened to himself demanding that Peter come overimmediately. Then the screen flickered, and Anderson's dark featureswere back. "I never sent that message," Kirk said bleakly. "But it's nowonder he fell for it ... he was expecting to hear from "We know that,Captain. We have a record of Peter encoding a Priority One message foryou. May we have your permission to decode it? It might give us a clueto his whereabouts."Kirk hesitated. They'd agreed to keep their suspicions of the KEHL beinglinked with the Romulans secret. "We'll investigate on our end," hesaid, finally. "I'll let you see the message as soon as I clear it withStarfleet Security. Can you please transmit everything you've got onthat message to my communications chief, Commander Uhura? There's nobodybetter at tracing transmissions.""Certainly, Captain," Anderson said. "We'll do that.""I'll get back to you as soon as I get that clearance," Kirk said,crossing his fingers underneath the table."My people suspect they were waiting for him on the street," Andersonsaid. "And that they grabbed him there.""So you're thinking kidnapping, rather than ..." Kirk swallowed." ...murder?""We just don't know, Captain. But if somebody simply wanted your nephewdead, why the elaborate hoax with the faked message?""Logical," murmured Spock and Sarek at the same moment."Abduction ... possibly kidnapping?" Kirk's mind was racing. "Has therebeen any kind of message? Any demands for ransom?""Not so far.""If any message comes through," Kirk said, "TII let you know. Maybe wecan trace its source, and learn something from that.""Good idea. If I hear anything, I'll contact you immedi lately,Captain," Anderson promised in his turn."Thank you, Commandant.""Rest assured, we're doing everything we can," the man said, beforecutting the connection.Kirk turned to the others sitting around the table. "If Scotty is asgood as his word, we should be casting off moorings by now. Ambassador... you and Spock should begin working on those valits you mentioned.I'll have Uhura get to work on tracing that message. I've got a hunchthis is all going to wind up connected, somehow."Minutes later, Kirk was on the bridge, ensconced in his command seat.With a glint in his eye, he surveyed the cavernous interior of theVulcan drydock through the viewscreen. "Status, s'bysh?" he asked hishelmsman."All moorings cleared, Captain. Docking bay doors will open in twominutes, thirty-five point six seconds," she reported, crisply."Lay in a course for Freelan, Lieutenant." Kirk settled back in hisseat, his eyes level, jaw set. He watched s'bysh'sgreen fingers fly. "Ready, Lieutenant?" he asked, scarcely more than aminute later. "Course laid in7""Aye, sir." Counting seconds down in his head, Kirk reached thirty-four."Ahead one-half impulse power, Lieutenant," he ordered, and thought heheard Chekov mutter, "Not again?"One-half impulse, aye, sir." Enterprise sprang forward like a cheetahsighting prey.The ship closed on the parting bay doors with a terrifying rush ofspeed, blasted through them with only a few hundred meters to spare oneither side, and then they were out, into free space. Chekov's sigh ofrelief was audible all over the bridge, and Commander Uhura chuckledsoftly when she heard it."Ahead warp six," Kirk ordered grimly."Warp six, aye, Captain." Kirk settled back in his seat. No matter whatspeed Mr. Scott managed to coax out of the warp engines, it was going tobe a long trip ...After a long day spent refining valit programs, Sarek was weary, butsleep eluded him. Remembering his promise, he extracted Amanda'sjournal, and opened it, noting the date at the top of the page.November 12,2231 It is the middle of the night, and quiet. I am tired... but I am also too excited to sleep. I cannot neglect my journaltonight of all nights!I have a son.Sarek and I have a son. He was born in the early hours of this morning.Never having been through labor before, I worried that it mightprove toomuch for me to bear (no pun intended) without shaming myself before theHealers, but I believe I did well ... And our son is perfect. Eventhough the Healers reassured me that all their tests showed that thebaby was normal, still I worried. After all, I had to be treated beforeI could conceive, then monitored carefully throughout the pregnancy toallow me to carry to term--nearly a full month more than the human norm!Carrying a child for almost ten Earth months is not fun, and that is theunderstatement of the century. I was so big yesterday that I felt asthough my sides would split open. I spent hours staring in wonderment atmy belly, unable to believe the size of it. I could barely waddle to thebathroom unassisted! When I felt that dull ache in my back sharpen intoan actual contraction, I could have jumped for joy. What a relief it isto return to something like my normal size!For a while the Healers were afraid I would not be able to delivernormally ... my son is very large for a human infant, though notparticularly so for a Vulcan baby. If it had not been for theHealer-midwife coaching, I might have given up in despair. But she wasamazingly supportive for someone who must have been wincing inwardlyevery time I betrayed what I was feeling.My labor was intense, and seemed to take forever. I was surprised that Iwas able to handle the pain as well as I did. It hurt, yes ... by allthe gods that ever were, it felt as though some diabolical presence weretrying to hammer a spike into the base of my spine, while simultaneouslysqueezing my belly in a vise. But, unlike hangnails, stubbed toes,barked shins, and sprained ankles, this was pain with a purpose. As longas I could focus on that purpose, the pain did not ... could notoverwhelm me. I vaguely remember the midwife encouraging me, remindingthat my suffering was for a purpose, and that helped me to focus on theresults, not the pain.Sarek was there for most of the time, holding my hand and thus sharingwhat I felt. In a way, that seemed to lessen the agony. Perhaps he useda meld to mind-block some of the worst of the pangs ... or perhaps itwas simply the quiet strength he projects that gave me courage.I wish I could have my child with me tonight, but they have taken him tothe science academy, to run tests and keep him under close observation.ds I held him in my arms after his first feeding, I beheld a tiny facethat was so Vulcan that I wondered if there was anything of me in him.But just as I thought there was nothing human in him at all, my sonopened his mouth and began to wailresounding just like a human baby. Isaw somethingcould it have been disappointment?--fiicker across myhusbandg face as he heard those infant squalls.Vulcan babies cry only for a reason--hunger or discomfort. And our sonwas dry and fed ... and thus had little or no reason to wail.Which proves that he is partly mine, after all.Was Sarek disappointed? I suppose I will never know.I love our son too much to ask--and risk "yes"for an answer ... Thenewborn infant squirmed in his tiny, heated cocoon as his father watchedevery movement, enthralled by the new life that he had helped create. Myson ... he thought, noting the tiny veins that pulsed greenish bluejust beneath the thin, delicate skin. My son ... what will we name you?Your Name Day will not arrive for nearly a month, so we have some timeto choose a suitable appellation. Your mother will not even be able topronounce your 'rst" name ... Vulcan first names were always acombination of syllables in Old Vulcan that denoted lineage and birthorder. But Sarek's son would be called by his last name, even as hisfather was. Traditionally, in honor of Surak, the name would begin withan S. The infant moved restlessly again, then opened his mouth, utteringa faint squeak. His eyes opened, moved aimlessly for a moment, thenfastened on his father's face.The birthing puffiness had lessened; the child's eyes were now far lessslitted, and Sarek could easily discern their color. Dark, like his own,not blue, as his mother's were. Not surprising. All the Healers' testsduring Amanda's pregnan cy had indicated that Vulcan genes would provedominant in a human/Vulcan pairing.The nursery attendant, noting that the child had roused from thereadings on her monitors, approached Sarek and his son. "He is awake,"he announced unnecessarily."He is," she agreed. "Soon he will be hungry. I will give him hissupplement now. Do you wish to take him to your wife for his feeding,Ambassador?" Sarek hesitated. His son was very small ... his own handscould nearly span that tiny body lengthwise. He had never held an infantbefore ... "If you would prefer," the nurse said, "I will do it." Sarekwatched as she quickly, efficiently, lifted the baby and administeredthe oral supplement that would provide him with the nutrients thatAmanda's human milk did not contain. But before she could turn away, heheld out his arms. "I will take him," he said, firmly.Obediently, the nurse placed the small, warm bundle into his arms. TheVulcan stood rigid, his arms stiff, as she settled the baby into place,making sure his head was properly supported.The ambassador was faintly, illogically surprised to discover that hisnewborn son, who appeared so fragile, so helpless, actually hadsubstance. The baby occupied space, and had mass ... he was a warm,squirming, living, breathing entity. Sarek stared down at him,fascinated. Dark eyes regarded him, locked with his own in an unblinkingregard.As he stared into the child's eyes, all at once the infant became realto Sarek, in a way he never had before. For all these months he hadwatched his wife's belly grow, touched her delicately to feel themovement beneath her skin, observed the child's heartbeat on themonitors ... but part of him had never truly comprehended that anactual child was forming within Amanda, and that that child was halfhis.Reality had not begun to manifest itself until he had grasped Amanda'shand during labor, had directly experienced the agonizing pain that hiswife was enduring. He had been amazed that a human could endure suchpain withoutblacking out--Amanda's fierce concentration, her comparative silenceexcept during the worst of the birthing contractions had impressed him.His wife had always seemed frail to him, delicate, with her humanconstitution. His own strength had always been so much greater--and yet,today, he'd found himself admiring her stoicism as she'd endured suchintense pain. Amanda was stronger than he'd ever realized. Even theHealer had expressed approval of her fortitude during labor andbirthing.Now the ambassador gazed down at the tiny face with its fuzz of blackhair, noting the faint traces of the slanted eyebrows, the delicatelypointed ears, the slightly squashed nose.Looking at his son, Sarek of Vulcan experienced a moment of insight sointense it was nearly painful. Past and future, then and now andtomorrow seemed to swirl around him, blending and coming together in thesmall body so warm and breathing in his arms. This child was a link tothe long-ago, and he would be the future. Someday he would stand up andwalk the sands of his homeland, would gaze at The Watcher with wonder,would go to school and learn the logic of his forebears. He would growto adulthood, tall and strong and handsome, and someday he might hold ason of his own in his arms ..."Our preliminary tests are complete," the nurse said, breaking intoSarek's reverie. "They indicate that his intelligence potential is aboveaverage, Ambassador. Considerably above average."Sarek was not surprised, having gazed into the infant's eyes for theselong seconds, but he felt a surge of pride that he did not trouble torepress.The rigidity had somehow gone out of his arms. He held the child againsthis chest, instinctively cradling him close."I will take him to his mother now," he said.The nurse nodded, and Sarek, moving carefully so as not to jostle hisson, walked away ...Closing the journal, the Vulcan sighed as he recalled his encounter withhis son yesterday at Amanda's memorialservice. If his wife knew the things they had said to each other, shewould have been terribly distressed. Remembering how she'd begged him totry and understand his son, instead of being judgmental and alwaysfinding fault, the ambassador shook his head.And yet ... what could he have done differently? He had only done hisduty. Amanda had understood .. why couldn't his son? ' James T. Kirk satin the captain's chair, waiting."Captain," Uhura said, an odd note in her voice, "I'm picking up asubspace transmission, sir. It's on the frequency reserved for personalcommuniqus and mail ... "Kirk glanced over at her, sitting up straight. "A message?""Yes, sir." She looked over at him, her dark eyes compas sionate. Sheknew, of course, that Peter was missing."What does it say?""It says, "To Captain Kirk. Visit Sector 53.16, at coordinates 39 mark122, before thirteen hundr ed hours stardate 9544.6. A certain redhead iswaiting, will die if you don't show. Come alone. Tell no one.'"Kirk drew a deep breath. "Uhura, trace that message back to its point oforigin. I don't care how many substations they routed it through, followit back all the way. Understood?""Aye, Captain," she said, her lovely features set in lines ofdetermination that matched his own."And message Commandant Anderson that we've just received the ransomnote."Wing Commander Taryn was dreaming ...He did not dream often, but when he did, it was always the same dream... or, at least, if he dreamed other dreams, he did not remember them.The Dream (as he had come to think of it) was the only thing in theuniverse that he consciously feared. Each time he awakened from it, hehoped that it would be the last ... but, though months and years ofpeaceful slumber passed, somehow, when he was least expecting it, thedream would come back ...In The Dream he was small ... too short to reach the viewport in normalgravity without being lifted up. He was running, running down aneutral-colored corridor, a corridor that seemed to loom inward on himas he scuttled along.His short legs pumped harder, trying to hurl him forward faster, but hewas afraid--afraid! he shoum not be afraid, he shoum be calm ... heshould be brave, he shoum not run away ... but he was afraid, hewas!--and his feet kept slipping out from under him. Try as he might, hecould not reach the end of the corridor ... it seemed to expand beforehim almost infinitely.He would never reach it ... never, he would always be here, trapped,knowing that horror and absolute devastation lay behind him. And he,Taryn, deserved no better. He was a coward, a fearful, sobbing, cringingcoward ...Gasping, he stretched out both hands, making his short legs churn fasteras he ran ... ran ... toward a goal that would never grow any closer...And then, with the suddenness of dreams, he was there, at the end of thecorridor, standing on tiptoe, yanking frantically at the emergencyrelease on the airlock door. The life-support pod lay in an alcovebeyond that door. He knew how to open it, how to activate it, and thebutton to push that would launch it. Taryn knew all this, just as heknew that it was time to abandon ship, just as he'd learned in thedrills.He punched in the code, slowly, not Wanting to make a mistake, his earsstraining for noises from behind him.Would they come after him? What would he do if they did?He gnawed at his lower lip, waiting, until the airlock door indicatedacceptance of his code. Finally it was time to grasp the opening bar inboth hands and pull it downward.Even as he touched it, it began to move in his hands.Horrified, he leaped back, and then the door began to slide open.Choking in terror, he fled back down the corridor, running from thisnew, greater fear. He reached the end of the corridor, and there was thedoor from whence he had come, bolting in terror and anguish, knowinghimself to be a coward. The control-room door. Placing a hand on it,Taryn began to pull it open.No! No, don't! His elder self screamed silently at his younger self, forall the good it did. Taryn pushed the door open, slowly, slowly, andsaw--nothing except darkness as he jerked upright in bed, gasping. Slowly,reality began to trickle in. He was back on Freelan, in his own home.His wife Jolana was not here beside him, because she had gone to Romulusto visit their two grown children.Taryn shivered, feeling cold despite the sweat on his bare chest andarms. That had been a bad one. He couldn't remember much about the dream... which wasn't unusual.He had a vague impression that in it, he was a frightenedchild, but the details were always lost. Frankly, he didn't want toremember that dream ... ever.Stress, he thought. I've been working too hard again. But the im, asionis so close ... nothing must go wrong! The Praetor made it clear thathe has complete confidence in me.He has given me more authority than I have eer had ... and I must beworthy. Nothing must go wrong ... we must be victorious.Taryn forced himself to take deep, relaxing breaths. He glanced out thewindow, seeing the stars, as hard and cold and sharp in the blackness asspearpoints. He knew better than to look for Vulcan's sun from here ...it was too distant.Vulcan's primary sun, Nevasa--or 40 Eridani, as the Federation chartsrecorded it. Taryn wondered, not for the first time, what it would belike to walk across the deserts of Vulcan--a world that was as hot, byall reputation, as Freelan was cold. A world where logic was revered,even over power. Sarek's world ...Taryn had known for days that Wurrl had failed to kill theambassador--the Klingon hadn't been fast enough, it seemed. He'd beendisappointed to learn about the Klingon's failure--but also, in a way,the officer was pleased that that particular plan had failed. It wouldbe so much more satisfying to overcome Sarek personally; after all thetimes the ambassador had defeated him at chess, victory at long lastwould be sweet indeed.The wing commander sighed as he slumped back against the hard bolster.How much does Sarek know? he wondered, for the hundredth time. Sarek, hewas sure, was the only one who could alert the Federation to theirplans, the only one who suspected the true nature of Freelan and itsinhabitants.He suspects, but he has no proof, he reassured himself.And things were moving so fast now, that within a few weeks--perhapssooner, if the fleet was ready ahead of schedule, as the praetor hadpromised yesterday it would be--the war would begin. At that point,keeping the identity of the Freelans secret would no longer benecessary.Taryn's mouth curved upward slightly as he thought ofwhat it would be like to be present when Sarek realized his defeat. TheVulcan had beaten him again during their last chess game. He usually wonbecause he baited Taryn into recklessness ... but soon, Sarek's days ofwinning would be over. Soon ...Pleasant anticipation relaxed him; the officer lay down again, remindinghimself that the dream had never come twice in one night. But it wasstill a long, long time before he slept ...Sarek also was dreaming. Full-blooded Vulcans did not dream often, butit did happen from time to time.The Vulcan dreamed that he was on the surface of Freelan. All around himwere glaciers, jagged buttresses of ice, sharp-fanged and glittering inthe sunlight. He was walking toward a house ... Taryn's house, heknew--though the Freelan had never described anything about his home, ofcourse. Still, this house fit in with what little was known aboutFreelan architectural styles. It was a black, dome-shaped dwelling,everything about it designed to maximize the capture and retention ofheat, as well as keeping snowfall from crushing the building.Sarek walked, experiencing the icy wind off the glaciers, yet notchilled by it.Beneath his feet the snow crunched and he continued his journey.As he neared the front of the house, the door opened and a Freelanstepped out, his muffling robes stirring in the icy breeze. "Sarek," theFreelan said, and the Vulcan recognized Taryn's voice. "Why are youhere?""I was searching for you, Taryn," Sarek said. "My wife is dead.""What is that to me?" the Freelan asked haughtily."If it were not for you, I could have been at her deathbed," Sarek said,knowing he spoke truth. "My son would not now despise me.""What is any of this to me?" Taryn was almost sneering."Your domestic problems are your own concern, Vulcan.""And your deceitful world is mine!" Sarek raised hisvoice, and, darting forward, he savagely ripped the concealing mask fromthe Freelan's head and stared in shock as he Amanda's face beneath themuffling cowl and mask."Amanda!" Sarek said, stepping forward to touch her, to embrace her, buteven as he did so, his treacherous, logical mind insisted, Amanda isdead ... And he awoke.He was lying in his bunk in the VIP cabin aboard the Enterprise ...Freelan's icy surface and Amanda's face had been a dream, he realized.Sarek experienced once again the desolation of knowing his wife wasdead. Her absence in his mind was an aching void, one that he could notimagine ever being filled.Knowing he would not be able to sleep again, he arose from the bed, thenpadded barefoot across the sleeping compartment to the small lounge, aslim red-covered volume in his hand. Seating himself on the low divan,the ambassador opened the book and began to read ...December 7,2237---the Twentieth Day of Tasmeen I have paced until I amexhausted my legs are trembling so that I must sit ... but I cannotrest. I see that this entry is nearly illegible, and that is because myhands are also shaking.Spock is missing. He apparently left soon after sunset, and we have noidea where he has gone. He is only seven years old!Sarek is in his office. I glanced at him as I went past, and he appearsto be working! How can he? lf I were to ask him how he can work whileour son is missing, he would gaze at me with infuriating Vulcan calm andsay, "Amanda, I have reported Spock's disappearance to the authorities.They are far more fitted than I to search for him. Pacing back and forthand indulging in emotional outbursts will accomplish nothing.Simply because I am working does not mean I am not concerned about ourson." I must try to calm myself. Getting furious at my husband will nothelp bring my son back, and I suppose that he is right--but it ismaddening when he remains so calm when I am upset.Spock is missing--my child is out there in the desert, with all itsdangers. And my husband is worki ng!If only he had been more understanding of Spock, made some effort to seethings from a child's viewpoint but no, the son of Sarek must beperfect, must be better than all the other children--I overheard himtell Spock that himself today. He told him that if he does not pass hiskahs-wan ordeal next month, the first time he attempts it, that he,Sarek, will be disgraced. He didn't use that exact word, but theimplication was clear.This admonishment followed on the heels of Spock's fight with thoseschoolboys, the ones who torment him every day with taunts of "Earther!"and "Haljblood!" and "Emotional Terran--can't control himself. l?"There have been times that I've had to dig my nails into my palms tostop myself from rushing out there and giving them all a slap. But ofcourse that would only make things worse. This has been going on eversince Spock started school at age four ... It is torture to watch himtry and fit in with the others.My son, so tall, so slender, with his black hair and this thin, somberlittle face ... it breaks my heart to see him so abused. I've beggedSarek to talk to their parents, but he refuses. He g pointed out(logically and correctly, I'm afraid) that such intervention on his partwould only make the other boys torment our son more ... I cry when Isee him trying to endure it, knowing how such teasing hurts. Why can'tVulcan children be as civilized as their parents?The boys tormented him once again today, and his father was totallyunsupportive, let alone sympathetic.So he has run away. Where?After several minutes' reflection, I think I know. I believe he has setoff into the wilderness in order to deliberately expose himself todanger. Spock is setting himself up for his own private survival ordeal,becausehe would rather die out there in the desert than disgrace his fathernext month.If our son dies out thereti will blame Sarek. I know it is not just, butI also know that I will do it anyway. I will blame my husband, and Iwill be unable to bear the sight of him.At least I-Chaya appears to have gone with his young master. The oldsehlat wouldn't be much use as defense, I suppose, but at least the bigfurry creature will keep Spock warm. Nights in the desert are chilly,even by human standards.Someone else may also have accompanied Spock, but I am less sanguineabout Sarek young cousin, Selek.Although the young man was perfectly poised and polite, I gained animpression of duplicity from him. His eyes never quite met mine when heintroduced himself and explained who he was. And later ... I caught himgazing at me when he didn't realize that I saw him doing so. There issomething about Cousin Selek ... something false. I am certain that hewas lying about the purpose of his impromptu visit here. Perhaps he waslying about being related to my husband.No, that cannot be it. There was a definite family resemblance betweenthem. But still, there was something ... something I cannot put royfinger on ...I have never heard of any Vulcan adult abusing a child. Surely Selekonly went after Spock because he saw the chim running away and realizedSpock could be in danger.t Surely Selek intends my son no harm ...He seemed like a very nice young man, despite everything. There was awarmth in his eyes when he gazed at me that I found touching, despite myreservations when I realized he was not being fully truthful with I longto take the aircar myself and go looking for Spock. Writing in myjournal usually helps to calm me when I'm upset, but not this time. Icannot sit still an instant longer--perhaps Sarek and I should take theaircar and go looking for Spock ourselves in the Llangon Mountains. Itwill soon be dawn ...Sarek glanced up from the pages of the journal and sighed, remembering..."I cannot stand this for one more instant," Amanda burst out, pausing inher jerky pacing to glare at him. Sarek, reluctantly, had abandoned hiswork to join her in the living room of their residence in Shikahr. "Idon't care what you think--I'm taking the aircar and going to theLlangon Mountains to look for him myself." Turning on her heel, sheheaded for the door. Her husband stepped in front of her, barring herway."Amanda, there is no reason to--""Don't you dare use that infuriating calm voice on me!" she cried. Atthe moment, Amanda Grayson was a portrait in fury. "This is your fault,Sarek!" she flared, cheeks red, blue eyes blazing. "If you had tried tounderstand Spock, rather than demand perfection from him, just becausehe's your son, then this never would have happened! Now either come withme, or stay here! I don't care which!""Amanda." Sarek heard the steel underlying the calm tones of his ownvoice, did not trouble to repress it. "I will not allow you to take theaircar into the Llangon Mountains.The air currents there are treacherous, especially just after sunrise,and you are too upset to concentrate on piloting. We will wait here forthe report from the authorities."Her small hands curled into fists, and for an instant Sarek wondered ifshe would strike him, but she whirled and strode away. The doorway hebarred was the only exit from the room, so, after a few paces she haltedwith a jerk, then stood stiffly, her back to him. After a moment, Sareksaid, in a milder tone, "I have trained Spock in anticipation of hiskahs-wan. He is familiar with the Vulcan plant life and the survivalmethods of our ancestors. Logic dictates that he will come back to usrelatively unharmed, Amanda."She stared at him wildly, then laughed, a harsh, bittersound that had nothing of humor about it. "And I'm supposed to becomforted by that, Sarek? By logic?""Logic is not meant to comfort, Amanda. It simply exists.It is a way of viewing the universe that offers reason and order,instead of chaos.""Human chaos, you mean," she snapped. "Why not just say it?" Her mouthtightened. "But you do say it ... only not in words. But it's there, inyour face, whenever Spock smiles or forgets himself in the slightestdegree! Disapproval radiates from you--I see it, and so does Spock. Thepoor child will never be good enough for you, and he knows it--no wonderhe's willing to risk dying out there!" Sarek was taken aback by theaccusation. Surely his wife was wrong, was simply giving vent to herillogical human emotions ... "Oh, I know you won't believe me," shesaid, more calmly. "You excel at not seeing what's right in front ofyour nose, Sarek. But I see it. It's obvious. Spock is trying to pleaseyou, but you've set him an impossible task--perfection!Even Vulcans aren't perfect--as you ought to know!" Her husband staredat her, wordlessly. Amanda's eyes filled with angry tears. "I won't letyou ruin his life, Sarekmeven if it means going home to Earth and takinghim with me. Maybe he'd be better off there, among people who have somecompassion, some tolerance!""Leave?" Sarek's breath caught in his throat. "Surely you cannot beserious, Amanda. The situation has upset you, understandably--however,there is no need to consider such drastic action." She faced him, herhot anger dying away to something cold and, the ambassador sensed, farmore formidable."Don't underestimate me, Sarek. I love you, nothing can ever changethat, but you are an adult, perfectly capable of defending and caringfor yourself. Spock is my child, and I will care for and protect him inthe face of every threat to his being--even if that threat is his ownfather." Facing her, the Vulcan felt as though he were confronting someeternal archetypal force--the personification of ma ternalprotectiveness. A le-matya with cubs could not have been more deadly indefense of her young, he realized, experiencing a mixture of shock andunwilling admiration."I see," he said, after a moment, "I do not want you to leave, Amanda,"he said, slowly and carefully.She took a deep breath, but her expression remained hard and closed. Yether voice betrayed just the faintest quaver."I do not wish to leave either, my husband," she replied formally. "YetI will do so, if I decide that action is the best thing for our son.""I will--" Sarek turned suddenly as his Vulcan hearing picked up afamiliar sound. "An aircar," he said, starting for the door."Spock?" she cried, catching up with him in a long stride, then burstingthrough the front door ahead of him. An aircar was just settling downonto the landing pad in the large courtyard.The aircar's side door opened, and two figures emerged, one large, onesmall. "Spock? Amanda called, holding out both hands.It was indeed their son, followed by Cousin Selek. Both turned andraised a hand in grave salute as the aircar took off, swooping backtoward the center of Shikahr."Spock ..." Sarek said. He stood in the courtyard and basked in therealization that his son was safely home ...On that day, Sarek recalled, his son had informed his father gravelythat he had chosen Vulcan. Amanda had never again threatened to leavehim ... though the strife between them during their sows childhood hadbeen far from over.Following the successful completion of Spock's kahs-wan ordeal, Sarekhad turned to the next major milestone in a seven-year-old's life--thatof his bonding. Amanda had protested the whole notion--and especiallySarek's choice for his son's betrothed.Sarek recalled his conversation with Spock. How had his wife known thatT'Pring was dishonest and faithless? There was no logical way to explainher knowledge Sarekrecalled the conversation they'd had when he'd announced his choice ofSpock's bondmate to be his wife ..."T'Pring? You've chosen her? Sarek ... no!" They were sitting in hergarden in Shikahr, watching Nevasa set, when he'd me ntioned that he'dchosen Spock's bondmate.Amanda leaped to her feet and regarded him with dismay.The ambassador stared at his wife in mild surprise."Amanda, why such disapproval? The girl's lineage is impeccable. Herfamily is as highly placed in Vulcan society as my own. She will haveproperty of her own, to match what our son will inherit. Why do you notapprove?""Because," Amanda said, flatly, fixing him with a level stare, "I don'tlike her. That child is ... I don't know. She's too polite, too ...calculating. There's something ... cold ... about her. I don't approveof this whole business of betrothing children--it's barbaric.""Amanda, you are not being logical. T'Pring will prove an excellentconsort for our son. She is intelligent and she will have all theadvantages that a well-placed family can give her ... she will--""Make Spock's life miserable, Sarek," Amanda broke in, her eyesdarkening with emotion. "I can tell that she's not the right girl forSpock. T'Pring reminds me of one of those beautiful little snakes wehave back on Earth--the ones with the lovely, jewel-like colors, thatare so delicate, so beautiful ... and so deadly that if they bite you,you live for less than a minute.""Such prejudice on your part is specious, Amanda," Sarek said,experiencing a moment of impatience with his wife. "You have no reasonfor any of these allegations." She paused for nearly a minute beforereplying. "I know," she said, finally. "I know that what I'm sayingisn't fair. But all my instincts tell me that T'Pring is totally wrongfor Spock. Sarek ..." She swung back to face her husband. "I want you tocancel the bonding. Or at least postpone it, until they're ... out ofschool, say." Sarek shook his head. "No, Amanda. This is my world, andwe agreed long ago that Spock would be brought up according to Vulcancustom and tradition. You heard him choose Vulcan himself, after thattime when he ran away to the Llangon Mountains. I have made my choice,and T'Pring is the consort I choose." Amanda drew a deep breath, andshook her head sadly, in turn. "You're making a mistake," she said. "Butyou're right. I did agree, and you are following Vulcan tradition." Theslender shoulders beneath her soft green gown sagged, suddenly, and shesighed deeply. The ambassador knew that she was giving in, but hisvictory did not please him. "Very well, my husband," she said,tonelessly. "But I am not sanguine about this decision.""Logic dictates that the two will be well suited to one another,Amanda." She flashed him a contemptuous glance. "Logic? You can't uselogic to predict marital harmony, Sarek. I'm sure your father was beingeminently logical when he betrothed you to T'Rea ... but we both knowhow well that worked out. Don't we?" Before Sarek could arrive at arejoinder, she turned and walked away, back into the house.Peter Kirk laid the ornate Klingon cards down with a disgusted air. "Ifold. You beat me again!" Sitting on a stool outside the observationpanel, Valdyr looked smug as she made a notation on a pad with a stylus."You now owe me ... five thousand, six hundred and seventy-three kilosof prime-grade dilithium crystals," she said in Klingonese.In the two days since Peter had come to Qo'nos, Valdyr's twice-dailyvisits had become the high points of his days.She had treated him respectfully, and even, at times, with a roughkindness. She'd located several old Klingon books for him toread--including The Complete Works of William Shakespeare in, as Valdyrput it, "the original Klingon't and had struggled to teach him an arcaneKlingon card game that he was having some difficulty mastering. Heinsisted they speak Klingonese, so that he could become even morearticulate in the difficult language.He'd discovered that Klingons did possess a sense of humor ... even ifValdyr's was somewhat restrained. Just getting her to relax enough toalmost smile was a challenge.He didn't try to kid himself--Stockholm Syndrome was setting in badly,at least on his side. He wasn't sure about Valdyr.Between the Klingon books and his conversations with Valdyr, he ended upnot needing her help in translating the odd term he'd heard her unclespeak. He'd found it easily enough in Shakespeare. The Merchant ofVenice. Shylock used it. Joy' meant torture, and, as Peter already knew,Be' meant woman, or female. Torture by females was the roughtranslation.Bejoy' referred to a specific, ritualistic torture performed onprisoners of war ... by Klingon women.Another subject they might never be able to discuss. So, tell me,Valdyr, when you perform the bejoy', what do you think you'll use first?The hot irons, the electronic stunner, or will you begin by flayingroyflesh?Anyone taking any bets on how long I'll last? And to think he'donce been worried about the Kobayashi Maru.t He folded his hand indefeat and slipped it through the food slot. "Are you sure you've taughtme all the rules of this game?" Peter grinned ruefully as her seriousexpression assured him that anything less would be dishonorable."Well, in that case, you'll have to send me to Rura Penthe to dig thosecrystals."Valdyr's dark eyes sparkled indignantly. "Never! That is a place whereonly the worst criminals go.""Like my Uncle Jim and Dr. McCoy?" he asked dryly."They're really desperate characters, both of them." He was sorry theminute he'd said it. They had a truce going, and now he'd thrown out avolley.The Klingon woman's eyes dropped. "I know they were innocent ofassassinating Chancellor Gorkon," she said, carefully shuffling thedeck, then dealing cards through the food slot beneath the observationpanel. "But that does not mean that your uncle never murdered aKlingon.""He killed Kruge, yes, but he didn't murder him," the cadet insisted."Kruge beamed down to kill Kirk because he wanted revenge for his lostcrew. They were fighting on the edge of a precipice, as the Genesisplanet was breaking up beneath their feet. A big chunk of rock gave waybeneath Kruge, and he went over the cliff. Jim caught his hand to savehim, but Kruge tried to yank him over, too. My uncle got mad and let himdrop.""Let him?" Valdyr said, skeptically.Peter grimaced. "It was self-defense! Kruge would have killed both ofthem, otherwise!""Kamarag says that Kirk lured Kruge down to that world just as it wasbreaking up, then abandoned him to die," Valdyr said.Young Kirk shook his head. "James T. Kirk doesn't operate that way. Ifyou knew him, you'd believe me." They continued the game in silence fora few moments before Peter spoke again. "There's one thing I still don'tunderstand, Valdyr.""What is that?""It's been three years since Kruge died. Why did your uncle wait solong? Why decide to take revenge now?"The young woman stared at her cards, but Peter knew well enough thatshe'd already planned out her moves. Finally, she said, "At first hethought the government would support him in his quest for vengeance. Butwhen Praxis exploded, moderate voices in the councils realized that wewould need the help of the Federation to survive." Valdyr examined herhand. "After that, he did not speak of Kirk for a long time.My uncle ... has always been loyal to his government. But suddenly, afew weeks ago ..." She sighed and moved a card." ... he changed. Oneday, revenge was all Kamarag could think of, speak of ... plan for.Vengeance, and Kirk's death. He said that if the government would notsupport him, he would act on his own.""Which is why I'm here," Peter said, and she nodded."What caused him to change so suddenly?" he wondered aloud."I do not know," Valdyr said. "I only know that he is my uncle, the headof my family, and I must be loyal to him." She looked up at him. "Areyou going to place a bet, Pityr?"They placed their bets, then upped the ante several times.Peter studied Valdyr, then finally said, "Your loyalty to your uncleincludes torturing me, doesn't it?" That was more than a volley, herealized. He'd just dropped a matter/ antimatter bomb into theirconversation.Her eyes met his unflinchingly. "If the choice were mine ... none ofthis would be happening. I am sorry, Pityr."They said nothing for a few minutes, then continued the game, but hisheart wasn't in it. He was not surprised when she beat him again. "Iquit!" the human groused, struggling to keep the bitterness out of hisvoice. He tossed his cards back into the slot. "Life isn't fair. I'vebeen kidnapped, held prisoner, and now my jailer turns out to be abeautiful woman who's a card shark to boot." He'd used the currentEnglish idiom, as he knew of no Klingon one that was appropriate.Valdyr glanced up at him, obviously startled. "You called me ... whatdid you call me?""Beautiful and a card shark," Peter said levelly. "Which term didn't youunderstand?""What is this ... card shark?""A shark is an Earth animal, a huge fish ... you know, fish?" He rackedhis brain for the Klingon word. "An animal that swims in the sea, adangerous predator, you know?""Ohl" she cried. "You mean, norgh?""Yeah, norgh. You're like that when you play cards.Understand?"She thought it over, then gave a soft snort of derisive laughter. "Whatyou mean is that, since I am a woman and I beat you always, I must beruthless. I thought Earth males treated their females equally!""We do," Peter protested. Valdyr just looked at him, her expressionclearly distrustful. "Really, we do," he insisted, holding up his handas if under oath. "Aren't Klingonwomen treated equally?" He felt guilty for asking, since he already knewthe truth."No," Valdyr admitted. "The men have always held the ... outward power.If women want power, they must find a m an to work through, advise him,push him, make him the ... the ..." She groped, at a loss for asuitable term."A figurehead?" suggested Peter in English.Valdyr quickly accessed the English word on her portable comm link, thennodded. "Exactly," she said."Well, what about Chancellor Azetbur? She's a woman." Valdyr's eyessparkled. "She is special. Her father made the other members of the HighCouncil promise to uphold her as his successor, and they have done so.The people support her ... but the warriors' code is difficult tochange."Peter fixed her with an intent stare. "What about you,Valdyr? What would you like to do with your life?" She dropped her eyes."I ... have dreams.""Of what?""When I was small," she said, "I wanted to be a warrior.It is hard for women to do ... but possible. But I was sickly.When I realized I had attained my full size, I ... knew I could neverbe strong enough to be a warrior, no matter how I studied.""Even so, you learned to fight."She nodded. "And I am good with a knife," she said, with a touch ofpride. "But, I am too small to truly defend myself against anotherKlingon with nothing more than my hands."She'd said that offhandedly, so he wouldn't feel insulted."So you can't be a warrior. What's next?"She glanced around, as if suddenly concerned that they might beoverheard. "I hoped to become a diplomat, like my uncle.""Are woman allowed to be diplomats?""There is no law against it."Peter got up off hi stool, paced the cell a few times. Hestill ached, but he was feeling much better. "That's funny that youshould say that," he admitted. "I thought about shifting to a career inthe Federation diplomatic corps myselfi"She cocked her head, her long braid swinging. He found himself suddenlywondering what that massive mane might look like all undone. "You did?"she asked.He nodded. "That's why I studied Klingonese and Romulan even before theAcademy.""Then why did you change?""I'm not sure anymore," he said, halting and staring at her, his browfurrowed. "I guess Command was what everyone expected me to do.""Everyone expects me to marry Karg and spend my time running ahousehold," Valdyr said dryly.Peter made a face at that, and Valdyr almost smiled. "I think," shesaid, "we should try very hard to do what it is we want to do, not whatwe are expected to do!""I agree!" Peter said, flashing her a smile. Then, remembering who hewas, and where, and what would soon be happening to him, he soberedabruptly. They did not speak of the coming torture, but it sat therebetween them.Valdyr chewed on her lower lip, her sharp, slightly crooked teethscoring the soft flesh. "Pityr," she said softly,"please believe me. This is not something I wish to do.I ... have no more control over this than you have."Peter sank back onto his stool, his shoulders slumping."Your uncle is using me to capture and kill my uncle, Valdyr. What kindof honor can Kamarag gain out of this?"She drew a quavering breath, shaking her head. In the smallest voice sheadmitted, "There is nothing about honor in any of this. There will benothing for our family when it is over but shame."Peter came over to the observation panel, reached through the slot asfar as he could, and just managed to brush the flesh of her arm with thetip of his forefinger. She leapt back, her knife instantly in her hand."What--?""I'm alive, Valdyr, just like you," Peter said. "Remember when you firstgave me water? You saved my life with thatwater. Why did you do that, when you knew what was facing me? When youknew what you would soon be doing to me?"She tightened her jaw and remained silent, staring at his fingers asthough they were some bizarre life-form."You gave me water ... and I held your hands. Remember?They were so warm, your hands, so much warmer than mine. I was prettyshocky, all my blood going to my injuries ... but I'm warm now, Valdyr,just like you. I'm alive. Feel. Feel how warm I am. Go on ... "Hesitantly, she approached the panel as if mesmerized, then put out herhand, brushed his fingertips with hers. His skin tingled where shetouched him. Her body temperature was slightly higher than his, althoughnowhere near as high"m 7"as a Vulcan's. ee. Peter said, softly. "Warm. Alive. Just like you. AndI want to stay alive!"She was staring down at his hand, wide-eyed, as though she'd never seenit before."Can you really do it, Valdyr?" he whispered, as he closed his fingersaround her long, elegant ones. "Can you do this thing that has no honorin it, just because your uncle wants you to? Can you really do this ...to me?"She shuddered and closed her eyes. With a surprising surge of strengthshe clasped his hand so powerfully, her nails scored his palm, drawingblood. Then she murmured,"Yes."What an idiot you are, mister.t he thought bitterly.Valdyr's face was flushed, her eyes bright with ... regret?Was it really?Yes, Peter decided. It really is ..."I don't want to die," he said, gazing at her through the panel."Valdyr, I especially don't want to die at your hands." He gripped herjust as tightly as she gripped him. "I don't want my uncle to dieeither. And more than that ... I don't want the peace our people areonly now working out to crumble ... You know that's what will happenwhen all this comes to light."She nodded grimly, raising her eyes to his."And I don't want to see you give up your dreams. Don't lose all thehonor you've worked so hard to gain. I couldn'tbear to know that my death would take that from you." He prayed shewould not think his speech that of a self-serving coward willing to sayanything to save his life. He was saying nothing but the plain truth."Valdyr," he whispered, "I've come to really care about you. As a personof honor ... of dignity ... and of great strength." She looked down,staring at their joined hands, saw their cornmingled blood dripping ontothe slot. With a choked, inarticulate sound, she yanked her hand away,then turned abruptly and bolted down the corridor, racing as though ademon was on her heels.Peter reined in his own emotions as he pulled his abandoned hand backinside his cell. He stared at the crescent-shaped wounds on his palm,still oozing blood. He must're cut her as well, as puce-colored liquidmingled with red in his palm. He made a fist, holding their bloodinside, and fought back the demons of his own fear.As Wing Commander Taryn studied the chessboard before him, one slantingeyebrow went up in pleased surprise."You are improving," he remarked, considering his options and findingthey were limited.His opponent was a slender young woman with delicate, almost elfinfeatures that were emphasized by her cropped black hair and elegantlypointed ears. Her name was Savel, and she was twenty-two Standard yearsold. Her Vulcan parents had been killed while trying to escape whenSavel was a baby; she did not remember them at all. The young woman hadlived in a government-operated creche until Taryn had taken her into hishousehold at the age of five.The commander regarded her as an adopted daughter, and had raised herwith the same advantages that he had bestowed upon his two sons."A very interesting gambit," Taryn conceded. "Not one I ever taught you.Where did you learn it?" Savel's black eyes sparkled with pleasure."While I was with you at Khitomer, Ambassador Sarek's aide challenged meto a game. Soran won, using this very tactic."Taryn stiffened in his chair. "You played chess with Ambassador Sarek'saide?" Now it was Savel's turn to tense. "Yes," she admitted."You did not forbid that, Vadi. "The word meant "uncle" in Romulan,which Savel spoke as fluently as she did Vulcan."What harm could that do?""A great deal," Taryn said, sternly. The commander leaned forward in hisseat, his dark eyes holding hers. "What if I had been forced to comesearching for you, and encountered Sarek? I told you, he suspects us. Ifwe had met face-to-face ... there is no telling what he might havedone.He has already unmasked one of us, and for that reason I was at greatpains during Khitomer to stay out of the ambassador's way. You knewthat, Sayel." The young woman hung her head. "Yes, I knew. But Soran was... very pleasant to me. I found our conversation enjoyable. I do notoften get the chance to speak with someone near my own age, Vadi." Tarynsighed. "I know," he said. "But, Savel ... you took an unnecessaryrisk. We are close to the completion of our plan, within grasp of ourgoal ... " Now it was the woman's turn to whisper, "I know." She gazedat him with a touch of remorse plain to read in her dark eyes. As shehad been raised by Romulans, her control was not as great as anative-born Vulcan's. "Forgive me, Vadi.""Very well. As long as you will promise not to take such a chanceagain.""I promise," Savel said. "Vadi ... it is still your move.""So it is." Taryn studied the chessboard, then made one of the two movespossible to him. Savel's mouth twitched as she moved a piece of her own,so quickly that Taryn knew he had fallen into her trap ... for a trapit was. The commander sighed, frowning, but inwardly he felt a wash ofpleasure at her growing skill as he said, "I see it now ... mate intwo." With a near-bow of respect, he ceremoniously knocked over his kingas a sign of defeat. Though losing to Sarek always rankled him, losingto Savel, whom he had taught himself, was almost pleasurable.Taryn sat back in the overstuffed armchair in his comfortable study,with its shelves of data spindles, its ancient has-reliefs and weaponshanging on the walls, and the glow from the fire-box chasing the lastv estige of chill from the air. It was winter on Freelan, and even here,in the northern equatorial region, frost and snow were common duringthese long, dark months.Taryn thought with longing of times he had lived on Romulus, in a smallhouse on an ancient, winding street.The wind there was warm, even during the brief rainy season ... a farcontrast to the bitter gales that raged at night around his dome-shapedhouse on Freelan."Have you heard any news of Kamarag?" Savel asked."Will we need to encounter him again?""I do not know," Taryn said. "The reports I have received tell me thathe has had Captain Kirk's nephew kidnapped, and that he has demandedthat Kirk exchange himself for the young man. Kamarag has good reason tohate Kirk, and he has sworn a blood oath to avenge his young prot6g6,Kruge. So it is possible that he will require no further prodding."Savel nodded. "There was a strong core of hate in him before I evertouched his mind," she said. "Who is monitoring him now?""No one, at the moment," Taryn replied. "Darns was, for a time, but hehas now been detailed to Earth. There is a major trade conference there,and he and Stavin were needed to attend."She nodded. "It is possible we may have to visit Kamarag again. Theambassador may balk at actually executing Kirk, knowing that if he doesthat, he will surely be declared a traitor, once his actions are knownto Azetbur and her councillors.""Getting close to him may be too risky, now," Taryn said."Even if the ambassador merely captures Kirk, that will probably beenough to touch offhostilities--especially since the raids along theNeutral Zone are increasing.""Who is working there, Vadi?" Savel asked, cocking her head at him.Taryn smiled thinly. "That is the beauty of it ... no one.We prodded Keraz, we prodded Chang, we prodded Kruge and Wurrl andMakesh and Kardis. Now insubordination and mutiny are creeping throughthe Klingon forces like a spy in the night. Every week there are newreports of terrorism ... and we are responsible for only half of them!Azetbur is holding on by her elegant fingernails--but soon, her grip onher people will be lost. And then ..." He nodded."War," Savel said, with an expression Taryn could not read. It seemed tobe compounded of equal parts eagerness and revulsion."Vadia-lya," he said, referring to her as his "little niece" for thefirst time in years, "what troubles you?""Nothing," she mumbled, gazing down at the thick woven carpet beneaththeir feet. "It is only that--""Yes?""At Khitomer ..." She bit her lip, her control visibly slipping now."Yes?""When the Federation president spoke, he sounded so ... earnest." Shelooked up, met Taryn's gaze, and flushed visibly, but continued, "Whenhe spoke of peace between the worlds, I could almost ... visualize agalaxy where peace reigns. And that vision was attractive to me.""Ah, but Savel, there will be peace," Taryn reminded her."Soon, the purpose to which I have dedicated my life will be achieved.Soon, there will be peace. Of course a little strife must precede it,that is unavoidable. The war between the Federation and the Klingonswill not last long, and the conflict between what remains of theFederation and our forces will be even briefer. But soon ... within ayear or two, we will have a lasting peace ... and survival as well asvictory for the Romulan Empire. Otherwise, what will happen to us?""The Federation will try to destroy us," she replied without muchconviction.Taryn gazed at her thoughtfully, but finally nodded."Another game?" he asked, waving at the chessboard.Savel's grave features brightened, though her control was back in place,and she did not smile. "Oh, yes, Vadi," she said, eagerly, and moved toset up the pieces.Stepping off the turbolift, Sarek walked down the narrow corridor,halting outside Kirk's quarters. He signaled the door. "Come," thecaptain's voice responded.Kirk was just fastening the belt of his uniform jacket. He haltedabruptly as he saw who his early-"morning" visitor was. "Ambassador!" heexclaimed, "Good morning."The Vulcan did not waste time on pleasantries. "Kirk, we must speak fora moment," he said. "I have been giving a great deal of thought to yournephew's abduction, and logic indicates that it is connected to ourproblem with the Freelans.""I was wondering the same thing myself," Kirk said. "I called itinstinct instead of logic, but it sounds like we've reached the sameconclusion. What's your reasoning?""While I was negotiating on Kidta, Commander Keraz told me thatAmbassador Kamarag called a meeting of Klingon officers, and attemptedto induce them to turn against Azetbur and her government. If Keraz andWurrl were influenced by Freelan telepaths, why not the ambassador?With the history of events between you, Kamarag would prove an excellentcandidate for mental influence.""You think Kamarag kidnapped Peter?""Not personally, no. But that he was behind it ... yes, I do."Kirk looked thoughtful. "That's an interesting idea," he said. "I knowhe hates me ... I've been told many times how he's denounced mepublicly at every opportunity ... but is his hatred strong enough tolead him to betray his government?""Perhaps not on his own, but with sufficient telepathic prodding ..."Sarek countered. "Logic seems to favor Kamarag as a likely suspect inPeter's abduction.""But how does that connect with Peter investigating the KEHL?""If the same person or persons are influencing both groups ... it wouldbe simple to induce the KEHL to turn Peter over to someone who wouldthen take him to Kamarag.""You think there's a third party involved?""I would suspect so. That way, the KEHL would not have to deal with analien ship.""Makes sense. Uhura is trying to track down the ships that departedEarth during the time in question. But that's a tall order. She's beenworking on it since yesterday, so maybe she'll have something soon.""Have you heard any reports about the KEHL and its activities?" Sarekasked. "I have not yet scanned today's communiqu6s.""The leader, Induna, was finally released on bail," Kirk said. "Last Iheard, he was calling for--" The captain broke off as the intercomsignaled. He activated it. "Kirk here.""Captain?" It was Commander Uhura's voice. "Sir, I've managed to locatethe points of origin of both the message sent to Peter in his apartment,and the subspace one that reached us.""Good work. What did you find out?""The first transmission, the one patched together with clips from oldtransmissions of yours, was sent from a vessel in Earth orbit ... theBobino.""What kind of ship? What registry?""Bobino is a freighter, registered to an Otto Whitten, who owns her butis not her pilot.""Did you check him out?""Yes, Captain. This Whitten is a man with a past. A con artist ... butclever. Arrested many times, but the charges were always dropped. Thevessel is registered as a 'freighter," but 'smuggler' is probably a moreaccurate description."Kirk glanced at Sarek. "Sounds about right," he said."Who is the pilot?""Bobino's pilot is a woman named Erika Caymor. Same thing as Whitten.She's been arrested a number of times, but she always gets off.Extortion, credit fraud, theft,smuggling ... the list of charges against her goes on. But theauthorities could never make anything stick. They're a nasty--butclever--pair.""They sound like scum," Kirk said, bitterly. Smugglers who had smugglednot contraband, but Peter Kirk, offworld."What about the other transmission? The subspace one7""That message originated on Qo'nos, Captain. I can't pin it down anyfurther than that.""Damn!" Kirk muttered, looking over at Sarek and nodding ruefully. "Goodwork. Thank you, Commander.""I was glad to be of help, sir," she said. "I put in a call toVice-Admiral Burton's office, asking them for any information they haveon Bobino's registered course. I'll let you know when I hear from them."Kirk clicked off the intercom and turned back to the Vulcan. "Looks likelogic and instinct are both paying off," he said."What will you do now, Kirk?" Sarek asked. "Will you stay on course forFreelan? What about the ransom demand that you exchange yourself foryour nephew?""At the moment, our course is taking us toward both destinations," Kirksaid. "I plan to get to the closest possible approach to the statedcoordinates, then hand over the Enterprise to Spock and order him totake you to Freelan. I can hire a small ship at the nearest starbase andmake that rendezvous myself.""Why not use the Enterprise?"Kirk shook his head. "I can't justify using the starship for a personalmission like this.""But ... Kirk. Going to keep that rendezvous alone will be extremely... hazardous," Sarek said, raising an eyebrow."Oh, I don't plan to just waltz in with my eyes shut, Ambassador. TheEnterprise's speed has given me nearly a two-day lead that thekidnappers don't expect. If they keep that rendezvous, I plan to bethere well ahead of time, so I can find out where they come from.""Logic suggests that they will come across the NeutralZone from Qo'nos," Sarek said. "Kamarag told me once that his ancestralestate is located there."The captain programmed the food dispenser in his cabin for a cup ofcoffee, then, when it arrived, took a grateful sip."It's frightening," he said, "to think that the Romulans could plansomething like this for so long. Planting a colony on Freelan,disguising their appearance, all that security for decades ... and thegradual acquisition of Vulcan children to raise so they could controltheir telepathic abilities. All of this beginning in the days be fore weeven knew what the Romulans looked like! By my calculation, they've beenworking on this plan for seventy-five years!""Possibly longer," Sarek said, sitting down on the edge of the bunk. "Wehave no idea when Fredan was first colonized.However, do not forget, Captain, that, like Vulcans, Romulans have aconsiderably greater life span than humans."The ambassador spoke without thinking, but, suddenly hearing his ownwords, he experienced a vivid memory of Amanda. They had been sittingtogether in her garden, watching T'Rukh, when she'd said, suddenly,"Sarek ... I want you to know that I expect you to remarry after I amgone."Her husband had regarded her with mild surprise."Amanda ... is this statement a result of your having turned fortyyesterday? I understand that this particular anniversary of birth isfrequently stressful for humans ... "She'd smiled at him. "No, my husband. My remark was entirely logical.We've never spoken of it before, but it's obvious that, barring somekind of accident, you will outlive me by at least sixty years. Youshould not deprive yourself of companionship, out of some misguidedsense of loyalty. To do so would not be logical.""But--"She'd smiled again and stopped his words with a shake of her head. "Iknow this is premature. But someday you'll remember this conversation.Someday you'll be relieved to know that you have my blessing in choosinganother consort.Let's leave it at that."And they had.He looked up, to find Kirk regarding him intently from across the smallroom. "My apologies, Captain," the ambassador said. "My thoughts turned... elsewhere. You were saying?"The human shook his head slightly, his hazel eyes softening."I want you to know, Ambassador, that I admire you and Spock forcontinuing with this mission ... despite everything that's happened.""Work is an anodyne to grief, Kirk," Sarek said. "Or, at least ... itpresents a distraction.""Yes, I know," the captain replied simply."Ambassador ..." He hesitated."Yes?" Sarek said, raising an eyebrow."I may be overstepping, here, but I just wanted you to know that ...that Spock ..." Kirk was struggling to find words. Sarek noddedencouragingly. The captain tried again. "He's taking his mother's deathvery hard," he said in a rush. "With some people, it's a relief totransmute grief into anger. If you don't mind a word of advice ... bepatient. Let him work through this on his own.He'll ... come around."The Vulcan regarded the human steadily. "I will keep your words in mind,Kirk," he said quietly. "Patience is a virtue on Earth ... on Vulcan,we are taught that it is an essential component of life."Kirk sipped his coffee in silence for several moments."Kamarag," he said, finally. "Ambassador, if he does have Peter, I'llhave to go to Qo'nos ... and stage a rescue."Sarek shook his head. "Captain ... alone? That would be ... mostillogical.""Rescuing Peter isn't an official mission," Kirk pointed out. "But ...maybe I don't have to go to Qo'nos alone.Chancellor Azetbur was rather grateful that I saved her life ...possibly she'd be interested in knowing about what's going on.""I would not tell her directly, Kirk," Sarek cautioned."Why not?""There is no way for us to know who may be under theFreelan influence now," Sarek reminded him. "Azetbur herself might evenbe suborned.""They'd never get close enough to her," Kirk said, but the captain wasclearly taken aback at the idea."Possibly you are correct. But what about her aides? If they discoverwhat you know, and that you have shared your knowledge with thechancellor, that would make her, in turn, a prime candidate forassassination.""You're right ... "Kirk set his coffee cup down so hard it sloshedinto the saucer. "Damn! This entire situation breeds paranoia. You can'ttrust anyone!""I will speak with Azetbur. I may be able to discern from herexpressions and speech patterns whether she has been influenced. I willattempt to warn her ... subtly, as well as discover whether she knowsanything about Peter.""Thank you, Ambassador. I'd appreciate that." Minutes later, Sarek satbefore the comm link in his cabin, waiting patiently as the screenflickered. Finally it cleared, and familiar features coalesced beforehim. Sarek inclined his head respectfully. "Madame Chancellor."Azetbur inclined her head in turn. "Ambassador Sarek. I trust you arewell?""I am, Madame. And you?""Entirely," she said. "Allow me to offer condolences on your recentbereavement.""Thank you, Madame Chancellor."The Klingon woman gazed at him, and, for the first time since he'd knownher, seemed at a loss. "I heard about the attempt on your life,Ambassador. It was a relief to know that Wurrl had failed. I take oathon my father's honor, Ambassador, that neither Keraz nor Wurrl wasacting under my direction.""I know that, Madame Chancellor," Sarek assured her. "I sensed Wurrl'smind telepathically during the struggle. He was definitely not alliedwith your government."The chancellor visibly relaxed. "What is the purpose of your call,Ambassador?"Sarek hesitated for a second, carefully phrasing his inquiry in the mostsubtle and least revealing terms hecould manage. "Madame Chancellor ... there was an illegality, a violentact, perpetrated against a Federation citizen on Earth eight TerranStandard days ago. I am ... disquieted ... to inform you that this ...incident, at least on the surface, appears linked to Qo'nos. Evidenceindicates that this ... link may be highly placed in your government."Azetbur blinked, and Sarek was quick to note the faint flicker ofsurprise cross her face. She was learning fast ... her expressionbarely altered before her features were, once more, an impassive mask.But the ambassador knew that, whoever had been responsible for youngPeter Kirk's abduction, it had not been done with the chancellor'sknowledge or sanction. "Qo'nos?" she repeated. "I assure you,Ambassador, I have no knowledge of any such crime.Unless, of course, you are referring to the renegades who capturedKadura?""No, Madame Chancellor, this concerns a different matter altogether,"Sarek said. "Incidentally, may I inquire as to whether Commander Kerazhas been captured?""Not to my knowledge," Azetbur said. "He is still at large." She gavethe Vulcan an impatient glance. "Ambassador, if there has been violencedone on Earth by Klingons--especially by any who are governmentofficials, then I must demand that you be more specific.""Madame Chancellor, your zeal does you credit--but you havemisunderstood. I am neither accusing nor identifying any Klingonofficial as having committed crimes.""Then what are you saying, Ambassador?" she snapped."I do not care for verbal swordplay; I am a Klingon."Sarek nodded. "I assure you that I would be more specific if I could,Madame Chancellor, but I regret that I am not at liberty to explain atthis time.""When you are free to explain, will you, Ambassador? I must confess thatmy ... curiosity ... is aroused." Her dark eyes sparkled dangerously."You have my word," Sarek promised. "Madame Chancellor ... I am not atliberty to do more than make a suggestion, for I have no way tosubstantiate my suspicions,but ..." He paused while she listened intently. "If ... individualswithin your government appear to behave in a manner that is suspicious,or uncharacteristic ..." He hesitated again, choosing his words withinfinite care. "It is possible that ... an external agency is exertingundue influence upon them. I believe that these external agencies wereresponsible for Commander Keraz's actions at Kadura."Now it was Azetbur's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Really, Ambassador? Whatan extraordinary statement.""I make it only as one living being to another, Madame ... not in anyofficial or diplomatic capacity.Guard yourself, Madame Chancellor. I have reason to believe the intentis to subvert the peace process your government and the Federation haverecently embarked upon.""What kind of undue influence?" she demanded. "Bribery?Torture of family members? Drugs, or other chemical forms of coercion?"Sarek shook his head. "No, Madame. None of those methods. I regret thatI cannot be more specific; however, I have overstepped my authority indivulging even this much to you."She gave him a long, thoughtful look, but forbore to ask, evidentlyrealizing he could not be persuaded to say any more. Sarek took a deepbreath. One final test, now."Incidentally, Madame Chancellor ...""Yes?""Captain Kirk requested that I express his wishes for your continuinggood health and success in your administration."The Klingon woman's expression brightened ... for a moment she nearlysmiled. "Please express my thanks to Kirk, and tell him I wish himsuccess, too. We were ... gratified ... to learn that he and theEnterprise will continue to serve the Federation."Sarek nodded. "I have enjoyed our talk, Madame Chancellor; however, Iknow your schedule is a busy one. I shall say farewell.""Thank you for your ... warning, Ambassador. Be assured I shall bewatchful."Sarek nodded, then held up his hand in the formal salute."Peace and long life, Madame Chancellor."Again the faintest of smiles touched the Klingon woman's mouth."Qapla'.t, Ambassador Sarek," she said, wishing himSUCCESS."Captain?" Uhura turned to regard her superior officer."I have an incoming call for you. It's Vice-Admiral Burton, sir.""I'll take it in my quarters, Commander," Kirk said, and then he added,in an undertone too soft for anyone but her to catch, "Put this on ashielded frequency, Uhura." She nodded as he left the bridge.In his quarters, Kirk turned on his screen and Vice-Admiral Burton,Starfleet's chief of security, appeared.After the captain had outlined the problem of Peter's disappearance,concluding with Uhura's finding that the ransom message had originatedon Qo'nos, the admiral, a beefy man with a shock of thick white hair,frowned. "More terrorism," he concluded. "This is obviously not yourordinary kidnapping for profit.""I agree," Kirk said. "How do you want me to handle this, sir?""Investigate your nephew's disappearance without any public fanfare,"Burton said. "And if there's any possibility that this is reprisalagainst you personally, by the Klingons, you'd better abandon thisnotion of going in alone. I'm officially authorizing you to use theEnterprise for this mission. If the Klingons are involved, then itbecomes a matter of Federation security--and that makes it official.But ... Kirk. I meant it about keeping this quiet. The KEHL is gainingconverts every day. Something like this would add fuel to the fire.""I understand, Admiral. Did your office come up with any information onthat smuggler's destination?" the captain asked."We've got a copy of Bobino's official flight plan, Captain.They were scheduled to take a load of gourmet foodstuffs to AlphaCentauri A ... but they're overdue. Way overdue.""Any idea where they went instead?"Burton nodded grimly. "They picked up a cargo of high-grade dilithiumore in Sector 51.34 two days ago."Sector 51,34 was only a parsec or so from the Klingon Neutral Zone. Kirknodded, unsurprised."Captain, this clinches it. I want you to get to the bottom of this ...and soon.""I will, sir," Kirk replied."Mr. President," Sarek said, to the image on his comm link. "Greetings."Gravely, he saluted the chief executive."Ambassador Sarek," Ra-ghoratrei said. "Allow me to offer my mostsincere condolences on your bereavement. I very much ... regret ...having called you to duty at such a time.""I discussed my mission to Kidta before leaving, Mr. President," Sareksaid, uncomfortable at having to speak of this now. "My wife understoodits importance. But I did not call you to discuss Kidta, Mr. President.""What is it, Ambassador?""Sir ... I believe that I have discovered a threat to Federationsecurity. I have discovered evidence--evidence that I will soon be ableto share with youwthat the Keep Earth Human League may be funded andsupported by offworld interests."Ra-ghoratrei's pale eyes widened. "What? The KEHL?But they are ..." He hesitated. "They are more than they seem,apparently ... ""Yes, Mr. President. I suggest that you authorize a full-scaleinvestigation into the group. I believe that such an investigation mayturn up surprising information.""Can you be more specific, Ambassador?""No, Mr. President," he said, "l cannot, at this time. But I will becontacting you within a few days with, I hope, conclusive proof. In themeantime, I ask that you authorize a full investigation--although I donot believe that it should be a public inquiry. I will explain myreasoning later.""Ambassador," Ra-ghoratrei said thoughtfully, "your service to theFederation is legendary. I will do as you ask but I do insist upon theexplanation you promised.""You will receive one, Mr. President. Two days--three at themost--should prove sufficient.""Very well," the president said. "Until we speak again, then, AmbassadorSarek.""Live long and prosper, Mr. President." Sarek raised his hand in salute.After cutting the connection, the Vulcan sat for several minutescomposing a detailed message to Ra-ghomtrei, with additional copies tothe head of Starfleet Security, Vice-Admiral Burton, and the chairman ofthe Security Council, Thoris of Andor. The message gave a completesummary of his suspicions and findings, plus the data he had collectedso far.Then the Vulcan placed each message under a time lock.If the Enterprise did not return from this mission, Ra-ghoratrei wouldreceive the message in five days, with the others receiving theirs insix.When he finally got off duty that evening, Kirk was weary to the bone.They were now enroute for the Klingon Neutral Zone. A few hours ago,he'd received official orders from Starfleet affirming Vice-AdmiralBurton's verbal orders. He was to attempt to locate and rescue PeterKirk; then he was directed to place himself and his vessel at thedisposal of Ambassador Sarek, who was currently on a special factfindingmission for the Federation president.Unsealing his maroon uniform jacket, Kirk slumped into a chair. Thecaptain had a hunch that the entire mess was only beginning--that it wasonly going to get worse before it got better. Assuming it does getbetter, which is a big assumption, he reminded himself.And besides, he thought, you've got it easy, compared to Peter. Whatmight the Klingons be doing to the young man, while he sat here, safeaboard his orbiting fortress?Thoughts of Klingon torture, mind-sifters and beatings, raced throughhis mind, and the captain shuddered.It least Qo'nos isn't Rura Penthe, he thought, trying to find comfort inthe fact--but he was tormented by images of Peter being brutalized byKlingons like Old One-Eye.Klingon jailers weren't noted for their kindness and compassion, to putit mildly.He and Peter had grown close, over the years; Kirk knew his nephewbetter than the cadet suspected. He was aware of Peter's feeling that hehad to live up to his illustrious uncle's example, and regrettedinadvertently placing his nephew under that kind of pressure. But Peterwas a Kirk, and he was bound to pressure himself to achieve, no matterwhat anyone said to him.An image of the young man's features drifted before his eyes, and Kirkshook his head wearily. Would he ever see him again ... alive? Wherewas Peter? Was he even now being tortured?With a muffled groan, Jim Kirk leaned his head in his hands Hang on,Peter, he thought. Just hang on a little longer ...Savel stared at herself in the mirror as she brushed her thick, shininghair. Today she was wearing a long blue dress instead of her usualsilvery padded tunic and snug trousers, and she felt more feminine thanshe had in a long time.For a moment, she indulged herself by imagining what Soran might thinkif he could see her in this garb. He had been so courteous, so quietlyattentive ... i\*. had been very flattering. Sayel knew that mostVulcans were bonded by the time they were adults ... was AmbassadorSarek's young aide betrothed?Surely not; if he'd been promised to another, he wouldn't have stared ather quite so intensely. His eyes had been very dark, very earnest ...Savel suddenly wondered what would happen to Soran if her adopteduncle's most cherished dream was realized, and war erupted between theFederation and the Klingons--followed swiftly by a full-scale Romulaninvasion. Everyone knew that Vulcans were pacifists ... but that wordwas not at all synonymous with "cowards." If pushed to defend theirhomeworld, Savel was quite sure that the Vulcans would fight, and fightwell.And what if Soran was hurt ... even killed?Savel's throat tightened, and she told herself she wasbeing ridiculous. She'd only met the young Vulcan for a few hours;thinking about him now was senseless ... illogical!She stared at her reflection, wondering where Soran was, what he wasdoing at the moment. Would she ever see him again? Would she ever findsomeone on Freelan that she found as attractive? The odds against thathappening were great--and not simply because she was so drawn to Soran.The young Vulcans residing on Freelan were technically free tointermarry with the Romulans ... but few did.To put it bluntly, the majority of the transplanted Vulcans on Freelanwere regarded with suspicion and disapproval ... though there wereexceptions. Savel knew of several Vulcans-by-blood who had risen tohigh-ranking positions in the Romulan military--some had intermarried.One or two had even received vital political appointments.But generally the transplanted Vulcans tended to seek each other'ssociety, rather than looking to the Roraulans for mates orcompanionship. Was this because they had all grown up with the knowledgethat they were a captive people? Or did their telepathic abilities setthem apart?Some Romulans were willing to accept and welcome the new additions intotheir society ... but many more were like Taryn's wife Jolana. Why? WasJolana cold and withdrawn because she suspected Savel's loyalty? Sincemany Vulcans-by-blood served in the military, and served well, thatattitude was illogical. Or was their distrust and aversion due tojealousy or fear of the Vulcan telepathic abilities?There was no way to be sure without a deep mind-meld, and Savel had nodesire for such intimacy with her adopted "aunt" ... so she would neverknow.With a sigh, she smoothed down the skirt of the blue dress, and headedfor the door of her room. Tonight she and Taryn would be leaving aboardhis ship. The commander would take command of the invasionary force thatwas being assembled and supplied near Remus. Savel held no militaryrank, but her telepathic skills made her invaluable in espionageefforts.As she stepped through the door, Savel thought for a moment more aboutSoran, but she forced the image of the handsome young aide's face fromher mind. She would never see him again ... thinking about him wasillogical.Squaring her slender shoulders, head high, Savel resolutely went to findher uncle, so they could plan what their strategy would be during theupcoming war.Peter Kirk paced restlessly, turning again and again to stare throughthe observation port at the front of his cell. It had been three dayssince Valdyr had fled from him. Three days.He was still fed regularly, his meals brought now by different Klingonguards, but she had not returned. The guards had come and gone asquickly as possible, sparing him barely a glance.The cadet discovered that, for the first time since this whole thing hadstarted, he was afraid--gut-wrenchingly, genuinely afraid--but not forhimself.Could Kamarag have observed Valdyr's behavior toward her prisoner andconsidered it disloyal or treacherous?Could she have been punished for their conversations, for ... touchinghim? He ran his thumb over the healing wounds on his palms, as if tryingto reassure himself that that passionate handclasp had actuallyhappened, that he hadn't imagined the entire thing. No, it had happened.He glanced at his hand. Oh yes, it had happened.But where was Valdyr? What if she never returned?At the thought of never seeing the young Klingon woman again, Peterswallowed painfully. Valdyr ...Peter opened his fist and stared down at the marks of her nails. Whathad happened between them?Or, at least ... what had happened to him? He scowled, fighting thereality, struggling against the truth ... Peter groaned inwardly andstruck the wall of his cell with his fist so hard that he winced fromthe pain. But even that couldn't distract him. The 'truth was stillthere, immutable, unmistakable ... How long was he going to go on lyingto himself?.All right, dammir! Peter finally admitted. I love her. I'm a fool!It was inconceivable that he should love her--a Klingon!When had it happened? How could it have happened? Were Klingons andhumans even biologically compatible? Who even knew? And yet ... tryingto deny how he felt would be like denying that he had two hands, or twoeyes ... or one heart.Very little was known about the complexities of Klingon society, thoughthere was plenty of speculation. Some of the things he'd heard about thesexual capacity of Klingon women would've made an Orion slaver blush. Itwas probably nothing but sleazy speculation, he knew--the same kinds ofthings had been said about other groups at other times. Peter had paidsuch gossip little mind ... until now.But now thinking of those things brought images to his mind ... images... Did Klingons love like humans? Were they even capable of similaremotions? More importantly, was there any hope at all that Valdyr mightever have the same feelings for him, or would she just find the wholething one more dishonorable complication in a situation that was causingher considerable soul-searching and anguish?There had been women in Peter's life, and some of them he'd loved--or,at least, he'd thought so at the time. Yet the most intimate momentswith them had not moved him the way that touching Valdyr's hand had.Peter tried telling himself this was just a greater manifestation ofStockholm Syndrome, but neither his emotions nor his hormones werelistening.Love? Yeah, let's get really kinky, here, Peter. You'll probably neversee her again until they haul you out to that platform, where she'll bewaiting to perform the be'joy' on you, with Uncle Jim as a witness.You'll really enjoy that, won't you? You'll love that, right?Suppose ... suppose ... she'd refued to perform the bejoy'. Maybe thatwas why she hadn't returned. Suppose one of the guards who'd beendelivering his meals got the job because she'd refused and her uncle wasfurious. What ifhe died without ever seeing her again, at the hands of a stranger?The cadet sank onto his bunk, cradling his head in his hands, feelingdespair ready to overwhelm him.Something made him glance back at the observation portal, and suddenly,as if his desire had conjured her up, Valdyr stood there, staring at himexpressionlessly. She said nothing, standing at attention like the goodKlingon warrior she yearned to be.Slowly, he got up and walked toward the portal, trying to frame words.Valdyr's eyes widened almost imperceptibly and he stopped dead in histracks, suddenly wary. Something was wrong ...She wasn't alone. Without warning, Kamarag stepped into view. With himwas another soldier, one Peter dimly remembered seeing before. Hadn'tthis guy been one of the goons who had come to get him out of his cellaboard the transport vessel?Valdyr no longer met his eyes. Was it time for the bejoy?Peter swallowed, but stood tall, head high. He would not shame himself... "Ah, the young Kirk," the ambassador murmured approvingly,addressing Valdyr in Klingonese. "He looks fine, niece. Strong. Healthy.You have done well." Kamarag eyed Peter through the portal as if sizingup a side of beef. "Cadet Kirk!" he said in English. "Do you know whatday it is?""No, Ambassador," Peter replied, in the same tongue, "I do not.""It is the day I will have my revenge!" Kamarag informed him. For aKlingon, his demeanor was positively jovial."Even now your uncle speeds to our rendezvous, where I will take himprisoner. As soon as I have him, Karg here will bring you and Valdyr tojoin us." He indicated the other male. Peter stared at the warrior. Sothis was Karg ... no wonder Valdyr hated him."Aboard my flagship, Hohwi; we shall all enjoy an old Klingon ritual.Tell me ... do you find my niece attractive, young Kirk?"Peter refused to show fear. "Any male would," he said, honestly."Good, good! I like your spirit ... it will add immeasurably to thebe/oy'! No doubt you have longed in the past days to find yourself ...close ... to her, hungered for her touch? Even human males are notimmune to a lovely female's charms, that is obvious. Well ... I amhappy to tell you that you will soon have your wish granted. Soon, youwill be very close to Valdyr indeed--while she separates your skin intoits many fragile layers inch by bloody inch! By the time she is finishedwith you, she will know you ... intimately. Outside ... and inside."Kamarag guffawed, and Karg did, too. Good grief, Peter thought, refusingto feel the fear that wanted to claw its way out of him with a shriek.Where did this guy learn English?Reading Edgar Rice Burroughs? He sounds like he comes from Barsoom ...Kamarag was still grinning. "No doubt your uncle will enjoy thespectacle; he will, after all, be the next to succumb to it!"Peter said nothing. He would not let himself be baited ... besides,Kamarag was, finally, saying something of real interest."And as soon as the bejoy' is finished, my fleet will speed intoFederation territory--and all the riches that await us there."Peter was stunned. He had thought that Kamarag's only interest lay intorturing him and his uncle. He'd had no idea the ambassador had a"fleet" of his own and was planning to start a war!"Your fleet?" he dared to ask, hoping Kamarag would keep talking, keepboasting. He must mean the renegades who were causing so much trouble..."Yes indeed. I have a sizable force accumulated of captains who areready to take back their honor as Klingon warriors! Together, we willreduce your Starfleet to scrap metal."Dream on, Peter thought. The ambassador had lost hismind if he seriously thought he and his "fleet" could conquer theFederation. Starfleet would wipe them out, there was no doubt.But--Peter repressed a shiver--he also had no doubt that Kamarag and hiscohorts would wreak terrible destruction on the worlds closest to theNeutral Zone before they were stopped.The ambassador turned so that his niece would be sure to hear him. "Bythe time Chancellor Azetbur learns of our action, it will be too late.At last, we will all regain our honor!" He faced Peter again, noted howthe young man was eyeing the walls of his cell. "It is a terrible thingto be held prisoner while events of such magnitude unfold around you, isit not, young Kirk?"Peter refused to give him the satisfaction of a reply.Valdyr's face never changed expression, yet she seemed to be strugglingwith emotion. "My uncle," she said softly, pitching her words forKamarag's hearing alone, turning her back on Karg, "I ask that youreconsider what you are about to do. Attacking the Starfleet isHoh'egh."Of course Valdyr realizes it's suicide, Peter thought, his spiritsrising slightly. Kamarag may be crazy, but she's not ...The ambassador stared down at her. "You are worried for me, niece?"Valdyr nodded. "Not only for you, Uncle. For all of our people. Ourworld is dying, my uncle," she insisted, still speaking softly, butpassion now tinged her voice. "We have neither the technology nor themeans to save our people.By working with the Federation, Chancellor Azetbur hopes ...""Enough of this!" Kamarag growled, losing his patience."I will not hear another word about that depraved female and how shewill save the Klingon Empire! Mention that name again, aldyr, and youwill have more to fear from Karg than your wedding mgnt.Valdyr flushed deeply, and she set her jaw. She drew herself up as tallas she could, and this time she addressed both males. "Is this how youwould control me, Uncle, by threatening me with a husband? Is this how aKlingon maleearns his female's loyalty--through fear? Where is your honor? You--"Karg's fist shot out faster than Peter's eyes could follow, smashingbrutally into her jaw. She hit the ground hard, but never uttered asound.Valdyr's face was swelling, and her lip was split and bleeding, but heknew from personal experience she could handle that. Her hand went forher dagger automatically, but Karg anticipated it and grabbed her wrist,twisting it painfully. She endured it without flinching, as the powerfulwarrior leaned down close to her face."Your disrespect to your uncle is distur bing, Valdyr," he warned her."Do not think I will tolerate such attitudes from my wife. Where areyour loyalties? To your family, or to that perverted female who hasusurped the rightful role of a male?""I am a Klingon!" Valdyr snarled. "My respect and my loyalties are to myfamily, Karg--of which you are not a part!""That will be rectified soon enough," Karg reminded her."We will be wed as soon as James T. Kirk dies beneath your knife. Thenyou will be mine! And you will learn respect ... "Hauling her up bythe front of her armor, he backhanded her hard enough to snap her headback. She blinked, dazed.Peter slammed against the viewing port before he even realized he'dmoved forward. He pounded his fists against the glass. "Karg, youcoward!" he heard himself shouting, barely remembering to speak English."You want someone to fight, come in here and take me on. I'll flattenyou, you bastard, just like I did the last time."His taunts had the effect he intended. Karg's face suffused with rageand he released Valdyr and moved toward the viewing port. Kamaragstopped him with a gesture."Enough of this," Kamarag said to Karg. "I must fetch James T. Kirk.Wait for my call, then bring Cadet Kirk to me at the head of my fleet.Once this business is done, you can enjoy your wedding night inFederation space, as we head for the nearest colony!"Karg gave Valdyr a last, sneering glance; then the two males left.Peter pressed against the port, straining to see down the hallway,trying to determine if Karg and Kamarag were out of earshot. He turnedback to Valdyr, and was surprised to lind her intense black eyes focusedon his face, as if she were trying to look through him. "Valdyr!" hewhispered. "Are you all right? Valdyr?"She glanced down the hallway, then finally climbed to her feet and cameover to face him. "You meant what you said to Karg, didn't you?""What?" He shook his head, unsure he'd fully understood her."Do you understand what you said to him, how he interpreted it?" sheasked again.Peter just stared. "What was not to understand? If I could've gotten myhands on him, I'd've mopped the floors up with him, I'd've ..."She shook her head. "You challenged him as an equal.Warrior to warrior. You refused to let him view you as a helpless humanprisoner. You challenged him--over his woman."Peter felt his barely suppressed rage bubble over. Clenching his fists,he pounded one hand hard against the viewing port. "You're not hiswoman!""My uncle has arranged the mating. It will be done.""Like hell it will!" Peter raged, feeling jealousy overwhelm him. Thethought of Karg "claiming" aldyr on the much-referenced wedding nightmade him crazy. "He'll touch you over my dead body! He can't have you!"Hearing himself beginning to sputter incoherently, he wound down."I will ask you the same question you asked me so many days ago, Pityr,"Valdyr said softly, in a tone he had never heard her use. "Why do youcare? What does it matter to you who touches me?"He ground his teeth. Better to say nothing than to have her laugh in hisface, or give her something to taunt him with when he had to endure herknife. But something in her eyes compelled truth. "It matters to me. Itmatters alot. The man ... who touches you ... should do so with respect ... "She never took her eyes from his. "That will never happen, Pityr. Myuncle is about to betray his government, a course of events that willeventually bring about either the destruction of our world, or, at thevery least, of our family. And the man ... who would touch me with ...respect ... will soon be dead ... by my hand ... "What ... what does she mean by that? Peter stood plastered against thewindow, as close to her as he could get, afraid to interpret her wordstoo freely ... afraid to hope."Pityr ..." Her voice was hoarser than usual. "I cannot stay long. I--""Where were you?" he demanded. "You've been gone for three days!""I was here," she said tonelessly, not looking at him. "I came downonce, while you were asleep, to look at you. But I could not talk to youuntil I ..." She trailed off."Until you what?" he asked softly."Until I knew my own mind," she admitted."What does that mean?""After the other day ... I sent a message to my uncle, asking him torelease me from this duty. But he ... he refused.""Why did you ask to be released?" Peter asked, wishing she'd look up athim.But she kept her eyes downcast. "Qo'nos ... is not a good place tolive, since Praxis exploded. Half of the moon was blown into a very longelliptical orbit that in fifty years will finally intersect with thisworld ... which will mean the end for life on this planet. So manymeteors will impact that it will destroy our atmosphere, crush our homesand land.Even now, Qo'nos is encircled by a ring of debris that reminds us nightand day that our time is limited."Meteor showers are now common. One of your human months ago, my motherwas at home in Hatlhhurgh with my oldest brother. A shower fell, and ourhome was destroyed, my mother and brother killed. My father haddied three years ago, when your uncle destroyed his own vessel to trapKruge's crew. So my three living brothers and I had no one. Kamarag tookus all in. He is now the head of my family, Pityr!" Her voice was tightand brittle, and she shook her head so hard her thick braid slid acrossher breastplate. "Honor demands that I serve him, and do as he wishes!""Well, you are doing that," Peter said, feeling his throat tighten as heglimpsed her expression."But to serve him, I have to be prepared to betray the leader of theEmpire, Chancellor Azetbur. I have to share the responsibility for thedeath of our homeworld. Without the Federation to help us, everyone onQo'nos will eventually die! And ... worst of all ... I must personallybring about your death!" She moved closer to the window, until she waspressed against the glass, even as he was."Pityr ... Pityr-oy ..." She closed her eyes, but the anguish in hervoice was unmistakable.The cadet froze as he took in what she had just said, feeling a surge ofincredulous joy. The suffix "oy" was used as an endearment. "Valdyr ..."he whispered. "Valdyr, look at me ..."Finally, she looked up. Carefully, Peter stuck his hand through theslot, until his fingertips brushed hers. He stroked the tips of herfingers, his heart pounding."Valdyr-oy ..." he whispered, his blue eyes holding her dark ones.She gazed at him incredulously; then he felt her fingertips slide overhis, and suddenly she was touching his palm gently, rubbing herfingertips against the crescent wounds there. He in turn felt the smallscabs from his own nails that were sheltered in her palm. "How can thisbe?" she whispered, her voice a mixture of anguish and joy. "It is notpossible. We are not the same people. We are alien to one another.Enemies by blood ...""Not anymore," he protested softly, "not enemies. Not by blood. We haveshared blood. We are part of each other.""Impossible," she repeated, as if trying to convinceherself. "Humans are weak and cowardly. They have no heart, noendurance. They cannot fight, they have no will to do it. They stink offear. Human males have no stamina, no passion. All they can do in bed istalk. A Klingon woman would kill any human male foolish enough to bedher.""Is that what they say?" Peter murmured, losing himself in her darkeyes. "Well, on my world they say things, too.Klingons never bathe, so they smell. They are stupid, ignorant savageswho live on base emotions, allowing their passions to rule their lives.They rut like animals. Klingons cannot weep ... because they cannotlove."She looked shocked to hear that Terrans had prejudices that equaledthose on her own world. "Do they say that?" she murmured, and he nodded,silently. "But Pityr ... I am learning that what they say is not true.I have seen you fight like the finest warrior, against odds so great,there was no way to win. You fought ... and almost won. I had neverseen such heart, such will to win ... such stamina ..."He clasped her hand in his tightly. "I am learning, too.You're always clean, and your fragrance reminds me of apricots. You'reso smart, you're the only one here who has the sense to see what thefuture holds. And I've heard anguish in your voice ... a sorrow toonoble for tears. I know you don't want to hurt me. I understand you arejust doing what you must."She shook her head. "You believe it is true, then?"It was his turn to be confused."That, because we cannot weep," she explained, "we cannot love.""No, I don't believe that.""But you believe that I could still bring about your death?Even now?""I thought ... when you explained about your uncle ...""The days I stayed away ... I did so ... because no matter how I feltabout my family loyalty, I realized ... that I could not live with thebetrayal of Azetbur, and the destruction of my planet ... and more thanthat ... I could not live with your death.""What are you going to do, then?"She released his hand, glanced up and down the hallway."I do not know yet. You will have to trust me."He shrugged, smiling. "My fate has been in your hands since I firstarrived here, Valdyr."A look of pleasure washed across her face, and then she was gone,leaving him with nothing but the memory of her touch.Commander Taryn sat in his quarters aboard the Romulan bird-of-preyShardarr, reviewing intelligence communiqu6s from Romulus. Savel, whosat opposite him, watched alertly as the commander's expressiondarkened."What is it?" she asked, when he finally looked up."Matters may be moving more precipitously than we an ticipated," hereplied, the lines in his craggy, raptor-beaked countenance deepening."Kamarag has gathered a squadron of renegade captains around him byoffering them Federation plunder and amnesty from the new government heclaims he will head. He is clearly planning some kind of coup tocoincide with his raid into Federation space. His squadron is currentlyassembling in space, not far from Qo'nos."Savel digested this news in silence. It was really going to happen, shethought. The war ... the war that Taryn had planned for his whole life.And she had been the one to bring it about. Vividly, she rememberedtouching Kamarag's mind, inflaming his hatred for Kirk. It hadn't beendifficult ... the Klingon's hatred had already been like magma beneatha planet's crust ... "But this is what you wanted, what we plannedfor," she said, finally."But the speed with which this is happening is a problem for us." Tarynrose from his antique carved desk and paced restlessly across the smalloffice, stopping for a moment to regard the extensive collection ofancient weapons hanging on the wall. Some of them were so old that theypredated the Romulan exodus from Vulcan, following the Surakreformation.The commander stood for a moment, ostensiblystudying a training lirpa--one with a hollow bludgeon and a dulledblade.Savel had a good knowledge of the tactical situation they now faced. Butshe had no idea of what information Taryn had gained from thosecommuniqu6s. "What problem?" she asked.Taryn handed her the communiqu6s, inviting her to scan them for herself."Kamarag is doing far more than we expected. He plans to toppleAzetbur's government--not simply to lead a renegade raid. We did notanticipate this."Savel scanned the messages quickly, then nodded agreement."He has gone too far to simply go home after his raid.There is no way that Kamarag can keep his actions secret, now ... notwith this many people involved. The ambassador has evidently decidedthat the time has come to make his break with Chancellor Azetbur'sgovernment. How do you think he will proceed, Vadi?""I believe that, once Kirk is dead, the ambassador will initiatehostilities by leading his squadron across the Neutral Zone in anall-out attack on the nearest Federation world. He will use thepublicity from that to declare himself a war leader, and thus sway thepublic to his side. Staging a military coup will then be easy."Savel raised an eyebrow as that notion sank in. "If Kamarag does that... such an action would indeed precipitate all-out war between theFederation and the Klingon Empire." Silently, the young Vulcan womanconsidered, as she had been considering for the past several days, theramifications of interstellar war.Memories surfaced in her mind, from the days before she'd come to livewith Taryn and his family. There had been eleven Vulcan children in thecreche, many of them orphans whose parents had suicided rather than beforced to engender more children to live on Romulus, Remus, or Freelan.And in the very early days ... there had been an old one, an ancientVulcan who had been brought in to teach them their native language.Sakorn had been his name, and he was blind.Savel vividly remembered the afternoons she and the other children hadspent with Sakorn during those language lessons. The ancient Vulcan hadalso, whenever he could avoid the watchful eye of the other teachers,attempted to imbue his charges with Vulcan ethics and values."War is an unconscionable waste of resources, and the most illogical oftactics," she remembered him saying quietly, one summer afternoon, asthey'd all sat in the school courtyard together. "There are no winnersin war ... only losers. The innocent pay, and the guilty grow everricher and ever greedier. Violence breeds violence, and the cycle ofavarice and corruption is nearly impossible to break. There is no excusefor a civilized being to resort to war ... there are alwaysalternatives to bloodshed."Savel didn't know whether she completely agreed with Sakorn'spronouncementsrebut her memories of the old one were still vivid enoughto make her breath catch in her throat as she imagined what he'd say ifhe knew what she'd done."War ..." she repeated, hearing the doubt in her own voice. "What youhave been working to achieve for all these many years ..."Indeed," the commander replied, taking down an ancient Vulcan senapaand examining the scythelike obsidian blade, careful to touch only thehandle, for the cutting edge was dipped in the traditional poison. Hefrowned down at the weapon, seemingly studying the flowing streaks ofred amid the black stone. "This development will, in all likelihood,benefit us in the end. The more fragmented the Klingon Empire is, theeasier it will be to conquer.But Kamarag is moving so much faster than I had anticipated ... he isproceeding too swiftly. Our forces are days away from being able to takefull tactical advantage.And if Kamarag kills Kirk tomorrow, and then proceeds full-scale intoFederation space ... the Federation and the Klingons could be engagedin all-out war within a handful of days. The praetor has ordered fullmobilization of all forces, under my direct command ... but I do notknow whether we can be ready to invade in time."Savel glanced at the small viewscreen that showed the vista of stars asseen from Shardarr's bridge. Events, like the stars, seemed to be movingtoward them too fast. "Is there anything we can do to slow theambassador?""I cannot think of anything" Taryn said.At the sound of the intercom, both turned toward the comm link. "Tarynhere," the commander snapped as he activated it."Commander, I have that tactical analysis prepared that you requested,"came the voice of Taryn's second-in-command."Excellent," Taryn said. "Call a meeting of all senior officers in myconference chamber. We will be there directly."Motioning to Savel to join him, the commander strode out of his officeand down the narrow, utilitarian corridor.Once they reached the sparsely furnished conference chamber, with itshuge comm link that dominated the bulkhead, the young Vulcan woman satin her accustomed place on the commander's left. One by one, his seniorofficers filed into the room. They were all young, hand-picked by Tarynto serve aboard his ship and intensely loyal to him.Taryn began the meeting by having his second-in-command, Poldar, give abriefing on the current tactical situation. Savel watched as hepinpointed the location of Kamarag's renegade squadron, then pointed outthe locations of their own vessels. Several would reach the area withintwo days, but others would not arrive for another five or six.The fleet was massing ... the largest fleet ever assembled in Romulanhistory. And Shardarr would spearhead the attack, if all went accordingto plan."What about Federation vessels?" Taryn asked."There are a number in Sector 53.16," Poldar said, "but none closeenough to trouble us until we are well across the Neutral Zone. With theexception of one vessel, Commander."Taryn raised one slanting eyebrow, inviting the centurionsilently to continue. "Commander, I speak of the Enterprise.Kirk's ship lies directly in the course Kamarag's squadron will takeacross the Neutral Zone.""Enterprise lies in the path of Kamarag's invasionary force?" Tarynrepeated slowly, plainly taken aback."Yes, Commander," Poldar said. "We received a new batch of intelligencereports just as I was leaving the bridge for this meeting. We have apositive identification on the ship ... it is definitely Kirk's?""That is not good," Tonik, the senior helm officer, said flatly. "IfKamarag's squadron encounters the Enterprise, they may be decimated.""Not even Enterprise can defeat half a score Of ships," Taryn pointedout, the faintest touch of scorn in his voice."And Kirk ... Kirk is not with the ship. He is keeping a rendezvouselsewhere." Despite the commander's confident air, Savel noted the linesof strain deepen between his brows."Even if Kirk is not there, he will have left one of his senior offcersin command of his vessel," Tonik pointed out, mildly. "And even if Kirkis not with his vessel, that by no means makes Enterprise easy prey.""Yes," one of the junior officers chimed in, "and with only five or sixKlingon ships remaining, Kamarag's force might not be threatening enoughto bring out the Federation fleet in force. And the fewer Starfleetships assembling to defend the Neutral Zone, the fewer captains we caninduce to cross into Klingon space ... should that tactic provenecessary to gain our ends.""I regret to say that I have more news that may not please you,Commander," Poldar said, pausing to glance at another communiqu6."Intelligence has confirmed the presence of Ambassador Sarek aboard theEnterprise."Taryn straightened abruptly, and now he was frowning."Sarek ..." he repeated, and his officers watched him silently.After a moment's contemplation of their newest piece of news, Taryn rosefrom his seat and brusquely dismissed his officers. Savel stayed,knowing that the order did not apply to her. When the chamber hademptied, she stepped closerto her adopted uncle, touched his sleeve. Taryn, who had been gazingstraight ahead, eyes hooded, his expression unreadable, startledslightly and looked around."What is it, Vadi?" she asked, softly."Why is Sarek aboard that ship?" Taryn asked, his jaw muscles tight withtension. "What is he planning? Sarek never does anything without areason ... ""I do not know, Vadi, "Savel said. "The one time I was in his presence,at Camp Khitomer, I tried to 'read' him--and could not. His shielding issurprisingly good.""How much does he know?" demanded Taryn, thinking aloud. "He tried tobreak into our data banks ... I am certain he was somehow responsiblefor the malfunction that nearly shut the entire system down that nighthe was aboard our station.""How do you know that?" Savel was taken aback to hear about the databanks.Taryn made an impatient gesture. "I cannot prove it. He left nobetraying trace. But I am certain that malfunction masked some espionageattempt on his part. Did he gain access? Copy data? Is it possible thathe actually obtained proof of our plans?"Grinding one fist into his palm, he strode restlessly around theconference chamber, frowning. "No," he said, after a moment, answeringhis own question. "He has no proof. He would have contacted Ra-ghoratreiif he did ... and our contact in the president's office would haveinformed us.""But he did speak to Ra-ghoratrei yesterday," Savel pointed out. "Thereport said so.""Yes, but only to warn him against the KEHL. No ... he has no proof. Iam sure of that. But now ... to make sure he does not gain proof ... Imust lure him to me ... and kill him." Taryn said the last slowly, asthough he almost regretted the necessity."Are you sure that he did not somehow warn Ra-ghoratrei, Vadi?"He turned to regard her as though he'd forgotten her presence. "No ... Iknow Sarek. He is too proud, toostubborn to go to Ra-ghoratrei with a tangle of speculations for whichhe has no concrete proof. He is aboard the Enterprise at this momentbecause he has come in search of that prooff Now we have a few daysbefore the fleet assembles. During that time ..." A muscle tightened inTaryn's jaw. "Sarek must die.""But if he is aboard the Enterprise ... As Tonik said, she will not bean easy ship to destroy.""No ... but if I can lure Sarek to Freelan, I could order one of thesquadrons on Freelan to waylay Enterprise and destroy her enroute.""And if Sarek refuses to come to Freelan?""Then we will have to lure Enterprise away from her present position,possibly across our Neutral Zone.""Why? What purpose would that serve?""Two things would be accomplished." Taryn's expression lightened intoalmost one of pleasure. "First," he held up one finger, "Enterprisewould be out of the way of Kamarag's squadron, allowing the Klingon toenter Federation space in full force. And, two"--he held up a secondfinger--"the delay involved while I allowed Enterprise to search forShardarr--""Without finding her until you choose, I presume.""Correct ... that time delay will allow at least one or two of ourother ships to join us. Facing three, even four cruisers orbirds-of-prey, the starship will be outgunned. During the time theywaste while hunting us, we will jam their commu-nistions to keep Sarekfrom sending a message to Ra-ghoratr i.Then, when we are certain of victory, Shardarr and the other ships willdecloak ... and we will finish them.""A good plan, Vadi," Savel said hollowly. Suppose Sarek had broughtSoran with him? He would be killed, too."But ... is there no other way? Sarek ... I have heard you speak ofhim so many times as almost a ... friend. Is there no way to sparehim?""It is rrettable," Taryn said bleakly, the expression in his dark eyesrevealing his' own turmoil. "However, I canthink of no other way to insure that the ambassador does not warnRa-ghoratrei of what he may have learned about us and our plans.""He may have already told the president. Killing Sarek may not preventthe Federation from discovering what is happening.""He has not told him. I am certain he has not. I know Sarek ... I havestudied his mind during our chess games.He is stubborn, and proud. He would insist on having incontrovertibleproof ... not mere suspicions." Taryn sighed as he stared at the battleplan still frozen on the wall screen. "I do regret the necessity. Icould have wished to keep Sarek alive, so he could be of use as anegotiator."Unable to sleep, Sarek rolled out of the narrow bunk and pacedrestlessly around the cramped cabin. Then, driven by an impulse he didnot stop to analyze, he slipped on his robe and soft boots and, pickingup Amanda's journal, headed for the observation deck.It was the middle of the shipboard "night," so the ambassadorencountered only a few crew members in the corridors or the turbolift.Halting before the door to the observation deck, Sarek touched the entrypanel, then stepped into the starlit dimness.While Enterprise was in warp, the stars appeared different than insubspace ... each bore a trail of light caused by the effect of thespacewarp that allowed the vessel to exceed the speed of light. Thecloser the star, the more distinct the trail appeared to an observer. Onthe bridge, the ship's viewscreens automatically filtered out thetrails, in order to clarify the image, but here they showed distinctly.Moving as silently as a shadow, Sarek walked to one of the chairsscattered about, and seated himself. He gazed outward, attempting toclear his mind, preparatory to finding his center. It had been so longsince he had gained the tranquility found only in meditation.Down ... seek the center ... concentrate effortlessly.Allow all external stimuli and surroundings to slip away ...Sarek felt his mind and body responding, as he sought out and touchedhis own center--The sound of a step intruded into his consciousness.Sarek's eyes opened as he sensed a familiar presence, and he turned tosee Spock hesitating just inside the door of the observation lounge."I regret the intrusion," Spock said, coolly, formally, as he turned togo.Sarek hesitated, wanting to call him back, not wishing to have thisenmity between them. But he could not quite force himself to speak.Suddenly the ambassador was struck by an overpowering sense of whathumans called d6jh vu--this had happened before ... nearly forty-fiveStandard years before. Sarek blinked, and the memory surged up, as freshand real as though it were actually happening ...The three of them were gathered around the table for the evening meal,and Amanda had prepared many of their favorite dishes herself, nottrusting the selectors to season and spice every dish perfectly. Alwayssensitive to his wife's moods, because of their bond, Sarek soonrealized that Amanda was both preoccupied and nervous.. though he couldnot think of any reason for her to be uneasy.Eighteen-year-old Spock sat on his right, and the youth's appetite,customarily healthy, was noticeably lacking.Today Sarek had met with the head of the Vulcan Science Academy todiscuss possible curricula for Spock's education, which would begin nextterm. Sekla, the ambassador recalled (experiencing a flash of pride hedid not trouble to suppress), had openly expressed his eagerness toguide and foster young Spock's intellectual and logical development.His sows intelligence profiles and school records were, in Sekla's word,"impressive." For a Vulcan, that was quite a compliment.Sekla, Sarek had noted, had been careful not to say,"Impressive for one of half blood." No mention had been made of his sowsshared heritage.Now Sarek glanced inquiringly from his wife to his son."My wife, this meal is exemplary. I thank you. Yet I note that neitherof you appears to be hungry. Is something wrong?"Amanda started, then obviously forced herself to relax as she turned toface her husband. Her brown hair had recently begun to show a fewstreaks of silver, but her soft features were relatively unlined, andher blue eyes were as sapphire-intense as ever. "Nothing is wrong,Sarek," she said, but he could tell through their bond that she wasequivocating ... not actually telling an untruth, but coming perilouslyclose to it. "However, I have determined to finish that translation ofT'Lyra's ancient poetry cycle tonight. My editor messaged me today toinquire about when it would be completed, and I have only two poemsleft. So I will take my leave of you. Spock"--she turned her gaze on herson, and there was an intensity in her eyes that hadn't been there whenshe'd spoken to her husband--"will you help your father clear the table?That will give you a chance to talk.""But, Mother--" Spock began, half-protesting, but Amanda merely gave hima too-bright smile as she collected her own dishes and headed for theautocleaner in the kitchen. Her son avoided his father's gaze as hesnatched up his dishes and followed his mother into the kitchen.Sarek hastily rose, gathered his own dishes, and followed him. What istranspiring here? he wondered, disquieted.The elder Vulcan was just in time to hear Amanda insist,"You have to tell him, Spock. You know that." Sarek hesitated,half-shielded by the doorway, and saw his wife give his son anencouraging smile. Spock gave her a wan half-smile in return. Sarektensed as he saw it. His sows control was virtually perfect in front ofhim, but, in the company of humans, it slipped occasionally. Once, onEarth, the ambassador had actually seen him grin when he'd thought hewas alone, as the youth observed the antics of a pair of hisgrandparents' kittens.I will insist that Spock reside at the Science Academy during his courseof study, Sarek thought. There are no humans there, and that houldenable him to perfect his control.Then Amanda left the kitchen, and Sarek stepped in.Silently, father and son tidied the kitchen and dining area.When they were finished, the elder Vulcan caught and held his son'seyes. "What is it that you must tell me, Spock?" he asked bluntly.His son took a deep breath. "Perhaps we might walk outside, Father? TheWatcher should be just past full phase.""Certainly," Sarek agreed.Together, t he two left the villa and walked into Amanda's garden. Asfather and son walked slowly, Sarek glanced at his son's face, saw thatSpock's mouth was drawn tight, making him appear older than his eighteenyears. "Tell me what concerns you, Spock," Sarek said, finally, seeingthat the youth was not disposed to break the silence.Spock drew a deep breath and halted, turning to face his father. Hiseyes were level, but for a moment a muscle jumped in the corner of hisjaw ... twitched once, twice, then was forcibly repressed. "Father, Idecided some time ago that I did not wish to attend the Vulcan ScienceAcademy," he said, carefully enunciating each word. "I applied insteadto Starfleet Academy. I learned today that I have been accepted as acadet."Sarek heard the words, but it took a second for them to register. Eversince Spock's early childhood, Sarek had watched his eager fascinationwith the universe, observed and fostered the development of his logical,scientific mind.For years science had been Spock's consuming interest in life. And nowhe was talking about giving that up in order to wear a uniform?The ambassador gazed at his son, searching for words, knowing that hemust make the youth recognize the gravity of this error in judgment."Spock," he began, careful to keep his voice low, "it is obvious thatthis constitutes an unconsidered decision on your part. That isunderstandable ... you are young, after all. But I cannot allow you to... waste your years of study.Your thinking processes and logical abilities are eminently suited for ascientific career.""I do not intend to give up science, Father," Spock said, a spark ofeagerness animating his features slightly when he realized that hisfather was willing to discuss his decision rationally. "Starfleet ...serving aboard a starship ... will provide an unparalleled opportunityfor scientific exploration, observation, and study. As a scienceofficer, I will be able to study the universe as I never couldif/remained here on Vulcan."Spock's control was slipping; his father could hear the passion tingeinghis voice. Sarek stared at the youth stonily."Spock ... your control," he chided.The other's eyes fell ... all animation drained from his features. "Iask forgiveness," he said, and Sarek caught just a hint of sullenness inhis tone. "At any rate, Father, I have made my decision.""Spock, what happened just now is an excellent example of why I demandthat you reconsider this decision," Sarek pointed out. "In Starfleet,you will be among mostly humans.Your control is precarious enough. In the company of humans, it may beirrevocably damaged. You could disgrace your people ... your entirelineage if you do this.""I will endeavor to perfect my control--" Spock began.Sarek shook his head and continued, adamantly, "Spock, every time yourcontrol falters, you reflect poorly upon all of Vulcan."Spock's features hardened. "My control is my own affair," he said,coldly. "I wonder how my mother would react if she knew you were warningme against being 'contaminated' by her species.""Your mother has no part in this," Sarek said curtly, feeling his angerat his son's stubbornness threatening his own control. "She is notVulcan, and this does not concern her.""Mother is in favor of my decision," Spock said evenly."She believes it will be beneficial for me to interact with manydifferent kinds of beings. And I should point out that gainingacceptance into Starfleet Academy is far from easy,Father. Starfleet chooses only the top five percent of applicants." Theyouth gave him a sideways glance. "Mother is proud that I have beenaccepted." Sarek heard the implied rebuke, but did not acknowledge it."Assuming you graduate," he said, "are you aware that you will berequired to take an oath stating that you will do whatever is necessaryto carry out your orders? Including kill? Starfleet vessels carryformidable weapons, Spock! You would have to be trained in the use ofthem, as well as hand weapons. It is eminently possible that you wouldbe called upon to kill another, in the performance of your duty."Spock's expression did not alter. "There is talk of commissioning anall-Vulcan science vessel," he pointed out."Perhaps I will be assigned to that ship ...""And perhaps you will not," Sarek snapped. His own control was slipping,but, at the moment, he did not care. He paced up and down the gardenpath, his strides quick and jerky. "You will be a puppet, a toy forStarfleet to order about as they please. You will have no free will.Starfleet officers are respected by the masses, that is true. But noVulcan has ever graduated from the Academy, my son! Our people are notsuited for a life in the service!""That is something that remains to be seen, Father," Spock said, withmaddening calm. "I have decided that this is a step I wish to take. Donot think you can dissuade me.My mind is made up.""Your future is bright," Sarek said, changing tactics. "I have littledoubt that you will distinguish yourself as a scientist if you attendthe Vulcan Science Academy. If you pursue this other path, however, youwill have disgraced your family.. your lineage. What would T'Pau say, ifshe could hear you planning to bring ruin upon yourself?.""I have determined that this path is mine, Spock stud. "I cannot allowfamily opinion to dissuade me.""If you do this," Sarek said, holding his son's eyes with his own,putting every bit of intensity he was experiencing into his formalwords, "you will not be welcome in my lands, your name will not be knownto me. If you persist in disgracing yourself and your lineage, I willnot be able to excuse you, either publicly or privately. You will bevrekasht to me, Spock, do you understand?" Vrekasht ... the ancientword meant "exile," or "outcast." Sarek regretted having to say it, butit was obvious that strong measures were required to make his son seereason in this.Spock's features hardened, and his mouth was a grim slash. "Vrekasht?"he repeated. "Is that not rather ... overstating the gravity of thesituation, Father? I have only chosen my life's path ... not murderedor mind-violated another.""If you persist in joining Starfleet, then I have no doubt that you willbe called upon to do both, in the course of time," Sarek said,inexorably. "I insist that you reconsider this disastrous course." Spockgazed at him for a long moment; then his shoulders straightened, and heraised his chin slightly. "No," he said, coldly. "My decision stands. Ifyou wish to name me vrekasht, then so be it. Farewell, Father." Withoutanother word, the youth turned and strode away, up the garden path,toward the villa. Sarek watched him go, fighting with himself. Spock wascorrect to name his son vrekasht was extreme ... and unjustified.Sarek wished he had not done it. The word "Wait!" surged through him,wanting to burst from his lips ... but the ambassador clenched histeeth and the word died in his mouth, unspoken.Spoek's tall figure was at the garden perimeter now ... was still moving... it was not yet too late ... it was--too late. Over. There was alast flicker of a Vulcan robe, and then his son vanished into the villa.Go after him, one part of Sarek's mind insisted, but he could not. Hewas correct, and he would not grovel, would not recant. Logic dictatedthat he wait for Spock to consider his words. Surely his son would cometo his senses.Sarek stared blindly at T'Rukh, waiting for Spock to reappear. An hourpassed ... two. Three, and the ambassador still waited, barelystirring.Finally he heard a step beside him, and turned, only to find that it wasAmanda who stood there. Traces of weeping still showed around her eyes,but her features were composed."Where is Spock?" Sarek demanded."He beamed out an hour ago," she replied, her expression as cold as thesnows of her homeworld. "Our son is gone, Sarek." The Vulcan heard herwords, unable to believe that Spock had not reconsidered, had acceptedthe sentence his father had imposed on him, and had left to pursue thisillogical, distasteful career choice. "Spock.. is gone?" he asked,finally."That is what I said." Amanda's voice was flat. "He told me that youdeclared him vrekasht, my husband. How could you?""I was trying to make him come to his senses," Sarek muttered, stillstunned by her pronouncement."That was a terrible, unjust thing to do, Sarek," Amanda said. "You havedone the unforgivable. Spock is my son, and I will not support you inthis." She took a deep breath. "I cannot stay with someone who could dowhat you have done today. I am leaving you, Sarek.""You are ... leaving? Amanda," he said, carefully, "I do not wish youto leave.""You have no choice, Sarek. I cannot stay with you anymore.. afterthis." For the first time, Amanda's voice faltered slightly.Sarek, noting that?aid, "But you will be back, Amanda.You will return ... She shook her head. "I don't know, Sarek. Perhaps.Or perhaps not. I only know that I can't bear the sight of you at themoment. Farewell." Without giving him a chance to say anything more, sheturned and walked away, just as her son had. Sarek stood in his wife'sgarden, bathed in T-Rukh's harsh light, alone.Alone ... Sarek watched as the door to the observation deck slid shutbehind his son. His fingers tightened on Amanda's journal. Today hewould read of her days without him. She had been gone for nearly a year,and they had never spoken of that time after she'd returned. What hadshe done in all those days?Today he would find out.Those days without her had been the worst of his life ... in some ways,worse even than now.Why had she come back? Sarek still wasn't sure. His fat her, Solkar, haddied, and she had appeared without warning at the memorial service. Atits conclusion, Amanda had simply walked over to him, taken his arm, andgone home with him as though she had never been away.They had never discussed the separation.Sarek took a deep breath and opened the slim red volume ...Spock walked along the corridor leading from the observation deck,almost wishing he had not left. His father had appeared so ... alone.For a moment, Sarek had appeared actually ... vulnerable.But then memories of Amanda's last hours surfaced, and the Vulcan's lipstightened. Vulnerable? His father?Reaching Kirk's cabin, the Vulcan identified himself and was admitted.Kirk was still in uniform, though the captain had been off duty for overan hour."We will reach the rendezvous coordinates in one hour point thirty-twominutes," Spock said, without preamble."What are you planning to do, Captain?""We're almost a full two days ahead of the deadline, Spock," Kirk said."Your father and I discussed this yesterday.He thinks, and I agree with him, that Kamarag is behind this. I believehe's holding Peter on Qo'nos.""And?" Spock prompted, when the officer paused."And I'm going in to rescue him," Kirk said. "With luck, I can take ashuttlecraft in, locate him by sensor, grab him, and get back to theEnterprise before Kamarag even reaches the rendezvous site." Spocknodded; he'd been expecting something like this. "I will go with you,Captain," he said. "You cannot go alone.""I was planning to," Kirk said. "Invading the Klingon homeworldsingle-handed is pretty foolhardy ... even for me." He shook his head,as if wondering at himself. "I can't expect anyone to join me on such aharebrained mission.""You can expect your friends, Jim," said a new voice, and Spock turnedto see Leonard McCoy framed in the doorway behind him. "You know betterthan to think Spock and I would let you go off to tackle a whole planetof Klingons by yourselfl"Kirk grinned ruefully. "I guess I do," he said finally, gazing at hisfriends and shaking his head. "After all, three stand a much betterchance than just one, against a whole planet ... right?""You got it," McCoy said. "Right, Spock?""Right, Doctor," the Vulcan said, firmly.Kirk spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "All right, then ... nextstop, Qo'nos. I'll meet you on the shuttlecraft deck in an hour.""Approaching Qo'nos, Captain," Spock reported. "ETA to orbit, twelvepoint two minutes."Kirk, who was piloting the shuttlecraft Kepler, nodded in acknowledgmentof the Vulcan's words. "Anything within sensor range?""I detect no military craft, just freighters."The captain checked his screens, wishing he had some idea of where onQo'nos Kamarag's ancestral home lay.Northern or southern hemisphere? Eastern or western continent?"Spock," he said, "what are our chances of tapping into the Klingon databanks and accessing some information?""I may be able to do so, Captain," the Vulcan said, turning away fromhis sensor array. Like Kirk and McCoy, Spock wore a black jumpsuitdesigned for night raids."What information do you wish me to access?""Kamarag's home address," Kirk said, dryly."I will attempt to access its location, Captain," Spock said, turningback to his instruments."Y'know, Jim, this will be the first time we've actually seen Qo'nos,"McCoy pointed out. The doctor was sitting in the passenger seat behindthe captain. "Last time we were there, we were shut up like mice in ashoebox, and shuttled around in closed vehicles."Kirk nodded. "We didn't even see the planet from orbit." Spock regardedhis console intently. "I have Qo'nos on-screen." Intently, Kirk watchedas the tiny dot grew until, with magnification on maximum, they couldsee their destination."Look at that," Kirk whispered, after a moment. "I didn't realize it hada ring!""That ring is much of what remains of Praxis," Spock said. "There areseveral large chunks of the moon still orbiting Qo'nos, andcorresponding gaps in the ring. This ring is ..." He consulted hissensors." ... approximately two thousand kilometers across, and itorbits Qo'nos's equator at a mean distance of eleven thousand, fivehundred seventy-one kilometers." Kirk glanced at his own sensors."There's also a lot of asteroidal material in the system," he said."Correct. A large number of asteroids will impact the planet inapproximately fifty years." Kirk stared at the planet that was growingin their viewscreens. "Now all we have to do is avoid detection by theKlingons while we locate Peter." He gave McCoy a lopsided grin. "Sureyou don't want to change your mind about coming, Bones?""Too late for that, Jim," he pointed out, smiling back at his friend.Spock cleared his throat. "Piloting the shuttlecraft across the plane ofthat ring will be difficult, Captain. The Kepler's shielding islimited.""Why go near the ring at all?" McCoy asked. "You can surely plot acourse that will keep us away from it." Kirk glanced at the ringedworld, watching it grow steadily in their viewscreen. "If we go indirectly, bold as brass, the Klingon sensors will be bound to pick usup, and we'll have unwelcome surface-to-air company in no time," heexplained. "I think what Spock is planning"--he slanted an inquiringlook at the Vulcan--"is to use the ring as a ver.""Precisely," said Spoek. "As I mentioned before, sensors indicate thatthe ring has several gaps, caused by large chunks of Praxis acting asring shepherds. Their gravitational force clears a small gap aroundthem. I recommend that we traverse the ring plane through one of thelarger gaps.Matching orbit with the ring. we can use it as a shield while we locatePeter.""How are you going to find him?" McCoy asked, staring mesmerized at theringed planet. "It's a big world.""I did manage to locate Kamarag's aneostral compound in the Klingon databanks," Spock said. "Thus we have an approximate idea of where tosearch. Mr. Scott and I modified the sensors to detect any human lifereadings. If Peter is the only human in that compound, we should be ableto trace him.""It's a good plan," Kirk said, "but crossing the plane of the ring, eventhrough the longest gap, will require some tricky piloting.""It is fortunate for us that the presence of the ring, and all theattendant meteor showers since the demise of Praxis, has evidentlyforced the Klingons to abandon whatever early-warning defense systemtheir planet boasted," Spock said, studying his instrument readouts."They probably still have a lot of meteor showers," Kirk said, eyeingthe ring. They were now close enough to it that, under the highestmagnification, the ring was revealed to be made of millions of chunks ofrock, ranging from pieces no bigger than a marble to huge boulderslarger than the Kepler.Minutes later, the shuttlecraft was approaching the gap in the ring.Kirk sent the little vessel skimming along its edge, matching its speed;then he boosted the Kepler's velocity slightly, aiming for the break,which was now clearly visible.Qo'nos was an awesome sight below them the planet turned, brown andgreenish blue, its continents separated by shallow azure seas speckledwith atolls. The three largest landmasses were edged by volcanicmountain chains, and it was evidently a far more seismically activeplanet than Earth.From this distance, signs of civilization, at least on thedaylight side, appeared minimal. Only a few angular blotches on thewestern side of the continent below them betrayed the presence of largecities.But even the world turning below him could not hold the captain'sattention for long. As they sped along, Qo'nos's ring dominated theirview, spreading out before them like a golden plain studded with nuggetsof all sizes. The ring was nearly two thousand kilometers wide at thispoint--and yet, it was far from solid. Glimpses of the surface beyond itcame and went, depending on its density. Kirk's eyes widened as hestudied the vista."Shields at maximum, Captain," Spock said. "Ready for crossover.""It's a good thing we'll be crossing over on the dayside of the planet,"Kirk said. "Otherwise, dust vaporizing against our shields wouldspotlight us from the surface, if we tried this on the nightside.""Will the shields hold?" McCoy asked tensely."Long enough to get us through," Kirk said, hoping he wasn't beingoverly optimistic. He kept his eyes glued to the last-minute coursecorrections flashing up at him. "Barring any major collisions, ofcourse," he added."Even though the gap is relatively free of large rocks, it stillcontains quantities of dust and small particles. The shuttlecraft'sshields were not designed for continuous bombardment, Captain," Spockwarned. "They may burn out." Moments later, the ring gap lay directlybelow them.Kirk's fingers skipped nimbly across the controls as he delicatelyjockeyed the shuttlecraft into position. With a short blast of themaneuvering thrusters, the captain began the crossover.Even here, in this relatively "clear" portion of the ring, they werebuffeted by debris. The little craft bucked as the shields absorbed theimpacts of direct hits from gravel-sized rocks--one, two, three ... adozen--Kirk lost count. All the while his hands moved, keeping them oncourse, heading them down and through the sparsest portion of the gap.He was aware, peripherally, of Spock backing him from the copilot'sseat, making tiny adjustments that helped stabilize the Kepler."Shields are weakening," the Vulcan reported matter-of-factly.And then, a second later, he added, with a touch of excitement,"Captain, I am picking up Peter's readings ... " Where? Kirk said."Can you plo t a course to bring us down near him?""Affirmative," Spock replied, and, only a few seconds later, the headingthe Vulcan had computed appeared on Kirk's screen. Quickly, the captainlaid it in."Shields are down by eighty percent," Spock cautioned."We're almost out of it," Kirk said tight/y, fighting the controls ofthe bucketing Kepler. "Ten more seconds, and we're home free!""Shields are weakening ... weakening ..." Spock said.Then the Vulcan added, matter-of-factly, "Shields are burned out,Captain.""We're okay," Kirk said, his throat raw with tension."We're out of it. Now all we have to do There was a sharp crack of soundas something struck the Kepler, rocking the shuttle violently; then Kirkheard the high, thin shriek of escaping air pressure. "Bones, check theair pressure! Spock, take over!" he ordered, moving to locate the impactand exit points of the tiny rock that had struck them. Moments later,the captain saw with satisfaction that Kepler's automatic sealant systemwas working as it was designed to, covering the tiny holes. The whine ofescaping air lessened, then stopped. Jim returned to his board.Moments later, he knew they were in trouble. The shuttlecrafi'sdirectional controls now responded sluggishly to his exploratorycommands. "Damn it," Kirk said, feeling the Kepler yaw. "Piloting thisthing down through atmosphere won't be easy.""You going' to be able to land this crate, Jim?" McCoy asked, his voicecarefully casual."We're sure going to try," Kirk said. Grimly, he fought the controls,struggling to keep the shuttlecraft on course. It wouldn't help them toland safely in one of Qo'nos's oceans,and he certainly didn't want to find himself setting down thousands ofkilometers from Peter.It was a bumpy ride, nursing the crippled shuttle down through Qo'nos'sturbulent upper atmosphere, fighting to keep the little craft stable andon course.Finally, they were approaching their destination. Red sunlight fromQo'nos's setting sun splashed them as they headed down. Kirk wished forSulu as he struggled to keep the Kepler's landing skids parallel to theground. It had been a long time since he'd landed anything in theseconditions.Glancing at his course readouts, he realized that they were about sixkilometers from his intended destination, and thought, Close enough. Idon't mind walking ...Glimpsing a gap in the tree cover below, the captain sent the craft downinto it, and suddenly they were engulfed by huge trees with strange,feathery leaves and giant red seedpods."Come on," he whispered to the little ship. "You can make it ... almostthere ..." He made a last-minute adjustment, saw the ground rushing uptoward them. Too fast!"Brace for crash landing!" Kirk managed to shout, even as Kepler's noseplunged downward.The shuttlecraft hit, bounced wildly, struck again, bounced again, then,finally, stopped. Kirk pushed himself upright in his seat, lookingaround dazedly as he unsnapped his safety harness. "We made it," hesaid, disbelievingly. He turned to regard his companions, who were bothsitting up, their expressions somewhat dazed."Captain," Spock said, "we should leave the vicinity quickly. Ourerratic approach may have been sighted.""We obviously can't escape in the Kepler," Kirk said, gazing ruefully atthe damaged shuttle as they prepared to abandon ship. "Can you tell ifthere are any spaceports nearby?"Spock held up his trioorder, nodded. "Fifteen and a half kilometers duewest," he said, "lies the port called Tengchah Jav." He slung theinstrument over his shoulder.Working quickly, the Vulcan opened the weapons locker, extracted threesmall phasers, checked their settings and power packs, then distributedone to each of them."I'm going to set the shuttle to self-destruct," Kirk said, his fingersmoving over the controls."Be sure you give us time to get out of range, Jim," McCoy admonished,scrambling hastily out of the craft.After setting up the self-destruct sequence, Kirk, with Spock and McCoybehind him, walked away from the doomed Kepler. Jim gave the littlecraft a valedictory pat as he left, wishing there were some way tosalvage the ship.The three set off, walking quickly into the forest, picking their wayover rocks and fallen logs, as the night gathered around them.Once you step upon this path, Valdyr warned herself, your life as aKlingon will be over. There would be no place for her anywhere inKlingon society, not on Qo'nos, not on her colonies, not anywhere. Shewould be outcast, scorned and marked for death. She closed her eyes,struggling not to let the magnitude of her plan stay her hand. This isthe path before you, she reminded herself. For you, it is the road ofhonor, whether any other Klingon anywhere in the universe ever realizesthat.For the final time, she checked her weapons. Under her sleeve, againsther forearm sat her small, wicked, three-pronged dagger, where a suddenjerk of her wrist would release it. At her right hip hung the small,silent crossbow that had been her favorite weapon since childhood. Whileit was best used in close conditions, it did not have the hum and whineof modern weapons, and would not reveal a concealed shooter. Under herbreastplate sat two hand disrupters, their battery packs fully charged.She touched the weapons one final time. Then she took the key to Peter'scell. He was still her prisoner.Straightening her armor and tunic, she left her room and headed for heruncle's private quarters. Du'hurgh, Kamarag's ancient family estate,was a massive, old fortress, with dozens of rooms and numerouspassageways and staircases.Taking an obscure route, she came to her uncle's quarters stealthily,concerned that Karg might have guards posted, but there were none. Andwhy should there be? After all, who would dare enter Kamarag's privatequarters in the ambassador's own home? His simpleminded, weak niece?And even if she did, what could she do there?Moving silently, Valdyr slipped into her uncle's favorite study. Onceinside, she stood perfectly still, waiting, listening, but there was noone, not even a serving woman.Valdyr was nearly overcome by memories once she stood inside thecavernous chamber. Every kind of ancient armament hung from its walls,as well as paintings and tapestries of the finest warriors of theirfamily's lines. Her father had brought his children here every summer,and the compound and this place, in particular, called up vivid memoriesof him. Valdyr stared at the images of long-dead heroes and rememberedher father's thrilling tales of their exploits.How she'd longed to be like them! Her gaze fixed on the portrait of awoman, her many times great-grandmother who had fought at her husband'sside in so many decisive battles hundreds of years ago. That image hadalways been her favorite. She gazed upon it now, knowing she would neversee it once she left here.Then, so be it.Moving to the computer that appeared so out of place in this ancienthall, she paused for one last moment before using the private code ofher dead father to activate this link with the outside world. Then shesent a carefully composed message to Brigadier Kerla, consort toChancellor Azetbur.Her father had served under Kerla many years ago, before he was promotedand sent to serve with Kruge. Her father and Kerla had been goodfriends, trusted allies.Valdyr knew Azetbur trusted Kerla as well. She would have to take achance with him. The message, at first, would seem like a normal pieceof correspondence. She had to make sure that it would be sent throughthe relays, that no one would pay it any mind and stop it on itsjourney. The relays would slow it down, she knew, but she could think ofno other way to insure that Brigadier Kerla would receive it.She was, after all, only the daughter of a dead hero, only the niece ofan ambassador. Perhaps her father's name would take her message toKerla's hands. If it did not, than Peter, his uncle, and Valdyr herselfwere all doomed.Peter lay on the stone bench, reading and trying to keep his eyes fromstaring at the vacant glass portal. The waiting was becoming unbearable.Would Uncle Jim really just give himself up to Kamarag? He couldn't! Hewould know kidnappers never live up to their promises, especially akidnapper as crazed as Kamarag. Peter sighed, trying not to 'wearhimself out worrying over a situation he could do nothing about.He heard the slightest click, and his gaze snapped to the portal, but noone was there. Another click followed, and Peter was on his feetinstantly. It was happening. They were coming to take him ... toValdyr. Uncle Jim had actually done it, given himself up. His mind racedwildly.His door swung open, and Valdyr entered, pointing a wicked-lookingKlingon hand disrupter at him. So, she'd had to come for him herself.Boy, these people did nothing to make things easier, did they?"Are you ready?" she demanded.He stood up straight "Yes. I'm ready."With a quick flip of her wrist she tossed the disrupter at him. Hesnatched it clumsily, then stared at the weapon in his hand. He realizedshe was holding a small crossbow by her side. "What's going on?" hewhispered."Shhhh," she warned him, then stuck her head out the door, looking bothways. "Be prepared to use that. We have a long, dangerous journey aheadof us. You must stay close to me, Pityr."He grinned. "Try and stop me."They moved quickly through endless, ancient stone cord-dors in stealthysilence, and the whole time he hadn't a clue as to their destination.After a good fifteen minutes of climbing dark, windingstaircases, and tiptoeing down long unused hallways, Valdyr finallyhalted. Turning to him, she pres sed her mouth against his ear andwhispered, "Now it becomes difficult." Now? he thought, and stared ather."To leave the dungeons is easy if you take the back passageways," sheexplained quietly. "They are no longer used. But to enter the secrettunnels, you must go through the heart of the compound. We will have tobe even more cautious. And we must be ready to fight.""I'm ready," he assured her. "Lead the way." She opened the antique doorcautiously, indicating that he should wait behind in the stairwell. Hewatched her through a crack in the wood as she stepped into a spacious,well-lighted hallway. She had just begun to signal him to follow herwhen two burly Klingons rounded a corner. She froze, as he did."Valdyr!" one of them said to her congenially. "Karg has been lookingfor you. He wishes you to join him at the midday meal. You'd betterhurry." She stiffened and frowned. "And because Karg wishes it, Malak, Iam to obey? I am no trained targ, and I take no backhand summons from myuncle's pet." Her tone dripped contempt.Peter rolled his eyes, unable to believe that she was going to get intoa row with these two apes now. But the guard merely laughed, apparentlyenjoying her display of spirit."I told him you would not listen to me, Valdyr," Malak agreed, "but I,too, must do as I am bid by my commander." Suddenly the soldier with himsniffed. "Do you smell something?" Malak tested the air and lookedthoughtful.Damn it! Peter swore silently. He hadn't had a real bath in over a week,and his sponge baths, no matter how thorough, were a poor substitute.Besides, you're a human. You smell as different to them as they do toyou.Before Malak could answer, Valdyr sneered, "Who could smell anythingwhile Karg walks these halls?" Malak laughed again. "Oh, Valdyr, youwere always a terror. I miss serving with your brother. If Karg werewise, he'd seek another wife. Make things easy for yourself and hurryalong. You might still get a choice cut of meat. Come, Darj, we havework to do." The laughing soldiers moved on, but Peter could see Darjlooking about the hall, as if trying to find the source of the odor he'ddetected. Valdyr watched them for a few minutes, then yanked open thedoor."Hurry, there is no time! Karg will come looking for me if I do notanswer his summons shortly. Clutching his sleeve, she towed him throughthe hallway. Finally, she stood before a huge piece of furniture. Shepeered around behind it, then glanced at Peter, as if assessing hissize. "The passageway is behind this closet. I think you are thin enough... ""I knew I smelled something foul?" an angry voice said behind them.They spun, and Peter found himself facing Darj. He was alone, holding aweapon on both of them. He glanced at Valdyr, who was still half behindthe closet, half exposed.There was no way they could pretend she was just "moving the prisoner."Their attempt to escape was plain."Malak thinks little of his commander," Darj said, moving carefullyaround them. "Fortunately for Karg, I am loyal! Malak will be demoted,but if he's fortunate, he'll be allowed to live. You two, however, willnot have that privilege. Valdyr, move away from that closet, now.""Certainly, Darj," she said demurely, surrendering. She stepped awayfrom the massive wooden piece, revealing the crossbow held firmly in herright hand. She fired at the same instant, and the quarrel buried itselfdeep in the soldier's throat.Darj collapsed heavily, gurgling, then lay still. Before Peter couldreact, Valdyr snatched up the soldier's weapon and pocketed it, thenrifled through his uniform. She shoved several small items into thepouch she wore on her belt; then she began tugging the heavy body towardthe closet. "Help me!" she gasped, and Peter, who'd been standing there,stunned--he'd never seen anyone killed before--jumped to obey."Into the closet," she ordered, and the two of them wrestled the heavybody inside the massive wooden structure."This way? she snapped, and he followed her as she squeezed behind theheavy furniture.In back of the old wooden object was a small door that opened inward.Valdyr pulled out an ornate iron key, and unlocked the secret door. Itslid open easily. And then they were inside, the door shut securelybehind them. Peter stood stock-still, in total darkness. If sheabandoned him here.A light flared and he winced at the sudden brightness.Valdyr was in front of him, holding a tiny but powerful lantern. "Wewill be safe for a while now. The only one who knows these passages ismy uncle, and he is not here. Karg knows nothing of them. the fool cansearch the entire compound and never find us. And even if they findDarj's body and discover this passageway, by that time we will be deeplyinto the hidden chambers."She started moving along the narrow tunnel, and Peter followed her. "Buthow long can we stay here?" he wondered."We only need to stay until dark," she explained. "Then, we can followthe tunnels, and leave the compound.""You mean these passageways will actually take us outside thisfortress?""That's correct. They were built hundreds of years ago, and have beenused by entire armies during local conflicts and feuds. There are dozensof warrens and chambers, enough to hide an entire squadron of soldiers.We will be safe ... until we leave. Once outside the compound we musttry to reach the spaceport--but by then Darj will surely be missed, andyour escape discovered. They will be searching for us."They moved swiftly through the tunnels, saying little, as Valdyr guidedthem to safety. Finally, she ushered him into a small, cozy chamber,then set about lighting battery-powered lamps that hung on the wall."This place had always been special to my oldest brother and myself. Weused to play war in these tunnels, and hide from our nurses down here."She moved over to a narrow bed, her only furniture in the room, and satdown. "We spent hours down here, making up stories, planning our futures... "Peter remembered her speaking of her brother's death."You must miss him."She nodded. "He was a lot like my father. He treated me more like alittle brother than a sister." She looked about the dimly lit chamber."It as almost as if I can feel his spirit here ... "Peter watched as her eyes moved around the room. She had just killed oneof her countrymen. She was giving up everything in her life to do thisfor him. He didn't know what to say to her. "I ... wish I could'veknown your brother. 1 would like to think ... we could've found acommon ground ... "She turned to him. "My brother and father would approve of what I'mdoing. They would know I'm fighting for Qo'nos, for the future of allKlingon people."Peter nodded. "I'm sure they would. You've chosen a very difficult path,Valdyrmmuch more difficult than armed combat. You bring honor to theirmemory."They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. Finally, she said, "Ihave sent a message to Azetbur. Once she receives it ...""When did you send it?" he asked, interested. "What did it say?."She explained about sending the message to her father's old friend,Brigadier Kerla, and how she had addressed and phrased it cautiously, soit would go through the channels without being intercepted. "However, Iknow that will slow it down. I cannot say how long it will take beforeAzetbur will even see it."Peter thought she was being optimistic. Realistically, it could be hoursbefore the thing even got into the hands of this Kerla, assuming somewell-meaning staff member didn't misinterpret it and delay it evenfurther. "When the chancellor finds out what you've done, she willsurely reward you."Valdyr looked away, her expression grim. "I have betrayed my family. Shemay personally be grateful, but ... familyhonor is very important to our people. There will be no rewards for whatI've done. I expect to be outcast ... you would say, homeless, shunned... when this is over. But I will have my own personal honor. No onecan take that from me. Not Karg. Not Kamarag. No one."He admired her obstinate courage. "Valdyr ... I want to thank you forhelping me. And as long as I live, you will always have a place in myfamily ... for whatever that's worth."She looked at him, her expression shocked. "You would accept me in yourfamily? And how would your people feel about that, a Klingon womancoming to them? What of your uncle--he hates us. How will he feel aboutthis?""My uncle is fair," Peter insisted. "The tragedy of Gorkon's deathchanged the way he regards your people. He is as close to me as you wereto your father. I assure you, my uncle would welcome any warrior asbrave as you into our family.""Then I hope we all live long enough to meet, Pityr. I have heard muchof this James Kirk. It would be interesting to face him and see if theman and legend are the same."Peter started to smile when a mark on her neck caught his eye. Hesquinted. It was a terrible-looking bruise. He touched it gently. "Whathappened, Valdyr? How did you get this?"She flinched and moved away, so he pulled his hand back, fearing he'dbeen too familiar. She looked away, and he thought he could see hercolor darkening in the chamber's muted light. "It is just ..." she beganhesitantly. "It is nothing ... "Then he realized. "Karg did this to you." His voice was low as he triedto suppress the outrage he felt. "That's what happened, isn't it? Thisis from Karg."She turned, met his gaze defiantly. "It is Karg's mark. He marked me soeveryone would know to whom I belonged. I fought him, but he's ... toostrong for me ... "Peter's fury flared. "I'd love to have about ten minutes alone with thatguy in a locked room," he grumble d.She watched him curiously. "This bothers you, Pityr, this mark fromKarg?""Of course it bothers meg" he blurted. "He touched you against yourwill. No one should be allowed to do that."She actually laughed then, and the lightness of that sound startled him."Oh, Pityr, you humans are unusually funny!If I were strong enough, I could keep Karg in his place--it might be agood marriage then--but because I am small, he has all the advantage.""It shouldn't have anything to do with strength, Valdyr," he argued."You should only be touched when you choose to be, and by whom youchoose to be.""I see. And because Karg forced his touch on me, you are angry with meabout this7" she asked."Of course I'm not angry with you/I'm furious at Karg.""Furious enough ... to fight for me?" She asked the question soquietly, Peter instantly understood that the question meant more to herthan its simplicity indicated.He stared into her deep, dark eyes, realizing that this was the firstinteraction they'd been able to enjoy without having the viewing portbetween them since she'd first dumped him into his cell. They weretogether, here in this small room, with no one around, just the two ofthem. He swallowed, wanting to make sure he said just the right thing."My people believe that fighting is the last resort, that there arealways alternatives to violent confrontation ... but ... I mustconfess ... that guy ... Yes, Valdyr. If I had the chance, I wouldfight Karg for you."Her eyes widened as if she could not believe he'd actually said that.She looked as if she might say something, than hesitated, and finallymurmured, "Pityr. What are apricots? ...He blinked, momentarily confused. Then he remembered telling her thatwas how she smelled to him. He smiled."They're a delicious fruit from Earth. They're only available a shorttime each year, so they're highly prized. They have a wonderful perfume,and a bowl of them in the warm summer air will scent a whole room. Mygrandmother grewthem and we couldn't wait every year until they were ready to be eaten.""And ... I have this same scent?""Yes ... "He leaned closer and deliberately inhaled her odor. Movingslowly, for fear of shattering the mood between them, he touched herface, turning it to him, as he allowed his lips to graze her cheeklightly."What.. are you doing?" she whispered, holding per-feefly still."Kissing you," he explained, pressing his mouth to the edge of her jaw,then the corner of her mouth. "Do Klingons kiss?""Yes," she murmured.He met her gaze unflinchingly. "What do you want? Do you want me totouch you?""I want only one male on Qo'nos to touch me," she admitted. He startedto pull back slightly, afraid he'd misinterpreted her interest. "I wantPityr Kirk ... a human.t ... and a warrior. to touch mew She said itas if it amazed her.Then, as if her confession suddenly granted Peter total freedom, he tookthe woman in his arms, armor and all, and pressed his mouth againsthers.The kiss began tenderly, but almost immediately it ignited all thestored-up emotion of his long days of captivity.Peter pulled Valdyr fiercely against him, and was aware of her armscoming up to encircle him with a strength he found exhilarating."Hlja'.t" she whispered, between kisses."Mevqo', Pityr ..."There was no way in hell he could stop.Finally, when they pulled away, she laughed and bit his chin hard. Heyelped and bit her back. And in the next instant they fell upon thebunk, wrestling, yanking at each other's clothing, rolling over and overin strenuous love-play that sent them crashing to the floor, laughing,biting, tussling. Finally, he landed on his back, Valdyr straddling him,pinning his shoulders to the ground."I like this way of kissing. You will teach me this humankissing, Pityr Kirk!" she demanded before dissolving in laughter again.He heaved her up and tossed her off him, rolling over to pin her downthis time. "I will teach you this human kissing, Valdyr-oy. And you willteach me ... ?" He had no idea what to ask for.She touched his cheek, her eyes glimmering. "Everything, Pityr-oy. Iwill teach you everything."He leaned down and began their lessons ... "Ambassador Sarek?"Commander Uhura's voice was as cool and professional as usual, but therewas an underlying note of tension in it that made the Vulcan raise aneyebrow as he activated the intercom in his cabin."Samk here, Commander," he replied."I have a message coming in for you, Ambassador," she said. "The codesaccompanying it identify it as being from Freelan "The way she trailedoff alerted the ambassador."Is it originating there?""All the codes are correct, and the directional frequency is right ...but I don't believe it's actually coming from them.My guess is that the transmission is being relayed via Freelan from someother location." nodded. "That does not surprise me, Commander Uhura.Please patch the message through to me here ... and, if you can do sowithout arousing suspicion, trace the actual origination coordinates ofthe message.""Understood, Ambassador," she replied. Almost immediately the commscreen in Samk's cabin flickered, and, a moment later, he found himselffacing a Freeinn. Despite the fact that Freeinns appeared virtuallyidentical in their shrouding robes, the Vulcan was certain that hiscaller was Taryn. "Greetings," Sarek said, cautiously. "This isAmbassador Samk.Whom do I have the honor of addressing, please?""This Liaison Taryn," the image's mechanical tones responded, withoutpreamble. "Ambassador ... I must ask you to meet with me on a matter ofsome urgency.""Where would you like to meet?" Sarek said. "As you have alreadydiscovered, I am not on Vulcan."Taryn's shrouded figure moved slightly, and the Vulcan thought hedetected tension in the dark form. "Why ... I had hoped you could comehere, as is our custom," the Freelan liaison said."When would you prefer to meet?""As soon as possible."Sarek shook his head. "I fear that will be difficult, Liaison.The ship that is my transport has been diverted to patrol the NeutralZone. I will be unable to meet with you until the Enterprise hascompleted its current mission. Why do you need to meet with me,Liaison?"Taryn did not reply for a long moment. "That trade agreement wenegotiated last month concerfflng kivas shipments," he said, finally."My government has overridden some of the provisions I agreed to. I haveno choice but to ask you to reconvene the negotiations."Sarek raised an eyebrow in feigned surprise. "Overridden?" he asked."Liaison, when we met, I trusted that I was dealing with someone withsufficient authority to negotiate in good faith. I am ... disappointed... to discover that you no longer have the backing of yourgovernment."When the liaison replied, the Vulcan could hear the anger lacing hisvoice, even through the mechanical tones. "I assure you, Ambassador,that this is simply a temporary setback. I have not lost the backing ofmy government. I do have the power to negotiate in good faith for myworld."For the first time, Sarek permitted a touch of sarcasm to tinge his ownvoice. "Your world? Which world is that?""What do you mean?" Taryn demanded angrily."My apologies," Sarek said, smoothly. "My mind must be ... confused.Age catches up with all of us, as the human aphorism would have it. Forjust a moment I thought I was speaking with someone else ... a diplomatfrom another world altogether, by the name of ... Nanclus. You nevermet him, of course. He was executed for treason last month.""When can you meet with me?" Taryn asked, and the mechanical tones couldnot disguise the cold fury in his voice."I do not know," Sarek said, honestly. "I will have to consult with theship's officers to discover that. I will speak with you again by the endof today, Liaison.""I may be away ... at a government conference," Taryn said. "My aidewill take your message, Ambassador.""Very well." Sarek inclined his head and raised his hand in the Vulcansalute. "I wish you peace.. and long life, Taryn." ' Without replying,the Freelan broke the connection.Sarek sat staring at the screen for a moment, until Uhura's faceflickered into view. "Ambassador Sarek ... I was correct, sir. Thatcall was patched through Freelan channels, but its actual point oforigin was in a sector of the Romulan Neutral Zone. The exactcoordinates are a few hours' journey from our present location."Sarek inclined his head graciously. "I thank you for your diligence,Commander," he said. "I find that information unsurprising ... but ..."His mouth curved slightly as he thought about his son's reaction." ...fascinating."In his office aboard Shardarr, Commander Taryn pulled off his mufflingFreelan cowl and inhaled a deep breath of "fresh" air before turning toface Savel, who was sitting across the desk from him. "He knows." Thecommander's deep voice was grim. "He knows everything. Now he mocks mewith his knowledge. There is no question anymore.Ambassador Sarek must die ... and as quickly as possible."Quickly, the commander contacted Poldar over the intercom and orderedhim to plot a course that would take them within subspace jamming rangeof the Enterprise."Our foremost ships are still half a day's journey away from our presentlocation, Commander," the centurion reported, when asked."What will you do now?" Save/inquired softly.The commander gave her an enigmatic glance. "Delay, Savel. MakeEnterprise notice me, then hunt me, then chase me ... until it is mypleasure to turn the tables, and hunt her."Sayel gazed at him, her eyes wide and haunted, full of silentapprehension a nd sadness. Where is Soran? If he dies.. I will be thecause of it ... of all of this ..."Pityr," Valdyr whispered against the cadet's car, "we have to leavenow."Peter Kirk groaned, not certain whether he'd actually slept, or simplylain, half-drugged with exhaustion and satisfaction. The room appearedthe same as it had when they'd entered it, the lantern stillilluminating the dimness, and he had no sense of time."Pityr," she whispered, "it is time. We must go.""Not yet," he argued. "Just a few more minutes ."She sighed, then relaxed against him. "One more minute," she said."Perhaps two. But no more, 7woy ..."The human stroked her back, feeling the contours of flesh over bone thatweren't quite human. He realized that he ached. I must be covered withbruises, he thought, remembering what had passed between them andmarveling at it.Not to mention toothmarks. A faint taste lingered in his mouth, sweetand somewhat smoky. Peter ran his tongue over his raw, bruised lips. Thefaint saltiness of his own blood now mingled with the alien taste ofhers.He tightened his arms around her, then kissed her again.He didn't want to leave now. He didn't even want to move, though thefloor they were lying on was so cold and hard that he was shivering.Finally he raised his head, resisting the urge to kiss her again, tosavor the taste and texture and feel of her strange mouth again ... andagain. "What time is it?""It is the middle of our night," she explained, as she picked up hersmall lantern. "The few soldiers my uncle left here with Karg should beweary from searching for us since the midday meal. Karg would've comelooking for meshortly after I failed to heed his summons. I don't know how long itwould be before they missed Darj. Eventually, someone would've thoughtto check your cell." He was surprised to see her grin.She stood, and began pulling her clothing into place, then redonned herarmor. "They will search the road to Tengchah Jav--the closestspaceport. Even if Karg were bright enough to figure out that we hid onthe premises--which he's not--he will have to search very discreetly.Kamarag gave orders that nothing should arouse suspicion from anyofficial agency of the Klingon government.""So, what's our plan?" he asked, as he slipped on his boots."We will take the tunnels to the farthest exit, and come out in thewoods near the south road. We can stay in the forest and follow the roadto the spaceport. It will be perhaps nine of your kilometers to theport.""Can't they scan for me while we're under here?" he asked. "After all, Iam the only human in the nearby vicinity."She patted a wall. "There is so much scionitc in these walls thatscanning rays cannot penetrate. That is why they cannot follow ushere--to the scanners, this does not exist.""And once we're out of the tunnels?""I have a small tracer for you. It will give off a falseregistration--make the scanners think you are another Klingon. Soldierscarry them so they can be found where they fall in battle, so they mightreceive their warrior's ritual. It will mask your readings.""Suppose we're seen?" Peter asked. He tapped his forehead."Don't you think someone might notice?""I have a hooded cloak for you," she said. "I cached one hereyesterday." She opened a recessed drawer under the stone sleeping shelfand pulled it out."You've thought of everything," Peter said, "1 think.What happens when we get to the spaceport?""We will have to get past the security gates, and keep a close eye outfor Karg's troops. Then, I will help you find aship." She hesitated, glancing at him sideways. "You will escape Qo'nos... ""You mean we will. Right?" he demanded, taking her by the shoulders."You're coming with me, back to Earth.Aren't you7"Valdyr gazed up at him, smiling sadly. "That is what I thought too, atfirst. But ... I've reconsidered. Pityr ... be realistic. A Klingon,on Earth? How could I live? I would be an exile, an outcast, livingamong a species that hates my people--even as my people hate yours ..."We don't have to stay on Earth," Peter insisted. "There are colonieswhere even we wouldn't be noticed.""And your career in Starfleet?""Listen, all that time alone in that cell made me think, too, and one ofthe things I've realized is that I'm not James T. Kirkwand I never willbe. I want to be myself I'm not cut out to be a legend, Valdyr. I'm justnot cut out for command." He regarded her worriedly. "Valdyr-oy ...think what will happen if you stay behind! Your uncle ... when hecatches up with you ...Her exotic alien beauty almost glowed as she responded assuredly, "Donot worry, Pityr-oy. He will not catch me. I will die by the Heghba',with my honor intact."It took the human a second to realize that she meant ritual suicide, andwhen he did, his hands tightened convulsively on her shoulders. "No!" hecried. "Don't even think it?"I have betrayed my family by helping you," she pointed out reasonably."There is no other path left to regain my honor.""Don't talk like that," he said fiercely, his heart pounding with fearfor her. "You're not doing that! I won't let you!You'll have to fight me, Valdyr ... !" He stopped, realizing howfrantic he sounded.Her face was very close to his in the confines of the dusty,stone-walled chamber. Peter felt her breath touch his face as she said,softly, "The last time I fought you, I won. But you were exhausted, atthe end of your stamina. I do not think it will be so easy for me thenext time."He pressed his cheek against hers and held her to him. If that was thebest she could do for capitulation, he'd take it.But at least she knew if she attempted to stay behind at the spaceport,he wouldn't give in without a struggle."Now, we must go," she whispered and, taking his hand, led him out ofthe room.She led Peter along dark, dusty corridors that twisted and turnedwithout rhyme or reason. They traveled a surprisingly long time, sayingnothing, with no light but Valdyr's small hand-held lantern.Finally, the corridor they were in ended in a tunnel that ran straightup, with an ancient-looking, battered wooden ladder traveling up intothe darkness. Without a word, Valdyr began climbing, and Peter followedwithout hesitation.Finally, she halted, and Peter could see an opening in the stone beforeher."Good," Valdyr whispered. "They have not discovered this exit. Quickly,now!" She was out of the opening in seconds, and Peter clambered outafter her. And then for the first time he stood on Qo'nos's soil,conscious and aware.Despite Valdyr's urgency, he paused to glance around.In the darkness, the forest looked like any forest at night--heavy treetrunks crowding in on one another, with tangled, shapeless underbrush attheir roots. In the daylight, the colors and textures that would makethis forest unique alien--would be revealed, but for now, all that waslost.Then Peter glanced skyward--and stood transfixed.Overhead, washed in gold by the reflected light of the sun on theplanet's other side, Qo'nos's ring arched like a bridge--a brokenbridge. The shadow of Qo'nos bisected the middle of the ring, leaving itin darkness.Valdyr threw the cloak over his shoulders and fastened the tracers."Pull your hood up," she commanded him. "We must hurry."James T. Kirk picked his way cautiously down a narrow animal trail,squinting in the darkness. From the look of Qo'nos's ring, it was nearlymidnight. His night vision wasexcellent, almost as good as Spock's. (Unfortunately, the same could notbe said for his regular eyesight--and he'd now gone through so manypairs of spectacles for reading that Bones McCoy claimed to haveexhausted the supply in all the antique shops in San Francisco.) Therescue party had had to detour around several large, private estates,which had nearly doubled their hike through the dark forest. Now,finally, the trees were thinning ahead of them. "How far are we fromKmarag's compound?" Jim whispered ahead to Spock. "My sense ofdirection has been off ever since we made that last detour.""We are almost--" The Vulcan broke off, and halted."Correction. We are here." Kirk pushed his way through the last screenof undergrowth, McCoy following him. Together, the little party lookeddown from a high ridge, seeing the huge, fortresslike house down in thehollow, surrounded by both high stone walls and modern security fields."There seems to be a lot of activity going on," Kirk said, noting thebrilliant security lights and the presence of many armed figures racingto and fro.Spock regarded his tricorder intently. "Peter is no longer within thecompound," Spock said."Not there? Then where is he? Did they take him offworld?" Kirkdemanded, startled. Had Kamarag decided not to meet at the rendezvous?Had the Klingon ambassador somehow discovered that Kirk had no intentionof obeying his instructions, and had returned to execute his nephew inrevenge?"Peter has vanished," Spock said. "He is not in the compound at thepresent moment. However," the Vulcan added, fiddling with his tricorder,taking readings, "that does not necessarily mean that he is nowoffworld. The rock formations in this area contain traces of selonite... the same material that forms the basis for the cloaking device. Itmakes readings impossible. If some of that scionitc-impregnated rock isbetween us and Peter, that would make it impossible to scan him." Kirkgroaned aloud. "Just what we need!""I believe I should continue scanning," Spock said. "I may be able topick him up again ... if he is in the area." Leonard McCoy ploppedhimself down on the ground with a groan. "Haven't hiked this much sinceY ellowstone," he grumbled, digging into his belt pouch and taking out asmall flask and container of ration pellets.The three officers silently shared the skimpy provisions as Spockcontinued to study the screen of his tricorder. "Fascinating," theVulcan murmured, after a few minutes. "I am picking up something ...confusing. For a moment I thought I had detected Peter, but now thehuman readings are blending and merging ... becoming intermixed withKlingon readings.""Where? What location?" Kirk demanded, jumping up."Due north," Spock said, pointing. "On the other side of the compound.""Is it possible that it might be Peter, somehow masking his readings?"McCoy asked, peering at the tricorder's tiny screen."I believe it may be," Spock muttered."Well, it's the best lead we've got," Kirk said."Captain ... these readings are moving toward the spaceport," Spocksaid. "Slowly ... at a walking pace." Spock glanced up at his friend."I believe, Jim, that your nephew has not waited for rescue. He has,instead, effected his own escape." Kirk felt a slow grin spread acrosshis features. "Well, that was damned inconsiderate of him, wasn't it?""Now what?" McCoy wondered aloud."Guess our next stop will be the spaceport, too," Kirk said, glancing athis wrist chrono. "See that ground vehicle that just pulled up there,outside the security gate?" He pointed down into the hollow."Yes, Captain," Spock replied."Think you could hot-wire that thing?""I believe I can, Captain," Spock said."Good. Let's make our way down there ... slowly. Keeplow. Take no chances. We've got plenty of time; we're going to hijackthat car in just about ... forty-five minutes." The three officerscautiously made their way down the little ridge, crawling commando-stylewhere they was no ground cover. Finally, they huddled crouched in athicket about thirty meters from the guard station. The driver and theguard were standing outside, talking desultorily. The fugitive triowaited in silence, until, finally, Kirk glanced at his chrono again."Ready, Spock?""Ready, Captain." Kirk counted seconds in his head, and then, right onschedule, came the moment he'd been waiting for. A dull boom eruptedfrom the forest they'd left behind, and a gout of distant yellow and redflame brightened the night. Half a second later, the ground beneaththeir feet shuddered."That's it!" Kirk said, grabbing McCoy and propelling him out of theirhiding place. "Go!" Spock was already racing forward. The guard wasstill outside his security station, his gaze fixed on the fire in thefoothills. He never saw the Vulcan's dark figure, never realized thatanyone was there--until a hand clamped onto the juncture of neck andshoulder, and he sagged, limp.The driver turned toward his fallen comrade, then launched himself atSpock's dimly seen shape with a loud war cry. Kirk darted up behind him,chopped him hard on the neck, then kicked his feet out from under him.When the Klingon, dazed but still game, tried to get up, the captainstunned him with his phaser.The captain caught his breath, then turned toward the car."Want me to drive?" he asked, heading for the open door."With all due respect ... no, "Spock said, firmly, heading him off. "Ihave analyzed the controls with my tricorder, and I would prefer todrive. Your efforts at chauffeuring during our sojourn on Iotia arestill vivid in my memory." Kirk chuckled as the three would-be rescuerspiled into the ground vehicle. It was a matter of moments to activatethe engine and turn the car. Kirk crouched beside Spock and feltadrenaline course through his body. He glanced back at McCoy, who wasgripping the edge of the backseat with both hands, holding on as Spocksent their stolen transportation barreling down the road."Jim, how the hell did you know that would happen?" the doctor demanded,pointing in the direction of the explosion."That was the Kepler, "Kirk said. "You told me to give us plenty of timeto get away ... and it came in handy as a diversion." With a sharp cry,the doctor grabbed the seat again and held on for dear life as the carslewed around a sharp curve."Dammit, Spock, watch it! You're a Starfleet officer, not a chauffeur!""Spock, how long till we reach the spaceport?""ETA is ... fifteen point seven minutes, Captain," Spock said, intenton driving. He sent the vehicle skidding into another tight turn,frowning slightly in the lights of the controls. "This road,unfortunately, winds about rather than going directly through the woods.I apologize for the ... instability ... of the ride." Kirk grinned,feeling the car surge forward. "Just as long as it gets us there beforePeter gets offworld, Spock. That way we'll only have to steal oneship.""I shall endeavor to avoid that eventuality," Spock promised gravely,and increased speed until the groundcar seemed ready to take flight.Peter and Valdyr had alternately walked and jogged for over an hourbefore they reached the edge of the forest, which ran almost up againstthe spaceport. The two paused for a moment, staring down at TengchahJav's perimeter security gate--the first of several hurdles they had tosurmount in their quest to get off Qo'nos.Valdyr glanced over her shoulder, then fished in her pocket, as theyapproached the gate. "This gate is programmed to admit any valididentification," she told him.He gazed at the security device that would scan the number of peopleapproaching and only admit those with the proper ID. "That's great,"Peter remarked, watching her take out a small ID disk. "I don't haveone.""Yes, you do," she said. "I took Darj's." Handing him a disk, she fedhers into the scanner. "Before I killed him, I'd wondered how I wouldget you past this point."Peter followed suit, and the gate swung open. Quickly, the two headedfor the nonmilitary side of the port. If they were in luck, they wouldfind a small, private vessel that was unsupervised while its crew was onshore leave. "Maybe we can find a trader or a smuggler's ship," Petertold Valdyr,"with a Federation registry. Federation vessels have stan-darizedcontrols. I know I can pilot one of those. What other checkpoints do wehave to cross?" he asked in a low voice, as they hurried along, watchingkeenly for any sign of Karg or his troops."There is an inside gate that leads to the civilian landing fields, butit is not always guarded," she whispered. "If there is a guard ..." Shepatted her crossbow.Peter swallowed hard. "Valdyr, there's got to be another way. If there'sa guard ... distract him somehow--act helpless, or something."She spun, glaring at him."Just for a second.t" he argued. "While he's helping you, I'll come upbehind him and knock him cold.""Are you sure you can?" she asked pointedly. "You'll only get onechance. Perhaps you should act helpless!""Let's not argue technique, okay?"She nodded, if reluctantly. "Once we're inside that gate, we'll have tochoose a ship. Of course, they are all locked ... ""I should be able to break the codes," Peter assured her."I learned the basics for breaking computer codes back when I was in myteens, and most freighters--especially the older models--don't have themost up-to-date security systems.""That would bern" Valdyr began; then she glanced back over her shoulderagain, only to halt in her tracks. "Lights! A ground vehicle!" shewhispered, shoving the human toward a stack of vacuum-proof packingcrates. "Hide!"Peter leaped for cover and Valdyr joined him. They crouched, rigidlystill, scarcely daring to breathe. After amoment, he peered around the nearest container, making sure he was inshadow. He watched the vehicle as it skidded to a stop. "Someone's in abig hurry," he whispered, with a sinking feeling in his midsection."It is one of Kamarag's vehicles," Valdyr said, with despair in hervoice. "They have tracked us, somehow."Without discussing it, the two fugitives both took out their disruptersand prepared for battle. They watched anxiously as the vehicle's doorsopened, and three black-clad shapes emerged. Two were tall and lean, theother shorter and stocky. They moved furtively, and one kept glancing atsome device in his hand--probably a scanner or tricorder. Peter groanedinwardly. Valdyr took his hand, gripping it so hard she made the bonesgrind.Then his eyes narrowed as he stared at the three shapes.The stockier man was obviously in charge ... both of the others turnedto report to him as they searched. There was something about the waythat one moved. Something familiar ... They wore no traditionalKlingon garb that he had ever seen. And none of these figures looked bigenough to be any of Karg's men. The shapes of their heads in the shadowsseemed ..."We must kill them with the first shot," Valdyr murmured softly in hisear, "or we will never escape."He nodded distractedly, even as the three searching figures drew closerto their hiding place. "Wait," he whispered,"let them get closer first. We can't afford to miss."She aimed her weapon, even as he did. But then he lowered the disrupter.He was too busy staring at the tallest of the three figures. There weretoo many things all wrong about this. The tall searcher suddenly movedthrough a beam of light, and his face was illuminated. Peter saw a flashof a familiar arching eyebrow, and the unmistakable curve of a pointedear.Valdyr took deadly aim at the stocky male who was now almost on top ofthem. Peter lurched, grabbed her firing hand, and called, "Valdyr, no!"She turned to him, her face twisted in confusion. The three stealthyfigures turned in unison toward the sound.Peter surged to his feet, distantly hearing the Klingon woman's shoc kedgrowl. She clutched at him, attempting to pull him down, but he yankedfree and bolted away, trying to get clear of the crates. "Uncle Jim!" hecalled softly. "It's me! Peter!""Peter?" Kirk halted on the pavement, staring wildly around until hespotted his nephew. "Peter?The young Kirk launched himself at his relative, and Jim seized hisnephew in a bear hug, nearly lifting the taller man off the ground. Theypounded each other's backs until they wheezed, grinning wildly."Gentlemen, I hate to intrude." Spock's cool tones cut across theiremotional give-and-take. "However, if we are to effect our escape, wemust not lose any time.""I'm with Spock on that, Jim," Leonard McCoy agreed, glancing furtivelyaround. "We can't afford to get caught now.""Right," Kirk said, stepping back and regarding Peter fondly. Then thecadet watched his uncle's expression change to surprise, then alarm.Peter turned to see Valdyr cautiously emerging from behind the stacks ofcrates. She was still clutching the disrupter. All three men wheeled inher direction, even as Jim Kirk's hand dropped to his phaser."No, Jim! Wait! She's with me! That is ..." He paused, collected hiswits as all three men glanced between him and the Klingon woman. Hewalked over to the crates and took Valdyr by the arm. He murmured toher, "Time to holster the weapon." Then, leading her somewhatreluctantly to the small group, he introduced her. "Captain James T.Kirk, Dr. Leonard McCoy, Captain Spock ... this is Valdyr. I wouldn'tbe here without her. She helped me escape.She's ... on our side." Peter trailed off, his face growing hot. Thecaptain stared at his nephew, as if wanting to be sure he meant what hesaid."So," Valdyr said, eyeing the senior Kirk up and down,"this is the famous legend?"The captain looked slightly abashed. "Well ... I am out of uniform ...""I presume she provided you with the Klingon robe," Spock asked,reaching over to pull an object from it, "and the tracer?"Peter nodded.The Vulcan examined the device. "Yes. Here is the cause of thoseconfusing tricorder readings. It very nearly kept us from locating you.""It kept Kamarag's men from finding us, as well," Peter explained whileValdyr glowered."I can well imagine," Spock agreed dryly. "It is fortunate thatFederation technology is more advanced than ..."McCoy elbowed Spock, and the Vulcan abruptly fell silent. The doctorstepped smoothly into the breach, all his Southern courtliness inevidence. "Well, if you've been helpin' Peter out, miss, we're allmighty grateful. Aren't we, Jim?"Kirk paused for a second, then finally said quietly, "Of course we are.Thank you for helping Peter. For ..." He glanced quizzically at hisnephew." ... everything ... ""Not to belabor Spock's point," McCoy added, "but it's time we gotourselves out of here."Peter gave him a sharp glance. "Valdyr's coming with us.Where's your ship?"Before Jim could say anything, Spock cleared his throat."We ... are currently without one."Peter rolled his eyes. "So we still have to steal a ship?That's where we were at before you showed up!""Miss. ... Valdyr," McCoy said, still exuding polite charm, "do youknow the layout of this spaceport?""The commercial freighters and offworld vessels are on that side," shesaid, pointing southwest, "and the military vessels are in a shieldedunderground hangar--to protect them from meteor showers--over there."She pointed in the opposite direction."I was hoping to find a freighter," Peter said."Forget that," Kirk told him. "We're going to need something with acloaking device if we hope to get out of here in one piece. Abird-of-prey should do the job nicely."Peter's mouth dropped open. Is he crazy? But Valdyrnodded in agreement. "My uncle's men will not expect us to go for a shipthat would be impossible for two people to pilot.""Your uncle ... ?" Jim Kirk said.Peter sighed and nodded. "Her uncle is Kamarag." None of the threeFederation officers said anything for another long moment while Valdyrdrew herself up stiffly.Peter wondered if any human male in history ever had such anuncomfortable family introduction.The entire group climbed back into the crowded vehicle and turned towardthe manned gate half a kilometer away that was the entrance to themilitary side of the spaceport.They drove toward a cluster of outbuildings until Valdyr directed theminto a convenient alley. They were able to position the vehicle so thatthe gate was within sight, while keeping the groundcar in darkness. Thegroup huddled inside began to confer."There are two guards," Valdyr told them."We can handle that," Kirk said, touching his pocket."We're armed. Phasers on stun." Spock, McCoy, and Kirk drew theirweapons. "Spock and I will move along the fence line ... ""Jim," McCoy interrupted, "you'll be out in the open.Don't you think they'll see you?"Kirk gazed out of the vehicle, mulling over options."The chances of our approaching the guards without being seen," Spockinformed him, "are approximately ...""Spare me," McCoy groaned.The Vulcan raised a surprised eyebrow."There is a simpler way," Valdyr said suddenly, with a sigh. "If yourweapon can stun, then give one to me. I can approach the guards as if Iwere--how do you say it?--a helpless woman." She glowered at Peter, whoonly smiled back at her. "They will not be expecting trouble from one assmall as myself. When I am close to them they will be easy to stun, andthere will be no chance of them sounding anKirk nodded and Spock handed his weapon over to theKlingon female. When she was out of the vehicle, Kirk regarded hisnephew. "You do trust her, Peter?"Peter nodded. "Valdyr has not only given up everything--including herheritage--to save my life, but, I ... I'm in love with her!" He took adeep breath.The sudden silence in the car was shocking. McCoy's eyebrows had climbedto his hairline, while Spock bgan an intense examination of thevehicle's interior. Kirk gaped at his nephew. Peter swallowed. He hadwanted to find the perfect moment to discuss this with Jim; he hadn'tmeant to just blurt it out in front of everyone."Does she know that?" the captain finally asked quietly.Peter shook his head. "She knows ... I care for her. I know she caresfor me. We really haven't had the time or opportunity to have the kindof meaningful discussions people like to have in a developingrelationship."There was another uncomfortable pause, and then Spock interrupted "Sheis at the gate."The four men watched the Klingon woman as she sauntered up to the twoguards, twitching portions of her compact form provocatively. One ofthem started grinning as soon as he saw her. Peter found himselfwondering how one acted sexy while wearing armor ... but, in a flash ofinsight, he realized that the armor itself was exciting for Klingonmales! Whatever Valdyr was saying to the two guards made both of themfocus on her, and lose all interest in their post. This small spaceportmust not see many problems, he imagined. No doubt these two men spentmost of their time bored and restless.Suddenly, Valdyr arched her back, stared up at the closest guard, andbared her teeth. He grabbed her by the hair and tried to yank her overto him, even as the other one grabbed her, pressed himself against her,and bent his head to her neck. Peter's temper flared and his hand hadgrabbed the handle of the car door when Spock's reasonable voiceintruded. "Wait," the Vulcan cautioned. "One moment ..."No sooner did he say that than the two Klingon guardssuddenly looked amazed, then crumpled to the ground.Valdyr grimaced, spat on the one who had clutched her, and thenmatter-of-factly grabbed the closest by the heels and began strugglingto wrestle him into the guard station."That's our cue!" Jim announced, and opened the vehicle's doors.At the gate, Spock lifted one of the unconscious Klingons effortlesslyand arranged him at his station inside the small building, while thecaptain and McCoy struggled with the other one.Peter grabbed Valdyr by the shoulders. "Are you all right?""Uuughh? she grunted. "I had to let those veq-nuj handle me. I'm sorrynow I didn't just kill them!""Valdyr ..." Peter said warningly. She gave him a knowing look, thenhanded Spock back his phaser.Suddenly, a mechanical whine intruded, and the entire party turned tolook out the windows at the source of the sound. Feeling a rumblebeneath his feet, Peter glanced over at a portion of the pavement thatwas rising into the air, like a huge trapdoor. Distant figuressurrounded a small vessel that was on the platform rising up level withthe landing field."Looks like a miniature bird-of-prey," Kirk said."That is essentially what it is," Valdyr confirmed. "A small, armedshuttle, very fast and maneuverable, it usually has a crew of three tosix.""I'd say that's exactly what the doctor ordered," McCoy said, "if onlywe could get to it."Peter shook his head. "Forget it. I can see at least three crew membersout there, as well as four maintenance staff.We wouldn't have a prayer of swiping that ship."Kirk sighed. "Probably not," he admitted. But the expression on hisuncle's face said otherwise."A helpless woman will not get you that ship," Valdyr warned."No," Jim agreed. "And if we try to take out the crew and themaintenance staff, even with three hand phasers and two disruptersagainst all of them, we'd be spread awfully thin. Itwould be hard to get close enough to stun them. These little jobs don'thave much range."Valdyr lifted her head proudly as the captain casually included her.Jim continued to eye the ship specula tively. "It'll be tough enough justtaking off, much less avoiding pursuit and setting a course that willbypass that ring ... ""What he's sayin', miss," McCoy translated for the Klingon woman, "isthat we're going' for it, soon as he finishes tellin' us how impossibleit is!"Suddenly, an alarm began to whoop. The crew near the ship looked up, andautomatically the fugitives ducked so that they wouldn't be seen throughthe guardhouse windows.Valdyr pointed excitedly through the front windows, toward the automaticgate she and Peter had entered with their coded disks.Several vehicles had just arrived, and armed Klingons, small in thedistance, were aiming heavy disrupter rifles at the gate with itsblaring alarm. Suddenly, the gate blew apart, its metal structurescreaming, its beams and support hardware twisting and shattering. TheKlingons poured through the perimeter, over the blasted chunks of debristhat had been the entrance."Karg's men!" the Klingon woman said. "They have finally traced us.""Karg must've decided that they couldn't capture us undetected, sothey're staging an all-out assault!" Peter agreed.The warriors surrounding the small bird-of-prey had noticed theinvasion, too, and were pointing at the running figures."Stay down!" Valdyr ordered everyone. "Don't let them see you!" Tossingher disrupter at Peter, she leapt out of the guardhouse, brandishing herdagger. In Klingonese, she shouted at the men guarding the smallbird-of-prey. "Enemies have come to steal your vessel] Defendyourselvesv' Waving her weapon at the ship, she beckoned the crew. Witha roar, the ship's crew members drew their own weapons and chargedforward to confront the invaders. With amighty yell, Valdyr raced toward Karg's troops, and the soldiers fromthe ship followed her blindly."Valdyr, no!" Peter yelled, and lurched after her, but Jim grabbed himroughly by the arm."She's bought us the time we need!" Jim told him. "We can't go upagainst that firepower with three phasers! Now come on, we've got to getthat ship!""She'll be killed!" Peter argued. "I'm not leaving her!""Spock," the captain ordered."Peter, please," the Vulcan said quietly, taking the cadet's arm in aformidable grip, "I would regret being forced to carry you to safety."McCoy was peering out the doorway at the ensuing melee of soldiersfiring at each other. Disrupters whined and crackled. "Time, gentlemen!"The captain stuck his head out the door to confirm McCoy's diagnosis."You've got Peter, Spock?""Yes, Captain."Peter stared at the Vulcan, calculating his chances at pulling away fromthe taciturn science officer without leaving his arm behind. Uncle Jim,McCoy, and Spock left the guardhouse at a dead run, and Peter had toeither move his feet or be dragged. Pulling back as much as possibleagainst the Vulcan's immovable strength, he turned his head, strainingto see Valdyr, but it was impossible to pick her small frame out fromthe mass of huge, fighting men. If he left her this way, he knew he'dnever see her again. He'd never be able to live with himself, either."Spock!" he implored. "They'll kill her!"The Vulean's expression softened just slightly, but he didn't slow down."Once we're aboard the ship we may be able to effect her rescue."Peter told himself that Vulcans never lie, and prayed that the oldsaying was true.He heard the disrupter fire cease, and looked back at the mob ofKlingons. He was shocked to see a number of bodies sprawled on theground, dead, and realized that the remaining soldiers, as a group, hadturned and were staring, and pointing, at them.Spock saw it, too. "That is, if we get to the ship ..."A loud voice Peter recognized as Karg's suddenly shouted, "HALT,HUMANS!""We can make it!" Kirk insisted, as they drew closer to the ship."Halt, now!" shouted Karg again. "Or, we will kill this female maghwl?"A jolt of disrupter fire charged the air, blasting the ground a fewmeters in front of Peter and Spock.The next blast nearly took off McCoy's leg.Spock stopped running, and, even so, they nearly piled into McCoy, whohad skidded to an abrupt halt. "Jim!" the doctor bellowed. "Stop,dammit! They've got our range!" The captain halted, and turned, his facegrim and set.The combined group of soldiers closed the gap between them. As they did,Peter shook his arm where Spock still gripped him. "Spock! Let me go!"Spock stared at the cadet. "If I do, you will do nothing foolish?"Peter hesitated.Spock's eyebrow went up; then he sighed, loudly. "Never mind. It was apoor choice of words. You are, after all, a Kirk." He released thehuman's arm."They killed the ship's crew, her maintenance staff," McCoy murmured ina shocked tone.Peter's heart sank. And now Karg had them all, Valdyr, himself ... hisUncle Jim. The cadet decided he must be some kind of bad-luck hex. Afterall, Uncle Jim had gotten out of a million scrapes worse than thisbefore. As Karg drew near them, he could see he was towing Valdyr by thehair.She was unarmed. There was magenta blood splashed on her arm, and somesmeared on her face, but he didn't think any of it was hers."Won't Kamarag be pleased!" Karg gloated as the soldiers drew abreast ofthem. "No doubt he's having some trouble finding his quarry in theimmensity of space. When he returns, won't he be impressed when wepresent him with not only James T. Kirk and his wretched kin, but alsothe gutless Vulcan computer and the butcher who calls himself aphysician! You will all pay for your crimes against Qo'nos!"Peter heard McCoy murmur a bitter, "Oh, brother ... not again!""I have committed no crimes against Qo'nos," the captain said, coolly."I only came here to rescue my brothefts son, who is also innocent ofany crime. Besides," he added,"Chancellor Azetbur invited me to visit her world anytime after I savedher life at Khitomer."The watching troops stirred when they heard their chancellor mentioned,though Karg was undismayed by Kirk's reference. The captain glancedaround at the circle of armed Klingons. "Chancellor Azetbur knowsnothing of your betrayal ... yet," the officer reminded them boldly."If you abandon this scheme of Kamarag's now, you can still save .""Chancellor Azetbur is our enemy/" Karg bellowed furiously.However, Peter noted that several of the soldiers shifted uneasily,glancing at each other surreptitiously. Others glanced around,uncomprehending, not understanding the captain because they didn't speakEnglish.Peter studied them, an idea growing in the back of his mind. Perhaps notall of these men were totally committed to betraying their government.There came a time when even good soldiers had to question bad orders ...The cadet recognized one of them, Malak, and saw that he, particularly,seemed uncomfortable. In the harsh glow of the spotlighted landingfield, he saw two gleaming weapons on Malak's belt. One of the daggerswas small ... delicate.He had Valdyr's blade Karg was still ranting. "That slut! Azetbur is apretender/ She is ...""Appointed by her father," Peter said loudly in Klingonese, raising hisvoice to be heard over Karg's baritone, "and ratified by the KlingonHigh Command. She is no pretender, but the legal head of your Empire. Arightfully appointed head of state, who is working toward saving yourplanet!"All eyes turned to him as, dramatically, he swung his hand overhead,pointing to the ring, the debris of Praxis that encircled Qo'nos. "It'sstill there, isn't it? It hasn't gone away, has it? The symbol of yourworld's inevitable demise.You all know that, without the help of the Federation, Qo'nos is doomed.Your military vessels are housed in underground shelters to keep themsafe from meteors that gouge your world. How many of you have lost lovedones to the meteors? Is that the way warriors want to die? Being struckby veq from the sky?"Peter realized that his uncle, the doctor, and Spock were staring athim. Even the captain and McCoy, who were probably hearing him over theUniversal Translators they carried, seemed impressed. Several of thesoldiers looked uncomfortable, glancing at Karg guiltily as if wonderingwhat they were all doing there in the first place."Azetbur is working with the Federation to guarantee you a future,"Peter reminded the Klingons. "She's not dwelling on the past, like thisqoh"--he pointed at Kargm"who thinks that he can make the past into thefuture, when anyone who raises his eyes can see that is impossible!Azetbur, like yourselves, looks up at the sky and reads what is writtenthere--change. Change and continued life for Klingons and Qo'nos! Yourchancellor wants to make sure there is a future for all Klingonsmnotjust the wealthy ones who can hide in the fortresses, and not worryabout what falls from the sky. Your chancellor is loyal to the people ofQo'nos--and she needs your loyalty in return. Do not betray her!"It wasn't a bad speech, Peter realized. He suspected that he had morethan one convert in the crowd."Listen to him!" aldyr implored. "You heard from Treegor how he canfight! He defeated two Klingon warriors at once! Peter Kirk is awarrior, like yourselves. He speaks from his heart.""Silence, you lain be7" Karg snarled, and swung a vicious blow at herface.Before Peter could react, Valdyr blocked the blow and slammed an elbowinto Karg's midsection, under his breastplate.Then she punched him hard in the face with the back of her own fist,making his nose spout blood.Karg never released the grip on her hair. Enraged, he swore violentlyand, in a blur, yanked his dagger out of his belt and stabbed the womanviciously in the gut, twisting the knife and drawing it up as hard as hecould befor e yanking it out.Valdyffs eyes widened, but she didn't cry out. Instead, she spatdirectly in Karg's face. Blinded, he released her, and stepped back.Valdyr's eyes rolled up and she crumpled to the ground, her hands foldedover the wound. Blood gushed through her fingers.The Klingon soldiers seemed stunned by Karg's action, as though theycould not believe that their commander could be so foolish as to killKamarag's own niece.Peter screamed "NOW and bolted to Valdyr's side, barely realizing thatMcCoy moved with him, some medical diagnostic tool already in his hand."Valdyr! Valdyr!" the cadet shouted as McCoy swung the tool around,recalibrated it, swung it again, muttering wildly to himself.She can't be dead.t he thought frantically.The Klingon woman's eyes fluttered feebly, finally opened. The darklight in her eyes was dim, barely focused."Pityr ...""Valdyr! Hold on! Fight like the warrior you are! Don't give in!""Pityr ... ? You must flee ... ""Valdyr, listen. You'll be okay, just listen. Oh God, Doctor, dosomething! Valdyr ... you've got to live. You've got to! I love you,Valdyr. Do you hear me? I love you!"A smile flickered across her face, revealing crooked teeth as McCoyfumbled in his medical kit. He found a hypo, adjusted it, then pressedit against her neck. "You love me?" she gasped. "This is true?""It's true, I swear it before all Qo'nos. I love you."She nodded. "We cannot weep. But we can love, Pityr.You are my mate. With you I would take the vow. I love you, too." Thenher eyes closed again, and her head rolled to the side. McCoy cursedvehemently and gave her something else."Bonest' the captain asked softly.McCoy shook his head, but continued working feverishly.Peter felt every emotion he'd suffered through and repressed well up inhim and explode in a blinding rage. He touched the blood still seepingthrough her locked fingers, then enclosed it in his fist. Clenching histeeth in fury and bitter sorrow, he slowly rose ... and turned towardKarg."Son, wait," his uncle warned quietly, but Peter ignored him.Taking a step toward the Klingon, he thrust out his fist, still drippingwith Valdyr's blood, and growled, in Klingonese, "One of you who stillpossesses a warrior's honor, give me a dagger, so I may deal with thistraitor who has no pretense to honor left him--to attack an unarmedfernale.t""You would challenge me?" Karg asked him incredulously, shifting thedagger that still gleamed with Valdyr's blood."It is his right," Malak said, stepping forward. "Valdyr has named himher mate." The soldier removed the woman's dagger from his belt andtossed it to Peter, who caught it by the hilt."It is a good day to die," Peter announced, smiling wolfishly as headvanced on the officer."Peter! No!" Jim shouted, lurching forward.But Spock caught his captain by the arm before he could interfere,saying quietly, "Jim. This is a cultural issue.""Dammit, Spock," Kirk growled."It is Peter's choice," Spock reminded him.Karg charged the young man, his dagger extended. Peter deflected it, andpunched the Klingon hard in the eye with the fist that held Valdyr'sknife. With a second swipe, he opened a shallow cut on the Klingon'scorrugated forehead.It bled freely. Karg howled, and his eye began to swell and close, evenas the blood dripped down, further blinding him.Peter spun around the warrior, the small blade licking out, caressinghim as delicately as a lover, nicking his ear.Flick ... and Valdyr's dagger scored the back of Karg's gauntletedhand. Flick ... now his cheek was laid open.The small cuts humiliated the warrior, enraging him past all caution.Karg lurched forward, stabbing blindly, as Peterdanced out of the way, leaving a razor-thin line of blood along theKlingon's neck.The officer recovered himself slightly, holding back, and when Petercame in again, he sliced the cadet's arm. The human ignored the wound,though it burned like fire, and, flick--this time the little dagger cutthe small leather strap that held the right side of Karg's armor closeto his body.The armor flapped annoyingly now, distracting the warrior.Roaring with rage, he charged the rapidly moving human, but Peterstepped aside like a matador, and, as he did so, he chopped his fistdown on the Klingon's bull-like neck, deadening the nerves in his arm,nearly causing Karg to drop his dagger. He aimed a powerful kick at thesoldier's midsection, but Karg was ready, and blocked, numbing his footand halfway up his leg.Limping, Peter staggered out of range, then came back in, and landed aringing blow to Karg's chin, making his head snap back. The Klingon'steeth clacked shut, and blood suddenly poured from his mouth. Before hecould recover, Peter grabbed the healthy mass of hair that was a Klingonwarrior's pride."We humans call this 'death by humiliation,'" he whispered in hisenemy's ear. "Think of it as return payment for the way you abusedValdyr." With a swift flash of her wicked blade, he severed most of thelong hair from Karg's head.Behind them, he could hear the other Klingons laugh uproariously.Karg went wild, bellowing and swearing as he charged the human. Petersidestepped him, and clubbed him hard where his neck and back joined.Karg's eyes rolled up, and he fell heavily, face forward, onto thepavement, then lay unmoving, unconscious. Peter, his rage still unspent,hovered over the body, sweating, heaving for air. He wanted Karg to getup, again and again, so that he could beat him to a bloody pulp--thenslice him like a holiday roast."Kill him, young Kirk!" Malak urged. "It is your right. He will have nohonor left to him, if you let him live."No one moved as Peter shifted Valdyr's blade and stared at the back ofthe unconscious soldier.Then a weak, tremulous voice cut the air. "Pityr ..." He blinked, lookedaround, saw Valdyr lying on the pavement, with McCoy still working onher. Her eyes were half-open, her bloody hand raised slightly, beckoninghim."Dammit, man!" McCoy snapped at him. "Will you get yourself over herebefore she burns up the little reserves she has left tryin' to get yourattention!"Peter glanced up at Malak. "Karg doesn't deserve any honor. He's atraitor, a man who brutalizes those who are weaker than he is. Let himlive with the shame of his defeat." He left the unconscious Klingon andmoved to Valdyr's side.He took her hand as she whispered in a thin voice, "You fought for me?""And won," he said slipping her dagger back in its place."With your knife.""My warrior ..." she whispered, and lost consciousness again.As the Klingon woman slipped back into unconsciousness, McCoy continuedto work on the hideous wound in her abdomen. He worked swiftly with thetiny electronic microcautery, but she had lost so much blood already!Jim and Spock drew near the fallen woman. "Bones, will she make it?"The doctor never looked up, never lost his focus. But before he couldanswer, a harsh, accented Klingon voice called out, "This is the man whokilled Chancellor Gorkon?" McCoy glanced up, saw one of the soldierspointing at him."Now he will kill Kamarag's niece!""Not bloody likely," McCoy swore. "I'm not going' to let her die."The shame of that failure still burned within him. The fact that thechancellor's death had caused him--and his best friend--to be sent tothat hellhole Rura Penthe was bad enough ... but really, it was thedeath of Gorkon himself that upset McCoy. He had never before lost apatient because of his own lack of knowledge. Working on the chancellorfor those few, futile moments had been theblackest point in his entire career. To struggle to save a dying man ...and know so little about his most rudimentary needs ... First, do noharm, the law of healers said, the law that ruled McCoy's life. AfterRura Penthe, he'd sworn that would never happen to him again. Not ever.Ignoring the soldier's insult, he focused on his patient."In the time since the chancellor's death," Spock suddenly said,addressing the crowd, "Dr. McCoy has studied Klingon physiologyextensively. He is completely qualified to assist this woman."The warriors did not seem mollified. Then Malak stepped forward. "It iswell known that Vulcans do not lie."Does everyone still believe that load of horse-puckey?McCoy wondered, sealing the wound, and packing it with a sterile,inflatable foam from a small container in his kit.The doctor noticed Spock's expression change, as if he suddenly realizedwhat an opening he'd just been given."Warriors, know this," the Vulcan intoned. "You serve Kamarag loyally,yet even Kamarag does not know that the plans he has made have beeninfluenced by the mind of an alien. Kamarag's thoughts and plans are nothis own--he is little more than a puppet."The Klingons all looked at one another, then at Malak, who seemedstunned."Why else would Kamarag," Spock continued, pressing his advantage,"after three years of silence, suddenly concoct this plan to kidnapPeter Kirk and lure James Kirk to his death, when James Kirk himself wasresponsible for saving Azetbur's life? Did none of you questionKamarag's motives? Did none of you question his plans to commit treason?Did none of you question the lack of honor in his scheme?"Malak answered for the group. "We did have questions, the same questionsValdyr had from the beginning. But we are loyal to Kamarag's house, asour families have been for generations. Now I look at what it hasbrought us, and I have no answers. We have lost some of our brothers,and have been forced to kill warriors we had no feud with." Hegestured back at the dead soldiers that had been protecting their ship."If we can g et off Qo'nos, and meet with Kamarag," Spock explained, "wehope to prove to him how he has been influenced, and sway him from hiscourse."Malak nodded. "Vulcans do not lie, so I believe you." He looked down atMcCoy. "Do you believe you can save Valdyr?"McCoy wiped the sweat beading on his brow. "I've got her stabilized ...barely. If I could get her to the Enterprise, to our sickbay ...""Take her," Malak said, startling the doctor. These fierce-lookingwarriors were actually going to let them go? Malak looked at CaptainKirk and Spock. "Take the bird-of-prey.If you can outrun those who will surely come after you, do so. SaveValdyr. And, if you can, save Kamarag. Then I will have done my duty tomy lord." He turned to his men, as if waiting for a challenge, but nonecame."Can we move her?" Peter asked McCoy. The boy's face was nearly whitewith worry."Carefully," McCoy warned, worried that any sharp motion would reopensome of those bleeders.Spock leaned down and asked, "Shall IT' Gratefully, McCoy nodded,watching protectively as the Vulcan gently lifted the unconscious womanand stood up with her cradled in his arms.McCoy trotted alongside Spock as they all headed for the small warbird."Spock," Peter said, "I can override the lock, but I'll need yourtricorder." At the Vulcan's nod, Peter unfastened the device from aroundSpock's waist, then made himself busy with the lock that would extrudethe gangplank. His fingers flashed over the controls of his tricorder ashe searched for the proper sequence. Suddenly there was a soft thunk;then, with a hiss of pressurized air, the ramp extended out and down.Kirk was in the lead, already heading for the ship's bridge."Put her here, Spock," McCoy directed the Vulcan, andthe science officer lowered Valdyr onto a padded seat set back away fromthe tiny bridge, then went forward. McCoy crouched beside the woman,checking her wound and reading his diagnostic tool. Everything had held.The wound was secure. McCoy glanced around the tiny cabin.Wouldn't this ship have its own medikit, with Klingon-specific drugs andequipment?"How bad is it?" Peter asked, his eyes searching the older man's face.McCoy hesitated. Finally, he admitted, "There's a lot of internaldamage, but, Peter, with her spirit ... if anyone can make it with thismuch damage, I'd say she can." Peter nodded, and tried to smile wanly.McCoy looked up to see Jim hovering over his nephew's shoulder."We're going to need you up front, Peter," the captain ordered."Aye, sir," the cadet responded and, with a final glance back at Valdyrand McCoy, moved up to the bridge.Good, thought the doctor, get him out of my hair so I can get some realwork done.Peter watched his uncle Jim swing himself into the pilot's seat andbegin powering up the ship. Spock, to Peter's surprise, elected to takethe gunner's seat, leaving the navigation console to the cadet.Moments later, the tiny shuttle lifted off and swooped upward. Petercould see the change come over his uncle as Kirk gloried in the smallship's skyward rush. The cadet called off a course, and Kirk fed it intothe ship's computer.Suddenly, a harsh Klingon voice came over the intercom, demanding toknow the ship's flight plan, its registration number, and a half a dozenother required things ships had to have before leaving the spaceport.Peter found it ironic that even Klingons had bureaucracy."Any way we can bluff our way out of this?" the captain asked his crew."I can speak enough Klingon, Uncle Jim," Peter told him,"but I just don't have the answers to their questions.""Nor do I, Captain," Spock told him."Fine," the captain said casually, and slapped the inter-corn intosilence, cutting the speaker off in mid-tirade."That's enough of that.""Company coming," Peter reported tersely, as he watched his instruments."Two cruisers.""Where's the damned cloaking device?" Kirk grumbled, peering at controlscovered by Klingon symbols. "On the Bounty, Scotty labeled everything inEnglish!" Peter craned his neck to see around his uncle. "It's on yourleft, that third switch, with the red telltale beside it.""It is possible, Captain," Spock warned, "that other Klingon vessels maywell have technology to identify this ship's energy signature, and thusallow them to track us, even if we activate it.""Well, it won't hurt to try," Kirk said. He quickly flipped theappropriate switch. "There it is, Spock ... " Peter felt a subtle humcourse through the shuttle, and the viewscreen changed abruptly,revealing a view of the planet below that was wavy and distorted, asthough seen through a haze.The shuttle was almost out of the atmosphere, almost into space, whenone of the ships nearly caught them. "Cruiser at oh-four-three marksix," Peter announced. "They've powered up their weapons and they'retracking us!" Spock was setting up the gunher's targeting screen, allhis attention fixed on their opponent. The other ship fired, and theshuttle shuddered violently."Direct hit!" Peter shouted. "Our amidships shield is down by eightypercent. Another hit there, and we won't have to worry about confrontingKamarag,""What the hell's going on up there?" McCoy shouted.Quickly, he examined Valdyr. Puce swirls colored the white packing foamin her wound. Oh no, she sprung a bleeder.t He had no time to check theKlingon kit, and grabbed his microcautery. The ship suddenly veeredsharply before he could engage the instrument. If that had happenedwhile he was working in the wound, he could have caused irreparabledamage! He had to have a steady working field."Another jolt like that and I may as well throw this patient out theairlock for all the good I'm doin' her!" he yelled.He saw Peter turn to look at Valdyr, then heard Jim's "captain" voiceorder sharply, "Focus on your job, mister!Let the doctor handle his patient." The cadet's face flamed as he turnedback around.Let the doctor handle his patient[ McCoy mentally mocked Kirk's order.The ship lurched again, then zagged hard right. Bones had to grabValdyr's unconscious form to keep her secure in the chair. Handle,indeed[ he fumed. I'm a doctor, not a damned juggled"Spock?" Jim Kirk asked, not turning his head to see his officer. "I'mcoaxing every bit of speed out of this ship that I can--""Understood, Captain," the Vulcan said, his voice preternaturally calm."Targeting locking on ... and firing." The little bird-of-prey shiveredwith the force of the blast. S im spared a glance for the viewscreen, intime to see the disrupter blast score a direct hit on their opponent."That's got them!" the captain said exultantly. "Nice shooting, Spock!No loss of life, but they'll have to break off' pursuit and make amanual landing. Peter, let's up the stakes on this pursuit. Locate oneof the ring shepherds and plot us a course past it. Find us a waythrough that ring." Peter worked at his controls feverishly. "Coursecomputed and laid in, sir," he reported, moments later, his voiceprofessionally confident."Looks good," Jim responded, standing by to make minute coursecorrections. Then the ship shot toward the ring field at maximum speed."Cruiser approaching, dead astern! Six-four-three mark nine!" thecaptain heard his nephew shout. "They're going to follow us--weaponstargeting!""Spock," Kirk said, "remember what happened to the Kepler?""I do indeed, Captain," the Vulcan said, targeting his weapons.The shuttle hurtled into the gap. On their right side, close enoughalmost to touch, loomed the huge granite ring shepherd. They were besideit--they were past itm "Now, Spock!""Firing aft weapons," Spock announced, and the little warbird trembledwith the force of the blasts.The powerful beams shot into the ring shepherd, blowing it apart in ashower of debris, spreading directly into the path of the oncomingcruiser.Shards and chunks of rocks spun wildly, in eerie silence; then Peter'svoice reached Kirk, suddenly exultant. "Captain, the debris hasoverloaded their shielding! They're breaking off`?" The Vulcan nodded."Even Klingons can understand diminishing returns. Pursuing us at thecost of their own vessel was not worth the effort. Eminently logical.""Have you all finished turnin' this blasted shoebox upside down?" McCoybellowed from the rear.The three men glanced at one another in exasperation."Yes, Doctor," Jim assured him. Then Kirk turned to look at his nephew."Go on back if you want to, Peter. Spock and I can handle this now."Peter nodded his gratitude and slipped out of the seat to join McCoy."How is she?" He still found it hard to believe they'd survived thatflight through the ring gap!"A little the worse for wear, I'm afraid," McCoy admitted grumpily. Hehad an odd-looking kit opened up beside him."Fortunately, I found this ship's medical kit. But I'm havin' a littletrouble with the diagnostic tool--language barrier, you know? Maybe youcan help." Peter smiled wanly. He desperately wanted to do something forValdyr, anything ... McCoy waved the device over the pale, comatosewoman. Peter translated what he could, giving McCoy the termsphonetically, since none of them meant much to him, but the doctor keptnodding and saying, "Uh-huh," as if he at least understood it. McCoy dugaround in the kit, found something and slapped it in his hypo. "This'llbe a big help," he mumbled, as he pressed it to aldyr's neck. "Though,heaven knows she's got a damned pharmacy in there now."Suddenly, the woman's eyes fluttered open. "Pityr ..." she gasped."He's right here, miss," McCoy told her. "Don't move now. Talk to her,son, before she starts thrashin'.""Valdyr." The cadet took her hand, squeezed it ently.Her retu rning grip was weak, and that shocked him more than even herappearance."My warrior," she whispered, "you cannot only fight ... you can speak... so well ... like a diplomat ... as well as Azetbur ..."Peter flushed with pride, knowing the high opinion aldyr had of thefemale chancellor."I'd say he's every bit as eloquent as his uncle, young miss," McCoyagreed, checking her signs, and examinin her wound for fresh blood.Valdyr frowned, blinking drowsily. "Pityr, what am I missing?"The cadet shook his head, not following her."This McCoy, he keeps saying to me, 'miss," 'miss'--what is this I ammissing? I do not want to be missing anything!"MCOY heard her, and raised his eyebrows. Peter nodded, trying to assurethe doctor it was all right. "It's okay, Valdyr.You're not missing anything. "Miss' is an archaic title, what humanssometimes call young, unmated females. It's old-fashioned, but it's asign of respect."Her gaze drifted to McCoy. "Thank you for that respect, Doctor. I didnot think that would be such an easy thing to get from humans.""You earned that, miss," McCoy assured her. "Now, please, just liestill."Suddenly, she turned back to the young Kirk, her eyes widening. "Pityr,do not forget to tell your uncle ... about Kamarag ... ""He knows all about Kamarag, Valdyr," the cadet tried to reassure her."No," she insisted, "he does not! You must tell him about Kamarag'sfleet. I do not know how many ships, but he hadmany officers that he spoke to! Do not let Kirk fly right into hisambush ... ""I'll tell him, Valdyr, I'll tell him. You've got to take it easy.""Pityr, please, kiss me," she demanded, her voice hoarse and breathless."If I am to die, I want to take the memory of your kiss with me,Pityr-oy.""You're not going to die, Valdyr," Peter told her. "I'll fight death foryou, just like I fought Karg. And I'll win." Gently, he touched hermouth with his.She laughed lightly as he did. "Hlja'!" she whispered."Mevqo', Pityr "Then she slid back into unconsciousness.glanced at McCoy, alarmed, but for once the doctor seemed unconcerned."It's okay," the older man assured him."Her body's shutting down its less important functions, to preserve itsenergy. She's holding on."cadet sighed, relieved. "Call me if she comes to," he asked, and McCoynodded as Peter returned to his station.uncle and Spock acknowledged his arrival as Peter relayed the messagefrom Valdyr to Jim Kirk about Kamarag's forces."Don't worry, Peter. We can still beat him back to the point. We'll warnEnterprise in time.""And then what?" Peter demanded, bleakly.shrugged. "Maybe there will be another ship or two around.I'll contact Scotty, and have him call for help.""The nearest starbase is two days' journey away," Peter pointed outdarkly."Take it easy for the moment, Peter," Kirk tried to reassure him. "We'llfind a way to handle Kamarag. And, by way, you were pretty damnedeloquent, cadet.""Thanks, Uncle Jim."elder Kirk patted the helm and changed the subject. "This is one sweetlittle ship, isn't she?" he said to the other two men. "So ..." hepatted the console again, "what'll we name her?""Actually, Klingon ships are called 'he,'" Peter said, tightly."And he has a name. It's painted on his bow. Ispotted it as we boarded him." His face was as expressionless asSpock's, belying the turmoil of emotions inside him."He's called the Taj."Spock looked pensive. "Ironic ..." he muttered."What does it mean?" Jim asked."Dagger," Peter said, a shadow crossing his face.No one said anything more as Taj flew on, swift and alone in theblackness.Hours later, a weary James T. Kirk piloted the Taj into the Enterprisegdocking bay. Waiting for him in the docking bay was a welcomingcommittee consisting of a medical team, a grim-faced Mr. Scott,Commander Uhura, and Ambassador Sarek.Within moments a medical team spirited Valdyr away, with McCoy and Peterin tow. Kirk stood at the top of the gangplank and watched the two ofthem, his heart aching a little for his nephew. Peter in love with aKlingon? But it had happened, there was no denying it. It was obviousthat this was no casual affair; Peter had fallen, and fallen hard. Wasthere any possibility of a future for the two of them together? Any hopeof happiness? He didn't know ...Ten minutes later, once more in uniform, the captain hurried down thecorridor, fastening the flap of his maroon jacket.When he reached the conference chamber, he found his officers, plusSarek, already assembled. Spock, also, was back in uniform. In contrastto his own weary dishevelment, the Vulcan was, of course, impeccablygroomed and seemed as fresh as if he hadn't played hide-and-seek onQo'nos for the past fifteen hours.Kirk lowered himself into a seat and addressed his chief engineer."Status, Mr. Scott?""Well, Captain ... I dinna know exactly what's going' on, but somethingworrisome is happening. Half an hour ago, we picked up a blip for aboutfive seconds on our sensors--and then it was gone. Three minutes later,another ... not far away. Just ... blip, then gone. Over and over,sir. Never in the same space twice ... but stayin' just barely withinthe boundary of the Neutral Zone--th' Romulan Neutral "What do thesensors indicate?" Kirk asked. "Could it be Kamarag's fleet?""Noo, sir, it's not large enough for that. We canna get a full readin',Captain, because it comes and goes so quickly.Just bits and pieces. It isna small, that's for sure. I'd sayship-sized.""No possibility of it being a natural phenomenon?""Noo, Captain. My guess is that it's a ship. A cloaked ship. It decloaksjust long enough to register on our sensors as a blip, then it recloaksand moves. But never very far away.""A bird-of-prey," Kirk said, and Scott nodded. "Klingon?""Possibly," Spock said, studying the limited sensor data Scott displayedfor their benefit. "But I think not. The ion traces are different fromthose we detected from cloaked Klingon vessels.""And, Captain," Uhura spoke up, "there's something else that'ssuspicious about it. The instant we first picked it up, something beganjamming our long-range communications.We can't send subspace messages, sir.""Hmmmm ..." Kirk sipped coffee, thinking hard."Show me the blips," he said, and Scott obediently called up athree-dimensional schematic on the conference table's screen. Kirkstudied the pattern as he finished his coffee."What do you make of this, Spock?""I would like the opportunity to study it further," the Vulcan said,gazing intently at the screen. Sarek also stared at the screen, barelyblinking. Kirk could almost hear the Vulcan wheels turning."What would happen," the ambassador said quietly, "if we were to movecloser to it?""We can try," Kirk said. "Mr. Scott, Commander Uhura, please report tothe bridge to oversee maneuvers. Scotty, see how much of an ion trailour visitor is leaving. Uhura, try and determine the range their jammingsignal has.""Yes, Captain.""Aye, sir."Minutes later, with the two senior officers standing by, Kirk instructedthe helm to head for the last recorded blip at one-eighth impulse power."Look!" Uhura exclaimed over the intercom as another blip abruptlyflashed on, then off. This one was deeper into the Neutral Zone byseveral hundred kilometers."It's like a game," Kirk said, staring hard at the screen."They want to lure us into the Neutral Zone.""A game," Sarek repeated softly, an undercurrent of excitement in hisvoice. "Yes indeed ... a game! But not follow-the-leader ... watchclosely ..." The Vulcan's long-fingered hands flashed swiftly over thecomputer controls.As Kirk watched, the three-dimensional schematic was replaced by athree-level grid pattern--a familiar pattern.He turned to Sarek incredulously. "A chessboard, Ambassador?""Yes," the Vulcan said, his dark eyes shining with pleasure from solvingthe puzzle. "And I recognize the game.Taryn is in command of that vessel. And those moves, thosecoordinates--they are identical to the moves Taryn made in one of ourrecent games." He shook his head, adding, mostly to himself, "A Vulcangambit ... of course he would employ one. A Vulcan gambit ... it makesperfect sense. I should have realized it before.""But assuming that is Taryn, why would he come here?" Kirk said."Because he wants me. He knows that I have uncovered the Freelan plan. Ispoke to him while you were gone, and I deliberately baited him, tryingto lure him into some reckless action ... as I have done many timesduring ourchess games. Now he is responding to my implicit challenge.He is moving his ship in the pattern of the last game we played that hewon. He employed T'Nedara's gambit, and there"--Sarek swiftly outlined aseries of moves in red--"it is. The exact pattern of his moves in thegame we played.""How many moves did he make during the entire game?" Spock asked,obviously fascinated. As they had been speaking, several more blips hadappeared on the schematic."It was a long, hard-fought game. Each of us made hundreds of moves.""Are you sure, Ambassador?" Kirk asked, wonderingly."Do you have any other evidence that this is Taryn? When he contactedyou, what did he want?""He demanded a meeting between us in the Freelan system. I told him Iwould be unable to attend. As I said, I baited him. I could tell that hewas angry, though of course I could not see his features. Now he doesthis," he gestured at the screen, "as his next move.""But if he was on Freelan only hours ago--"Sarek shook his head. "No. He merely said he was on Freelan. CommanderUhura confirmed that the message from Taryn was only rout ed throughFreelan communications systems. The actual transmission originatedinside the Romulan Neutral Zone."On Kirk's order, Enterprise moved again, and again the unseen vesselresponded with a series of moves. "The pattern is exact," Sarek said.Catching Kirk's still-skeptical glance, he marked a new location on thescreen in purple."The next move," he said.As the Vulcan had predicted, when Enterprise moved again, the blipmaterialized for a second in those exact coordinates. Kirk shook hishead. "Okay, let's assume you're right, for argument's sake. But why thegame? What does he want?""The game grid for his ship's maneuvering coordinates is not the mainpoint, Captain. Taryn would probably be surprised to realize that I haveidentified the pattern. He is simply amusing himself while he seeks todraw us closer to his ship ... and away from the rendezvous point."Kirk turned to the monitor that showed Uhura and Scotty, who werelistening in from the bridge, as ordered."Commander, have you discovered the range of their jamming capability?""Yes, sir," she replied promptly. "It extends for nearly a light-year inall directions. We'll definitely have to move to get any kind of messageout.""Great ..." Kirk said, grimly. "Starbase Eight is two full days away,and that's the closest help we can expect. And now we can't even get amessage out.""Captain," Scotty put in, "what I dinna understand is why the devil theRomulans try to lure you away now, if they're the ones who forced you tocome out here in the first place? It doesna make sense!""It does if the Romulans wish to begin a war," Sarek said,"between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Iftaryn has gone to thistrouble to initiate hostilities, he undoubtedly wishes Kamarag and hisfleet to cross into Federation space unimpeded.""Good point," Kirk said. "So, really, Peter's kidnapping was almostextraneous to the rest of this situation. The Romulans inflamedKamarag--and this is the form his revenge took. In addition to attackingthe Federation, he decided he had to get back at me, personally.""That would seem the logical deduction, Captain," Spock said.Sarek was staring at the growing schematic as if mesmerized."We cannot continue to allow them to jam Enterprise's subspacecommunications. We must be able to send a message to Starfleet Command... and the president.""Why?" Kirk demanded. "I mean ... to request reinforcements, yes, thatI know. But why the president?""Taryn must realize now that I know about their plans.He is trying to prevent me from revealing what I know to Ra-ghoratrei oryour Starfleet Admiral Burton.""It is fortunate," Spock observed quietly, "that you sent thattime-locked message.""At your suggestion," Sarek reminded the first officer."However, that message may not activate in time to prevent both aRomulan and a Klingon invasion.""So ... what's next?" the captain asked, rubbing his forehead."What do you mean, Captain?" Sarek asked."I mean that you've convinced me that that's a Romulan ship, and thatTaryn is commanding it. But as long as he doesn't cross the NeutralZone, I have no authority to go after him. And I can't go far ...Kamarag is on his way, remember, with that fleet. So what do I do now?""Our original goal remains unchanged, Kirk. We must obtain indisputableproof of the true nature of Freelan, and of the Romulan plot toinstigate war ... and to do that, I must transport over to Taryn's shipand speak with him personally."Kirk regarded Sarek, his eyes narrowing. "Slow down, Ambassador. Whywould you want to transport aboard that Romulan ship? Assuming I'd allowit ... which I won't.Beaming aboard a cloaked vessel? Something we can't even get a reliabletransporter lock on? That could be suicide.And even if you survived the beaming, don't forget your destination.""I am willing to take the risks, Captain," Sarek said gravely. "In fact,I insist upon it.""What could you hope to gain from dropping in on Taryn?" Kirk heard theexasperation in his own voice."Two things, Kirk," Sarek said. "First, if I can catch Taryn withoutwarning, he will not have time to assume his disguise. If I beamed overand recorded our interview on some type of scanning device, that wouldconstitute the proof we seek. And, secondly, if Taryn knows that theirplot is known to the Federation, he might be willing to negotiate forthe lives of the Vulcans on Freelan ... allow us to rescue those whowish to leave that world.""Why do you think he'd do that?" Kirk asked."Because of something I only now realized about the esteemed liaison ...something I should have deduced long ago. Taryn has a vested interest insaving those Vulcans."Kirk gave Spock a "what the hell is going on?" look. Thecaptain sighed. "All right, I grant you your point about getting yourproof. But why should the Romulans care whether the Federation knowsabout their plan? Won't they simply proceed with it anyway?"Spock shook his head. "Unlikely, Captain. The entire Freelan plan wasdependent on secrecy and surprise ... and on the Klingons attacking theFederation, thus diverting troops and resources, forcing Starfleet tospread its defenses too thinly. If the fleet were warned, and war withthe Klingons averted, the Romulans would stand no chance against theFederation.""Precisely," Sarek said."Okay, I see what you're getting at ... but, Ambassador, I can't allowyou to beam over to that vessel, proof or no proof, kidnapped Vulcans orno kidnapped Vulcans.Starfleet would bust me down to yeoman duty for risking a person of yourreputation on such a stunt.""I am willing to take the risk, Kirk," Sarek replied. "Just as you haveyour duty, I have mine ... and it is to do everything in my power toprevent a war ... or the probable slaughter of transplanted Vulcancitizens."Kirk's eyes met Sarek's and held for a long moment.Slowly, Jim shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm sorry, Ambassador Sarek,but the answer is no. It's too risky. We can't pinpoint the location ofthe ship closely enough.""Yes, we can," Spock said, suddenly. "If the ambassador can predict itsnext location, then I can program the transporter to lock on to thebridge before it even appears."Kirk stared dubiously at the Vulcan officer. "Do you think he canaccomplish anything over there, Spock?""I do not know," Spock said, quietly. "It depends upon his plan.""Kirk," Sarek said, earnestly, "I have known Taryn for more than sixtyyears. I believe I can predict his actions and reactions accuratelyenough to be able to choose the best technique for approaching him.""They'll shoot you on sight, Ambassador!" Kirk replied."Not ifi am beamed onto the bridge, where Taryn can see me. He will notsummarily execute me. He may decide atsome point that that is what he must do, but he will let me speak,first. And if I can speak with him ... I can negotiate.If he will not listen, and chooses to kill me ... I am willing to takethat chance.""The ambassador does not have to go alone, Captain," Spock said,stiffly. "I am volunteering to accompany him."You wouldn't even know they're father and son if you saw them like this,Kirk thought, inwardly shaking his head.Vulcans!"Captain," Spock said, "as soon as you beam us aboard, you must use thediversion to warp far enough away to be out of jamming range. Then youmust transmit the data we will relay."Kirk hesitated, wavering. Finally, hearing an invisible clock ticking inhis head, knowing that Kamarag's fleet was on the way, he nodded curtly."All right."The next minutes flew by in a blur as Sarek and Spock prepared thetransporter coordinates that would place them aboard the Romulan vessel.Beaming would indeed be tricky the transporter chief would have barelya second to fine-tune the location in order to make sure they arrived onthe shipmand not in an area of space beside her, or beneath her."This recording device will function automatically," Spock told hisfather in the transporter room, fastening a small instrument into placebetween two of the large cabo-chon gems on the ambassador's formal robe."It will transmit, and the Enterprise will record what it sends. IfTaryn is indeed aboard, and you can induce him to identify himself,while showing his true features, that should constitute the proof weneed.""All right. I pick up your transmission, warp out of here, and thenmessage Starfleet and the president," Kirk said."Then what? I've got to come back here and intercept Kamarag. What doyou want me to do about you two? Try to lock on and beam you back?""As soon as the message is sent, return to the rendezvous point," Sareksaid. "If my talk with Taryn has been successfully concluded, I willcontact you to arrange for us toreturn. If not ... there is not much chance that we will be alive to beretrieved," he added, matter-of-factly.Kirk sighed and nodded. I hope to hell this works ... Spock and Sarekstepped up onto the transporter pads.The captain nodded at the transporter chief. "Energize."Sarek heard the distinctive whine, felt the Enterprise's transporterchamber begin to dissolve around him ...And then he was materializing again. He saw, with a moment of brief,intense relief that he was again surrounded by bulkheads. At his side,Spock was reforming. They had made it. He was aboard Taryn's ship.As he had requested, Spock had programmed their coordinates to placethem on the bridgema logical choice, since it was one of the largest,relatively open areas.The ambassador heard gasps of shock, startled exclamations as theRomulans recognized both of them. Then, all around them, hands drewdisrupters. In less than a second after they had finished beaming, Sarekfound himself facing seven drawn weapons.If I am wrong, the ambassador thought, and Taryn is not here--or is notthe man I believe him to be--neither Spock nor I will live anotherminute.But no blast of energy tore through him. Slowly, the ambassador pivoted,studying his surroundings. The bridge of a bird-of-prey was considerablymore cramped than that of a Federation starship. All around him,uniformed Romulans sat before instrument consoles, their seats swiveledto face the intruders, the disrupters in their hands leveledunwaveringly.Uniformed Romulans? The Ambassador stared around him in surprise. No ...not Romulans. At least ... not most of them.Sarek was astonished to realize that the individuals surrounding him atthe various command posts were not Romulans--they were Vulcans. He'dbeen expecting to find at least one Vulcan aboard Taryn's ship--but notnine of them!But these officers were, indisputably, Vulcans.He could tell by the faint mental vibrations they exuded.On his own world, Sarek was used to that, and, like most of his species,had learned to ignore it, overlook it, tune it out.But to encounter it here?"What is this?" a voice barked harshly in Romulan.Despite the millennia separating their peoples, the languages of Vulcansand Romulans still held some of the same cadence and flow, though theirvocabularies and syntax had mutated greatly over the years. Swiftly, thevoice changed to English. "What is going on? Who are you?"Sarek turned to regard the speaker. "You know who I am, Commander."The individual facing him, one of the two present who was not holding adrawn weapon, had to be Taryn. Sarek studied him unblinkingly. Yes, thiswas Taryn ... even without the insignia on his uniform, he would haveknown him. Everything fit. The arrogance he'd come to know so well shonein this individual's eyes. Those eyes were dark and hooded amid hiscraggy, hawklike features. He wore the uniform of a high-ranking Romulanofficer--a wing commander.And from him, as from many of the other officers, Sarek sensed nowunshielded mental activity. It also emanated from the young womanstanding beside him, her eyes wide and startled. She, alone of thebridge crew, was unarmed.Sarek nodded at both of them. "Commander Taryn," he said. "And Savel? Myaide, Soran, has spoken of how much he enjoyed playing chess with you.Allow me to present my ... associate, Captain Spock."The ambassador had seen something flare in the girl's eyes when he'dspoken of Soran. Recalling Soran's expressed interest in her, Sareknoted her reaction and silently filed that information away for furtherconsideration. It could prove useful ..."What are you two doing here?" Taryn demanded, his voice harsh andrasping with surprise and anger he did not trouble to conceal. "How dareyou," he almost sputtered,"invade my ship in this manner?""I recognized your game strategy, Taryn," Sarek said, attempting to makeit clear that the commander was responding to that name. He only hopedthat Kirk was picking up everything from the tiny recorder. "T'Nedara'sgambit.A Vulcan gambit. I took it for a tacit invitation to call upon you." Theambassador smiled faintly. "A Vulcan gambit, Taryn ... how appropriate,under the circumstances."Taryn bolted up out of his seat, and for a moment Sarek knew that hislife hung in the balance. The commander's hand dropped to the grip ofthe hand disrupter he wore.Then he took a deep breath ... another. Forced a faint, wry smile."Perhaps I was too clever, Sarek. I did not think you would recognizethe coordinates as being the same pattern as the moves in our chessgame.""How could I not recognize them, Taryn?" Sarek asked simply. "That wasone of the few that you won. Naturally, I would remember." Exultationsurged inside him. Taryn had responded to Sarek's use of his name, andhe'd made reference to their games on Freelan--which were chronicled inSarek's diplomatic records of his negotiations with the Freelans. Atlast, he had the proof he had risked his life to achieve.Leave, Kirk, the Vulcan urged, silently. Take your starship and transmitthe message ..."Why have you come here, Sarek?" Taryn asked, almost pleasantly. "Youknow that I cannot permit either of you to return.""I came to negotiate for the release of the Vulcans who reside onFreelan," the ambassador replied. "The Federation has been warned. Thewar you attempted to instigate will not come to pass. Starfleet will bestanding ready, should your forces attempt to initiate hostilities. Weboth. know that the Romulan Empire is not prepared to take on abattle-ready Federation ... a strong Federation that is still alliedwith the Vulcans." Sarek took a deep breath and glanced slowly aroundthe bridge, at all the faces of the officers."And, finally," he concluded, "there will be no war withthe Klingons." He spoke decisively, not allowing any of his inner doubtsto show. There could still be war, and he knew it--but Taryn and hisofficers must not."Why not?" Sayel blurted. Taryn glared at her, and she subsidedimmediately, but not before Sarek glimpsed relief in her eyes."Because Captain Kirk managed to safely rescue his nephew," Spock said,speaking for the first time since their beam-over. "And, even ifKamarag's fleet manages to destroy the Enterprise, Starfleet has beenwarned. The renegade ambassador will not get far into Federation spacebefore he is stopped. Azetbur has proved she will not support therenegades ... your plan has failed.""Enough of this!" the commander snapped, his temper obviously fraying."Why are you here, Sarek? Surely you know your life is forfeit, should Igive the word. What did you hope to gain?""The lives of the Vulcans on Freelan," Sarek said steadily."As I told you before. You are the wing commander for the Freelanoperation. Only the praetor can countermand your orders. If you give theword, the Vulcans will be permitted to leave--those that choose to doso. The Enterprise will take them away from Freelan before bloodshed canoccur.""Bloodshed?" Savel glanced at the wing commander, and this time hisquelling glance only made her stiffen her spine and repeat her question."What do you mean, Ambassador?""Consider, Savel ..." Spock said. "What will the praetor do with Freelanonce the Federation president and Security Council know the truth aboutyour world?""If he follows precedent," Sarek pointed out, "he will, as the humansput it, 'cut his losses." Possibly abandon the colony. And certainlydestroy all evidence of the plot. And the most tangible evidence of whatRomulus planned are the individuals such as yourself.""In a way, miss," Spock added, "the Vulcans on Freelan can be consideredprisoners of war. The fact that you were born and grew up on that worlddoes not change the fact that you reside there due to acts of terrorismand piracy commit ted by the Romulan military. Have you studiedhistory?" She nodded slowly."Then perhaps you can tell me ... how often are prisoners of waractually returned to their native soil after such a long passage oftime?""I cannot think of a single instance," Sarek said, in answer to hisson's rhetorical question. The Vulcan ambassador gazed around him at theclosed, hard young faces of the bridge officers. "It is far safer--andpolitically sounder to kill them or allow them to die."Savel turned to the wing commander, her dark eyes full of distress."Would they do that, Vadi?" she demanded."Would you allow that?""If he does nothing, that is very likely what will happen," Spock said."Taryn," Sarek said, his voice deepening, "if we do not take your peopleoff Freelan, the chances are excellent that they will be considered afailed experiment--or prisoners of war--and eliminated. Will you risk apogrom, Taryn? Will you allow your own people to be slaughtered?""My own people ..." the commander repeated tonelessly.His face was expressionless, but Sarek did not miss the tension in hisjaw muscles. "I do not understand what you mean.""Certainly you do," Sarek said, holding the commandefts eyes with hisown. "You are as Vulcan as I ... and as Vulcan as they are," he said,his eyes flicking from one to another of the bridge officers. He pointedto Savel. "As Vulcan as she is."Silence fell on the bridge. Sarek glimpsed the surprise in Spock's eyes,quickly masked. One by one, the young bridge officers turned to regardtheir commander. Only Savel did not betray any amazement. She knew,Sarek thought.Taryn shook his head, unable to summon words. The commander was palebeneath the weathering of his features."No," he said, forcing the word out. "No!""Come now," Sarek said, gently. "It is illogical to denythe truth. Will you continue to deny your heritage, knowing that yourisk death for the other Vulcans on Freelan?"The young officers were recovering from the shock of Sarek's revelation.They stirred and murmured among themselves."Even if what you say is true, what could possibly induce me torelinquish the Vulcans on Freelan?" Taryn demanded, his expressiondarkening. "If I did that, I would be committing treason!""If you do not, you will be committing murder," Spock said quietly."And, in a manner of speaking, genocide. Is that what you wish for them?Imprisonment and eventual death?" He indicated the officers."And for her?" Sarek nodded at Savel. The ambassador was impressed athow well Spock was handling his part in this--obviously, he hadunderestimated his sows abilities in the field of diplomacy."No!" Taryn cried, in what was almost a howl of pain. He smashed a fistdown on the arm of his command seat, bending it visibly. "I will notbetray my adopted people. I am Romulan, NOT Vulcan. I have dedicated mylife to the service of the praetor! My Vulcan blood is nothing but anaccident of birth--it means nothing to me!""Does Savel mean nothing to you?" Sarek asked, quietly.He was thinking quickly, wondering what other inducement he could offer.There was one possibility Taryn, he knew, would not allow himself tolose face before his crew. "We have known each other for a long time,"he said. "I know you, Taryn. I am willin to offer you what you wantmost, in exchange for the lives of the Vulcans.""What--what do you mean?" Taryn demanded. Whatever the commander hadexpected, it obviously wasn't this."The chance to defeat me. Does that tempt you? You have wanted to win ina contest between us for decades, Taryn."The ambassador knew he was treading a very delicate line. "One finalcontest, Taryn. One last chance to beat me." Sarek fixed the commanderwith an intent gaze. "I will wager with you for their lives. A ame,Taryn. If I win, you allow them to go free, you aree to help me in anywaynecessary to free the Vulcan captives. If I lose ..." The ambassadordrew a deep breath. "If I lose, you will get the battle you desire. Isuspect your fleet is on the way. Time, at the moment, is my enemy ...but it is your friend. A game will take several hours. Will you gamblethat your fleet will reach here before endgame?""A game?" Taryn actually laughed. "A game, Vulcan? Are you insane? Weplay for far higher stakes than simply a mere game! We play for liveshere. Are you willing to play the game as it should be played?"Sarek suddenly realized what Taryn was talking about, even as Spock did.His son gave him a warning glance. But the ambassador squared hisshoulders. "I am willing to do whatever is necessary to gain the livesand the freedom of your captives, Taryn. I have the courage to do what Imust." He paused for a long, significant second. "Do you?"Taryn was clearly taken aback. The officer glanced around at the facesof his officers, seeing their waiting expressions."Old man, you surprise me," Taryn said, and then he smiled ... apredatory, dangerous smile. "No one has ever before dared to question mycourage."Slowly, the wing commander got to his feet. Standing, he was taller andheavier-built than Sarek--and probably at least thirty years younger."Very well, then, Ambassador. I challenge you!" His voice rang out soloudly that Savel jumped."I challenge you by the ancient laws and rite of the Toriatal.T'kevaidors a sketitus dunt'ryala aikriian paselitan ... Toriatal," heintoned solemnly. Sarek recognized the language as Old High Vulcan.Taryn faced him, head high. "So ... you want their lives, Sarek--thenfight for them! Win their lives, or your life--and that of yourson's--are forfeit!"Sarek recognized the words. This was a challenge so old that it wasstill common to both the Vulcan and Romulan cultures. The Toriatal datedback to the days before Surak had brought his message of logic and peaceto their mutual homeworld.In the ancient days of the Toriatal, two warring Vulcannations would, in a land already devastated by conflict, choosechampions to represent them in battle, and agree to victory or defeat onthe basis of that single-combat-to-the-death outcome. At least now theEnterprise would be safe from any Romulan ship in Taryn's fleet, Sarekthought.Under the terms of the Toriatal, a truce remained in effect until thechampions had completed their fight. No Romulan vessel would initiatehostilities once he agreed to the Toriatal--until the battle wasconcluded, and either he or Taryn lay dead."State the terms of the challenge," Sarek said, buying time while hethought. Was this the only way? In any kind of physical contest, Tarynwould be the undisputed favorite.He was a full-blooded Vulcan, younger, stronger than the ambassador--anda soldier, in fighting condition. The odds were not good."Very well. If you win, Ambassador, I agree that I will release any ofthe Vulcans residing on Fredan should they wish to go. I will help youin whatever way is necessary to allow you to offer them that choice. Iwill break off the planned attack, and not initiate hostilities with theEnterprise. Acceptable?" Sarek nodded. "I understand.""And, if I win, Ambassador, you agree that your life--in the unlikelyevent you survive the challenge itself--and the life of your son aremine to do with as I please. The ship you call Enterprise and its crewwill be fair game for my fleet, when it arrives." The ambassador turnedto look at Spock. "I am willing to wager my own life in this challenge,"he said. "But I cannot ethically stake the life of my son.""What I am staking is far greater than what you are willing to wager, asit is, Ambassador," Taryn pointed out, truthfully. "A challenge is achallenge. Do you accept, or not?" The Romulan exuded confidence as hestood there.Sarek drew a deep breath. The needs of the many ... he thought, but hecould not do it. Not with the life of his son at stake. Slowly, he shookhis head, and opened his mouth-- "Do it," Spock said in an undertone,without turning his head. "Accept his terms. If you do not, our livesare forfeit in any case." Sarek glanced at the first officer, thenstraightened his shoulders. "Very well, Commander. I accept yourchallenge.I will fight you in the Toriatal.""As challenger, the choice of type of combat is mine," Taryn said, agleam of anticipation in his eyes."Yes." All around him he heard murmurs of anticipation from the youngofficers. Only Savel seemed distressed by what was happening. Out of thecorner of his eye Sarek saw her shaking her head as she whispered, "No,Vadi!" Sarek wondered what kind of duel Taryn would choose.He hoped Taryn's arrogance would lead him to choose unarmed combat. Theambassador was an expert at several Vulcan martial arts, includingtal-shaya. In unarmed hand-to-hand, he might stand a chance. AlthoughSarek had trained with traditional Vulcan weapons in his youth, and hadbecome proficient with them, he had not done any sparring with weaponsfor years.Also ... if they fought without weapons, there was a good chance thatneither of them would die. Sarek did not want to die--nor did he want tokill Taryn."I choose weapons, Ambassador," Taryn said, and paused for a beat."Specifically, the senapa." The commander sat back with a faint, coldtriumphant smile.Sarek took a deep breath. The senapa ... the deadliest, most painful ofweapons in the ancient Vulcan arsenal. A combatant could survive onecut, or perhaps two--if he was strong and received an immediate bloodfiltering and transfusion--but three was almost always a death sentence."I will prepare myself," the ambassador said."You will need a second," Spock said. "I offer myself, Ambassador."Sarek turned to look at his son, and, finally nodded. "I accept."Turning back to face Taryn, Sarek gave him the ancient, ceremonialsalute. "As soon as you are ready, Commander."Taryn nodded. "Fifteen minutes, Ambassador. Savel will guide you to thegymnasium."In one corner of Shardarr's gymnasium, Spock quickly prepared Sarek forthe coming combat. Swiftly, efficiently, he stripped off the heavy,formal robe and hung it on the wall, carefully arranging the folds sothe jeweled borders faced the combat square Poldar and Tonik weremarking off.When his son leaned close to unfasten the ambassador's undertunic, Sarekwhispered quietly, "How long will it take Kirk to send the message andreturn?""Approximately an hour, from the time we left," Spock reported, sottovoce. Then he added, "You are not in any condition to attempt this.""I am well aware of my limitations," Sarek agreed, bleakly. "If I canhold out long enough, perhaps Kirk will return. If I am only wounded,the estimable Dr. McCoy might be able to save me?""The closest supply of senapa poison antidote is on Vulcan," Spockwhispered grimly. "It is hardly standard provisioning for starships. Ido not like this. A duel with senapas ... Taryn will have a definiteadvantage. He is younger, taller, and doubtless far quicker than you.""Do not think that knowledge has escaped me," Sarek admitted, with aflare of mordant humor. "But, as the challenger, it was his right tochoose the contest and the weapon to be used.""When was the last time you trained?""It has been several months," Sarek admitted. "Since before ... beforeyour mother's illness was diagnosed." Sarek heard his son's indrawnbreath, sensed his apprehension.It echoed his own. All the commander had to do was stay out of range,and use his greater reach and faster reflexes to cut Sarek several times... and it would be all over. Even one cut, the ambassador reflected,would eventually slow him down ... and, as the minutes went by, and thepoison permeated his system, Sarek would grow dizzy and drop his guard,thus becoming an easy target.When he saw Taryn walking toward the improvised challenge square, Sarekquickly rose to his feet. As was traditional, both combatants were cladonly in short, loose trousers, so that most of their bodies would bebare--and thus more vulnerable to the poisoned blades.Accompanied by Spock, Sarek walked to meet his opponent.The centurion Taryn had addressed as Poldar--another of the transplantedVulcans--stood impassively awaiting them in the center of the combatsquare. In his arms rested a carved display case, and within it, inrecessed niches, the two senapas. When he reached the middle of thesquare, Taryn, with a mocking salute, indicated that the ambassadorshould take the first choice of weapons.Sarek studied the two senapas. They appeared identical; a cur ved,half-moon blade, wickedly sharp, with a handgrip and a padded rest forthe knuckles, so they would not touch the blade. Sarek selected theweapon nearest him, grasped it, then stepped back, waiting while Taryntook the other. He hefted the senapa ... it had been a long time sincehe'd practiced with one. It was, of course, a slashing weapon ratherthan a stabbing one.Poldar motioned the two seconds, Spock and Savel, to back away from thesquare. Sarek took a deep breath, trying to loosen his muscles. Herolled his weight onto the balls of his feet, and assumed a balancedstance, right foot slightly ahead of the left."Begin," said Poldar, and Sarek was surprised to hear the centurion saythe word in Vulcan. He glanced at the young Vulcan--and that nearlyproved his undoing, for Taryn, moving with the silent deadliness of ale-matya, sprang forward. Only his son's reflexive gasp made the Vulcanleap backward, and he avoided Taryn's blade by centimeters.Backing away cautiously, keeping one eye out for the boundary lines ofthe combat square (for to step over one was to lose automatically andface execution), Sarek was careful to stay near the middle of themarked-off enclosure.A square enclosure was far more dangerous than a circular one--acombatant could be trapped in a corner, and it was a rare fighter indeedwho could fight his way out of that situation and remain unscathed.The Vulcan tried a few experimental swipes with his senapa, getting thefeel of the weapon. At one time, Sarek had been able to flip the senapain the air and catch it by the handle with either hand--but that wasover a hundred years ago.Taryn had evidently been sizing his opponent up, for he came in again,low and fast, feinting to the right, then slashing quickly left. AgainSarek managed to dodge and twist, avoiding the blade by a hairbreadth.But the effort left him short of breath ... and Taryn, seeing that,smiled.The ambassador continued his slow circle in the center of the enclosure,watching for an opening. "Step over the line, old one," Taryn said,mockingly. "Make it easy on yourself.""Did no one ever teach you that insulting your opponent is the mark of acoward and a bully?" Sarek asked, keeping his voice maddeningly calm.Taryn's face twisted with anger, and he lunged again at Sarek. Theambassador sidestepped, his foot lashing out, tripping Taryn, even as hebrought his unweaponed fist down on the back of his opponent's neck.With a grunt, Taryn fell forward, but he had been well trained--thecommander turned the fall into a roll, and was back on his feet beforeSarek could take advantage. Taryn eyed his opponent warily, and thesmug, overconfident expression in his eyes had now altered to a look ofrespect.Sarek began planning his next strategy--until he saw Taryn's eyes widen,and then gleam excitedly. At the same moment, he felt a faint, stingingburn along his left side, over his ribs. Looking down, he saw the thinline of green. A tiny slash--but, over time, it would be enough. Theambassador's breath hissed between his teeth. Deliberately he begancircling again, hoping that Taryn would be content not to close with himfor the moment.Centering himself, the Vulcan reached inward with his sense of hisphysical self. Like all Vulcans, he'd been trained in bioeontrol andbiofeedback. The poison ... yes, it was spreading outward from thelittle wound. Just a tinyamount, but it would make him sluggish, and, eventually, disable him.Concentrating fiercely, the ambassador managed to slow down hiscirculation, stemming the spread of the poison. It was all he could do...Tired of waiting for Sarek to succumb to the poison, Taryn attackedagain, lashing out in a hard, flat arc that would have slashed theVulcan's throat had he not ducked under it. Sarek came in close, hiselbow up and out, and it struck the commander hard, not in the throat ashe'd planned, but on the side of his jaw. Taryn grunted and staggeredback, but when Sarek attempted to follow his advantage, the commanderkicked him hard in the left patella.Pain seared through Sarek's leg, and it nearly buckled beneath him.Somehow, the Vulcan managed to stay on his feet, but he was gaspingpainfully. Fire shot through his veins, and for a moment he couldn'tdecide whether it was from the poison, or lack of air. Blackness hoveredat the edge of his vision, but several deep, gasping breaths forced itto retreat."You are better than I expected, Ambassador," Taryn said. Sarek was toowinded to be gratified by the sweat that shone on the commander's faceand chest. "But you are in no condition for this and you know it. Stepout, and I guarantee you a quick, clean death with honor. Why prolongthis?"I must end this soon, Sarek thought. Then a possible strategy occurredto him, and he began shuffling toward the commander, feigning (he didnot have to playact much, actually) weakness along his entire left side.Right-handed as usual, Sarek aimed an awkward, underhand slash atTaryn's shoulder. The commander, as he'd planned, leaped to Sarek'sleft, closing in for the kill. Sarek pivoted away from the other'sblade, and then with every ounce of control he could muster, theambassador flipped the senapa into the air--and caught it left-handed.Taryn was still leaning into his swing, unaware that hisentire side was now a target. With a flick of his left wrist, Sarekslashed him lightly, along the ribs, once ... and then again.Two slashes. Enough poison to disable even a strong opponent in a matterof minutes. Dimly, Sarek heard Savel's anguished gasp. Quickly, hedisengaged, stepping back, still careful not to step into one of thecomers.Feeling the sting along his ribs, Taryn checked, then stared down athimself incredulously. Slowly, he looked back up at the weapon Sarekstill held left-handed. The commander chuckled faintly, hollowly."Better and ... better ... old one." He was beginning to gasp. "Verywell, then ... finish me. Go ... ahead.""I have no desire to kill an old friend," Sarek said. "Let us declarethe challenge at an end. All I want are the Vulcan youths.""You think ... I wish ... them harm?" Taryn's breath came hard, now,and it was painful to hear. "No ... I never ..."I did not think you wished them harm," Sarek was quick to say. "Let usstop this now, Taryn. With a doctor's help, it is possible we both cansurvive. I ask you ... as a friend ...""Please, Vadi!" Savel cried out, unable to restrain herself."No!" Taryn roared, and lunged forward, slashing wildly.Sarek parried with his own senapa, and the brittle blades rang againsteach other--and shattered. Taryn gasped, his eyes rolled up in his head,and he fell.Sarek stood staring at him, his eyes widening in distress as he saw thesmall streak of green crawl across the commander's knuckle. Threeslashes ... fatal, in all likelihood."Where is your physician?" the ambassador demanded, dropping down besidethe commander's still form. "Bring the physician immediately!""No ... forbid it ..." Taryn mumbled, his eyes closed."Poldar ... take command ... do whatever you must to honor the outcome... of the challenge ...""I will, Commander," the young centurion promised, bending over hisdying officer."He might be saved!" Sarek insisted, touching Taryn's forehead, feelingthe life throbbing within his body and his mind--though it was ebbingfast. "Bring the doctor!"Poldar steadfastly shook his head. Even when Savel added her voice tothe ambassador's, the young centurion stood firm, obviously determinedto honor Taryn's last orders.In a final effort to save the commander, Sarek slid both hands aroundTaryn's head, instinctively finding the correct points. "Make them bringa doctor," he ordered Savel and Spock, who was crouched beside him, andthen he sent his mind into the commander's, melding with him, lendinghim strength, keeping him alive--at the risk of his own life.The meld deepened as Sarek poured more mental energy into the dyingcommander. He and Taryn shared each other's minds, each other's lives.In vivid flashes, the ambassador relived events from Taryn's past. Thebirths of his children. His wedding. His promotions. Their chess games.Political allies, and deadly enemies ...But all the while the other Vulcan's mind was growing weaker, weaker,forcing the ambassador to pour more and more of his own strength intothis last, desperate effort.Sarek deepened the meld, and felt himself going back, back in time, toTaryn's youth ... then his childhood. Back all the way to his earliestmemory--one that, even in his dying, weakened condition, filled thecommander's mind with horror and revulsion ... Taryn remembered ...and Sarek shared that memory, for they were One.Sarek was Taryn, only his name was different--Sarenw and he was fouryears old, aboard his parents' small trading vessel. All the Vulcans inthat sector knew that ships were disappearing ... piracy and hijackingswere assumed to be the cause. Orion slavers roamed the spaceways, andthe tales of rape, pillage, murder, and enslavement were rampant--andhorrifying.So when their small freighter was suddenly seized in a tractor beam, anda huge, unknown ship loomed over them, seemingly materializing out ofnowhere, Taryn's parents had made a decision that seemed right to them.In whispers, his father and mother had decided that they would fight, tothe death if necessary, rather than allow themselves to be taken captiveand probably enslaved. If they were not killed in the fight, theyresolved to link their minds, and use their training in biocontrol tostop each other's hearts. After long minutes of discussion, they decidedthat they must include Taryn in their link ... they did not want theirson to suffer, and growing up as a slave seemed to them worse than notliving to grow up at all."Saren ..." said Mother, holding out her hand to her child, who stoodwide-eyed and trembling in the doorway to the tiny control room. "Comehere. Give me your hand.""Yes, Saren," echoed Father, reaching out for his son."Come here. Take our hands." Instinctively, Taryn knew that if he did asthey bade, he would come to harm. Trembling, he shook his headwordlessly."Come now, Saren," said Father impatiently. "You are letting youremotions rule. We are Vulcans ... fear has no part in our lives. Do youwish to be a coward?""No ..." little Taryn whimpered, tears beginning to trickle down hisface. He hadn't cried since he was a baby, and he was profoundly ashamedof himself. He was a Vulcan, and Vulcans didn't cry! Or let themselvesbe afraid.But he couldn't help it."Saren, my son." Father's voice was stern. "Come here-- now!" The littleship shuddered as something clamped on to their airlock. Mother criedout that they must hurry--hurry!Both Vulcans removed weapons from a locker.Old-style stunners ... little defense against phasers or disrupters."Saren!" Father commanded, coming toward him. "Give me your hand!" Thechild's remaining control snapped, and he shrieked aloud, "No! I'mafraid!" Sobbing with terror, Taryn turned and bolted out of the controlroom. It was only after he'd reached the airlock door, and it had begunits ominous turn the moment he'd touched it, that the child's terror ofthe unknown had overcome his fear of his parents, and what they'ddecided they must do.As the invaders pushed their way into the ship, weapons drawn, Taryn hadbolted back up the corridor. He'd flung himself inside, and wasimmediately struck by the stun beam. Helpless, he'd lain there,unmoving' forced to watch as the invaders in their uniforms had burneddown the door, shot his father with a disrupter, vaporizing himimmediately, and then turned their attentions to his mother. As they'dreached for her, she'd stiffened suddenly, her eyes glazing, thencrumpled in their arms, dead.Sarek understood so much now about the commander why he'd issued thechallenge, why he could not abide the charge of cowardice or fear.The ambassador knew that the commander had locked those memories away,repressed them until they haunted him only in dreams. You were only achild, he told the stricken commander. ,,l small child. You are notresponsible for what happened. You could not have changed it. Know this,and let the pain go ... let it go ... Sarek sensed Taryn'sunderstanding, sensed that the commander was finally released from theterror and guilt of that time--but his new understanding would do himlittle good, because, despite his best efforts, the Freelan was slippingaway. Sarek clung to the meld with stubborn, dangerous persistence,clung even when he felt the change, the dissolving sensation seize hisbody.Death? he wondered, dimly. Is this death?But moments later, he recognized the sensation for what it was--he wascaught in a transporter beam.James T. Kirk stood in the transporter room, watching Dr. McCoy and hismedical team struggle to stabilize the dying Romulan. "Tri-ox!" thedoctor shouted, and a nurse slapped a hypo into his hand.Sarek was crouched beside the Romulan, both handspressed to his head, clearly melding with him--but, even as Kirkwatched, the ambassador, who was clad only in his undergarments,suddenly slumped over onto the pad."They are suffering from senapa poisoning, Doctor," Spock said, hisvoice incongruously calm in the organized melee of the medical team. "Itmay be possible to reproduce the antidote." Grabbing a stylus from atechnician, he scribbled a chemical formula and diagram. "This is it."McCoy quickly pushed the formula at a tech, and the man hurried out toget it replicated. "What else do you know about how to treat this?" hegrunted, giving Sarek a tri-ox hypo also. "It sure as hell messes up theblood's ability to carry oxygen!""The ancient text mentioned treating it by blood filtration andtransfusions.""Okay," McCoy said. "Set up sickbay for filtration and transfusions.Check our supply of Vulcan Q-positive blood.That's a common type, we should have some on hand.""But ... he's a Romulan," Kirk said. "Or do they have the same bloodtypes?""I have no idea," McCoy said. "But this one's a Vulcan, Jim."Spock looked over at the captain and nodded confirmation."All right, Spock, you're going to have to play donor for your fatheragain," the doctor snapped. "Get ready.""I am prepared, Doctor," the Vulcan said, removing his jacket androlling up the sleeve of his shirt."Okay, I think they're stable enough to move! Get those antigravstretchers over here, Nurse!" the doctor ordered.The captain. turned to McCoy. "Will he make it?""Don't know yet, Jim," McCoy grunted, his fingers flying as he injectedthe Romulan with a hypo. "Maybe. These Vulcans are tough ... as well asstubborn," he added, giving Spock a sidelong glance.Kirk watched as they loaded both unconscious Vulcans onto the stretchersand followed them into the hall. He was halfway to sickbay when Uhura'spage reached him. "Cap tain Kirk ... Captain Kirk, please report to thebridge immediately."A quick slap on the nearest intercom panel brought him into contact."This is the captain. What's going on, Commander?"Chekov's voice responded, sounding breathless and a little scared. "Sir,I am picking up ships on our long-range sensors. Ten of them. Coming outof the Neutral Zone, and heading straight for us.""On my way," Kirk said, and began running for the turbolift. It neverrains but it pours, he thought grimly. What a time for Kamarag to showup ..."Right on time," Kirk muttered to himself as he reached the bridge andglanced at the chrono. "I suppose punctuality is a must for a diplomat... "Chekov turned to regard him questioningly. "I beg your pardon, Captain?"Kirk shook his head as he headed for his command seat."Nothing, Mr. Chekov. Status?""We have picked up ten ships coming out of the Klingon Neutral Zone.""ETA, Commander?""Three point six minutes, sir.""What type?""I am scanning four cruisers and six birds-of-prey, sir." Kirk's heartsank even further. Klingon cruisers were almost a match for theEnterprise, unlike the smaller warbirds.The captain turned over plans in his mind ... run for it, try to stayahead of them until reinforcements could arrive? No ... because as soonas they crossed the Neutral Zone, they'd probably split up, in order todo the most possible damage to the maximum number of planets."Commander Uhura, try to hail Kamarag's ship.""Yes, sir."Kirk was surprised when the Klingon's ship, the Hohwi;accepted the contact. Moments later, the ambassador's heavy featurescoalesced on the screen. The moment his eyes fixed on the captain, hescowled, and his glare would have drilled neutronlure. "Kirk ..." hegrowled. "How dare you contact me? We have nothing to say to eachother--unless you want to beg me for your life, and that of your crew. Iwould enjoy that sufficiently to allow you several minutes for that ..."At the thought, he smiled, but it was anything but a pleasantexpression."Ambassador," the captain said, forcing himself to use his mostreasonable voice, when the very sight of the Klingon made him furious,remembering how he'd agonized over Peter's disappearance, "we need totalk. There are some things I have to tell you. Break off your attack,because you're doing this as a result of alien mind influence.Ambassador Sarek is aboard, and he has proof of what I'm tellingyou--proof I'd be happy to let you see for yourself.I'm sure that, under the circumstances, if I explain everything toChancellor Azetbur, she'll--"Kamarag interrupted with a sound that was halfway between a growl and asnarl. "Kirk, you lying, cheating murderer! I know you have kidnapped myniece and are holding her prisoner. Your thrice-cursed nephew hasattacked my finest officer, Kargl For this you will die in writhingagony. When I free my niece, she will perform the be/oy' on both Kirks,and I and my troops will wager as to which of you shrieks the loudestand longest!"Turning his head, he addressed one of his officers. "This is an order.Target Kirk's ship to cripple only--do you understand?I want him alive! He is mine!"Kirk, watching, would have found the ambassador's blustering amusing,under different circumstances. He sounds like one of the villains in adime novel, he thought, sardonically."Ambassador Kamarag," he began, only to have the Klingon's imageabruptly disappear."He broke contact, Captain," Uhura said, unnecessarily."Just as well," Kirk muttered."Veil," Chekov said, dourly, "I guess that is that. Ve arethe only ship between them and the Federation colonies so I guess'vestay put.""We'll give them a fight," Kirk said.Then something occurred to the captain, and he turned to Uhura."Commander, open a wide-beam frequency to all those ships. I'm going tosee if some of those other commanders aren't a little more open toreason.""Frequency open, Captain."Kirk took a deep breath. "This is Captain James T. Kirk of theFederation starship Enterprise. I believe most of you know memas anopponent, in the past, and as a friend to your Empire in recent days. Iswear to you on my honor as a Starfleet officer that you are following aman who is under the influence of alien mind control. Kamarag is nolonger thinking independently. If you will break off the attack, and notintrude into Federation space, I will personally speak to Chance llorAzetbur on your behalf. Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan is aboard this vesseland he will speak for you. It is my belief, under the circumstances,that the chancellor will agree to grant clemency for any commander whobreaks off the attack. I ask you to consider what you aredoing--betraying your own government, to follow a madman. Kirk out."The ships were almost within firing range. Kirk waited tensely, but noneof them broke formation--the warbirds clustered together in groups ofthrees, with the cruisers between them and to either side"Well," he said, to no one in particular, "it was worth a try ... guesswe go it alone ...""Captain," Uhura said, plainly startled by what she was hearing, "we'rebeing hailed.""By the Klingons?""No, sir ... by the Romulan vessel!""On-screen."The bridge crew watched as the screen flickered; then the oncomingKlingon vessels were replaced by the features of an officer in Romulanuniform. "I am Centurion Poldar," he said."I am Captain Kirk.""Yes, I know. Captain, my commander's orders were to honor his word toAmbassador Sarek. I hereby place my ship at your disposal. I am preparedto fight alongside you as long as necessary." Kirk glanced at thetactical schematic, and saw that Shardarr had drifted over until she wasbehind the Federation vessel, clearly preparing to defend her from therear."I appreciate your assistance, Centurion," Kirk said."Too bad the odds aren't more even."Poldar drew himself up. "I stand by my orders, Captain Kirk," the youngofficer said expressionlessly. "You will find Shardarr prepared forbattle." He cut the connection."Well," Kirk muttered, "that's one for the history books ... ""Stand by phasers and photon torpedoes," Kirk said."Target the Hohwiand fire on my order.""Aye, Captain!"As the Klingon vessels came closer, they slowed, and spread out untilthey encircled the Federation and the Romulan vessel. Hohwi' was stillthe closest. There wasn't much Kirk coutd do about tactics; surroundedas he was, evasive action would be limited to only a few hundredthousand square kilometers of space.His eyes fixed on the tactical screen, Kirk watched the blips, thensnapped, "Fire, Mr. Chekov!"Two deadly phaser blasts shot out, striking the Klingon vessel'sshields."Slight damage to their forward shield, Captain," Chekov reported.The flagship returned fire, and the Enterprise shuddered violently asshe was struck amidships. "Port shield down twenty percent, Captain."Oh hell, this is it, Kirk thought.Just what I need, with a full sickbay, Leonard McCoy thought grumpily,another damned space battle.t The Enterprise shuddered violently as shewas hit. Besidethe doctor, on the couch where he was lying for the transfusion to hisfather, Spock struggled to sit up. The Vulcan had already given moreblood than was good for himmhe was pale and unsteady, but stilldetermined to gain his feet."And where in hell do you think you're going, Spock?" McCoy snapped."The ship is obviously engaged in battle, Doctor." Spock was halfway upnow, swaying like a ship in a gale. "I must report to the bridge." McCoygave him an evil grin and reached in his pocket for a hypo he'd preparedspecially and been saving, knowing he'd probably need it. "I told youtwenty-six years ago that my patients don't walk out on me duringmedical procedures," he said, jamming the hypospray against the Vulcan'sarm. Spock sagged back onto the couch, unconscious.The ship shuddered again. Leonard McCoy ignored the motion. He was adoctor, and he had lots of work to do ... "Target Hohwi' with a photontorpedo and fire, Mr. Chekov!""Firing, Captain!" The Enterprise gave a different, more internalshudder as the weapon was launched. Kirk held his breath, then poundedhis fist on the arm of his chair in disappointment.At the last possible second, the Klingon vessel managed to evade thetorpedo. Chekov was crestfallen. "A clean miss, Captain." Behind them,Shardarr fired, catching a warbird and shearing off half a wing. "Goodgoing, Centurion!" Kirk whispered, just as Enterprise shuddered again."Forward shield down to fifty percent, Captain!" Chekov reported.Kirk groaned inwardly. We're going down this time.There's no way around it. "Lieutenant, evasive--five-oh-six mark four!"Enterprise heeled over, but the disrupter blast caught her glancingly onthe saucer. The entire bridge lurched violently."One of the birds-of-prey is preparing to fire, Captain!" Chekovexclaimed.But, to everyone's utter astonishment, the Klingon vessel wheeled aroundlike a nervous horse and loosed a blast at Kamarag's ship!"What the hell?" Kirk demanded."Captain, we're being hailed!""Captain Kirk? Ambassador Sarek?" A strongly accented voice came overthe ship-to-ship, audio only. "This is Commander Keraz aboard Bahwil'. Irequest that you and Ambassador Sarek speak for me and my crew ...should we by any chance survive this. I will fight with youmand we willdie as true warriors, with honor!""Glad you could join us," Kirk said, dryly.With a graceful dip of her painted wings, the bird-of-prey moved out offormation and joined the other two ships in the middle of the circle."Commander Keraz, Commander Poldaryou stay behind us, and use ourshields to augment your own," Kirk instructed. "See if you can't takeout a couple of those ships for me." Both commanders signaled theirassent to Kirk's plan.Moments later, the captain was rewarded with a view of S hardarr andBahwil' moving in a corkscrew evasive pattern, firing at the warbirds onthe Enterprise's port and starboard sides. Bahwil' got lucky--or itsgunner was extremely skillful. Keraz's disrupters penetrated therenegade's shields like a phaser slicing rock, and, for a moment, spacelit up with a mini-nova as the bird-of-prey exploded violently.Kirk shook his head. This is the craziest fight 1 have ever been in ...look at this! A Federation, a Klingon, and a Romulan ship, ready to dukeit out with a whole squadron of Klingon renegades? I never thought I'dbe fighting battles with Klingons and Romulans, instead of against them!Enterprise bucked like a spurred horse under another blast from Hohwi'."Aft shield down sixty percent, Captain! We can't take another hitthere!"Kirk glanced at the schematic, saw that Hohwi' had drifted closer toShardarr. "Ship to ship, Uhura! Tight beam to Shardarr.t""Aye, Captain?"Centurion Poldar--I want you to fire at Kamarag's ship in exactlythirty Federation Standard seconds," Kirk said, tersely. "Targetcoordinates seven-six-three mark nine. I know she isn't there now--butshe will be! On my mark, and counting!" Without waiting foracknowledgment from the Romulan, he turned to Chekov. "Target theflagship on its port side and fire, Mr. Chekov. Targeting coordinatesseven-six-six mark two.""Aye, Captain! Targeting ... and firing!" As Kirk had hoped, Hohwi'evaded most of their blast, swinging to port--which brought the cruiserdirectly into the line of Shardarr's blast. Fire flared along theKlingon ship's side, and Chekov yelled, "Captain, she's lost allmaneuvering power!""Target weapons array and fire, Mr. Chekov!" The phasers blasted thelisting ship, wiping out her weapons with one shot. The bridge crewwhooped in triumph.Three down, seven to go, Kirk thought grimly, just as one of thewarbirds fired on them.Enterprise lurched so violently that Kirk was nearly flung from hisseat. Quickly, he activated his restraint system."Captain, we've lost our aft shield," Chekov reported."Another hit there, and we're dead.""Chekov, target that vessel, and fire on my order.""Aye, Captain?James T. Kirk drew a deep breath, thinking that it might be his last. Heopened his mouth, said, "Fi--" and stopped in midword.Suddenly, the long-range scanners showed a huge fleet of ships pouringout of the Klingon Neutral Zone! Dozens of ships ... "Captain? We'rebeing hailed!" Uhura's eyes were wide with amazement."On-screen, Commander." A gruff, familiar voice filled the air, even asthe forward viewscreen filled with well-known features. "Kirk? This isGeneral Korrd. The chancellor tells me our former ambassador is givingyou some trouble." The general's fleshy, squint-eyed features werewreathed in a malicious smile.Kirk noted the emphasis on the word "former.""Well, yes, General ... just a little trouble." Korrd guffawed heartilyat the captain's attempt at humor, which, to be frank, did not quitecome off. "Get that Vulcan of yours to man the guns, then!" the generaladvised, genially. "He's one Hu'tegh fine gunner!" Kirk glanced at thesensor array, saw that the renegade vessels were streaking off in alldirections. He realized suddenly that his uniform was sticking to him,and that his face was covered with sweat."Kirk?" It was General Korrd again."Yes, General?""Looks like I'll have a good hunt for the next few days.Wish me success, Kirk! Korrd out." The captain cut the connection with agrin, shaking his head.The bridge crew looked as though they didn't know whether to laugh orcry, cheer or curse. Chekov seemed to be doing a little of everything,mostly in Russian."Well, I'll be damned," Kirk said, to no one in particular."That was ... close."The first thing Sarek was conscious of upon waking was that the painfrom the senapa wound was gone ... vanished. He did not have to exertbiocontrol to repress it. The second thing the ambassador realized, assoon as he opened his eyes, was that he was in the Enterprise's sickbay.The bed he was resting in was in a secluded alcove.Glancing around, Sarek saw that his son occupied a bed across from him.Spock's eyes were closed ... he was breath ing deeply. Asleep.Events rushed back as the ambassador stretched cautiously.The fight with Taryn ... beaming over to the Enterprise. McCoy's fightto save the wing commander. The last thing Sarek remembered was beinghooked up to a blood-filtration device, at the same time as Spock wasreadied for a massive transfusion. Spock's blood now coursed through hisveins ... Spock's blood had helped to preserve his life.Just as it had all those years ago ... Slowly, the ambassador sat up,then reached for the intercom switch beside the bed. He summoned one ofMcCoy's nurses, and, when the man appeared, he made a request.Minutes later, Sarek held in his hands one of the red volumes of hiswife's journal. Swiftly, the Vulcan flipped through the pages, searchingfor a particular entry ... and found it ...December 7,2267 Sarek is safe ... Dr. McCoy operated on his heart, andhe will be fine--mere words cannot convey my relief. I really thoughtthat I was going to lose him. Oh, Sarek ... if you weren't in my lifeanymore, I don't know how I would go on. I would NOT want to go on.But, thankfully, I don't have to face such desolation.Something ... the gods, fate, fortune ... if there is a governingforce to the cosmos, today It was kind.And today ... for the first time in eighteen long years ... today wewere a family again. It was wonderful.I had given up hope that those two stubborn Vulcans would everreconcile--and, yet today they were both teasing me about logic, and theglint of humor in Spock's eyes matched the one in Sarek T This eveningMcCoy agreed to let ta all have dinner in sickbay, and we ate togetheras a family--with an honored guest, of course. Captain Kirk is such acharmer!And he knows it, too ... ) It has indeed been an eventful day. I amtired out, yet I don't want to sleep, yet. I want to savor the knowledgethat we are a family again, and that my son and husband are on goodterms.Family ... what a lovely word. I don't think there is a better one inthe entire language ... After so many years of enmity and anger ...family. I pray that their goodwill toward each other will continue.They are both so stiffnecked, so stubborn./Neither is ever willing toadmit that he was wrong ... especially Sarek.But today the fates were kind, and we were spared a tragedy. I wonder ifI would truly have hated my son for the rest of his life if he hadallowed his father to die because he felt he could not give over commandof his vessel? Or would I have forgiven him eventually?Thank heavens I will never have to find out ...The entry ended there. Slowly, thoughtfully, Sarek closed the journal,struck by his wife's words, written so long ago.Amanda could almost have been describing the present situation betweenSpock and himself ... Amanda ... he thought, gazing across the room athis son's sleeping face. Amanda, what shoum I do now?As it happened, Spock was riot asleep. He lay quietly, breathing deeply,relaxed, but he was fully aware that his father was reading one of hismother's journals. As he watched surreptitiously, he saw the elderVulcan put the slim volume down with a sigh.The first officer thought of the events of the previous day, recalling,with a chill, Sarek's duel with Taryn. Several times, as he'd watchedfrom the sidelines, Spock had been convinced that the ambassador wasfinished ... but always, Sarek had rallied and fought back with a skillthat had surprised and impressed his offspring.Spock had never realized that his father, the diplomat, had so masteredthe ancient fighting techniques. And then, as Taryn had lain there,gasping his last, Sarek had melded with him, saving the wing commander'slife. The first officer repressed a surge of envy. His father had neverchosen to meld with him ... but he had not hesitated to join his mindwith a stranger's ...Glancing around the sickbay as McCoy bustled around in the next room,checking on several patients who had been injured during theEnterprise's battle with Kamarag's ship, Spock experienced a strongflash of djh vu.The Vulcan remembered that day his mother had come to his quarters,begging him to go to his father and give Sarek the blood transfusionthat would enable McCoy to operate, and thus save Sarek's life. Amandahad come to him, had begged with tears in her eyes ... and he, Spock,had refused to go.Because of duty.He had told his mother that he could not, would not go to Sarek, and thereason he had given her was that dutydemanded that he remain in command of the Enterprise ...Remembering Amanda's response to his words, the Vulcan raised a hand tohis cheek. For a moment he almost reexperienced the slap she had givenhim ... for a moment he could almost feel the sting. Spock recalledbeing surprised by the strength of the blow--he'd received many infights that hadn't matched its impact.Duty ... duty ... duty ... The word whispered through his mind,sounding vaguely obscene when it was repeated enough times to lose allmeaning. Spock glanced over at his father, remembering the way he hadcondemned Sarek for doing exactly what he himself had done, twenty-sixyears before.I am sorry, Mother, he thought, not quite sure what he was apologizingfor ... the events of that day twenty-six years ago, or what he'd saidto his father only days ago? He thought he'd grown more than his father.But had he really?Perhaps not ... "Spock ..." Sarek's voice reached him. Instantly Spocksat up and regarded the ambassador."I am here ... sir," he said."Are you ... well?" the elder Vulcan asked, eyeing him measuringly."I am," Spock said. "And you?""Well," Sarek said, sounding slightly surprised. "Though thirsty. Andrather weak."Spock glanced around the sickbay, saw no attendants, and, rather thanbuzz for one, got up himself, poured a glass of water, and took it tohis father. "Here," he said, prepared to help the elder Vulcan sit up ifhe needed it, but Sarek was able to do so unaided.The ambassador sipped gratefully at the cool water. "And you, my son?"he asked, putting the glass down."I am well," Spock said."The Klingon fleet?" Sarek asked."The Enterprise engaged Kamarag's ship, backed by Poldar aboardShardarr. "Spock raised an eyebrow. "And itseems that your old acquaintance Keraz threw in his lot with the forcesof law and order. The captain was in to visit me several hours ago, ,andtold me that Azetbur has promised the commander a full pardon."Sarek nodded. "What of Kamarag?""Enterprise managed to cripple his ship. I gather that Kamarag did notchoose to live through his defeat."The ambassador nodded. "Loss of life is always regrettable, but ...perhaps ... this is one time it is better so." The elder Vulcan glancedover at the other diagnostic couch."Commander Taryn's readings are almost normal, now," he observed."Yes, McCoy says he's sleeping normally. He'll be able to return to hisship within a day." Spock gazed at Sarek."From what little I heard of what he said to you and Poldar, hisexperience during the duel and the mind-meld evidently ... changedTaryn.""He is grateful to me for saving his life," Sarek said. "But, even more,he feels that he has regained his Vulcan heritage, apparently throughour mental link. I gather that his past had haunted him all his life.When he faced, with me, what he most feared ... it lost its power overhim.""What will happen now with the Vulcans on Freelan?""Taryn will escort us to Freelan and authorize any of them that chooseto leave aboard the Enterprise as free to go," the ambassador replied."But after the Vulcans who wish to emigrate are released," Spockventured, after a few minutes, "what will happen to Taryn? Do you thinkhe will come to Vulcan with the others?"Sarek shook his head. "No," he said, and there was more than a touch ofsadness in his expression. "Taryn will go back to Romulus, to face hissuperiors and his praetor. He has not said so, but I know his mind,now.""But ... if he does that, he will be executed for treason," Spock said."Yes," Sarek agreed, holding his son's eyes with his own."But he believes it is his duty ... and, after my recentactions, who am I to tell anyone not to fulfill his duty, no matter whatthe cost?"The two Vulcans shared a long, unblinking look; then Spock swallowed.His voice, when he spoke, had a rough edge, like a jagged tear in darkvelvet. "Father ..." The word emerged with difficulty after all thesedays. "About what I said after mother's memorial service ..." He paused,searching for words.Grief mixed with a touch of hope flared in the ambassador's eyes. "Yes,my son?" Before Spock could continue, he raised a hand. "I must tell youthat I have thought a great deal on what you said, after the memorialservice. I only hope that my actions did not hasten Amanda's end. Youmay have been right when you accused me of going because I lacked thecourage to stay, Spock ... ""And I may have been wrong, Father," Spock said, forcing the words out."I know, now, that my mother's death was inevitable. Remember, Dr. McCoytold us that she had only days. And ... there is something else I musttell you ""Yes?""When I told you that Mother could not find peace,I ... may not have been entirely correct."Sarek raised an eyebrow."I was angry," Spock said, not allowing himself to sound defensive atthe admission, "and what I said, for the most part, was the truth ...but ... at the very end ..." He had to stop, take a deep breath, beforehe could go on. "She relaxed. She even smiled. She appeared peaceful."Sarek nodded silently, and it was a long time before the ambassadorspoke. Finally he stirred. "Thank you, my son," he said softly. "Yourwords have meant a great deal to me."Valdyr watched Dr. McCoy check the regenerated tissue on her wound. Shehad on a bizarre, blue, two-piece outfit one of the female nursesbrought for her to wear until her own clothes could be cleaned andrepaired. The garments were comfortable--too comfortable, shethought--but they were so flimsy she wasn't entirely convinced theywould survive her normal activities. McCoy had discreetly lifted the topover her abdomen and was running his hand gently over the new tissue.She grimaced, peeking at it herself."That doesn't hurt, does it?" McCoy asked her, as he poked around."Of course not," Valdyr said sternly. As if any Klingon would haveadmitted if it did! McCoy looked at her and she could see the amusementetched on his face." He'd been so kind to her, she couldn't help butrelax around him. "Well," she admitted reluctantly, "it did atfirst--just a little. Now, all it does is itch.""That won't last, miss," he assured her. "Another day or so, and youwon't even know anything ever happened there."She made a face at him, and he grinned. "How can you say that when thatplace is all pale and soft.t""As your own cells replace it," McCoy said, "that'll be fixed, too. Wewouldn't want you looking like a patched-up battleship!" The sickbaydoors whooshed open, making both of them turn to see Peter enter theexam area. The cadet looked at them quizzically, as if wondering if he'dcome at a bad time. McCoy waved him over as he covered the wound."However, I should tell you, Valdyr, human males like a little softnessin a woman." He raised an eyebrow at Peter, who gave them an embarrassedsmile."Not that one," Valdyr said confidently--and her words made Peter's faceturn crimson.The cadet glowered at her disapprovingly. "I think you're feeling toowell," he decided."She's doing great," confirmed McCoy, "thanks to her amazingconstitution. I take it you're here to take my favorite patient awayfrom me?""Yes, sir," Peter said. Turning to Valdyr, he told her,"We've got your quarters all prepared. It's time you gave up that bed tosomeone who really needs it." At that moment, the doors opened, and JimKirk entered."You've had half the ship locked away in here, Bones," the captaincomplained good-naturedly. Eyeing Valdyr, the captain smiled and nodded."How are you feeling?"She nodded back reservedly. He had come to her, himself, to tell her ofher uncle's death following the Heghba'. It had been a sign of greatrespect, and she'd appreciated it. He had not flinched, either, whenshe'd voiced the ritual howl.Valdyr was coming to think humans weren't nearly as weak as she'd beenled to believe."We were just about to inspect Valdyr's quarters, Uncle Jim," Peter toldhim. "Dr. McCoy told me this morning she could be released."Kirk nodded and turned back to Valdyr. "I'm here on official business."He looked at Valdyr meaningfully. "A little more pleasant business thanthe last time, thank goodness. Miss. Valdyr, Chancellor Azetbur hasasked to speak with you.""With me?" Valdyr said, incredulously. "The chancellor would speak withme?"Kirk walked over to the wall viewscreen and tapped a sequence on thecontrol panel. A Klingon face appeared."Tell the chancellor that Valdyr is here, ready to speak with her."Valdyr's heart was hammering.Suddenly, Chancellor Azetbur's image filled the screen.She looked so stern, so powerful, so impossibly noble and honorable thatValdyr simply stared, transfixed. She reminded the young Klingon womanof the portrait in her uncle's home. "Chancellor ..." Valdyr finallymanaged to whisper.Azetbur's face warmed into a gracious smile. "Valdyr! It is an honor tospeak with you. And a pleasure."Azetbur felt honored to meet her? Valdyr's gaped. "Oh, no, Chancellor. Ihave no honor ... I betrayed--""Nonsense!" the chancellor interrupted briskly. "None of our people hasmore honor. You risked everything to save Qo'nos and our people--and yousucceeded. You received an honorable wound in battle. You helped to savethe honor of your family, from Kamarag's attempt to destroy it.Qo'nos will never forget your sacrifice. While you were recovering, Ihave spoken to the people who know you well.They have told me of your dreams for the future."Valdyr glanced over at Peter quickly; he was smiling as he winked ather."I want you to know that I, personally, wish to assure you that yourfuture will be as bright as the one you granted your people through yourcourage." Azetbur leaned closer to the screen, her expression softening,becoming less formal, more earnest. "You were born to be a leader,Valdyr, and I shall make sure that is what you will become. You will betrained as diplomat, under my auspices and tutelage. Our Empire needspeople like you to insure her welfare. Our people are facing a time whenthey can no longer solve problems the way they have in the past. We needwarriors who will gain our ends with words, not weapons. You are ourfuture, aldyr.""MET' Valdyr stammered, but after a second, she managed to regain hercomposure enough to say, "Chancellor, you honor me too greatly. I do notknow what to say.""What is there to say? It is only what you deserve. Kirk has told methat his ship is currently on a vital mission to Freelan. As soon as hismission is fulfilled, when you are completely recovered, General Korrdwill be sending a crew to fly the Taj home. He has instructions to bringyou to me, so we may discuss your education, and your future, at greaterlength. Grow strong, Valdyr. I will see you soon." And then, abruptly,she signed off.Valdyr just sat there, completely taken aback. She'd been resigned togiving up her life as a Klingon, to adjusting to this new life. Now ...She looked at the men standing around her. Azetbur must have spoken tothem. She turned to Peter. "You told her ... about me?""I told her the truth," Peter explained. "I told her about your dreamsof getting an education, about being a diplomat ... "He trailed off."Isn't that what you wanted?"That was what she'd wanted ... before. Did she still want it? "But ...if I go back to school ..." She turned and looked at Captain Kirk. Wasthis his way of pulling her and Peter apart? She didn't know what tothink."Valdyr," the captain said softly. "You're being given awonderful opportunity. You're very young. This could shape your wholelife. Think carefully before you decide."McCoy suddenly stood in front of her. "Come on, Jim.These kids need time to talk." Nodding farewell, the two older men left.Peter pulled himself up to sit beside her on the bed. He had said littleso far."If ... I do this, Pityr," she said quietly, "then ... we must part... Is that what you want me to do? You want me to leave you?"He didn't answer for a long moment; then finally he said,"Remember that talk we had, where I told you that everyone expected meto be like my uncle Jim and take the Command track, and you said ...""That I was expected to marry and bear children and spend all my timescheming for their advancement. Yes, I remember.""Well, you made that sound like a fate worse than death, Valdyr. If youpass this opportunity up ... that's all that will be left for you todo. If you married me, and had my children, and worked to improve ourlives--someday you'd wake up and realize you ended up living the verysame life everyone wanted you to have on Qo'nos. And then, I think,you'd be very unhappy."The truth of his words hit her hard. But why did her future as adiplomat require her to leave him? "Why can't our futures somehow ... becloser together? Why must I be on Qo'nos and you on Earth? Why can'tthings be better than that?"He slipped an arm around her and pulled her close to him."I'm not sure it can't be, Valdyr. We'll have to work at it, and we'llhave to be willing to suffer separations ... Didyou know that Mr. Spock's parents are of mixed species?""No, I did not."Peter nodded. "His mother was human." Then he chuckled."And his father is a diplomat. What I'm trying to say is, that Sarek andhis wife had to spend a lot of time apart, because of their work. Shewas a teacher, and a mother, and that kept her at home.""I understand about Mr. Spock's patenf s," Valdyr said,"but what has that to do with ...""Us? Well, I just mention that because they enjoyed many years ofmarriage, even though they spent a lot of time apart.It was a good marriage. I've been thinking about them because, well, Mr.Spock's mother just died ... while Sarek was on this last diplomaticmission."Valdyr was startled by that. "That was a difficult thing to do, to servewith honor while one is grieving.""Yes, but Sarek is a Vulcan. My point, Valdyr, is that other peoplemaintain relationships even when they aren't always together. Even whenthey have to spend large amounts of time far apart.""You are saying, if they can do it, that we could, too?" Peter shrugged."I mean, if a mere Vulcan can maintain a relationship with a human overtime and space ... what can a Klingon accomplish?"She rested against him. "Now I know what it is I will be missing, Pityr.I will be missing you so terribly." She felt him swallow, and knew thatwas one of his ways of controlling the emotions he didn't want her tosee."We'll find a way, Valdyr," he promised her, hugging her tight. "We'llfind a way to be together. We'll just have to be patient."Smiling, she let him help her off the bed, and lead her to her quarters.During the next two days, the Enterprise warped toward Freelan,accompanied through space by Shardarr. When they reached the fringes ofthe Freelan stellar system, the ships dropped out of warp. Sarekaccompanied Taryn to the transporter chamber so he could reclaim hisship from Poldar.The wing commander, having a typically strong Vulcan constitution, wasfully recovered from the effects of the senapa poison. He had resumedhis uniform. For the first time, Sarek was able to study his featuresfreely, without either a mask of fabric or anger to conceal them. Thetwo Vulcans stood facing each other in the transporter chamber,while the Enterprise's transporter chief discreetly busied herself withduties."What has been the reaction to your orders to allow the Vulcans toleave, should they choose to do so?" Sarek asked.The officer drew himself up, his expression taking on a touch of the oldarrogance. "I am still wing commander. I am being obeyed," he said. "Assoon as I have beamed over, I will send Savel back ... and then any ofmy officers who wish to leave. The Vulcans on Freelan have been told togather at a central point, so they may be beamed up efficiently. Theywill do so.""Of course," Sarek said, with a touch humor. "They are Vulcans.Efficiency is in their blood.""You gave me yo. ur word that Savel will be under your personal guidancein establishing her new life," Taryn reminded the ambassador.Sarek raised a hand formally. "I gave you my word. She will be givenevery opportunity and advantage it is possible for me to offer."The wing commander relaxed slightly. "Very well, then. I must go. If youwill wait for Savel, she will not be long.""Taryn ..." Sarek began, and the officer, who had begun to turn away,turned back. "Come with us," the ambassador said, aware of a note ofentreaty in his voice he did not entirely trouble to repress. "Yourpeople will need leadership, you are correct in that. You could providethat leadership yourself. And ..." The ambassador's mouth quirked upwardslightly. "And we could play chess ... "A slight smile touched the wing commander's grim mouth. "And have youcontinue to beat me? I think not. It is my duty to take Shardarr back toRomulus, and to face the praetor with what I have done.""But you know what will happen.""Of course," Taryn said. "But this is what I must do, Sarek. I am aRomulan officer. I have lived as a Romulan ... and I will die as one."Sarek sighed. "I was not expecting anything else," he said."But I had to ask ... "Taryn nodded curtly, then stepped up on the transporterpad. Again that faint smile touched his mouth, as he lifted his hand,and, with a slight grimace, spread his fingers into the Vulcan salute."Peace and long life, Sarek," he said, quietly--just as the transporter beam took him.Minutes later, Savel and Taryn stood together in Shardarr's transporterroom. The young Vulcan woman's features were composed, but her voicetrembled uncontrollably."I do not want to leave you, Vadi! Let me go back with you to Romulus.Perhaps I can bear witness for you, and they will understand."Commander Taryn smiled faintly. "Understand? The praetor? Why, Savel, Inever knew you to make jokes before ... ""But ..." She was trembling, thinking of what would happen to him backon Romulus. "Please, Vadi.t""Savel," he said, chidingly, "remember your control. You are a Vulcan,and under Ambassador Sarek's guidance. He has promised me that he willsponsor you, until you are ready to take your place on your rightfulworld. You must look to the future.""You are a Vulcan, too," she said, an edge in her voice that betrayedher anguish at parting from him. "Come with He was already shaking hishead. Taryn drew himself up proudly. "I am a Romulan," he corrected her."And I must take Shardarr back to Romulus and make my final report."A number of the young Vulcan bridge officers were already aboard theEnterprise, and were leaving with the Federation vessel ... but asurprising number of the senior officers--including CenturionPoldar--had announced their decision to accompany Taryn on their lastvoyage home."Besides," the commander added, "the ambassador will need help to gainthe trust of the Vulcans who have chosen to go home to their nativeworld. They will need a leader.You have the strength to guide them, Savel.""What will happen to the others?" she wondered. At leastfifty of the Vulcans, mostly those who had married into Romulanfamilies, had chosen to stay."They will have to go underground, to live as Romulans for the rest oftheir lives." He sighed. "The Plan has failed. I would not be surprisedif the praetor decides to evacuate Freelan entirely. The repercussionsof the failure of the Plan will echo through the Empire for many years... perhaps decades.""What will the praetor do?" Savel asked."What we Romulans always do in the face of adversity ... pull back,regroup, wait. The Empire is patient, Savel. That is why it has enduredso long. The Empire will wait, and plan ... until it is time to tryagain.""If only there could be peace," she whispered.He raised an ironic eyebrow. "If only there could be," he echoed. "Butnot today, I fear." He glanced up at the waiting transporter technician."Come, it is time."Savel straightened her shoulders and nodded, her features calm ...though her eyes were full of anguish. With her bag of personalbelongings in hand, she slowly took her place on the transporter pad.Taryn gave her a Romulan salute."Farewell, vadia-lya."Squaring her shoulders, Savel hesitantly lifted her hand, spreading herfingers apart as she had seen Sarek do. "Peace, Vadi ... peace and--"She broke off. To say "long life" under these circumstances wasridiculous. "Farewell," she said, instead.Just as the beam of the transporter began to whine, Savel saw him smileat her fondly. "Give my regards to Soran," he said, just before shewinked out of existence.Wing Commander Taryn took a deep breath, squared his own shoulders, andleft the transporter room without a backward glance.Peter Kirk and Valdyr stood together in the Enterprise's docking bay, atthe foot of Taj's gangplank, to say their farewells. They did notembrace, because there were three Klingon officers in the doorway,eyeing them interestedly.Peter smiled unsteadily at the young Klingon woman."You'll get home days ahead of me," he reminded her."Uncle Jim finally introduced me to Ambassador Sarek and he said hewould grant us access to the diplomatic corem-net.I expect to find a communiqu6 waiting when I get back to Earth. I wantto hear all about your schooling, Valdyr. I want to know everything thathappens to you, until we can see each other again. Promise me."She nodded in turn. "On my honor, I will. You must do the same.""On my honor, I will."She gave him a faint smile. "Then ... I wish you safe voyage back toyour world. I know you will pass your warrior's test with honor, Pityr.You have already faced far worse ... ""Yes, but then I had you to help me be strong," he said, and for amoment felt his control slipping. "Farewell Valdyr-oy. Safe voyage.Until we meet again. May it be soon ... ""Farewell, Pityr-oy. We will make it be soon," she replied fiercely,giving him a wartlot's closed-fist salute.As he watched, she turned and ran up the gangplank. The last glimpse hehad of her was the gleam of her armor, and a final toss of her longbraid.Hearing over the intercom that the bay was about to alepressurize, Peterhastily left, without looking back ...Sarek sat on the divan in the small VIP cabin aboard the Earth-boundEnterprise, Amanda's journal open in his lap.The ambassador was rereading the entry his wife had made on the day thatthe news of her father-in-law's death had reached her.April 5,2249 l just received a communiqudfrom T'Pau, telling me thatSolkar died yesterday. He was the last surviving member of Sarekimmediate blood-kin--except, of course, for Spock ... whom Sarek hasdeclared vrekasht.I find myself thinking about how lonely Sarek must be. Of course, afterwhat he did, he deserves to be alone ... but time, I am discovering,has a way of putting things in perspective.This past year, as I look back on it, has, in a way, been a good one. Itwas a thrill to go back to teaching, and, because of my celebrity(notoriety?), I've been given the best and brightest that Earth had tooffer. My students have been wonderful--watching them grow and expandtheir horizons has been so rewarding.Also, living here in San Francisco while Spock attendsStarfleet Academy has been a good opportunity to renew closeness with myson.It was also good to spend time with More and Dad ... Aunt Matildapassed away this year, and she was younger than Dad ... it made merealize, for the first time, that roy parents will not go on forever.Neither will I, come to think of it.Neither will Sarek.It's funny how death puts things in perspective. I think ... I thinkit's time to go home to Vulcan. Spock will soon, as second-year cadet,be going off on training missions. He has made the admittedly difficultadjustment to living in close quarters with so many human students, andhe is finally beginning to make a few friends.He doesn't need me here anymore ... he needs the company of people hisown age, cadets who are learning the things he is learning.And, of course, there is the thought of Sarek, alone.When I asked T'Pau, rather hesitantly, how Sarek was these days, shestared straight at me, her imperious expression unchanged--but herwords, uttered in her slightly lisping, accented speech, surprised me."Thee asks how Sarek is, Amanda? In all this year of exile from thyhomeworld, thee hast never asked. Why now?"'7 ask because I know how Sarek wouldgrieve for his father, T'Pau," Isaid, regarding her s teadily. am ... concerned about his welfare."Her black eyes blinked at me, from out of her bony, once-beautifulfeatures. "Thee is right, Amanda. Sarek grieves for Solkar ... but hegrieves a hundredfom more for thee."Her bluntness startled me. "Really?" I murmured, unable to think what tosay, trying to repress the stab of anguish her words brought.T'Pau paused, then stared straight at me. "Wilt thee attend Solkar'smemorial service, Amanda? If thee tells me thee wishes to attend, I willdelay the service until thee can come home."Home. She said home in referring to Vulcan. T'Pau sam that, to me ... anojworlder. My breath caught in my throat as I remembered so much ... thebeauty, the desolation, the heat ... Sarek g arms around me, thecloseness of our bodies no more intimate than that of the bond we share...For the first time in a year, I allowed myself to sense Sarek mindthrough the bond. It was always there, of course, in the back of mymind--I'd have known if anything had happened to him. But I've been tooangry to let myself touch his mind. And, of course, I'm not a telepath,so my ability is limited ...But I sensed him. And what I sensed made tears stream down my face.She didn't even avert her eyes from the sight of so much rampantemotionalism when I wept. When I managed to regain my control, she said,only, "Wilt thee come home, Amanda?"I nodded at her, and she gave me the date, location, and time of theservice, then cut the connection.So now ... I must pack, and board the transport. I have only a fewhours to finish, so I can't spend any more time on this journal untilI'm bound for Vulcan.Sarek, I am coming back to you. I have learned a great deal this pastyear, and one of the things I have learned is that in punishing you, Iwas punishing myself just as much. It is no longer worth it.If I know you--and l do--you won't ever bring up the subject of myselfimposed exile J?om you and Vulcan.You'll simply want to go back to the way things were--except that ourson will not be part of our family anymore, as far as you're concerned.Can I live with that? Yes, I believe I can. You see, ifi can forgiveyou, then I have to believe that you and Spock will, someday, forgiveeach other.I must hurry ... time and that transport won't wait ...Sarek closed the volume and sighed. It was painful to read those words... to think of the time they had spent apart, and of how he would giveup nearly everything he possessed to regain that lost year. Putting thatvolume aside, he picked up the next, then located the spot where he'dleft off the night before. Noting the date on the next entry, theambassador steeled himself to read what she had written.March 14,2285 No entry for three days ... I can scarcely see to writethis ... I am so tired that I ache all over, but every time I lie downand close my eyes, the images I see are too awful to bear. So, afterdozing for the first time in days, I am awake barely an hour later,writing ... because doing nothing is even worse.Is there a God?If there is a Supreme Being, how could he, she, it, orthey allow this to happen?My son is dead. Spock is ... dead. Writing those words ... I amtrembling, shaking, and my heart feels as though some giant is squeezingit in an inexorable fist. Spock, dead? It seems impossible. I keepthinking there has been some mistake, that Starfleet will call us andtell us it isn't true. How can it be true? Spock is--oh god, was--half-Vulcan.t I expected him to outlive me for decades! Why did this have tohappen, why? My child, dead? How could this happen?Of course I know how it happened. Even in the midst of my own anguish Icould find it in my heart to pity poor Jim Kirk ... he tried so hard tobreak it gently. Spock was his best friend, they were so close, servingtogether all these years. I could tell that the captain had been cryingtoo ... Sarek did not cry, of course. I found myself, for a moment,hating him for that. As though his lack of human tears meant that he didnot care for Spock ... when I know that he did care, that our son wasthe most important person in the galaxy to him ... except, possibly,for me. I stared at him, the tears welling up and coursing down my face,sobs racking me until it seemed that my bo could not hold them--and Icame so close to lashing out at him. For a horrible instant I wanted toslap him, scream at him, and demand that he weep for our son ... I amthankful that I did not. I would never have forgiven myself That wouldhave made an intolerable situation even worse.Sarek takes comfort in the fact that Spock died well, in the performanceof his duty, sacrificing himself to save his shipmates. A hero, to usethe human term ... a word which does not translate into modern Vulcan.But there is no comfort for me. Last night I clutched myself, rockingback and forth, feeling as though I might explode with sorrow. Sarekcame and sat beside me, trying to comfort me with his presence. Herested his hand on mine, silently, and ,,hen herinally spoke, it wasonly to say the traditional words ... "My wife, I grieve with thee ..." I know he does. But I feel that a mother's love is stronger, and thusher grief is also greater. Illogical perhaps ... but true, I know it.Spock, my son ... if only you had died on Vulcan!Then you would not be lost to us forever. At least your living spirit,your katra, could have been saved, could have been placed in the Hall ofAncient Thought. If oly--Abruptly, the precise, elegant handwriting broke off.Sarek knew why. Vividly, he remembered the afternoon his wife had burstinto his study, her reddened eyes wide and wild ..."Sarek?" Amanda's normally cultured, lovely voice shattered like finecrystal in the stillness. "What about Spock's katra? It wouldn't havedied with his body, if he found someone to entrust it to ... his livingspirit could still be found!" Sarek turned from his computer terminal tosee his wife standing in the doorway, clutching it with both hands, asthough she might fall without the support. She was wearing a dressinggown pulled carelessly over her nightdress, and her hair was mussed, incontrast to her usual impeccable grooming.Amanda's eyes flashed with incredulous hope as she continued,breathlessly, "From what James Kirk told us, our son knew his actionswould kill him--so he would certainly have established the mental linknecessary to entrust his katra when he died! Spock was a goodtelepath--he could have done it very quickly.""But Kirk did not mention--" Sarek began, reasonably."Kirk's human!" Amanda burst out. "He may not even know what he holds inhis mind! Most humans wouldn't--oh, Sarek, if there's even a chance--"She gazed at her husband pleadingly. "--even a small chance, we can'tafford to ignore it! We're talking about our son's living spirit--whathumans would call a soul, I suppose. We can't let him be lost forever!"Sarek stared at her, his mind turning over what she had said. "Yourdeduction is most unlikely, Amanda," he said at last, his tones gentle."From the scenario that Kirk described, the ship was in great peril, inimminent danger of destruction. Spock could hardly have found time tomeld with Kirk before he went down to the engine room.""It doesn't take a full meld, and you know it, Sarek," she insisted, herblue eyes flashing stubbornly. "Our son was a trained telepath, he'dmelded with Kirk many times. He could have established the link thatwould make Kirk his Keeper in a bare instant!" Sarek experienced a flareof hope. Amanda was quick to notice the tiny change in his expression."You must go to Earth and see Kirk, my husband," she said formally. "Youwill be able to tell whether Kirk holds our son's essence in his mind.Go, Sarek. Spock would have found a way! I know it!" The ambassadorstood up, crossed the room to stand beside his wife. Slowly, formally,he held out two fingers, and she returned the gesture. They stoodtogether, their mutual grief flowing between them, both gaining strengthfrom their closeness. Through their bond, Sarek shared some of Amanda'shope that their child was not totally lost, and it slowly, gradually,became his own hope.Finally, Sarek nodded. "I will go to Earth, Amanda," he promised. "Iwill speak with Kirk in person. If necessary, I will touch his mind, anddiscover whether he is unconsciously Keeping our son's living spirit."Amanda smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, Sarek," she said, softly."Thank you, my husband. Spock would have found a way ... I know it. Myson is not completely gone ... if he were, I think I would know. Youmust find him, Sarek ... ""If he is to be found, I will do so," Sarek said, his tone as grave andearnest as if he took a solemn oath. "1 will bring his living spiritback to Vulcan ... so he may be at peace."Sarek looked up from the journal and sighed, remembering what hadfollowed. His son was alive today because of Amanda's unwavering faiththat he was not truly--not completely--lost to them.I must give these journals to Spock, allow him to read them when I amfinished, he thought. My son deserves to gain the insight into hismotherg mind that they have given me ... Despite the bond we shared forso many years, there are things about Amanda that I never knew until now... If only his wife were still alive. If only he could express aloud,for once, the emotions he had allowed only to surface in the silentprivacy of their bond. It would have meant so much to her to have heardhim say it out loud ... just once.But she was dead. Amanda was dead.Dead ... and nothing could change that. Amanda, unlike a Vulcan woman,had no future ... at least, no future that was perceivable orve rifiable. As a human, she had not possessed a katra ... so nothingcould be placed in the Hall of Ancient Thought, to linger until it wasready to go on to whatever lay next.If Amanda had been Vulcan ... if Kadura had not beentaken hostage ... Sarek could have been the Keeper of her katra ... herliving spirit could have resided within him until it was released intothe energy nexus of the Hall of Ancient Thought.If Amanda had been Vulcan, her husband and son could have gone to thatancient citadel, stood within its confines and gained a sense of herpresence. By the time his wife's katra was ready to depart, Sarek wouldhave been prepared, would have had ample time to bid her farewell. Hadhis wife been Vulcan, her death would not have meant such an abrupt andshocking end, a complete and utter severing of their bond. Even if hehad been on Kadura, Spock could have been her Keeper ... But Amanda hadbeen human, and the ambassador had never, until a few weeks ago, wishedit otherwise. But when he'd learned that she was ill, Sarek had beenforcibly reminded of something he'd determinedly managed to forget ...that his wife was almost certain to predecease him by years ... probablydecades.The ambassador sighed aloud, thinking that if Amanda had been Vulcan herkatra would probably now be residing within him--or within Spock. Shewould, in a sense, still be alive ... But if Amanda had been Vulcan,she would not have been Amanda ... Sarek sighed, and his eyes returnedto the volume on his lap. He began reading again, finished that one,and, with a sense of deep regret, picked up the last of the red-boundbooks. Opening this one, he paged through it, saw that it was only athird filled. He took a deep, painful breath, and determinedly began toread.The last brief series of entries made him sit up straighter, his eyesmoving quickly over the page. When he finished them, he went back andread them again, slowly. He could almost hear her voice ...September 17,2293 Frankly, I am worried about Sarek. The days since Ihave been diagnosed have been a great strain, far worsefor him than for me. After all, he bears the burden of not allowing meto glimpse his fear for me ... of not letting me sense his pain. Theonly comfort I can offer is to let him think that I remain unaware ofhis inner turmoil, so that is what I do ...September 18,2293 Sarek left today to negotiate for the release ofKadura, a planet taken by Klingon renegades. The president asked himpersonally to handle the negotiations, and he had to accept. It is hisjob, his duty to use his skills for the benefit of others, and Iunderstand that. He is the best in the galaxy at what he does, and Iknow that. I am proud of him.Which doesn't mean that I don't miss him, and wish he had stayed herewith me. I miss him more with each passing hour. You would think I wouldbe used to his absences by now, but this time ... I am not a saint ...I am facing something that frightens me, and I wish he were here to helpme face it. But I am strong. I can manage by myself ... I always have,whenever it was necessary.Besides, there is still our bond. I miss his presence in the back of mymind, but there is still a small sense of him remaining. Since I am nottelepathic, it is faint ... but, in a sense, he is always with me. WillI ever see him again?I fear not.Something about the way I feel ... Spock mentioned a sensation of"shutting down," when we spoke about dying. Is that what I am feeling?Difficult to keep my thoughts organized enough to write. Hard toconcentrate ... so tired.Spock ... I am worried about him. His eyes are haunted, his mouth aknife-thin slash. Beyond his worryfor me, his constant concern and grief, I can sense his anger ...Anger at death, perhaps. Anger at age, at the cruel fate that is turninghis mother into a shriveled, feeble stranger. Normal emotions--exceptthat my son is a Vulcan. But I have sensed more barely masked emotionfrom Spock since his father left today than I have since he was a smallchild. They say everyone has a weak point--and apparently I am Spock TSpock g main anger ... is directed at his father.How can I help him learn to understand, and accept and forgive--as Ihave learned to do over the past decades? How can I help Spock, when Iwill not be here much longer?Tired now ... September 19,2293So glad that I made Sarek promise to read these journals. Comforting toknow that he will understand, someday, what I was thinking, feeling,here at the end.Will I be here tomorrow? I sit here in my bedroom and gaze around me atmy beloved things ... and I am at peace, finally. If only Spock couldshare my acceptance.If only I had the strength to explain Sarek to my son.Spock cannot forgive his father/or leaving me, but it not that hedoesn't love me, not that at all. Spock is half Vulcan, raised to beVulcan ... why can't he understand?What a reversal ... usually it is Spock who has to explain Vulcanbehavior to me. Never forget that time in his quarters aboard Enterprisewhen Sarek was dying. I slapped him, slapped my son. The crack of thatblow still rings in my ears. Only time I ever struck him in his life.Oh, Spock ... you understood then/ Why can't you understand now?Don't hate your father.Love him, as I do. Understand him, as I do.Sarek ... you are reading this, I know you are. ShowSpock this entry, even if you don't choose to let him see the others.Show him. Perhaps it will help ...So much still to do, to say. Wish I could visit my garden again. Myfavorite place ...Sarek, remember that, afterward. My garden. I want to be in my garden,afterward.More to write, but tired ... so tired.Sarek ... I can still sense you ... in the back of my mind If only Icould touch you, see your face ... just once more ...Peter Kirk stood before the closed bridge dooms and found himselfclenching his fists. Relax, he ordered himself, but his body refused tolisten. Whatg the big deal?It's only your first command/He took a deepbreath, let it out slowly, and moved forward just far enough to activatethe doors. They opened with a familiar whoosh.The minute he stepped onto the bridge, the crew came to attention, butPeter barely noticed them as more than shadowy shapes, he was so keyedup. This was it. The moment of truth. He walked forward, trying toconceal his tension.The bridge seemed dimmer than he was used to. "As you were," he orderedthe crew, trying to sound normal, even cavalier as he approached thecaptain's chair. The captain chair. Your chair Even now he was stillamazed that he was here. That he was finally in command of theEnterprise.He'd thought the commandant was joking when he'd told him. His firstcommand. The Enterprise. He eased himself in the command seat, andtouched the armrest console almost reverently."Present location, navigator?" he asked."Sector 3414, approaching the Loop Nebula, Captain," a familiar voicereplied.Peter's head snapped up. For the first time, he really looked at thecrew. He'd known he'd be working with senior officers, of course, but... "Commander Chekov," he said quietly. "I didn't expect to see youhere.""Well, sir," Chekov replied with a saucy grin, "ve vere just in theneighborhood ... " Peter blinked, and looked around him. Lieutenants'bysh sat at the helm, by Chekov's side. A glance to his left showedCommander Uhura fussing with her communications board. She nodded at himwhen she noticed him watching her.He stiffened in surprise when the seat before the Life Sciences andSupport station revolved, revealing Dr. McCoy. The doctor's expressionwas one of sheer delight, as he reported, "Life-support operating atpeak efficiency, sir, and sickbay's fully staffed and ready for action.""Thank you, Doctor," Peter said blandly, in spite of the bead of sweathe suddenly felt tracking down his face. He didn't want to look over atthe science station, but he had to."First Officer, anything to report?""Not at this time, sir," Spock's familiar, placid baritone replied.So, it was old home week, huh? He shook his head. Either that or it wasa dream he'd wake up from ... but that wasn't bloody likely.Most of the cadets "fortunate" enough to make it to the Kobayashi Maruhad to contend with a bridge crew of half cadets and half experiencedofficers. It wasn't unusual for a well-known visiting ship's crew tooffer to man the simulator, but Peter had never heard of anyone takingthe test with the entire bridge crew from a Constellation-classstarship!Usually, there were other cadets being tested, not just the commandofficer, but Peter was so late taking his test, there were no longer anycadets left to be part of his crew. The experienced bridge crew's jobwas to "push" the captain, see if he or she had the confidence tooverride their experience and advice. But to have this crew ... ?Maybe he could lodge a protest with the exam board. Yeah. After Ifinishthe test! There was no getting out of it.He glanced around the bridge once more. Uncle Jim was nowhere to befound--at least he could be thankful for that.He licked his lips.Hell, it's just a test. It can't be half as bad as flying through thering around Qo 'nos, or escaping from Kamarag's prison! Then why was heso nervous? He could feel Spock's unwavering gaze searing the back ofhis head.Suddenly, Uhura sat up straight. "Incoming transmission, sir. It's ...garbled ... ""Put it on speakers, Lieutenant," he ordered, swiveling his chair."Enterprise, can you hear me? This is the Kobayashi Maru," a heavilyaccented Slavic voice reported. Peter strained to hear the woman, butthe broadcast was dim and full of stat ic."Can't you boost that, Commander?" he asked.Uhura shook her head. "That is boosted, sir. That transmission is comingstraight through the Loop Nebula, sir. It's a miracle we can hear it atall." She frowned, concentrating intensely, and manipulated her board."We have suffered a rupture in our matter-antimatter containment field,"the woman on the Kobayashi Maru continued. "We have had severe damage toour life-support system. We've ejected our fuel to keep the ship intact,but we're down to batteries now.""Kobayashi Maru, "Uhura shouted, "what are your coordinates?" Thetransmission grew even fainter, and Peter strained to hear it."Coordinates 3417, mark 6. We are five hundred thousand kilometers awayfrom the Cygnus Loop Nebula, and drifting. Battery power can maintainlife-support for one hour ... repeat ... one hour. If we don't gethelp soon, three hundred sixty-two lives will be lost. Enterprise, canyou hear me? We have one hour or less ..." The voice broke up intogarbled static."Mr. Chekov, can you bring up schematics on the location of KobayashiMaru?" Peter asked."Aye, sir," Chekov replied, and within seconds a graphic image appearedon the big viewscreen.The viewscreen before him showed Enterprise currently moving toward ahuge nebula, a massive cloud of gas anddust, in colors of hazy blue, white, and pink. On the other side of thenebula, if the coordinates they had given were correct, the dyingfreighter, Kobayashi Maru, was drifting.Peter frowned. So far, the rumors had been correct. This was a newscenario. With the exception of the familiar, damaged vessel, most ofwhat was happening had been changed. For example, he now had to rescuethe people on the ship, not simply the ship itself. Once they wereaboard assuming he got that far, which was highly unlikely-- then he'dworry about how to put a tractor beam on the vessel herself. Could hetow her?Peter forced himself to consider the big picture. "Mr. Chekov," Petersaid crisply, "where are we in relation to the Klingon Neutral Zone?"Chekov's hands moved over his board, and the viewscreen presented animage of the Neutral Zone in relation to the injured ship. "Threeparsees," Chekov reported,"sir."If they didn't have to go into the Neutral Zone, then what ... ? Nevermind, the Maru didn't have much time."Mr. Chekov, plot us fastest optimal course, skirting the nebula asclosely as we can without encountering interference.ETA to intercept?"Chekov acknowledged the order, did some quick calculations, then finallyreported. "We can circle the nebula around its smallest side, and arriveat Kobayashi Maru in fifteen minutes, sir. Optimal speed this close tothe nebula ... warp two.""If I might suggest, Captain," Spock interjected, "we could reduce thattime by ten point eighteen minutes by going through the nebula at warpone."Peter looked back at the colorful schematic. That was true, but why didthat make him uneasy?"We are the only ship in this quadrant, sir," Spock continued. "And, asyou yourself confirmed, we are a safe distance from the Klingon NeutralZone. Going through the nebula would seem to be the most efficientcourse of action."Peter set his jaw. "All of that is true, Mr. Spock, but going throughthe nebula leaves us blind, deaf, dumb, and helpless.We can't even engage our shields in there. When we come out the otherside there would be several seconds before we became reoriented." Hesmiled at the Vulcan."For some reason, that makes me uneasy," he added, dryly."Lieutenant s'bysh." He swung his chair back around."Take us around the nebula using Mr. Chekov's suggested course. Warptwo."He turned to address his first officer. "Mr. Spock, I want you to send abuoy with a long-range sensor scan in it through the nebula, that cansend us back information on the conditions on the other side of thenebula, before we arrive there. It'll stay ahead of us and help uspinpoint the Maru, or warn us of any other possible problems before westumble into them."Spock reported the firing of the sensor buoy. Then, Peter slapped theconsole. "Engineering!""Aye, sir!" a thick Scottish burr responded.Why am I not surprised to hear you? "Scotty, we're going to need to beamover more than three hundred people in less than thirty minutes ... ""It isna possible, Captain! If we used every transporter in the bloodyship it wouldn't ...""The cargo transporters, Mr. Scott. Can't they be adjusted to transportpeople?""Aye, sir, but--" Scott began hesitantly."Use all the cargo bays, and get everyone you've got on this. We need tobe able to get those people on board fast, and from long range. There'sa cranky matter-antimatter pod floating somewhere around this area, sowe're not going to be able to get too close. We'll be on site in tenminutes.""Ten minutes!" the Scotsman protested. "But, Captain ""You're running out of time, Mr. Scott!""Halfway around the rim of the nebula, sir," Chekov reported dutifully."Anything new from the Maru, Uhura?" Peter asked."I can't raise them, sir," she informed him."Long-range scanning, Mr. Chekov. Any signs of enemy ships out there?"Peter found himself twitching in the chair.Chekov shrugged, totally unconcerned. "Nothing, sir. But there have beenno reports of hostile activity in this region.""Is that right?" he murmured. This was wrong, all wrong.Where were the damned Klingons? Where was the enemy?This was too easy. He realized his mouth was dry. "Mr. Spock, are wegetting any reports from that buoy?""Yes, sir, data coming in now.""Put it on the screen." A new image came up, one that did not have thenebula. The nebula would be behind the buoy, so it would be offscreen.Before the buoy hung nothing but the blackness of space, and thetwinkling of far distant stars.And in the foreground, but still at a distance, the crew could see adamaged ship, drifting aimlessly. Dangerously close to it remained thematter-antimatter pod. He'd have to make Scotty transport those peoplefrom the farthest reach of transporter range. Oh, damn, damn, damn ...this is too easy.He blinked, staring at the viewscreen so hard his eyes burned."Approaching the other side of the nebula, sir," Chekov said quietly."Course and speed, Captain?" s'bysh asked.Peter's head jerked up, and he stared at the innocent-lookingviewscreen. "Lieutenant Uhura, any word from the Kobayashi Maru?""Nothing, sir," she reported. "I keep hailing, but ...""We're past the nebula, they should be able to respond," Peter said tohimself."Unless their accident has destroyed their communications abilities,"Spock suggested. "Shall we increase speed, Captain? We are still onlytraveling at warp two ... "Peter cut him off with a quick chop of his hand. "Helm, full stop."s'bysh hesitated, and Peter shot her a look."Full stop, aye," she repeated, and obeyed."Captain!" McCoy snapped. "We're runnin' out of time!Those people are breathin' away the last of their air!""Those people," Peter informed his crew tightly, "are sitting in themiddle of a trap. Mr. Chekov, what is our position relative to theRomulan Neutral Zone?""Ve are just outside it, sir."Oho/They almost got me there. If I'd gone straight in, I'd have beenover the Neutral Zone before I knew it. Nudging Chekov over, Petertapped in a sequence on his board. A scrolling line of data ran down theside of the viewscreen for the crew to see. "Check out those readings.There are five anomalies surrounding the Maru, and each of thoseanomalies possesses a specific energy signature--a sure sign of cloakedvessels."The cadet took a deep breath. "The Kobayashi Maru is being used as thebait in an elaborate trap. Yellow alert, everyone." He turned to Spock.The Vulcan was clearly surprised by Peter's announcement and wasdouble-checking the readings. "They're there, aren't they, Mr. Spock?"Amazingly, Spock hesitated. "Data does seem to show certain anomalies"He trailed off, and continued to his viewscreen.came barreling out of his chair. "Well, what are we gonna do about thosepeople? You can't just leave 'em there, Captain!""I have no intention of abandoning those people, Dr. McCoy," Peterassured him, even as he began to unbutton his uniform jacket."Captain, what is it that makes you think these anomalies are thereadings of cloaked Romulan vessels?" Spock asked.finished removing his jacket and draped it over the command chair."Well, since we're on the edge of the Romulan Neutral Zone, and we'recurrently waging peace with the Klingons, my guess is those cloakedvessels are Romulan cruisers ... from the size of them. Call it a 'gutfeeling," Spock, but we're about to test it out." He pressed theintercom. "Mr. Scott, have one of your staff program the synthesizer tomanufacture two Vulcan lirpas." He turned to McCoy. "Doctor, pleasebring those lirpas back to me as soon as they are ready.""Lirpas?" McCoy drew himself up. "Me? What are you talking about,lirpas?"At the same moment, Scotty was saying, "Lirpas? Sir?"Peter's voice took on an edge. "That was an order, Doctor! That was anorder, Engineer!"McCoy cleared his throat, grunted, and left the bridge without furthercomment."Lirpas?" Spock said, incredulously."Mr. Scott!" Peter called, slapping the console hurriedly."What's happening with those transporters?""We're almost ready, sir," Scott reported."Power it up, Mr. Scott. Two minutes. On my signal." He slapped off thecon before Scott could protest again."Excuse me, Captain," said Mr. Spock in his driest tone."If you believe we are confronting Romulan vessels, shouldn't we engageour shields?""No," Peter countermanded, shaking his head. "We're not in firing range,and we're not going to be for three minutes. However, Mr. Spock, if anyof those 'anomalies' move within the next several minutes, indicatingthat one or more of those vessels is approaching, you are to raiseshields immediately. Understood?""Aye, sir," Spock agreed."Enterprise," a gasping voice called over the intercom,"batteries have ruptured and are draining. We have less than tenminutes' air"The garbled message was drowned in static."Lieutenant Uhura," Peter instructed, removing his vest, "beam a messageto the Maru. Remind them of standard Federation evacuation drills. Theyshould already have all personnel in spacesuits or encased in protectivefields in accordance with abandon-ship procedures. We can't afford torush in there."turned at the sound of the bridge doors and saw Dr. McCoy entering,dragging two heavy lirpas behind him.a baffled expression, the doctor handed them over to the young captain."Commander Uhura," Peter continued, "open a hailing frequency in thedirection of those cloaked coordinates. Prepare to transmit a message onwide beam."smiled at the bridge crew, knowing they must think he'd gone crazy.Maybe he was crazy, because he was starting to enjoy himself. This wholesituation was a real challenge, and he already knew he'd kept his shipfrom being blown to smithereens far longer than most candidates made it.Of course, it was all for nothing if he couldn't pull off the rescue ofat least the personnel aboard Kobayashi Maru.looked over at Communications inquiringly."Sir, hailing frequencies are open." She looked over at Spock andshrugged."This is Captain Peter Kirk hailing the commander of the fleetsurrounding the injured ship Kobayashi Maru. We are aware of the trapyou have set and, frankly, Commander, I find your clumsy ploy insulting.In response to this slight, I now have something to say to youT'kevaidors a skelitus dunt'ryala aikriian paselitan ... Toriatal." Heheard Spock take a sharp breath that was almost a gasp. "Commander"--Peter dropped back into Standard English--"I issue this challengeunder the ancient law of Toriatal. By rights, you must respond to mydeclaration." Silence. Total, dead silence.Peter waited, sweating. It no longer mattered that it was just asimulation. He was as charged up as if he really were facing aninvisible enemy. Clutching the two lirpas, he listened to the bloodrushing in his ears.The simulation program, he thought as he waited. It's trying to figureout how to respond to my challenge.Suddenly, Uhura's mouth dropped open. "Captain," she said breathlessly,"we're being hailed ... by the Romulan commander!""On-screen, Lieutenant," he said, as he lifted one of the lirpas andheld it in a defensive position. The screen shifted,changing, showing the interior of a Romulan cruiser, and an image of aRomulan commander standing there."Who are you to issue the ancient challenge?" the holo-commanderdemanded. "You are merely human. I am not obligated to respond to anoutworlder who dares to issue the Toriatal.""You are obligated," Peter insisted, trying to remain cool.His shirt was sticking to him as he held the heavy lirpa at the ready,with the other leaning against the command chair beside him. "The law isclear. "Whoever issues the Toriatal challenge has the right to beanswered. No leader may ignore a pi'operly given challenge." I haveissued it in the tradition of your oldest laws. What do you say? Do youaccept the challenge? Or are you afraid to fight a human?"Again the long pause. Finally, the holo-commander said, hollowly, "Iaccept the challenge.""The choice of weapons is mine," Peter announced, "and I have chosenlirpas.""Captain," Spock said clearly, "several of the Romulan vessels arebringing their weapons on-line.""Will you disobey your own law, Romulan, and allow your ships to fireupon us, even after I have issued the challenge?" Peter demanded. "Ifyou do, you dishonor your own heritage! The Toriatal mandates a state oftruce while it is in effect!"The holo-commander was still for nearly a minute; then the image turnedits head and spoke to someone not in visual range.Peter saw Spock's eyebrow climb. "Weapons ... are being taken off-line,sir.""Mr. Spock, I order you to beam me over to those coordinates," Peterinstructed his science officer. "While I am engaging the Romulancommander, you and Mr. Scott will beam over every survivor from theKobayashi Maru. As soon as you have them all, order full astern speed,and retreat back into the nebula. The Romulans will not be willing tofollow you in there. From there, you can make your escape."Before Spock could offer his own protest, McCoy blurted,"Are you crazy? He's gonna slice you into ribbons with that thing, andwhile he's doin' it, his other ships are gonna play target practice withus!""No, they won't," Peter told McCoy. "While the commander and I are incombat, his troops must, by law, hold their fire, as must we. Butthere's nothing in the law that says you can't quietly transport thosepeople off the Maru and get the hell out of here.""Captain, I cannot allow you to do this," Spock said, quietly. "Even ifyou were to defeat the Romulan commander, it is unlikely they willreturn you to us. This is suicide."Peter paused. "It's a no-win situation, Mr. Spock, I'll give you that.But only for me. The Enterprise and the Kobayashi Maru will be safe. Andas the captain, my job is to insure the safety of the ship." He pickedup the second lirpa and keyed the intercom. "Mr. Scott, stand by withthose cargo transporters.Transporter Chief?."A mechanical-sounding voice said, "Transporter room, aye.""Beam me directly from the bridge to the bridge of the Romulan vessel,"Peter said, and, checking Chekov's readouts, gave the coordinates."Energize!" What's going to happen now? he wondered. Would they actuallybeam him someplace? Would he really have to fight someone?Suddenly, a voice outside the bridge doors called out,"Wait a minute, wait a minute! Open these doors! Lights on!" The bridgedoors slid open and Commandant Kyle Anderson stormed in. "What the hellis going on here?Cadet, where did you come up with these 'anomalies' and energy readingsyou're talking about? This is totally irregular."Peter had to blink to reorient himself out of the simulation and back toreal life. His blood pressure was up, and he was really ready for a goodfight. "Here, sir," Peter said, putting down his lirpa and walking overto Chekov's console."The anomalies are hard to spot, but the energy signature gives yousomething to look for ""That's impossible!" the commandant protested, not even looking at thereadout. "No one can spot a cloaked vessel["Spock suddenly cleared his throat. "With all due respect, Commandant, Iam afraid that Cadet Kirk is correct. While he was aboard theEnterprise, I acquainted him with some research that Mr. Scott and Ihave been conducting. Our discoveries are still in the developmentalstage, but, during our escape from Qo'nos, Cadet Kirk had occasion tomonitor electromagnetic signatures on Klingon vessels.""I see," the commandant said, as Spock showed him the anomalies. "Allright. I can see where that gave you an advantage in this scenario, butwhat's all this nonsense about ancient Romulan challenges? Those shipswould've blown you out of space while you were waving that thing"--hepointed to the lirpa--"in their faces."Again, Spock came to his rescue. "With all due respect, sir, that's notthe case. That challenge dates from Pre-Reformation times on Vulcan, andis respected by the Romulans. Cadet Kirk issued it correctly,Commandant.Even his pronunciation in Old High Vulcan was nearly perfect.""Hmmm," the commandant said, "and they'd have to cease hostilities whilehe fought the commander?" Spock nodded.Anderson's features suddenly broke out in a wide grin."Well ... damn! Looks like you've spent too much time in space, CadetKirk. This test is designed for inexperienced trainees!" He shook hishead. "Believe me, we'll fix those readings for the next poor fool whohas to face this scenario!But for now ... it looks like you're the second Kirk to beat the no-winscenario. And you didn't have to reprogram the computer to do it!" Heextended his hand to the cadet, who took it, shaking it heartily."But sir," Chekov protested, "the Romulans would have surely killedhim!""But he would've saved his ship and the people from the Kobayashi Maru,and all without firing a shot!" another voice added from the bridgedoors.Peter looked up to see his uncle standing there, smiling at him."A captain must be willing to sacrifice himself for his ship," Kirkreminded everyone. "That's his job. Congratulations, Peter. That was onehell of a test."Peter nodded at everyone as they filed out. It was several minutesbefore Peter and his uncle had privacy. The captain held out his handand, when his nephew took it, clapped him on the shoulder, grinningproudly. "I knew you could do it," he exclaimed."I was inspired by recent events," Peter said, dryly."Obviously--but that doesn't take away from the fact that you kept yourhead, and figured it all out. You're going to make a great captainsomeday."The younger man shook his head. "With all due respect, Uncle Jim ... I'mquitting Command track today. I'm requesting reassignment to theStarfleet diplomatic corps.Ambassador Sarek is giving me a recommendation. Recent events have mademe realize that that's what I really want to do with my life."Kirk regarded his nephew intently for nearly a minute, then nodded."It's your choice, Peter, and I respect you for makin g a difficultdecision." Humor glinted in the hazel eyes. "You weren't influenced inyour decision by the notion of attending long diplomatic conferenceswith the Klingons, were you?"Peter grinned. "Let's just say that I'll be taking a lot more classes inKlingon language and culture," he admitted.The two fell into step and went out into the corridor, through thegleaming lobby of the Starfleet Academy."You're writing to her?" the captain asked."Yes ... and I got a reply last week. She's in school already and likesit. Sheg. taking a course in advanced Standard English!""By the time you two meet again, any language barrier should be a thingof the past," Kirk said, as they crossed the broad plaza that lay at thefoot of Starfleet's gleaming towers."By the time we meet again, let's hope a lot of barriers willbe a thing of the past," Peter said. "We'll both be working toward that,Uncle Jim." James Tiberius Kirk smiled at his brother's son. "It isn'toften that personal interest and duty coincide." Peter nodded. "But whenit does ... it's great.""I wish both of you the best of luck, Peter, I mean that." The youngerKirk smiled. "I know you do. And that means a lot to me, Uncle Jim.""And I want you to know something else," Jim admitted."I also think you would've been a hell of a starship captain." Peterbeamed. He knew that, in his uncle's eyes, this was the finestcompliment he could give anyone. "Thanks, Uncle Jim. But I'd never holda candle to you." The senior Kirk grinned and slapped his nephew on theback. The captain of the Enterprise quickened his pace."Come on ... everyone's waiting for us." Then, suddenly, the hazel eyestwinkled. "Ambassador Kirk, do you think?Someday?" Peter shrugged. "You never know ...""Ambassador Kirk ..." the captain muttered, trying it on for size. "Themore I say it, the better it sounds ... "Spock stood in the huge, skylighted conference chamber on the worldcalled Khitomer. The new peace conference boasted dozens of beings frommany worlds ... but not one Freelan. The absence of the cloaked andmasked delegates had been noted and commented upon, but only the memberworlds of the Federation Security Council knew the truth.In the weeks since the Enterprise had brought the captive Vulcans out ofthe Neutral Zone, the tensions in the galaxy had eased considerably. Theringleaders of the KEHL, including Lisa Tennant, had been arrested andcharged with breaking into the computer system at the Vulcan consulate,and for assaulting and abducting Peter Kirk. With its most dedicatedmembers out of action, the group was gradually returning to its statusas a harmless fringe organization.Azetbur's dramatic rescue operation against the Klingon renegades hadrestored the Federation's faith i the new chancellor, and this new peaceconference was a result.Scientists from many worlds had been asked to join with governmentaldelegates to advise the Federation on how best to help the Klingonhomeworld solve its many problems.Today's sessions had been devoted to discussion of how the effects ofPraxis's explosion on Qo'nos might be overcome. Tomorrow the agendaincluded the possibility of economic aid.The Vulcan was attending the conference as one of Starfleet'srepresentatives. He'd enjoyed the day's session; searching forscientific solutions to the problems facing Qo'nos was a stimulatingchallenge. Now, as the delegates milled around, talking in groups afterthe formal meetings had broken up, Spock searched the room for hisfather. He had not seen Sarek since his arrival yesterday."A good session today, don't you think, Captain Spock?" came a voicefrom behind him. Turning, Spock saw the new Romulan delegate, Pardek,standing beside him. The Vulcan had been somewhat surprised when theEmpire had sent a delegate to replace Nanclus, in light of recent eventswith Freelan, but, then, the Romulans had always excelled at talkingpeace while plotting war."I agree," he said. Pardek was a little older than the Vulcan, withrather heavy features and thick brow ridges.He was stocky and compactly built, with the air of one who has knownmilitary service. Not unusual in a Romulan."It is an honor to meet you, Captain," Pardek said. "Your name has been... prominent ... in the Empire for a long time, now." Spock raised aneyebrow, amused at the word choice."Indeed?" he asked dryly."You and your father both are well known to my government," Pardek said,and the Vulcan knew he hadn't missed the irony. "Especially in the lightof recent events." Spock had to conceal surprise that the Romulan wasbeing even this direct. "Recent events," Spock repeated, "have.certainly been ... stimulating.""Undeniably," Pardek agreed. "By the way ... what has become of thatradical organization that was causing Earth so much trouble in therecent past? That group of xenophobes.I have scanned nothing about it in the media reports for days."Spock slanted the Romulan an ironic glance, but Pardek remainedunruffled. "The Keep Earth Human League has been singularly quietlately," the Starfleet officer replied."The membership seems to be ... dissolving. Odd, isn't it?""Isn't it?" Pardek agreed, blandly. "I was thinking, Captain Spock. Adiscussion of ... recent events might prove interesting between us. An... unofficial discussion, you understand.""The human phrase for what you mean is 'off the record," DelegatePatrick.""I like that term." Pardek smiled faintly, reminiscently."English is such a colorful language ... so descriptive. I enjoyedlearning it.""You were saying there were matters you wished to discuss ... off therecord?"Pardek hesitated, then said, "Your name and your father's but especiallythe name of Sarek--have been on everyone's lips lately. Including thepraetor's?""For some reason," Spock said, "that does not surprise me. My father hasa ... friend ... who was setting off on a journey to see the praetor.Perhaps you know of him?"Pardek's fleshy features were carefully neutral. "Possibly," headmitted. "Are we speaking of someone in the military?""Yes. He is rather highly ranked."Pardek looked away. "'Was' is a more appropriate term, I fear.""Ah," Spock said. "I am ... grieved ... to hear you say that."Pardek raised an eyebrow. "But hardly surprised.""No.""It is regrettable," Pardek said, after a moment. "He was my friend,too.""Indeed?""Yes, I knew him for many years. And I cannot find it in myself tocondemn his actions in effecting the release of a number of captives.Far better," Pardek said thoughtfully,"to allow those who wished to leave to do so.""But not all of those in question chose to leave," Spock pointed out."Which concerns me. There was a possibility of ... bloodshed. Reprisal,on those who stayed.""I am pleased to tell you that no such tragedy has occurred," Pardeksaid earnestly. "The individuals who did not choose to leave have goneunderground, merging into the general population. No active search forthem has been mounted, under the circumstances. Most of the ones whostayed did so because they had married into Romulan families. Thepraetor understands this. He values public opinion, like any head ofstate.""Understandably. These individuals we are speaking of---" Spock began."Off the record, of course. Not in any official capacity ..." Pardekreminded him."Of course. These individuals ... they have successfully managed toinfiltrate, to mingle and become lost amid the rest of your society?""Quite successfully. It was remarkable how quickly they simply ...melted away. I suspect most of them have changed their names, and willsimply keep a low profile as a part of their Romulan families. They willraise their children, grow old ... live ordinary lives as respectablecitizens of the Empire. In time, they will be virtuallyindistinguishable from native-born Romulans.""The praetor is not searching for them?""Not at all. As long as none of them surface to cause trouble, I expectthat policy to continue.""Fascinating," Spock murmured. "Who knows how this ... mingling willaffect your people, in years to come ...""I have been wondering the same thing, Captain," the Romulan said."Perhaps this is not so surprising after all," Spock murmuredthoughtfully. "In days past, we were, after all, one people.""Millennia past," Parrick pointed out. "Still, as recent events haveshown, there are still ... cultural links.""Indeed," Spock agreed, thinking of the challenge and the senapa duel.Watching it had brought home to him, as nothing else ever had, thatVulcans and Romulans had once been one people. They were still far moresimilar than they were different, at least physically ..."Perhaps we might discuss our idea further. During the conference ...and afterward.""I would like that, Spock," the delegate said, and the Vulcan realizedthey were speaking almost as if they both took some kind of vow toexplore this concept together."After I return to Romulus ... perhaps we might stay in contact?Correspond?""I would be honored," Spock said."Spock?" A third voice reached them, and the Vulcan turned to see Sarekapproaching through the thinning crowd of diplomats.After quickly introducing his father to the Romulan delegate, Spockexcused himself to leave the chamber with his father. Together, theywalked out of the conference center and down the massive steps.As Sarek and his son walked down the steps leading from the conferencechamber, he reminded himself not to push the rapprochement between themwas still very fragile. It was extremely ... satisfactory ... tosimply walk beside his son again, shoulder to shoulder."For a first day, the negotiations went well," the ambassador observedas they strolled across a manicured lawn beneath a vivid blue sky. Inthe east, the sun was setting in a magnificent splash of coral andfuchsia."I agree," Spock replied. "It seems possible that Qo'nos the planet mayindeed be salvageable. Destruction of the ring would be a colossal task... but, given the time frame, it is feasible."Sarek nodded; then the curiosity he had been holding back overcame him.He searched for an appropriate opening."I was not expecting the Romulans to send a delegate," he began."I must admit I was surprised myself," Spock said.Then Spock hesitated, and his father gained the impression that he wasabout to say something, but changed his mind. "It has been nearly threeweeks since the Enterprise brought the captured Vulcans back to theirnative world," he observed. "Tell me, Father, how are they doing? Arethe efforts at reeducating them regarding the ethics of mental contactsucceeding?""Their teachers are optimistic," Sarek said. "Particularly since Savelseems to have emerged as a leader for them, and she is committed tousing her telepathic abilities ethically, to help others. She told methe last time I saw her that she intends to train to become a Healer,and work as a telepathic therapist. I am encouraged that the newcomerswill be able to adjust and prosper in our society.""I believe they can," Spock said. "I spent considerable time talkingwith Savel on the voyage back to Vulcan. She seems like a young personwith a great deal of potential. I was impressed by her.""Not as impressed as young Soran is," Sarek said dryly.Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? And does she return his interest?""My impression is that she does.""Soran is unbonded, is he not?""Yes. His parents did not hold with the tradition of bonding aschildren. That trend appears to be growing," Sarek said, thoughtfully."Then Soran is free.""For the moment," Sarek said, with a glint of humor in his dark eyes. "Ido not expect that state of affairs to continue for long, however."His son cocked an eyebrow at him, and there was an answering glint inhis own dark eyes.Reaching the edge of the park-like grounds, father and son halted towatch the sunset for a few minutes in silence. "Onthe whole," Spock said finally, "I am impressed with Pardek. He strikesme as an intelligent individual, one who is something of a visionary."Sarek glanced up at his son, realizing that Spock was deliberatelygranting him an opening. "Indeed? What makes you say that?""Our discussion at the end of today's session." Sarek raised an eyebrow."Yes? And what were you two discussing, if I may ask? You seemed veryintent.""We wre," Spock admitted. "We began by speaking about the K HL," hesaid, with a faint glimmer of humor."And then we moved on to speaking, off the record, about the youngVulcans who elected not to go with the Enterprise ... "Spock went on tosummarize that portion of the conversation with Pardek."Knowing that the praetor has decided to ignore their existence is goodnews," Sarek said, when his son had finished. "Did Pardek give any hintas to Taryn's fate?" Spock nodded, his expression darkening. "Taryn isdead, Father," he said. "I regret that I must be the one to tell you."Sarek closed his eyes briefly. "I have been expecting to discover that,"he said, heavily. "It is hardly a surprise, under the circumstances."Finally, Sarek took a deep breath and broke the resulting silence. "Wasit Taryn's fate that you and Pardek were speaking of so intently, as Iapproached?" His son slanted a sidelong glance at him. "Curious,Father?""I must admit that I am." Spock took a deep breath, and began walkingagain, in the general direction of the delegates' living quarters. "Verywell. Pardek was saying that it was surprising how easily the youngVulcans were able to adapt to Romulan society. I observed that, afterall, we were one people long ago." The officer hesitated, thencontinued, "I wonder if we might ever hope to be one people again."Sarek stopped in midstride and stared at the other, barely troubling toconceal his consternation. "My son, surely you are not serious.""Why not?" Spock's expression held a glint of stubborn resolve that hisfather well remembered. "We are working toward peace with the Klingons.Why not peace--and eventual cooperation--with the Romulans?" Sarekstruggled to repress his dismay. "You are speaking of ... a fusion ofthe two cultures?""Yes, I was ... although I concede that it would be ... difficult."The ambassador sighed, shaking his head. "Spock ... my son, do you haveany idea how unrealistically idealistic you sound? You are speaking ofRomulans, remember? They have grown so far apart from our ideals thatthere is no longer any common meeting ground, I assure you. Witnesstheir actions on Freelan--witness Nanclus's treachery and meddling!""Witness Taryn," Spock pointed out, quietly. "Witness his response toyour challenge. A challenge so old that both our peoples share it.""Taryn," Sarek reminded him curtly, "was a Vulcan.""He died a Romulan," Spock countered, with an edge in his voice,"upholding his concept of Romulan honor and duty." Sarek sighed. "Spock... Spock ... your dedication to the cause of peace does you credit,my son. But the entire notion is ... ridiculous.""I do not believe so. I intend to explore the concept with Pardek, but Ido not choose to discuss the topic further.Your mind is dosed, Father." Sarek's eyes flashed, but his featuresnever changed. "As you wish," he said, coldly. But then, thinking of howAmanda would react if she could hear them at the moment, the ambassadormodulated his tones, attempting to conciliate, using his best diplomaticmanner. "Perhaps you are right, Spock ... perhaps there is nothing tobe gained from discussing a subject on which we will never agree.But there are other topics we might discuss ... say, over dinner?" Hisson turned to regard him, his features cold and composed, but then, inresponse to what he saw in his father's eyes, they softenedfractionally, and he nodded."You are right. There are other topics." Spock's expression lightened."Very well, Father. At dinner, then," he agreed.Father and son walked on, together, as the shadows of evening lengthenedaround them.Sunrise on Vulcan ...Sarek stood alone in Amanda's garden, waiting for the first light ofdawn. As sunrise approached, the darkness of the sky was untouched,stars strewn everywhere--except behind the giant shape of Vulcan'ssister world. The Watcher was lit only by light reflected from Vulcan,and so was nearly invisible, a dark ashen color in its newness. Here inthe mountains near Gol, dawn came 1.6 hours late, delayed by theintervention of The Watcher.As the ambassador watched, a glow appeared on the upper limb of TheWatcher, subtle at first, but growing brighter. The Vulcan had seen manysunrises from orbit, and was always struck by the similarity to the wayVulcan's sun rose over T'Rukh. The sister planet's tenuous atmosphere,carrying enormous amounts of dust and SO from its myriad volcanoes,caught Nevasa's ruddy light in a thin layer like high cirrus clouds.Sarek turned and picked up a small container that had been resting onthe bench behind him. It was an ancient jar carved from white stone.His eyes fixed on the sky, Sarek ran his fingernail around the jar'sseal, opening it. Carefully, he worked the stopper loose. Above him, thearc of red spread outward; then, suddenly, the star itself appeared. Thehot glow grewbrighter, visibly swelling. Vulcan's sky brightened, hiding T'Rukhbehind rosy curtains of light. Slowly, as Nevasa came out of eclipse, adelicate down-curving crescent of light became visible, growing towardthe horizon. The stars faded, grew dim, disappeared.But they will return, Sarek thought. Tonight they will shineagain. The stars ... outlive us all.Dawn. It was time.Taking a deep breath, the Vulcan tilted the jar slightly, allowing someof the gray powder within it to fall. The morning breeze caught part ofit, wafting it away, but much fell, to land in the soil below.Sarek moved on a few steps, to a new location. This time he tilted thejar into his hand, letting the ashy powder fill his palm. This is thelast time I will touch her, he thought, clenching his fist around theash, grasping it as he would have her hand. By this time Nevasa hadrisen further, separating from the enormous arc that was T'Rukh, brightening the Vulcan sky to its normal, searing color.Day had begun.A time to gain, a time to lose ... Sarek thought, remembering one ofAmanda's favorite quotations. Slowly, one by one, he forced his fingersto open, letting the ash sift down, between them. Letting go.As the dawn breezes began to die, Sarek upended the jar, shaking it, sothe last trace of the ash within could sift out, to drift and finallysettle over the stones, the soil, the living plants from so many worlds.Farewell, Amanda ... The Vulcan's lips moved, but no sound emerged.Carefully, the ambassador replaced the stopper in the now-empty jar.Then, his steps slow but steady, he turned and left the silent gardenbehind.As I write this, it has been ten years since my first novel, Yesterday'sSon, was published. Since then, I've had an opportunity to meet many ofthe fans and stars who have helped to keep STAR TREK alive. Great fun... and most rewarding. Going to a STAR TREK convention is likeattending a family reunion.In writing Sarek, I've explored the planet Vulcan and its people morethan I ever did before. I feel privileged ... and content. As thoughI'd finally reached a formerly inaccessi ble spot between my artisticshoulder blades and given it a good scratching. Frankly, I've beenitching to write the scene of what actually happened the day Spock toldSarek he didn't want to attend the Vulcan Science Academy ever since Iwatched "Journey to Babel" in 1967. A chance to finally scratch atwenty-six-year itch!Sarek is the first of my novels to be published after Gene Roddenberry'sdeath (although the Great Bird knew that there was the possibility of astory about Sarek's life in the works, and was, my editors told me, infavor of the idea). All of us who love STAR TREK miss him, but it'sfitting and comforting that STAR TREK is continuing as a living legacyto his vision of the future.Every time I write a new STAR TREK novel, I get letters from peoplewondering if I write things other than STAR Trek
By A.C. CRISPIN
Synopsis
Sunset on Vulcan.
In the west, 40 Eridani A--Nevasa--was setting, staining the magenta sky
with swaths of deep amethyst, gold, and coral. But the tall figure
silhouetted against the sunset was blind to the glory behind him; Sarek
of Vulcan faced east, watching his world's sister world, T'Rukh, at full
phase. The giant planet orbited a mere 149,895.3579 Federation Standard
kilometers from her companion world--and filled thirty degrees of sky.
Because the two worlds were tidally locked, Vulcan's sister planet,
T'Rukh, was only visible from this side of Vulcan. Looming perpetually
against the high, jagged horizon, the giant world went through a full
set of phases each day. Only at sunset did the bloated sphere fully
reveal her ravaged visage.
Sarek had chosen this remote location for his mountain villa in part
because of its view of T'Rukh. Here at the edge of the civilized world,
the ambassador never tired of watching T'Rukh poised atop the Forge, an
inhospitable continent-sized plateau seven kilometers higher than the
rest of the planet. Few indeed were the individuals who saw the sister
world's whole face on a regular basis; only the ancient retreat and
shrine of Gol lay farther east than Sarek's villa.
The wind, cooling now that Nevasa had set, plucked at Sarek's
light-colored tunic and loose trousers. As he watched T'Rukh intently,
his lean, long-fingered hands tightened on the balustrade of the terrace
overlooking the eastern gardens. The ambassador was attempting to reach
a decision.
Logic versus ethics... Should the needs of the many outweigh the
conscience and honor of the one? Could he compromise what he knew to be
right, in order to accomplish what was necessary?
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
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Copyright 1994 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.
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Printed in the U.S.A.
To Michael Capobianco, with love
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many people helped me produce this book. With the caveat that any errors
are assuredly my own, I wish to thank
Mark Lenard, whose evocative portrayal of the character inspired Sarek.
Mark is a fine actor who is also a gracious and warm human being. He
took a personal interest in this novel from its earliest inception.
For technical information
Michael Capobianco, fellow author and amateur astronomer, for
information on planetary orbits, rings and the like. (Not to mention
driving me to the Fed Ex depot, faxing hunks of the manuscript, fixing
dinner and providing much-needed shoulder rubs and encouragement during
tough times.)
Irene Kress and Judy May, for information on the effects of stroke. ix
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS For STAR TREK brainstorming, viewpoint and lore
John Jobeck and Ellen Marie Konicki, my favorite Klingons
Margaret Wander Bonanno, my favorite Vulcan... well, my favorite female
Vulcan.
Marc Okrand, for inventing words and phrases in Klingonese when I needed
them. Thanks, Marc. Now I know what to say if I ever make love to a
Klingon!
For editorial advice and assistance
Kevin Ryan and John Ordover, the STAR TREK editors at Pocket Books.
And, for just Being There when I needed them
Vonda, Nancy, Merrilee, Liza, Deb and Teresa.
And last, but foremost, I have to thank my longtime friend and co-author
Kathleen O'Malley, who provided valuable editorial insight and
criticism... and much, much more. Without Kathy, I doubt this book would
have made it into print.
PROLOGUE
Sunset on Vulcan.
In the west, 40 Eridani A--Nevasa--was setting, staining the magenta sky
with swaths of deep amethyst, gold, and coral. But the tall figure
silhouetted against the sunset was blind to the glory behind him; Sarek
of Vulcan faced east, watching his world's sister world, T'Rukh, at full
phase. The giant planet orbited a mere 149,895.3579 Federation Standard
kilometers from her companion worldmand filled thirty degrees of sky.
Because the two worlds were tidally locked, Vulcan's sister planet,
T'Rukh, was only visible from this side of Vulcan. Looming perpetually
against the high, jagged horizon, the giant world went through a full
set of phases each day. Only at sunset did the bloated sphere fully
reveal her ravaged visage.
Sarek had chosen this remote location for his mountain villa in part
because of its view of T'Rulda. Here at the edge of the civilized world,
the ambassador never tired of watching T'Rukh poised atop the Forge, an
inhospitable continent-sized plateau seven kilometers higher than the
rest of the planet. Few indeed were the individuals who saw the sister
world's whole face on a regular basis; only the ancient retreat and
shrine of Gol lay farther east than Sarek's villa.
The wind, cooling now that Nevasa had set, plucked at Sarek's
light-colored tunic and loose trousers. As he watched T'Rukh intently,
his lean, long-fingered hands tightened on the balustrade of the terrace
overlooking the eastern gardens. The ambassador was attemptins to reach
a decision.
Logic versus ethics ... Should the needs of the many outweigh the
conscience and honor of the one? Could he compromise what he knew to be
right, in order to accomplish what was necessary?
Sarek gazed across the Plains of Gol, considering. Long ago, he had
studied with several of the Masters there. What would his teachers do if
they were in his place?
The ambassador drew a deep breath of the evening air, then let it out
slowly as he regarded the surrounding mountains. He had chosen this site
for his private retreat decades ago, when he and his second wife had
first been married. These remote hills were cooler, even during the
daylight hours, and thus easier for humans--in particular, one special
human--to endure than the scorching heat of the rest of his world.
Night deepened around Sarek as he watched T'Rukh.
Evening on this hemisphere of Vulcan did not bring darkness, though.
T'Rukh, the huge world humans called Charis, provided forty times the
light of Earth's full moon. At full phase, T'Rukh was a swollen
yellowish half-sphere, a dissipated eye that never blinked, even when
spumes and geysers of fire from her volcano-wracked surface penetrated
her cloud cover. Sarek noted absently that a new volcano had erupted
since yesterday; the large, fire-red dot resembled an inflamed abscess
on the planet's sulfuric countenance.
T'Rukh was only one of The Warchef's names; her name varied according to
the time of the Vulcan year. More than twice as large as Vulcan, T'Rukh
boasted a moon of her own in a low, fast-moving orbit. Tonight
T'Rukhemai (literally,
"Eye of The Watcher") was visible as a dark reddish sphere almost in the
center of the planet--a pupil in a giant eye.
The little worldlet, slightly larger than Earth's moon, or bited The
Watcher so quickly that its motion was almost perceptible to the naked
eye. Sarek watched The Watcher, and she stared back at him balefully.
It was his habit to stand here and watch The Watcher whenever he faced a
difficult decision. And the one he faced now was proving to be one of
the most difficult choices of his career. Logic chains ran through his
mind, presenting pros and cons relentlessly, over and over. Should he
act? The action he was contemplating went against all the rules of
diplomacy and interstellar law. How could he abandon those rules, he who
had devoted his life to upholding the tenets of civilized society?
But ... if he did not act, did not gain proof of the insidious threat
that faced the Federation, millions of innocent lives could well be
lost. Perhaps billions.
Sarek's mouth tightened. Proving his theory would require that he break
the law. How could he himself flout what he had helped engineer? And yet
... this was definitely a case where the needs of the many must be
considered. Could he risk the impending threat of war?
Sarek stared fixedly at The Watcher as he thought. Somewhere in the
distance, a lanka-gar called. The ambassador turned his head, catching
the wheeling shape of the night flier as it swooped after prey on the
slopes below.
Glancing over his shoulder, Sarek noted absently that the garish colors
of sunse t were muted now. In a few minutes they would be entirely gone,
and T'Rukh, though no longer full, would rule the night.
The breeze touched him again, chill against his cheek. By midnight it
would be cool even by human standards.
Even though the ambassador's aquiline features were composed, as usual,
his mind would not be still.
The logic chains flowed, slowed--and the equation crystallized in his
mind. The decision lay before him. In this case, logic and necessity
must outweigh ethical considerations.
Sarek nodded slightly at T'Rukh, bidding the giant planet farewell,
knowing that his decision would require that he journey offworld. The
Watcher would wax and wane without his presence for many nights. He
would leave as soon as possible.
Turning away from the vista before him, the ambassador headed back
toward the house, his strides quick and sure.
For a moment he envisioned Spock's reaction if he were to discover what
his father was planning, and experienced a flicker of amusement. His son
would be surprised, possibly shocked, if he knew that his sire was
logically and rationally planning to commit a crime. The ambassador had
little doubt that, in his place, Spock would choose the same course. But
his son was half-human--he'd long ago learned to dissemble, to
equivocate ... even to lie. Yes, Spock would condone his
decision--which, in a way, made his father's conscience trouble him even
more.
But there was no help for it--his logic was faultless. His course was
clear. He would not turn back.
Reaching the villa, a low, sprawling structure with thick, protective
walls, Sarek entered. The house was decorated for the most part in
typical Vulcan fashion, austere, with only the most essential
furnishings, but its very bareness lent a feeling of spacious comfort.
In the living room, presence of the villa's human occupant was reflected
in the antique desk with its faded petit-point chair, in the matching
coffee table, and in the handwoven hangings that lent soft touches of
rose, turquoise, and sea green to the walls. A water sculpture made a
faint susurration within the protective field that prevented evaporation
of the precious liquid.
Sarek paused in his office and contacted his young aide, Soran,
instructing him to make arrangements for them to travel offworld. The
Ambassador's office was devoid of ornamentation, except for the painting
of an icy world beneath a swollen red sun.
Next door to his office was the bedroom, and through that lay his wife's
sitting room, with its view of the eastern gardens. Sarek already knew
from the bond they shared that Amanda awaited him there. He hesitated
for a moment before the caryen portal leading into their room.
Knowing that his wife had sensed his presence through their bond, Sarek
opened the door and passed through the bedroom to the sitting room.
Amanda occupied her favorite chair as she sat gazing out at The Watcher
and the rocky spires of her garden.
The light from Vulcan's sister world shone on her face, revealing new
lines that had not been there a month ago.
Her bones seemed more prominent, the lines of cheekbones and nose
showing through flesh. He studied her for a moment, noting that Amanda's
flowing garment now clearly outlined the angles of her shoulders and
collarbone; she had never been a large woman, but during the past month
she had clearly lost weight from her already small frame.
"Sarek," she greeted her husband, her mental and audible voice filled
with warmth and welcome as she held out her hand to him.
"Greetings, my wife," the ambassador said, permitting himself the small
smile that he reserved for her alone.
Extending two fingers, he ceremoniously touched them to hers. The
gesture, so simple on a physical level, was, between a bonded couple,
capable of nearly infinite shades of meaning--at times merely a casual
acknowledgment, the mental equivalent of a peck on the cheek, at times
nearly as passionate as anything experienced in the throes ofponfarr.
Sarek's touch conveyed a depth of feeling that the ambassador had never
voiced, for speaking of such things in words, aloud, was not the Vulcan
way.
"Is it cool out tonight?" Amanda asked, gazing out at her garden. She
had planted it shortly after Spock's birth, using unusually shaped and
colored stones to complement the native Vulcan cactuslike trees, as well
as desert plants from a dozen Federation worlds.
"The temperature is normal for the season and time of day," Sarek
replied.
"I thought of joining you on the terrace," Amanda said, glancing out at
the garden, "but I must have fallen asleep. I only awoke when I felt
your presence next door."
Sarek sat down next to her, his gaze traveling over her features, noting
with disquiet how drawn and pale she appeared. And she tired so easily
these days ...
Concerned, the Vulcan raised the light level in the room, then studied
his wife's face intently. Even without The Watcher's eerie illumination,
Amanda appeared drawn and pale. No trace of pink remained in her cheeks,
once so rounded and healthy.
As she grew aware of his fixed regard, her blue eyes, once so direct,
refused to meet his own. She busied herself capping her old-fashioned
pen, then closing her journal and placing it back in the drawer of her
desk.
Sarek leaned closer to her, his eyes never leaving her countenance.
"Amanda," he said quietly, "I noted the other day that you appear to
have lost weight ... have you been feeling unwell, my wife?"
The thin shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "I expect I may have picked
up a cold, Sarek. Please don't worry about me. I will be fine."
The ambassador shook his head. "I want you to contact T'Mal, and arrange
for her to conduct a thorough evaluation of your physical condition."
Amanda glanced at him; then her eyes shifted quickly away. "All I need
is a few days' rest, Sarek. There is no need to visit my physician."
"Please allow the Healer to make such a judgment," Sarek said. "Promise
me that you will arrange to see her as soon as possible, Amanda."
She took a deep breath, and Sarek sensed through their bond that she was
struggling to keep some strong emotion from him. "I have a great deal to
accomplish this week," she demurred. "My editor wants to move up the
publication date for the new book. She told me today that there is a
tremendous amount of interest in having the writings of Surak's
followers translated."
"Indeed?"
"Yes," Amanda said, clearly warming to her subject, "and when I told her
about--"
"Amanda," Sarek interrupted, raising one hand, "you are changing the
subject deliberately. Do not think that I did not notice."
His wife opened her mouth to protest, then closed it abruptly and stared
fixedly at her hands. Sarek's concern sharpened. Amanda seemed to have
aged a decade in a matter of a few weeks.
"I regret that I must leave you, tomorrow morning," Sarek said. "I must
go to Earth to consult with the Vulcan consulate and arrange to meet
with the Federation president.
It will aid me in concentrating on my work if I know that T'Mal will be
monitoring your health while I must be away."
"You have to leave?" Amanda repeated, and something darkened her eyes.
Sarek tried to catch her emotion, but she had been studying Vulcan
mental disciplines as well as the Vulcan language for decades, and he
was unsuccessful.
"How ... how long will you be gone?"
"A week, possibly two," the ambassador said. "If I could postpone this,
I would, given your apparent ill health, but I cannot. The situation on
Earth regarding the KEHL has worsened considerably in the past weeks."
"I know," Amanda admitted. "It makes me ashamed of my whole planet--the
Keep Earth Human League used to be just a haven for ineffectual
crackpots and ignorant fools.
But today's news said there had been demonstrations in Paris in front of
the Vulcan consulate! It makes me furious!" For a moment her eyes
flashed sapphire with indignation, and she almost appeared her old self.
"Those idiots are trying to convince the entire planet that Vulcan is
responsible for every disaster from the Probe's devastation to the
Klingon raids along the Neutral Zone!"
"The KEHL does appear to be set on fomenting discord between my people
and yours," Sarek said. "I have not heard any reports of incidents at
the Andorian or Tellarite consulates."
"Do you believe that the KEHL's sudden renaissance is due to Valeris's
involvement with that secret cabal?" Amanda asked.
"The Terran news agencies certainly highlighted the Vulcan, Klingon, and
Romulan conspirators far more than they did the activities of Admiral
Cartwright or Colonel West when Chancellor Gorkon was assassinated and
the Khitomer Conference disrupted," Sarek conceded. "Which, under the
circumstances, is unfortunate, but not surprising."
His wife gazed at him intently. "Sarek ... does this resurgence of the
Keep Earth Human League have any connection with your current project?"
Sarek sat back in his seat and glanced out the window at T'Rukh, its
upper limb now shadowed. The ambassador was silent for nearly a minute
before he spoke. "I have reached a number of conclusions of late,
Amanda," he said. "I have a number of suspicions. However, I have no
evidence to support my theory that is not statistical, circumstantial,
or purely inferential. I need concrete proof before I can bring my
findings before the Federation officials and the president."
"And that's why you are going to Earth? To get some kind of proof?."
"Yes." After a moment, the ambassador amended, "If possible."
"I see." Amanda's mouth tightened, but she did not pursue her line of
questioning--which, almost more than the physical changes he had noted,
alarmed the ambassador.
If his wife had been feeling like herself, she would never have given up
so e asily. She would have kept after him until she'd satisfied her
curiosity. But now she leaned her head back against her chair, gazing
out at The Watcher in silence, her eyes half-closed with weariness.
Sarek's breath caught in his throat as he regarded her, and he
identified the feeling that had been growing within him ever since he
had entered the room.
Fear.
"Amanda," he said, keeping his voice from betraying any shade of
emotion, "I insist that you call the Healer and arrange to see her. If
you will not promise, I will postpone my trip a day and do so myself."
She gazed at him, and he sensed deep emotion through their bond.
Sorrow--but not for herself. Amanda's grief was for him. "Very well,
Sarek," she agreed, at long last.
"You have my word that I will make an appointment this week."
"You will call tomorrow?"
"Yes."
The ambassador drew a deep breath, somewhat relieved, but still
disquieted. "Perhaps I should call someone to stay with you while I am
gone," he said. "One of your friends, perhaps ..." Swiftly, he reviewed
options, and realized that most of his wife's human contemporaries had
died within the past several years. "Another possibility is our son.
Perhaps he could take leave, return home for a visit if I contacted--"
"No!" Amanda's voice was sharp and final. "I don't want you worrying our
son. There have been Klingon renegades raiding all along the Neutral
Zone, and I'm sure the Enterprise is one of the ships patrolling out
there."
"If Spock knew that you were feeling unwell--"
"Absolutely not," she said, in a quieter but even more positive tone. "I
expect you to respect my wishes in this, my husband," she added,
sternly.
Sarek hesitated. Amanda fixed him with a look. "My promise for yours,
Sarek. Do we have a bargain?"
The ambassador nodded. "Very well, Amanda. You will contact the Healer,
and I will not contact our son."
She nodded at him, her blue eyes softening until they were the color of
her homeworld's skies. "I wish you a safe journey, Sarek," she said, and
then added, with a faint, tender smile, "Whatever you're planning ... be
careful.
Never forget that I love you ... illogically and madly.
Remember that ... always."
The Vulcan gazed back at her, his eyes never leaving hers.
Slowly, formally, he held out two fingers. "I will be careful, my wife."
In response to his gesture, his wife's fingers brushed, then settled
against his own. The warmth of their bond enfolded them, eliminating the
need for spoken words.
Sarek of Vulcan stood at the window of the Vulcan consulate in San
Francisco, gazing out with growing disquiet. Today's demonstration by
the Keep Earth Human League had begun with only a few picketers, some
carrying homemade placards, others more sophisticated holosigns, but,
even in the short time he'd been standing there, the crowd had grown
rapidly.
Now a full score of shouting humans milled before the gateway. Sarek's
Vulcan hearing could easily make out what they were chanting "KEEP
EARTH HU-MAN! KEEP EARTH HU-MAN!" interspersed with occasional, strident
shouts of "VULCANS GO HOME!"
"Illogical," murmured a voice from beside him, and the Vulcan ambassador
glanced sideways to see his young aide, Soran, standing beside him, his
dark eyes troubled. "Last year, the Keep Earth Human League was
considered a refuge for weak-minded racists. I examined the records ...
there were no more than forty or fifty members on this entire planet.
But now, Federation Security estimates their numbers to be in the
thousands. Why this sudden growth, Ambassador?"
Sarek hesitated, on the verge of giving a vague answer, but instead
shook his head slightly, warningly.
"Ambassador Sarek?"
The two Vulcans turned as one of the young diplomatic attaches, Surev,
approached. A few minutes ago, the young Vulcan had asked the ambassador
if he could spare a moment to be introduced to a human friend of his,
and Sarek had graciously agreed. Now, however, Surev's unlined features
were even more somber than usual. "Ambassador, I believe we must cancel
the meeting I mentioned."
"Why?"
"I just received a communiqu6 from the Federation Security Office," he
announced. "The security chief, Watkins, asks that we stay inside the
building until they can dispatch sufficient officers to control the
crowd. It is not safe to go outside, and they say that under no
circumstances should you agree to meet with the KEHL leader,
Ambassador."
Sarek raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Has such a meeting been requested by
the leadership?"
Soran cleared his throat slightly. "As a matter of fact, it has, sir,"
he said. "A message arrived a few minutes ago from the demonstrators."
"Why was I not informed?" the ambassador demanded, turning to face
Soran. His aide was obviously taken aback by the question.
"Ambassador, I never considered that you might wish to accede to their
demand for a meeting--that would be most unwise. Possibly dangerous."
Soran sounded faintly aggrieved, and Sarek could not blame him. But his
aide, as yet, knew nothing of the ambassador's hidden agenda. He would
have to take Soran into his confidence today, Sarek decided.
He would need help when he made his next trip. And the youth was good
with computers--almost as talented as his own son. Those skills would
prove useful.
"Who requested the meeting?" Sarek asked.
"The planetary leader of the KEHL," Surev said. "His name--or, at least,
the name he goes by in the organization is Induna. He is from the
African nation of Kenya."
Sarek looked out the window again. Surev pointed to a human who stood
nearly a head above the others. "That is Induna," he said.
The Vulcan ambassador studied the imposing figure of a dark-skinned
human, who wore a silk robe brilliantly patterned in black and red. "I
will speak to him," he said, reaching a sudden decision. He needed more
information about the KEHL, and firsthand observation would not be
amiss.
"Ambassador--you must not! It is not safe, sir!" Soran half-barred the
doorway, struggling to maintain his composure in the face of what must
seem extremely anomalous behavior on the part of the senior diplomat.
Sarek merely looked at him for a long second. Soran hesitated, then
stepped silently out of the way. Surev half-bowed. "May I at least
accompany you as far as the gates, sir?"
Sarek nodded graciously. "Certainly, Surev."
Leaving the domed building and walking down the ramp, Sarek heard the
crowd as it caught sight of him, flanked by Surev and Soran. Insults
were hurled at the Vulcans, many of them personally directed toward the
ambassador himself.
The sight of Federation security officers around the fringes of the
crowd was reassuring.
The Vulcan approached the demonstrators, seeing that someone had closed
the gates to the consulate, which had always stood open before this.
Shouts and epithets filled the air
"They want to take over Earth! Spawn of the devil!"
"Dirty aliens, think they're so smart!"
"Go back to Vulcan!"
"Vulcans go home!"
Approaching the gateway, Sarek raised his voice to be heard. "I am
Ambassador Sarek," he called out. "I understand that Induna wishes to
speak with me. Which of you is Induna?"
In response, the crowd (which now numbered forty or fifty people)
parted, and the KEHL leader stepped forth. "t am Induna," he announced.
His voice was a deep, bass rumble.
"Greetings, Induna," Sarek said, raising his hand in the Vulcan salute.
"I wish you peace and long life."
"I accept no good wishes from Earth's enemy," Induna said coldly.
"I assure you that I wish only good relations between our worlds," Sarek
said. "I invite you to enter the gates, so we may speak together."
The man drew himself up, clearly antagonistic. "I have nothing to say to
you, Ambassador, that cannot be said within hearing of those who follow
me. And I refuse to speak with a being so cowardly that he hides behind
gates."
"I am not hiding, nor do I have anything to hide," Sarek corrected him,
his tones civil but firm. The ambassador heard shouts from the crowd,
but Induna appeared to be able to control his followers. "Very well,
then, I will come to you, so we may speak together like civilized
beings." Before either of his companions could remonstrate with him,
Sarek reached out and opened the gate. Head high, still flanked by the
young diplomats, he strode forward into the crowd, straight for Induna.
The moment he stepped into their midst, brushing against the
demonstrators, Sarek was nearly sickened by the miasma of hatred that he
sensed from the humans in the crowd.
His planet and this world had been allies and friends for over a
century. How could such a thing be happening now?
The KEHL leader was clearly taken aback as the ambassador approached
him, but recovered his aplomb quickly.
Turning to the crowd, he motioned for quiet--but instead
the shouting intensified.
"Vulcans go home!"
"Sarek sold out Earth to the Klingons!"
Induna gestured again, more peremptorily. "Let me speak to this Vulcan,
my friends and comrades," he ordered. "If I can make him see that he and
his kind have no place on our world, then he will leave Earth! We do not
want war, we want peace--they can keep to their planet, as we shall keep
to ours!"
The protesters closest to their leader obeyed, but others, farther back
in the crowd, continued to hurl abuse.
"Go back to Vulcan?
"Vulcans go home! Vulcans go home!"
The crowd surged wildly, and then someone threw a clod of dirt. Other
refuse followed. Sarek smelled rotting vegetables.
"Stop!" Induna shouted, and the missiles halted--but the crowd was
clearly getting out of control. "Quiet down!" the leader commanded. The
noise abated slightly.
"We have no designs on your world," Sarek cried, raising his voice to be
heard above the demonstrators. "Our species have been allies for
decades. We--"
"Go back to Vulcan, damn you!"
The angry shriek cut through Sarek's voice like a knife.
The crowd swelled and heaved like a storm-tossed sea.
"She's right! Go home!" screamed another protester. "Devil's spawn!"
yelled yet another.
"Quiet!" Induna roared. "Let us speak--"
But the leader's words were lost as the crowd surged forward. Missiles
filled the air. An egg spattered against Soran's robe. "Filthy aliens!"
screamed an old woman.
The missiles grew harder, more dangerous. A rock struck Sarek on the arm
with force enough to bruise. He flinched back, realized that Induna was
still yelling for the crowd to quiet down, and knew the KEHL leader had
lost all control of the mob--for mob it now was.
Federation security officers moved in with crowd-control stunners and
forcefields. Sarek was shoved, hit hard on the back; he turned and
grappled momentarily with his attacker.
With a quick thrust, he shoved the woman aside.
As the mob surged, shrieking and yelling, the Vulcan and Induna were
thrust almost into each other's arms. Sarek struggled to free himself,
felt the KEHL leader flail at him, whether out of fear or anger, he
couldn't tell. It no longer mattered. Sarek's hand came up, searching
for the correct location at the juncture of the human's neck and
shoulder.
Steely-hard fingers grasped, then squeezed--Induna sagged forward
bonelessly.
But Sarek did not release his grip on the leader's shoulder.
He fell to his knees, half-supporting the big human, his breath catching
in his throat. He, like most Vulcans, was a touch-telepath, and the
moment his fingers closed on Induna's flesh, Sarek had received flashes
of the human's mental state--
flashes that literally staggered him.
Induna was not acting entirely of his own volition, Sarek realized,
stunned by his discovery. The KEHL leader was under the influence of a
trained telepathic presence. Using expert mental techniques, the unknown
telepath had inflamed this man's tiny core of xenophobia into a raging
firestorm of hatred and bigotry.
On his own, Induna would never have been more than mildly distrustful of
Vulcans and other extraterrestrials.
Someone had exploited his incipient xenophobia, someone expert enough to
enter his thoughts and influence them so gradually, so patiently, that
the subject came to believe that everything in his mind had originated
there.
Someone had molded and influenced and delicately reshaped this human's
innermost desires and fears into all-out species bigotry--
and that someone was Vulcan.
Sarek could scarcely believe the evidence of his own senses. Such mental
influence was contrary to every ethical and moral tenet his people had
developed over millennia of civilized existence.
But he could not have been mistaken about the mental "signature" the
telepath had left on Induna's mind. Sarek came back to the here-and-now,
blinking, and realized that he was crouched in the center of a fighting,
trampling mob.
Induna still sagged against him. The ambassador struggled back to his
feet, heaving the KEHL leader up with him, lest his unconscious body be
crushed in the frenzy.
Even as he gained his feet, he was nearly knocked down again by the
panicked rush of retreating demonstrators.
Federation Security was routing the mob, stunning many and taking them
into custody. Others were running away at full speed. In only seconds,
it seemed, he was left alone, still supporting the KEHL leader's
unconscious form. Soran and Surer were still on their feet, nearby. Both
young Vulcans had obviously been in the thick of the fray--their robes
and hair were disheveled, and Soran was bleeding from a cut over his
eye.
"We're terribly sorry about this, Ambassador Sarek!" exclaimed the head
of the Federation security force, as he was hastening toward the
Vulcans. "But we warned the consulate against having any contact with
the demonstrators!"
"Your warning was received," Sarek said. "I chose to attempt to speak
with the protesters personally. The decision was mine alone. I take full
responsibility."
The human glanced sharply at the unconscious KEHL leader. "Is that
lnduna?"
Sarek nodded.
"We'll take him into custody, Ambassador," the officer said, reaching
for the leader's limp figure. Sarek surrendered him to the authorities.
"I wish to state for the record," the ambassador said,
"that this man did not order the mob to attack us. In fact, he ordered
them to desist, but they did not obey."
"Okay, Ambassador," the officer said, beckoning to a subordinate with a
stretcher, "I'll be sure to put that in my report."
Sarek stood for a second longer, watching as Induna was placed in one of
the emergency vehicles. Then he turned back to the two young Vulcans.
"Let us go back inside," he said.
Safe once more behind the closed and electronically locked gates, Sarek
dismissed young Surev to his duties, then turned to Soran. "As the
humans would say, "One more piece has been added to the puzzle.'"
The young Vulcan raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "Indeed, Ambassador? To
what puzzle are you referring?"
"The puzzle that has occupied me for over a year now," Sarek said.
"There is a great deal to tell you, Soran. Let us walk in the garden,
and talk. The weather is pleasant, today."
The young Vulcan seemed surprised. "You do not wish to go inside,
Ambassador?"
Sarek shook his head. "I will be able to speak more ... freely ... in
the garden, near the water sculpture," he said.
The youth stared at him for a moment; then his eyes widened
fractionally. "You suspect listening devices, sir?"
"Under the circumstances," the ambassador said, gravely,
"I would prefer to take no chances that what I am about to impart to you
will be overheard."
Together, they walked around the curving path that circled the
consulate, and were soon in a stone garden modeled on those on Vulcan.
Sarek was reminded vividly of Amanda's garden, and wondered, briefly,
what her visit to the Healer might have revealed. "What do you know of
the Freelans, Soran?" Sarek asked.
The youth cleared his throat slightly. "Freelan ... an isolated world
located in the middle of the Romulan Neutral Zone. Perhaps surprisingly,
the Romulans have never laid claim to the planet, possibly because it is
so inhospitable and remote. Freelan exists in the grip of an extensive
ice age, with only the equatorial regions supporting life and
agriculture.
The technological level of the inhabitants is high, especially in the
cryogenic sciences and related products, but Freelan is resource-poor."
"Correct," Sarek said. "For someone who has only been my aide for
forty-seven point six Standard days, you are well informed, Soran."
"You have been the diplomatic liaison between Freelan and the Federation
for seventy-two point seven Standard years, Ambassador. It is my
responsibility to be familiar with all your duties," the aide responded.
Sarek nodded approvingly.
"Freelan," Sarek said quietly, "is, as you probably also know, something
of an enigma."
Sarek was deliberately understating the situation. Freelan was unique in
the explored galaxy. The Freelans did not possess space travel of their
own, but their contacts with the Federation had, for decades, led to
their world being included as a regular stop on local trade routes. The
planet had never affiliated itself with any political or diplomatic
alliance.
Freelan was not a member of the Federation, though it did send delegates
to many trade, scientific, and diplomatic conferences. Its delegates,
however, remained scrupulously neutral in all their dealings and
contacts with other planets.
Cultural exchanges between Freelan and other worlds were virtually
nonexistent, due to the Freelan taboo--religious or cultural, no one
knew which--that prohibited Freelans from revealing their faces or
bodies. When the natives had any contact with anyone not of their world,
they shrouded themselves in concealing garments. Their muffling cloaks,
hoods, and masks were made from material impregnated with selonite,
which prevented them from being scanned by tricorders or medical
sensors.
Those wishing to meet with a Freelan on business or diplomatic matters
had to travel to the mysterious world, where the Freelans maintained a
space station to accommodate "guests." The station was fully automated,
and all meetings were conducted via comm link with the surface below.
Other than that concession to outside contact, Freelan remained a closed
world. No offworlder had ever landed on Freelan.
All that was known of the reclusive race that lived there was that they
were bipedal, and roughly humanoid-shaped, with two arms. All else was
conjecture.
"I had never encountered a Freelan personally," Soran said, "until I
attended the conference at Camp Khitomer last month."
"Did you actually speak to the Freelan envoy?" Sarek asked.
"No, sir. As you 'know, the Freelans are not noted for mingling with
people from other worlds. I did, however, meet the envoy's aide, a young
Vulcan woman who introduced herself as Savel. During the evening break,
we passed time by playing a game of chess."
The ambassador raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? It is common for Freelans to
employ young Vulcans as aides. So you played chess with this Savel? Who
won?"
Soran cleared his throat. "I did, sir. However, I found her a ...
challenging ... opponent."
"I see," Sarek remarked, mildly, noting, with amusement, that his young
aide was not meeting his eyes. "I have, for years, played chess with the
diplomatic liaison from Freelan.
Taryn is a formidable opponent. This ... Savel ... I believe I recall
her. Short hair? Slender figure? Wearing a silver tunic and trousers?"
"Yes, Ambassador," Soran said, shifting sligh tly on the bench. The young
Vulcan was clearly uncomfortable under Sarek's regard.
The elder Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. I am not surprised that you
... enjoyed your game. You are unbonded, are you not, Soran?"
The young Vulcan nodded. "Yes, Ambassador. My family does not ascribe to
the ancient tradition of bonding while children. My parents chose each
other as adults."
"I assume from her name that Savel was also unbonded?" Sarek inquired,
blandly. Most young Vulcan women altered their names with the T' prefix
when they became betrothed.
"That is what I gathered from our time together," Soran said, somewhat
puzzled by the ambassador's continuing interest in his brief encounter.
"I found the information that she was unbonded ... to be of interest."
He cleared his throat again. "Of interest to me personally, that is."
Sarek nodded encouragingly. "I do not find that fact surprising. Savel
appeared ... quite intelligent."
"Yes," Soran agreed. "However, Ambassador, there was something ... odd
about her."
Sarek was not surprised to discover this. Under the circumstances, he
had been expecting as much. "What was that?" he inquired.
"I ... enjoyed ... the time I spent with Savel," Soran admitted. "I
wished to encounter her again, but I realized, when the conference
ended, that I had no way to contact her. Freelans curtail their
interactions with the outside world, as you know. So, when we returned
home, I made inquiries, intending to discover Savel's family, in the
event they would consent to forward a message from me."
Sarek leaned forward, suddenly intent. "And what did you discover?"
The youth took a deep breath and met the ambassador's eyes squarely.
"Sir, there was no record of a"Sayel' being born on Vulcan within the
last thirty years. According to Vulcan records--and you know how
complete they are--no such person exists."
Sarek nodded, his suspicion confirmed. "Soran ... what I have to tell
you now must remain strictly between us."
"Understood."
"For some time I have become increasingly suspicious of the Freelans. I
believe they are ... not what they seem.
During the last year of studying them and their system, I have come to
believe that Freelan presents a serious threat to the peace that
currently exists in the galaxy."
"The Freelans, sir?" Soran did not succeed in concealing his surprise.
"How could that be?"
"I do not wish to prejudice you any more than is necessary to gain your
help, Soran. I would prefer that you draw your own conclusions, as a
check on my own logic," Sarek said. "Suffice it to say that I believe
the Freelans constitute a threat to the Federation, and I intend to gain
proof of that threat before I can present my findings to President
Ra-ghoratrei." Sarek paused. "When I first arrived, I had thought to
speak with the Federation president of my suspicions ... but he is
currently offworld, and will not return for nearly a week. By the time
he returns, I anticipate having the proof I need."
"But surely you could speak to the undersecretary, or Madame Chairman of
the Security Council," Soran asked,
"if this threat is as grave as you believe?"
Sarek hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Soran ... today I gained
proof--not demonstrable proof, except to a telepath, unfortunately--that
undue mental influence may be at work on this world ... and possibly
others. As a matter of fact ..." Sarek stared intently into the other's
face. "If you will permit me?" He raised his hand in a meaningful
gesture.
Soran, catching his intention, nodded permission. Sarek gently touched
the side of his face for a moment, then nodded. "Your thoughts are
entirely your own," he confirmed.-
Soran nodded. "So you intend to gain proof while the president is
offworld, then present it to him upon his return?"
"If possible. I will require your help, Soran," the ambassador said. As
the youth started to speak, he held up a warning hand. "I must caution
you, before you agree too quickly ... gaining the proof I seek will
require that we travel to Freelan and infiltrate the memory banks of
their planetary computer system."
Soran's eyes widened. "Espionage? You intend to commit espionage,
Ambassador? But that is ..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
"An interstellar crime, as well as a violation of every law of
diplomacy. I know," Sarek said, heavily. "Nevertheless, I have
determined it is necessary in this instance. Will you help me? If you
say no, I will understand, and ask only that you say nothing of this to
anyone."
The youth took a deep breath, and his eyes never left the ambassador's.
"Serving as your aide is an honor I have aspired to for years, sir. If
you have determined that your intended course of action is necessary to
preserve the safety of the Federation, then it will be my privilege to
assist you in gaining your proof."
Sarek nodded at the youth, genuinely touched by his loyalty. "Thank you,
Soran. I will contact Liaison Taryn and arrange a meeting to review the
current trade policies between Freelan and Vulcan. If he agrees to the
meeting--and there is no reason why he should not--I wish to embark for
the Freelan space station tomorrow."
"I will make the necessary arrangements, Ambassador." Sarek nodded, and
remained sitting in the garden as his aide left, moving quickly. Slowly,
the ambassador climbed to his feet, and walked back around the consulate
to stare thoughtfully at the area outside the gates. Discarded holosigns
and placards still littered the area, but all the demonstrators were
gone ... where?
Sarek, remembering the shock of touching Induna's altered mind,
repressed a shiver. The sun had vanished behind clouds, and the breeze
was now chilly ...
Peter James Kirk rifled through the selection of clothes available to
him and swore impatiently. This is ridiculous, he told himself, and
reached for a clean uniform. You don't spend this much time dressing for
a date!Or did he? It'd been long enough since his last real date that it
was hard to remember. Running a hand through his sandy-red hair, he
sighed disgustedly. Well, maybe you do. Who cares? Make a decision, and
let get out of here. He'd be late if he didn't hurry.
Your big chance to finally meet Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan, he thought,
feeling a flare of nervous excitement, followed by chagrin. Yeah, and
won't he be impressed if you're late?
He'd first become acquainted with Sarek through the Vulcan's writings
and speeches, some of which were mandatory reading at Starfleet Academy,
where Peter was currently a senior cadet. Then, when he'd attended a
talk the diplomat gave at the Academy two years ago, Peter had found
Sarek's approach to diplomacy so interesting, he'd studied the
ambassador's eminent career during his spare time. Having met the
ambassador's son many times gave his interest a personal aspect.
It was ironic, really. His uncle, Jim Kirk, had spent years working
beside Sarek's son, Captain Spock. If things had worked out right, no
doubt Spock, whom he'd met many times during his uncle's sporadic
visits, would've been happy--or the Vulcan equivalent--to have
introduced Peter to his father. If things had worked out right ...
Well, Peter mused, things had worked out well enough for someone who'd
lost his parents tragically at the age of seven.
He glanced at their picture, taken on Deneva just months before their
deaths. George Samuel and Aurelan Kirk were laughing, their hands on
their gangly son's shoulder. Their twenty-five-year-old mementos still
traveled everywhere with him, and thanks to family albums and vid
records,
Peter had a clear recall of his mother's voice, his father's sense of
humor, although his actual rearing had been entrusted to his late
grandmother, Winona Kirk.
Peter was nearly halfa head taller than his uncle, and built on slender,
rather than stocky, lines. His hair, which as a boy had been a deep
auburn, had lightened over the years to a sandy red. Much to his relief,
his freckles had also faded, though any exposure to the sun brought out
a rash of them across his nose and cheeks. His eyes were a bright, clear
blue, like Earth's sky at midday. Until his mid-twenties, he'd been
gangling and awkward, but the years--and Starfleet's self-defense
training--had solved most of that.
These days Peter moved confidently, even, at times, gracefully.
He'd inherited his looks from his mother, but the rest of the Kirk
legacy that sometimes sat too heavily on his shoulders came straight
from Uncle Jim. Staring at the cadet's uniform he was holding, Peter
wondered if that was why, at the age of thirty-two, he was still in
school.
Peter Kirk hadn't decided on a career in Starfleet until he was in his
mid-twenties--almost a decade after most cadets entered the Academy.
He'd spent that decade attending the best colleges, gaining degrees in
xenolinguistics and xenocultural interfaces with minors in
Terran/xenopolitical interaction, before deciding that he would finally
follow the family tradition and join Starfleet. While Uncle Jim had
always encouraged his varied interests, and never tried to influence his
choice of careers, everyone else had automatically assumed he'd pursue
Command track. He'd done so, though Peter was sure that he'd never
possess his uncle's calm air of command.
We'll find out soon enough if you're a real Kirk, Peter told himself
mockingly. After all the degrees, all the varied quests for knowledge,
and these last few years in Starfleet Academy, Peter was, at last, in
the final stretch. The past two weeks had been one grueling exam after
another--most of which he'd aced. Just like a real Kirk. He'd had one
just this morning, and that, too, he'd completed successfully.
Now there were only two more to go. One tomorrow, and the last a week
from Friday. Then, three d ays after that, the final. The big one. The
Kobayashi Maru.
He realized he was crushing the clean uniform in his hands and put it
back. Why did he have to think about that now?
Because you can't ignore it anymore, it's just a few days away. They've
completely reprogrammed the simulation.
There's a whole new situation, a whole new setup--and nobody knows
anything about it. But that hasn't stopped them from taking bets as to
whether or not you'll be the second Kirk to beat the no-win scenario. He
rubbed his face tiredly. He had to stop worrying about it. It was just
another test. Wasn't it?
The odds are twenty to one against you. Just being a Kirk isn't any
guarantee of success, mister.
He shook his head, trying to shed his pessimistic musings.
The chrono chimed softly, yanking him back to his immediate problem. He
had to get ready for lunch. He was meeting Surev, a young Vulcan he'd
befriended while researching Sarek's work. Surev had invited him to have
a meal at the Vulcan consulate because Sarek might be there, having
arrived yesterday. Surev was distantly related to Sarek's aide, and
while he was careful not to make a commitment, the young Vulcan thought
he might be able to arrange an introduction. Peter was really looking
forward to shaking hands (or rather, offering the Vulcan salute) to the
diplomat he so admired. Lunch at the Vulcan consulate would provide a
welcome respite from the drudgery of studying and finals. Maybe, for
just an hour, he could forget about that damned Kobayashi Maru.
That2 what you need to do, just forget about it, Peter decided. Forget
about the Academy, Uncle Jim, ancient history, the whole thing. Reaching
into his closet, he grabbed a stylish suit, a piece of "civilian" garb
he hadn't worn in months. He wanted to seem totally professional in ease
he was introduced to Sarek. Peter wasn't normally self-conscious about
being an older cadet, but today he didn't want to risk being prejudged.
He didn't want to be Peter Kirk, Jim Kirk's nephew who's only now
graduating Starfleet Academy. He just wanted to be another Terran who
could discuss some of Sarek's ideas with him knowledgeably.
Donning the suit quickly, he smiled. The colors made his eyes bluer.
Hey, who knows? he thought wryly. You can meet a lot of interesting
people at the Vulcan consulate. I've seen some really nice-looking
female attachds going in and out ... Of course, that was an area where
he and Uncle Jim differed. Unlike the elder Kirk, Peter's luck with
women was less than fabulous. Maybe that's something that comes with
age.
As he adjusted the suit so that it hung right, then quickly combed his
hair, he turned on the vid link to catch a glimpse of the news. Sarek
might be featured on the noon report.
Instructing the link to search for any reports about Vulcans, Peter
tensed when the headline EMBASSY PROTEST flashed on the link.
As Peter watched, images of San Francisco's Vulcan consulate--his
current destination--filled the screen.
"The Vulcan presence on Earth," a fair-haired, attractive female
reporter said solemnly, "has rarely generated controversy, but the peace
that normally surrounds this quiet enclave was shattered today as the
Keep Earth Human League announced their intentions to surround the
consulate day and night."
Peter stood transfixed as the view of the front entrance of the stately
domed building came on-screen. A group of humans were clustered before
the elegant gates, at least three dozen men and women, more than a few
holding small children. Some carried traditional placards mounted on
poles, while the rest brandished the more common holosigns. The image
focused on one nondescript bearded man who had a holosign hovering over
him that read, EARTH
BELONGS TO HUMANS--LET'S KEEP IT THAT WAY! Another sign came into view
that said, JOIN THE KEEP EARTH HUMAN LEAGUE TODAY!--SAVE EARTH FOR YOUR
CHILDREN!
Peter stared in consternation, although this wasn't the first time he'd
heard of the KEHL. But he'd had no idea that this fringe-lement movement
had been able to lure in enough members to mount such a large
demonstration.
The reporter approached an attractive young woman in a shiny silver coat
whose holosign read, VULCAS Trunk Tmy'RE
O SMART--AREN'T YOU SICK OF BEING PATRONIZED? Beside her stood a young
boy with a hand-lettered sandwich board that simply demanded, VULCANS
C,O HOME!
"Excuse me, Lisa Termant," the reporter asked the woman respectfully.
"You're one of the leaders of the San Francisco branch of KEHL. Tell our
viewers why your organization is staging this vigil in front of the
Vulcan consulate."
"Members of the Keep Earth Human League are Terrans who have finally
come to their senses," the woman told the journalist earnestly. She was
of medium height, a little stocky, with dark skin and big black eyes.
Her features were chiseled and delicate, except for a rather square
chin, and she moved with confidence, as though she knew exactly what she
was doing in life and how to go about it.
"Our president, Induna," the demonstrator continued,
"has called for a show of our support, so we have assembled." She
indicated a tall, very dark-skinned man, probably African, who was
standing near the consulate gates, lecturing to the crowd. "Vulcans are
trying to take over our Federation, and make humans into second-class
citizens," Termant continued. "We won't stand for it any longer!"
"But, Ms. Tennant," the journalist continued reasonably,
"most Terrans consider Vulcans our loyal friends, our closest allies.
Many of Earth's politicians have been quoted as saying that we need
them, that they're the most civilized people in the galaxy."
"I doubt seriously," the woman retorted coolly, "that we need friends
the likes of Lieutenant Valeris. It's clear to us that she was the
ringleader of the terrible plot against Earth, that she was working for
the renegade Klingon general, Chang."
Peter shook his head. The Romulan ambassador, Nanclus, and the two
Starfleet officers, Admiral Cartwright and Colonel West, had also
conspired with General Chang to assassinate the Klingon chancellor,
Gorkon. Uncle Jim and his medical officer, Leonard McCoy, had been
falsely accused and convicted of the crime, then sentenced to hard labor
on the prison planet, Rura Penthe. It was strange, Peter thought, that,
although the crime had only happened a month or so ago, the public's
memory of those events appeared to be altering. Lately, even the media
had a tendency to downplay the roles played by the humans and the
Romulan, making it seem that General Chang and Lieutenant Valeris were
solely responsible.
"Lieutenant Valeris," the KEHL leader continued, "is merely an example
of the kind of subtle espionage Vulcans have been guilty of for years.
But now the KEHL is on to them. There are chapters of the KEHL springing
up all over--even on some of the Terran colonies. And we know exactly
what we're dealing with!"
"What do you mean?" the journalist pressed.
"Everyone knows," Termant elaborated, "that Vulcans are telepaths.
Lately, it's becoming increasingly obvious that they're using their
abilities to influence minds, and make susceptible humans do things
against their own kind!
Those politicians that are so quick to defend Vulcans are, no doubt,
their unwitting victims. After all, everyone knows how easy it is to
influence a politician's mind!"
Hard to argue with that, Peter admitted grudgingly. But the notion that
Vulcans would use their telepathy in such an unethical way outraged him.
"The Keep Earth Human League is gaining new members every day," Termant
told the reporter smugly. "We are funding our own candidates to run in
local elections, people who are not so easily influenced. It's only a
matter of time before the Vulcan conspiracy is completely exposed. Our
vigil here is to let them know their days on Earth are numberedt"
The woman's self-assurance shocked Peter. She didn't have that wild-eyed
look of lunacy he usually associated with the off-kilter KEHL.
An old woman suddenly stepped in front of the reporter, demanding the
journalist's attention. "Vulcans are the spawn of the devil," she hissed
viciously. "Satan marked 'em as his own, anyone can see that. Don't you
have eyes, woman?"
Now, that had to be a founding member, Peter thought.
He realized his jaw ached from clenching his teeth. Didn't these people
realize how crazy they sounded? What was wrong with them?
The crowd rallied around the Tennant woman. "Keep Earth Hu-man! Keep
Earth Hu-man!" they chanted. Angrily, Peter slapped the vid off switch.
Why did those nuts have to picket the consulate today, when Sarek would
be there?
Good thing the Federation provided security to all offworld embassies
and consulates. He felt confident that Security had the situation well
under control. Yet, even though the vid link was now silent, Peter
imagined that he could still hear that hate-filled mantra.
As the cadet left his room to head for the consulate, he found himself
mulling over the news report. The KEHL had been around for centuries,
ever since Zefram Cochrane invented the warp drive, and humans made it
into space and met the Vulcans for the first time. It was nothing more
than a small group of hard-line xenophobes. But lately, the KEHL was
another story altogether. He wondered if Starfleet Security was mounting
an investigation of their recent activities. If the KEHL kept gamering
members and publicity at the same rate in the coming months, they could
turn out to be a real problem.
Peter moved quickly out of his apartment and onto the streets that
surrounded the Academy. If he hustled, he could still arrive in time to
meet Surev.
As young Kirk turned the corner to approach the familiar consulate, he
was shocked to find that the crowd of protesters he 'd watched on the
noon report had grown even larger.
While some of the people massing around the curving, neutral-colored
compound must have been simply curious onlookers, there were now so many
holosigns that the floating messages were blending all together into a
huge mass of gibberish.
Peter slowed as he neared the gates, watching the Starfleet Security
forces as they worked to keep the crowd from getting too close to the
entrance. Was the mob actually going to rush the gates? Near the
sculptured metal portal Peter spied Surev, but the Vulcan wasn't looking
toward him, so he didn't bother to wave. Surev's attention was turned in
the opposite direction, and Peter peered to see what he was looking at.
He squinted. Was that ... could that possibly be ... Sarek himself?.
Peter realized it was the ambassador himself standing safely behind the
gates, with his aide, Soran. Surev had arranged it! He was actually
about to meet Sarek!
As Peter tried to skirt the fringes of the throng, a tall figure pushed
his way through the opening crowd. Peter recognized the president of the
KEHL.
Now Sarek and the KEHL president were face-to-face.
Starfleet Security drew closer to the crowd. Shouts filled the air.
"GO BACK TO VULCAN[ STOP SELLING OUT EARTH FOR VULCAN INTERESTS!" three
KEHL members shouted in unison.
"Back to Vulcan! Back to Vulcan!" the crowd chanted, surging forward
threateningly.
Sarek was the picture of composure as he stood straight and tall in his
Vulcan robes, his face the epitome of Vulcan control. Both Surev and
Soran were young men, and their control was not nearly as perfect as the
elder Vulcan's. Even from this distance, Peter could see the two younger
Vulcans conferring with each other behind the ambassador's back, concern
plain to read on their faces. Sarek merely nodded serenely. Then, to
Peter's dismay, the ambassador opened the gate and calmly strode out
into the crowd.
Dimly, he heard the KEHL leader telling the crowd to quiet down, but it
was no use. A minute later, the mob completely broke ranks. They surged
forward wildly, screaming, throwing things, overwhelming the outnumbered
security forces. Within seconds the protesters had completely enveloped
both Sarek and the two younger Vulcans.
"NO!" Peter shouted frantically, and flung himself unheedingly into the
thick of the mob. Furious and sickened, he charged his way bodily
through the crowd, shoving, pushing, not caring whether he crushed feet,
or sent the bigots staggering. He had to do something to help Ambassador
Sarek!
For a brief instant he found himself tantalizingly close to his goal. He
glimpsed the ambassador's formal brown and gold robes only a meter or
two away. By now the crowd was in a frenzy, hurling refuse and rotting
vegetables at the beleaguered Vulcans. As a man beside Peter took aim
with a fist-sized rock, the young Kirk managed to surge forward and
knock his arm so that the rock landed on another KEHL member instead.
Sarek's young assistants were defending themselves ably, and even the
ambassador sent an attacker flying.
Almost at the same instant, Peter heard the whine of transporter beams,
and knew that the Federation security forces must have beamed in
reinforcements. The officers were busily using crowd-control stunners
and forcefields, careful not to catch the struggling Vulcans in the
beams.
Suddenly, Peter saw Sarek grappling with the KEHL president. To the
young Kirk's relief, the Vulcan handled the tall human easily, rendering
him helpless with a quick neck pinch. For just a second, Peter thought
he saw a flicker of surprise pass over the ambassador's normally calm
expression; then both attacker and Vulcan were lost to sight in the
press of the crowd.
Three KEHL members next to Peter suddenly collapsed, unconscious, and
the cadet realized that he might be next.
He was wearing civilian clothes instead of his uniform, so there was no
way anyone could differentiate him from these lunatics! In fact, there
was a very good chance he was about to be arrested, if not stunned,
mistaken for a KEHL member. He searched for Surer, desperately wanting
to get his attention. The Vulcan could vouch for him ...
Out of the corner of his eye he spied a security officer taking dead aim
at him.
"Hurry! Come with me, now.t" a female voice shouted in his ear, at the
same time a strong hand grasped his suit sleeve and hauled him back. Two
people in front of him collapsed in the path of the stun ray. "We've got
to go now!" the woman insisted, tugging at him and another woman near
her.
He then recognized Lisa Termant, the KEHL's second-in-command.
"Come on!" she urged, pulling him behind her.
"We can't let them get all of us! Let's go. Follow me!"
Did this lunatic woman think he was part of her nutcase organization?
Peter was infuriated by her assumption. Then four people directly in
front of him collapsed under the minimized stun rays. If she hadn't
pulled him out of the way ...
The security forces weren't asking questions, they were assuming the
same thing about everyone in this crowd that she was. If he didn't get
out of here, lunch wouldn't be the only thing he'd be missing. The next
time Tennant yanked on his arm, he cooperated.
After a moment's pushing and shoving, they broke free.
Peter found himself running pell-mell down the streets, away from the
screaming, hysterical demonstrators. Had Sarek made it through all
right? he wondered, even as his legs moved automatically, running,
running, as he followed the woman to safety.
They were on a side street now, Federation Security aircars following
them, trying to round up all the demonstrators.
The cadet realized that if he didn't get out of this quickly, he was
going to be spending the night in jail. He might even have to contact
his Uncle Jim for a character reference! What would that look
likemcaptain Kirk's nephew incarcerated for supporting a violent KEHL
demonstration?
Envisioning his own face on the next news vid, he sprinted faster.
Tennant led her small crowd down a narrow street, then into an alley.
There was a door, which opened as if by magic as they approached. The
small group raced in, Peter entering right behind the dark-haired woman.
When the door slid shut behind them, the group half-collapsed, heaving
and panting for breath. Peter tensed as he listened to the sirens of the
aircars that were still searching--searching for me, Peter realized
disgustedly. What a mess!
"Everybody okay?" Tennant asked the group. "Anyone hurt?"
There were murmurs from the group of a half-dozen men and women,
assurances that everyone was all right. Peter looked around at the
ragtag group he'd found himself a part of.
A man came up to Termant, someone new--the person who must've been here,
ready to open the door for them in just such an emergency. "Do you know
all these people, Lisa?" he asked quietly.
Peter's heart thundered in his ears. If they discovered who he was ...
"No, Jay," she said, looking over the group. "No, I'm sorry. Everything
fell apart. There were massive arrests. I think one of the Vulcans
might've killed Induna. These people were near me, fighting side by side
with me. I couldn't leave them behind."
"Of course," Jay said, as he looked over the group.
"I'm Mark Beckwith," one of the men said by way of introduction as he
caught his breath. Peter recognized him as the rock thrower. "I'm
president of the Peoria branch."
Lisa shook his hand. "Of course, I've spoken to you many times."
To Peter's relief, the rest of the group were just average members, or
people who'd seen the demonstration on the vid and "believed in the
cause."
"I'm Peter ... Church," he finally said, when it was his turn. "I'm ...
a data-recovery technician. I work nearby.
I've ... always been interested in the KEHL," he lied glibly, "and when
I saw that you were calling for support, I came on down."
"Thank you," the woman said sincerely, then repeated it to the others.
"Thanks to all of you. What you did today was courageous and ambitious.
Your personal involvement will make it easier for the millions who
silently agree with our cause to come forward and join us. Thank you all
so much."
Crazy, Peter thought, slumping tiredly. Would he ever be able to get out
of here and back to reality?
"I think the security forces are gone," Jay announced, after checking
with a computerized sensor. "It should be safe for you all to leave now,
if you go out one by one."
Tennant thanked them all again, reminding them all of the next
gathering. The demonstration at the consulate, she told them, wouldn't
be able to continue until the arrested demonstrators had been freed from
jail and the current permits renewed. Each person assured her before
leaving that they would be at the consulate as soon as word reached them
that it was time to assemble. Their faces were filled with a hatred and
a commitment that made Peter's stomach lurch.
Peter plastered an appropriate expression of sympathy on his own face as
Lisa finally turned her attention to him. She suddenly peered at him
intently, and he found himself grateful that he didn't resemble his
famous uncle more closely.
"I hope you weren't injured," she said quietly, her eyes never leaving
his face. "You came awfully close to being stunned."
He blinked, gathering his wits about him. Coum she be interested in me?
Peter wondered, taken aback. It figured, in a perverse way. His Uncle
Jim seemed to be able to attract any woman in the universe with nothing
more than a little-boy grin and a twinkle in his eye--an ability that,
if it was an inherited trait, seemed to have skipped Peter. But every
now and then the "Kirk charm," as the captain called it, did seem to
shine on Peter--but only at the wrong moments. Like now. He gazed at the
KE HL leader, his mind racing.
"I'm fine," he assured her. "Really. You ... saved me back there. I
should be thanking you."
She smiled warmly at him. "I'm so glad you're all right.
That is ... there are so few of us ... true believers. We can't afford
to lose ... even one."
She was attracted to him! Peter began to wonder if Federation Security
had any real idea, before today's violent demonstration, how dangerous
this group was becoming.
Whatever information they had on the KEHL couldn't have been very
accurate, or the security forces would've never been caught so
shorthanded at the demonstration.
Tennant thought he was a member, a "true believer." Could he string her
along long enough to gain critical inside information--information he
could relay to Starfleet?
"Listen, Peter," Lisa said, guiding him to the door, "my assistant,
Rosa, was one of the people stunned today. I'm going to be lost without
her, and I know what it's like to be stunned. She won't be feeling well
for a day or two. I need to make a lot of calls, arrange hearings, bail,
tons of stuff. That means that my real work won't get done. So ... I
was wondering ... you're used to manipulating data. Rosa was working on
cross-referencing the membership lists with some special information
we've received lately about ... a clandestine Vulcan operation. I
really need to get this project completed. Do you think you could help
me?"
How would Uncle Jim handle this? Peter wondered, but of course he
already knew. James T. Kirk would simply lay on the charm, the famous
Kirk charm, and within hours she'd be putty in his hands. Forget it.
That won't work for you!
As he hesitated, she offered, "You'd be working with me directly ...
but, I'll understand if you're not interested.
What happened today was enough to make anyone think twice about
supporting the group ... "
"Oh, I'm interested!" he assured her. "I, uh, didn't realize ... we'd
be working together. I'd like that, Ms.
Tennant. Uh ... working with you, I mean." Smooth, mister, real smooth.
A Tellarite would've managed a classier delivery ...
She opened the door for him and touched his arm. "Call me Lisa, Peter.
I'm glad you're willing to help me. I really
need an expert's assistance. How about ... Saturday?
Around noon? Can you find your way back here?"
"Sure," he said, managing not to stammer this time. "I'll see you then."
His gesture of farewell included both Lisa and Jay. "Saturday, noon.
I'll be here."
"It'll just be you and me, Peter," Lisa assured him warmly, following
him a few steps into the alley.
"Jay ... will be busy with something else. I'll see you then."
He managed a credible grin despite his uneasiness.
"Great. Till Saturday." She stepped back and the door slid shut, leaving
him alone.
Peter walked out onto the main street, then began a circuitous route
back toward the Academy, suddenly nervously aware of every figure
passing him on the street.
Whatever had possessed him to play Mata Hari with the KEHL's leader?
These people were definitely more dangerous than Federation Security
realized. What should he do now? If he went to the security offices at
the Academy, or to the officer of the day, and related this wild story,
they'd no doubt tell him to stay out of it. His advisor, a grizzled old
Tellarite lieutenant commander, would forbid him to have anything more
to do with this group. She'd be right, too. He had exams to complete.
And the Kobayashi Maru.
I don't have time for this. ! have to stay focused. I've got a career to
worry about.
But ... through sheer happenstance he'd managed to find himself on the
inside. He had an opportunity to discover what was really going on with
this radical group of dangerous xenophobes. Would Uncle Jim walk away
from this opportunity? The hell he would! Captain Kirk would play the
cards dealt him.
Can I do any less?
Peter scowled down at his feet as the moved along the sidewalk. What
harm could there be in keeping his Saturday date? He'd just spend time
with Lisa Tennant, work on her reports.
She said I'd get to work on the membership lists ... That would be a
unique opportunity, one he doubted Security could manage. And, by
talking to her, he could draw her out, discover something about this
silly Vulcan "conspiracy" she purported to have discovered. Maybe he
could find out other things, too. More serious inside information.
And, when he had that information, he'd take that to Starfleet. They
couldn't ignore him then, not if he had information about how the KEHL
had suddenly gained so many new members.
If his plan worked out, it certainly wouldn't hurt his career any. And
... it was something a real Kirk would do.
Something Uncle Jim would do in a heartbeat. Of that, Peter was very
sure.
Sarek sat at the comm link in his assigned quarters aboard the Freelan
space station, facing the cowled figure of a Freelan. Although there was
no way to be sure, owing to the concealing cloak and mechanical-sounding
voice interface, he thought he recognized the other as Taryn, the
Freelan liaison he'd been dealing with for nearly seventy Standard
years.
"Greetings, Taryn," he said aloud.
The cowled and muffled figure was suddenly very still.
"Greetings, Ambassador Sarek," the flat, mechanical voice said. "You
recognized me?"
Sarek shook his head and dissembled, diplomatically, "I made a logical
deduction as to your identity, Liaison. After all, during my meetings
aboard this space station, you have been my contact during negotiations
eightysix-point-three percent of the time."
The shrouded figure seemed to relax again. "I suppose I have. We have
known each other a long time, Sarek of Vulcan."
"Indeed we have, Taryn of Freelan," the ambassador agreed solemnly.
"This time, you did not come alone," Taryn said.
Sarek beckoned, and Soran stepped forward from the back of the room and
seated himself beside the ambassador.
"You are correct, Liaison. I brought my new aide, Soran, so he could
begin familiarizing himself with Freelan/Vulcan trade agreements."
"Why?" the other asked, bluntly.
"My health is not what it once was since my heart trouble twenty-seven
years ago," Sarek said, smoothly, having anticipated this question. His
response was accurate, if deliberately misleading. Actually, his health
was now better than it had been for decades. "Someday," the ambassador
continued,
"perhaps in the not-too-distant future, I will retire. I cannot continue
to be the sole contact between our worlds. I wish my aide to become
familiar with our negotiations."
"I see," Taryn said slowly. "Very well. Greetings, Soran."
"Greetings, Liaison Taryn," the young Vulcan said, raising a hand in
salute. "May you live long and prosper."
"Only if I can induce Vulcan to reduce their import tariffs!" the
Freelan shot back. "It is difficult to prosper under the crushing weight
of unfair tariffs!"
"As a matter of fact, tariffs were one subject I wished to explore
today," Sarek put in, smoothly. "May we begin?"
The cowled figure inclined his head. "Assuredly, Ambassador."
Soran observed, for the most part in silence, as the two diplomats went
over the trade agreements in question.
Sarek's mind was only partly on the subject at hand--with another
portion of his mind, he was going over his plans for later that
station-designated "night."
The two diplomats finished their discussion of tariffs, and went on to
discuss modifications to a long-standing trade agreement.
Taryn seemed slightly suspicious of Sarek's motives in bringing up that
particular agreement. "I must admit that I am surprised to hear you
reopen this topic," he said. "I had thought that the agreement we forged
regarding those cryo-memory inserts actually favored Vulcan. I fail to
see why you would wish to alter or revise it ... "
"The modifications I have in mind are minor, Liaison," Sarek said. "They
should not take long to discuss. Perhaps, after our talk, we could ...
have a game?"
"As you know, I am extremely busy," Taryn said, but then he hesitated.
"However, I must admit that you are one of the few players that I find
... stimulating. Very well, then. A game. When we are finished."
Sarek went ahead with his list of proposed changes to the trade
agreement. They were, as he said, minor, most of them points that they
had haggled over when the original agreement was forged, three years
ago. He actually found himself losing some ground in the negotiations,
partially because the was not devoting his full attention to the problem
at hand.
Finally, they were finished. Soran excused himself as both diplomats
keyed their terminals to produce a 3-D chess board. "Standard time limit
per move?" Sarek asked, after graciously accepting white at Taryn's
insistence.
"Of course."
The Vulcan studied the boards, planning his opening.
"I must warn you, Sarek," Taryn said, "our discussion has sharpened my
wits. Prepare to lose, Ambassador."
Sarek inclined his head in a half-bow. "I am prepared, Liaison." After a
moment's consideration, he moved a pawn. Taryn leaned forward, studying
his representation of the board, then made his own move. "You know," the
Freelan said, and the Vulcan gained the impression that he was confiding
something highly personal, "I truly do find our games ... stimulating."
"You mean 'challenging,'" Sarek said dryly.
"As I recall"--Taryn's mechanical tones did not vary, but the ambassador
thought he detected an edge in the quickness of the Freelan's retort--"I
won, the last time we played."
"Yes, so you did," Sarek said, evenly. "My game was definitely off that
day." He could not resist needling the liaison just a little. Taryn
could, at times, be induced to play recklessly. The Freelan hated to
lose, and Sarek had learned preci sely what it took to bait him until he
made a fatal mistake.
Sarek moved his knight onto the queen's level, then sat back to study
his opponent's reaction.
Taryn's answering move caused the Vulcan to raise an eyebrow.
"Stimulating indeed," he murmured, his mind running through moves and
their consequences with lightning speed, even as part of his brain
counted off the seconds remaining for him to reply to Taryn's bold
strategy.
"Perhaps ... challenging." With a swift, decisive movement he
transferred a rook to the king's level.
Taryn regarded the board, and Sarek thought he detected skepticism in
the mechanical voice. "Jobeck's gambit?" His cowl moved slightly, as
though he had shaken his head ruefully. "A human move ... and not a
particularly inventive one, at that. I will taste victory today." He
paused, his mitt hovering over the board as he considered his next move.
"A human gambit ... a surprising move for one of your kind to make,
Ambassador."
"My wife is Terran," Sarek said, "and I have spent many years on Earth.
I learned that gambit there. Humans may not possess Vulcan logic ... but
they can demonstrate surprisingly intricate strategy, at times."
"For myself, I have never had cause to respect their intelligence,"
Taryn commented, his mitt still hovering over the board. "Take this new
organization that has sprung up, for instance. The Keep Earth Human
League. From all reports, it consists of a collection of bigoted misfits
with stunted intellects. They detest all nonhumans ... even your
people, Ambassador."
Sarek had to guard against a betraying start of surprise. It was Taryn's
turn to needle him--almost as though the liaison knew why the ambassador
was here, hoping to gain proof for his theory about a Freelan conspiracy
...
"These fringe groups come and go," the Vulcan conceded blandly. "They
hardly pose a concern to the long-standing amity between Earth and
Vulcan."
"Of course not," Taryn said, sitting back in his seat, his shrouded head
level, as though he were staring directly into Sarek's face, searching
for any betraying emotions he might find there. "No one could hope to
alter such a close alliance."
Sarek raised an eyebrow. "Really, Liaison, you surprise me. If this is a
strategy on your part, I should think you could be more creative than to
attempt something so ... antiquated."
The Freclan's cowl jerked slightly, as if he had stiffened.
"Antiquated? What ... what do you mean?"
Sarek gestured at the board. "Why, engaging me in conversation while you
exceed your time limit for a move.
Or ... had you forgotten that it is your move?"
"My move ... oh, yes. Of course I had not forgotten." Taryn hastily
moved his bishop.
As the game progressed, Sarek tried with all his diplomatic skills to
gain information from his longtime contact.
Taryn, who had recovered his aplomb, fenced back at him, seemingly
enjoying their verbal sparring.
It was a very hard-fought game, but, to his own surprise, Sarek won once
again. Typically, Taryn was not a particularly good sport about his
defeat. The moment endgame was in sight, he signaled his board to topple
his king, then, with barely a civil word of leavetaking, broke the
connection.
After dinner, the two Vulcans retired to the adjoining rooms in their
suite. Sarek set himself to doze until the middle of "night" aboard the
station.
Hours later, the ambassador opened his eyes, then rose quietly from his
bed to pull on a dark tunic and trousers, and soft-soled desert boots he
had brought with him for this occasion. With his minuscule Vulcan
tricorder in hand, he seated himself before the Freelan comm link. The
ambassador had been planning for this day for months, and had prepared
programs to cover all of the most probable contingencies.
Sarek's first task was to disarm the alarms on the station's secured
maintenance area. He studied the sleek, horizontal console for only a
moment. "Manual input, please. Standard Federation interface." The
manual control board slid out of a concealed opening, and he swiftly
enabled the external data link. That was the easy part. Now came the
challenging task of causing a calculated "malfunction" in the system
that would camouflage his efforts to access the main data banks.
The Vulcan ambassador quickly set his trioorder to run through the
standard external data conventions, sending handshake messages at
various wavelengths. When the tricorder's screen indicated success, the
Vulcan's lips tightened.
Not Federation standard. Working efficiently, he called up the most
likely communications protocol and linked his tricorder into the Freelan
comm link, then was gratified to see the connection established. The
twenty-five-year-old espionage done by his son aboard a Romulan vessel
would suffice to accomplish his goal.
Confident now of the specifics of this particular computer system, he
downloaded the first of several valit programs and instructed the
low-level operating system to execute. A valit was a small Vulcan
creature that could burrow its way through the hardest soil, capable of
adapting its complex mandibles to numerous functions. Unless the
operating system was massively dissimilar to what Spock had reported,
the valit program would be able to adapt and invade, opening up the
secure portions of the software. And, by returning countless error
messages to the central processors, this first valit program would
effectively disguise his efforts to intrude further.
Although Sarek did not actually have to enter the central maintenance
area to gain further access to the no-longer-secure data, he wanted to
see the Freelan computer with his own eyes. The comm link in his
quarters was encased in a shell that differed little from those found on
any Federation world. In a sense, he had proven nothing so far. The
Freelans could have purchased their comm units and software from the
Romulans. The ambassador had to see the central computer itself, because
he knew that the Romulan cloaking system depended on the massive
processing capabilities of these machines; the Romulans would never
willingly part with this technology to outsiders for mere profit.
Before leaving his quarters, Sarek tapped softly on Soran's door.
Moments later, his aide emerged, also clad in dark clothes, with soft
footwear. "The security alarms?" he whispered.
"Disabled," Sarek replied.
The ambassador had visited the Freelan station many times, and knew
precisely where to go. When they reached the doors that were labeled
MAINTENANCE--NO ADMITRANCE in several languages, including Vulcan, Sarek
stopped, motioning Soran to stay back. He tapped on the entry pad, and
the portals shot apart.
Sarek stepped into the maintenance area, Soran at his side. The young
Vulcan halted suddenly at the sight of a surveillance vid unit, but the
ambassador shook his head reassuringly. The valit was overloading the
condition-recognition software to the point where it would not be
on-line for the time of their visit.
"We must move quickly," Sarek said softly. (Even though there was no one
in the area, the urge for silence remained, illogical though it was.)
"The valit will not delay the security system indefinitely." He led the
way past a transporter room and into the nerve center of the station.
The enormous room contained a gigantic computer system, black metal
without decoration, identical to the one Spock had seen a generation
before. Apparently the Romulans were conservative about changes in a
technology that worked. Sarek nodded grimly. It was as he had
conjectured.
"Ambassador, you must know what you are looking for," Soran said.
"Otherwise you would not have been able to devise a valit program."
"Logical," Sarek said, approvingly, seating himself before the closest
comm link and taking out his tricorder. "You have deduced admirably. If
my theory about the Freelans is correct, then you shall soon see their
true identity for yourself."
"This system bears no resemblance to any in the Federation," Soran said,
watching as Sarek's experienced hands flew over the tricorder controls,
feeding in another valit program, this one designed to follow on the
heels of the first valit. It would make all areas of the memory
accessible to external control, and display on the visual monitors
whatever was accessed.
As the two Vulcans watched, random areas of memory began to appear on
the screens. Soran's eyes widened as he made out the characters. "That
script ..." he breathed.
"Romulan!"
"Indeed," Sarek said. "As I expected. But I must capture more than
random kitchen requisitions to justify our suspicions." He held up the
tricorder's photo chip to the screen.
"So the Freelans are Romulans?" Soran said slowly, obviously taken
aback. At Sarek's quick glance, the young Vulcan hastily composed his
features.
"Yes," Sarek said. "They are Romulans. I have suspected it for a long
time, but gaining proof has been difficult.
Ah ... personnel data banks. We are in." Raw information began to flash
across the screen--words in Romulan script, operating-system symbols,
and numbers, all in a jumbled disarray. Hundreds of screens of data,
most of it garbled, appeared in quick succession. Suddenly Sarek leaned
forward and signaled the tricorder to backtrack through the images. A
quick tap froze the output. Intently, he studied the scrambled data.
"What is it?" Soran asked.
"A name--one of the few Freelan names I would recognize.
Do you read Romulan, Soran?"
"No, sir. I will remedy the deficiency as soon as feasible," the young
aide promised. "What does it say?" Sarek indicated a name in flowing
Romulan script.
"Taryn," he said, simply. "This is a list of Romulan officers, along
with their ranks. Taryn is listed, if I am reading this correctly, as a
wing commander." The e lder Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "A high-ranked
Romulan officer indeed." He continued recording data, studying it.
Slowly, he made sense of the scrambled information. He generated a
decoding algorithm in his mind, and mentally overlaid it on the jumble,
seeing order amid chaos.
Minutes later, he was reading it swiftly. Sarek scanned the shipping
data first, noting with grim satisfaction that it, too, proved his
theory. Military vessels from Romulus and Remus made regular voyages to
Freelan, and Freelans voyaged to the Romulan worlds. Romulan officers
were logged as being "detailed" to Freelan.
Freelan also had a small fleet of birds-of-prey located in
probe-shielded hangars that were camouflaged by the simple expedient of
placing them beneath massive ice shelves, with roofs impregnated with
scionitc.
The communications logs listed hundreds of subspace messages between the
Romulan worlds and Freelan. Government communiqus listed Freelans on
"missions" to various worlds, particularly Earth--and, nearly always,
the Freelan merchant, diplomat, or scientist was accompanied by an aide
with a Vulcan name.
Sarek automatically memorized those names, knowing however, that further
checks would reveal that they--like Savel--were not Vulcan citizens.
None of the evidence Sarek uncovered was a direct link between the KEHL
activity and the Freelans--or Romulans but the ambassador found the
circumstantial evidence damning.
Without warning, a sudden, familiar sound made him freeze.
Soran heard it, too. "Ambassador--a transporter beam!"
"Attempt to distract the newcomers, while I disengage the valits," Sarek
commanded, his fingers flying. Without a thought he abandoned his hope
of copying further Romulan data banks. If he and Soran were caught here,
spying, the Romulans would be within their rights to summarily execute
them for espionage.
Quickly, he injected the last of the valits, the one designed to
eradicate all evidence of his tampering. He could hear footsteps
approaching from the direction of the transporter room as he leaped up,
tricorder in hand, looking for a place to eliminate the evidence of his
spying. Without the tricorder as evidence, he might be able to pretend
to have awakened in the night, ill, and to have been searching for the
station's automated med center. There was little chance that he would be
believed, but, without hard evidence, the Freelans might hesitate to
take him into custody. Seeing a disposal unit, Sarek dropped the
tricorder in and cycled it, not without a pang at the loss of his proof.
Logic dictated, however, that he save himself.
Glancing around him, the ambassador realized that the computer room was
singularly devoid of hiding places.
Silently, he resigned himself to being caught, and having to feign
illness, when a loud crash sounded next door, in one of the engineering
chambers that held banks of automated equipment.
The approaching Freelans exclaimed--in Romulan!--and went to
investigate. Peering out of the computer area, Sarek warily scanned the
hallway; then he made a swift, soundless retreat back to the entrance.
The ambassador knew that his young aide must have caused the crash that
had distracted whomever had come to investigate the "malfunction." Would
Soran be able to escape, also?
A second later Soran, soundless on his soft-soled shoes, hurried up
beside him. Quickly, the two Vulcans left the maintenance area and
returned to their quarters.
Later, as he relaxed in the narrow bunk, the ambassador allowed himself
a faint, ironic smile in the concealing darkness. It is not endgame yet,
Taryn, he thought. Today you may have had me in check, but mate is still
a long way off.
The next day, Sarek waited tensely for some indication that his
late-night foray had been discovered, but apparently the last valit had
been successful. Taryn displayed no indication of suspicion during the
morning's negotiating session.
The ambassador was just beginning the afternoon's session when Soran
approached, a guarded expression on his normally calm features.
"Ambassador? There are two messages coming in from Vulcan. They are ...
important."
Hastily, Sarek excused himself and went to his quarters to view them in
private. The first was a written message from his wife that read,
simply, "Come home if possible, please.
Amanda."
Staring at it, the Vulcan experienced a rush of unease.
Never, in over sixty years of marriage, had his wife ever interrupted
him in the midst of a mission to ask him to return home. What could be
wrong?
His silent question was swiftly answered by the second message,
prerecorded by his wife's physician, T'Mal. The graying Healer stared
straight into the screen, as though she could see him. Her expression
was calm, as usual, but the ambassador could discern a hint of sorrow in
her eyes.
"Ambassador Sarek, you must return home immediately.
Your wife is gravely ill. I do not expect her to live more than another
month ... possibly less. I regret having to impart such news in this
manner, but I have no choice. Return home immediately."
The ancient, stone-walled room was buried deep in the foundations of the
huge fortress-manor on Qo'nos, the Klingon homeworld. Outside those
age-darkened stone walls lay nothing but soil. The room had been tested,
retested, and verified to be free of all recording or surveillance
devices, which was why such a dank, dark room had been chosen for this
particular meeting.
Valdyr sat in one of the modern chairs that had been brought into the
room, feeling the chill pluck at her body, even as the words she was
hearing chilled her mind and soul.
Hesitantly, she glanced up at her uncle, the esteemed Klingon
ambassador, Kamarag, as he spoke forcefully to the officers assembled in
the room, around the venerable, dagger-scarred table that had
undoubtedly been here for hundreds of years.
He is perilously close to treason, she thought, struggling to keep the
shock she was feeling from showing on her face.
The officers watched the speaker with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The
soft lights from the lamps glimmered off oiled black leather and
polished studs.
"Warriors," Kamarag was saying, his trained voice carrying such
conviction that it was nearly hypnotic, "we have all seen what is
happening to our Empire in the past months, since Praxis was destroyed.
The foundations of our exis tence are being eaten away! If this
continues, soon there will be no place for our race in this galaxy! The
Romulans will overrun us, for we will have grown soft, and weak as
females!"
Valdyr, the only female present, glanced up at him, but was careful to
conceal the resentment his words caused. Her uncle was the head of her
family. When her father had been killed attempting to board and conquer
the Federation starship Enterprise, Kamarag had taken his widow and four
children under his protection, providing for them, even sending Valdyr
and her brothers to school.
And last month, when her mother and eldest brother had been killed
during one of the devastating meteor showers that had bombarded Qo'nos
ever since the destruction of Praxis, Kamarag had taken Valdyr and her
brothers to live with him in the ancestral home.
Her uncle was the head of her family, and she owed him everything. If
not for Kamarag, her brothers would never have been able to go to school
and learn the skills necessary to serve aboard starships. They would all
have been relegated to a backwater existence in some hamlet, grubbing
for sustenance on land that was increasingly hostile to agriculture.
Valdyr owed Kamarag unquestioning loyalty. Still, his sneering reference
to her entire sex made her grind her back teeth. Her fingers clenched
against her own armor. At the mention of the word "females," one of the
captains, Karg, east Valdyr a leering glance.
"Females have their place--but what should that place be? Remember who
now sits in the chancellor's seat of our government, my brothers! A
woman.t Gorkon's daughter, to be sure, but she is not Gorkon, as she has
proved many times in the past days. Azetbur demands our loyalty, even as
she opens her arms to Federation influence--influence which may well
lead to Federation control. Who among us, brothers, wishes to live under
the heel of the Federation?"
A concerted growl from the officers present was his only reply.
Azetbur's ascension to the chancellorship had given Valdyr the courage
to continue her schooling past the age when most Klingons of her sex
were relegated to the home, their only power whatever they could obtain
by influencing the males in their lives. Valdyr respected Azetbur for
attempting to forge a true and lasting peace between the Federation and
the Klingon Empire.
To hear her revered uncle denouncing the new chancellor secretly enraged
the young woman. She glanced up at him as he spoke. Kamarag had been a
formidable warrior in his youth, and his stance as he addressed these
officers was that of a combatant throwing down a formal challenge.
"Consider, my brothers!" he was continuing. "Consider what me must do,
each and every one of us, to uphold our honor as warriors! Each of us
must search his own heart to discover the best way to serve our
Empire--even, should it prove necessary, by serving outside the
strictures of official government policy. We must have the courage, the
honor, the valor to serve our Empire as warriors, as leaders--not merely
as those who blindly follow orders given by our nominal superiors!"
Valdyr's eyes widened. Her uncle was skirting the boundary of advocating
sedition ... outright treason! Such talk was dishonorable! How could he
speak so? Glancing over the faces of the assembled starship commanders,
Valdyr saw that their eyes were fastened on the ambassador with an avid
gleam-- all except one. Keraz ha d drawn back in his seat, and was
shaking his head. Suddenly, the commander sent his gauntleted fist
crashing down on the aged table so hard that the ironlike wood groaned
in protest. "Kamarag, you go too far!" he growled. "I have no love for
Azetbur, or her new policies, but I cannot disobey my oath as a Klingon
officer!
There are more renegades raiding across the Neutral Zone every day, and
I have no intention of becoming one of them!" Valdyr had to restrain
herself from leaping up and saluting the commander.
Kamarag drew himself up, as though deeply offended--but his niece could
tell that his indignation was feigned.
"Keraz, you mistake me! I have said nothing about disobeying oaths. I
have merely requested that each and every one of us assembled here today
spend some time in thinking about our current situation, and how it may
best be improved!
There was no talk of oath-breaking in that!" Valdyr sighed inwardly as
Keraz obviously lost some of his confidence. His brows drew together in
consternation.
"Yes, Keraz, were you not listening?" Karg growled sarcastically.
"Did you stay out last night drinking and wenching, only to fall asleep
just now and dream talk of oath-breaking?
For there was none of that voiced today!"
"Right!"
"Karg is correct?
"We have our honor!" The other officers snarled their support of Karg's
rebuke.
Keraz sat back in his seat. "Perhaps I misheard you, Kamarag," he said
grudgingly.
The Klingon ambassador nodded, and within minutes the clandestine
meeting had broken up. The moment she could do so without seeming
suspect, Valdyr left her seat and hurried out into the corridor. She'd
caught Karg ogling her with an appreciative eye, and she wanted to avoid
the captain at all costs.
But her way out of the deep cellars was blocked by the officers, who
lingered, talking in groups, or waiting their chance to speak personally
with Kamarag. Valdyr shrank back into an alcove that had once held wine
casks.
She'd been standing there long enough to grow chilled from the damp
stone surrounding her on three sides when she heard two familiar voices.
Kamarag and Karg were talking softly.
"It went well, I thought ..." Karg was saying. "Except for Keraz. He
should be Azetbur's personal servant, if he wishes to clean her boots
with his tongue. I knew he would be trouble."
"We handled it, between us," Kamarag said smugly.
"Keraz may not join us--but he will not betray us to Azetbur. He has no
love for her himself. Tell me, how did your latest raid go?"
"The best yet," Karg said. Valdyr could almost see him smacking his lips
over the memory. "One of those mixed colonies, mostly Tellaritesgyou
should have heard the females and the young ones squeal as we cut them
down!
There was very little worth taking on Patelva, true, but it was
wonderful to feel the heat of battle and smell the richness of
fresh-split blood again." Valdyr swallowed. Klingons gloried in war and
battle, true, but there was no honor in mowing down noncombatants.
Karg's words made her belly tighten with disgust.
Suddenly a new voice broke into the conversation. One of the other
otcers had come up to slap her uncle on the shoulder and congratulate
him on a stirring oration. Peering out from her niche, Valdyr saw that
the newcomer's back blocked her from view, so she seized that
opportunity to steal softly away down the corridor.
Later that evening, as she sat in her chamber studying for her next
examination in Federation Standard, the Klingon woman heard a knock on
her door. After bidding the visitor enter, she saw it was her uncle.
"Uncle!" she exclaimed, standing respectfully. Even though she did not
agree with what he had done that day, he was still her family's savior
and head. Klingon tradition decreed that her first loyalty be to him.
"I have something important to discuss with you, niece," he said in his
deep, resonant voice. "It has come to my attention recently that you are
of an age to wed." Valdyr's eyes widened. "Yes, I suppose so, Uncle,"
she said. "But I am so busy with school these days, I have not thought
much on the matter of prospective husbands."
"Your mother arranged no marriage for you before her death," Kamarag
said, seating himself on the narrow, shelflike bed. "Was that your
choice?"
"We never discussed it," Valdyr said. "My mother married according to
liking, not for family advancement. I believe she intended the same for
me, but I do not know for certain."
"My sister married beneath her," her uncle said grimly.
Valdyr stiffened at hearing her beloved father denigrated so,
but Kamarag did not notice. "However, there is no point in rehashing her
unfortunate choice, since it all lies in the past.
We must look to the future--your future. Someone offered for your hand
today, and I accepted." Valdyr held her breath. Who? Keraz? I do not
love him, but he is a warrior with honor ... no, that cannot be. Keraz
is married, I remember hearing that. Who elseg A sudden thought occurred
to her, and, with a sinking sensation, she heard her uncle confirm her
worst fears.
"Karg is a veteran of many battles, a warrior of considerable renown. He
fancies you, niece, and he is well able to provide you with anything any
female could want. I accepted his offer." Rising, he strode to the open
door and beckoned. The Klingon captain stepped in from the hall, and
grinned broadly at his promised bride.
"Karg ..." Valdyr whispered, faintly. The knot in her belly turned over,
and she had to lock her knees to keep from trembling. To wed and bed
Karg? NOT I would embrace my dagger as bridegroom before that
dishonorable Denlbya'qatlh!
As though he could read her mind, Karg gave her a mocking half-bow. "My
wife-to-be ... your uncle has'done me a great honor."
"Hah!" Kamarag barked out a shout of laughter, and slapped the suitor on
the back. "The honor is all ours, Karg!" He gave Valdyr a smug glance.
"I Bo not wonder that she is speechless with joy." I cannot marry him, I
cannot! I hate and despise him, Uncle.t Do not make me do this.t But,
seeing the pleased expression on Kamarag's face, Valdyr forced herself
to take a deep breath and regain her control. She might not be warrior
material herself, being slender and not tall, but the blood of a noble
house of warriors flowed in her veins. She would not dishonor herself by
begging. "Uncle, I must think about this seriously. Karg needs a wife
who has high social position and much ... beauty," she said,
cautiously. "I have neither. I do not believe the match would be
satisfactory for such a high-ranked warrior."
"Such modesty!" Karg chuckled richly as he stepped over to the young
woman and ran a caressing hand up her arm, testing the muscle that lay
beneath her sleeve. For a lingering moment his hand trailed perilously
close to her left breast, and Valdyr went rigid. Would he dare to fondle
her in front of her uncle? If he does that, I will kill him here and
now, she thought.
But Karg contented himself with kneading and prodding the muscles of her
arm and shoulder. "Small, but there is good, wiry strength there," he
remarked approvingly. Then, glimpsing the outrage in her eyes, he added,
sardonically, "Ah, my bride ... you are so young, so innocent ... you
warm my heart."
Grasping Valdyr's chin and forcibly turning her face to and fro, he
continued to examine her as he might a prospective mount for his
stables. "You know nothing of what excites a male ..." he said
caressingly, obviously enjoying her humiliation. "But have no fear ...
innocence excites me greatly. Do not worry, my targhoy. There is beauty
in you. With the flowering of your womanhood, it will come, Valdyr-oy.
When you are my wife, your beauty will blossom like chal flowers in
spring."
His endearments and the love suffix attached to her name made the young
woman long to shriek with fury. Her mind filled with images of her
plunging the dagger she wore strapped to her forearm into his heart.
As his fingers touched her cheek, Valdyr could not repress a shudder of
disgust. "Look, Kamarag, she trembles for me already? Karg chortled;
then he seized her in a bruising embrace and pressed his face into her
neck, his teeth fastening on her throat so hard that the woman gasped
from the pain.
"Enough, Karg!" Kamarag ordered, and the captain released her. Raising
her hand, Valdyr touched her throat, then stared unbelievingly at the
smear of blood on her fingers. "I know you are hot to take a bride, but
the wedding will not take place until after our triumph. The taste of
victory will add extra savor to your wedding night, Karg."
The captain was breathing hard as his eyes ran over Valdyr's body, and
his voice, when he spoke, was thick.
"Very well, Kamarag. But she is sweet enough to tempt any male ... "He
addressed the young woman then. "Do not concern yourself about your
fitness to be my wife, Valdyr-oy.
Just as the beauty will come, you will learn the intricacies of society,
until you are ready to take your place with me, to help my advancement.
Your uncle assures me that you possess high intelligence, for a female."
Valdyr wanted to flay him alive for his words, but she held herself
back. She must be clever, use all of her wits to escape this fate that
loomed before her. Allowing Karg to see her true feelings would only
make them watch her closely until the day of the wedding.
Perhaps she could run away. Or, if she could not refuse Karg, perhaps
she could postpone the marriage for a while.
Karg was a warrior. Perhaps he would be killed. The thought made her
smile.
So, steeling herself, Valdyr forced herself to say, "At the moment,
school occupies all my time. Perhaps when I finish this term, I will
find myself more ... prepared for marriage, Uncle."
Kamarag frowned. "You will not need further schooling now that I have
arranged such a successful match for you, aldyr. Better you should turn
your attention to the management of households. That in itself is a
demanding life."
"Your uncle is right, Valdyr-oy. I have a large house, but it has
suffered from the lack of a woman to care for it," Karg added.
"No further schooling?" Valdyr struggled to control her temper. If she
made her uncle angry, it would bode ill for her brothers, as well as for
her. She must not allow them to know what was in her mind. "But, Uncle
..."
Perhaps sensing her distress, her uncle said, "You may finish out this
term, as long as it does not interfere with your duties here, and with
your spending more time in the kitchens, learning the duties of a wife."
He gave Karg a smug glance. "I will not have Karg say that you did not
come to him properly trained for your new role."
"In addition to the kitchens," Karg said, his gaze roving over her body
again, "do not forget that you must learn the ways of the nursery,
Valdyr-oy." With a toothy grin, he slapped her uncle on the back and
left the chamber.
Once they were alone, Kamarag regarded his niece with a touch of
impatience. "Well, girl?" he barked, finally. "Have you nothing to say?"
The young woman exerted rigid control as she forced herself to reply
quietly, "Uncle, I will do as you say."
"See that you do," he grumbled. "You do not want to appear ungrateful,
do you, niece?"
"No, sir." Relaxing visibly, her uncle rocked back on his heels, and
smiled as he changed the subject. "The meeting went well today, did it
not?"
"They all seemed to share your point of view," Valdyr said, treading a
careful verbal path. "All except Keraz." Her uncle dismissed the
commander with a wave of one blunt-fingered hand. "Hundreds of years
from now, our names will be remembered as the ones who saved the Empire
and the Klingon way of life," he said, earnestly, his deep-set eyes
gleaming.
"But ... current policy of our government is to make peace with the
Federation," Valdyr reminded him. "Peace with the Federation, friendship
with our old enemies--even peace with James Kirk, who saved the
chancellor's--"
"Kirk!" roared Kamarag so loudly that Valdyr started.
"Niece, I cannot hear that name without anger--do not think to provoke
me by letting it fall from your lips so casually! May Kirk be devoured
by ten thousand demons on his way to oblivion! Kirk lives still, and I
have no peace!" Furious, the ambassador strode back and forth in the
small chamber, his boots resounding on the floor like ancient war drums.
"Kirk! Kirk is the enemy, and I will never regain my honor until he is
dead, until I can dip my hands in his warm blood and dye them scarlet--I
will never rest until Kirk and all his line are wiped out!"
"But, Uncle." Valdyr was taken aback. Kamarag's temper was legendary,
but she'd never seen her uncle in such a rage.
"Kirk saved Azetbur's life. She will never agree to having him killed."
"I care nothing for her!" Kamarag was livid. "She is the spineless
daughter of a spineless coward. She will not stop me, niece."
"Stop you in what, Uncle?" Valdyr asked, curious and repelled at the
same moment.
"Stop me from carrying out my plan," the ambassador said, and smiled.
The sight of that smile chilled her, even though her chamber was warm.
"What plan?" she asked.
His smile broadened, revealing a mouthful of teeth. A cunning, predatory
expression replaced the anger that had been there. "You will see,
Valdyr," he promised softly. "Just wait, and you will see ... "
Journal of Amanda Grayson Sarek September 16,2293 What is it like to
die?
Vulcan& of course, have their katras ... a word no one has ever been
able to translate with any degree of precision. Not quite a soul, not
exactly a personality, more than a memory, less than a living being ...
I suppose one has to be born Vulcan to have any hope of understanding
Vulcan mysticism.
Spock and Sarek will live on, after their deaths. Will I?
Many of Earth religions hold that I will ... but there is no certainty.
And if there is an afterlife, would individuals from different worlds
mingle there?
Now I am getting metaphysical--and silly. Speculating about such things
is fruitless ... illogical. Life after death will either happen, or it
won't, and there is nothing I can do about it either way ... except
bephilosophical.
I dread Sarek return from Freelan, even as I long for it. I suspect
T'Mal contacted him, and that she was as blunt with him as she was
evasive with me. No doubt she was concerned that the truth would be too
much for a human to bear.
Little does she know this particular human. I have known what is
happening to me for months, now. I can't remember when I first realized
that my body was
running down, sputtering to its inevitable halt ... the knowledge just
grew in me, day by day.
It seems that I have Reyerson's disease. It isn't always fatal,
especially to those in the prime of life--but I am ninety-three.
Luckily, itg not an illness that causes a great deal of pain. Its main
symptom is continuous exhaustion, which, at my age, is fairly common
anyway.
I've spent time these past few days reading over my old journals. The
moments come back so clearly, it almost seems as though the past is the
reality, and this present, with its exhaustion and inevitable ending, is
merely a bad dream.
When I read about them, the memories revive, as fresh as if they
happened only yesterday. I cannot believe I have lived this long--it all
seems to have gone by at great speed. Every time I look in a mirror
these days, I am shocked to see a woman who is, beyond a doubt ... old.
I don't FEEL old.t--not inside. The aches and pains remind me of my true
age, but my mind and my heart feel as young as ever. Young Amanda is in
here with me, in my head, and Old Amanda has trapped us within this
shell of aged bone and flesh.
Curious, isn't it? I wonder if every human feels this way ... or am I
unusual? l,'ulcans, of course, feel exactly as om as their chronological
age. Anything else would be illogical ... Can I really be ... dying?
At times I have to fight off panic, but those episodes are growing less
and less frequent. They are simply too tiring, I suppose, for a body
that is ... shutting down.
Of course, I would not want to live forever ... but I don't want to
die, either. I want to live--there are still so many things to do, so
many places to go, so many things to see-- I want to live ... yet Iam
coming to realize that I will not, at least, not for much longer. By
this time next year, probably much sooner, the universe will be going on
without me. Amanda Grayson, Madam Sarek, the Lady Amanda ... I will be
gone, will be no more.
I am dying.
There, I've admitted it. Writing it out in black and white like that has
actually been a relief. Facing the worst the future has to offer is
better than mincing around, shying away from an all-too-possible
reality.
Of course, the Healers are treating me, trying to arrest the disease.
But I know without asking that my prognosis is dismal. And, even if a
miracle happened, and I were cured of this particular illness, at my
age, the inevitable can only be staved off for a short time.
There is one journal entry that I've been saving as a treat, for when I
feel particularly low. I believe that tonight is the night to read it
...
June 14,2229 ... a few minutes past midnight My hand trembles as I
write this ... I can scarcely believe what happened tonight!After all
these months of seeing him, trying to make myself believe that his
interest was not solely that of a diplomat befriending a student of his
culture ... trying, but never quite succeeding--I can hardly believe
what I am about to write--tonight Sarek kissed me/ It was not really a
kiss as a human knows it--but it happened. Just the softest brush of his
fingertips against my lips, but I trembled as we turned and walked home
in silence. Even now, as I sit here writing, I feel as though I have
caught some exotic fever.
Is it possible that we have known each other for only four months? It
seems incredible that my life could have changed so radically, so
irrevocably, in such a short time. Four months, almost to the day.
My work was everything to me ... teaching was my only passion. Being
able to convey to my students the wonder and richness of alien cultures
was my fondest dream, a goal to be striven for, my heart's greatest
desire. The day I won the T'Relan Award for Excellence in Teaching was,
I thought then, the pinnacle of my life.
All this time, these past months, wondering, trying to fathom why such a
distinguished diplomat wanted to spend time with a teacher who happened
to win an award for teaching and thus was invited to an embassy
reception ...
Once or twice I thought, "Perhaps he's attracted to me," only to back
awayjkom the thought at warp speed.
Vulcans do not form romantic attachments, after all.
Either they bond at a very young age, or they make a reasoned, logical
decision later in life. Romance? Don't be ridiculous, Amanda.t But
tonight ... was romantic. I believe that even Sarek felt it, was
affected by the spell of the night ...
The three-quarter moon was setting over the Pacific as the couple walked
along the beach. Amanda Grayson picked her way over the wet sand,
smiling as the white-tipped waves curled ever closer to her feet. Dinner
had been excellent; Sarek had taken her to one of the finest restaurants
in town.
As they'd eaten, she'd caught curious glances from their fellow diners.
It was unusual, she knew, for a human woman and a Vulcan male to be seen
together. And her escort was a noted diplomat at the Vulcan Embassy--a
well-known public figure.
Thankfully, after they'd left the restaurant, none of the curious had
followed them. Now, watching the moon slip down toward the waves, they
were completely alone. The tide was coming in, lapping ever higher.
Amanda watched her escort coverfly as he gazed at the ocean, his
expression quiet and serene.
She was so intent on watching Sarek that an importunate wave caught her
unawares. Amanda jumped and gasped as cold water sloshed over her feet,
and she bumped hard against the Vulcan. Automatically, he caught her arm
and steadii her. It was the first time he had touched her in the four
months since she'd met him.
"Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed. "If I'd fallen in, I'd have gotten
soaked." Glancing up at him diffidently, she caught her breath in
surprise as she realized that he was ... smiling. There could be no
doubt about it. Sarek's austere,
aquiline features had softened, and his normally stern mouth curved
upward on both ends. The Vulcan's dark eyes held an amused spark.
Sarek is smiling. At me, she thought, amazed and touched.
I didn't know he could smile.t
She smiled back at him, feeling a rush of happiness so pure and strong
that it was like some euphoria-inducing drug. As they stared at each
other, their eyes locked, the next wave caught both of them in its wash.
This time they both jumped. Amanda, glancing down, saw that the
ambassador's boots were soaked. "Oh, dear.
Your boots."
"They will dry," Sarek said, ignoring his footwear.
"Amanda ... tell me something."
"What?"
"Is there anyone ... special in your life?"
He can't possibly know what that question means on Earth, she thought,
blankly. "Of course there is," she said, struggling not to blush. "I
have my parents, and my students, my family and my friends. They're all
very special to me ... Sarek."
It had been hard for her to call him by only his name without his
title--he was such a formal person, so reserved.
It was growing easier each time she did it. "And of course, back East I
have several friends that I only see a few times a year, because
they're--"
"Amanda ..." She couldn't believe that he'd interrupted her. He'd never
done that before. The Vulcan stepped closer to her, so close she could
feel the heat of his body against her face and throat.
"Yes, Sarek?"
"I wanted to know whether there is a special male in your life."
She stared at him unbelievingly, but managed to compose herself. "No,
Sarek. There is no special ... male." Her heart was pounding harder
than the surf.
"So you are free to choose a ... mate?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered, but hardly any sound emerged from her throat. The
Vulcan leaned closer, indicating that even his acute hearing had not
picked up her answer. "Yes," she repeated. "Yes, I am."
"That is good to hear, Amanda," he said quietly; then he leaned forward,
slowly and deliberately, and kissed her mouth with his fingertips.
Even as he drew back, Amanda instinctively knew that her life had
changed forever. There was only one possible explanation for Sarek's
words and action--he wanted her for his wife. She knew from her studies
that Vulcans did not waste time in casual dalliance.
For a moment he regarded her intently, his eyes filled with all the
things he could not say aloud. Then, without another word, the Vulcan
offered her his arm to help her back up the beach. Amanda went with him,
her whole body conscious of his touch, of the heat of his skin beneath
his sleeve.
I love him, she realized. I've loved him from the first, and didn't
realize it until now.
September 16,2293
Just finished rereading that journal entry. Oh, my/ Was I ever that
young?
And yet ... if I close my eyes, I can still taste that kiss, even after
sixty-four years.
I have had a good life. I have been blessed. There are few regrets ...
But for now, I am tired ... must rest ...
Captain James T. Kirk stood in the coruscating glow of the transporter
beam, dreading what he would see as soon as he materialized on the world
called Patelva. Yesterday the Enterprise had been summoned to the colony
world that had been decimated by a raid. The captain had made one quick
reconnaissance to the planet, then returned, sickened, to his ship,
leaving Dr. McCoy and his medical staff to their grim work of trying to
save as many of the pitifully wounded survivors as they could.
As the transporter beam faded around him, Kirk could hear the sounds of
the wounded. The beam-down coordi nates were in the center of a group of
hastily thrown-up bubbletents, so, unlike yesterday, he was not
surrounded by shattered and torn bodies ... which was a relief. But the
sounds were bad enough.
Medical personnel scurried to and fro, racing frantically to beat their
ancient enemy. In a distant field, filled with crops that would never be
harvested now, security personnel stoically attended to the hideous work
of disposing of the corpses.
"Captain ..." Kirk turned away from the grim scene to find his first
officer at his elbow. "I have completed my interviews with the few
uninjured survivors I could locate.
Their reports all concur Klingons did this."
The captain gazed around him, and sighed. There hadn't been much doubt
about who the assailants were--the patterns were all there. "I know," he
said. "I just finished speaking to Chancellor Azetbur on subspace
communications.
She confirmed that their sensors have picked up a number of Klingon
vessels crossing the Neutral Zone lately, but swore to me on her
father's honor that none of them has been authorized to do so by her
government."
"More renegades," Spock said, his normally expressionless features
touched with sadness. "Chang has set a precedent, I fear."
"I'm afraid that Azetbur's going to go down, Spock," Kirk said.
"Everything looked so hopeful last month at Khitomer, but now ..." He
shrugged slightly. "The media back on Earth are having a field day with
these renegade raids. Many of the delegates to the Security Council are
calling for Ra-ghoratrei to withdraw his support of Azetbur's
government."
"I know. And without the support of the Federation, Azetbur has little
chance to remain in power."
"The chancellor is the Empire's only hope for survival, Spock!" Kirk
said wearily. "If I can see that, so can others."
The Vulcan nodded, his dark eyes bleak. He started to comment, but
before he could do so, a familiar voice made both officers turn.
"What's the news on the Federation hospital ship?" Dr. Leonard McCoy
demanded, coming up from behind the two officers. The chief surgeon's
medical tunic was splashed and streaked with drying blood and even less
pleasant substances, and his blue eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue.
"Dammit, Jim, my people are ready to drop, and I can't spare a one of'em
for a break. We've got to get some reliefl"
"The ship's on its way, Bones," Kirk was quick to assure the medical
officer. "ETA is thirty-six hours from now."
"Damn!" McCoy growled; then he sighed. "Can you at least beam down some
more security people? They're not trained, but they can help clean up
and make sandwiches for the staff." Kirk nodded and, taking out his
communicator, quickly gave the order. McCoy busied himself dispatching
the security teams to where they were most needed, then turned back to
regard his friends wearily. "Thanks, Jim. This is one helluva mess ...
"
"I know, Bones."
"Who did it?" McCoy demanded, staring out across the jury-rigged medical
compound. "As if I didn't already know from the disrupter patterns on
the bodies."
"Klingons, Doctor," Spock said. "But Chancellor Azetbur has stated that
they were renegades, not governmentally sanctioned troops."
"I suppose so," the doctor said, rubbing a hand over his face, leaving
smears across his forehead. "Damn, but what I've seen in the past
twenty-four hours almost makes me regret spending the past month
studying Klingon anatomy and medical procedures."
"The Empire is in chaos, Bones," Kirk said. "Any time you get a
situation like this, you find terrorism on the rise.
Any time you try paring down a huge standing army, you get soldiers that
don't want to give up war."
"Especially considering that war has been the main focus of the Klingon
culture for several thousand years," Spock said, quietly. "If the--" The
Vulcan broke off as his communicator beeped. "Spock here," he said
crisply.
"Mr. Spock, I'm receiving a Priority One personal message for you, sir,"
Commander Uhura's voice reported. "It's from your father."
"Relay it on screen, please, Commander." Kirk tensed as he watched the
Vulcan scan the message on the tiny camp computer screen, noting the way
his friend's eyes narrowed and the skin over his jaw tightened. When
Spock looked up, he took a step forward and touched his friend's arm
lightly with his fingertips. "What is it, Spock?" The Vulcan took a deep
breath. "It is my mother, Jim. I just received a message from my father,
saying that she is seriously ill." He paused, then seemed to force the
words out, as though speaking them caused him pain. "Actually, Sarek
used the word 'terminally' ill." Kirk had lost his own mother a few
years ago ... Spock's words brought back the grief of those days all
too vividly.
"Spock, does it say what's wrong?" McCoy asked, his blue eyes filled
with concern.
"She has contracted a blood disease." Spock's normally even tones were
strained. "Reyerson's disease is somewhat rare. It is extremely serious,
especially to the very old or the very young. My mother," the Vulcan
finished bleakly, "is in her nineties." Kirk's mother, Winona, had been
in her late eighties at the time of her death. In the twenty-third
century the human life span was longer on the average than it had ever
been, but only ten percent of the population lived for a century or
more. Kirk drew a deep breath. "Go home," he ordered. "Go now. Take the
shuttlecraft to Starbase Eleven. You can get a transport from there, and
reach Vulcan in five days," he said.
Spock hesitated, glanced around him. "But we are on a mission ... my
duty is to my ship ..."
"Dammit, Spock, this is a medical mission," McCoy said.
"If you've got a medical degree it's news to me. Go. We don't need you
here. Your mother does." The Vulcan finally nodded. "Very well. Thank
you, Captain.
I will depart immediately." Moments later, Kirk and McCoy watched the
last flicker of maroon vanish in the transporter beam, and knew the
Vulcan was on his way.
"Jim, this is terrible," McCoy said, his eyes shadowed.
"We've known the Lady Amanda for so long ... and now we're all going to
lose her? It's ... not fair."
"How many times have you said that when you're confronted with death,
Bones?" Kirk asked.
McCoy gave him a grim smile. "At least ninety-five percent of the time,
Jim. But that doesn't keep me from feeling it again, each time."
"After that hospital ship relieves us here," Kirk said,
"we're heading for Vulcan."
McCoy nodded. "Good. But how are you going to justify a trip to Vulcan
with Starfleet Command?"
"Scotty has performed his usual miracle patching up the ship after Chang
used us for a skeet target," Kirk replied,
"but he told me yesterday that he's completed all the repairs he can,
working on the ship from the inside out. He said we'd have to put into
spacedock for him to finish with the structural repairs and pressure
checks. Vulcan has an excellent spacedock."
McCoy nodded, then wearily straightened his back. "No rest for the
wicked," he said. "I've got a patient to check on."
Kirk looked at him. "Could you use one more pair of unskilled hands,
Bones?"
"You bet," the doctor said. "C'mon, and I'll order you around for a
change ... "
Together, they headed for the nearest bubbletent.
"Enough, Peter, enough!" Lisa Tennant insisted, getting out of the
old-fashioned hard-backed chair and stretching her spine. "You're worse
than Rosa. I never thought I'd find anyone who could work as hard as she
did. How about some coffee?"
Peter nodded. "Sure, Lisa. Coffee's fine." He could use a cup right now.
It was nearly midnight and because of the time he'd spent here, he'd
have to pull an all-nighter to cram for his exam tomorrow. He rubbed his
face tiredly. He
wasn't eighteen anymore. Staying up all night studying would take its
toll ... and what did he have to show for it?
He'd been coming to this dingy basement room nearly every day since that
Saturday. That first day, he'd thought that he'd be able to garner
enough information to take to Starfleet Security once he got into the
KEHL files. But that Saturday, he never got near the computers. Instead,
he'd ended up helping Lisa with the technicalities of bailing out most
of the demonstrators.
He'd been right about her, too. She was interested in him, and kept him
close by her side most of the time, flirting lightly, never saying or
doing anything too forward, too aggressive. He played along in the same
vein, waiting and hoping to get access to their computers. When that
didn't happen, he'd ended up coming back the second night, and the
third. Last night, he'd finally gotten into the machines, but the only
thing she'd let him work on was a tedious reworking of the data
structures, which told him little.
He promised himself that tonight was the very last time he'd come here.
If he didn't get any information valuable enough to bring to Starfleet
Security, he'd forget his brief sojourn into the world of
cloak-and-dagger and force him self to focus on the really important
matters in his life.
Like the Kobayashi Maru.
Peter groaned at the very thought of that test, only a little more than
a week away. Just today, one of his friends had confided that the odds
against him were mounting steadily.
Peter wasn't surprised. If he had been a betting man he'd have bet
against himself, too. Was he studying the old scenarios to see how
others handled them? Was he reading up on the theory behind the test
itself, to get a handle on what the new scenario might require of him?
No, he was hanging around a subversive organization, flirting with its
leader, and coming up with nothing for all his efforts.
A cup of steaming coffee suddenly appeared by his elbow, along with a
sandwich. "You've got to be starving," Lisa said quietly, sitting beside
him. "You've been working steadily since you got here. I'm afraid I
haven't been taking very good care of you."
"I didn't think that was your job," he replied. "As your impromptu
assistant, I thought it was my role to take care of you."
She brushed against him, and the faint scent of her perfume made his
nostrils twitch with the faintly musky, exotic odor. In the few days
he'd been associating with her, he'd found her an enigmatic person. She
was bright, sensitive, and quite intellectual. In many ways she was an
intriguing, exciting woman, not the kind of person to spout the bigoted,
paranoid nonsense she obviously believed wholeheartedly.
He thought more clearly when she wasn't quite so close to him. Finishing
his sandwich, he eased out of the chair and wandered around her small,
spare office. Curiously, he browsed the shelf of real-paper books she
had prominently displayed.
There was a mint-condition volume of Wuthering Heights, a slightly
battered edition of Have Spacesuit, Will Travel a collection of Edgar
Allan Poe's poetry, and ... He paused, staring at a slim volume perched
neatly between the others. The Diary of Anne Frank.
"It's a nice collection," Peter said softly. "Do you read them?" Unlike
his Uncle Jim, many collectors did not.
Lisa nodded proudly, coming to stand beside him. "I don't read the
volumes themselves, of course--they're much too fragile. But every book
I buy, I look it up in the library files and read it."
"That's great," Peter said, his voice low. He tried to imagine how she
could've ever read the words of Anne Frank and still become so involved
with the KEHL. "It's nice to meet someone who appreciates books."
She gave him a smile, and a spark of warmth touched her huge, obsidian
eyes. "Are you a collector, too?"
"Not exactly," Peter admitted. "But my uncle is, and I enjoy his books."
Peter hesitated, then bit the bullet. "You know, I've never gotten the
chance to ask how you got so involved with the KEHL."
Lisa showed no sign of self-consciousness as she replied,
"I haven't been a member that long, Peter. Just a few months. It's funny
... I'm a sociology student, and I know something about how groups like
this start ... Usually there's one charismatic individual--like
Induna--who founds such a group, and he or she finds followers along the
way, people who think along the same lines. But the KEHL, at least here
in San Francisco, wasn't like that at all." She glanced at him, her
black eyes earnest. "Which leads me to believe that we were just
destined to be--that it was time for us to rise and make our voices
heard."
"Have you always disliked aliens? Particularly Vulcanst' Peter was
careful to keep his tone one of polite, if casual, interest.
She frowned a little as she thought. "It's funny, Peter. Up until a few
months ago, I scarcely ever gave the matter much thought. I'd never
known an alien personally, and only met a few as casual acquaintances.
I'm from a little town in Indiana, and we don't get many
outsiders--human ones, much less extraterrestrials. I guess it was just
a subconscious decision I made back in August ... that humans evolved
on Earth, so it's our planet, and they don't have any place here."
"Do you think Earth should stay in the Federation?"
"I don't know ..." She chewed on her lower lip, hesitating.
"Since Earth is the most powerful planet in the Federation, with only
the Vulcans capable of posing a serious challenge to us, I suppose we
shouldn't dissolve the Federation until the Klingons and Romulans have
been dealt with.
As long as we can get the Vulcans out, that is."
Peter was having a difficult time staying civil. "Why?" he asked,
struggling to keep the edge out of his voice.
She faced him, holding his gaze with her own intense one.
"Do you know anything about Vulcan history?"
"A little," Peter said cautiously.
"Let me show you something." She walked back to the computer terminal
and selected a computer tape, then plugged it in.
As Peter seated himself in front of the screen, images coalesced in
front of him. The predominant one was an image of the Plains of Gol, a
scene familiar to anyone who watched popular media entertainment.
Splashed across the desolate scene were the words The True History of
Vulcan.
He groaned inwardly. Propaganda films were not among his personal
favorites.
"Are you aware that the Vulcans fought major wars on their planet
several thousand years ago?" Lisa asked, as the film moved forward,
illustrating her question with vivid, computer-generated film sequences
that seemed shockingly real. "Wars that make Earth's World Wars and the
Eugenics War look like skirmishes by comparison?"
"I think I remember reading something to that effect," he mumbled.
"Well," Lisa leaned forward and murmured confidentially,
"they still have the weapons from those wars, stockpiled in secret
installations. Weapons that could turn Earth into a smoking cinder in a
matter of minutes."
As the images on the film confirmed her wild allegations, Peter's mouth
dropped open, and he didn't have to feign astonishment. Where in hell
did she get that idea? They had to have faked these images! Vulcan has
no weapons except defensive ones--and hasn't for four thousand years!
"You're kidding!" he managed, feebly. "Where did you find out about
that?"
She shook her head. "Everyone in the KEHL knows.
We can't ge t the Terran government to admit it, but it's true."
"Wow," was all Peter could say. "That's hard to believe."
"You think that's bad, you haven't heard anything, yet," Lisa said. She
touched the computer controls and changed the scene from massive
stockpiles of terrifying weapons to another, more fantastic landscape.
There was a towering cathedral-like edifice in a searing desert. Inside
were cavernous, smoky, dimly lit rooms packed with peculiar, glowing
orbs, pulsating as if with a mysterious force.
"The Vulcans are in control of ancient Vulcan ... personalities, I guess
you'd call them," Lisa said. "Spirits
without bodies. They're called katras, and they have hundreds of
thousands of them stored up, just waiting to turn them loose to possess
the people on Earth. Unless we can stop them, they'll conquer us without
a shot being fired!"
This last was almost too much for Peter. He knew he had to cajole her
along, try to learn more, but all he wanted was to escape listening to
such noxious paranoid fantasies.
"But don't worry," she consoled him, misinterpreting his expression. She
placed a warm hand on his arm. "We're on to them now. And our membership
is growing, bringing in new committed people--people like yourself. Our
voices will be heard." When he didn't respond, she asked, "What made you
join up?"
"Self-preservation," he said, letting her take it any way she wanted to.
"But I ... had no idea ... things were so bad ... "Her bizarre
accusations merely gave him more incentive to accomplish the task he'd
come here to do.
"Lisa, you told me you needed my help in a special task.
Something about a Vulcan conspiracy ... ?"
She nodded. "Boy, you're inexhaustible! I wasn't going to bring it up
tonight, but ..." She glanced through a number of tapes then pulled one
up. "We've found information that's coming straight out of the Vulcan
consulate that will shatter this whole holier-than-thou sham the Vulcans
have set up. This information will prove that Vulcans are using their
telepathy to influence powerful members of the Federation--perhaps even
the president himselfl"
Peter's eyes locked on the small tape. In his pocket sat blank
cassettes, enough memory to copy anything he should find of value here,
but so far, nothing seemed significant.
"How can I help with that?"
"Needless to say, this information was very difficult to come by," she
told him. "A lot of it has been lost in the transference--special codes,
significant schedules. Since you're a data-retrieval technician, I
thought ..."
He nodded. "Sure! I'd be glad to help. I can take it to work tomorrow
and ..."
She shook her head. "Oh no, this can't possibly leave here.
In fact, Jay's not real happy with my even letting you see it.
But ... for some reason ... I can't help but trust you, Peter Church."
Lisa leaned forward almost imperceptibly, at the same time Peter felt
his own body drawn toward her. When their lips met, his face flamed with
embarrassment that his body had so little regard for his own internal
ethics.
"I'll ... be happy to work on it here," he said huskily, when they drew
apart. "I can probably ... tap into my workstation ... use my fries at
work to decode some of the lost material."
She nodded. "That would be great." And kissed him again.
They both jumped when they heard the door behind them whoosh open. Jay
stood there, frowning disapprovingly.
Lisa moved away from Peter self-consciously. "I ... didn't think you'd
be back so early," she stammered.
Jay didn't respond, merely glanced at Peter and said to the woman
neutrally, "Can I see you in my office a moment?
Something's come up."
"Is it Induna?" she asked worriedly, standing. They'd found out that the
president of KEHL had survived Sarek's "assault," but had been
hospitalized (at his own insistence, Peter knew). "Is he all right?"
"Let's ... talk in my office," Jay reiterated, nodding his head in that
direction.
"Wait for me," Lisa said to Peter, "and I'll show you the problem with
those files."
He nodded and watched her walk toward Jay's office with the other man.
The moment they were both out of sight and earshot, Peter snatched up
the "conspiracy" tape and plugged it in. Grabbing one of his empty ones,
he downloaded the whole thing, sight unseen. After copying the secret
cassette, he copied the extensive KEHL membership lists, and the
propaganda films as well. He had just finished copying the annual
agenda, and sliding his tapes back in his pocket, when Lisa came back
into her office. Jay was not with her. Peter stood to greet her.
"Everything all right?" he asked. "Is Induna okay?"
Lisa nodded, smiling warmly. She slid her arms around him and he
returned the embrace. "Jay is such an alarmist!
Induna's out of the hospital, and will be back here tomorrow."
"Great! Why don't we get started on those Vulcan files?"
She pulled him closer and murmured, "Is work all you think of, Mr.
Church?"
He swallowed, unsure of how far he could take this charade. "Well ...
this would be the best time for me to access my workstation ... "There
wouldn't be many students in the Academy library at this time. He hadn't
quite figured out how he was going to log on without revealing who he
"worked" for ... or his real name.
"Tomorrow will be soon enough," she assured him, and reached up for
another kiss.
He obliged her, realizing uneasily that his body was responding to her,
even if his mind wasn't. Hastily, he raised his head, staring down at
her. "Okay. Tomorrow. It is late.
I'd better go."
"See you tomorrow, then," she agreed, and released him, smiling warmly
as he let himself out of the basement.
With a twinge of regret, he thought, Not bloody likely. In spite of the
late hour, he made a beeline for the Starfleet Security offices on the
Academy's campus. Those offices were staffed all night. Someone would be
there that would be interested in his story. And then he'd never have to
go back to that basement again, never have to war within himself over
Lisa's feminine charms and her absurd, even dangerous politics. One
thing was for sure--no matter how many mixed feelings he might have
about taking the Command track at school, he was now certain that he had
no interest in working in Intelligence!
Twilight on Vulcan.
Sarek stood alone on his terrace, watching T'Rukh at full phase. The
ambassador had returned from Freelan the previous night, and the day had
been taken up with visits to the meal center and consultations with his
wife's physician.
Now, gazing at the full, bloated sphere, Sarek reached out and grasped
the stone balustrade so tightly that his knuckles shone greenish white
in the eerie glow of The Watcher.
Silently, the ambassador struggled for calm.
As he watched The Watcher, the gigantic world seemed to loom even
closer, as though it were about to topple out of the sky and crush him.
The chilling breeze stirred his thick, iron-gray hair, as refreshing as
the touch of a cool, human hand on his brow. Sarek swallowed, feeling
dull pain in his midsection. Surely he was not ill ... A quick
assessment of his physical condition assured the ambassador that he was
physically healthy ... the pain he was experiencing had no physical
cause.
Sarek leaned heavily on the railing, experiencing again that rush of
vertigo at the thought of Amanda. Amanda was with him now, for the
moment, but soon, the Healer said, she would not be here anymore.
Because Amanda ... Amanda was dying.
Dying. His wife was gravely ill, and, even though they were attempting
to treat her condition, T'Mal held out little hope of recovery.
Dying ... Amanda. Dying. So the Healer said--and one glance at his
wife's face yesterday had convinced him.
Sarek stared blindly at The Watcher, thinking of all the times he had
stood here, during many of the epochs of his life.
How many times had he stood thus? Absently, the ambassador retrieved the
number. He had not seen the giant world until he was an adult, when he
had built his villa here. Also, he had spent much of his working life
offworld. Still, Vulcan's days were shorter than Terran days, and Sarek
was 138 Federation Standard years old. 122,474 times. 122,474 times ...
The ambassador had watched T'Rukh the night that his firstborn had been
declared outcast and departed his homeworld, and known within himself
that he would probably never see Sybok again. Nor had he.
He'd watched T'Rukh during the early hours of his second pon farr,
experiencing the heat of desire, concerned that human flesh and bone
might not withstand the flames consuming him. But human flesh and bone
had proved more resilient than he had thought. During that night, his
secondborn had been conceived.
The ambassador had watched T'Rukh the night that Amanda had delivered
their son, and again when Spock had announced that he had passed the
entrance requirements for Starfleet Academy, and was forsaking the
Vulcan Science Academy to go offworld. Memories of that "discussion"
still had the power to make the ambassador's jaw muscles tighten.
T'Rukh's light had illuminated his son's tall form as he'd walked away
without looking back. His father had thought never to see him again,
either. But that time he had been in error, and never had he been more
pleased to be mistaken.
Sarek drew deep, slow breaths of the cool air as he let his
consciousness sink down, deep inside himself, seeking that place of
quiet repose that every Vulcan was taught in childhood to retreat to
during times of trouble.
He could not find the place. Calm acceptance continued to elude him.
With a sigh that was almost a moan, Sarek sagged against the railing,
raising both fists to press them against his temples in a gesture he
would never have permitted himself had he not been alone. Every mus cle
in his body was taut; his indrawn breath hurt his lungs.
Logic ... his logic was gone, the core of his mental balance was
gonemand in its place was pain ... and fear.
And grief. Sorrow filled him, until he felt that he could hold no more.
There was no quiet center that would release him from his pain, this
fear, this grief. How could he stand it, if he could not find his
center? How did humans manage, with no silent retreat or sanctuary to
shield them from the constant onslaught of emotion--how could they stand
this?
No wonder some of them broke with reality, retreating into insanity
because they could not deal with their pain, their fear, their grief.
Sarek stared at T'Rukh unseeing, unblinking, until his eyes began to
burn. The physical pain distracted him, and he found a brief respite in
it.
Sarek ... The call resounded softly within his mind. Sarek ...
Immediately the ambassador turned and left the balcony.
He strode swiftly through the living room, down the short hall; then he
hesitated before the carven portal. The call came again. Sarek ...
Quickly he sent back a wordless reassurance, a sense of his proximity
and imminent arrival. Then, drawing a deep breath, the Vulcan put out a
hand and rested it against the carven portal, seeking strength from its
solidity, its age.
Letting the breath out slowly, he summoned calm, seeking at least
outwardly--control. When he was certain that his features betrayed
nothing of his inner turmoil, he straightened. Squaring his shoulders,
he pushed the door open and stepped into the room he had shared with his
wife for more than sixty Earth years.
The chill of the air-conditioning struck him immediately.
Amanda's physician had insisted, over her protests, that she must not
tax her remaining strength by enduring her adopted world's notorious
heat. Cold air blasted against his face, driven constantly so a pressure
lock would not be necessary.
The ambassador's gaze rested first on the bed, but it was empty, the
light, silver-blue coverlet Amanda had woven decades ago thrown back.
Even as he turned toward the small sitting room that looked out over the
rear garden, he sensed her presence, waiting for him.
Quickly, Sarek strode through the bedroom and into the adjoining sitting
room. Amanda occupied her favorite chair as she gazed out the window at
her garden, her pale skin seeming doubly unearthly in T'Rukh's light.
She sat quietly, not turning her head. During the past days she had lost
even more weight ... now she seemed little more than a wraith. Only
Sarek's iron control kept him from betraying his distress at her
appearance.
Sarek ... Her mental "voice" filled his mind. "Amanda," he said,
allowing just a touch of reproach to shade his voice, "you were supposed
to rest for the remainder of the day. The Healer emphasized your need
for rest. Logic demands that you heed her advice." When he reached her
side and stood looking down at her, only her smile was unchanged ...
gentle, full of affection.
"I'm tired of resting," she said, holding up two fingers toward her
husband. "And you know how I love to watch The Watcher shine on the
garden at night."
"I know," Sarek replied, touching her fingers with his own.
"Is it pleasant out tonight?" she asked, a hint of wistful eagerness
tingeing her soft voice.
"Yes, it is," Sarek replied. "However, to answer the unspoken corollary
to your query, no, it is not cool enough for you to go outside, my wife.
The Healer's directions were quite specific on that point. Logic
dictates that you must husband your strength ... and the heat depletes
it."
"For heaven's sake, Sarek," Amanda said, her eyes flashing with
indignation, "I've lived here most of my adult life! I know it's hot
outside! But I have been cooped up in this house for nearly a week, and
I am tired of seeing nothing but these four walls, tired of resting. I
want to sit in my garden, damn it!" Her voice gained strength and volume
as she spoke, but faltered and cracked on the last line.
Sarek was taken aback at her vehemence--he knew Amanda had a temper, had
known that since before their marriage, but he could have numbered on
one hand the occasions when his wife had resorted to profanity.
"Amanda ..." he began softly, then stopped.
"Besides," she added, her eyes filled with weary resignation,
"what difference will it make, really?" The ambassador gazed down at
her. Under the circumstances, he could not find it in himself to deny
her wish. It was such a small request ...
"Very well," he agreed. "Do you have your respirator with you?" Smiling,
Amanda patted the pocket of her robe, indicating that she did. "What
about the logic of following the Healer's orders?" she asked him.
"Logic tells me that you will expend far more energy arguing about this
than you will in a brief interlude outside," Sarek retorted as he bent
over and scooped her up as he would have a child. She was hardly heavier
than one.
Perhaps, Sarek thought, a brief excursion outside would bolster her
flagging appetite.
When Sarek reached the garden, he carefully lowered his wife's slight
form onto a stone bench, then seated himself beside her. Amanda's eyes
shone as her gaze took in the beauty of the night, the garden, and the
hovering planet that dominated the sky. "It is lovely," she breathed. "I
knew it would be."
"It is good to see you here again," Sarek said. "The garden's appearance
is not aesthetically complete without its creator." Amanda, recognizing
the compliment despite its subtlety, smiled roguishly at her husband.
"Sarek, I do believe you are getting sentimental," she teased.
Her husband's lips curved upward as he permitted himself the faint,
answering smile that few besides his wife had ever seen. "Nonsense, my
wife. My comment was entirely logical. This is your garden; you designed
it, planted it, and nurtured its growth. It is a reflection of your
creative instincts, so, logically, it appears at its most attractive
when you are present to complement and complete it. There is nothing
'sentimental' about that--I was merely stating a fact." Amanda chuckled,
and to Sarek's ears the sound was more welcome than any strain of music.
"Now you're rationalizing, my dear--as well as teasing me. It is a good
thing our son isn't here to hear you. Spock would be shocked." Despite
Sarek's control, the muscles in his jaw tightened fractionally at the
mention of his son's name. Amanda was watching him intently, and her
husband realized that she had not missed that tiny betrayal. Her smile
faded. "Have you heard from Spock?" she asked anxiously. "You didn't--"
She broke off at her husband's nod, and her eyes flashed again, this
time with anger. "You didn't!" she exclaimed. It was an accusation, not
a question.
Sarek gazed up at T'Rukh fixedly. "I sent a subspace message to Spock
before I left the Freelan system," he admitted quietly.
"How could you?" Amanda was furious--as he'd known she would be. "We had
a bargain! You gave me your word! I did not want him told, you knew
that! I--" She sputtered indignantly for a moment, then subsided, too
angry to speak. Finally, her chin lifted and she glared at him, her eyes
now cold. "Your action was entirely illogical, my husband," she said in
slow, careful Vulcan, using one of the ancient, formal dialects. Then
she turned away, staring fixedly at The Watcher. It was no longer full;
its upper limb was now shadowed.
Sarek was taken aback by her accusation--in ancient days, it would have
constituted an insult. "Amanda--" he began, then waited patiently for
two point six minutes until she finally looked at him. "My wife," he
said softly, hearing the tension in his own voice, "Spock had to be
informed. If anything happened to you, and I had not told him, he would
never speak to me again--and I could not fault him for his decision."
Amanda sighed, and Sarek immediately knew that her anger had turned to
resignation. "You're probably right," she said quietly.
"Amanda," Sarek said slowly, "I regret going against your wishes, but
logic and duty demanded that I make my own decision."
"But our son has been through so much in the past couple of years!" she
murmured, twisting her wasted hands in her lap. "He lost his ship,
Valeris betrayed him, my god, he lost his very life--he needs to finish
putting the pieces back together, not have other concerns added!"
"Would you deny him the chance to see his mother again?" Sarek said, and
the phrase "for the last time" seemed to fill the quiet garden.
It was a long time before Amanda replied. "No, I suppose not. I suppose
you did the right thing, as well as the logical thing. But I wanted
Spock to--" She broke off on a ragged breath.
"You wanted him to what?" Sarek asked, quietly.
"I don't want him to see me," she admitted, dully. "I thought it would
be better if he remembered me the way I used to be ... "
"That' never occurred to me," Sarek said, slowly. "Your attitude is
illogical, Amanda ... and vain. Human vanity, I believe, is as foreign
to my son as it is to me."
"I know that," she said softly. "I've lived here for decades, and never
yet managed to figure out how Vulcans can be so arrogant without being
at all vain."
"You have learned much about my people," Sarek conceded, quietly. "It is
possible that no human understands us better."
Sarek crossed her fingers with his, but, in addition, he gently traced
the contours of her face with two fingers of his other hand. The
intimacy of the caress, outside of their bedroom, made Amanda's eyes
widen; then she closed them, concentrating on their bond, and the
closeness it gave them.
Finally both stirred, and Sarek dropped his hand. "We should go in, my
wife," he said gently. "I sense your fatigue.
You must rest."
Amanda nodded, but, when he would have risen, put out a hand to
forestall him. "Just five more minutes," she pleaded. "Who knows ...
when ... or ..." She hesitated, but did not say "if" aloud. "Anyway,
there is no way to know how long it will be before I'll be able to be
with you in the garden again. Five minutes more, Sarek ... please?"
Sarek gazed down at her, then nodded. "Very well," he said. "But you
must agree to put on your respirator, Amanda."
She frowned, but then her features smoothed into serenity once more, and
she obediently slipped the little mask over her mouth and nose.
Together, fingers once more touching, they gazed at The Watcher, while
the night breeze caressed their faces.
Spock felt the surrounding heat even before his body was completely
rematerialized. Nevasa was almost directly overhead, blazing furiously.
The transporter chief had beamed him down into the gardens behind his
parents' mountain villa. It had been nearly five years since his last
visit here, and Spock noted absently that Amanda had expanded the cactus
garden to include species from the deserts on Andor, Tellar, and Rigel
VI. The plants were brilliant shades of lime green, amethyst, and
turquoise, doubly arresting next to the dusty greens and reds of the
Terran and native Vulcan plants.
He walked slowly up the crushed stone path, feeling the heat envelop him
like a blanket. He welcomed the hot caress. Vulcan. No matter that he
had spent more of his life with deck plates beneath his boots than he
had treading the sandy soil of his homeworld--when he was back on
Vulcan, he knew he was home.
The mountain villa was a low, redstone building with solar panels set
into its flat roofs. Its design was deceptively simple and austere; from
outside it appeared smaller and more rustic than it actually was. The
surrounding foothills and the paths leading up to the mountain crests
were as familiar to Spock as the corridors of his starship.
Just as he reached the kala-thorn hedge that enclosed the garden, a door
opened onto the rearmost of the roofs and Sarek emerged. At his father's
signal, Spock halted and waited for him. Sarek took the side ramp down
to the ground, then skirted the edge of Amanda's garden until he stood
before his son.
The Vulcan officer held up his hand in the salute of his people.
"Greetings, Father," he said in their native tongue.
"I trust you are well?"
Sarek nodded. "Greetings, my son. Yes, I am well. It is good to have you
here."
Despite his father's reassurance, Spock was concerned about the
ambassador's health. The lines in Sarek's face had deepened, and his
hair was grayer than it had been a month before. His shoulders seemed
smaller, and the flesh of his hand, as he returned his son's salute, was
tightly drawn over the bones of his fingers.
"How is Mother?" Spock asked.
"Sleeping," his father replied. "The monitoring devices will indicate
when she awakes. The Healer has stressed her need for rest." The
ambassador glanced around. "We should go in."
Spock nodded. "Nevasa is ... formidable today. One forgets, after years
away."
Together they went into the villa, then sat down in the living room
Amanda had decorated with handwoven wall hangings. Spock sipped
appreciatively at a cup of relen tea, covertly watching Sarek as his
father paced restlessly around the room, gazing at the bone-white walls
and the desert-hued hangings as though he'd never seen them before.
Finally, Sarek turned to face his son. "Your mother ..." he began, then
he fell silent.
"She ... is dying?" Spock asked, feeling his throat contract over the
words.
"Yes," Sarek said, seeming relieved that his son had spared him having
to say it aloud. "The Healer holds out little hope of recovery, even
though she is being treated for Reyerson's disease. The illness, in one
of her age, is too debilitating."
Spock nodded silent understanding.
Father and son occupied their time while waiting for Amanda to awaken by
sharing a simple lunch. It had been years since he and his father had
been alone together long enough to share a meal, Spock realized, and he
found himself enjoying Sarek's company. They spoke of the Klingons and
the Khitomer Conference, of the current political situation in the
Federation, and a host of other diplomatic concerns.
Spock rose from his seat and wandered over to examine the water
sculpture in the corner of the room. Every time he came home, its design
and flow were slightly altered--Amanda changed it periodically. This
time, there was something different about it--the flowing lines were
sharper, more angular than before. The water ran in clear perfection,
instead of taking on colors from the underlying crystal and stone.
"It is different," he said to his father, indicating the sculpture.
Sarek nodded. "I programmed it this time. Your mother did not have the
energy to do the work herself, but she was tired of the old design."
Studying the piece of art, Spock finally nodded. "Yes, I can see that.
This design is far more ... logical." He hesitated, trying to frame the
rest of his thought in a way that would not offend.
"But not as aesthetically pleasing," Sarek finished for him. Taking in
Spock's surprised glance, he nodded. "I saved the old designs, every one
of them. As soon as Amanda grows tired of the current design, I will
reactivate one of her programs."
Sarek hesitated for a long moment, then continued.
"There is something that has been concerning me for some time now. I
need your advice on a problem I am facing."
Spock's gaze sharpened with curiosity. "A problem?" he prompted. Never
before had Sarek asked him--or anyone else, insofar as he knew--for
advice.
"Recent events have convinced me that a serious problem
is facing the Federation from an unsuspected quarter," Sarek said,
steepling his fingers on the table before him.
"What do you know of the Keep Earth Human League?"
Just as Spock opened his mouth to reply, the monitor in the corner
beeped softly. The ambassador quickly rose to his feet. "Your mother is
awake."
Soft-looted, Spock followed his father down the hall to his parents'
bedroom. Even though he had thought himself prepared for his mother's
illness, he was shocked by her extreme pallor and thinness, as she lay
in the middle of the huge bed.
"Mother ..." Spock said gently, leaning over her to take one of her
hands in his own. The bones beneath her papery skin seemed no more
substantial than those of a songbird.
"Spock ..." she whispered, even before her eyes opened.
Her familiar, loving smile shone out of her face, transforming it,
making it suddenly familiar again. "Oh, Spock, it is so good to see you
... "
The first officer stayed with his mother for nearly an hour, talking
quietly to her. When Amanda's eyes began to close, he squeezed her hand,
then left.
Sarek was sitting at the table when his son reentered the dining room.
Spock sank into a chair, and took a deep breath. "I did not want to
believe it," he said, dully.
"I know. I experienced the same reaction," Sarek said quietly.
Father and son gazed at each other in silent accord.
Laser torch in hand, s'kara straightened up slowly from her crouch
beside the massive combination planter-harvester.
Overhead, Kadura's small orange sun, Rana Delta Eridani), was trying to
break through the winter cloud cover ... and almost succeeding. s'kara
turned her face up, enjoying the brush of warmth against her dark green
Orion skin. Her short, curly black hair, liberally shot with the gold
threads of age, stirred in the chill breeze that cooled the sweat on her
forehead.
Looking off across the fields, rusty brown instead of summer blue-green,
s'kara let her gaze wander to her village of Melkai. There were snug
little homes, painted in shades of blue, yellow, green, and mauve, their
rooftops black and studded with solar collecting cells.
The Orion woman grimaced a little as she rubbed her back with one hand.
Squatting beneath the combine all morning while she tried to weld its
sequencer into position again was a sure guarantee of a backache to
come. Still, the combine would have to be used soon for planting, for
spring, despite the cold grayness of the sky, was only a few weeks away.
With a heartfelt groan, s'kara bent her knees and prepared to squat
beneath the machine again, laser torch poised.
Just as she ducked to crawl beneath the combine, a dark shadow loomed
overhead. s'kara caught it out of the corner of her eye and
involuntarily looked up.
What was that? she wondered. It almost looked like a ship going by.
s'kara's heart pounded as she slid back out into the open and stood up.
Her eyes widened with fear.
A ship was swooping in for a landing not half a tern away--a Klingon
ship. Klingons! Great Mother of us all, help your children! Klingons.t
Heart slamming so hard she could scarcely breathe, s'kara fought the
impulse to crawl back beneath the combine and hide.
Stories of rape, murder, and stomach-churning atrocities ran through
s'kara's mind as she began to run toward the settlement. She had to warn
them!
Hearing a shout from behind her, she forced her legs to an even swifter
pace, the chill air hurting her lungs. The whine of a stun ray filled
her ears. Dodging frantically, she raced across the field, her feet
flying so fast that she feared she'd overbalance and fall, breath
sobbing in her chest.
The whine came againm and, without knowing quite what had happened to
her, s'kara found herself lying on her face in the field, completely
helpless. Her eyelids were closed, and she couldn't open them.
Frantically, she tried to pray as she lay there, wondering how long the
stun beam would hold her. Her muscles screamed with pain, but she
couldn't adjust her position by so much as a sendisat.
Time went by ... s'kara finally began countin g her own heartbeats, and
had reached 412 when she heard footsteps approaching. A voice barked an
order in Klingonese, and the whine came again. Abruptly, she could move,
and her entire body convulsed in agony as all her muscles went into
spasms. Rough hands grabbed her, hoisted her up.
Flingohs ... five of them, all armed. One of them grinned, showing a
mouthful of snaggleteeth, and reached for the front of her insulated
coverall, clearly intending to rip it open.
s'kara closed her eyes tightly. She braced herself--only to have another
of the Flingons reach out and strike down the hand of her would-be
attacker. He snarled something that sounded like an order, and the other
Flingon reluctantly stepped back.
This Flingon was wearing a more elaborate metal sash across his broad
shoulders. He eyed her, then said, with a strong accent, "Do you speak
Standard, woman?" s'kara nodded. "Yes, I do."
"Good. We talk, you translate. Help us, and you will not be harmed."
A shrill shriek rent the air, and s'kara darted an anguished glance in
the direction of the village. Another scream followed.
"We are under Federation protection, here," s'kara told the leader.
"When they find out what you are doing, it will mean war with your
government."
The leader uttered a short, ugly bark of laughter. "We have no
government, woman. We are our own law, our own government. I am
Commander Keraz. You will address me as 'my lord." Is that understood?"
s'kara nodded sullenly. One of the Klingons holding her cuffed her
sharply. She took a deep breath. "Yes, my lord."
"Better."
All of them glanced up as yet another Flingon bird-of-prey hurtled out
of the sky. Keraz gave an order to one of his men, and the Flingon
trotted off.
"We will go into the village," Keraz said to s'kara. "We will assemble
the people. You will speak to them in your own language. What you will
tell them is this We are in control, and we will stay in control. As
long as they obey us, they will not be harmed. Resist, and we will kill
them--or worse. Is that clear?"
s'kara stared at him, wanting so badly to spit right into his swarthy
face that her jaw muscles worked. He watched her as though she were some
kind of mildly interesting insect. After long seconds, s'kara nodded,
then, as one of her guards raised his hand, said hastily, "Yes, my
lord."
Another scream rose out of the villagema scream that was cut off in the
middle by a whine of disruptor fire. s'kara tensed, her throat an aching
knot of despair. Keraz nodded at her guards, and they all started across
the field, passing the big combine.
I will survive this, Klingon, s'kara thought grimly. When this is over,
I will be alive, and free--and you will be sorry. By the Mother Goddess,
I swear it ...
As the little party entered the village, s'kara forced herself to note
every horror they passed, so she could tell the authorities when they
came. They would come, she told herself. The Federation took care of its
own. They would come ...
But would anyone still be alive to be rescued?
"What is this threat to the Federation, Father?" Spock asked, later that
same day, as he and Sarek walked in the gardens behind the villa.
Sarek's young aide, Soran, was watching the monitors that would signal
when Amanda awoke again. "You aroused my curiosity with your reference
to the Keep Earth Human League."
Overhead, Nevasa was past its zenith, declining toward the horizon, but
sunset was still more than an hour away.
Sarek glanced about him at the stark beauty of his wife's garden. Then
he quietly spoke of the Freelans, summarizing his discovery that they
were actually Romulans in disguise, and speaking of his discoveries
aboard the Freelan space station.
"I have been collecting data for over a year," he finished.
"I would appreciate it if you would review it for yourself tonight."
Spock nodded. "If it were anyone else telling me of this, I would
dismiss his words as illogical paranoia," the Starfleet officer said
slowly. "That you have seen proof of your theory convinces me, but ...
how did you know? What made you suspect the Freelans?" Sarek had known
that Spock would ask. The ambassador drew a deep breath, steeling
himself. "It is a long story," he began. "One that I did not think I
would ever speak of to another." His son raised an eyebrow inquiringly.
"Obviously you have access to information the rest of the Federation
does not. How did you obtain it? The Freelans are the most secretive of
beings No one has ever seen a Freelan
his or her mask " Slowly, deliberately, Sarek shook his head from side
to side.
"Not true," he said, heavily. '7 have seen the face of a Freelan.
When the incident first occurred, I remained silent about it for nearly
seventy Standard years, because I could not be sure of what I saw that
day. But now ... now the puzzle is complete, and I must inform the
authorities of what I have discovered."
"Seventy years?" Spock was clearly taken aback. "Please elucidate."
to the bench that faced T'Rukh, Sarek sank down, arranging his robes
meticulously while he searched for words.
"It began when I was a diplomatic attache at the Vulcan Embassy on Earth
... some seven years before I met your mother. I had been bonded to
T'Rea, the priestess"--the ambassador used the archaic Vulcan word
reldai, which in the old days, when Vulcan was ruled by the theocracy,
meant both "female religious leader" and "female ruler or princess"--"as
was traditional, when we were both seven years of age. I had not seen
T'Rea since we were children; she was a stranger to me." Sarek paused,
remembering his first wife as she'd looked the last time he'd seen her
... her intense black eyes, her
beauty, her proud, stern features. Mostly he remembered her hair, a
rippling obsidian curtain that had hung down past her hips. It had felt
as silken as her diaphanous wedding robe.
"As the newest of the diplomatic attaches on Earth, many of the routine
or less-desirable tasks fell to me," Sarek continued after a moment.
"One of those was being appointed the diplomatic liaison to Freelan. I
was fifty-nine Standard years old, and had not yet experienced my first
Time. I knew that most males undergo their first Time in their thirties
or early forties, so this delay was somewhat unusual ... "He shrugged
slightly. "But I also knew that residence offworld could affect one's
cycle, and I had lived much of the past fifteen years on Tellar, Earth,
and several other worlds.
Many factors, as you know only too well, Spock, can affect the onset and
frequency of our Times." Spock nodded gravely.
"It was raining that day in San Francisco when the ambassador summoned
me to his office," Sarek continued, his voice deepening as the memories
took hold, transporting him back to the past. "I was still new enough to
Earth to find such an abundance of precipitation fascinating ... even
mesmerizing.
"I been the liaison to Freelan for three years at that time. Freelan had
only come to the attention of the Federation shortly before I was
appointed, so, as it happened, I was the first person to travel to that
distant world to discuss trade policies."
"How many trips had you made?"
"Over the course of three years ... seven in all," Sarek said, after a
moment's thought. "Naturally, of course, I was not permitted to set foot
on Freelan soil. I stayed on board their space station."
"Had you ever met a Freelan personally?" The ambassador shook his head.
"No. At that time, no one had.
They did not leave their world until decades later. All contact was by
comm link. Despite all this, my contact on Freelan, a diplomatic attache
named Darov, was someone I had come to know and respect over the years.
Darov and I had fallen into the habit, following a day's negotiation, of
playing chess after our respective evening repasts. Darov was a
challenging player," the older Vulcan continued after a moment. "Many of
our contests ended in a draw, and, more than once, I lost."
His son raised an eyebrow in surprise. "That is indeed ... impressive,"
he murmured. It had been many years since father and son had sat down to
a game, but the last time they had played, Sarek had still been able to
win more than half the time.
"As we played, we talked ... about many things. Darov was careful not
to reveal much in the way of information about his people, or himself,
but, over the years, I learned some things about the Freelans that
outsiders did not know.
For example, I knew that Darov was young, about my own age, that he was
married, and had a family that he was quite ... devoted ... to. A son
and two daughters, I believe."
"Did you gain any knowledge of Fredan society and culture?"
"Yes, though Darov was extremely cautious and secretive.
I gathered that his political leanings tended toward the moderate. Darov
favored increased contact with other worlds ... while the Freelan
government's official position was that outsiders constituted a
potential threat to the Freelan way of life."
"Darov wanted to change the way his world interacted with others?"
"I gained that impression over the years," Sarek said,
"though he never said so specifically."
"Fascinating," Spock murmured. "You did indeed learn more than is
generally known even now about Freelan and its people. I had no idea the
Freelans had political parties, or that not all Frcelans favored their
isolationist policies."
"There are many things you do not know about the Freelans," Sarek said
gravely. "That day in San Francisco, Ambassador Selden assigned me to
travel to Freelan to conduct trade negotiations concerning ore that had
recently been discovered on a moon in the Freelan system. This ore,
crysium, was a vital element in the construction and use of a new
diagnostic and treatment machine recently d eveloped by the Healers at
the Vulcan Science Academy."
Sarek's mouth quirked ironically. "At the time the ambassador spoke with
me, I was experiencing some minor physical symptoms of illness ... I
had not been sleeping or eating well. I considered asking him to send
another in my place. But I told myself that my symptoms were simply
those of mild fatigue due to overwork, and that a chance to rest aboard
ship would be beneficial ... "
As Sarek talked, the memory of that fateful voyage and its aftermath
grew in his mind, eclipsing for the moment his surroundings. Amanda's
garden faded into the neutral-colored walls of his tiny cabin aboard the
freighter Zephyr ...
Soft skin beneath his hands, long, silken hair spilling over his body,
the brush of a mind that inflamed him past all ability to resist ...
Sarek groaned aloud as he reached for T'Rea. She wore only the
diaphanous overtunic of her wedding garb, and he could clearly see her
body beneath the silken fabric.
The sight of her made him gasp and tremble; his mind and body were
aflame, hot as the sands of Gol, burning like the volcanoes that
tormented T'Rukh, searing him beyond all ability to resist. Sarek
reached for his bride, his hands catching in her garment, ripping it,
and then he was touching her flesh ...
With a gasp and a muffled cry, he sat upright on his narrow bunk aboard
the Zephyr, realizing that he had been dreaming. He was shaking
violently, so aroused that it was several minutes before he could
discipline his mind to overcome the fever racking his body.
So this is what it is like, Sarek thought finally, when he could once
more think rationally. Port farr ... and I am parsecs away from Vulcan,
and T'Rea ...
Through their bond, he could sense her, knew that her body was
experiencing that drawing, even as his was. For a moment he wondered
what it would be like to be married to her for the rest of his life, but
the rest of his life seemed like an insubstantial, faraway thing in
comparison to the heat of his desire.
The drawing was physical pain, his need to mate was torture. How long
before he succumbed to the madness, the plak tow? Grimly, Sarek set
about using biocontrol techniques to subdue the pon farr so he could
reason logically.
Minutes later, he rose from his bunk, outwardly composed, inwardly more
at peace It was early, yet. He had several days ... perhaps a standard
week ... before the blood-fever would consume him utterly.
Vulcan was five days away. Should he request that the captain take him
to Vulcan instead of docking at Freelan's space station in an hour?
Sarek shrank from the idea that anyone--any outworlder, any human--might
see him in his extremity. And yet surely he could hold out for a day,
maintain control long enough to meet with Darov and formalize the
ore-trade agreement. Much of the negotiation had already been
accomplished via subspace messages back and forth.
Surely Sarek could handle one day's work before sealing himself into his
cabin and preparing to wait out the agony before he could reach Vulcan
and his wedding T'Rea ... He had met her only a few times, and not ever
in the past twenty years. T'Rea had become an Acolyte of Gol, and her
mental skills were formidable. People spoke of her with respect, and a
little awe. Rumor had it that she was a candidate to ascend to the rank
of High Master.
Was she now High Master? What would it be like to be wed to the High
Master of Gol, someone whose telepathic skills greatly exceeded his own
modest ones? What would it be like to be wed to someone who had achieved
kolinahr--a person who had succeeded in purging all emotion from her
being? Someone who lived by Perfect Logic?
For a moment something in Sarek rebelled at the realization that there
could be no personal sharing between himself and such a woman, no
intimacy, no ... companionship. No warmth. No ... kindness, no
gentleness.
After a moment he pushed the thought away, rejecting it as illogical.
His work was in the diplomatic corps ... he lived on his homeworld only
a few days each year. He and T'Rea would live apart, that was the only
logical solution.
They would meet during their Times, and that would be all.
And children? a voice whispered inside him. What if there are children?
It was unlikely that the High Master of Gol would have either the time
or the inclination to raise children, Sarek decided. If a child should
be born as a result of this Time ... his blood heated at the thought of
the act necessary to engender a child ... then he would take that child
to raise. His work was difficult, requiring much traveling, but a child,
especially an older child, would gain much from such exposure to the
universe and its varied cultures.
A soft chime came from the intercom; then the steward's voice informed
the Vulcan that the Zephyr would be docking with the Freelan station in
thirty Standard minutes.
Sarek spent half of those minutes in deep meditation, checking his
biocontrol, verifying that the mental barriers he had set up against the
heat in his blood were holding, would hold long enough for him to
accomplish his duty. The moment the negotiations with Darov were
concluded, he would return to Zephyr and order her captain to take him
to Vulcan at the freighter's maximum warp.
Then he would lock himself in his cabin for the duration of the trip,
and fight to keep control over the madness that would be nibbling at the
fringes of his mind.
Minutes later, dressed and outwardly as cool and composed as usual,
Sarek walked through the short tunnel linking the Zephyr's airlock with
the Freelan station.
The station was empty at the moment, save for him ... there were no
other outworlders staying here as they met with the Freelans on the
planet below via corem link.
Sarek was relieved that he would be spared the necessity of engaging in
small talk with other beings. He did not even enter his sleeping
quarters--a neutral, pastel chamber as bland as any hotel room--but
bypassed them to go directly into the adjoining office with its comm
link.
Within moments, Darov's figure materialized before him.
Sarek was used to facing the cowled, swathed figure, completely muffled
in shimmering garments as colorless as a Taka moth's wing. Darov's
mechanical voice echoed in his ears. "Greetings, Liaison Sarek! I was
not expecting you until this afternoon."
"My ship made good time," Sarek said neutrally. "Greetings to you,
Liaison Darov. I trust you are well?"
"Entirely, thank you," Darov said, and Sarek imagined that he could hear
a touch of genuine warmth tingeing the artificial voice. "And you?
Perhaps you will honor me with a game of chess after we conclude our
meeting?"
Sarek bowed slightly. "I regret that I must respectfully decline, Darov.
I am ... fatigued, and am looking forward to reaching my homeworld, so
I may rest."
Darov's cowl jerked slightly forward, as if the Freelan had moved his
head suddenly to peer at Sarek's face. But the liaison said only, "How
unfortunate that you are not feeling up to playing. I will miss our game
... it has become one of the few pleasures I still allow myself, with
my busy schedule." He straightened slightly, briskly. "If you are not
well, let us by all means conclude these few points quickly, so that you
may rest. Shall we begin?"
"Certainly," Sarek replied, activating half of the screen to show the
data he had brought concerning the crysium ore.
"Now, concerning these subsidiary mining rights ..."
Hours later, they were nearly finished, when Darov suddenly turned his
head, then announced, "Excuse me, Sarek.
I am being summoned on a priority channel. Would you wait for a moment?"
"Certainly, Darov," Sarek said. The Freelan's image vanished, and he
busied himself going over the points they had negotiated. He experienced
a brief flare of satisfaction at his own performance. He'd protected
Vulcan's interests in all major areas, while giving in on minor points
that would no doubt allow Darov satisfaction regarding his own
negotiation strategies.
Halfway through the list, the Vulcan attache gasped suddenly as pain
lanced through his mind and body like a
phaser blast. T'Rea! Her desire called to him, reached out for him,
threatened to engulf him. Wait, he attempted to transmit along the bond,
I am coming to you ...
"Sarek? Sarek? Sarek, are you--" Dimly, Darov's voice reached the
Vulcan. He swayed, opening his eyes, found himself still in his seat,
clutching the comm board as though it were a lifeline.
"I ... am fine," the Vulcan managed after a moment.
"Perhaps a brief rest ..."
"I did not know that Vulcans could lie ... until now," Darov said
flatly. The shrouded figure of the alien nearly filled the comm screen,
as though he were leaning forward, peering intently at the Vulcan
attache. "Our station has a fully equipped automated med center. Perhaps
you should--"
Agony lanced through Sarek again, rolled over him in waves so crushing
that they left nothing in their wake except blackness ... a dark so
deep that it had no end, a dark that should have been cool, but was
instead an inferno of black flame, and he was burning, burning, burning
...
Hands on his shoulders, a voice in his ears, calling his name. T'Rea? He
lunged blindly at the hands, at the body he sensed hovering over his,
pulling at him, dragging him.
T'Rea! It had to be she, for the hands on his shoulders were not cool,
as human hands were, but the same temperature as his own fevered flesh.
It must be T'Rea!
Sarek called her name, reaching out, then opened his eyes to see a dark
form bending over him. Moments later he was lifted in arms as strong as
his own, lifted and carried.
"T'Rea ..." he gasped, only to hear a male voice say, "No,
she is not here. Come, I will help you."
Not T'Rea? A male? A rival?
He was being challenged! T'Rea had chosen the Icad-if fee--how dare she?
Enraged, Sarek thrashed, striking out, then found himself falling. He
crashed to the deck of the space station with stunning force.
Space station? Wasn't he on Vulcan?)
But he had no time to ponder his location, for his rival
was bending over him, grappling with him. With a bellow, Sarek struck
out, grabbing madly at the other male's dimly seen figure, his hands
seeking the challenger's throat.
Cloth met his fingers, impeded them from their goal.
Snarling, Sarek ripped savagely, felt the cloth give and come away in
his hand.
But he was on the Freelan space station, wasn't he? I, Vasn't this
Darov, who was trying to save him? This couldn't be a rival Vulcan.t)
But it was. As the shrouding cloth parted, Sarek saw features swim
before his eyes--features that nearly mirrored his own! He was right! A
Vulcan male was trying to take T'Rea from him! He must kill him, kill
him ... kill him ...
A voice crying out, a voice he recognized, despite its lack of
mechanical quality. Darov voice, calling his name ... and those were
Darov features? Slanting black brows, proud black eyes, high cheekbones
chiseled like his own, black hair, rumpled now from their struggle, and,
amid the black locks, ears that were ... that were--)
"I regret this, my friend," the dimly seen figure said, as Sarek froze
in shocked confusion. The arm drew back; then Sarek saw the shoulder
roll forward with sudden movement.
Something struck him hard on the chin, and he knew no more ... "What
happened then?" a voice said, pulling Sarek out of the haze of memory
into which he had sunk. The sun was setting behind him, and, before him,
T'Rukh loomed at full phase, T'Rukhemai disappearing behind it. Spock
was gazing at him intently.
"Obviously you survived to reach Vulcan. How did you manage it, if you
were deep in plak tow?"
"When I regained consciousness," the ambassador said,
"I was in the med center aboard the Freelan space station, and I was
alone. The automated machinery had evidently diagnosed my condition,
then administered sedatives and hormones that allowed me to function
with some semblance of normaicy. It also helped that T'Rea, unknown to
me, had contacted the consulate on Earth, discovered that I was several
days' journey away from home, and was shielding her mind, blocking me
from reading her ... desire ... through our bond.
"Under the influence of the medication, I reboarded my ship, which
reached Vulcan before the end of the fifth day.
My marriage ceremony took place less than one hour after the Zephyr
achieved orbit around Vulcan."
"And that was when Sybok was conceived?"
Sarek slanted a surprised glance at Spock. It wasn't like his son to ask
such personal questions ... but perhaps that was because he'd never
given him an opening before. "Yes," the ambassador replied simply.
"T'Rea hid his birth from me, though. I did not know he existed until
her death, years later. When she ascended to be High Master of Gol, two
years after our wedding, she divorced me. This was legal, under the
ancient laws, because the High Master is expected to sever all ties to
the outside world in order to more fully embrace kolinahr and the
teaching of that discipline to the Acolytes."
"Did you regret her action?" Spock asked. Two highly personal questions!
The ambassador took a deep breath. "No, I did not. I was immersed in my
work, and had just been appointed under-ambassador.
Besides," he added, with a glance at the villa, "if T'Rea had not
divorced me, I would not have been free when I met your mother. My
relationship with Amanda is eminently more ... satisfying ... than
anything I shared with T'Rea during our single, brief encounter. She was
..." Sarek paused, remembering." ... a typical kolinahru."
"What really happened that day with Darov?" Spock asked. "Pon farr can
... distort ... one's sense of reality."
"Precisely. For that reason, I dismissed what had happened as a plak
tow-induced hallucination," Sarek replied.
"I concluded that I must have blundered around the station, at one point
running into a mirror and deciding that my own reflection was a
challenger in the kal-ocfee ... then, by sheer happenstance, wandered
into the med center, where the automated equipment took over and saved
my life."
"Under the circumstances, that would be the most logical deduction,"
Spock agreed. "But now you know that is not "Yes. My first suspicion of
that was when your ship, the Enterprise, discovered twenty-seven
Standard years ago that the Romulans, whose faces no one had ever seen,
were plainly of Vulcan stock."
"Indeed," Spock said, obviously recalling the incident.
One corner of his mouth twitched. "I recall the first moment when our
viewscreen gave us a glimpse of the Romulan commander. It is odd that
you mention that Darov bore a resemblance to you ... because this
Romulan did, also. I was rather startled when I first saw his image
on-screen."
"Perhaps he and Darov were related in some way," Sarek speculated. "At
any rate, from that time on, I could not dismiss the notion that the
Freelans were not what they seemed. Two years ago, when the Romulans
began to emerge as a serious military threat to the security of the
Federation, I began researching Freelan exhaustively. As I did so, a
pattern emerged."
"What kind of pattern?" Spock asked.
"I believe that the Romulans are behind the sudden popularity and
high-profile activities of the Keep Earth Human League," the ambassador
replied.
Spock blinked. "Please explain that allegation. How could the Freelans
have anything to do with the KEHL?
The KEHL is against all extraterrestrials ... including Romulans."
Sarek rose from the bench and began pacing back and forth as he spoke.
"Consider, Spock. Every time the KEHL has experienced an upsurge in
growth, at least one Freelan has been attending a diplomatic, trade, or
scientific conference within the same city."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "Every time?"
His father nodded.
"What are you postulating, Father? Some form of mass coercion? Drugs?
Hypnotism?" The younger Vulcan could not disguise his skepticism.
Pausing in midstride, Sarek turned to regard his son levelly. "Mental
influence." His words were clipped, terse.
Quickly, he summarized his encounter with Induna, and what he'd
discovered from the KEHL leader's mind.
"But Romulans do not have the ability to meld or mind-touch," Spock
protested. "It could not have been a Freelan who influenced the KEHL
president."
"I know that Romulans do not share the Vulcan telepathic ability," Sarek
said, somewhat sharply. "I am not suggesting that they are influencing
KEHL members personally. During the past three years, Freelans have
begun using Vulcan secretaries and aides in increasing numbers. Have you
noticed this?"
He watched his son in T'Rukh's lurid illumination as Spock mentally
reviewed the data stored in his mind. "I have only recently begun
attending diplomatic conferences, but you are correct. Every time I have
seen a Freelan envoy, he or she has been accompanied by a Vulcan
secretary or aide. The Khitomer Conference is a case in point."
"Yes," Sarek said. "Soran was rather taken with the Freelan aide he met
there."
"Father, the practice of hiring Vulcans as administrative aides is
hardly unusual."
"True," Sarek agreed. "Many young Vulcans take employment on other
worlds as a way of traveling after completing the first stage of their
education. However ..." He fixed his son with an intent gaze, his voice
dropping to a near-whisper.
"None of those Freelan secretaries or aides were born on Vulcan."
"Indeed?" Spock blinked, then his eyes narrowed.
"Fascinating ..." he murmured, suddenly comprehending what the other was
saying. "None of them?"
The elder Vulcan shook his head. "None. Including the young woman named
Savel. I have traced every young Vulcan traveling offworld for the past
five years ... and no records show that any of them have been hired by
Freelans."
"Yet I saw the Freelan envoy with her at his side myself," Spock said.
"I recall them clearly."
"As do I," Sarek agreed. "But whoever that young Vulcan woman was, she
was not born on this world."
"Then where did those young Vulcans who are influencing the KEHL leaders
come from?" Spock asked.
"They came from Freelan." Sarek's voice was harsh and flat, and he
swallowed to ease the dryness in his throat.
"Spock, the Romulans have been systematically hijacking ships with
Vulcan passengers for decades. I have studied the shipping reports, the
passenger lists, for every nearby sector, and there is an
eightysix-point-seven-percent correlation between the disappearance of
a ship and the presence of one or more Vulcans on board."
"Continue," Spock said, his expression grim.
"It is my belief that those abducted Vulcans were taken to Freelan and
forced to produce offspring. Their resulting children grew up under
Romulan influence and training--and they serve the Romulans. These
children learned to use their telepathy in ways Vulcans raised on this
world are taught to abhor."
Spock was quick to follow the ambassador's logic. "So now we have
Freelan envoys, merchants, and scientists traveling to Earth and the
Terran colonies on a regular basis, most of whom are accompanied by a
Vulcan secretary, or aide. And those young Vulcans, trained in Vulcan
mental disciplines, but lacking our ethical prohibitions, are using
their telepathy as they mingle among the populace. They influence humans
with a buried streak of xenophobia, inflaming them into becoming prime
material for the KEHL."
"Exactly," Sarek said. "I must admit that at first I doubted that Vulcan
telepathy, which is traditionally accomp lished by touch, could be used
for such a purpose." He paused for a second, then continued in a lower
tone,
"However, recent events have convinced me otherwise."
Spock nodded, a shadow in his eyes mirroring the sadness in his
father's. "Sybok," he said. "I saw him influence minds from a
considerable distance. His mental powers were ... unusual, however. But
the ability to influence minds more subtly ... I possess that capacity
myself."
This time it was the ambassador's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Really? I
did not know that."
"I have done so several times," Spock admitted. "Though never to effect
any lasting mental impression or change in the subject's mind. But I did
it on Eminiar Seven, and again on Omega Four." He paused. "And I am only
half-Vulcan.
Thus I find the possibility of Vulcan offspring who possess the mental
abilities, without the ethical constraints we are taught, entirely
plausible. And ... disquieting."
Spock was silent for a moment; then he asked, "Did you ever discuss with
Darov what happened that day you went into pon farr? You said that you
were friends ... "
"I might have," the ambassador said. "Except for the fact that I never
saw Darov again. I never discovered what had become of him. I suspect he
was executed for helping me that day. Darov was replaced by Taryn. My
impression of him is that he is considerably younger than Darov ...
though I cannot be certain, of course, since I never knew Darov's age.
He is a far different individual. Much colder ... and possessing, I
believe, a formidable intellect.
We have never discussed politics, but I am certain that Taryn is far
from the moderate Darov was." Sarek paused, thinking. "I have gained the
impression, over the decades, that the liaison is ... patriotic.
Possibly a zealot."
Spock raised an eyebrow as he considered the ambassador's words. "If he
is indeed a wing commander, that would not be surprising. Many
high-ranking Romulan officers favor all-out war with the Federation."
The Starfleet officer rose from the bench to pace beside his father
along the garden paths. "My final question is, why?
Obviously, all of this ... the Freelan base, the captured Vulcans, the
KEHL--this entire plan took years ... decades ... to set into motion.
What do the Romulans hope to gain?"
Sarek did not answer directly. Instead he asked, "What are the goals of
the KEHL?"
"As I understand them ... to remove all nonterrestrials from Earth
itself. Especially Vulcans."
"Not just from Earth," Sarek said. "From the Federation
itself. I have researched the KEHL, also. The organization is adamantly
opposed to the continued presence of Vulcan as a member of the
Federation." Spock nodded slowly. "That does not surprise me." His
features tightened. "If the Romulans are successful in driving a wedge
between Earth and Vulcan, to the point where Vulcan either secedes or is
expelled from the Federation, then Earth will have lost its most
powerful ally."
"Yes," Sarek said. "A Federation without Vulcan would be weakened in
many ways. Also consider What is the current situation with the
Klingons?"
"Extremely unstable. When I left the Enterprise, we were orbiting a
planet whose colony had been devastated by a Klingon attack. Chancellor
Azetbur assured us that the raiders were renegades, and that she was
attempting to capture them and bring them to justice. I believe her, but
many others will not. The entire Federation/Klingon situation is
unstable. James Kirk referred to it last week as 'a powder keg waiting
for a spark.'"
"An essentially correct, if somewhat dramatic way of putting it," Sarek
said, dryly.
"Instability in the Federation could well provide such a spark," Sarek
continued. "Azetbur's government is struggling to stay in power. She has
popular support, but many of the older, high-ranking families object to
having a woman as chancellor. A number of high-ranking officers have
turned renegade, deserting the fleet and using their vessels to commit
acts of piracy."
"Actions which only fuel the xenophobia the KEHL is fostering."
"Precisely." Bathed in T'Rukh's garish light, Spock's features were
drawn so tightly they appeared fleshless, skull-like. "It is also
possible that the Freelans are using their trained Vulcans to influence
high-ranking Kling-Ohs ... fomenting dissent, inciting the Empire into
civil upheaval, and then war with the Federation. The humans have an
ancient phrase for such strategy"Divide and conquer.'"
"Indeed," Sarek agreed. He sighed wearily, feeling himself relax for the
first time in ... how long? He could not tell ... "My son, it is a ...
relief ... to speak of this all, after holding silent so long," the
ambassador said, sinking down onto another bench. "I have discussed my
conspiracy theory with only two people before you--Soran, just recently,
and your mother. It is difficult to know who to trust. Any high-ranking
official could now be under Freelan influence." Spock shook his head
slightly as he considered that. "A situation that might justifiably
induce paranoia," he concurred.
"Last year, when I first began to suspect that the Freelans were using
telepathy to influence people, I advised all members of Vulcan's
diplomatic corps to work on strengthening their mental disciplines, so
they could not only detect, but shield against, any attempt at mental
influence. I traveled to Gol nearly every day for months, training with
one of the high-ranking Acolytes."
"I learned similar techniques while I was at Gol," Spock was quick to
assure his father. "My shielding is better than average."
"Good." Sarek gazed around him at the garden in T'Rukh's waning light.
"All indications are that the Romulan plan is reaching fruition. I
hypothesize that we may have only months ... perhaps less ... to act
to stop them."
"What is your recommendation?"
"First, we must gain concrete proof of the Freelans' true identity and
purpose in order to expose them. Your skills with computers equal my
own. It is my hope that, working together, we can break into the Freelan
system more successfully than I was able to that first time. Then we can
download their memory banks."
"That would constitute indisputable proof," Spock agreed. "We must
present that proof in open session of the Federation Security Council."
"I agree."
"We do have time," Spock said. "The KEHL is still a long way from
influencing Earth to expel Vulcan from the Federation."
"Do not be too sure. Elections will be held in two months, and the KEHL
is sponsoring many candidates ... some openly, others with secret
affiliations. Some of these candidates are vying for offices at very
high levels in Earth's government."
Sarek rubbed his forehead as fatigue washed over him so strongly it
seemed to gnaw at his bones; he felt every one of his 128 years.
"Something else to consider, Spock If the KEHL keeps growing, Vulcan
will not struggle to remain a member of the Federation. Our people do
not react well to being ... insulted."
Spock nodded grimly. "I suggest that we discuss the matter with James
Kirk and ask his help in gaining positive proof, and in bringing all of
this before the Federation Security Council and the president."
"I agree," Sarek said.
It was full night now, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. The
younger Vulcan glanced around him at the eerily lit garden and repressed
a shiver. "It is late. We should go in."
"Yes. Your mother will be waking soon."
"So, you're Jim Kirk's nephew!" Commander Gordon Twelvetrees exclaimed,
holding out his hand.
Standing stiffly at attention, Peter accepted the warm handshake from
the tall, stately Lakota Indian who was Admiral Idota's aide. The
admiral was one of Uncle Jim's friends, and while Peter hadn't really
expected to find anyone in at such a late hour, he'd hoped to leave a
message for Idota with the desk clerk. He was pleasantly surprised to
find the admiral's aide still at work.
"Oh, at ease, son," the commander said, waving him to the couch in his
office. He poured a cup of fresh, fragrant coffee into the fine
Starfleet china that every admiral's office had, and handed it to the
cadet.
Peter nodded his thanks, and took a sip. It wasn't anything like the
brew at the cadet's commissary. This was a hearty, robust
blend--Jamaican, probably. He relished the taste.
"You got lucky finding me here tonight," the commander said. "Usually I
keep the same bankers' hours as the admiral."
The young Kirk smiled thankfully at his superior. "I'm glad you could
see me. Why the late hours?"
"I was here waiting for a communiqu6 from the Neutral Zone. Something
the admiral's been expecting. When they told me Jim Kirk's nephew had a
problem ..."
For once Peter didn't flinch at the reference to his relative.
At times like this, being Uncle Jim's nephew came in handy.
"Thank you, sir. I'm most grateful for your time." He tugged his cadet's
uniform into place, glad he'd taken the time to change and freshen up.
He hesitated, trying to find the right place to begin, then finally
started from the top, telling Twelvetrees about trying to meet Sarek for
lunch, the demonstration, the riot and his involvement, and how he found
himself at the local KEHL headquarters.
The story didn't take very long, and Twelvetrees never interrupted,
listening to every word with complete attention.
As he neared the end of his tale, Peter withdrew the three tapes with
the pilfered information and showed them to the commander.
"I know it was probably a foolish thing for me to do, sir, to pretend to
be a member of KEHL, but I felt it was a unique opportunity I couldn't
pass up, in spite of the risks.
And I think it's paid off. These tapes hold the entire files of their
membership rolls, their agenda, and the stolen information they obt ained
from the Vulcan consulate. I think they're enough to discredit this
organization for once and all. They're really getting dangerous, sir,
and they're no longer willing to work within the law. Their violation of
Vulcan communications alone is proof of that."
Commander Twelvetrees took the computer tapes almost reverently, staring
at the innocuous bits of flat plastic as he
turned them around in his big hands. "You certainly are a Kirk, son.
That's the same thing Jim would've done in that very circumstance. He
must be proud of you."
Peter was about to say that his Uncle Jim didn't know anything about
this, when a troubling realization began gnawing at his gut. Despite the
commander's words, he realized that the aide wasn't taking him
seriously. Not at all.
Twelvetrees sat back against the couch, and pocketed the cassettes. "I
want to thank you for the effort you took to obtain this information,
Peter. Most people--working to complete their finals, cramming day and
nightmwould only have their own personal problems in mind, and would've
turned their back on this. You've got the kind of heart, the kind of
backbone Starfleet needs to bring us successfully into the future. I
won't forget what you've tried to do here.
However ..."
Peter felt as if ice crystals were forming in his stomach.
" ... I have to tell you that Starfleet has had the KEHL under
surveillance for quite some time. We've even had several people
infiltrate the ranks. I can understand your alarm, but the truth is the
KEHL is just a fringe-element, disorganized group. They've been gaining
popularity due to the media exposure, and, unfortunately, we were
under-staffed at the consulate the day of the demonstration. But the
KEHL is no threat to anyone, Peter."
"But ... those tapes ..." Kirk protested.
"Oh, don't worry, Peter ... I'll take a look at these before I hand
them over to Starfleet Security--just in case there's something in there
we can use. They'll probably decide to warn the Vulcans about the breach
in their security. But don't forget, none of the KEHL's plans have ever
come to anything. And we both know there's no such thing as a Vulcan
conspiracy." He stood, indicating the interview was at an end. "You have
your navigational final tomorrow morning, don't you?"
"Yes, sir," Peter responded desultorily, as the commander walked him to
the office door.
"You focus on that, son. I barely made it through that one myself. Don't
you worry about these tapes, the KEHL, or
anything but your exam. I'll make sure this information gets the
attention it deserves, and if we find anything of any importance, I'll
let you know." The commander extended his hand again as his doors
whooshecl open, practically demanding Peter's exit.
The young Kirk took the hand offered him. "Thank you, sir. And believe
me, if you really look at that information, I think you'll be surprised
... and concerned."
"Don't you worry, Peter," the commander assured him, his deep voice
calming and sincere. "Starfleet Security has the situation well in hand.
Thanks again for your concern."
Peter watched the doors slide closed behind him and slumped against the
wall, despondently. He hadn't been born yesterday; he knew a kiss-off
when he saw one. Despite the commander's promise, Peter couldn't shake
the feeling that the officer was probably going to toss his tapes in the
nearest recycler.
The cadet shrugged.
He could still get in a few good hours of studying if he hurried. The
commander was right about one thing. If he was going to ace the
navigational final, he'd need to be sharp, focused. Peter straightened
up and squared his shoulders.
He'd get focused, all right. As soon as he tended to one more thing.
Minutes later, young Kirk strode briskly up to the communications center
that sat in the center of the massive Starfleet Security headquarters.
"Can I help you, sir?" the young man manning the desk asked.
"Yes. I want to send a message to a Federation starship." Peter realized
that he had no idea where his uncle was right now.
"And what ship is that, sir?" the operator asked casually.
"The Enterprise. I want to send a message to Captain James T. Kirk."
The communications clerk glanced up, faintly surprised.
"Well ... that ship is currently on assignment. A message could take a
long time to ..."
"Send it Priority One. I am Captain Kirk's nephew. It's regarding a
family emergency."
"Of course, sir," the operator agreed, all business. He handed Peter a
message pad and stylus. "If you'll encode your message here it will be
sent on the private-messages channel, Priority One."
Peter picked up the pad, and, stylus poised, stood pondering just
exactly what to say.
Spock stood waiting outside the door of his parents' room, forcing
himself to remain still, hands clasped behind his back, his expression
controlled, remote. Inwardly, however, the Vulcan wanted nothing more
than to pace restlessly.
Movement would have aided him in dispelling some of his disquiet.
This morning, the Enterprise had entered the Vulcan spacedock, and, in
response to Spock's request that he evaluate Amanda's condition, Leonard
McCoy had beamed down to the villa.
The doctor was currently in Amanda's room, examining his mother.
Spock's sensitive hearing picked up the swish of the pressure curtain
moving aside, so he was prepared when the door opened, framing McCoy.
The doctor's expression was somber as he walked out into the corridor.
In silence, the two officers went into Sarek's office. When the
ambassador saw them, he rose from his desk and the three walked out to
the living room. McCoy sank down on the couch and glanced around. "You
have a lovely home, Ambassador Sarek."
The elder Vulcan inclined his head. "My wife's doing, for the most
part," he said.
"The view outside is magnificent, too. I never saw anything like the
Forge on any world I've visited."
"It is a relatively unique configuration," Sarek agreed.
Spock, who was sitting beside the medical officer on the couch, shifted
impatiently. "Doctor ... what did your examination indicate?"
McCoy shook his head. "I'm sorry, Spock. The Healers
are correct. The Reyerson's is, for the moment, in remission.
But I'm afraid that when I speak to Dr. T'Mal, I'm going to recommend
that she halt your mother's treatments."
The first officer glanced quickly at his father, then back at the human.
"Why, Doctor?"
"Because they're causing a tremendous strain on your mother's already
frail system. While I was examining her, she suffered a small
stroke--and my findings indicate that wasn't the first one."
"A stroke?" Spock half-rose from the couch.
"It was a good thing I was there. I was able to arrest it, and prevent
any significant damage. My sensor readings indicate that she's had at
least two others within the past week or so.
Minor ones, but they take their toll."
"What is your prognosis, Dr. McCoy?" Sarek spoke for the first time in
minutes.
"Well, I can't really say definitively. These things differ with
individuals ..." the human began, evasively.
Sarek stared levelly at the Starfleet medical officer. "With all due
respect, I must remind you that you are not speaking to a human family,
Doctor. Please do not dissemble."
McCoy took a deep breath. "All right." He stared levelly at the
ambassador. "The Healer was, if anything, optimistic.
I would say it's a matter of a few weeks ... possibly only days."
Spock drew in a soft breath as the doctor's words struck him like a
blow. It wasn't until that moment that the Vulcan realized, bitterly,
that he'd hoped his old friend would be able to work some kind of
miracle. Illogical the Vulcan part of his mind whispered. Illogical if
not irrational ... hope is a human emotion.
All at once he was acutely conscious of the automatic time sense marking
off the hours, minutes, and seconds in his brain. Usually, the Vulcan
never thought about it, unless he needed to, but suddenly, it was as
pervasive as the ticking of some huge, old-fashioned Terran clock.
Time ... Amanda's time was running out. '
Without a word to the others, he rose from his seat and beaded for his
room. Fingers numb, he pulled on rough, outdoor clothing and desert
boots. He was not thinking, he was simply obeying a strong, almost
instinctive need to move, to be outside, to walk the rough soil and
climb the jagged stone of his homeworld.
The heat struck him as he headed into the hills, but Spock ignored it.
He was too conscious of the seconds ticking away inexorably in his head
...
"Ambassador?." Sarek looked up at the sound of Soran's voice. The
ambassador was sitting by Amanda's bedside, her hand in his, so he would
be there when she awakened.
On McCoy's advice, he had engaged a Healer's aide to monitor his wife's
condition, but he and Spock had been taking turns remaining with her
during most of their waking hours, ever since Dr. McCoy's revelation two
days ago.
Now, seeing the concern in his young aide's eyes, the Vulcan hastily
left the bedroom and stepped into the hallway. "What is it, Soran?"
"Ambassador, a priority call just came in for you from President
Ra-ghoratrei," he said. "The president wishes to speak with you. He says
it is urgent."
Sarek nodded a quick acknowledgment as he headed for his office. Moments
later, he was seated before his comm link. A presidential aide
recognized him, nodded briefly; then the image wavered and was replaced
with that of the Deltan Federation president. Ra-ghoratrei nodded a
somber greeting to the Vulcan.
"Ambassador Sarek. Your aide told me of your wife's illness. I regret
having to call upon you at such a time, but I have no choice."
"What is it, Mr. President?"
"A band of Klingon renegades has captured an Orion colony--the planet
Kadur amand they are holding several thousand colonists hostage. The
Klingon leader is threatening to kill the hostages unless the Federation
agrees to negotiate a release and monetary settlement with him." The
president took a deep breath. "Ambassador ... a great
many lives hang in the balance. For this mission we need our best
negotiator--and that is you. The meeting will take place on Deneb Four."
Sarek briefly reviewed what he knew of the conference center on Deneb
IV. It was at least three days' journey at maximum warp. A week to go
there and return, as well as whatever time the negotiations would
require ... he would probably be away from home for at least two weeks,
possibly three ...
The ambassador knew without consulting T'Mal or McCoy that, given her
present condition, Amanda would probably not survive long enough for him
to travel to the neutral site, handle the negotiations, and return. If
he left his wife now, it was unlikely that he would ever see her alive
again.
Nevertheless, there was only one logical course of action.
The Vulcan took a deep breath. It is my duty. I cannot risk so many
lives. The needs of the many ... "I will go, Mr. President," he said,
steadily.
Ra-ghoratrei breathed a sigh of relief. "The Federation thanks you,
Ambassador. The hostages will now have the best chance to keep their
lives and regain their freedom."
"I will need a complete report on the Klingon Commander," Sarek said. "I
will depart this afternoon, provided my pilot can ready my transport.
Send the information about this Klingon via subspace message, if you
will."
"I will direct Admiral Burton, the head of Starfleet Security, to do
so," the president promised.
"Very well. Sarek out."
"Thank you again, Ambassador. Out."
Rising from his seat, Sarek quickly gave Soran instructions to prepare
for the journey. Then, knowing it was for the last time, he went to bid
farewell to his wife.
"Amanda." The voice reached her in the darkness, pulling her back to
light and awareness. The voice was familiar, known, beloved. An
authoritative, precise voice with a faint resonance. Pleasantly deep,
extremely cultured. The voice of her husband.
Amanda opened her eyes. Strong fingers grasped her hand gently but
firmly. Sarek's fingers.
"Sarek," she murmured, gazing up into the face she had known and loved
for so many years. "Have I been asleep long.\*"
"Several hours. My wife, I regret having to wake you, but I must speak
with you ... before I take my leave."
Amanda's eyes opened wider. "Leave?" she asked faintly, too weak to
conceal the dismay his words caused her. "Why?
Where are you going?"
"There is an emergency on the planet Kadura," Sarek said. "I just
finished speaking to President Ra-ghoratrei. He asked me to negotiate
the release of a Federation colony that has been seized by Klingon
renegades. There are thousands of colonists whose lives are in jeopardy.
I must go, Amanda.
It is my duty."
Her heart contracted at his words. "How ... how long will it take?" she
asked, her words scarcely audible above the faint hum of the medical
monitors. "Must you go?"
"Yes. I must take ship for Deneb Four within the hour. It is difficult
to say how long I will be gone. Ten days, at the minimum. If the
negotiations proceed slowly ..." He trailed off and his fingers
tightened slightly on hers.
"I see," Amanda whispered. "Very well, Sarek. I understand."
Her husband regarded her, his dark eyes shadowed with grief. Gently, he
reached out and touched her hair, her cheek. "Amanda ... if I could, I
would stay here with you.
You know that, do you not?"
Silently, she nodded, fighting to hold back tears. His dear, familiar
face began to swim in her vision. No! she thought, blinking fiercely. I
will not cry. I will not let tears steal my last sight of you. I will
not let weeping mar our last farewell.
"Sarek ..." she whispered, turning her fingers so her hand grasped his,
returning the pressure. "I will miss you, my husband. I wish you did not
have to go."
"I will return as soon as possible, Amanda," he promised, his eyes never
leaving hers. "The instant Kadura is free, I will come home."
But you will almost certainly be too late, and we both know it, Amanda
thought, her eyes never leaving his face for a moment. She hated even to
blink. In a few minutes her husband would be gone, and she would never
see him again ... at least, not in this life.
"I want you to remember something," she said, struggling to keep her
voice even.
"What, Amanda?"
"Never forget that I love you, my husband. Always." She gazed at him
intently, holding his eyes with her own. "You will need to remember
that, Sarek, very soon now. Promise me you won't forget."
"My memory is typical for a Vulcan," he said, quietly. "I forget very
little, my wife."
"I know. But remembering my words in your head, and remembering them
here," freeing her hand, she gently laid it on his side, where his heart
lay, "are two different things.
Promise me."
"You have my word, Amanda," he said, his dark eyes filled with profound
sorrow.
I know that you love me, she thought, gazing up at him.
But I will not embarrass you by telling you so ... "Spock will be here
with you," Sarek said. "Do not forget that, my wife."
"His presence will be a great comfort," she said, softly.
Her gaze moved over his face, tracing the angular lines.
Putting her hand up, she touched his cheek, his eyes, his lips, thinking
of the many times she had kissed him there.
"Sarek, hold me. I want to feel your arms around me. Hold me."
Gently, he reached forward, scooped her up, and cradled her against him.
Amanda slid her arms around him and laid her head on his chest with a
long sigh. Briefly, she abandoned herself to the moment ... her soul
was content.
Finally she raised her head. "Sarek, I want you to promise me one more
thing."
He had difficulty meeting her eyes ... Amanda could tell through their
bond that he was profoundly moved. "What is it, Amanda?"
"I want you to read my journals ... afterward. Take the first one with
you now, my husband. Promise me you'll read all of them. Please?"
Sarek nodded; then, with infinite gentleness, he helped settle her back
onto the bed. Going into her sitting room, he returned with a slim,
red-covered volume. On the spine was affed the number 1. "This one?" he
asked, holding it up.
"Yes, that one," Amanda said, regarding him steadily as she lay propped
up on her pillows. "Read it. And when you've finished that one, go on
and read the next ... until you've read them all."
"I will do so, Amanda."
"I know you will," she said, and holding out her hand, two fingers
extended, she smiled at him. Somewhere deep inside herself, she was
crying, but she refused to let him see.
Let him remember me smiling, she thought.
Her husband held out his hand, brushed two fingers against hers, and
they remained that way for many seconds.
Then, with a last, grave nod, Sarek walked away, pushing through the
pressure curtain without looking back.
Spock saw the pressure curtain move; then his father appeared. The
ambassador's eyes widened slightly as he realized that his son must have
been listening to him as he bade farewell to his wife; then they
narrowed with anger.
Before his father could speak, the first officer signaled curtly for
silence and beckoned the ambassador out into the hall.
Only when the tekla wood door was firmly closed did Spock turn to regard
his father.
"Eavesdropping is discourteous, my son," Sarek said, and Spock could
tell he was irritated, though his voice was carefully neutral.
Spoek ignored the mild rebuke. He held his father's eyes with his own,
and his own voice was cold. "Soran told me that the president called,
and why. He also told me that you have ordered your transport prepared.
You intend to go to Deneb Four?"
"Yes," Sarek said, eyeing his son with a touch of wariness.
"I have just taken my leave of your mother."
"So I heard." Spock's voice cut like a shard of obsidian. "I must admit
that I found it difficult to believe. You actually intend to leave her?
In her present condition?"
"I must," Sarek said, quietly. "The needs of the many outweigh the
needs--"
"To quote an appropriate human phrase, "To hell with that,'" Spock broke
in, his voice rough with anger and grief.
"You cannot leave her like this."
"I recall a time," Sarek said, "when you chose to remain at your post,
when only you could save my life."
Spock paused. "Yes," he said, after a moment, "but I have grown since
then. It is a pity that you have not."
Sarek's eyebrow rose at his son's words and the unconcealed emotion.
"Spock, we all have our duties to consider. The situation at Kadura is
critical."
"So is my mother," the first officer said flatly. "She will not survive
long enough for you to return, and you know it.
Your leaving in itself will very likely hasten her end." He regarded his
father unwaveringly.
The ambassador paused, and Spock knew that the thought of his leaving
actually harming Amanda had not occurred to him until now. "You will be
here with her," he said, finally. "She will not be alone."
"She needs her family with her," Spock said obdurately.
"You are her bondmate--her husband. Your loyalty should be to her. There
are other diplomats on Vulcan. Senkar has handled situations of this
nature before. Let him negotiate for Kadura's release."
"The president requested that I handle the negotiations personally,"
Sarek said.
"He cannot order you." Spock's gaze never wavered as he held his
father's eyes. "Refuse ... under the circumstances, no one will
question your actions."
Sarek straightened his shoulders. "Spock, I have no more time to discuss
this. I must leave now."
"You mean that you wish to leave," Spock said, his voice cold and flat.
"You do not have the courage to stay and see her through this."
Answering anger sparked in Sarek's eyes. "I will not
remain to hear such acrimonious--and illogical--out-pourings, Spock. I
suggest that you meditate and attempt to regain your control." He drew a
deep breath, and added, in a tone that was intended to be conciliatory,
"Remember, my son, you are Vulcan."
"At the moment, if you are any example, being Vulcan is hardly a
condition to be desired," Spock snapped. Without another word, he
brushed past his father and headed down the corridor. Behind him he
could hear the ambassador's footsteps receding.
When Spock regained control, he gently opened the door to his mother's
room, and entered, parting the pressure curtain with both hands.
Amanda was awake. Spock noted the unmistakable signs that she had been
crying, but there were no tears present when she smiled at him wanly and
held out her hand. "I was just about to eat my lunch," she said, nodding
at a tray placed across her lap by the Healer's aide. "Would you like to
join me, Spock?"
The Vulcan nodded and drew a chair up beside her bed.
Amanda was making a valiant effort, he could tell, but she had to force
herself to swallow several small mouthfuls. She smiled at him. "Do you
know what I dreamt of last night?" she asked. "It was so strange ...
after all these years on Vulcan, being a vegetarian ..."
"What, Mother?"
"I dreamt that I was eating an old-fashioned hamburger.
It tasted wonderful--nice and rare, with cheese and lettuce and tomato
... "She smiled, shaking her head.
"If you would like one," her son said, "I will contact my ship and ask
them to beam one down immediately."
"Oh, no, don't," Amanda said. "I'm sure that eating meat after all these
years would make me quite ill. And the real thing could never match how
good it tasted in my dream ... "She chuckled slightly. "But it was odd
to dream about that after what ... sixty years?"
"Indeed," Spock said, cautiously. He sensed that his mother was
chattering on as a way of working herself up to
what was really on her mind. Sarek, he thought, was probably aboard his
transport and leaving orbit by now.
"Spock," Amanda said, softly, putting down her spoon and gazing at him
directly, "what is death like?"
Spock stared at her for a long moment. How many times had he been asked
this same question in the past three and a half years? Never before had
he attempted an answer, but this time ... he cleared his throat.
"Mother, I cannot tell you what death is like. In a way, since my katra
departed to reside in Dr. McCoy when my physical body expired, I was not
truly dead, as humans understand the term."
"Oh," she murmured, disappointed. "I'm sorry if that question was ...
disquieting. My curiosity got the better of me ... under the
circumstances."
Spock forbore to comment on her reference to her "circumstances."
Instead he said, gently, "I cannot tell you what death is ... but I
remember dying. I know what it is to die."
Amanda sat up a little straighter against her pillows, pushing her tray
aside. Her blue eyes never left his. "Really?
Tell me if you can, Spock."
"It was painful," Spock admitted, and if he had been human, he would
have shuddered. "I had been exposed to enough radiation to literally
burn me. In addition, my mind, while clear in some ways, was affected,
and thus I could not control the pain. I suffered, but I knew before I
even entered the chamber that I would not survive, so I also knew that I
would not have to endure for long ... "
Amanda's eyes filled with tears. Spock knew that imagining her son
burned, poisoned, and dying of massive radiation exposure was upsetting
her. He hesitated, watching her.
"Mother ... if this is too painful for you, I will ..."
"No," she said, fiercely. "It's a relief to talk about death, Spock. I
couldn't, not with your father. It would have distressed him too much.
But you ... you, of all people, you can understand."
"I do," he said, quietly. His hand slid across the coverlet and grasped
hers, holding it tightly, reassuringly. "As my body shut down, the pain
stopped, and I experienced relief when that happened. All the while I
knew that I was dying, but as soon as the pain ceased, I realized with
some surprise that I was not frightened, or distressed. It was more as
if what was occurring was simply a further, entirely natural step in the
order of things. I found myself at peace ... such peace as I have never
felt."
"Peace," Amanda whispered. "No fear?"
"Fear," Spock reminded her, "is a human emotion. No, Mother, there was
neither fear nor pain. Do not forget that I had established a link
between myself and McCoy, so I knew that my katra would ... continue."
"No fear, no pain ..." she mused, plainly attempting to envision such a
state. "What was there, then?"
"For a moment, I had a sense that knowledge was waiting for me, infinite
knowledge. It was a heady sensation, and lasted only for a moment--then
my consciousness blanked out, and I did not return to awareness until I
awakened on that pallet with T'Lar standing over me."
"Did you have a sense of an afterlife?"
"No, there was none of that. However, my leaira was residing within Dr.
McCoy, so I cannot categorically state that there is no afterlife."
"Do you believe in an afterlife?" his mother asked slowly.
"I do not know. I have no objective data to allow me to draw a
conclusion."
Amanda smiled dryly. "Spoken like a true Vulcan, Spock."
Attempting to lighten the moment, the first officer bowed slightly.
"Mother ... you honor me."
"Oh, stop it," she said, chuckling despite everything.
"You and your father ... when you do that, I want to throw something at
you!" She grasped one of the pillows, but her strength was not
sufficient for her to make good on the implied threat ... instead she
sank back against her pillows, gasping.
Amanda's mention of his father caused all of Spock's anger to return
full force. His mother did not miss the change in his expression, slight
as it was. "Spock," she said, putting out a hand toward him, "try not to
be angry with
your father. Sarek is simply doing what he has to do, being who and what
he is." Pride surfaced for a moment on her features. "And he is the
best, Spock. Never forget that.
Those people on Kadura could not have a better champion than your
father."
"Senkar is also an experienced diplomat who has handled situations of
this kind before. My father could have allowed him to negotiate with
this Klingon renegade."
"You're really angry with him, aren't you?" Amanda's eyes were huge and
full of distress. "Oh, Spock ... long ago I begged Sarek to try and
understand you, instead of simply judging you and finding you wanting.
Now I ask you the same thing ... try to understand your father! Forgive
him ... I know I do."
"Mother, I cannot," Spock said flatly. "You are his wife.
His place is by your side."
Visibly upset, his mother closed her eyes, shaking her head as she lay
liraply against her pillows. "Oh, Spock ... don't be so hard on him. We
all make mistakes."
The Vulcan regarded her with concern, realizing that she was fighting
back tears. He'd never meant to distress her ...
Spock put out a hand, closed it comfortingly over his mother's. "Very
well, Mother. I will attempt to be more ... understanding."
Amanda nodded weakly, her eyelids drooping. "Thank you, Spock ... "
The Healer's aide suddenly appeared from out of the shadows in the
sitting room, where the monitor screens were placed. Motioning to Spock
to go, she whispered, "She will sleep now, Captain Spock. I suggest you
leave and return later."
The Vulcan nodded quietly, and left the chill room and the slight,
silent form of his mother.
Peter Kirk unfastened the front of his uniform jacket even before the
door to his apartment opened. His garments seemed to have absorbed some
of the sticky fatigue that he felt must be seeping out of every pore.
Stepping inside, he
yanked the collar of his shirt open, feeling as if he were about to
strangle.
He was so tired he wasn't even sure how well he did on his navigation
exam. Oh, he was sure he'd passed, but this was one test he might not
have aced. To know he might've dropped a grade because of the time he'd
spent with the KEHL made him feel like a fool.
He tossed the tired uniform into the recycler. And as he did so, his
comm link sounded, signaling an incoming call.
Fearing it might be Lisa, Peter braced himself and accepted the call. He
blinked in surprise when he found himself staring at his uncle. He'd
only sent Jim that message early this morning, and the elder Kirk was
the last person he'd expected to hear from. Uncle Jim couldn't possibly
have gotten his message yet ... could he?
"Hello, Peter," Kirk's image said, though he didn't smile.
"Uncle Jim!" the younger man exclaimed. "This is a surprise! I thought
you were out near the Neutral Zone someplace?"
"I'm here in San Francisco," his uncle said, his words sounding clipped,
as though he were rushed, or angry. He was wearing full uniform, but
Peter couldn't tell where he was calling from ... his uncle's image
filled nearly the entire screen.
"You are? Well, that's great!"
"I'm at my apartment," Kirk said, solemnly. "I need to see you, Peter.
Can you come over?"
The younger Kirk felt his spirits rise. If anyone would know how to deal
with the KEHL, how to get around the skepticism of Commander
Twelvetrees, it would be James T. Kirk.
"I need to see you, Peter," Jim repeated. "Can you come over here
immediately?"
"Well ... sure," Peter said, glancing at the chrono with an inward
groan. He desperately needed about six hours' sleep. But if Jim needed
him ... " I'll be there as soon as I can. About half an hour."
"Good," Kirk said, and the comm link went dark.
Peter stared at the screen for a moment, puzzled. Some thing about the
call seemed odd, but Peter decided his brief association with the KEHL
was making him paranoid. Oh, well. He'd find out what was going on when
he got there.
After a brisk sonic shower, he wearily dragged on the first clothes that
came to hand--a pair of loose exercise pants and a baggy white shirt.
Glancing at his chrono as he hastily ran a comb through his hair, he saw
that it was a few minutes after midnight; Peter groaned inwardly.
Another night's sleep ruined--and tomorrow he was supposed to work with
Lisa again, bright and early. Not to mention that there were only a few
days left before his Kobayashi Maru test!
I've got to slow down, or I'll drop in my tracks, he thought, as he left
his apartment and hurried down the corridor toward the elevator.
He decided to walk; his uncle's apartment was only ten minutes away, and
the brisk fall air would wake him up. It was a weekday, so there were
few people out this late. The cool breeze nipped at him, and Peter
wished belatedly that he'd thought to put on a jacket.
As he strode quickly down the sidewalk, not allowing his steps to lag,
something moved in an alley to his left. In the glow of the streetlight,
he caught a flash of silver. Peter checked, peering into the darkness,
and a voice reached his ears. "Peter?"
The voice, though choked and breathless-sounding, was familiar. The
cadet frowned and started toward the alley.
"Lisa?" he called softly. "Is that you?"
A moment later, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness away from the
streetlight, he saw her. She was walking toward him, obviously
distressed. "Peter!"
"What is it, Lisa?" he asked, concerned. Much as he detested her bigoted
views, he had grown attached to Lisa the woman. "Is something wrong?"
"Yes," she whispered, moving toward him. "It's ... it's Induna. He
needs us, Peter, he needs us terribly. I need you to come with me!"
"Well, I--"
The cadet caught a flash of movement out of the corner of
his eye, felt a rush of air on his cheek, and, in accordance with all of
Starfieet's training, ducked. As he moved to the side, a blow caught him
across his upper arm with numbing force. Lisa gasped and frantically
scuttled back, toward the mouth of the alley.
"Get help!" Peter yelled at her, as his assailants closed in.
Two men, one tall, the other short, both burly, both obviously
experienced street fighters. Peter lashed out with a side kick toward
the shorter one's chest, but the man was too fast, and he hadn't struck
hard enough. Accustomed to pulling blows in class, he did not connect
with enough force to disable his opponent. Before he could follow up
with a front punch, the taller man's fist smashed against his cheekbone
with head-spinning force.
Training stood him in good stead as he reacted without thought, grabbing
the man's shirtfront and turning his fall into a back roll. As he went
down with the man atop him, Peter brought his knee up into the other's
stomach, hearing the breath whoosh from his attacker's lungs.
Letting his opponent sail on over his head, Peter regained his feet in
time to meet a rush from the shorter man. He struck at the man's neck,
but again this one was too quick to allow the blow to land full-on.
Peter leaped at him, his body twisting in midair, his foot coming up in
a tornado kick. This time he had the satisfaction of feeling his instep
connect solidly with the side of the man's head. Shorty went down, and
stayed down.
Whirling, hands and feet at the ready, Peter was just in time to block a
blow from the tall man, but seconds later he took a smashing kick to his
rib cage. Gasping for air, he aimed a back punch at the man's chest, and
followed it up with a quick foot sweep.
Two down. Panting from the stabbing pain in his ribs, Peter spun,
half-staggering, half-running as he headed for the mouth of the alley.
He glimpsed Lisa's silver coat just ahead of him. "Run, Lisa!" he tried
to shout, but his breath was too short for much sound to emerge.
As young Kirk raced toward the mouth of the alley and the comparative
safety of the well-lit street, Lisa stepped out to bar his path. The
cadet had only one shocked instant to realize that the faintly shining
object she held in her hand, pointed straight at him, was a phaser.
No! he thought, frantically. She set me up! It was a trap!
"Stop right there, Peter," she commanded, in a voice he'd never heard
her use before.
Peter had been trained how to deal with an armed opponent. Hit her, hit
her, his brain screamed, but for a critical instant he hesitated.
Damn! he thought bleakly. What would Uncle Jim do?
But he had no time to ponder the question, for, without further ado,
Lisa Tennant gave him a brilliant smile, aimed carefully, and triggered
the phaser.
Peter heard the whine, glimpsed a flash of energy, and then there was
only blackness ...
Sarek sat at a comm link located in his private suite in the conference
center on Deneb IV. Before him, on the screen, Chancellor Azetbur's
three-dimensional image gazed out at him. "Ambassador Sarek ..." she
said, inclifting her head slightly, one equal to another.
"Madame Chancellor," the Vulcan returned the greeting.
"I gather that you have been briefed regarding the situation on Kadurat'
"I have," she said. "I regret what has happened, Ambassador Sarek."
"I understand, Madame Chancellor," Sarek said. "I discussed the matter
with President Ra-ghoratrei upon my arrival last evening, and he
informed me that you had spoken together regarding this crisis."
Azetbur's exotic features were tight with tension, and the mantle of
leadership was clearly taking its toll on her. Sarek was vividly
reminded that she had lost both husband and father barely a month ago.
"This entire incident is unfortunate," she said. "Commander Keraz ... I
must admit that when I heard that he had initiated this raid, I was
surprised.
I have known the commander for years, and, while he can be ...
headstrong ... he has always been loyal. Keraz is--was--a warrior who
served the Empire with distinction, in the most honorable manner."
"I see ..." Sarek said. "I have yet to meet the commander.
Our first session begins in a few minutes. May I ask why you called,
Madame Chancellor?"
"I want the renegades extradited, Ambassador Sarek.
Have the Federation take Keraz and his men, and hand them over to me, so
that I may make an example of them ... an example that will speak
vividly to any others who may be contemplating such treason against my
government."
Sarek took a deep breath. Azetbur was many things, but "soft" or
"merciful" was not one of them. "I regret, Madame Chancellor, that I
cannot do that. I have no authorization from the president to do so ...
and my priority in this unfortunate situation must be the safety of the
citizens of Kadura. I must decline your request."
"I see." Azetbur stared at him, her jaw muscles tight.
Sarek had been prepared for her demand--Ra-ghoratrei had warned him last
night of what the Empire wanted. "Do you propose, then, to simply let
them go free?"
"If that is the agreement I negotiate, then that is what I must do,"
Sarek said. "However ..." He paused for a moment in feigned
deliberation." ... what happens to Keraz after he leaves the planet is
not my affair."
"We will catch him, Ambassador. Of that you can be sure.
The honor of my people depends on these traitors being captured and
dealt with."
Sarek nodded.
Azetbur's expression thawed still more, and she actually chuckled aloud.
"Ambassador Sarek," she said, "I understand for the first time the
strength of your people. You excel at making others decide that what you
want is what they, also, desire most."
The Vulcan inclined his head. "You are most gracious, Madame
Chancellor."
After both parties signed off, Sarek stood at the window, gazing out at
the lush wilderness that lay beyond.
Sarek approved of Deneb IV, also called Kidta, precisely because of its
extreme isolation. The strictest security was being maintained only a
skeleton staff was allowed at the
conference center, and Sarek, Soran, and the Vulcan ambassador to Orion,
Stavel, were the only Vulcans. If Sarek had to negotiate with Klingons,
he wanted to make sure he was dealing with Klingons acting on their own,
under no duress from an outside influence. As nearly as he had been able
to discover (and he had run extensive checks), there wasn't a single
Freelan in this sector, much less on this world, or at the conference
center.
Which was the way Sarek wanted it.
Any moment now, his aide would call him to the table to begin
negotiations with Commander Keraz and his captains.
Sarek had already braced himself to endure the presence of Klingons.
Their emotions were primal and close to the surface, worse even than
human emotions, and most Vulcans could sense them without being in
physical contact.
Sarek had no reason to suppose that Keraz would be different.
He was still puzzling over the Klingon renegade's request for
negotiation as a solution to this crisis. It was out of character for
Klingons to sit down and talk their way out of a problem, rather than
just blasting everything around.
"Ambassador," someone said quietly, from behind him.
Sarek turned to see Soran.
"Are we ready to begin?" he asked, and the young Vulcan nodded.
Sarek straightened his formal robe, making sure the heavy, bejeweled
folds hung properly, then followed Soran down the hall, into the
conference room. It was a medium-sized room, with neutral-colored walls,
two of which could be made transparent to show a view of the forest. A
long table occupied the center of the room, an d chairs suitable for
humanoids surrounded it. There were two doors, one at each end of the
room. From the door on Sarek's left, Admiral Smillie and an aide
emerged, and from the other, four Klingons. One of the Klingons held a
green-skinned Orion woman by the arm, marching her along peremptorily,
but without any intentional cruelty.
Sarek raised his hand in the Vulcan salute to the Klingon in the lead.
"Commander Keraz, I presume?"
The short, rather stocky Klingon nodded sharply. "Ambassador," he said.
His voice was much more mellow than most Klingons'. His skin was very
dark, the color of antique leather.
The representatives seated themselves around the big middle table. Sarek
eyed the Orion woman and was relieved to see that, aside from stress and
fatigue, she did not seem to have been harmed. She stared back at him
levelly out of eyes the color of onyx. When the round of introductions
reached her, she said quietly, "s'kara. I represent the people of
Kadura."
Sarek nodded, then looked over at Keraz. The Klingon seemed nervous,
fingering his sash, picking at his belt as though he could not believe
there were no weapons hanging there. Feeling Sarek's glance, the leader
looked up, then burst out, "We desire an honorable settlement to this
situation, Ambassador. My ships and crews have not damaged the planet or
its inhabitants"--at this, s'kara's eyes flashed indignantly, but she
did not interrupt--"and, frankly, I have no interest in occupying a
colony world composed mostly of ... farmers." His mouth twisted with
distaste.
"We are warriors, not colonists. We have no wish to become
planetbound--Kadura is no fit place for warriors."
Sarek inclined his head, noting that, beneath Keraz's deliberately gruff
exterior, the Klingon seemed genuinely eager to negotiate. "That is
promising to hear," Sarek said solemnly. "What are your terms,
Commander?"
"We are prepared to withdraw ... for the right price," Keraz said. "We
must be allowed to take our payment and leave Kadura unmolested by any
Starfleet vessel."
Sarek stared at the Klingon. Only a lifetime of habitual Vulcan control
kept him from revealing his surprise. For Keraz to offer to withdraw at
the beginning of the negotiations was the last thing he'd expected.
Smoothly, giving no hint of his inner thoughts, Sarek said, "I am sure
that, under the circumstances, something can be arranged."
For a moment Sarek thought about his discussion with Azetbur. If Keraz
thought he could successfully leave Fed eration space and find refuge
across the Neutral Zone, he was sadly mistaken.
Studying Keraz's face, as the Klingon began outlining his position,
Sarek wondered with part of his mind what had induced the commander to
turn renegade. Was it disagreement with his government's new, peaceful
overtures to the Federation? Was it greed? Had Keraz snapped under pres
sure, and suffered some temporary madness?
Or ... was it something else?
With stern resolve, Sarek concentrated all his logic, all his
experience, on bringing the Kadura situation to a peaceful, swift, and
satisfactory resolution. Amanda was still alive Perhaps he could fulfill
his duty and still return home in time. Perhaps ..
Considering the circumstances, Peter Kirk decided, it would be better if
he just didn't wake up.
His most recent attempts to swim toward consciousness had been so
unpleasant, he'd come to the conclusion that it simply wasn't worth it.
He'd much rather stay in this dark, muzzy netherworld, not asleep, but
not awake, where he could keep his various aches and pains at bay and
insist to himself that they weren't real. That none of this was real.
He'd just lie here, thank you, and think about the Kobayashi Maru.
Pondering that dreaded event was infinitely preferable to opening his
eyes and facing what had happened to him. Peter had a feeling that no
simulation, no matter how real-seeming, could possibly equal the mess
he'd somehow gotten himself into.
He groaned. Here he was. Peter Kirk, nephew of the Federation hero James
T. Kirk--a Starfleet cadet so clever, so bold, that he'd allowed himself
to be duped and kidnapped by a bunch of reactionary bigots too
disorganized to run a successful demonstration No. It was worse than
that.
He'd allowed his confused feelings for a woman he barely knew to cause
him a critical moment of hesitation.
Why didn't you just surrender, mister, and save everyone the trouble?
Would Uncle Jim have hesitated to slug a woman if the fate of the
Enterprise was at stake? Hell, no.
Peter couldn't deny reality anymore; his conscience wouldn't let him. He
was indisputably awake. Groaning aloud, he opened his eyes. His head
throbbed as he struggled to focus on his surroundings. Squinting at the
ceiling, he thought it seemed too high, and the wrong color. Wrong color
for what? he wondered foggily, but couldn't remember.
Peter moved slowly, as painful awareness of his battle in the alley grew
sharper, more persistent with every passing second. His arm and head
hurt. His right side throbbed with every breath.
Cautiously, he turned his head, his gaze traveling across the small,
narrow enclosure with its dingy, gray bulkheads.
Reality. He swallowed, as fear finally set in. Where the hell am I?
Biting his lip, Peter gingerly pushed himself up until he was sitting on
the edge of the standard bunk, his head in his hands. And what is that
smell?
Sighing, he turned his attention to the plain room. It was small, barely
four meters by three, and, except for the bunk, which folded out of the
wall, nearly featureless.
There were a few indentations that might indicate servo panels concealed
in the walls, but no windows. Peter shuddered, swallowing a sudden surge
of claustrophobia.
He felt light-headed and nauseated from the stun shot, and his knees
were weak. Sitting silently on the bunk, he paused, just listening.
There was no sound, no sound at all.
Or was there?
After a moment's intense concentration, Peter began to sense something.
Was it a faint noise? A vibration? Or just a sixth sense that told him
he was no longer in normal space-time? Suddenly, he knew.
His engineering instructor had said you could sense the spacewarp, even
if you couldn't see it.
He was aboard a spaceship, traveling at warp speed, destination unknown.
This wasn't a room, it was a cabin.
Peter's mouth went so dry that he couldn't even swallow.
Wanting to give himself something constructive to do be sides panicking,
Kirk rose and systematically began to explore the cabin's flat, drab
walls.
The whole place had a well-worn, grimy patina that testified to
extensive use, and the panels that made up the walls were uniform and
interchangeable, allowing the dimensions of the cabin to be altered
according to need. The only door was heavy, with no viewing ports. While
he could see where the mechanism for manual overrides probably lay,
there was no way he could get through it--even if he could figure out
the system--to force the doors to open. He searched for a surveillance
system and couldn't find one--but that didn't mean there wasn't one
trained on him at all times.
Methodically, the cadet pressed one of the innocuous indentations on the
wall, and a tiny water dispenser revealed itself. He stared, mesmerized
by clear, fresh-smelling fluid, but in spite of his parched mouth,
passed it by. The water, he suspected, would probably be drugged. It
would be the most logical way to keep a prisoner under control. He went
about examining the other wall indentations and discovered an odd hole
in the floor. By its smell, he decided, it could only be a head--but the
style was unfamiliar to him.
When was the last time this thing was cleaned? he wondered, realizing
that this was the source of some of the smell.
Water and a toilet, he mused. But no food. His eyes strayed back toward
the water fountain. So, how long do you think you can last without
water? The memory of the cool-looking fluid was working on him already.
Just then a soft machinery sound hummed, breaking into his thoughts. He
whirled, crouching, his instincts on override, but it was just a serving
panel extruding from a niche in the wall. There was a tray on the panel,
as colorless as the panel itself. Whoever had designed this starship had
been really fond of monochromatic schemes. Peter approached the tray.
Piled in a small, equally colorless bowl were dry ration pellets. They
didn't resemble the rations he was used to, but they had that same
processed-food-for-space-travel look
about them--a soft gray green in color, tubular, about two centimeters
in length, and maybe halfa centimeter in width.
He sniffed. The mealy-looking pellets had a pungent, fishy smell. They
were entirely too reminiscent of the prepared food Grandma Winona used
to feed her parrot.
Except this stuff is probably full of drugs, he suspected. He could see
the packaging now-- UNT SYLVIA'S KIDNAPPER
CHOW. REDUCES STRESS. INCREASES COOPERATION. Yes, there'd be something
in there to keep him quiet, calm ... cooperative. He frowned at the
food. It wouldn't be long before even its unappealing scent would make
his mouth water. While he could last without food a lot longer than he
could without water, that didn't mean that he could afford to waste
these.
He spilled the pellets onto the tray and started lining them up in rows
until he'd spelled out, in English words, "Who are you?" Then he
carefully pushed the tray back into the wall. Of course, the "leftovers"
might be jettisoned directly into the recycler, but somehow, he didn't
think so. They'd want to weigh how much he'd eaten, know how much drug
he might absorb ... to determine just how much trouble he was going to
be when they arrived.
Arrived where? he wondered, frustrated. It could be anywhere.
He didn't even know how long they'd been traveling.
If they'd stunned him repeatedly (and his headache argued that they
probably had), he might have been unconscious for days.
Peter walked back to the bunk and sat down. Why in the world would the
KEHL kidnap him, then ship him offworld? That was the part that really
had his head spinning.
Or was that the safest way they could think of to deal with him, once
they'd figured out who he really was?
Had he been sold to the highest bidder? There were still slave traders
in the galaxy, though Starfleet had mostly shut them down. But would the
KEHL have handed him over to aliens? That thought was the hardest to
swallow, but there was little about this room that suggested a
human-designed ship. Aliens would explain the smell, too. It was an
alien odor, the smell of body chemistries that were not human in
origin. Every species had its own distinct smell, Peter knew, some more
pleasant than others. While the soiled head's contribution was
significant, the underlying scent was simply that of a, different
species mone he'd never encountered before. Not Tellarite, or Orion, or
Andorian or Horta or Vulcan ... unfamiliar. Alien.
Peter could understand the KEHL wanting to get rid of him. But why not
simply kill him? Why hand him over to aliens? Why go to all this trouble
to get him offworld?
It had to be more than just the KEHL involved. Somebody had paid Lisa
Tennant and her goons to set him up and hand him over ... but why?
Why in the name of the Seven Tellarite Hells would anyone want to kidnap
him? He was only a cadet ... he had no access to restricted data. He
had no rank, and he wasn't rich. Uncle Jim made a respectable living, he
supposed. But enough to make the risk of abducting his nephew
profitable?
Highly unlikely.
It didn't make sense. No rank, no riches, no enemies ... Wait a minute.
Peter straightened suddenly. He didn't have any enemies, as far as he
knew ... but he knew someone who did. Someone who'd led an adventurous
life, taken plenty of risks, trodden on numerous toes. Someone who had
certainly made enemies over the years ... more
enemies than you could shake a stick at ...
James T. Kirk.
Somebody intended to use him to get to Uncle Jim.
As for Peter, he expected to take his oath and become a Starfleet
officer in a month. Did whoever was behind all this honestly think he
would just sit here and allow his uncle's enemies to use him like that?
A prisoner's first responsibility was to escape. Right now, it didn't
seem as if he had many options while trapped in this cabin. That meant
he'd have to play a prepared hand when this ship finally stopped moving
and those doors eventually opened. He'd have to overwhelm whoever was
coming for him, steal this ship, and pilot it back home. He was a fair
pilot, and a good navigator. That part wouldn't be difficult--it was the
first part that could be trouble. How
many would there be? And what species? There were numerous aliens that
Peter knew he could easily fight his way through, but there were also
many others whose strength was far greater than the average human's.
And thatgyou, mister--average. Maybe, in strength. But, he'd been
studying self-defense and martial arts since he was in his teens. By the
time he'd gotten to the Academy, he was already pretty good, and
Starfleet put on the final polish. He could hold his ownmwhen he was
thinking clearly. Unbidden, the image of him falling prey to Lisa
Tennant's stun gun burned in his mind.
Peter wished he could exercise, keep up his skills, his physical
strength, but that wouldn't be possible. He must be under surveillance,
so that meant he'd have to portray himself as passive, maybe even
sickly. He'd have to sleep a lot, or pretend to, and act slow and weak.
If he did that, the less on their guard they might be when they came for
him.
And that might be his only advantage. He really would be weak from lack
of food, and reduced water, so he'd have to rely on surprise, if he was
to have any hope at all.
Yes, his kidnappers would do what they could to keep him cooperative,
compliant. But Peter had already decided just how much trouble he would
be. As much as humanly possible, mister.
He was a Kirk, after all. And he would not be surprised again. Not if
they threw the most beautiful, most interesting, most desirable females
of every species in the galaxy at him.
He would get out of here, or die in the attempt. And ifi don't make it,
he thought, smiling to himself, at least I won't have to take the
Kobayashi Maru.
Sarek sat at the negotiation table, listening as the Orion
representative bickered with Admiral Smillie about Federation
restitution for the attack on Kadura. To his right, the Orion woman,
s'kara, stared expressionlessly at the Orion male, but Sarek sensed her
distrust, her revulsion ... perfectly logical, under the circumstances.
Finally, he raised a hand, and as soon as Smillie and Buta, the Orion,
noticed him, they fell silent. "These matters can
be resolved later," Sarek said. "For the moment, I request that we
finalize the agreement with Commander Keraz concerning their terms for
withdrawing from Kadura. As you will recall, the commander said that he
..."
Sarek continued, going over all the points agreed upon so far. They had
come a long way in just a few days ... but not quickly enough for him.
The speedy Vulcan courier ship was standing by, ready to take him home
at warp eight, but Sarek doubted he could ever get home in time to
comfort his wife.
Wearily, Sarek finished outlining Keraz's demands, received a confirming
nod from the Ktingon. Smillie made a counteroffer to one part of Keraz's
plan, wherein the renegades would be provided with dilithium as a ransom
for the safe release of Kadura. Keraz countered, lowering his demand
fractionally. Sarek listened with part of his mind as they came closer
and closer to an agreement. If they could reach agreement, then perhaps
he could be finished today ...
The wrangling continued for the next two hours, with Sarek mediating
between them, attempting to find compromises that would work.
Finally, he realized a refreshment break was long overdue, so he
dismissed the factions. The room emptied rapidly as the occupants left
in search of food, lavatories, or comm links. Finally, only Sarek,
Soran, Keraz, and his second-in-command, Wurfi, were left.
The Vulcan wislxed once again that he could arrange to speak to Keraz
alone. The commander's demeanor at the negotiation table during the past
days was not what one would logically expect of a Klingon renegade.
Keraz was entirely too eager to negotiate, to give ground. It was almost
as though he regretted having taken Kadura, and would like nothing
better than to wash his hands of the whole business ...
Barely noticing his surroundings, occupied with his thoughts, Sarek
walked slowly toward the door. Soran and Keraz were ahead of him. The
Vulcan looked up, wondering where the Klingon's aide was.
Movement--there was movement behind him--
a bloodcurdling battle yell filled the air as the Klingon officer,
Wurrl, leaped at the Vulcan ambassador. Sarek flung up an arm, glimpsed
a flash of metal, even as something sharp sank deeply into his left
bicep. He grappled with the Klingon, managing to hold him off despite
his injured arm, grateful for superior Vulcan strength.
The ambassador groped for a neck pinch, but his fingers could not
penetrate the heavy leather and metal of the Klingon's armor. He changed
tactics, struck Wurrl sharply on the bridge of the nose, and saw the
assailant's eyes cloud over. Contact with the would-be assassin's bare
flesh told him that he was dealing with another case like Induna's.
Tal-shaya? Sarek wondered whether he would have to kill the Klingon
outright in self-preservation. Would it work on a Klingon?
Locked together in a grisly parody of an embrace, the ambassador and the
Klingon careered across the room, slamming into the conference table,
scattering chairs. Suddenly Keraz was there, bellowing Klingon
obscenities and threats at his aide, as he slammed a knife-hand blow
into Wurfi's throat. The treacherous aide staggered, his grip on the
ambassador loosening. Wurrl's breath rattled in his throat, even as
steely hands grasped him and lifted, hoisting him clean off his feet.
Soran swung the Klingon in an are, then sent him crashing against the
wall. Wurfi slid down it, and lay there, unconscious.
"Ambassador! Ambassador, you are wounded!" Keraz sounded thoroughly
shaken. Sarek grasped his bicep, applying external pressure, even as he
sought within himself for his training in biocontrol. A moment later, he
felt the bleeding slow to a trickle, then stop. Automatically, he
controlled the pain.
"I am not seriously injured," Sarek said. "Where did he get that
dagger?" All participants in the conference were screened automatically
each time they walked through the door.
Keraz went over to the downed Wurd, and, bending over and using the tip
of his metal-reinforced gauntlet, he picked up the green-smeared dagger.
"Assembled," he growled, holding it out. "See? Pieces of trim from his
uniform, altered so they would slide together and form a weapon. He must
have put it together under the table while we met today."
Sarek raised his voice. "Security, please report to the conference
chamber," he said.
His verbal request was not necessary. Barely a second later, the doors
burst open, admitting four guards and Admiral Smillie. Quick questions
and answers followed.
Smillie, Sarek saw, was all for taking Keraz into custody along with the
seriously injured Wurrl. The Vulcan raised his hand, forestailing the
Starfleet admiral. "Commander Keraz was not responsible for this
incident," he said. "I am certain of that."
As Sarek spoke, he c aught a quick glance from Keraz, saw the flash of
gratitude in the Klingon's eyes. "Commander," Sarek said, gesturing to
the open door, "let us leave security to its job. I would like to speak
with you privately."
Sotart stepped forward to protest, and so did Smillie, but both gave way
before the ambassador's determination.
Keraz nodded, and together the two left the wrecked conference chamber.
As they walked down the corridor, Sarek said, blandly,
"Commander ... I know that you are not responsible for that attack just
now. I have some idea, at least generally, who is, though. Could you
answer a few questions, please?"
"What kind of questions?" Keraz growled.
"In the first place, after days of discussion, I still do not have a
clear idea of what you hoped to gain by your occupation of Kadura.
Perhaps you might enlighten me as to your reasons?"
When Keraz only stared stonily, the ambassador added,
"The greater my understanding of what you hoped to gain, the more
smoothly I will be able to conclude matters. I understand the Federation
mind-set on this matter ... but I am still uncertain as to yours."
The Klingon commander hesitated; then he walked out into a courtyard and
sat down by a tinkling fountain. Sarek, understanding that he thus hoped
to foil any listening devices, sat down with his knees almost touching
the Klingon's. "What did I hope to gain?" Keraz's effort to keep his
tones low only accentuated the mellowness of his baritone. "Ambassador,
at one time my actions seemed as clear as a Darlavian crystal to me, but
... no more."
"What do you mean?"
"I cannot explain!" Keraz said, his voice lowering to a growl. "I have
thrown away my warrior's honor, and my life will likely be forfeit,
along with the lives of my crew ... " He glared at Sarek. "Do not by
any chance think, Vulcan, that I am unaware that my government stands
ready to capture me and punish me as a traitor without honor. If I have
any hope in conducting these negotiations, it is that all of the
responsibility for my actions will be focused on me, not on my crew."
"You are speaking as though you regret your actions since you ... broke
with your Empire," the Vulcan observed, his heart quickening. He'd never
heard a Klingon speak like this before.
"I do regret them," Keraz said simply. "I did not agree with the
Empire's new, craven policies toward the Federation, and I told anyone
who cared to listen that. But turn renegade? Traitor? Pah!" He spat on
the flagstones at his feet.
"But your actions recently have gone against orders," Sarek pointed out.
"I know!" Keraz's voice was a muted howl of frustration.
"My loyalty to the Empire was complete, until ... until one day I
realized that I was being a fool, that there were riches waiting for me,
and glory ... and I realized that I could wage war on the Federation
whether or not my government had the courage and the honor."
The Klingon scowled, his corrugated brow even more wrinkled than usual.
"My path seemed clear, until, two days after Kadura was mine ... I
awoke one morning, realizing exactly what I had done. How my government
would regard
me. I knew that I would soon be surrounded by half the Federation's
starships." He gave a short, hitter growl of laughter. "And you ask me
why, Vulcan? That is your answer--that I have no answer! I do not know
why!"
"But I do," Sarek said. "Or, at least, I believe that I know, Commander.
Recently, I have encountered two individuals who became violent as a
result of outside mental influence ... telepathic influence. One was a
human, on Terra. The other was ... your aide, Wurrl. Just now."
"Wurrl?" Keraz stared at the ambassador incredulously.
"What are you saying, Vulcan? That I have also been influenced? That
some telepath made me take Kadura?"
"I do not believe they can control actions," Sarek clarified.
"But they can influence, provide mental catalysts, as it were. Yes, I do
believe that, Commander."
The Klingon had paled as they spoke. Not surprisingly, he found the idea
of not being his own master repugnant, revolting. "How can you tell?" he
whispered hoarsely.
"How did you know about Wurrl?"
"I touched him," Sarek said.
"Could you tell with me?"
Sarek nodded silently. Keraz took a deep breath, then, sitting stiffly,
rigidly, nodded. "Do it," he commanded.
Slowly, the ambassador raised his hand and brushed it across the
Klingon's high, bony forehead. He found what he had expected to find,
and Keraz read the truth without Sarek having to say it aloud. The
commander threw back his head and voiced a wordless bellow of rage and
frustration, then cursed vividly in at least six different languages.
Finally, Keraz subsided, panting, and sat glowering in silence for
several moments. "Kamarag," he said. "This is his doing. That cursed,
dishonorable slime devil has stolen my honor. For this I will rip out
his gizzard and feed it to my targ!"
"What do you mean, he stole your honor?"
"He was trying to persuade us all to turn renegade, and ever since that
meeting most of the warriors there have committed honorless raids on
noncombatants--just as I did."
"What meeting?" Sarek asked.
With a savage glare that the Vulcan knew wasn't directed at him, Keraz
explained about Kamarag's clandestine conclave.
"Fascinating," the ambassador murmured, trying to picture Kamarag in
that setting.
"Kamarag has no honor, Vulcan," Keraz said bitterly.
"But you ... you are different. You have courage, as well as honor. A
coward would not have been willing to be alone with me after Wurrl's
attack."
"You possess a warrior's honor," Sarek said, honestly. "I knew you would
not attack me."
Keraz gave him a sideways glance. "I heard that your woman is ...
gravely ill," he said, gruffly. "You have also shown honor in remaining
here in performance of your duty. I respect such honor, Ambassador."
"Is that why you agreed to speak frankly with me?" Sarek asked.
"Yes," Keraz said. "Such a demonstration of honor is admirable, no
matter what species displays it."
The Vulcan inclined his head in recognition of Keraz's words. "Perhaps
we may conclude the negotiations quickly," he said.
"I will keep that in mind," the Klingon replied. With a curt nod, he
rose and left Sarek alone beside the fountain.
Spock sat alone in the small courtyard of the med center.
This area was designed to be a peaceful refuge where friends and
relatives of patients could meditate and wait in peace.
The walls were pale yellow, the floor was red-ocher tiles.
Benches stood ranged around the central water sculpture, facing the
shining spray within its protective field. Spock gazed at the water
sculpture without really seeing it.
The Vulcan was attempting to make his mind a blank, preparatory to
meditating, but every time he thought he'd succeeded, thoughts, like
thieves in the night, tiptoed into his consciousness.
His mother was much worse. Last night she'd had another stroke, a major
one. T'Mal had ordered her beamed directly to a hospital room in the med
center.
Hearing footsteps, the Vulcan glanced up to see Leonard McCoy enter the
solahum. As he took in the expression on the doctor's face, the Vulcan
rose slowly to his feet.
"How is she?" Spock demanded, hearing his voice ring hollowly in the
silence.
Silently, the doctor shook his head. "Not good. She's still alive ...
but she can't last for long, Spock. Vital systems are just ... closing
down." Spock stared at his friend, speechlessly. He'd thought he was
braced against any eventuality, but now shock held him silent.
McCoy sat down on a bench opposite his. The doctor's face was drawn and
haggard with mingled fatigue and sorrow. "We've managed to stabilize her
again, but her body is just worn out. The strokes have caused metabolic
irabal-ances and neural damage, despite everything the Healers and I
could do to prevent that. Now her kidneys are shutting down ... and her
heart is compromised. I'm afraid it's just a matter of time."
"How long?" Spock asked, forcing the words past the tightness in his
throat.
"Not long. Days ... possibly only hours." Spock rose to his feet, paced
back and forth, his boot heels echoing on the tiles. McCoy's blue eyes
followed his movements.
"Spock," the doctor said after a moment. "If there's anything I can do
... if you want someone to talk to, I'm here. Jim should be beaming
down any minute."
"I must make a call," Spock said, turning abruptly. "Wait here for me. I
will not be long." Minutes later he sat at the nearest public corem
link, facing Sarek's aide, Soran. "Greetings," he said, curtly, in his
native language. "I would speak with Sarek. it is urgent." The young
Vulcan's forehead creased, ever so slightly.
"That will be difficult. The ambassador is in the midst of the
afternoon's negotiations. May I relay a message?"
"No," Spock said flatly. "I must speak with my father personally. Be so
kind as to summon him at once." Soran hesitated for a long moment, then,
after studying Spock's face, nodded. "I will inform him immediately,
Captain Spock. Please wait." Several more minutes passed, while Spock
sat rigidly, words running through his mind. Finally a figure moved
before the screen in a flash of formal ambassadorial robes, and then he
was looking at Sarek. "Greetings, my son. You required a conversation
with me?" Spock nodded stiffly. "Yes, sir. Mother has suffered another
stroke. Dr. McCoy says that her time is very short."
"It will not be possible for me to leave," Sarek said, his voice
betraying no emotion whal[soever. Had Spock seen something flicker
behind his eyes? There was no way to be sure.
"You said the negotiations were proceeding smoothly.
Cannot Ambassador Stayel take over?"
"That is not an option," Sarek said firmly. "I must han dle this
personally. There is more at stake here than I realized." Spock drew a
deep breath. "I ask that you reconsider," he said, tightly. "My presence
does not comfort her. She is calling for you." Sarek's eyes closed, and
this time the pain on his features was not masked to someone who knew
him well. "Spock I cannot." His face smoothed out, became impassive once
more. "Farewell, Spock. I must return to the negotiation table now." The
connection was abruptly broken. Numbly, Spock rose from his seat and
returned to the solarium. There he found Kirk and McCoy waiting for him.
McCoy checked the tricorder he was holding. "The monitors say she's
sleeping, Spock," he said. "Tll know the instant she wakes up. Sit down
for a minute. You look done in." As the Vulcan obeyed, Kirk glanced at M
Coy. "How is she?" Quickly, the doctor summarized Amanda's condition.
"Is Sarek coming home?" Kirk asked Spock.
The Vulcan's eyes narrowed. "No. The negotiations take precedence."
Kirk's hazel gaze widened slightly as the captain evidently realized
he'd touched on a sensitive subject.
McCoy shook his head grimly. "Lousy timing. That Klingon commander was
out of his mind to pull a stunt like this. He couldn't possibly have
thought he'd get away with it!"
"Having seen Klingon 'justice' close up, I'm surprised that any amount
of greed could induce a commander to commit treason against the Empire,"
Kirk agreed.
Spock stared at his captain for a long moment. "Interesting that you
should employ that particular word, Jim.
Perhaps that is indeed the case ... that Keraz was induced to invade
Kadura."
Kirk's hazel eyes were bright with curiosity. "What do you mean, Spock?"
The Vulcan hesitated, then said, "I had hoped to broach this subject
when Sarek was here, so he could relate events firsthand, but ... there
is no way of knowing when my father will return to Vulcan." His voice
was hard and flat in his own ears, and Spock saw Kirk and McCoy exchange
quick glances.
"What do you mean? What's going on?" the captain asked.
Spock reached out and took McCoy's medical tricorder, propped it where
they could all see Amanda's monitors displayed. "If she wakes, I will
have to stop," he warned the others. "Sarek told me the entire story
only a few days ago ... "The Vulcan continued, summarizing Sarek's
findings about the Freelans and the KEHL.
When the first officer finished, the captain and chief surgeon exchanged
glances; then both officers shook their heads dazedly. "I swear, Spock,
if this were anyone but you tellin' me this," McCoy said, "I'd say he
wasn't firm' on all thrusters. Romulans walking around the Federation
without a by-your-leave? It sounds like the worst kind of paranoid
delusion!"
"If it were anyone but a Vulcan saying this, I'd agree, Bones," Kirk
said. "But Sarek is definitely sane ... and if he's right about all
this, he's right that this poses a serious threat to Federation
security."
McCoy, catching sight of a change in the monitor, pointed wordlessly.
Amanda was awake.
Quietly, the three officers entered the sick woman's room.
Spock sat by Amanda's bedside, and his friends sat in the back of the
room, their silent presence offering quiet support.
Even though Amanda was conscious, she seemed unaware of their presence.
Occasionally she would call "Sarek?" in a questioning tone, then pause,
plainly listening for a reply.
Spock's murmured "I am here, Mother, it is Spock" made no difference.
Amanda remained unresponsive to the voice of her son.
After a half-hour had passed, the Vulcan rose and motioned his friends
to join him in the corridor so he could speak freely.
"I will stay with her," he said. "I appreciate your presence, but I know
you have duties aboard ship."
McCoy nodded, understanding the Vulcan's unspoken plea for privacy.
Kirk cleared his throat. "If you would like some company, Spock ..."
The Vulcan nodded. "Your offer is appreciated, Jim, but at the moment
... I would prefer to be alone with her."
"I understand completely. If you change your mind ..." Spock was wearing
civilian clothing, a Vulcan robe, but he reached into the pocket and
removed his communicator and held it up.
"Okay," Kirk said.
McCoy put a hand on Spock's arm. "The same goes for me, Spock. She could
go on like this for some time. Don't forget to eat something today,
okay?"
The Vulcan nodded. "Is she in pain?"
"No, I don't believe so," McCoy said. "And, Spock?" He cleared his
throat awkwardly. "It's common for stroke victims to fixate on one
person or one thing. Sometimes the person can be sitting right there,
but the patient won't recognize them, so ... there's not much you can
do about it. Even if your father were here, she might not realize it."
"I understand, Doctor."
Spock gazed at his two friends, knowing there was nothing more to say.
Both Kirk and McCoy hesitated, then nodded, and silently turned away.
Sarek paced slowly down the corridor toward yet another negotiating
session. It was morning on Kidta, but the new day brought no lightening
of his spirits. The Vulcan wondered whether he should attempt to contact
Spock and inquire about his wife's condition. Sarek knew, only too well,
how angry Spock was over his failure to return home.
He knew that, under most circumstances, his son was as logical as any
Vulcan ... but he also knew how deeply Spock cared for his mother. As
he himself had once said to T'Lar, when it came to questions about the
welfare of a family member, one's logic became ... uncertain.
As the ambassador hesitated in the corridor of the conference center,
wanting to contact Spock, he was strangely reluctant. Sarek found
himself concentrating on Amanda, trying to feel her presence, sense her
mind through their bond. He closed his eyes, concentrating ...
concentrating ...
A thread, so faint ... he traced it, followed it, opening his mind,
sensing it. Amanda ... she was there, in his mind, but her mental
thread was weak ... was weakening, even as he touched it. Sarek's
breath caught in his throat as he realized that he was too late ... too
late. As he stood here in this hallway, his wife was dying.
Amanda/It was a mental cry of anguish that resonated within his mind.
Grief struck him like a blow, grief' and regret so agonizing that he
swayed as he stood.
Quickly, realizing he needed solitude, Sarek turned to a small, empty
conference chamber and entered it, not activating the lights. In the
darkness, with nothing to distract him, perhaps he could find her, could
reach her mind, even across space. It had been done before, by stronger
telepaths than he ... although he'd never been able to accomplish it.
But he had to try ...
Spock sat by his mother's bedside, holding her small, cold, wasted hand
in both his own, as though he could somehow transfer some of his own
strength to her by so doing. Amanda's blue eyes were open at the moment;
she had been semiconscious all afternoon.
The room was bathed in sunlight, and the monitoring devices were
subdued, nonintrusive.
As Spock watched her, wondering whether she would take a sip of water if
he offered it to her, Amanda's lips parted, and she spoke. Barely more
than a breath escaped--a breath that was a name.
"Sarek ..."
She had been calling him for hours, and the sound of it wrenched her
son's heart as nothing in his life ever had.
Spock leaned over and said, softly but distinctly, "I am here, Mother, I
am here. Spock ... I'm here with you, Mother."
She opened her eyes again, stared vacantly at him.
Fretfully, she tugged her hand away from his. "Sarek?" she murmured,
turning her head on the pillow, seeking someone who wasn't there.
"Mother?" Spock called softly. Amanda turned her head to gaze at him,
and for a moment he thought he saw a flash of warmth and recognition in
her eyes; then it faded. Her eyes moved again, and she stirred
restlessly.
"Sarek?"
Spock sighed. A few minutes later he coaxed her to take a sip of water
from a straw; then she seemed to slip off into a doze.
An hour later Amanda's right hand moved restlessly, plucking at the
coverlet. The Vulcan reached over to hold it.
This seemed to calm her for a few minutes, and she dropped off again.
Spock fell into a doze himself; he'd scarcely slept since this had
begun, and even his Vulcan constitution was wearing down. He jerked
awake an hour and thirty-two point nine minutes later, hearing his
mother call, "Sarek?" Her voice held such sadness, such utter desolation
that his throat tightened.
Glancing up at the monitors, he saw that the levels were
dropping ... she was fading, fading away. Healer T'Mal came in, checked
her patient, and when Spock, with a glance, whispered, "How long?," the
physician simply shook her head.
"Sarek?" Amanda's voice cracked on the word. Spock attempted to give her
some water, but she turned her head away, fretfully.
"Mother, it is Spock. I am here," he said aloud, seeing that her eyes
were wide open, and she was staring straight at him.
"Sarek?" she called.
This is unbearable. Spock got to his feet and paced restlessly around
the room. There is almost no possibility that Sarek will arrive in time.
But ... unless he is here, she will have no peace. I must find a way to
help her achieve tranquility, serenity ... but how?
Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. But was Amanda strong enough to
withstand what he had in mind?
Sarek sat alone in the dark, his head bowed in his hands, struggling to
reach his wife. With all his being he wanted to be with her at the end,
wanted to give her a sense of his presence along the tenuous pathway of
their bond. Sarek pressed his hands to his eyes, shutting out all light,
and proceeded to systematically blank out everything except the sense of
Amanda's presence in his mind. Am anda, I am here. My wife, I am with
you. Amanda ... I am with you ... hear me, know it is I. Amanda, my
wife, I am with you ...
Over and over he repeated his message, casting his mind along that
fragile link, not knowing whether he was succeeding His sense of her
presence grew, eclipsing everything else; his entire existence was
centered on the mental link he shared with her. Memories flashed through
his mind, memories of times past--their wedding night, Spock's birth,
his Times with her, the heat of the passion between them seeming to fill
the whole world--and for a moment he thought he sensed that she was
sharing those memories with him. But he could not be certain ... could
not even be sure that she was aware of him. If she was unconscious, he
might be touching some last dream, instead of her thinking, conscious
mind.
Amanda ... my wife, I am with you. You have made my life better in so
many ways, and I thank you ... Amanda, feel my presence. I am with you
... Spock glanced reflexively at the monitors, and what he saw there
made him cross the room in one long stride. Am I too late? Spock's
fingers went to her head, brushing aside Amanda's hair, seeking the
proper contact points.
The Vulcan sent his mind out, searching, seeking his mother's
consciousness. She was almost gone ... Dimly he sensed her
personality, the last sparks of life and consciousness, and sent his
mind surging toward hers, seeking for contact. Desperately, he tried to
locate and link with that last, faint spark of life. He was determined
to give her peace, give her what she wanted so badly--her husband's
presence.
He would call up a memory of Sarek so vividly that she would believe his
father was actually present.
As he struggled to establish contact, time seemed to stretch, as though
some uncanny relativistic space-time pocket had taken over the
room--even though Spock's inner chrono told him that less than a minute
had passed.
He was failing ... the spark that was her life, her consciousness, was
falling away in the dark, fading like a burnt-out cinder. Spock tried,
but he could not touch her mind, could not capture that dying spark.
Beneath his fingers, Amanda twitched, then gasped reflexively, once,
twice--
Spock summoned all his mental strength for one last attempt, sending his
mind hurtling after that fading life-spark ... My mind to yours ...
our minds are one ...
But it was no good. She eluded him, fading out, falling away, going too
deep for him to catch and still live. Mother.t Spock whispered silently,
and knew she did not hear him ... was not aware of him ...
Amanda was aware, faintly, of the presence trying to touch her mind, but
she had gone too far to turn back ... From where?
She had no idea where she was, where she was going. All around her was
darkness, shot with strange colors, hues that even Vulcans had no names
for ... She regarded the colors with passing interest, but continued
to move. Was she walking? Floating? She did not know. All she knew was
that she was moving.
Spock ... she realized, recognizing the presence that was questing
after the tiny spark that remained of Amanda Grayson. She felt a rush of
love and warmth for her son, but she could not halt and let him catch up
to her ... she knew only that she must keep moving, that she had no
choice.
For a moment she wondered where she was going, but rational thought did
not seem important to her anymore.
Only the need to quest, to seek ... to move ... Seek? she wondered,
vaguely. Yes, she was seeking something ... or was it someone. And that
someone was ...
Sarek. She wanted Sarek. He was here, somewhere, he had to be. Her
husband had been part of her mind, part of her universe for so long ...
he must be here, somewhere.
Was she m6ving toward Sarek?
She must be, Amanda thought. Spock's presence was far behind her now,
and she did not let him distract her any more. She could not turn back,
she knew that instinctively.
Sarek? she thought.
Amanda had a vague impression that she was moving faster. For a fleeting
moment, it occurred to her to wonder just where she was going, but that
did not seem important, either. Only one thing still linked her to her
Self, the essence of Amanda Grayson ... and that was Sarek. He had to
be here, somewhere ...
Sarek?
Something was near her. What? She had no fear of it, whatever it was. It
loomed closer, closer ... Suddenly, as she sped along, another presence
was with
her, enveloping her with its essence. Joyfully, Amanda recognized it.
Sarek!
He was with her, beside her, around her, within her ... he surrounded
and pervaded her with the sense of his presence. Sarek ... she thought,
happy that they were together. My husband ...
But she was still moving ... Sarek was not the destination.
He could accompany her only partway, for a short while. With a faint
pang of regret, Amanda felt him drop behind her. She was moving too fast
for him ...
Moving ... rushing, now. Hurtling. Where did not matter.
There was no fear, no pain, no weariness. There was ... peace. Peace
and movement ...
Peace ... and nothingness ...
The last spark of individual identity that had been Amanda Grayson Sarek
surrendered to the peace, losing herself, expanding beyond Self, beyond
... everything ...
"Sarek?"
Spock's eyes snapped open in amazement at his mother's whisper. She
sounded suddenly younger, almost girlish. As he watched, her cracked
lips parted in a loving smile, as though she saw something he could not.
"My husband ..." The words were barely discernible ... a final, soft
exhalation.
Amanda gasped sharply ... then her chest did not rise again.
I failed, Spock thought desolately, as his eyes automatically went to
the monitors; there he read what he already knew.
It was difficult to believe that his mother was dead. He let his fingers
slide down her temples to her throat ... nothing.
No pulse.
Spock stood there for a long moment, trying to assimilate what had
happened. It seemed inconceivable that Amanda would never open her eyes
again, never smile, or speak.
Never ... the word had an awful sound. Something struggled inside him
to break loose, to achieve expression, but he repressed it sternly. He
was a Vulcan.
Gently, Spock placed her limp hands on her breast atop the coverlet. His
mother's eyes were half-open, and, automatically, he reached out and
closed them. His hand lingered for a moment on Amanda's cheek; then,
resolutely, he stood up. Healer T'Mal, he thought, would be here any
moment, having seen Amanda's readings from the monitoring station in the
med center.
The Vulcan debated whether he should draw the sheet up over his mother's
face, but decided not to ... she appeared very peaceful the way she
was. Her face even bore traces of that last, faint smile.
Spock turned and walked to the door, hesitated, glanced back. There
seemed no reason to stay any longer, but he could not decide what he
should do. Healers, aides, and patients passed him in the corridor, and
it seemed incredible and somehow unconscionable that everyone and
everything should go on so normally, when there had been such a loss ...
Spock realized with one part of his mind that he was not reacting
logically, but, for once, that did not seem important.
T'Mal came toward him, halted. She was a small, graying Vulcan, who wore
a blue-green medical tunic and trousers.
"Captain Spock," she said, in the most ancient and formal of Vulcan
dialects, "I grieve with thee on the death of try mother."
Spock nodded, wondering whether his expression betrayed any of his inner
turmoil, but apparently it did not, for T'Mal's face did not alter as
she gazed at him. The Vulcan nodded, then said, matching her formality,
"We grieve together, Healer T'Mal. I thank thee for thy care of my
mother these many days."
T'Mal gazed up at him, and some of her formality vanished. "Go home,
Captain Spock. Rest. We will place her in stasis, until your father
returns, so he may see her if he wishes. Tomorrow will be soon enough to
arrange for the memorial service."
Spock nodded. "Thank you, T'Mal. I will contact you ... later." Turning
away, he headed for the med center's transporter unit.
Alone in the small room on Deneb IV, Sarek of Vulcan struggled, sending
his mind out, striving to reach his wife, never knowing whether he had
succeeded. And then ... he felt Amanda die.
One moment her presence was there, a warm spark in the back of his mind,
a tenuous link stretching between them--and then the link snapped ...
the warmth was gone, leaving an aching void.
Sarek leaned his head in his hands, feeling grief engulf him past any
ability of his to control it. Amanda ... Amanda ... he thought, as
though her name were some kind of litany or spell that could call her
back. But no ... she was gone, truly gone, and he would be forever
poorer for her loss. Amanda ...
Alone, in the dark, Sarek of Vulcan silently mourned. His world seemed
to have tilted out of alignment, losing its focus and color. Amanda,
dead? For the first time, the Vulcan realized how much of his strength,
his legendary calm and wisdom had come from his wife's presence in his
mind. And now ... gone ...
Forever.
The word was too large, too all-encompassing for even a Vulcan mind to
grasp. Sarek rejected the idea. Logic might dictate that his time with
Amanda was ended, but ... one's logic was uncertain at times, when
family was concerned.
Someday, somehow, he would touch the essence of his wife again. Sarek
knew it.
But ... what was he to do until then?
The answer to his question returned him swiftly. He would do his job ...
his duty. He would gain freedom for the people of Kadura. He would
complete these negotiations.
And then, he would do what h e must about the Freelan threat. He would do
his duty, as he had always done.
Amanda would expect that of him, as he expected it of himself.
Rising from the table, the ambassador straightened his formal robes, and
his shoulders. Then, his expression calm, remote, he walked slowly back
to join the others around the conference table.
Spock materialized inside the mountain villa. He could have gone to the
house in Shikahr, which was within walking distance of the med center,
but there he would have had to take calls, talk to people, accept
expressions of condolence and inquiries about the time of the memorial
service. Here, his solitude, should he wish it, could be complete.
Spock wandered through the empty house, noting that someone had made his
parents' bed. The Healer's aide, probably. The Vulcan's fingers trailed
across one of Amanda's woven hangings, and he pictured her weaving it,
as he'd seen her at her loom as a child.
Remembering something, he took out his communicator.
"Spock to Enterprise sickbay," he said.
"Sickbay," replied Leonard McCoy's voice. "McCoy here."
"Doctor ... she is gone," the Vulcan said steadily.
"Spock, I'm sorry," McCoy's voice came back.
"Please inform the captain of my mother's ..." He searched for a human
euphemism." ... passing, and tell him that I will speak with him soon.
There will be a brief memorial service when ... when my father returns.
I will inform you as soon as a time is determined."
McCoy hesitated, then said, "I understand, Spock. Do you want me or Jim
to beam down?"
"No, Doctor. At the moment, I would prefer to be alone."
"I understand," McCoy said. "Spock ... I grieve with thee."
McCoy's High Vulcan was very weak, but Spock appreciated the gesture.
"Thank you, Doctor," the Vulcan replied.
"Spock out."
Some random impulse drove him out of the house. It was the middle of the
night here, on this side of the planet, and Amanda's garden was quiet
and serene. Spock sat on the
bench, facing The Watcher, gazing around him at the beauty Amanda had
created. The well-ordered paths, the graceful desert trees and shrubs
from a dozen worlds, all complemented the natural stone formations that
had been there when the villa had first been built. She had done this,
much of it with her own hands ...
Spock remembered working in this garden with her as a small child,
carrying colored rocks that she would arrange in swirling designs,
remembered helping her rake sand into graceful patterns ...
Something inside the Vulcan loosened, relaxed, and this time he allowed
it to surface for a brief moment. Spock leaned forward on the bench,
arms crossed over his belly, as the pain of her passing filled him,
engulfed him. Hot tears welled in his eyes as he sat there, but only one
broke free ... and fell, to splash the soil in his mother's garden.
Journal in hand, Sarek seated himself at the desk in his cabin aboard
the transport vessel. The negotiations had been completed yesterday;
Kadura was, at last, free, and he was headed home for Vulcan.
Alone in his cabin, he placed the journal on the desk and, opening it,
located the place where he had left off the night before. His wife's
handwriting, symmetrical, flowing, and refined--a schoolteacher's
elegant cursive--traveled over the white pages, bringing back memories,
almost as though she were here, speaking directly to him. Yesterday he'd
read her account of their first meeting and their courtship, up until
the point where they had left Earth together. Now, seeing the date at
the top of the next page, the ambassador braced himself for another
onslaught of bittersweet memory.
September 16,2229
Within the hour we will be in orbit around Vulcan--my new home. It
hardly seems possible that so much has happened in such a short time!
I am alone in my cabin, as I have been throughout the trip ... even
though I am a married woman, by every law on Earth. But my husband
follows traditional Vulcan ways, and insists that we wait until after
the
Vulcan ceremony before consummating our marriage.
In the four months since that first walk on the beach, the first time he
kissed me, Sarek has allowed me to see deeper into his mind and heart
than I could ever have imagined. Not that he has been exactly ...
forthcoming.
But I have learned to read even the tiniest change of expression on his
face, learned to recognize every faint alteration of tone and inflection
... learned to interpret meaning from what he doesn't say as much as
from what he actually says.
And today, in anticipation of the Vulcan ceremony this evening, there
was the Bonding.
How can mere human words describe what no one on my homeworld has ever
experienced? Physically, it was simple, undramatic. Sarek gravely
invited me into his cabin (for the first time in our week-long journey),
and solemnly poured a glass of some dark, heady-smelling brew into a cup
carved from a single crimson stone veined with dull gold. He added
several pinches of herbs, then gestured me to a seat, all without
speaking a single word ... Sarek watched his betrothed sit down on the
low couch in his cabin, arranging her long, pale turquoise skirts
carefully.
When they had taken ship for Vulcan, Amanda had adopted the traditional
garb of his homeworld for the first time, commenting that they would
take some getting used to after the short skirts and trousers she was
accustomed to.
With a grave, formal gesture, the diplomat passed her the cup. "Here,
Amanda. Drink."
Gazing up at him over the ornate rim, she took a hesitant sip. "Oh ..."
she breathed, staring mystified at the contents.
"That feels like liquid fire ... but it's not liquor, is it?"
"No, it is not ethanol," Sarek said. "The drink does have a relaxing
effect, but not an intoxicating one." He paused, watching her sip again,
then continued. "Amanda, you know that, on my world, husbands and wives
are bound by more than law and custom."
"Yes, Sarek," she replied. "They are linked telepathically."
"We call it 'bonding,'" Sarek said. "No marriage would be complete
without it. This evening my world, my people, will witness the ceremony
that will make us, as your people express it, 'one flesh." By tonight we
shall be married, under the laws and customs of both our worlds. But
first ... first there must come the bonding. That is something done in
private, between the betrothed pair--either when they are children, or
before the marriage ceremony."
Amanda hesitated in her turn, then said, "Is it difficult?
Can we do it now?"
Sarek gazed at her, intent, profoundly serious. "It is not difficult for
Vulcans," he said finally. "But it has never been attempted with a
human."
"I am not telepathic," she reminded him. "You know that."
"I know. But I do not believe that is necessary. Our bond will not be
the same as that shared by a Vulcan couple, but I believe it will be as
lasting, as deep, in its own way." The Vulcan raised his hand slowly,
ceremoniously. "Will you let me try, my wife-to-be?"
"Yes," Amanda said, evenly, though he could see her pulse jump in her
throat. She took a deep, final draft of the cup, then set it aside.
Sarek gave her the faint smile that he reserved for her alone, pleased
by her courage. "It will seem strange to you," he warned. "My mind will
merge with yours, in a very deep meld. It may feel ... invasive. But I
would never harm you, Amanda, remember that."
"I will," she said, her voice still calm--but she licked her lips, as
though her mouth had gone dry.
Holding out two fingers, Sarek extended his hand toward his wife-to-be.
Slowly, steadily, she raised her hand to meet his.
Sarek sent his consciousness questing outward, and felt his mind brush
Amanda's. He shared her awareness of him, of the first stages of the
meld; the heat of his touch against her hand ... the seeking tendrils
of his mind touching the outer fringes of her thoughts.
He went deeper, cautiously, carefully, anxious lest he cause her pain.
Her love and trust surrounded him. She opened to him, like some alien
flower spreading its petals to the sun. Slowly ... very slowly ... he
eased deeper, strengthening the meld.
Raising his other hand, he spread it against the contact points on her
face, feeling her cool flesh against the warmth of his. Deeper ...
deeper ...
Amanda was now aware of him stirring in her mind, coming to life, the
fibers of his being joining to hers, linking, bonding, melding her mind
was becoming sealed to his in a joining so profound that it could only
be broken by a High Master--or death.
Sarek could feel her instinctive need to pull back, away--and could feel
her fighting it, forcing calmness and acceptance.
He send a wordless reassurance that she would not lose her individuality
by this bonding, then felt her relax. He felt a wave of pride; she was
brave, this woman he had chosen. Such a deep meld was enough to make
even a Vulcan resist ... but she strove for wholehearted joining.
Surrounded now by her mind, Sarek experienced Amanda's goodness, her
intelligence--and her heartfelt love for him. The awareness moved him as
nothing ever had. The bond he had shared with T'Rea had been a pale
shadow compared to this, a travesty of intimacy.
Now he was completely within her, and the sharing they experienced was
more intimate than anything either of them had ever known. He felt the
last of her fear melt away, experienced her joy in their union. Amanda
had longed to be one with him--and now, after so many months, she was.
Her happiness suffused him, bathing him in unaccustomed emotion--but
Sarek did not retreat from that emotion, here in the privacy of their
joined minds. It was appropriate for a bonded couple to share such
closeness ...
Their mental sharing was so complete, so total, that by the tim e Sarek
withdrew his mind, his fingers encountered
moisture. Tears streaked Amanda's face, and she grasped his hand tightly
when he moved it away. "Oh, Sarek ..." she whispered. "That was ...
wonderful. Will it be this way from now on?"
He nodded. "It will," he promised. "We will always be conscious of one
another. We will be together as long as we both live."
Raising his hand to her lips, she kissed him gently.
"Thank you," she said, softly. "I wanted to be part of you ... and now
I am ...
She shook her head, put her hands up to her temples. "So many images,"
she murmured. "Things I never saw before are now in my mind. Those are
your merv, ories, aren't they?"
"Yes. The infusion may be ... chaotic ... at first, but it will sort
itself out, given time."
"Faces ... conversations.. so much to absorb ..." she whispered softly;
then her expression tightened. "Wait a minute." She sat up straight.
"There's an image ... Sarek, who is she?" she demanded, in a tone that
brooked no opposition.
The Vulcan had an uncomfortable notion that he knew what she was talking
about, but he said only, "To whom are you referring, Amanda?"
"This woman. The one in your mind. Lovely, delicate features, masses of
black hair. You ... desired ... her. It's in your mind. You ... you
..." She groped for a word.
"You were intimate with her." Amanda's eyes flashed cobalt.
Sarek sighed. "T'Rea," he said. "My first wife."
"You were married? And you didn't tell me?" She sat bolt upright,
furious. "How could you?"
Sarek regretted his lapse. Amanda's temper was not one to be trifled
with. "Yes, I was married to T'Rea. Briefly. But she divorced me."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because, to explain how she became my wife, I would have to reveal
something so private to Vulcans that it is never spoken of to
outworlders. But you are my wife-to-be,
so I must tell you. I had intended to wait until after the marriage
ceremony, however "He spread his hands upward.
"Explain, then," Amanda said, waiting. launched into a fairly composed,
concise explanation of the Vulcan mating drive, and how a Vulcan couple
in the throes of pon fart could mate, and yet have little interaction in
each other's lives. He concluded, hesitantly, "Amanda, there is one
final thing you must know. I never ... shared ... with her, what I
experience with you. Understand that.
My marriage to T'Rea was not a marriage in terms of what you and I will
experience as a married couple. We have agreed to share our lives
together, which is far different than the brief encounter I experienced
with T'Rea when my Time came."
"I see," she said, finally, thoughtfully. "And will you experience this
... pon farr again? When?"
"I cannot tell," Sarek said, honestly. "But I believe that I will, and
that it will be soon. My Time with T'Rea was almost seven years ago,
now."
"What a honeymoon," she murmured, shaking her head. "Oh, Sarek, I wish
you had told me all this before!"
"I explained--I could not speak of it to anyone except my wife. No
outworlder must know."
"I understand," she said, finally.
Just then, the ship's intercom chimed, informing them that they were
about to enter Vulcan orbit. Amanda jumped up from the couch, clearly
flustered. "Oh, dear. I have barely an hour to make myself presentable
for the wedding!"
"You should assume the traditional garb," Sarek said. "But your
appearance is ... everything that could be desired, Amanda."
Meeting his eyes, she flushed. "What a lovely compliment," she said.
"Now I know why you're such a successful diplomat. But my hair ..." She
peered at the mirror in his cabin. "I must run," she said. "I will see
you in an hour."
"In an hour," he promised ...
Remembering his wedding, Sarek turned the page to see what Amanda had
written aloout it.
September 16, LATER l am so tired, and yet before l allow myself to
close my eyes, I must note down my thoughts, my feelings, lest they slip
away by morning's light.
I am sitting here at a small table in the corner of the bedchamber.
Vulcan beds are hard, barely yielding, but I suppose I will become
accustomed to that with time. I am writing by the light of my pen, clad
only in my lightest nightgown--because, despite Sarek's having
air-conditioning installed specially for me, it is hot. By midnight,
Sarek assures me, the temperature will have dropped, as it does in
desert climates.
My husband is asleep. I can hear him breathing, lightly, slowly. I
wonder if any Vulcans snore? Thank all the gods that ever were, Sarek
does not/
The ceremony went well, all things considered. It was held in a
stone-pillared and rock-walled sort of natural amphitheater that Sarek
told me was the traditional marriage site for his people for many, many
generations.
It reminded me of Stonehenge. 40 Eridani hovered just above the horizon
as we spoke our vows, staining the red stone even redder. I managed to
follow Sarek's cues without any horrible gaffes, and though the few
words of Vulcan I managed to speak probably sounded like nothing ever
heard before on the planet, no one reacted.
The marriage rite was presided over by two Vulcan women--T'Kar, the
oldest female in the family, a wizened old creature who seemed to be
halfasleep during the entire ceremony, and the person who actually
oiciated, named T'Pau.
I don't quite understand T'Pau's exact relationship to Sarek--Vulcan
kinships are complicated, and somewhat differently structured than
humanfamilies--she is something on the order of his eldest great-aunt, I
believe.
T'Pau is some kind of matriarch, either by right of
blood, or natural authority. Her word is, apparently, law. I suspect
she's not exactly thrilled at having a human join her family ... but
she could teach Emily Post a thing or two about tradition and
cutting-edge etiquette!
Fortunately, the ceremony only took about fifteen minutes--if it had
been any longer, I'd have dropped from the heat, I'm sure. We then
boarded ground transport and returned to the ancient family enclave,
where the reception was held.
I gather that many receptions are held outside, in the gardens, but this
one, in deference to my human constitution, was held in the central
hall. The temperature controls had been adjusted downward a few degrees.
All the Vulcans were wearing jackets and shawls, while I could hardly
wait to shed my outer robe, light and gauzy as it was/)
Earth's ambassador, Eleanor Jordan, was the only other human present.
She offered a typical human toast to the wedded pair, which all the
Vulcans courteously drank.
As soon as was decently possible, Sarek touched my arm, and we slipped
out. He led me through stone corridors opening onto chambers filled with
ancient furnishings, down a winding staircase to a transporter pad
installed in the basement of the building--it looked so anachronistic
set into that millennia-old red stone floor!
Sarek's house is located in Shikahr, and is quite nice.
Sparsely but impeccably furnished. It was long past sunset when we
beamed here, so I received only a hazy impression of the outside. Sarek
says there are gardens, which pleases me immensely. I brought some
desert plant seedlings with me, in the hopes I can coax them to grow and
thus have some touches of Earth here on my new home.
Even while he is asleep, I can sense Sarek mind brushing mine.
Today, before the ceremony, Sarek enlightened me
about Vulcan sexual drives. Very different from a human's libido! It
seems that Vulcans undergo something he called pon farr ... much like
the heat cycles experienced by some Terran creatures. Vulcans are
capable of mating and conceiving at other times, but, during pon farr
they must mate--if they don't, they can diet Sarek, my husband ... I
can scarcely believe it, even after tonight. It seems too wonderful to
be true, that we can now share the same bed, and that I will wake up
next to him tomorrow, and tomorrow, and for all the tomorrows we will
have together ...
Sarek closed the journal with a sigh, unable to read any more. Resting
his head in his hands, he strove to mealirate, but images of Amanda
intruded, filling his mind. Amanda, he thought, feeling grief fill him
anew. Amanda ... that was the happiest night of my life, too.
Valdyr watched Karg salute her uncle, then exit, leaving them alone on
the cloaked warbird's small bridge. The last thing Karg did before the
doors slid shut behind him was give her a long, promising leer.
I can wait for our wedding night, his expression said, for my wait will
not be long.
Valdyr glowered at him, touching the hilt of her dagger, and her gesture
was just as suggestive. His very presence sent her blood boiling with
passion--but not the passion he wanted. You will wait, Karg, she thought
with murderous hatred, until Qo'nos's polar caps melt. Unfortunately,
with the destruction of Praxis and the subsequent environmental problems
the Klingon homeworld was facing, that might not be very long indeed.
If she could only talk her uncle out of this disastrous plan of his! She
turned to face the ambassador, who was absorbed, watching the
surveillance screens.
"Uncle," she said with a firmness she did not feel, "we must talk."
He glanced at her, then went back to watching the image on the screen. A
lone human male lay curled in an embryon ic position on the narrow,
shelflike bunk. "Niece, come see your charge."
Valdyr moved closer to him, staring at the silent, unmoving human. She
could detect no movement, not even breathing. Was the prisoner still
alive?
"He will be your responsibility," Kamarag reminded her.
"The warbird's crew tells me that young Kirk has eaten nothing in the
five days since his capture. He only uses his food to ask questions, and
spell out his name, rank, and some meaningless number. Wo rse than that,
he has drunk only a small amount of water. For the last day, they said,
he has not moved at all."
How grotesque, Valdyr thought, to just curl up and surrender.
This is what her uncle thought was an honorable prisoner?
"Typical," Kamarag remarked, studying the prisoner and shaking his head.
"Most humans, it has been my experience, are a weak, spineless lot. I
regret that this one will probably not afford you much amusement,
niece."
In Klingon society, guarding prisoners of war was traditionally women's
work. And, for the most hated prisoners and humans certainly qualified
for that category), the female jailers took delight in administering the
be /oy '--the ritualized "torture-by-women."
In a world controlled by Klingon warriors, a woman could release much of
the frustration engendered by the male-dominated society on a strong,
healthy prisoner.
"It is critically important that this man live and be healthy, do you
understand, my ' ?"
intruded on her thoughts. niece. Kamarag's order Valdyr scowled. She
would have to nurse this feeble weakling? Klingon prisoners were not
usually coddled. A touch of hope glimmered in her breast. Was her uncle
finally realizing the magnitude of his actions? Was this his way of
softening the offense? Yes, that had to be it. He would strengthen the
dying human so as to have a healthy hostage to return in exchange for
Captain Kirk. It could, perhaps, salvage some honor in the end.
"He must be strong, so that when Kirk comes to claim
him," Kamarag explained in his most rational, ambassadorial voice, "this
sniveling weakling can endure a good, lengthy bejoy'--while his uncle is
forced to watch!"
aldyffs color deepened and her eyes widened against her will. Where was
the honor in that? There was no craft in this plan, no politics, just
duplicity and cruelty. The shame of it made her glower at the
deckplates.
"Don't worry, my dear niece," Kamarag said comforting ly, giving her a
congenial hug, "that task will be yours as well. A reward for the
distasteful work ahead of you--guarding this stinking alien, this blood
kin of va Kirk! His torture will be my wedding gift to you--something to
whet your appetites and insure a passionate night with your new
husband?"
Valdyr had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from erupting into
gales of hysterical laughter. Had all she learned at her father's side
of honor, battle, and glory been lies? Was this really the way Klingons
conducted themselves by betraying their leaders, lying, cheating, and
abusing the helpless? Her father would have killed this man for what he
was about to do.
"Now, what is it you wished to speak to me about?" The young woman
blinked, having nearly forgotten. She swallowed, knowing already how
futile this would be.
"I ... I wish to speak once more ... of my plans. The plans I made for
my life, while my father was still alive."
Kamarag drew away from her, his face taking on his more "official" look.
"My father, as you must know, encouraged my learning," she reminded him.
"He trained me himself, along with my four brothers, in all the
warriors' arts."
Kamarag nodded. "You were your father's favorite, of that, I'm well
aware. Training you was his way of proving your worth, since he made the
healers work so hard to save you in infancy."
She nodded, lowering her eyes. In many families, a weak, small, sickly
baby as she had been would have been allowed to die. But her father
would not permit it and demanded the
healers save her. Perhaps it was because she was his only daughter. Her
mother liked to tell her that he'd bellowed at the doctors that Valdyr's
will to live was proof that she carried a man's share of noble warrior's
blood. And he'd trained her as stringently as her stronger brothers.
She'd loved him for that.
"My father," she reminded Kamarag, "felt my mind was as strong as my
skills, as strong as my will to live. He wanted me to continue my
schooling. He knew I was not strong enough to serve as a warrior ... but
hoped I might have other skills almost as valuable to offer the Empire.
He hoped--and I shared his dream--that I might follow you, Uncle, into
diplomacy."
Kamarag raised his head in surprise. It was a compliment, and she could
see he was taking it as such.
She continued quickly, before he could stop her. "At the time, it was a
dream, a fantasy, but now ... with Azetbur holding such an important
political role, it would not be thought so unusual if I ..."
The ambassador glowered. "Azetbur! The role she has usurped is a
travesty! If she were a decent female she would have married again!
Then, she could hand her seat over to her husband, as it should be!"
Valdyr yearned to remind her uncle that Azetbur's husband had been
killed in the same attack that had killed the chancellor's father--but
that it had been Azetbur herself that Gorkon had wanted to succeed him.
"And it is this depraved female you would model yourself after?"
"Oh, no, Uncle, it is you I would ..."
"Do not flatter me, niece! I have been a politician since long before
you were born!" He was furious now, and Valdyr had no idea how to
placate him.
"But ... my father--"
"Your father is dead. t" he reminded her brutally. '7 am the head of
this family, and you will follow the life I prepare for you! You will
marry Karg, and be a faithful wife, and bear him as many male children
as your body can grow. Your
glory will be in the success of your husband and male children. You will
not live a life of perversion and depravity as that damnable Azetbur
has. Do you understand me?" Valdyr was stunned by her uncle's reaction.
Stunned and heartsick. But she showed not a trace of it on her face. She
would not shame her father's memory by displaying weakness.
"Yes, my uncle. I understand clearly."
"Then, let us be family," he said quietly, "and never speak of this
again." He turned back to regard the surveillance screens. aldyr
struggled to control her disappointment. She'd hoped that her uncle
would listen to reason ... but he would not.
While she and her uncle had had their brief discussion, she'd been
peripherally aware of the screens that displayed Karg's progress through
the warbird. His lieutenant, Treegor, accompanied him. The two officers
had picked up Peter Kirk from a rendezvous point on the edge of explored
space, from the tramp freighter/contraband runner that had smuggled him
off Earth.
Now, after landing on Qo'nos, at Tengchah Jay, the spaceport closest to
Du'hurgh, Kamarag's huge estate, it was time, at last, to remove the
prisoner from his cell. As Karg stalked through the corridom, he carried
in his gauntleted hand an electronic key that was the only means of
opening the door to the security cell.
Through all of this, the figure on the bunk had never stirred, never
twitched. Yes, Karg, Valdyr thought bitterly, bring my uncle his dead
prize.
Finally, Karg and his lieutenant reached the prisoner's cabin. Karg
inserted the key and left it in, so that the doors would remain open.
Both men were relaxed, talking and laughing with each other, confident
that the human, even in health, could be no match for them.
Karg leaned over the prisoner and shook the man's shoulder. There was no
response; the captive's arm swung limply, then hung, flaccid.
"He ... cannot be dead?" her uncle muttered, as if contemplating that
possibility for the first time. "If he is dead ..." You have nothing,
Valdyr thought, nothing but shame. "No, he lives!" Kamarag muttered as
Karg and his assistant lifted the limp form by the arms, slapping him
lightly. The man seemed almost boneless, his head lolling back and
forth, his eyes shut, his mouth sagging open.
He had to be alive, or his body would have stiffened with the death
rictus. Karg slapped the human's face again, harder, but there was no
response.
Suddenly, the prisoner groaned piteously and sagged even more. Karg and
his lieutenant bowed over his form to prevent him from collapsing to the
deck, and for a moment the human was lost to view, blocked by the
warriors' broad backs.
Then, in the next instant, the two Klingons lurched toward each other,
their heads meeting with a resounding crack. They fell backward,
staggering. The human had suddenly awakened, grabbed the warriors and
forced them together.
The human was upright now, his entire demeanor changed dramatically.
Spinning on one foot, he lashed out with his other, catching Treegor on
the chin. The warrior crashed to the deck, unconscious. Karg was up now,
and in a murderous rage, blood trickling from a head-plate cut. With a
roar, he charged the human, who moved low and struck the warrior with
his fists hard, once, twice, three times just below the breastplate, in
a warrior's most vulnerable place.
The air rushed out of Karg's lungs, and all he could do was swing
wildly. He managed to strike the human on the shoulder, but the man took
the blow well, and punched Karg twice, in his right eye.
This human knows us, aldyr realized. He'd wasted no energy attacking the
places where warriors would feel little pain. Her gaze sharpened with
interest. She had not realized that humans could fight so well--or be so
clever!
Karg lunged after the human, meaning to snatch him up and throw him into
the nearest wall, but the smaller male held his place until the last
second, then dodged the attack.
Grabbing Karg by his armor, he shoved the big warrior hard, and Karg's
forward momentum ran him right into the bulkhead. His head struck with
stunning force, and he slid down the wall, dazed.
Without a wasted moment, young Kirk raced out of his cell, grabbing the
electronic key on his way out. Karg struggled to his feet to pursue his
escaping quarry, but the doors slid shut in front of him, locking him
inside. Valdyr stifled her laughter as she took in Karg's stupefied
expression.
"Hu'tegh!" Kamarag cursed, slapping his palm on the alarm button. The
raucous sound of the blaring klaxon instantly filled the air.
They watched the human on the surveillance screens as he raced down the
corridors. Kamarag's hands flew over the control panel, and on another
screen the two warriors Karg had gotten the key from suddenly appeared.
They were in the mess hall, eating. They looked up in response to the
alarm.
"Hurry!" Kamarag yelled through the intercom. "The human is loose in the
ship!" As the warriors abandoned their meals and ran out, the ambassador
secured all airlocks.
Valdyr headed for the bridge doors.
"And where are you going?" Kamarag demanded as the doors slid open
before her.
"I'm going to recapture my prisoner," she informed him matter-of-factly.
He seemed about to protest, but Karg's shouting as he hammered against
his prison door quickly distracted him. She was in the hall before he
had another second to think about it.
The human will head for the bridge, she decided. It would be the only
way he could effect a genuine escape. Leaving the ship would merely
strand him on a planet where he would be the only one of his kind, and
entirely too easy to find. No, he'd need to get to the bridge,
commandeer it. No doubt he'd figure out where it was in a matter of
minutes. He was clever, this human.
Those of us that are not as strong must develop our minds
all the more, she thought, grinning with the excitement of the pursuit.
She was eager to go against this man. This warrior, she thought,
shocking herself. And what else should he be called? Starved,
alehydrated, and inactive for days, this human had managed to have both
the strength and the cunning to overcome two of Kamarag's best warriors.
Valdyr raced down the corridor, heading toward the prisoner's cabin. She
realized then that she had no weapon but her knife, and her fighting
skills. She could not stun the man; she would have to fight him
barehanded. She frowned.
Would he fight her? Or would he give her that look, that patronizing
expression warriors always gave her? It would be shameful for a warrior
tojight a woman, she was always told.
And she always responded, No, it is only shameful to fight her ... and
lose. Gritting her teeth, she slid to a halt behind a juncture of
corridors. This was the path to the bridge. To reach it, he would have
to come through her.
Valdyr heard the thudding of feet on deckplates, then a Klingon
warrior's guttural shout. She peered around the corner , her body hidden
by the angled wall. The human, who'd been headed her way, spun around to
face a Klingon racing toward him from the rear. Young Kirk waited until
the warrior was nearly on top of him, then with an earsplit-ting yell of
his own, leaped high in the air, smashing both feet into the warrior's
face. The Klingon hit the deckplates so hard they shuddered. Kirk landed
badly himself, pulling himself up with an effort. Panting for breath, he
moved steadily toward her.
The Klingon woman stepped into his path from behind the curve and he
stopped short. Chest heaving, he gulped for air. It had cost him, this
fight, and she could see he was near the end of his strength.
"It is over," she said clearly in English. "You have fought well. Be
proud. Now yield, and come with me." Kirk was clearly surprised to hear
her use his language.
His shoulders sagged, as if in defeat, but she didn't trust him and went
into a defensive stance. His gaze moved over her, taking in her posture,
and his expression hardened with determination. "In a pig's eye!" Kirk
answered.
She blinked, unable to translate the idiom. "You will yield!" she
ordered, and launched herself at him.
Valdyr felt ashamed of her advantage. She doubted he would use the same
force on her as he'd been willing to use on the Klingon males. His
unwillingness to do that would allow her to conquer him, but she
wouldn't enjoy it. She was still thinking that when his fist hit her
cheek with stunning force.
Her head snapped back harshly, and she growled as blood poured from the
corner of her lip. Drawing back, she landed a powerful right to his jaw,
and he staggered. She moved to follow it through with a left, but he
blocked the blow. Kirk brought his hand down in a hard chop at her neck,
but she dodged and it landed ineffectively on her leather shoulder pad.
Bringing the heel of her hand up under his chin, she snapped his head
back with the force of the blow. Kirk grunted and went down.
Before he'd even finished landing, however, he'd scissored his legs
between hers and knocked her to the deck. He landed on her roughly,
struggling to get a grip on her hair and slam her head against the
deckplates. Swinging her legs up, she flipped both of them end over end,
then straddled him. "Yield, human!" she bellowed, and struck him hard in
the face. His head cracked against the floor, he gave a sigh, and his
eyes rolled up.
Valdyr eased off her prisoner carefully, fully aware that he might be
feigning unconsciousness. Klingon boots thundered down the hall, and
when she looked up, Karg, Treegor, the two crewmen, and her uncle were
there, their eyes moving between the unconscious human on the floor and
her. She was panting and sweating over him, the blood from her lip
dripping puce droplets onto her armor.
Raging, Karg snarled, "Let me kill this Ha'dlbah now!" and lunged for
the helpless body.
"You will not!" Valdyr heard herself shout as she thrust herself between
them, shoving the warrior back roughly.
He moved on her, but by then her dagger was out of its sheath and in
front of his face. He paused. Valdyr's warrior blood was coursing
through her now. "Is this how a Kiingon
warrior kills his enemy?" she taunted her betrothed. "Waits until he's
helpless and kills him in his sleep? Is that your path to honor, Karg?"
No one in the corridor moved. Karg's face flamed with shame. Valdyr was
surprised when her uncle said nothing, merely stared at her
reflectively.
Treegot grumbled at her, "This human is not worthy to be our enemy. He
is a parasite, brought down by a woman. He deserves no honorable
consideration."
"Be careful, Treegor," she warned. "This human brought you down with one
blow, and outfought and outwitted the rest of you. He did that after a
long fast and in a weakened state. He has earned the respect due a
warrior."
Without another word, she sheathed her dagger. Then, reaching down, she
grabbed the unconscious human by the wrists, hauled him up, and slung
him over her shoulder.
Valdyr struggled not to stagger; Kirk was heavier than he looked, but
she could not afford to show weakness in front of this group now.
"Valdyr," said Kamarag quietly, "where are you taking him?"
"To the prison cell you have prepared for him," she said, managing to
speak clearly in spite of her burden. "I will take him in the aircar we
brought. He is my prisoner, is he not?
He needs medical attention, and possibly force-feeding.
Your orders on the matter of his care were very clear."
"Do ... you not wish help?" Kamarag asked.
"Do you think I need it?" she challenged, meeting his eyes.
He raised his head as if insulted, but when Karg attempted to speak, he
held up his hand to silence the warrior.
Karg looked outraged. "No," Kamarag said quietly. "I do not think you
need help." And with a gesture that was almost a salute, he permitted
her to leave.
As Valdyr stumped toward the airlock with her heavy burden, she heard
Karg say angrily to her uncle, "I will not tolerate such insolence when
we are wed.\* I will beat that smugness out of her the first night!"
To her pleasure she heard Kamarag reply, "I do not
believe a warrior's heart is so easily conquered, Karg. You may have to
rethink your approach."
See, Peter told himself, you were right the first time. You should've
never woken up! He lay perfectly still on the unyielding surface where
he'd been tossed. The truth was, he was afraid to move. Every single
part of him hurt--not just a little, but with a bone-jarring,
muscle-deep, migraine-type pain the likes of which he'd never known.
Well, what did you expect, mister? You took on the whole damned Klingon
army.
Klingons! He'd been kidnapped by Klingons. Well, everything he'd ever
read about them was true. They could fight like mountain gorillas, and
they seemed about as strong. His aching body testified to that.
But why would Klingons want to kidnap him in the first place? Ever since
Jim Kirk and his crew had saved Chancellor Azetbur, his uncle had become
a favored person among the Klingon populace.
But not every Klingon, he knew, supported Azetbur's rule.
He tried to recall the two soldiers who'd come for him.
Their garb had been military--black and dark gray leather studded with
metal, spiked boots and gloves--but the official insignia of the Klingon
Empire was not pinned on their left sleeves. Instead, there'd been
another insignia stitched on the leather, intertwined with what must
have been the sigil of a high-ranking house.
He tried to gauge the gravity of this place by the weight of his body as
it lay still. It was hard to say without moving. He was heavier than he
was on Earth, just a fraction, perhaps, but there was a difference. Of
course, some of that could be due to swollen muscle tissue! He wondered
if he was on one of the Klingon worlds, or on Qo'nos itself. And he
wondered if he'd ever find a way out of this mess. Despair washed over
him like a bucket of ice water.
Klingons rarely kept prisoners, but when they did ... there was plenty
of speculation about what happened to those unfortunates. Would they
kill him? Torture him?
Tales of the infamous Klingon mind-sifter ran through his memory.
Determinedly, Peter took deep breat hs, in through his nose, out through
his mouth, until he felt calmer.
"I know you are awake, human," a highly accented feminine voice growled
at him.
He knew that voice. He'd heard it at least once before.
Yes. Before its owner whipped the tar out of him. He allowed one eyelid
to creep open.
There she was, all right, the woman of his nightmares. She loomed over
him, but carefully remained out of reach. As if he had enough energy
even to lift his head, never mind take her on again. What a punch she
had!
"You are dehydrated, human," she told him. "You need water and food. I
am prepared to force-feed you if you will not cooperate with me. The
choice is yours."
Her English was amazingly good, if oddly accented, Peter realized. He
opened the other eye.
She was small, barely tall enough to reach Peter's shoulder, and
slenderly built. Her long dark hair, braided into a rope as thick as
Peter's wrist, hung over her shoulder and fell to her thighs. The
Klingon woman's skin was the color of warm honey, her features delicate
and feminine. Even the ridges on her forehead were elegant--sharply
defined, but not as massive as those of the male Klingons. The effect
was almost charming. Like the lovely head of the cobra, Peter thought
wryly.
She wore the same military-like garb that the males had, with the same
insignia on it. As Peter's eyes met hers, she lifted her chin and stared
back at him levelly.
"You will sit up, or I will pull you into a sitting position," she
ordered him.
The last thing he wanted was for this Amazon to handle him again. He
rolled onto his side and struggled to sit up without groaning. Easing
his legs over the ledge of whatever he was lying on, he settled into the
ordered position, only to sag back against a wall.
"I know you now, human," the female Klingon informed him, "so do not
attempt to deceive me. I defeated you once and will happily do so
again."
Holding up his hands, Peter tried futilely to moisten his mouth and
speak. He craved water as he'd never craved anything before; he didn't
even care if it was drugged. In fact, he wished it was. It might
alleviate some of this pain.
"Here, drink this," she ordered him, holding a squeeze bottle out to
him.
He clutched at it, his hands covering hers, as the fluid streamed into
his mouth. It was clear, clean, pure water, and tasted more wonderful
than anything he'd ever consumed.
Cruelly, she pulled the bottle away before he'd had more than a few
swallows.
"Slowly!" she snapped. "You have been weakened by your battle. Too much
fluid too soon will only make you ill. Here, swallow these, and you may
have more water to wash them down."
He stared uncomprehendingly at some tiny pills in her palm.
"They are human medication. They are for pain. Take them ... or no more
water."
He took them willingly and again clutched her hands as she allowed him
more water from the squeeze bottle. Her skin was so warm.
This time, when she took the bottle away, her face seemed to soften a
little. He released his grip on her reluctantly, wondering when she'd
offer the water again.
"There is warm broth in this bottle," she told him, showing it to him.
"It is Klingon, but it is specially made for injured warriors. It is
food and medicine all in one. I have consulted with the information we
have on human physiology and I assure you it will bring you no harm. You
will drink it ... or I will feed it to you like an infant."
Peter nodded at her. He'd drink it ... the water had awakened an echo
of hunger. He moistened his Flps again and asked, "Why do you care?" His
voice was little more than a croak.
She frowned, confused.
"Why should you care if I eat or not? Whether I drink too much water and
get sick? Why do you care?"
"My uncle has assigned me to see to your welfare," she explained, her
tone curt, but no longer fierce. She handed him the bottle of broth. "I
am to restore your health."
He nodded. Her job. That explained everything, and nothing. He sipped
the warm brew gingerly, no longer interested in the politics of
hunger-striking. Surprisingly, the liquid was savory and satisfying. As
its warmth traveled through him, he found his spirits improving. Peter
wondered how long it would be before the pills took effect. He was tired
of pain following every faint movement.
Taking another sip of the broth, he looked around his new environment.
All his great battle had done was earn him more scars and a new cell.
This one was not much larger than his prison aboard the ship, but he
knew very well that he was no longer in space.
The windowless walls were closely fitted blocks of stone that had been
cemented over, not altogether successfully, because patches of the
ancient brownish gray stonework showed through. He was perched on a
sleeping platform consisting of a slab of stone with some kind of woven
blanket thrown atop it.
On his left was a hole in the ground, what he now recognized as the
Klingon version of a no-frills head. This one didn't appear to have been
used within the last century.
The door was ancient wood reinforced with metal, but the locks holding
it closed were modern--incongruous against the old wood. Beside the door
was a clear observation panel with a speaker set beneath it. A
four-legged stool was placed near it.
The walls around him seemed as tough as neutronium. He thought of a book
his uncle had brought him once--The Count of Monte Cristo.
Sure, he thought. Give me a spoon, and I'll be out of here in a mere
fourteen years ...
This was definitely not the Klingon Hilton.
Peter took a deep breath, trying to take stock of his situation. What
would Jim Kirk do? he wondered; then,
glancing at the young Klingon woman's slender but attractive figure, he
repressed a grim smile. Yeah, right. I know just what Uncle Jim would
do! Even with a Klingon, if she was as nicely built as this one ... too
bad I don't have his luck.
Taking a few more healthy swallows of the broth, he savored the taste.
It was spicy, burning his tongue, but he'd always won the chili
cook-offs in school. He loved hot food.
He looked at the bottle, surprised to be feeling some of his aches
easing up already. "This is very good broth." She cocked her head at him
suspiciously. "I had always heard that humans were too weak to tolerate
our food." He shrugged cautiously. "I'll make you chili some day and we
can discuss it. I like this well enough. And I'm feeling better. Thank
you." She seemed wary, then uncomfortable, but finally said,
"I, too, thank you." He stared at her, at a loss. "What for?"
"For fighting me. For treating me as an honorable opponent.
It was a good battle! I believe ... that if you were well ... you
might have won!" Peter sat up straighter, forcing his brain into
alertness.
Klingons put a lot of store in honormr was everything to them. But women
didn't get much benefit from the heavily patriarchal system. He started
to introduce himself. "My She cut him off abruptly. "I know who you
are." He raised an eyebrow. Of course she knew who he was.
She'd helped kidnap him, hadn't she? "And ... my honorable opponent is
... ?" he prodded. The ploy was deliberate.
It would become harder to think of him as her victim if he started
becoming a person to her.
She hesitated, and he wondered if she knew that. Finally, she said
quietly, "I am Valdyr." He nodded. Interesting name. He wondered if it
meant anything. Yeah. She-who - mops - the -floor-with - Starfleet
-cadetst "Valdyr, have I earned the right to know why I'm here.\*" He was
pushing it, he knew, but what could she do, besides refuse? And beat the
hell out of you again?
She seemed suddenly troubled, and glanced around the cell. He didn't
speak, just took a few more sips of broth and waited patiently. Finally,
she spoke. "My uncle has declared a blood feud against your uncle. The
government no longer wants vengeance against James Kirk, since he saved
the life of Chancellor Azetbur. So, to regain his honor, my uncle must
act on his own. James Kirk will be sent a message to come alone to a
certain place in space. There my uncle's guards will take him, and bring
him here. Once he is here," she paused, staring at him for a long
moment, then finally continued, "you will be released." Sheg lying,
Peter thought, but decided not to pursue it.
He didn't have the strength to face his possible future as a Klingon
prisoner. "What will happen to my uncle once Kamarag has him?" Peter
asked, even though he already knew.
Valdyr refused to meet his eyes. "My uncle has a debt of honor to settle
with him. If you know what that is, you know what will happen." Torture
and, eventually, execution, Peter thought grimly.
"Why the blood feud, Valdyr? I know my uncle has fought your people
throughout his career, but our peoples are working toward peace, now."
"Your uncle left a Klingon to perish on an exploding world," Valdyr said
quietly. "That warrior was my uncle's closest friend and prot6g."
"Kruge? I mean, Captain Kruge?" Peter was nonplussed.
"But ... that was over three years ago!"
"'Revenge, like a targ, rouses hungry after a sleep,'" she said,
obviously quoting an old proverb.
"Wait a minute. Captain Kruge ordered my cousin David's death," Peter
argued. "Kruge's men murdered him in cold blood. If anyone has an old
score to settle, it's us, not you." Valdyr frowned. "What is this, 'cold
blood'?"
"Uhhh ... that means that Kruge thought about David's murder, then
ordered it and was obeyed. He didn't kill him during a fight, or kill
him by striking out blindly during an argument."
"That is not true!" Valdyr defended hotly. "David Mar cus was a prisoner
of war, who was executed while attacking a guard."
Peter glared at her. "That's not the way I heard it."
"My uncle told me," she said, matching his intensity.
They glowered at each other for a moment; then Peter relaxed. This was
crazy, he decided. They were acting like the Hatfields and the McCoys.
"Neither one of us was there, so we'll never know for sure. It's been my
experience that the truth usually lies somewhere in the middle."
Valdyr gave him a surprised glance, then nodded slowly.
"That has been my experience, too, Peter Kirk." The way she said his
name made it sound like "Pityr."
She moved toward the heavy wooden door, but never turned her back. She
wasn't going to be as easy to outwit as the goons they'd sent into his
last cell, he realized. "I have brought you clean clothes." She nodded,
indicating a pile of fabric that sat perched on the end of the stone
bunk. "There are cloths in there ... you would say for washing, for
drying. There is soap. I will be bringing a basin for washing when you
are no longer so thirsty and are ready to bathe.
Your odor is too strong! If you do not willingly bathe, I will be forced
to wash you myselfi"
He couldn't help it. The mental image of this lovely but alien woman
forcibly stripping him and lathering his naked body forced a smile onto
Peter's bruised mouth. He winced even as he did it.
Her face darkened, and she advanced on him threateningly.
"What is funny?"
He held up his hands placatingly. "Come on, Valdyr!
Think about it. Don't Klingons have a sense of humor?
Have you ever given a grown man a forced bath out of a basin before?
What a ... fascinating ... image that idea presentsl"
She scowled, but slowly her expression thawed, as if against her will.
"Do not imagine that having me strip you and bathe you would be a
pleasurable experience, Kirk, just because I am female!"
Peter widened his eyes innocently. "Why, Valdyr, such a
thought never crossed my mind. But apparently ... it crossed yours."
Her eyes narrowed as she digested this, then her skin visibly darkened.
She g blushing!
"Of course ... it is a potentially appealing scenario!" he continued,
giving her a sidelong glance. "I don't believe humans and Klingons have
ever had such ... an intimate interaction. Truly an interstellar
first!"
Valdyr's mouth dropped open, just slightly; then she whirled, opened the
door, and slammed it shut almost before he realized what she was doing.
Peter heard the locks on the other side activating in rhythmic
succession. His jailer appeared on the other side of the observation
port, glaring at him balefully.
Keep pushing your luck, mister. With a little more provocation, she just
might beat you to death! He leaned forward and said quietly, "No
disrespect intended to my most honorable opponent." He prayed his voice
would carry through the port.
She seemed to relax at that, and her fierce expression lightened. Then,
suddenly, a male Klingon appeared at her side, surprising both of them.
Oh, no, Peter thought, stunned as the man came into view.
This was her uncle? Could it really be? He recognized Kamarag
instantly--the Klingon who had declared so publicly that there would be
no peace while James T. Kirk lived.
Peter swallowed. Things were becoming entirely too clear.
Kamarag was big, his long dark hair and thick beard shot with gray, with
heavy, jowly features that appeared never to have smiled. He glared at
the young Kirk, and Peter could feel his hatred, as palpable as a
clenched fist. The ambassador was not in uniform, but wore a 1ongish
oyster-white tunic over dark gray trousers, with a dark cape slung over
one shoulder. An intricately carved leather strap held it in place. The
strap bore the same insignia as the other Klingons wore--the insignia,
no doubt, of the house of Kamarag.
The cadet stared at the ambassador. Ambassador? he
thought. What a joke. Sarek was an ambassador, a diplomat, a man of
peace ... this jerk was nothing but a warmonger, a kidnapper, a pompous
ass, a ... Peter ran out of silent epithets4his rage was suddenly too
all-encompassing to be vented with mere insults. He had been drugged,
kidnapped, beatenmand it was this man's fault. Trembling with fury, he
glared at Kamarag, feeling a tirade on the verge of erupting.
Slowly, the impulse faded. What good would cursing and insulting Kamarag
do7 He needed to keep his wits about him, Peter realized. Jim Kirk might
lose his temper at an enemy, but Sarek never would. And right now, he,
Peter Kirk, needed to be diplomatic.
"Ambassador Karostag," he said, and nodded politely to the older male.
But the Klingon ignored his greeting as he leaned forward and stared at
the human. Slowly, his thick lips parted, and a terrible smile
transformed his features. Peter felt every hair on his body rise. Then
the Klingon turned to his niece. In Klingonese, he said, clearly, "He
ate and drank?"
She nodded.
"Good," he continued, still in his native tongue. "I am depending on
you, niece. Do not fail me. Make your prisoner strong and healthy. Treat
him well." He patted the woman fondly on the shoulder. "He must be able
to withstand your ..."
Peter couldn't translate the last word, and searched his mind for its
meaning, but came up blank. He'd caught the word for women, or female,
in there, but as for the rest ... he'd be willing to bet it wasn't a
trip to the local equivalent of an amusement park that Kamarag was
referring to. Ordeal? Trial? He had no way of knowing.
Kamarag was still conferring with Valdyr, smiling solicitously.
When the older man turned back to stare at his prisoner once more, Peter
found that the look the ambassador gave him chilled his blood. Then the
elder Klingon stalked away. Peter turned back to Valdyr to ask her about
what that term, be9oy; meant, and found, to his surprise,
that her rich amber color had paled into a sickly yellow. Her eyes were
wide as she watched her uncle stride away.
"Valdyr?" Peter asked softly, trying to get her attention.
"What does be.Toy' mean? I couldn't translate it. Hey, Valdyr!"
Her head snapped around and she stared at him wild-eyed.
"Do not speak to me, human!" she commanded.
"Remember your place. You are my enemy. My prisoner.
And I am a Klingon!"
He was stunned to see her eyes filled with frustration and genuine
grief; then she turned and stormed away, leaving him alone in his stone
cell.
Sarek materialized on the windswept plateau high in the steppes above
Shikahr only minutes before sunset. Before him lay the steps leading to
the top of Mount Seleya, where the ancient temple and amphitheater were
located. The ambassador's robes flowed around him as he strode forward
and began climbing. The stairs were steep and long; the Vulcan's heart
was pounding by the time he reached the top, but he did not pause to
catch his breath. Instead he detoured around the ancient,
cylinder-shaped temple, heading for the small amphitheater.
The Vulcan was surprised by the number of people on the steps and ranged
around the old temple. Glancing ahead, he could see that the
amphitheater, reached by a narrow stone walkway that hung precariously
over a thousand-meter gulf, was even more crowded.
Many people, it seemed, wished to pay last respects to the memory of his
wife.
The ambassador had arrived on his homeworld only thirty minutes ago.
First he had gone to the reed center, where, after spending a few
minutes with the physical shell that had housed his wife's spirit, Sarek
authorized the cremation.
Now he was at the temple, barely in time for the memorial service. The
ceremony would be brief ... his son had asked T'Lar, the High Master of
Gol, to preside, and she had agreed.
As Sarek moved toward the small, shallow amphitheater, the crowd parted
before him. The ambassador's gaze touched many familiar faces from his
homeworld ... diplomatic personnel and their families, as well as
high-ranking government officials whom Sarek and Amanda had entertained
during official functions. Members of his family whom he had not seen in
years were there, heads respectfully bowed as they murmured the
traditional words, "I grieve with thee." Amanda would be gratified that
so many of those who initially disapproved of our marriage have come to
honor her memory, the ambassador thought, as he moved through the crowd.
As he crossed the narrow bridge, he saw that the highest-ranking
officials and closest family members were awaiting him in the
amphitheater--and there was his son, wearing a formal dark robe with
ancient symbols embroidered in silver on the breast. Spock was standing
with his crewmates from the Enterprise. As Sarek walked toward him,
Spock glanced up, recognized his father, then, deliberately, looked
away.
Sarek had not spoken to his son except for the brief, stilted words they
had exchanged when Spock had called to inform his father of Amanda's
passing. By the time Spock called him, the ambassador had known for
nearly six hours that his wife was dead. When Sarek had attempted to
speak about her, Spock had cut him off, then curtly informed his father
that the final repairs to his ship would be completed within forty-eight
Standard hours, and that he would be leaving Vulcan with his vessel.
As Sarek walked to the forefront of the gathering, Spock, still avoiding
his father's gaze, silently took his place beside the ambassador.
Together, they walked up to stand before the two huge, smooth pillars on
the raised platform. From the side of one of the pillars, there was
movement; then T'Lar, accompanied by two Acolytes, stepped forth. The
High Master wore a dark brown robe with a pale gold overtunic.
As Sarek and Spock stood there, T'Lar began to speak "Today we honor
the memory of Amanda Grayson Sarek," she began, speaking Standard
English in deference to the humans present. "She was a human who honored
us with her presence on our world.
"From Amanda Grayson Sarek, we learned that our people and humans could
live together in peace ... that they could be allies, friends, and
bondmates. Amanda Grayson Sarek possessed great strength, fortitude, and
courage the strength to survive a world that poses great hardships for
outworlders; the fortitude to endure the suspicion and distrust in which
humans were frequently held; and the courage to forever alter the way
Vulcans view the people of Terra. She changed us, not through strident
protest, but by quietly prevailing, becoming over the years a living
testament.
"Today we honor her ... we honor the wife, we honor the mother, we
honor the teacher, we honor the person of Amanda Grayson Sarek. Her life
is one to be held in highest regard and esteem." T'Lar delivered her
words in measured tones, raising her voice only to be heard above the
wind, for the large crowd stood in complete, respectful silence.
After the High Master had finished, by tradition the spouse was supposed
to speak. Sarek hesitated for a long moment after the last echo of
T'Lar's voice had faded into silence, then said "As a diplomat, I use
words as a builder would use tools. But words will not serve me today.
Grieve with me, for, with Amanda's passing, we have all lost someone
very ... rare. I can say no more." Spock glanced at his father in
surprise; then his expression hardened and he deliberately looked the
other way.
Sarek waited a moment to see whether his son wished to say anything,
then he raised a hand in salute to the waiting crowd. "My family, my
friends ... I wish you peace and long life."
"Live long and prosper," T'Lar said aloud, speaking for the crowd. Many
of the watchers held up their hands in the Vulcan salute, heads
respectfully bowed.
The ceremony was over.
Unlike human funerals, etiquette following a Vulcan memorial service
demanded that the family of the deceased be left in private. Sarek
watched as James Kirk came up to his son and said something quietly to
him; then the group of Starfleet officers silently took their leave.
"What did Kirk say?" Sarek asked, when he and Spock were alone, standing
amid the stark peaks surrounding Mount Seleya.
"He asked if we could both meet with him tomorrow at nine hundred hours
aboard the Enterprise to discuss the Freelan situation. I gave the
captain a brief overview while you were gone." Spock still did not look
at his father as he spoke. Instead his eyes remained fastened on the
mountain peaks, scarlet from the reflection of Nevasa's sunset.
"Good," Sarek said. "I was going to request such a meeting with Kirk
upon my return. I have new information to add to what I have already
told you." The Vul can hesitated. "Spock," he said finally, "about your
mother ... I would have returned home if it had been
possible. I--"
"She called for you," Spock interrupted, staring straight ahead. His
features seemed carved from the same rock that surrounded them.
"Whenever she was conscious, she called for you. Her decline was rapid,
after you left."
"The situation with Kadura was grave," Sarek said.
"Lives were in jeopardy Amanda told me that she understood."
"She understood very well." Spock's voice held a bitter edge.
"But the fact that she understood and forgave you does not make your
actions correct. Any competent diplomat could have negotiated a
settlement for Kadura's freedom.
But only you could have eased my mother's passing."
took a deep breath. "The entire time I sat there beside her ... two
days.. there was only one thing in the world that she wanted--you. And
you were not there. Without your presence, there was no solace for her
... no tranquility.
She called for you, and would not be comforted."
"Her ending was not ... peaceful?" the ambassador
asked, his voice a hollow whisper. Pain that was nearly physical in its
intensity struck him like a blow.
hesitated. "Even her sleep was restless," he said finally.
A muscle twitched in his jawline. "She was not aware of my presence at
all." closed his eyes, struggling for control. He experienced a brief
impulse to tell Spock how he had attempted to reach Amanda, but that was
a private thing ... not to be spoken of. Grief washed over him anew. So
... I did not reach her, there at the end. I thought I might have ... I
thought perhaps she could detect my presence ... but it was not so,
evidently ... "You were not there to ease her passing," Spock went on,
inexorably.
"Despite my presence, she died alone."
the elder Vulcan drew himself up, gazing impassively at Spock, his face
a cold mask. "These highly emotional recriminations are both illogical
and distasteful, Spock.
Your logic has failed you, my son ... which is regrettable, but
understandable, under the circumstances. You are, after all, Amanda's
child as well as mine. You are half-human ... and it is your human half
I am facing, now."
Spock turned his head and met his father's eyes. Their gazes locked. The
younger Vulcan's mouth tightened ... his gaze was as scorching as the
desert that lay around them.
But his voice, when he finally spoke, was icy. "In that case, I will
take my distasteful human half and depart ... sir. I bid you farewell."
Spock swung around and walked away, his pace light, even. His control
was perfect; his movements betrayed nothing of the anger Sarek had
sensed. The elder Vulcan hesitated, wanting to call him back, but he had
been perfectly logical--and right. One did not apologize for being
logical or correct ... As the ambassador watched, his son crossed the
narrow bridge, then strode away into the gathering darkness, leaving his
father alone.
James T. Kirk sat in his conference room at 0855 hours, awaiting Sarek
and his first officer. Spock had returned to his cabin aboard the
Enterprise to spend the night, instead of remaining with his father. In
Kirk's estimation, that did not bode well ... he'd seen his friend's
reaction when he spoke of Sarek's leaving when Amanda was dying. Kirk
had known Spock for many years, but had never seen him like this. If he
had to label it, he would call it anger.
Spock's brief revelation three days ago concerning Romulan moles
masquerading as Freelansma whole damned planet of them, apparently, was
extremely wordsome.
James T. Kirk had had many run-ins with both Romulans and Klingons in
his career, and, while it could not be denied that Klingons were fierce
warriors and made awesome enemies, Kirk had decided long ago that he
would rather confront Klingons in a knock-down, drag-out rather than
Romulans.
There was something about Romulans ... a subtlety, a canniness ... It
was the idea of Vulcan intellect without Vulcan ethics that Kirk found
frightening.
And now ... the Romulans were planning something big, if Sarek was
right. That did not bode well for the Federation.
Kirk recalled the moments after he had saved President Ra-ghoratrei at
Camp Khitomer. The delegates and envoys had milled around,
congratulating the Starfleet officers, everyone exclaiming over the fact
that the supposed Klingon assassin had actually proved to be Colonel
West, a human.
While Kirk was standing there, being congratulated and thanked by
President Ra-ghoratrei and Chancellor Azetbur, he'd noticed the Freelan
envoy, shrouded in his or her muffling robes, facing Ambassador Nanclus,
the Romulan who had plotted with General Chang and Admiral Cartwright to
bring about war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Beside
the Freelan had stood a young Vulcan woman, lovely and serene, her short
black hair cropped to reveal her elegant ears.
Kirk shook his head, slowly, his mind churning with questions and
speculations. If someone had ripped the Freelan's robes away, what would
they all have seen? If Sarek was correct in his reasoning ... and
Vulcans were, after all, noted for their reasoning abilities ... then
they would have all seen a Romulan face beneath that muffling cowl and
mask.
If that was true, then what did the Romulans want out of all this? Was
Sarek correct in his deductions? Was the Freelan goal to cause war
between the Federation and the Klingon Empire?
The door slid open and Ambassador Sarek entered. He was wearing his
formal robes of state, but even their bejeweled elegance could not
disguise the Vulcan's fatigue, the deeply shadowed eyes, the hair that
had turned nearly white. Sarek's expression was positively grim as he
nodded to Kirk. "Captain."
Kirk, who had stood respectfully when the senior diplomat entered,
nodded back. "Ambassador ... thank you for coming. And ..." He
struggled to form the Vulcan words this ship's computer had told him
were proper. "I grieve with thee ... "He took a deep breath, returned
to Standard English. "Mrs. Sarek was a wonderful woman, sir. We all
respected and admired her deeply."
"Thank you, Captain," Sarek said, and for a moment the grimness relaxed
fractionally, allowing just a bare glimpse of sadness to slip through.
The door slid open again, and Spock, back in uniform, entered, followed
by Dr. McCoy. The Vulcan ignored his father as he nodded a quick
greeting to Kirk.
Uh-oh, the captain thought. Will they be able to work together at all?
McCoy and Sarek exchanged greetings and the doctor expressed his
condolences to the ambassador. When the formalities were finished, Kirk
waved them all to seats.
"Ambassador Sarek," he began, "Spock has given us a brief summary of
your concerns about the Freelans. But I would like to hear the whole
story from your own lips, if you don't mind. And I'd like to see the
data you've compiled."
"I have already transferred it to the ship's computer, Captain," Spock
said, keying in a code word on the comm link. A fde menu appeared on the
screen.
Sarek began to speak, his beautifully modulated tones and measured,
precise delivery le nding credence to what would otherwise have sounded
like wild nonsense and rampant speculation, coming from anyone but a
Vulcan of his reputation. Kirk listened intently, interrupting every so
often to ask a question or request that the ambassador amplify a point.
Grimly, he and McCoy studied the charts and data the ambassador had
accumulated over years of study and research, and with every moment that
passed, Kirk's certainty that Sarek was correct in his reasoning grew.
The very idea of Freelan being a Romulan world had been outrageous at
first ... now, the more Kirk thought about it, the more the whole
scheme seemed like very typical Romulan reasoning ... clever, devious,
audacious ... and, unfortunately, it seemed that it might actually
work.
When Sarek finally finished his account, the captain of the Enterprise
shook his head grimly. "This stuff about the KEHL ... you're right
about how it's growing. Two days ago I got a priority message from my
nephew, Peter, telling me that he managed to gain access to the KEHL's
computer systems, but that Starfleet Security hadn't paid any attention
to the data he managed to get. He was asking my help in getting a full
investigation of the group started."
"What kind of data did Peter have?" Spock asked.
"Membership rolls, propaganda films ... things like that.
I also gather that the KEHL has breached security at the consulate,
Ambassador, and copied Vulcan data that they claimed would prove their
case that your world has a master plan to take over Earth."
"Take over Earth? The Vulcans?" Leonard McCoy looked thunderstruck, and
then he laughed out loud. "What a load of ... uh.. 2' He glanced at
Sarek, and altered what he'd been about to say to "That's absurd!"
"Something happened during my negotiations with Com mander Keraz that
lends more credence to my theory," Sarek said.
"What was that, Ambassador?" Kirk asked.
"One of Keraz's aides, Wurrl, attempted to assassinate me. Both he and
Keraz, I discovered, had been subjected to telepathic influence."
Hearing that his father had been attacked, Spock stole a quick look at
the elder Vulcan, as if checking him for injury.
"Maybe what we ought to do is just grab some Freelan at a conference and
rip his ask off, McCoy suggested. "Serve them right."
"In the first place, such tactics abrogate diplomatic munity as well as
civil law," Sarek pointed out evenly. "And if we engaged in such ...
peremptory ... behavior, we would lose the goodwill of many delegates,
no matter how exemplary our motives for doing so."
"Yeah, well," McCoy grumbled, "who knows what damage they've been
causing, poking around in other people's minds? I'll bet the Freelans
had a hand in Chang's conspiracy, too."
"I suspect you would win that wager, Doctor," Sarek said, steepling his
hands before him on the table. So that where Spock learned that ... Jim
thought. "During the recent crisis, President Ra-ghoratrei summoned me,
Ambassador Kamarag, and Ambassador Nanclus to discuss the Klingon demand
for your extradition after the assassination of Chancellor Gorkon. Just
after Kamarag left, Admiral Smillie, Admiral Cartwright, and Colonel
West entered the office. The Starfleet officers had prepared a military
plan of action designed to rescue you and Dr. McCo ."
"I never knew that, Jim? the doctor exclaimed, eyes widening with
surprise. "I thought Starfleet just decided to throw us to the wolves."
"Admiral Smillie told me about it at Khitomer," Kirk admitted. "But he
said Ra-ghoratrei wouldn't go along with it."
"That is true," Sarek affirmed. "But what is significant to us now is
that, during this discussion, Ambassador Nanclus
pointed out to the president that the Klingons were vulnerable.. and
that there would never be a better time to begin a full-scale military
action against them. He was quite ... emphatic."
"Nanclus was openly advocating war between the Federation and the
Klingon Empire?" Even in the light of subse quent events, Kirk was
surprised that the Romulan would be so overt.
"I heard him myself," Sarek said simply.
"But Nanclus was working with General Chang and Admiral Cartwright to
start a war. He wasn't giving the official Romulan position "Kirk's
voice faded out. waited a beat, then lifted one elegant eyebrow. "Wasn't
he?" he asked softly. "How do you know? Subsequent events made it seem
that Nanclus was working in concert with Chang and Cartwright ... but
who really started the plot?" The captain drew a deep breath. "During
his court-martial, Cartwright claimed under oath that Nanclus came to
him, and that both of them then presented the idea to Chang--who was
only too happy to take over. But if the whole thing was really Nanclus's
idea ..."
"Precisely," Sarek said.
"Was the Klingon assassin's attack on you a result of telepathic
influence, Ambassador?" Spock asked, his tone cool and formal. Kirk
realized it was the first time he'd addressed the elder Vulcan.
"Yes, I believe so.
I only gained a brief impression of Wurrl's mind during the struggle,"
Sarek replied. "The Klingon suffered a fractured skull during the fight,
and lapsed into a coma.
I have no idea whether he is still alive. Starfleet took him into
custody." Sarek was looking at Spock, but, Kirk noticed, the Vulcan's
return gaze was remote.
"And Commander Keraz also been subjected to undue mental influence?"
Spock pursued the topic, still in that cool, toneless fashion.
"In what way?"
"When I asked the Klingon commander why he had chosen to take such an
action in seizing a Federation colony, he informed me
really did not know why he had done it. It was strictly an impulsive
decision, one that puzzled him in its aftermath.
When I told him what I had discovered about Wurrl, he asked me to
determine whether he, too, had been affected.
I touched him ... and knew that he had."
"Oho," McCoy said.
"You think some Freelan and his trained Vulcan pup compelled Wurrl to
try and murder you, and Keraz to turn renegade and invade Kadura?"
"I would say that 'compelled' is too strong a term," Sarek said.
"'Influenced' is more apt, I believe. But as to the Freelans being
involved ... of that, I have no doubt."
"Ambassador," Kirk said, as an idea occurred to him, "is it possible
that Kadura was a setup to lure you off Vulcan, so that you could be
gotten out of the way? Is there any possibility that the Freelans know
that you suspect them?" Sarek blinked. Obviously, Kirk's idea was a new
one to him. "Possible, I suppose," he murmured. "Taryn did seem
suspicious the last time I visited their station."
"Is there any possibility that your valit program did not completely
cover your entrance into the Romulan data banks?" Spock asked. "Could
they have discovered some evidence after you left Freelan orbit?" The
elder Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "My valit was well designed," he said,
with a touch of surprise that Spock would question his expertise with
computers. "In the event any tampering was detected--which I consider
unlikely--there would have been no way to trace the intrusion back to
me."
"But circumstantial evidence might enough to arouse Taryn to take action
against you," Spock said. "Possible," Sarek conceded.
"I think we should go to the president immediately with all of this,"
Kirk said.
"And to Starfleet Security, Vice-Admiral Burton." The captain looked at
Sarek, was surprised to see the Vulcan shake his head in negation.
"No, Kirk," he said. "Not yet. Not until I have incontrovertible proof."
"Just the fact that you're suspicious will be enough!"
McCoy burst out. "A man of your reputation, Ambassador of course the
president will pay attention."
"I must speak to the president about this only in person," Sarek said.
"Otherwise, I cannot be certain that his mind has not been influenced.
The same applies to your Vice-Admiral Burton. Also, we must guard
against any of these speculations becoming public knowledge. The
consequences, should that happen, would be grave."
"What consequences?" McCoy asked, taken aback.
"The fragile peace with the Klingon Empire, for one," Spock said, before
the ambassador could reply. "It might appear to Azetbur that the
Federation is attempting to stir up trouble between the Romulans and the
Klingon Empire ... by accusing the Romulans of influencing the Klingons
to turn renegade. Also, do not forget the KEHL.
Most of the followers are undoubtedly hapless dupes ... innocent of
everything except being easily led. Charges that they are Romulan pawns
could lead to witch-hunts."
"What kind of proof do you propose to get, Ambassador Sarek? If the
Romulans suspect that you know, they will undoubtedly recall all their
Freelan personnel, and escalate their efforts to cause war between the
Federation and the Klingon Empire."
"Indeed. We must be cautious, and not move until we are ready," Sarek
agreed. "I would still like to access the Freelan data banks and copy
their contents. If it is done properly, we could gain proof, without
alerting the Romulans that we know of their plans."
"Can you do it again? And get away with copies, this time?"
"I believe that I can," Sarek said, glancing at his son. "If Spock will
assist me."
Spock sat in silence for a moment, then nodded. "I will do my best," he
said. "I will need to study the valits you used before, to attempt to
refine them so they will work more smoothly."
For a moment Kirk sensed a flash of indignation from the ambassador,
even though the Vulcan's calm expression
never varied. "Very well," he said. "I will provide them to you."
Kirk looked from father to son, thinking that if anyone could break past
Romulan security, it would be these two.
Still, he was hesitant about not going straight to Starfleet Security
with news of this plot. But if delaying a few da ys would provide proof
positive ...
"How close would you have to be to Ereelan to tap into the data banks?"
Kirk asked.
"Given the resources of a starship's computer system, anywhere within
the boundaries of the system should suffice," Sarek said. "I was
dependent, remember, on a small tricorder. Kirk, how long would it take
to reach Freelan aboard this vessel?"
"Two days, at warp six."
"Excellent," Sarek said. "That should be sufficient time for me to
acquaint Spock with my plan for accessing the Freelan system." The
ambassador nodded approvingly at Kirk. "I thank you for your
cooperation, Captain."
"It's my duty to investigate a threat to Federation security," Kirk said
simply. "When can you be ready to leave Vulcan?"
"I anticipated that I would be leaving with your ship, Kirk. I came
prepared to do so."
"Scotty said the final paint job would be completed--" Kirk, who was
already reaching for the intercom, broke off as it beeped. Impatiently,
he opened the channel. "Kirk here. I thought I gave orders that I was
not to be dis--"
"Captain," Commander Uhura's voice interrupted, "I have a Priority One
personal message for you, sir, from the commandant of Starfleet
Academy."
"The commandant?" Kirk was nonplussed. What could Commandant Anderson be
wanting with him? "Relay it, Commander."
"Yes, sir ... "She paused for a moment. "Captain ... Commandant
Anderson reports that your nephew Peter has disappeared. Their
investigation leads them to believe he did not leave of his own free
will. Sir ... the commandant reports that he suspects foul play."
Kirk swallowed. Peter was the only close relative he had.
If anything had happened to him ... "Commander," he said tightly,
"inform the bridge crew to begin preparations to depart drydock on my
command." He clicked to a different channel. "Set course for Sector
53.16 ... the Freelan system. Mr. Scott?"
"Scott here, sir," replied the familiar burr promptly.
"How soon can we cast off moorings and get out of here?"
"We'll be ready in another twenty minutes, Captain."
"You've got ten," Kirk snapped.
"Aye, sir," came the engineer's casual reply. "We'll be ready."
"Good, Scotty. Ten minutes. Kirk out."
Snapping off the intercom, the captain looked at the others grimly. "It
never rains but it pours," he said.
"Murphy's Law."
The ambassador raised an eyebrow. "Murphy's Law?"
"A human aphorism that states, "Whatever can go wrong, will,'" Spock
explained.
"Yeah, and at the worst possible time," McCoy added.
"Jim ... what could have happened to Peter?"
"I don't know, Bones," Kirk said. "The temptation is to think that,
because he was investigating the KEHL, they're responsible for this. But
that might not be true." Opening a channel to the bridge, he said,
"Commander Uhura, please contact Commandant Anderson for me."
"Yes, Captain. I'll put through a call immediately, sir." Kirk
hesitated, thinking furiously. Should he turn command of the Enterprise
over to Spock, and take a transport for Earth? He couldn't abandon
Peter! And yet ... duty came before personal concerns. "Ambassador,"
he said,
"assuming you have your proof in a few days, what are you going to
suggest that the Federation do about this situation with the Romulans?"
"Some elements in Starfleet would advise a preemptive strike," Spock
said. "I can visualize Admiral Smillie approving such a tactic, given
sufficient provocation."
"War? All-out war?" McCoy was aghast. "There must be
some way to prevent that!" He glanced at Kirk. "Isn't there, Jim?"
"I don't know," Kirk said, forcing himself to put Peter out of his mind
and concentrate on the subject at hand. "It could be that the Romulans
would back off if they knew they'd lost the element of surprise, and
that they couldn't push the Federation and the Klingons into
hostilities."
"It is possible," Sarek pointed out, "that they might evacuate the
Freelan colony and deny everything. Taryn, I believe, is ruthless enough
for such an action."
"In that event, what would happen to the second-generation Vulcanst'
Spock wondered. "Technically, they are hostages. We are under a moral
imperative to free them."
"If these Vulcan kids have grown up brainwashed by the Romulans, they
may think of themselves as Romulans, rather than as Vulcans," McCoy
pointed out. "They may not want to be rescued." He turned to Sarek. "Do
you have any idea how many there are?"
The Vulcan shook his head. "From the numbers of Vulcans who were
abducted, I can speculate that there may be as many as one hundred ...
perhaps two hundred. No fewer than fifty, certainly."
Kirk's hazel eyes were bleak as he held the Vulcans' gazes.
"Knowing the Romulans, they're perfectly capable of simply eradicating
the hostages, rather than taking any chances of them being used as an
excuse for a military rescue by Federation forces."
Father and son nodded silently, grimly.
"I think we should--" Kirk began, only to be interrupted by the
intercom. "Kirk here," he said.
"Sir," Uhura said, "Commandant Anderson is standing by."
"Put him through," Jim ordered.
A moment later, Kyle Anderson's features coalesced on the small screen.
He was a distinguished looking black man, balding, with a heavy,
iron-gray beard. "Captain Kirk," he said. "You received my message?"
"Just a few minutes ago," Kirk said. "What's happened to Peter?"
"He's vanished without a trace, Captain. Our security people have
determined that he disappeared shortly after midnight on Wednesday
evening of last week. But we're having finals here, so nobody realized
he was missing until the day before yesterday. It took us a day to track
down your ship ... I'm sorry for the delay."
Kirk drew a deep breath. "But.. he's been gone for days! And you still
don't know where he went?"
"No. He's disappeared so thoroughly that we now suspect he was taken
offworld. We're in the process of tracing all ships that departed from
Earth or Earth orbit that night," Anderson said. "But, as you can
imagine, that's a tall order."
Kirk nodded wordless agreement. "What makes you suspect foul play?" he
asked.
"We managed to retrieve the last message that came in for him at his
apartment. It had been automatically scrambled after playing.. but they
unscrambled it just this morning." He pressed a button. "Here it is."
Kirk watched with growing horror as his own features replaced Anderson's
on-screen. He listened to himself demanding that Peter come over
immediately. Then the screen flickered, and Anderson's dark features
were back. "I never sent that message," Kirk said bleakly. "But it's no
wonder he fell for it ... he was expecting to hear from "We know that,
Captain. We have a record of Peter encoding a Priority One message for
you. May we have your permission to decode it? It might give us a clue
to his whereabouts."
Kirk hesitated. They'd agreed to keep their suspicions of the KEHL being
linked with the Romulans secret. "We'll investigate on our end," he
said, finally. "I'll let you see the message as soon as I clear it with
Starfleet Security. Can you please transmit everything you've got on
that message to my communications chief, Commander Uhura? There's nobody
better at tracing transmissions."
"Certainly, Captain," Anderson said. "We'll do that."
"I'll get back to you as soon as I get that clearance," Kirk said,
crossing his fingers underneath the table.
"My people suspect they were waiting for him on the street," Anderson
said. "And that they grabbed him there."
"So you're thinking kidnapping, rather than ..." Kirk swallowed." ...
murder?"
"We just don't know, Captain. But if somebody simply wanted your nephew
dead, why the elaborate hoax with the faked message?"
"Logical," murmured Spock and Sarek at the same moment.
"Abduction ... possibly kidnapping?" Kirk's mind was racing. "Has there
been any kind of message? Any demands for ransom?"
"Not so far."
"If any message comes through," Kirk said, "TII let you know. Maybe we
can trace its source, and learn something from that."
"Good idea. If I hear anything, I'll contact you immedi lately,
Captain," Anderson promised in his turn.
"Thank you, Commandant."
"Rest assured, we're doing everything we can," the man said, before
cutting the connection.
Kirk turned to the others sitting around the table. "If Scotty is as
good as his word, we should be casting off moorings by now. Ambassador
... you and Spock should begin working on those valits you mentioned.
I'll have Uhura get to work on tracing that message. I've got a hunch
this is all going to wind up connected, somehow."
Minutes later, Kirk was on the bridge, ensconced in his command seat.
With a glint in his eye, he surveyed the cavernous interior of the
Vulcan drydock through the viewscreen. "Status, s'bysh?" he asked his
helmsman.
"All moorings cleared, Captain. Docking bay doors will open in two
minutes, thirty-five point six seconds," she reported, crisply.
"Lay in a course for Freelan, Lieutenant." Kirk settled back in his
seat, his eyes level, jaw set. He watched s'bysh's
green fingers fly. "Ready, Lieutenant?" he asked, scarcely more than a
minute later. "Course laid in7"
"Aye, sir." Counting seconds down in his head, Kirk reached thirty-four.
"Ahead one-half impulse power, Lieutenant," he ordered, and thought he
heard Chekov mutter, "Not again?
"One-half impulse, aye, sir." Enterprise sprang forward like a cheetah
sighting prey.
The ship closed on the parting bay doors with a terrifying rush of
speed, blasted through them with only a few hundred meters to spare on
either side, and then they were out, into free space. Chekov's sigh of
relief was audible all over the bridge, and Commander Uhura chuckled
softly when she heard it.
"Ahead warp six," Kirk ordered grimly.
"Warp six, aye, Captain." Kirk settled back in his seat. No matter what
speed Mr. Scott managed to coax out of the warp engines, it was going to
be a long trip ...
After a long day spent refining valit programs, Sarek was weary, but
sleep eluded him. Remembering his promise, he extracted Amanda's
journal, and opened it, noting the date at the top of the page.
November 12,2231 It is the middle of the night, and quiet. I am tired
... but I am also too excited to sleep. I cannot neglect my journal
tonight of all nights!
I have a son.
Sarek and I have a son. He was born in the early hours of this morning.
Never having been through labor before, I worried that it mightprove too
much for me to bear (no pun intended) without shaming myself before the
Healers, but I believe I did well ... And our son is perfect. Even
though the Healers reassured me that all their tests showed that the
baby was normal, still I worried. After all, I had to be treated before
I could conceive, then monitored carefully throughout the pregnancy to
allow me to carry to term--nearly a full month more than the human norm!
Carrying a child for almost ten Earth months is not fun, and that is the
understatement of the century. I was so big yesterday that I felt as
though my sides would split open. I spent hours staring in wonderment at
my belly, unable to believe the size of it. I could barely waddle to the
bathroom unassisted! When I felt that dull ache in my back sharpen into
an actual contraction, I could have jumped for joy. What a relief it is
to return to something like my normal size!
For a while the Healers were afraid I would not be able to deliver
normally ... my son is very large for a human infant, though not
particularly so for a Vulcan baby. If it had not been for the
Healer-midwife coaching, I might have given up in despair. But she was
amazingly supportive for someone who must have been wincing inwardly
every time I betrayed what I was feeling.
My labor was intense, and seemed to take forever. I was surprised that I
was able to handle the pain as well as I did. It hurt, yes ... by all
the gods that ever were, it felt as though some diabolical presence were
trying to hammer a spike into the base of my spine, while simultaneously
squeezing my belly in a vise. But, unlike hangnails, stubbed toes,
barked shins, and sprained ankles, this was pain with a purpose. As long
as I could focus on that purpose, the pain did not ... could not
overwhelm me. I vaguely remember the midwife encouraging me, reminding
that my suffering was for a purpose, and that helped me to focus on the
results, not the pain.
Sarek was there for most of the time, holding my hand and thus sharing
what I felt. In a way, that seemed to lessen the agony. Perhaps he used
a meld to mind-block some of the worst of the pangs ... or perhaps it
was simply the quiet strength he projects that gave me courage.
I wish I could have my child with me tonight, but they have taken him to
the science academy, to run tests and keep him under close observation.
ds I held him in my arms after his first feeding, I beheld a tiny face
that was so Vulcan that I wondered if there was anything of me in him.
But just as I thought there was nothing human in him at all, my son
opened his mouth and began to wailresounding just like a human baby. I
saw somethingcould it have been disappointment?--fiicker across my
husbandg face as he heard those infant squalls.
Vulcan babies cry only for a reason--hunger or discomfort. And our son
was dry and fed ... and thus had little or no reason to wail.
Which proves that he is partly mine, after all.
Was Sarek disappointed? I suppose I will never know.
I love our son too much to ask--and risk "yes"for an answer ... The
newborn infant squirmed in his tiny, heated cocoon as his father watched
every movement, enthralled by the new life that he had helped create. My
son ... he thought, noting the tiny veins that pulsed greenish blue
just beneath the thin, delicate skin. My son ... what will we name you?
Your Name Day will not arrive for nearly a month, so we have some time
to choose a suitable appellation. Your mother will not even be able to
pronounce your 'rst" name ... Vulcan first names were always a
combination of syllables in Old Vulcan that denoted lineage and birth
order. But Sarek's son would be called by his last name, even as his
father was. Traditionally, in honor of Surak, the name would begin with
an S. The infant moved restlessly again, then opened his mouth, uttering
a faint squeak. His eyes opened, moved aimlessly for a moment, then
fastened on his father's face.
The birthing puffiness had lessened; the child's eyes were now far less
slitted, and Sarek could easily discern their color. Dark, like his own,
not blue, as his mother's were. Not surprising. All the Healers' tests
during Amanda's pregnan cy had indicated that Vulcan genes would prove
dominant in a human/Vulcan pairing.
The nursery attendant, noting that the child had roused from the
readings on her monitors, approached Sarek and his son. "He is awake,"
he announced unnecessarily.
"He is," she agreed. "Soon he will be hungry. I will give him his
supplement now. Do you wish to take him to your wife for his feeding,
Ambassador?" Sarek hesitated. His son was very small ... his own hands
could nearly span that tiny body lengthwise. He had never held an infant
before ... "If you would prefer," the nurse said, "I will do it." Sarek
watched as she quickly, efficiently, lifted the baby and administered
the oral supplement that would provide him with the nutrients that
Amanda's human milk did not contain. But before she could turn away, he
held out his arms. "I will take him," he said, firmly.
Obediently, the nurse placed the small, warm bundle into his arms. The
Vulcan stood rigid, his arms stiff, as she settled the baby into place,
making sure his head was properly supported.
The ambassador was faintly, illogically surprised to discover that his
newborn son, who appeared so fragile, so helpless, actually had
substance. The baby occupied space, and had mass ... he was a warm,
squirming, living, breathing entity. Sarek stared down at him,
fascinated. Dark eyes regarded him, locked with his own in an unblinking
regard.
As he stared into the child's eyes, all at once the infant became real
to Sarek, in a way he never had before. For all these months he had
watched his wife's belly grow, touched her delicately to feel the
movement beneath her skin, observed the child's heartbeat on the
monitors ... but part of him had never truly comprehended that an
actual child was forming within Amanda, and that that child was half
his.
Reality had not begun to manifest itself until he had grasped Amanda's
hand during labor, had directly experienced the agonizing pain that his
wife was enduring. He had been amazed that a human could endure such
pain without
blacking out--Amanda's fierce concentration, her comparative silence
except during the worst of the birthing contractions had impressed him.
His wife had always seemed frail to him, delicate, with her human
constitution. His own strength had always been so much greater--and yet,
today, he'd found himself admiring her stoicism as she'd endured such
intense pain. Amanda was stronger than he'd ever realized. Even the
Healer had expressed approval of her fortitude during labor and
birthing.
Now the ambassador gazed down at the tiny face with its fuzz of black
hair, noting the faint traces of the slanted eyebrows, the delicately
pointed ears, the slightly squashed nose.
Looking at his son, Sarek of Vulcan experienced a moment of insight so
intense it was nearly painful. Past and future, then and now and
tomorrow seemed to swirl around him, blending and coming together in the
small body so warm and breathing in his arms. This child was a link to
the long-ago, and he would be the future. Someday he would stand up and
walk the sands of his homeland, would gaze at The Watcher with wonder,
would go to school and learn the logic of his forebears. He would grow
to adulthood, tall and strong and handsome, and someday he might hold a
son of his own in his arms ...
"Our preliminary tests are complete," the nurse said, breaking into
Sarek's reverie. "They indicate that his intelligence potential is above
average, Ambassador. Considerably above average."
Sarek was not surprised, having gazed into the infant's eyes for these
long seconds, but he felt a surge of pride that he did not trouble to
repress.
The rigidity had somehow gone out of his arms. He held the child against
his chest, instinctively cradling him close.
"I will take him to his mother now," he said.
The nurse nodded, and Sarek, moving carefully so as not to jostle his
son, walked away ...
Closing the journal, the Vulcan sighed as he recalled his encounter with
his son yesterday at Amanda's memorial
service. If his wife knew the things they had said to each other, she
would have been terribly distressed. Remembering how she'd begged him to
try and understand his son, instead of being judgmental and always
finding fault, the ambassador shook his head.
And yet ... what could he have done differently? He had only done his
duty. Amanda had understood .. why couldn't his son? ' James T. Kirk sat
in the captain's chair, waiting.
"Captain," Uhura said, an odd note in her voice, "I'm picking up a
subspace transmission, sir. It's on the frequency reserved for personal
communiqus and mail ... "
Kirk glanced over at her, sitting up straight. "A message?"
"Yes, sir." She looked over at him, her dark eyes compas sionate. She
knew, of course, that Peter was missing.
"What does it say?"
"It says, "To Captain Kirk. Visit Sector 53.16, at coordinates 39 mark
122, before thirteen hundr ed hours stardate 9544.6. A certain redhead is
waiting, will die if you don't show. Come alone. Tell no one.'"
Kirk drew a deep breath. "Uhura, trace that message back to its point of
origin. I don't care how many substations they routed it through, follow
it back all the way. Understood?"
"Aye, Captain," she said, her lovely features set in lines of
determination that matched his own.
"And message Commandant Anderson that we've just received the ransom
note."
Wing Commander Taryn was dreaming ...
He did not dream often, but when he did, it was always the same dream
... or, at least, if he dreamed other dreams, he did not remember them.
The Dream (as he had come to think of it) was the only thing in the
universe that he consciously feared. Each time he awakened from it, he
hoped that it would be the last ... but, though months and years of
peaceful slumber passed, somehow, when he was least expecting it, the
dream would come back ...
In The Dream he was small ... too short to reach the viewport in normal
gravity without being lifted up. He was running, running down a
neutral-colored corridor, a corridor that seemed to loom inward on him
as he scuttled along.
His short legs pumped harder, trying to hurl him forward faster, but he
was afraid--afraid! he shoum not be afraid, he shoum be calm ... he
should be brave, he shoum not run away ... but he was afraid, he
was!--and his feet kept slipping out from under him. Try as he might, he
could not reach the end of the corridor ... it seemed to expand before
him almost infinitely.
He would never reach it ... never, he would always be here, trapped,
knowing that horror and absolute devastation lay behind him. And he,
Taryn, deserved no better. He was a coward, a fearful, sobbing, cringing
coward ...
Gasping, he stretched out both hands, making his short legs churn faster
as he ran ... ran ... toward a goal that would never grow any closer
...
And then, with the suddenness of dreams, he was there, at the end of the
corridor, standing on tiptoe, yanking frantically at the emergency
release on the airlock door. The life-support pod lay in an alcove
beyond that door. He knew how to open it, how to activate it, and the
button to push that would launch it. Taryn knew all this, just as he
knew that it was time to abandon ship, just as he'd learned in the
drills.
He punched in the code, slowly, not Wanting to make a mistake, his ears
straining for noises from behind him.
Would they come after him? What would he do if they did?
He gnawed at his lower lip, waiting, until the airlock door indicated
acceptance of his code. Finally it was time to grasp the opening bar in
both hands and pull it downward.
Even as he touched it, it began to move in his hands.
Horrified, he leaped back, and then the door began to slide open.
Choking in terror, he fled back down the corridor, running from this
new, greater fear. He reached the end of the corridor, and there was the
door from whence he had come, bolting in terror and anguish, knowing
himself to be a coward. The control-room door. Placing a hand on it,
Taryn began to pull it open.
No! No, don't! His elder self screamed silently at his younger self, for
all the good it did. Taryn pushed the door open, slowly, slowly, and
saw--
nothing except darkness as he jerked upright in bed, gasping. Slowly,
reality began to trickle in. He was back on Freelan, in his own home.
His wife Jolana was not here beside him, because she had gone to Romulus
to visit their two grown children.
Taryn shivered, feeling cold despite the sweat on his bare chest and
arms. That had been a bad one. He couldn't remember much about the dream
... which wasn't unusual.
He had a vague impression that in it, he was a frightened
child, but the details were always lost. Frankly, he didn't want to
remember that dream ... ever.
Stress, he thought. I've been working too hard again. But the im, asion
is so close ... nothing must go wrong! The Praetor made it clear that
he has complete confidence in me.
He has given me more authority than I have eer had ... and I must be
worthy. Nothing must go wrong ... we must be victorious.
Taryn forced himself to take deep, relaxing breaths. He glanced out the
window, seeing the stars, as hard and cold and sharp in the blackness as
spearpoints. He knew better than to look for Vulcan's sun from here ...
it was too distant.
Vulcan's primary sun, Nevasa--or 40 Eridani, as the Federation charts
recorded it. Taryn wondered, not for the first time, what it would be
like to walk across the deserts of Vulcan--a world that was as hot, by
all reputation, as Freelan was cold. A world where logic was revered,
even over power. Sarek's world ...
Taryn had known for days that Wurrl had failed to kill the
ambassador--the Klingon hadn't been fast enough, it seemed. He'd been
disappointed to learn about the Klingon's failure--but also, in a way,
the officer was pleased that that particular plan had failed. It would
be so much more satisfying to overcome Sarek personally; after all the
times the ambassador had defeated him at chess, victory at long last
would be sweet indeed.
The wing commander sighed as he slumped back against the hard bolster.
How much does Sarek know? he wondered, for the hundredth time. Sarek, he
was sure, was the only one who could alert the Federation to their
plans, the only one who suspected the true nature of Freelan and its
inhabitants.
He suspects, but he has no proof, he reassured himself.
And things were moving so fast now, that within a few weeks--perhaps
sooner, if the fleet was ready ahead of schedule, as the praetor had
promised yesterday it would be--the war would begin. At that point,
keeping the identity of the Freelans secret would no longer be
necessary.
Taryn's mouth curved upward slightly as he thought of
what it would be like to be present when Sarek realized his defeat. The
Vulcan had beaten him again during their last chess game. He usually won
because he baited Taryn into recklessness ... but soon, Sarek's days of
winning would be over. Soon ...
Pleasant anticipation relaxed him; the officer lay down again, reminding
himself that the dream had never come twice in one night. But it was
still a long, long time before he slept ...
Sarek also was dreaming. Full-blooded Vulcans did not dream often, but
it did happen from time to time.
The Vulcan dreamed that he was on the surface of Freelan. All around him
were glaciers, jagged buttresses of ice, sharp-fanged and glittering in
the sunlight. He was walking toward a house ... Taryn's house, he
knew--though the Freelan had never described anything about his home, of
course. Still, this house fit in with what little was known about
Freelan architectural styles. It was a black, dome-shaped dwelling,
everything about it designed to maximize the capture and retention of
heat, as well as keeping snowfall from crushing the building.
Sarek walked, experiencing the icy wind off the glaciers, yet not
chilled by it.
Beneath his feet the snow crunched and he continued his journey.
As he neared the front of the house, the door opened and a Freelan
stepped out, his muffling robes stirring in the icy breeze. "Sarek," the
Freelan said, and the Vulcan recognized Taryn's voice. "Why are you
here?"
"I was searching for you, Taryn," Sarek said. "My wife is dead."
"What is that to me?" the Freelan asked haughtily.
"If it were not for you, I could have been at her deathbed," Sarek said,
knowing he spoke truth. "My son would not now despise me."
"What is any of this to me?" Taryn was almost sneering.
"Your domestic problems are your own concern, Vulcan."
"And your deceitful world is mine!" Sarek raised his
voice, and, darting forward, he savagely ripped the concealing mask from
the Freelan's head and stared in shock as he Amanda's face beneath the
muffling cowl and mask.
"Amanda!" Sarek said, stepping forward to touch her, to embrace her, but
even as he did so, his treacherous, logical mind insisted, Amanda is
dead ... And he awoke.
He was lying in his bunk in the VIP cabin aboard the Enterprise ...
Freelan's icy surface and Amanda's face had been a dream, he realized.
Sarek experienced once again the desolation of knowing his wife was
dead. Her absence in his mind was an aching void, one that he could not
imagine ever being filled.
Knowing he would not be able to sleep again, he arose from the bed, then
padded barefoot across the sleeping compartment to the small lounge, a
slim red-covered volume in his hand. Seating himself on the low divan,
the ambassador opened the book and began to read ...
December 7,2237---the Twentieth Day of Tasmeen I have paced until I am
exhausted my legs are trembling so that I must sit ... but I cannot
rest. I see that this entry is nearly illegible, and that is because my
hands are also shaking.
Spock is missing. He apparently left soon after sunset, and we have no
idea where he has gone. He is only seven years old!
Sarek is in his office. I glanced at him as I went past, and he appears
to be working! How can he? lf I were to ask him how he can work while
our son is missing, he would gaze at me with infuriating Vulcan calm and
say, "Amanda, I have reported Spock's disappearance to the authorities.
They are far more fitted than I to search for him. Pacing back and forth
and indulging in emotional outbursts will accomplish nothing.
Simply because I am working does not mean I am not concerned about our
son." I must try to calm myself. Getting furious at my husband will not
help bring my son back, and I suppose that he is right--but it is
maddening when he remains so calm when I am upset.
Spock is missing--my child is out there in the desert, with all its
dangers. And my husband is worki ng!
If only he had been more understanding of Spock, made some effort to see
things from a child's viewpoint but no, the son of Sarek must be
perfect, must be better than all the other children--I overheard him
tell Spock that himself today. He told him that if he does not pass his
kahs-wan ordeal next month, the first time he attempts it, that he,
Sarek, will be disgraced. He didn't use that exact word, but the
implication was clear.
This admonishment followed on the heels of Spock's fight with those
schoolboys, the ones who torment him every day with taunts of "Earther!"
and "Haljblood!" and "Emotional Terran--can't control himself. l?"
There have been times that I've had to dig my nails into my palms to
stop myself from rushing out there and giving them all a slap. But of
course that would only make things worse. This has been going on ever
since Spock started school at age four ... It is torture to watch him
try and fit in with the others.
My son, so tall, so slender, with his black hair and this thin, somber
little face ... it breaks my heart to see him so abused. I've begged
Sarek to talk to their parents, but he refuses. He g pointed out
(logically and correctly, I'm afraid) that such intervention on his part
would only make the other boys torment our son more ... I cry when I
see him trying to endure it, knowing how such teasing hurts. Why can't
Vulcan children be as civilized as their parents?
The boys tormented him once again today, and his father was totally
unsupportive, let alone sympathetic.
So he has run away. Where?
After several minutes' reflection, I think I know. I believe he has set
off into the wilderness in order to deliberately expose himself to
danger. Spock is setting himself up for his own private survival ordeal,
because
he would rather die out there in the desert than disgrace his father
next month.
If our son dies out thereti will blame Sarek. I know it is not just, but
I also know that I will do it anyway. I will blame my husband, and I
will be unable to bear the sight of him.
At least I-Chaya appears to have gone with his young master. The old
sehlat wouldn't be much use as defense, I suppose, but at least the big
furry creature will keep Spock warm. Nights in the desert are chilly,
even by human standards.
Someone else may also have accompanied Spock, but I am less sanguine
about Sarek young cousin, Selek.
Although the young man was perfectly poised and polite, I gained an
impression of duplicity from him. His eyes never quite met mine when he
introduced himself and explained who he was. And later ... I caught him
gazing at me when he didn't realize that I saw him doing so. There is
something about Cousin Selek ... something false. I am certain that he
was lying about the purpose of his impromptu visit here. Perhaps he was
lying about being related to my husband.
No, that cannot be it. There was a definite family resemblance between
them. But still, there was something ... something I cannot put roy
finger on ...
I have never heard of any Vulcan adult abusing a child. Surely Selek
only went after Spock because he saw the chim running away and realized
Spock could be in danger.t Surely Selek intends my son no harm ...
He seemed like a very nice young man, despite everything. There was a
warmth in his eyes when he gazed at me that I found touching, despite my
reservations when I realized he was not being fully truthful with I long
to take the aircar myself and go looking for Spock. Writing in my
journal usually helps to calm me when I'm upset, but not this time. I
cannot sit still an instant longer--perhaps Sarek and I should take the
aircar and go looking for Spock ourselves in the Llangon Mountains. It
will soon be dawn ...
Sarek glanced up from the pages of the journal and sighed, remembering
...
"I cannot stand this for one more instant," Amanda burst out, pausing in
her jerky pacing to glare at him. Sarek, reluctantly, had abandoned his
work to join her in the living room of their residence in Shikahr. "I
don't care what you think--I'm taking the aircar and going to the
Llangon Mountains to look for him myself." Turning on her heel, she
headed for the door. Her husband stepped in front of her, barring her
way.
"Amanda, there is no reason to--"
"Don't you dare use that infuriating calm voice on me!" she cried. At
the moment, Amanda Grayson was a portrait in fury. "This is your fault,
Sarek!" she flared, cheeks red, blue eyes blazing. "If you had tried to
understand Spock, rather than demand perfection from him, just because
he's your son, then this never would have happened! Now either come with
me, or stay here! I don't care which!"
"Amanda." Sarek heard the steel underlying the calm tones of his own
voice, did not trouble to repress it. "I will not allow you to take the
aircar into the Llangon Mountains.
The air currents there are treacherous, especially just after sunrise,
and you are too upset to concentrate on piloting. We will wait here for
the report from the authorities."
Her small hands curled into fists, and for an instant Sarek wondered if
she would strike him, but she whirled and strode away. The doorway he
barred was the only exit from the room, so, after a few paces she halted
with a jerk, then stood stiffly, her back to him. After a moment, Sarek
said, in a milder tone, "I have trained Spock in anticipation of his
kahs-wan. He is familiar with the Vulcan plant life and the survival
methods of our ancestors. Logic dictates that he will come back to us
relatively unharmed, Amanda."
She stared at him wildly, then laughed, a harsh, bitter
sound that had nothing of humor about it. "And I'm supposed to be
comforted by that, Sarek? By logic?"
"Logic is not meant to comfort, Amanda. It simply exists.
It is a way of viewing the universe that offers reason and order,
instead of chaos."
"Human chaos, you mean," she snapped. "Why not just say it?" Her mouth
tightened. "But you do say it ... only not in words. But it's there, in
your face, whenever Spock smiles or forgets himself in the slightest
degree! Disapproval radiates from you--I see it, and so does Spock. The
poor child will never be good enough for you, and he knows it--no wonder
he's willing to risk dying out there!" Sarek was taken aback by the
accusation. Surely his wife was wrong, was simply giving vent to her
illogical human emotions ... "Oh, I know you won't believe me," she
said, more calmly. "You excel at not seeing what's right in front of
your nose, Sarek. But I see it. It's obvious. Spock is trying to please
you, but you've set him an impossible task--perfection!
Even Vulcans aren't perfect--as you ought to know!" Her husband stared
at her, wordlessly. Amanda's eyes filled with angry tears. "I won't let
you ruin his life, Sarekmeven if it means going home to Earth and taking
him with me. Maybe he'd be better off there, among people who have some
compassion, some tolerance!"
"Leave?" Sarek's breath caught in his throat. "Surely you cannot be
serious, Amanda. The situation has upset you, understandably--however,
there is no need to consider such drastic action." She faced him, her
hot anger dying away to something cold and, the ambassador sensed, far
more formidable.
"Don't underestimate me, Sarek. I love you, nothing can ever change
that, but you are an adult, perfectly capable of defending and caring
for yourself. Spock is my child, and I will care for and protect him in
the face of every threat to his being--even if that threat is his own
father." Facing her, the Vulcan felt as though he were confronting some
eternal archetypal force--the personification of ma ternal
protectiveness. A le-matya with cubs could not have been more deadly in
defense of her young, he realized, experiencing a mixture of shock and
unwilling admiration.
"I see," he said, after a moment, "I do not want you to leave, Amanda,"
he said, slowly and carefully.
She took a deep breath, but her expression remained hard and closed. Yet
her voice betrayed just the faintest quaver.
"I do not wish to leave either, my husband," she replied formally. "Yet
I will do so, if I decide that action is the best thing for our son."
"I will--" Sarek turned suddenly as his Vulcan hearing picked up a
familiar sound. "An aircar," he said, starting for the door.
"Spock?" she cried, catching up with him in a long stride, then bursting
through the front door ahead of him. An aircar was just settling down
onto the landing pad in the large courtyard.
The aircar's side door opened, and two figures emerged, one large, one
small. "Spock? Amanda called, holding out both hands.
It was indeed their son, followed by Cousin Selek. Both turned and
raised a hand in grave salute as the aircar took off, swooping back
toward the center of Shikahr.
"Spock ..." Sarek said. He stood in the courtyard and basked in the
realization that his son was safely home ...
On that day, Sarek recalled, his son had informed his father gravely
that he had chosen Vulcan. Amanda had never again threatened to leave
him ... though the strife between them during their sows childhood had
been far from over.
Following the successful completion of Spock's kahs-wan ordeal, Sarek
had turned to the next major milestone in a seven-year-old's life--that
of his bonding. Amanda had protested the whole notion--and especially
Sarek's choice for his son's betrothed.
Sarek recalled his conversation with Spock. How had his wife known that
T'Pring was dishonest and faithless? There was no logical way to explain
her knowledge Sarek
recalled the conversation they'd had when he'd announced his choice of
Spock's bondmate to be his wife ...
"T'Pring? You've chosen her? Sarek ... no!" They were sitting in her
garden in Shikahr, watching Nevasa set, when he'd me ntioned that he'd
chosen Spock's bondmate.
Amanda leaped to her feet and regarded him with dismay.
The ambassador stared at his wife in mild surprise.
"Amanda, why such disapproval? The girl's lineage is impeccable. Her
family is as highly placed in Vulcan society as my own. She will have
property of her own, to match what our son will inherit. Why do you not
approve?"
"Because," Amanda said, flatly, fixing him with a level stare, "I don't
like her. That child is ... I don't know. She's too polite, too ...
calculating. There's something ... cold ... about her. I don't approve
of this whole business of betrothing children--it's barbaric."
"Amanda, you are not being logical. T'Pring will prove an excellent
consort for our son. She is intelligent and she will have all the
advantages that a well-placed family can give her ... she will--"
"Make Spock's life miserable, Sarek," Amanda broke in, her eyes
darkening with emotion. "I can tell that she's not the right girl for
Spock. T'Pring reminds me of one of those beautiful little snakes we
have back on Earth--the ones with the lovely, jewel-like colors, that
are so delicate, so beautiful ... and so deadly that if they bite you,
you live for less than a minute."
"Such prejudice on your part is specious, Amanda," Sarek said,
experiencing a moment of impatience with his wife. "You have no reason
for any of these allegations." She paused for nearly a minute before
replying. "I know," she said, finally. "I know that what I'm saying
isn't fair. But all my instincts tell me that T'Pring is totally wrong
for Spock. Sarek ..." She swung back to face her husband. "I want you to
cancel the bonding. Or at least postpone it, until they're ... out of
school, say." Sarek shook his head. "No, Amanda. This is my world, and
we agreed long ago that Spock would be brought up according to Vulcan
custom and tradition. You heard him choose Vulcan himself, after that
time when he ran away to the Llangon Mountains. I have made my choice,
and T'Pring is the consort I choose." Amanda drew a deep breath, and
shook her head sadly, in turn. "You're making a mistake," she said. "But
you're right. I did agree, and you are following Vulcan tradition." The
slender shoulders beneath her soft green gown sagged, suddenly, and she
sighed deeply. The ambassador knew that she was giving in, but his
victory did not please him. "Very well, my husband," she said,
tonelessly. "But I am not sanguine about this decision."
"Logic dictates that the two will be well suited to one another,
Amanda." She flashed him a contemptuous glance. "Logic? You can't use
logic to predict marital harmony, Sarek. I'm sure your father was being
eminently logical when he betrothed you to T'Rea ... but we both know
how well that worked out. Don't we?" Before Sarek could arrive at a
rejoinder, she turned and walked away, back into the house.
Peter Kirk laid the ornate Klingon cards down with a disgusted air. "I
fold. You beat me again!" Sitting on a stool outside the observation
panel, Valdyr looked smug as she made a notation on a pad with a stylus.
"You now owe me ... five thousand, six hundred and seventy-three kilos
of prime-grade dilithium crystals," she said in Klingonese.
In the two days since Peter had come to Qo'nos, Valdyr's twice-daily
visits had become the high points of his days.
She had treated him respectfully, and even, at times, with a rough
kindness. She'd located several old Klingon books for him to
read--including The Complete Works of William Shakespeare in, as Valdyr
put it, "the original Klingon't and had struggled to teach him an arcane
Klingon card game that he was having some difficulty mastering. He
insisted they speak Klingonese, so that he could become even more
articulate in the difficult language.
He'd discovered that Klingons did possess a sense of humor ... even if
Valdyr's was somewhat restrained. Just getting her to relax enough to
almost smile was a challenge.
He didn't try to kid himself--Stockholm Syndrome was setting in badly,
at least on his side. He wasn't sure about Valdyr.
Between the Klingon books and his conversations with Valdyr, he ended up
not needing her help in translating the odd term he'd heard her uncle
speak. He'd found it easily enough in Shakespeare. The Merchant of
Venice. Shylock used it. Joy' meant torture, and, as Peter already knew,
Be' meant woman, or female. Torture by females was the rough
translation.
Bejoy' referred to a specific, ritualistic torture performed on
prisoners of war ... by Klingon women.
Another subject they might never be able to discuss. So, tell me,
Valdyr, when you perform the bejoy', what do you think you'll use first?
The hot irons, the electronic stunner, or will you begin by flaying
royflesh?Anyone taking any bets on how long I'll last? And to think he'd
once been worried about the Kobayashi Maru.t He folded his hand in
defeat and slipped it through the food slot. "Are you sure you've taught
me all the rules of this game?" Peter grinned ruefully as her serious
expression assured him that anything less would be dishonorable.
"Well, in that case, you'll have to send me to Rura Penthe to dig those
crystals."
Valdyr's dark eyes sparkled indignantly. "Never! That is a place where
only the worst criminals go."
"Like my Uncle Jim and Dr. McCoy?" he asked dryly.
"They're really desperate characters, both of them." He was sorry the
minute he'd said it. They had a truce going, and now he'd thrown out a
volley.
The Klingon woman's eyes dropped. "I know they were innocent of
assassinating Chancellor Gorkon," she said, carefully shuffling the
deck, then dealing cards through the food slot beneath the observation
panel. "But that does not mean that your uncle never murdered a
Klingon."
"He killed Kruge, yes, but he didn't murder him," the cadet insisted.
"Kruge beamed down to kill Kirk because he wanted revenge for his lost
crew. They were fighting on the edge of a precipice, as the Genesis
planet was breaking up beneath their feet. A big chunk of rock gave way
beneath Kruge, and he went over the cliff. Jim caught his hand to save
him, but Kruge tried to yank him over, too. My uncle got mad and let him
drop."
"Let him?" Valdyr said, skeptically.
Peter grimaced. "It was self-defense! Kruge would have killed both of
them, otherwise!"
"Kamarag says that Kirk lured Kruge down to that world just as it was
breaking up, then abandoned him to die," Valdyr said.
Young Kirk shook his head. "James T. Kirk doesn't operate that way. If
you knew him, you'd believe me." They continued the game in silence for
a few moments before Peter spoke again. "There's one thing I still don't
understand, Valdyr."
"What is that?"
"It's been three years since Kruge died. Why did your uncle wait so
long? Why decide to take revenge now?"
The young woman stared at her cards, but Peter knew well enough that
she'd already planned out her moves. Finally, she said, "At first he
thought the government would support him in his quest for vengeance. But
when Praxis exploded, moderate voices in the councils realized that we
would need the help of the Federation to survive." Valdyr examined her
hand. "After that, he did not speak of Kirk for a long time.
My uncle ... has always been loyal to his government. But suddenly, a
few weeks ago ..." She sighed and moved a card." ... he changed. One
day, revenge was all Kamarag could think of, speak of ... plan for.
Vengeance, and Kirk's death. He said that if the government would not
support him, he would act on his own."
"Which is why I'm here," Peter said, and she nodded.
"What caused him to change so suddenly?" he wondered aloud.
"I do not know," Valdyr said. "I only know that he is my uncle, the head
of my family, and I must be loyal to him." She looked up at him. "Are
you going to place a bet, Pityr?"
They placed their bets, then upped the ante several times.
Peter studied Valdyr, then finally said, "Your loyalty to your uncle
includes torturing me, doesn't it?" That was more than a volley, he
realized. He'd just dropped a matter/ antimatter bomb into their
conversation.
Her eyes met his unflinchingly. "If the choice were mine ... none of
this would be happening. I am sorry, Pityr."
They said nothing for a few minutes, then continued the game, but his
heart wasn't in it. He was not surprised when she beat him again. "I
quit!" the human groused, struggling to keep the bitterness out of his
voice. He tossed his cards back into the slot. "Life isn't fair. I've
been kidnapped, held prisoner, and now my jailer turns out to be a
beautiful woman who's a card shark to boot." He'd used the current
English idiom, as he knew of no Klingon one that was appropriate.
Valdyr glanced up at him, obviously startled. "You called me ... what
did you call me?"
"Beautiful and a card shark," Peter said levelly. "Which term didn't you
understand?"
"What is this ... card shark?"
"A shark is an Earth animal, a huge fish ... you know, fish?" He racked
his brain for the Klingon word. "An animal that swims in the sea, a
dangerous predator, you know?"
"Ohl" she cried. "You mean, norgh?"
"Yeah, norgh. You're like that when you play cards.
Understand?"
She thought it over, then gave a soft snort of derisive laughter. "What
you mean is that, since I am a woman and I beat you always, I must be
ruthless. I thought Earth males treated their females equally!"
"We do," Peter protested. Valdyr just looked at him, her expression
clearly distrustful. "Really, we do," he insisted, holding up his hand
as if under oath. "Aren't Klingon
women treated equally?" He felt guilty for asking, since he already knew
the truth.
"No," Valdyr admitted. "The men have always held the ... outward power.
If women want power, they must find a m an to work through, advise him,
push him, make him the ... the ..." She groped, at a loss for a
suitable term.
"A figurehead?" suggested Peter in English.
Valdyr quickly accessed the English word on her portable comm link, then
nodded. "Exactly," she said.
"Well, what about Chancellor Azetbur? She's a woman." Valdyr's eyes
sparkled. "She is special. Her father made the other members of the High
Council promise to uphold her as his successor, and they have done so.
The people support her ... but the warriors' code is difficult to
change."
Peter fixed her with an intent stare. "What about you,
Valdyr? What would you like to do with your life?" She dropped her eyes.
"I ... have dreams."
"Of what?"
"When I was small," she said, "I wanted to be a warrior.
It is hard for women to do ... but possible. But I was sickly.
When I realized I had attained my full size, I ... knew I could never
be strong enough to be a warrior, no matter how I studied."
"Even so, you learned to fight."
She nodded. "And I am good with a knife," she said, with a touch of
pride. "But, I am too small to truly defend myself against another
Klingon with nothing more than my hands."
She'd said that offhandedly, so he wouldn't feel insulted.
"So you can't be a warrior. What's next?"
She glanced around, as if suddenly concerned that they might be
overheard. "I hoped to become a diplomat, like my uncle."
"Are woman allowed to be diplomats?"
"There is no law against it."
Peter got up off hi stool, paced the cell a few times. He
still ached, but he was feeling much better. "That's funny that you
should say that," he admitted. "I thought about shifting to a career in
the Federation diplomatic corps myselfi"
She cocked her head, her long braid swinging. He found himself suddenly
wondering what that massive mane might look like all undone. "You did?"
she asked.
He nodded. "That's why I studied Klingonese and Romulan even before the
Academy."
"Then why did you change?"
"I'm not sure anymore," he said, halting and staring at her, his brow
furrowed. "I guess Command was what everyone expected me to do."
"Everyone expects me to marry Karg and spend my time running a
household," Valdyr said dryly.
Peter made a face at that, and Valdyr almost smiled. "I think," she
said, "we should try very hard to do what it is we want to do, not what
we are expected to do!"
"I agree!" Peter said, flashing her a smile. Then, remembering who he
was, and where, and what would soon be happening to him, he sobered
abruptly. They did not speak of the coming torture, but it sat there
between them.
Valdyr chewed on her lower lip, her sharp, slightly crooked teeth
scoring the soft flesh. "Pityr," she said softly,
"please believe me. This is not something I wish to do.
I ... have no more control over this than you have."
Peter sank back onto his stool, his shoulders slumping.
"Your uncle is using me to capture and kill my uncle, Valdyr. What kind
of honor can Kamarag gain out of this?"
She drew a quavering breath, shaking her head. In the smallest voice she
admitted, "There is nothing about honor in any of this. There will be
nothing for our family when it is over but shame."
Peter came over to the observation panel, reached through the slot as
far as he could, and just managed to brush the flesh of her arm with the
tip of his forefinger. She leapt back, her knife instantly in her hand.
"What--?"
"I'm alive, Valdyr, just like you," Peter said. "Remember when you first
gave me water? You saved my life with that
water. Why did you do that, when you knew what was facing me? When you
knew what you would soon be doing to me?"
She tightened her jaw and remained silent, staring at his fingers as
though they were some bizarre life-form.
"You gave me water ... and I held your hands. Remember?
They were so warm, your hands, so much warmer than mine. I was pretty
shocky, all my blood going to my injuries ... but I'm warm now, Valdyr,
just like you. I'm alive. Feel. Feel how warm I am. Go on ... "
Hesitantly, she approached the panel as if mesmerized, then put out her
hand, brushed his fingertips with hers. His skin tingled where she
touched him. Her body temperature was slightly higher than his, although
nowhere near as high
"m 7"
as a Vulcan's. ee. Peter said, softly. "Warm. Alive. Just like you. And
I want to stay alive!"
She was staring down at his hand, wide-eyed, as though she'd never seen
it before.
"Can you really do it, Valdyr?" he whispered, as he closed his fingers
around her long, elegant ones. "Can you do this thing that has no honor
in it, just because your uncle wants you to? Can you really do this ...
to me?"
She shuddered and closed her eyes. With a surprising surge of strength
she clasped his hand so powerfully, her nails scored his palm, drawing
blood. Then she murmured,
"Yes."
What an idiot you are, mister.t he thought bitterly.
Valdyr's face was flushed, her eyes bright with ... regret?
Was it really?
Yes, Peter decided. It really is ...
"I don't want to die," he said, gazing at her through the panel.
"Valdyr, I especially don't want to die at your hands." He gripped her
just as tightly as she gripped him. "I don't want my uncle to die
either. And more than that ... I don't want the peace our people are
only now working out to crumble ... You know that's what will happen
when all this comes to light."
She nodded grimly, raising her eyes to his.
"And I don't want to see you give up your dreams. Don't lose all the
honor you've worked so hard to gain. I couldn't
bear to know that my death would take that from you." He prayed she
would not think his speech that of a self-serving coward willing to say
anything to save his life. He was saying nothing but the plain truth.
"Valdyr," he whispered, "I've come to really care about you. As a person
of honor ... of dignity ... and of great strength." She looked down,
staring at their joined hands, saw their cornmingled blood dripping onto
the slot. With a choked, inarticulate sound, she yanked her hand away,
then turned abruptly and bolted down the corridor, racing as though a
demon was on her heels.
Peter reined in his own emotions as he pulled his abandoned hand back
inside his cell. He stared at the crescent-shaped wounds on his palm,
still oozing blood. He must're cut her as well, as puce-colored liquid
mingled with red in his palm. He made a fist, holding their blood
inside, and fought back the demons of his own fear.
As Wing Commander Taryn studied the chessboard before him, one slanting
eyebrow went up in pleased surprise.
"You are improving," he remarked, considering his options and finding
they were limited.
His opponent was a slender young woman with delicate, almost elfin
features that were emphasized by her cropped black hair and elegantly
pointed ears. Her name was Savel, and she was twenty-two Standard years
old. Her Vulcan parents had been killed while trying to escape when
Savel was a baby; she did not remember them at all. The young woman had
lived in a government-operated creche until Taryn had taken her into his
household at the age of five.
The commander regarded her as an adopted daughter, and had raised her
with the same advantages that he had bestowed upon his two sons.
"A very interesting gambit," Taryn conceded. "Not one I ever taught you.
Where did you learn it?" Savel's black eyes sparkled with pleasure.
"While I was with you at Khitomer, Ambassador Sarek's aide challenged me
to a game. Soran won, using this very tactic."
Taryn stiffened in his chair. "You played chess with Ambassador Sarek's
aide?" Now it was Savel's turn to tense. "Yes," she admitted.
"You did not forbid that, Vadi. "The word meant "uncle" in Romulan,
which Savel spoke as fluently as she did Vulcan.
"What harm could that do?"
"A great deal," Taryn said, sternly. The commander leaned forward in his
seat, his dark eyes holding hers. "What if I had been forced to come
searching for you, and encountered Sarek? I told you, he suspects us. If
we had met face-to-face ... there is no telling what he might have
done.
He has already unmasked one of us, and for that reason I was at great
pains during Khitomer to stay out of the ambassador's way. You knew
that, Sayel." The young woman hung her head. "Yes, I knew. But Soran was
... very pleasant to me. I found our conversation enjoyable. I do not
often get the chance to speak with someone near my own age, Vadi." Taryn
sighed. "I know," he said. "But, Savel ... you took an unnecessary
risk. We are close to the completion of our plan, within grasp of our
goal ... " Now it was the woman's turn to whisper, "I know." She gazed
at him with a touch of remorse plain to read in her dark eyes. As she
had been raised by Romulans, her control was not as great as a
native-born Vulcan's. "Forgive me, Vadi."
"Very well. As long as you will promise not to take such a chance
again."
"I promise," Savel said. "Vadi ... it is still your move."
"So it is." Taryn studied the chessboard, then made one of the two moves
possible to him. Savel's mouth twitched as she moved a piece of her own,
so quickly that Taryn knew he had fallen into her trap ... for a trap
it was. The commander sighed, frowning, but inwardly he felt a wash of
pleasure at her growing skill as he said, "I see it now ... mate in
two." With a near-bow of respect, he ceremoniously knocked over his king
as a sign of defeat. Though losing to Sarek always rankled him, losing
to Savel, whom he had taught himself, was almost pleasurable.
Taryn sat back in the overstuffed armchair in his comfortable study,
with its shelves of data spindles, its ancient has-reliefs and weapons
hanging on the walls, and the glow from the fire-box chasing the last
v estige of chill from the air. It was winter on Freelan, and even here,
in the northern equatorial region, frost and snow were common during
these long, dark months.
Taryn thought with longing of times he had lived on Romulus, in a small
house on an ancient, winding street.
The wind there was warm, even during the brief rainy season ... a far
contrast to the bitter gales that raged at night around his dome-shaped
house on Freelan.
"Have you heard any news of Kamarag?" Savel asked.
"Will we need to encounter him again?"
"I do not know," Taryn said. "The reports I have received tell me that
he has had Captain Kirk's nephew kidnapped, and that he has demanded
that Kirk exchange himself for the young man. Kamarag has good reason to
hate Kirk, and he has sworn a blood oath to avenge his young prot6g6,
Kruge. So it is possible that he will require no further prodding."
Savel nodded. "There was a strong core of hate in him before I ever
touched his mind," she said. "Who is monitoring him now?"
"No one, at the moment," Taryn replied. "Darns was, for a time, but he
has now been detailed to Earth. There is a major trade conference there,
and he and Stavin were needed to attend."
She nodded. "It is possible we may have to visit Kamarag again. The
ambassador may balk at actually executing Kirk, knowing that if he does
that, he will surely be declared a traitor, once his actions are known
to Azetbur and her councillors."
"Getting close to him may be too risky, now," Taryn said.
"Even if the ambassador merely captures Kirk, that will probably be
enough to touch offhostilities--especially since the raids along the
Neutral Zone are increasing."
"Who is working there, Vadi?" Savel asked, cocking her head at him.
Taryn smiled thinly. "That is the beauty of it ... no one.
We prodded Keraz, we prodded Chang, we prodded Kruge and Wurrl and
Makesh and Kardis. Now insubordination and mutiny are creeping through
the Klingon forces like a spy in the night. Every week there are new
reports of terrorism ... and we are responsible for only half of them!
Azetbur is holding on by her elegant fingernails--but soon, her grip on
her people will be lost. And then ..." He nodded.
"War," Savel said, with an expression Taryn could not read. It seemed to
be compounded of equal parts eagerness and revulsion.
"Vadia-lya," he said, referring to her as his "little niece" for the
first time in years, "what troubles you?"
"Nothing," she mumbled, gazing down at the thick woven carpet beneath
their feet. "It is only that--"
"Yes?"
"At Khitomer ..." She bit her lip, her control visibly slipping now.
"Yes?"
"When the Federation president spoke, he sounded so ... earnest." She
looked up, met Taryn's gaze, and flushed visibly, but continued, "When
he spoke of peace between the worlds, I could almost ... visualize a
galaxy where peace reigns. And that vision was attractive to me."
"Ah, but Savel, there will be peace," Taryn reminded her.
"Soon, the purpose to which I have dedicated my life will be achieved.
Soon, there will be peace. Of course a little strife must precede it,
that is unavoidable. The war between the Federation and the Klingons
will not last long, and the conflict between what remains of the
Federation and our forces will be even briefer. But soon ... within a
year or two, we will have a lasting peace ... and survival as well as
victory for the Romulan Empire. Otherwise, what will happen to us?"
"The Federation will try to destroy us," she replied without much
conviction.
Taryn gazed at her thoughtfully, but finally nodded.
"Another game?" he asked, waving at the chessboard.
Savel's grave features brightened, though her control was back in place,
and she did not smile. "Oh, yes, Vadi," she said, eagerly, and moved to
set up the pieces.
Stepping off the turbolift, Sarek walked down the narrow corridor,
halting outside Kirk's quarters. He signaled the door. "Come," the
captain's voice responded.
Kirk was just fastening the belt of his uniform jacket. He halted
abruptly as he saw who his early-"morning" visitor was. "Ambassador!" he
exclaimed, "Good morning."
The Vulcan did not waste time on pleasantries. "Kirk, we must speak for
a moment," he said. "I have been giving a great deal of thought to your
nephew's abduction, and logic indicates that it is connected to our
problem with the Freelans."
"I was wondering the same thing myself," Kirk said. "I called it
instinct instead of logic, but it sounds like we've reached the same
conclusion. What's your reasoning?"
"While I was negotiating on Kidta, Commander Keraz told me that
Ambassador Kamarag called a meeting of Klingon officers, and attempted
to induce them to turn against Azetbur and her government. If Keraz and
Wurrl were influenced by Freelan telepaths, why not the ambassador?
With the history of events between you, Kamarag would prove an excellent
candidate for mental influence."
"You think Kamarag kidnapped Peter?"
"Not personally, no. But that he was behind it ... yes, I do."
Kirk looked thoughtful. "That's an interesting idea," he said. "I know
he hates me ... I've been told many times how he's denounced me
publicly at every opportunity ... but is his hatred strong enough to
lead him to betray his government?"
"Perhaps not on his own, but with sufficient telepathic prodding ..."
Sarek countered. "Logic seems to favor Kamarag as a likely suspect in
Peter's abduction."
"But how does that connect with Peter investigating the KEHL?"
"If the same person or persons are influencing both groups ... it would
be simple to induce the KEHL to turn Peter over to someone who would
then take him to Kamarag."
"You think there's a third party involved?"
"I would suspect so. That way, the KEHL would not have to deal with an
alien ship."
"Makes sense. Uhura is trying to track down the ships that departed
Earth during the time in question. But that's a tall order. She's been
working on it since yesterday, so maybe she'll have something soon."
"Have you heard any reports about the KEHL and its activities?" Sarek
asked. "I have not yet scanned today's communiqu6s."
"The leader, Induna, was finally released on bail," Kirk said. "Last I
heard, he was calling for--" The captain broke off as the intercom
signaled. He activated it. "Kirk here."
"Captain?" It was Commander Uhura's voice. "Sir, I've managed to locate
the points of origin of both the message sent to Peter in his apartment,
and the subspace one that reached us."
"Good work. What did you find out?"
"The first transmission, the one patched together with clips from old
transmissions of yours, was sent from a vessel in Earth orbit ... the
Bobino."
"What kind of ship? What registry?"
"Bobino is a freighter, registered to an Otto Whitten, who owns her but
is not her pilot."
"Did you check him out?"
"Yes, Captain. This Whitten is a man with a past. A con artist ... but
clever. Arrested many times, but the charges were always dropped. The
vessel is registered as a 'freighter," but 'smuggler' is probably a more
accurate description."
Kirk glanced at Sarek. "Sounds about right," he said.
"Who is the pilot?"
"Bobino's pilot is a woman named Erika Caymor. Same thing as Whitten.
She's been arrested a number of times, but she always gets off.
Extortion, credit fraud, theft,
smuggling ... the list of charges against her goes on. But the
authorities could never make anything stick. They're a nasty--but
clever--pair."
"They sound like scum," Kirk said, bitterly. Smugglers who had smuggled
not contraband, but Peter Kirk, offworld.
"What about the other transmission? The subspace one7"
"That message originated on Qo'nos, Captain. I can't pin it down any
further than that."
"Damn!" Kirk muttered, looking over at Sarek and nodding ruefully. "Good
work. Thank you, Commander."
"I was glad to be of help, sir," she said. "I put in a call to
Vice-Admiral Burton's office, asking them for any information they have
on Bobino's registered course. I'll let you know when I hear from them."
Kirk clicked off the intercom and turned back to the Vulcan. "Looks like
logic and instinct are both paying off," he said.
"What will you do now, Kirk?" Sarek asked. "Will you stay on course for
Freelan? What about the ransom demand that you exchange yourself for
your nephew?"
"At the moment, our course is taking us toward both destinations," Kirk
said. "I plan to get to the closest possible approach to the stated
coordinates, then hand over the Enterprise to Spock and order him to
take you to Freelan. I can hire a small ship at the nearest starbase and
make that rendezvous myself."
"Why not use the Enterprise?"
Kirk shook his head. "I can't justify using the starship for a personal
mission like this."
"But ... Kirk. Going to keep that rendezvous alone will be extremely
... hazardous," Sarek said, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh, I don't plan to just waltz in with my eyes shut, Ambassador. The
Enterprise's speed has given me nearly a two-day lead that the
kidnappers don't expect. If they keep that rendezvous, I plan to be
there well ahead of time, so I can find out where they come from."
"Logic suggests that they will come across the Neutral
Zone from Qo'nos," Sarek said. "Kamarag told me once that his ancestral
estate is located there."
The captain programmed the food dispenser in his cabin for a cup of
coffee, then, when it arrived, took a grateful sip.
"It's frightening," he said, "to think that the Romulans could plan
something like this for so long. Planting a colony on Freelan,
disguising their appearance, all that security for decades ... and the
gradual acquisition of Vulcan children to raise so they could control
their telepathic abilities. All of this beginning in the days be fore we
even knew what the Romulans looked like! By my calculation, they've been
working on this plan for seventy-five years!"
"Possibly longer," Sarek said, sitting down on the edge of the bunk. "We
have no idea when Fredan was first colonized.
However, do not forget, Captain, that, like Vulcans, Romulans have a
considerably greater life span than humans."
The ambassador spoke without thinking, but, suddenly hearing his own
words, he experienced a vivid memory of Amanda. They had been sitting
together in her garden, watching T'Rukh, when she'd said, suddenly,
"Sarek ... I want you to know that I expect you to remarry after I am
gone."
Her husband had regarded her with mild surprise.
"Amanda ... is this statement a result of your having turned forty
yesterday? I understand that this particular anniversary of birth is
frequently stressful for humans ... "
She'd smiled at him. "No, my husband. My remark was entirely logical.
We've never spoken of it before, but it's obvious that, barring some
kind of accident, you will outlive me by at least sixty years. You
should not deprive yourself of companionship, out of some misguided
sense of loyalty. To do so would not be logical."
"But--"
She'd smiled again and stopped his words with a shake of her head. "I
know this is premature. But someday you'll remember this conversation.
Someday you'll be relieved to know that you have my blessing in choosing
another consort.
Let's leave it at that."
And they had.
He looked up, to find Kirk regarding him intently from across the small
room. "My apologies, Captain," the ambassador said. "My thoughts turned
... elsewhere. You were saying?"
The human shook his head slightly, his hazel eyes softening.
"I want you to know, Ambassador, that I admire you and Spock for
continuing with this mission ... despite everything that's happened."
"Work is an anodyne to grief, Kirk," Sarek said. "Or, at least ... it
presents a distraction."
"Yes, I know," the captain replied simply.
"Ambassador ..." He hesitated.
"Yes?" Sarek said, raising an eyebrow.
"I may be overstepping, here, but I just wanted you to know that ...
that Spock ..." Kirk was struggling to find words. Sarek nodded
encouragingly. The captain tried again. "He's taking his mother's death
very hard," he said in a rush. "With some people, it's a relief to
transmute grief into anger. If you don't mind a word of advice ... be
patient. Let him work through this on his own.
He'll ... come around."
The Vulcan regarded the human steadily. "I will keep your words in mind,
Kirk," he said quietly. "Patience is a virtue on Earth ... on Vulcan,
we are taught that it is an essential component of life."
Kirk sipped his coffee in silence for several moments.
"Kamarag," he said, finally. "Ambassador, if he does have Peter, I'll
have to go to Qo'nos ... and stage a rescue."
Sarek shook his head. "Captain ... alone? That would be ... most
illogical."
"Rescuing Peter isn't an official mission," Kirk pointed out. "But ...
maybe I don't have to go to Qo'nos alone.
Chancellor Azetbur was rather grateful that I saved her life ...
possibly she'd be interested in knowing about what's going on."
"I would not tell her directly, Kirk," Sarek cautioned.
"Why not?"
"There is no way for us to know who may be under the
Freelan influence now," Sarek reminded him. "Azetbur herself might even
be suborned."
"They'd never get close enough to her," Kirk said, but the captain was
clearly taken aback at the idea.
"Possibly you are correct. But what about her aides? If they discover
what you know, and that you have shared your knowledge with the
chancellor, that would make her, in turn, a prime candidate for
assassination."
"You're right ... "Kirk set his coffee cup down so hard it sloshed
into the saucer. "Damn! This entire situation breeds paranoia. You can't
trust anyone!"
"I will speak with Azetbur. I may be able to discern from her
expressions and speech patterns whether she has been influenced. I will
attempt to warn her ... subtly, as well as discover whether she knows
anything about Peter."
"Thank you, Ambassador. I'd appreciate that." Minutes later, Sarek sat
before the comm link in his cabin, waiting patiently as the screen
flickered. Finally it cleared, and familiar features coalesced before
him. Sarek inclined his head respectfully. "Madame Chancellor."
Azetbur inclined her head in turn. "Ambassador Sarek. I trust you are
well?"
"I am, Madame. And you?"
"Entirely," she said. "Allow me to offer condolences on your recent
bereavement."
"Thank you, Madame Chancellor."
The Klingon woman gazed at him, and, for the first time since he'd known
her, seemed at a loss. "I heard about the attempt on your life,
Ambassador. It was a relief to know that Wurrl had failed. I take oath
on my father's honor, Ambassador, that neither Keraz nor Wurrl was
acting under my direction."
"I know that, Madame Chancellor," Sarek assured her. "I sensed Wurrl's
mind telepathically during the struggle. He was definitely not allied
with your government."
The chancellor visibly relaxed. "What is the purpose of your call,
Ambassador?"
Sarek hesitated for a second, carefully phrasing his inquiry in the most
subtle and least revealing terms he
could manage. "Madame Chancellor ... there was an illegality, a violent
act, perpetrated against a Federation citizen on Earth eight Terran
Standard days ago. I am ... disquieted ... to inform you that this ...
incident, at least on the surface, appears linked to Qo'nos. Evidence
indicates that this ... link may be highly placed in your government."
Azetbur blinked, and Sarek was quick to note the faint flicker of
surprise cross her face. She was learning fast ... her expression
barely altered before her features were, once more, an impassive mask.
But the ambassador knew that, whoever had been responsible for young
Peter Kirk's abduction, it had not been done with the chancellor's
knowledge or sanction. "Qo'nos?" she repeated. "I assure you,
Ambassador, I have no knowledge of any such crime.
Unless, of course, you are referring to the renegades who captured
Kadura?"
"No, Madame Chancellor, this concerns a different matter altogether,"
Sarek said. "Incidentally, may I inquire as to whether Commander Keraz
has been captured?"
"Not to my knowledge," Azetbur said. "He is still at large." She gave
the Vulcan an impatient glance. "Ambassador, if there has been violence
done on Earth by Klingons--especially by any who are government
officials, then I must demand that you be more specific."
"Madame Chancellor, your zeal does you credit--but you have
misunderstood. I am neither accusing nor identifying any Klingon
official as having committed crimes."
"Then what are you saying, Ambassador?" she snapped.
"I do not care for verbal swordplay; I am a Klingon."
Sarek nodded. "I assure you that I would be more specific if I could,
Madame Chancellor, but I regret that I am not at liberty to explain at
this time."
"When you are free to explain, will you, Ambassador? I must confess that
my ... curiosity ... is aroused." Her dark eyes sparkled dangerously.
"You have my word," Sarek promised. "Madame Chancellor ... I am not at
liberty to do more than make a suggestion, for I have no way to
substantiate my suspicions,
but ..." He paused while she listened intently. "If ... individuals
within your government appear to behave in a manner that is suspicious,
or uncharacteristic ..." He hesitated again, choosing his words with
infinite care. "It is possible that ... an external agency is exerting
undue influence upon them. I believe that these external agencies were
responsible for Commander Keraz's actions at Kadura."
Now it was Azetbur's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Really, Ambassador? What
an extraordinary statement."
"I make it only as one living being to another, Madame ... not in any
official or diplomatic capacity.
Guard yourself, Madame Chancellor. I have reason to believe the intent
is to subvert the peace process your government and the Federation have
recently embarked upon."
"What kind of undue influence?" she demanded. "Bribery?
Torture of family members? Drugs, or other chemical forms of coercion?"
Sarek shook his head. "No, Madame. None of those methods. I regret that
I cannot be more specific; however, I have overstepped my authority in
divulging even this much to you."
She gave him a long, thoughtful look, but forbore to ask, evidently
realizing he could not be persuaded to say any more. Sarek took a deep
breath. One final test, now.
"Incidentally, Madame Chancellor ..."
"Yes?"
"Captain Kirk requested that I express his wishes for your continuing
good health and success in your administration."
The Klingon woman's expression brightened ... for a moment she nearly
smiled. "Please express my thanks to Kirk, and tell him I wish him
success, too. We were ... gratified ... to learn that he and the
Enterprise will continue to serve the Federation."
Sarek nodded. "I have enjoyed our talk, Madame Chancellor; however, I
know your schedule is a busy one. I shall say farewell."
"Thank you for your ... warning, Ambassador. Be assured I shall be
watchful."
Sarek nodded, then held up his hand in the formal salute.
"Peace and long life, Madame Chancellor."
Again the faintest of smiles touched the Klingon woman's mouth.
"Qapla'.t, Ambassador Sarek," she said, wishing him
SUCCESS.
"Captain?" Uhura turned to regard her superior officer.
"I have an incoming call for you. It's Vice-Admiral Burton, sir."
"I'll take it in my quarters, Commander," Kirk said, and then he added,
in an undertone too soft for anyone but her to catch, "Put this on a
shielded frequency, Uhura." She nodded as he left the bridge.
In his quarters, Kirk turned on his screen and Vice-Admiral Burton,
Starfleet's chief of security, appeared.
After the captain had outlined the problem of Peter's disappearance,
concluding with Uhura's finding that the ransom message had originated
on Qo'nos, the admiral, a beefy man with a shock of thick white hair,
frowned. "More terrorism," he concluded. "This is obviously not your
ordinary kidnapping for profit."
"I agree," Kirk said. "How do you want me to handle this, sir?"
"Investigate your nephew's disappearance without any public fanfare,"
Burton said. "And if there's any possibility that this is reprisal
against you personally, by the Klingons, you'd better abandon this
notion of going in alone. I'm officially authorizing you to use the
Enterprise for this mission. If the Klingons are involved, then it
becomes a matter of Federation security--and that makes it official.
But ... Kirk. I meant it about keeping this quiet. The KEHL is gaining
converts every day. Something like this would add fuel to the fire."
"I understand, Admiral. Did your office come up with any information on
that smuggler's destination?" the captain asked.
"We've got a copy of Bobino's official flight plan, Captain.
They were scheduled to take a load of gourmet foodstuffs to Alpha
Centauri A ... but they're overdue. Way overdue."
"Any idea where they went instead?"
Burton nodded grimly. "They picked up a cargo of high-grade dilithium
ore in Sector 51.34 two days ago."
Sector 51,34 was only a parsec or so from the Klingon Neutral Zone. Kirk
nodded, unsurprised.
"Captain, this clinches it. I want you to get to the bottom of this ...
and soon."
"I will, sir," Kirk replied.
"Mr. President," Sarek said, to the image on his comm link. "Greetings."
Gravely, he saluted the chief executive.
"Ambassador Sarek," Ra-ghoratrei said. "Allow me to offer my most
sincere condolences on your bereavement. I very much ... regret ...
having called you to duty at such a time."
"I discussed my mission to Kidta before leaving, Mr. President," Sarek
said, uncomfortable at having to speak of this now. "My wife understood
its importance. But I did not call you to discuss Kidta, Mr. President."
"What is it, Ambassador?"
"Sir ... I believe that I have discovered a threat to Federation
security. I have discovered evidence--evidence that I will soon be able
to share with youwthat the Keep Earth Human League may be funded and
supported by offworld interests."
Ra-ghoratrei's pale eyes widened. "What? The KEHL?
But they are ..." He hesitated. "They are more than they seem,
apparently ... "
"Yes, Mr. President. I suggest that you authorize a full-scale
investigation into the group. I believe that such an investigation may
turn up surprising information."
"Can you be more specific, Ambassador?"
"No, Mr. President," he said, "l cannot, at this time. But I will be
contacting you within a few days with, I hope, conclusive proof. In the
meantime, I ask that you authorize a full investigation--although I do
not believe that it should be a public inquiry. I will explain my
reasoning later."
"Ambassador," Ra-ghoratrei said thoughtfully, "your service to the
Federation is legendary. I will do as you ask but I do insist upon the
explanation you promised."
"You will receive one, Mr. President. Two days--three at the
most--should prove sufficient."
"Very well," the president said. "Until we speak again, then, Ambassador
Sarek."
"Live long and prosper, Mr. President." Sarek raised his hand in salute.
After cutting the connection, the Vulcan sat for several minutes
composing a detailed message to Ra-ghomtrei, with additional copies to
the head of Starfleet Security, Vice-Admiral Burton, and the chairman of
the Security Council, Thoris of Andor. The message gave a complete
summary of his suspicions and findings, plus the data he had collected
so far.
Then the Vulcan placed each message under a time lock.
If the Enterprise did not return from this mission, Ra-ghoratrei would
receive the message in five days, with the others receiving theirs in
six.
When he finally got off duty that evening, Kirk was weary to the bone.
They were now enroute for the Klingon Neutral Zone. A few hours ago,
he'd received official orders from Starfleet affirming Vice-Admiral
Burton's verbal orders. He was to attempt to locate and rescue Peter
Kirk; then he was directed to place himself and his vessel at the
disposal of Ambassador Sarek, who was currently on a special factfinding
mission for the Federation president.
Unsealing his maroon uniform jacket, Kirk slumped into a chair. The
captain had a hunch that the entire mess was only beginning--that it was
only going to get worse before it got better. Assuming it does get
better, which is a big assumption, he reminded himself.
And besides, he thought, you've got it easy, compared to Peter. What
might the Klingons be doing to the young man, while he sat here, safe
aboard his orbiting fortress?
Thoughts of Klingon torture, mind-sifters and beatings, raced through
his mind, and the captain shuddered.
It least Qo'nos isn't Rura Penthe, he thought, trying to find comfort in
the fact--but he was tormented by images of Peter being brutalized by
Klingons like Old One-Eye.
Klingon jailers weren't noted for their kindness and compassion, to put
it mildly.
He and Peter had grown close, over the years; Kirk knew his nephew
better than the cadet suspected. He was aware of Peter's feeling that he
had to live up to his illustrious uncle's example, and regretted
inadvertently placing his nephew under that kind of pressure. But Peter
was a Kirk, and he was bound to pressure himself to achieve, no matter
what anyone said to him.
An image of the young man's features drifted before his eyes, and Kirk
shook his head wearily. Would he ever see him again ... alive? Where
was Peter? Was he even now being tortured?
With a muffled groan, Jim Kirk leaned his head in his hands Hang on,
Peter, he thought. Just hang on a little longer ...
Savel stared at herself in the mirror as she brushed her thick, shining
hair. Today she was wearing a long blue dress instead of her usual
silvery padded tunic and snug trousers, and she felt more feminine than
she had in a long time.
For a moment, she indulged herself by imagining what Soran might think
if he could see her in this garb. He had been so courteous, so quietly
attentive ... i\*. had been very flattering. Sayel knew that most
Vulcans were bonded by the time they were adults ... was Ambassador
Sarek's young aide betrothed?
Surely not; if he'd been promised to another, he wouldn't have stared at
her quite so intensely. His eyes had been very dark, very earnest ...
Savel suddenly wondered what would happen to Soran if her adopted
uncle's most cherished dream was realized, and war erupted between the
Federation and the Klingons--followed swiftly by a full-scale Romulan
invasion. Everyone knew that Vulcans were pacifists ... but that word
was not at all synonymous with "cowards." If pushed to defend their
homeworld, Savel was quite sure that the Vulcans would fight, and fight
well.
And what if Soran was hurt ... even killed?
Savel's throat tightened, and she told herself she was
being ridiculous. She'd only met the young Vulcan for a few hours;
thinking about him now was senseless ... illogical!
She stared at her reflection, wondering where Soran was, what he was
doing at the moment. Would she ever see him again? Would she ever find
someone on Freelan that she found as attractive? The odds against that
happening were great--and not simply because she was so drawn to Soran.
The young Vulcans residing on Freelan were technically free to
intermarry with the Romulans ... but few did.
To put it bluntly, the majority of the transplanted Vulcans on Freelan
were regarded with suspicion and disapproval ... though there were
exceptions. Savel knew of several Vulcans-by-blood who had risen to
high-ranking positions in the Romulan military--some had intermarried.
One or two had even received vital political appointments.
But generally the transplanted Vulcans tended to seek each other's
society, rather than looking to the Roraulans for mates or
companionship. Was this because they had all grown up with the knowledge
that they were a captive people? Or did their telepathic abilities set
them apart?
Some Romulans were willing to accept and welcome the new additions into
their society ... but many more were like Taryn's wife Jolana. Why? Was
Jolana cold and withdrawn because she suspected Savel's loyalty? Since
many Vulcans-by-blood served in the military, and served well, that
attitude was illogical. Or was their distrust and aversion due to
jealousy or fear of the Vulcan telepathic abilities?
There was no way to be sure without a deep mind-meld, and Savel had no
desire for such intimacy with her adopted "aunt" ... so she would never
know.
With a sigh, she smoothed down the skirt of the blue dress, and headed
for the door of her room. Tonight she and Taryn would be leaving aboard
his ship. The commander would take command of the invasionary force that
was being assembled and supplied near Remus. Savel held no military
rank, but her telepathic skills made her invaluable in espionage
efforts.
As she stepped through the door, Savel thought for a moment more about
Soran, but she forced the image of the handsome young aide's face from
her mind. She would never see him again ... thinking about him was
illogical.
Squaring her slender shoulders, head high, Savel resolutely went to find
her uncle, so they could plan what their strategy would be during the
upcoming war.
Peter Kirk paced restlessly, turning again and again to stare through
the observation port at the front of his cell. It had been three days
since Valdyr had fled from him. Three days.
He was still fed regularly, his meals brought now by different Klingon
guards, but she had not returned. The guards had come and gone as
quickly as possible, sparing him barely a glance.
The cadet discovered that, for the first time since this whole thing had
started, he was afraid--gut-wrenchingly, genuinely afraid--but not for
himself.
Could Kamarag have observed Valdyr's behavior toward her prisoner and
considered it disloyal or treacherous?
Could she have been punished for their conversations, for ... touching
him? He ran his thumb over the healing wounds on his palms, as if trying
to reassure himself that that passionate handclasp had actually
happened, that he hadn't imagined the entire thing. No, it had happened.
He glanced at his hand. Oh yes, it had happened.
But where was Valdyr? What if she never returned?
At the thought of never seeing the young Klingon woman again, Peter
swallowed painfully. Valdyr ...
Peter opened his fist and stared down at the marks of her nails. What
had happened between them?
Or, at least ... what had happened to him? He scowled, fighting the
reality, struggling against the truth ... Peter groaned inwardly and
struck the wall of his cell with his fist so hard that he winced from
the pain. But even that couldn't distract him. The 'truth was still
there, immutable, unmistakable ... How long was he going to go on lying
to himself?.
All right, dammir! Peter finally admitted. I love her. I'm a fool!
It was inconceivable that he should love her--a Klingon!
When had it happened? How could it have happened? Were Klingons and
humans even biologically compatible? Who even knew? And yet ... trying
to deny how he felt would be like denying that he had two hands, or two
eyes ... or one heart.
Very little was known about the complexities of Klingon society, though
there was plenty of speculation. Some of the things he'd heard about the
sexual capacity of Klingon women would've made an Orion slaver blush. It
was probably nothing but sleazy speculation, he knew--the same kinds of
things had been said about other groups at other times. Peter had paid
such gossip little mind ... until now.
But now thinking of those things brought images to his mind ... images
... Did Klingons love like humans? Were they even capable of similar
emotions? More importantly, was there any hope at all that Valdyr might
ever have the same feelings for him, or would she just find the whole
thing one more dishonorable complication in a situation that was causing
her considerable soul-searching and anguish?
There had been women in Peter's life, and some of them he'd loved--or,
at least, he'd thought so at the time. Yet the most intimate moments
with them had not moved him the way that touching Valdyr's hand had.
Peter tried telling himself this was just a greater manifestation of
Stockholm Syndrome, but neither his emotions nor his hormones were
listening.
Love? Yeah, let's get really kinky, here, Peter. You'll probably never
see her again until they haul you out to that platform, where she'll be
waiting to perform the be'joy' on you, with Uncle Jim as a witness.
You'll really enjoy that, won't you? You'll love that, right?
Suppose ... suppose ... she'd refued to perform the bejoy'. Maybe that
was why she hadn't returned. Suppose one of the guards who'd been
delivering his meals got the job because she'd refused and her uncle was
furious. What if
he died without ever seeing her again, at the hands of a stranger?
The cadet sank onto his bunk, cradling his head in his hands, feeling
despair ready to overwhelm him.
Something made him glance back at the observation portal, and suddenly,
as if his desire had conjured her up, Valdyr stood there, staring at him
expressionlessly. She said nothing, standing at attention like the good
Klingon warrior she yearned to be.
Slowly, he got up and walked toward the portal, trying to frame words.
Valdyr's eyes widened almost imperceptibly and he stopped dead in his
tracks, suddenly wary. Something was wrong ...
She wasn't alone. Without warning, Kamarag stepped into view. With him
was another soldier, one Peter dimly remembered seeing before. Hadn't
this guy been one of the goons who had come to get him out of his cell
aboard the transport vessel?
Valdyr no longer met his eyes. Was it time for the bejoy?
Peter swallowed, but stood tall, head high. He would not shame himself
... "Ah, the young Kirk," the ambassador murmured approvingly,
addressing Valdyr in Klingonese. "He looks fine, niece. Strong. Healthy.
You have done well." Kamarag eyed Peter through the portal as if sizing
up a side of beef. "Cadet Kirk!" he said in English. "Do you know what
day it is?"
"No, Ambassador," Peter replied, in the same tongue, "I do not."
"It is the day I will have my revenge!" Kamarag informed him. For a
Klingon, his demeanor was positively jovial.
"Even now your uncle speeds to our rendezvous, where I will take him
prisoner. As soon as I have him, Karg here will bring you and Valdyr to
join us." He indicated the other male. Peter stared at the warrior. So
this was Karg ... no wonder Valdyr hated him.
"Aboard my flagship, Hohwi; we shall all enjoy an old Klingon ritual.
Tell me ... do you find my niece attractive, young Kirk?"
Peter refused to show fear. "Any male would," he said, honestly.
"Good, good! I like your spirit ... it will add immeasurably to the
be/oy'! No doubt you have longed in the past days to find yourself ...
close ... to her, hungered for her touch? Even human males are not
immune to a lovely female's charms, that is obvious. Well ... I am
happy to tell you that you will soon have your wish granted. Soon, you
will be very close to Valdyr indeed--while she separates your skin into
its many fragile layers inch by bloody inch! By the time she is finished
with you, she will know you ... intimately. Outside ... and inside."
Kamarag guffawed, and Karg did, too. Good grief, Peter thought, refusing
to feel the fear that wanted to claw its way out of him with a shriek.
Where did this guy learn English?
Reading Edgar Rice Burroughs? He sounds like he comes from Barsoom ...
Kamarag was still grinning. "No doubt your uncle will enjoy the
spectacle; he will, after all, be the next to succumb to it!"
Peter said nothing. He would not let himself be baited ... besides,
Kamarag was, finally, saying something of real interest.
"And as soon as the bejoy' is finished, my fleet will speed into
Federation territory--and all the riches that await us there."
Peter was stunned. He had thought that Kamarag's only interest lay in
torturing him and his uncle. He'd had no idea the ambassador had a
"fleet" of his own and was planning to start a war!
"Your fleet?" he dared to ask, hoping Kamarag would keep talking, keep
boasting. He must mean the renegades who were causing so much trouble
...
"Yes indeed. I have a sizable force accumulated of captains who are
ready to take back their honor as Klingon warriors! Together, we will
reduce your Starfleet to scrap metal."
Dream on, Peter thought. The ambassador had lost his
mind if he seriously thought he and his "fleet" could conquer the
Federation. Starfleet would wipe them out, there was no doubt.
But--Peter repressed a shiver--he also had no doubt that Kamarag and his
cohorts would wreak terrible destruction on the worlds closest to the
Neutral Zone before they were stopped.
The ambassador turned so that his niece would be sure to hear him. "By
the time Chancellor Azetbur learns of our action, it will be too late.
At last, we will all regain our honor!" He faced Peter again, noted how
the young man was eyeing the walls of his cell. "It is a terrible thing
to be held prisoner while events of such magnitude unfold around you, is
it not, young Kirk?"
Peter refused to give him the satisfaction of a reply.
Valdyr's face never changed expression, yet she seemed to be struggling
with emotion. "My uncle," she said softly, pitching her words for
Kamarag's hearing alone, turning her back on Karg, "I ask that you
reconsider what you are about to do. Attacking the Starfleet is
Hoh'egh."
Of course Valdyr realizes it's suicide, Peter thought, his spirits
rising slightly. Kamarag may be crazy, but she's not ...
The ambassador stared down at her. "You are worried for me, niece?"
Valdyr nodded. "Not only for you, Uncle. For all of our people. Our
world is dying, my uncle," she insisted, still speaking softly, but
passion now tinged her voice. "We have neither the technology nor the
means to save our people.
By working with the Federation, Chancellor Azetbur hopes ..."
"Enough of this!" Kamarag growled, losing his patience.
"I will not hear another word about that depraved female and how she
will save the Klingon Empire! Mention that name again, aldyr, and you
will have more to fear from Karg than your wedding mgnt.
Valdyr flushed deeply, and she set her jaw. She drew herself up as tall
as she could, and this time she addressed both males. "Is this how you
would control me, Uncle, by threatening me with a husband? Is this how a
Klingon male
earns his female's loyalty--through fear? Where is your honor? You--"
Karg's fist shot out faster than Peter's eyes could follow, smashing
brutally into her jaw. She hit the ground hard, but never uttered a
sound.
Valdyr's face was swelling, and her lip was split and bleeding, but he
knew from personal experience she could handle that. Her hand went for
her dagger automatically, but Karg anticipated it and grabbed her wrist,
twisting it painfully. She endured it without flinching, as the powerful
warrior leaned down close to her face.
"Your disrespect to your uncle is distur bing, Valdyr," he warned her.
"Do not think I will tolerate such attitudes from my wife. Where are
your loyalties? To your family, or to that perverted female who has
usurped the rightful role of a male?"
"I am a Klingon!" Valdyr snarled. "My respect and my loyalties are to my
family, Karg--of which you are not a part!"
"That will be rectified soon enough," Karg reminded her.
"We will be wed as soon as James T. Kirk dies beneath your knife. Then
you will be mine! And you will learn respect ... "Hauling her up by
the front of her armor, he backhanded her hard enough to snap her head
back. She blinked, dazed.
Peter slammed against the viewing port before he even realized he'd
moved forward. He pounded his fists against the glass. "Karg, you
coward!" he heard himself shouting, barely remembering to speak English.
"You want someone to fight, come in here and take me on. I'll flatten
you, you bastard, just like I did the last time."
His taunts had the effect he intended. Karg's face suffused with rage
and he released Valdyr and moved toward the viewing port. Kamarag
stopped him with a gesture.
"Enough of this," Kamarag said to Karg. "I must fetch James T. Kirk.
Wait for my call, then bring Cadet Kirk to me at the head of my fleet.
Once this business is done, you can enjoy your wedding night in
Federation space, as we head for the nearest colony!"
Karg gave Valdyr a last, sneering glance; then the two males left.
Peter pressed against the port, straining to see down the hallway,
trying to determine if Karg and Kamarag were out of earshot. He turned
back to Valdyr, and was surprised to lind her intense black eyes focused
on his face, as if she were trying to look through him. "Valdyr!" he
whispered. "Are you all right? Valdyr?"
She glanced down the hallway, then finally climbed to her feet and came
over to face him. "You meant what you said to Karg, didn't you?"
"What?" He shook his head, unsure he'd fully understood her.
"Do you understand what you said to him, how he interpreted it?" she
asked again.
Peter just stared. "What was not to understand? If I could've gotten my
hands on him, I'd've mopped the floors up with him, I'd've ..."
She shook her head. "You challenged him as an equal.
Warrior to warrior. You refused to let him view you as a helpless human
prisoner. You challenged him--over his woman."
Peter felt his barely suppressed rage bubble over. Clenching his fists,
he pounded one hand hard against the viewing port. "You're not his
woman!"
"My uncle has arranged the mating. It will be done."
"Like hell it will!" Peter raged, feeling jealousy overwhelm him. The
thought of Karg "claiming" aldyr on the much-referenced wedding night
made him crazy. "He'll touch you over my dead body! He can't have you!"
Hearing himself beginning to sputter incoherently, he wound down.
"I will ask you the same question you asked me so many days ago, Pityr,"
Valdyr said softly, in a tone he had never heard her use. "Why do you
care? What does it matter to you who touches me?"
He ground his teeth. Better to say nothing than to have her laugh in his
face, or give her something to taunt him with when he had to endure her
knife. But something in her eyes compelled truth. "It matters to me. It
matters a
lot. The man ... who touches you ... should do so with respect ... "
She never took her eyes from his. "That will never happen, Pityr. My
uncle is about to betray his government, a course of events that will
eventually bring about either the destruction of our world, or, at the
very least, of our family. And the man ... who would touch me with ...
respect ... will soon be dead ... by my hand ... "
What ... what does she mean by that? Peter stood plastered against the
window, as close to her as he could get, afraid to interpret her words
too freely ... afraid to hope.
"Pityr ..." Her voice was hoarser than usual. "I cannot stay long. I--"
"Where were you?" he demanded. "You've been gone for three days!"
"I was here," she said tonelessly, not looking at him. "I came down
once, while you were asleep, to look at you. But I could not talk to you
until I ..." She trailed off.
"Until you what?" he asked softly.
"Until I knew my own mind," she admitted.
"What does that mean?"
"After the other day ... I sent a message to my uncle, asking him to
release me from this duty. But he ... he refused."
"Why did you ask to be released?" Peter asked, wishing she'd look up at
him.
But she kept her eyes downcast. "Qo'nos ... is not a good place to
live, since Praxis exploded. Half of the moon was blown into a very long
elliptical orbit that in fifty years will finally intersect with this
world ... which will mean the end for life on this planet. So many
meteors will impact that it will destroy our atmosphere, crush our homes
and land.
Even now, Qo'nos is encircled by a ring of debris that reminds us night
and day that our time is limited.
"Meteor showers are now common. One of your human months ago, my mother
was at home in Hatlhhurgh with my oldest brother. A shower fell, and our
home was destroyed, my mother and brother killed. My father had
died three years ago, when your uncle destroyed his own vessel to trap
Kruge's crew. So my three living brothers and I had no one. Kamarag took
us all in. He is now the head of my family, Pityr!" Her voice was tight
and brittle, and she shook her head so hard her thick braid slid across
her breastplate. "Honor demands that I serve him, and do as he wishes!"
"Well, you are doing that," Peter said, feeling his throat tighten as he
glimpsed her expression.
"But to serve him, I have to be prepared to betray the leader of the
Empire, Chancellor Azetbur. I have to share the responsibility for the
death of our homeworld. Without the Federation to help us, everyone on
Qo'nos will eventually die! And ... worst of all ... I must personally
bring about your death!" She moved closer to the window, until she was
pressed against the glass, even as he was.
"Pityr ... Pityr-oy ..." She closed her eyes, but the anguish in her
voice was unmistakable.
The cadet froze as he took in what she had just said, feeling a surge of
incredulous joy. The suffix "oy" was used as an endearment. "Valdyr ..."
he whispered. "Valdyr, look at me ..."
Finally, she looked up. Carefully, Peter stuck his hand through the
slot, until his fingertips brushed hers. He stroked the tips of her
fingers, his heart pounding.
"Valdyr-oy ..." he whispered, his blue eyes holding her dark ones.
She gazed at him incredulously; then he felt her fingertips slide over
his, and suddenly she was touching his palm gently, rubbing her
fingertips against the crescent wounds there. He in turn felt the small
scabs from his own nails that were sheltered in her palm. "How can this
be?" she whispered, her voice a mixture of anguish and joy. "It is not
possible. We are not the same people. We are alien to one another.
Enemies by blood ..."
"Not anymore," he protested softly, "not enemies. Not by blood. We have
shared blood. We are part of each other."
"Impossible," she repeated, as if trying to convince
herself. "Humans are weak and cowardly. They have no heart, no
endurance. They cannot fight, they have no will to do it. They stink of
fear. Human males have no stamina, no passion. All they can do in bed is
talk. A Klingon woman would kill any human male foolish enough to bed
her."
"Is that what they say?" Peter murmured, losing himself in her dark
eyes. "Well, on my world they say things, too.
Klingons never bathe, so they smell. They are stupid, ignorant savages
who live on base emotions, allowing their passions to rule their lives.
They rut like animals. Klingons cannot weep ... because they cannot
love."
She looked shocked to hear that Terrans had prejudices that equaled
those on her own world. "Do they say that?" she murmured, and he nodded,
silently. "But Pityr ... I am learning that what they say is not true.
I have seen you fight like the finest warrior, against odds so great,
there was no way to win. You fought ... and almost won. I had never
seen such heart, such will to win ... such stamina ..."
He clasped her hand in his tightly. "I am learning, too.
You're always clean, and your fragrance reminds me of apricots. You're
so smart, you're the only one here who has the sense to see what the
future holds. And I've heard anguish in your voice ... a sorrow too
noble for tears. I know you don't want to hurt me. I understand you are
just doing what you must."
She shook her head. "You believe it is true, then?"
It was his turn to be confused.
"That, because we cannot weep," she explained, "we cannot love."
"No, I don't believe that."
"But you believe that I could still bring about your death?
Even now?"
"I thought ... when you explained about your uncle ..."
"The days I stayed away ... I did so ... because no matter how I felt
about my family loyalty, I realized ... that I could not live with the
betrayal of Azetbur, and the destruction of my planet ... and more than
that ... I could not live with your death."
"What are you going to do, then?"
She released his hand, glanced up and down the hallway.
"I do not know yet. You will have to trust me."
He shrugged, smiling. "My fate has been in your hands since I first
arrived here, Valdyr."
A look of pleasure washed across her face, and then she was gone,
leaving him with nothing but the memory of her touch.
Commander Taryn sat in his quarters aboard the Romulan bird-of-prey
Shardarr, reviewing intelligence communiqu6s from Romulus. Savel, who
sat opposite him, watched alertly as the commander's expression
darkened.
"What is it?" she asked, when he finally looked up.
"Matters may be moving more precipitously than we an ticipated," he
replied, the lines in his craggy, raptor-beaked countenance deepening.
"Kamarag has gathered a squadron of renegade captains around him by
offering them Federation plunder and amnesty from the new government he
claims he will head. He is clearly planning some kind of coup to
coincide with his raid into Federation space. His squadron is currently
assembling in space, not far from Qo'nos."
Savel digested this news in silence. It was really going to happen, she
thought. The war ... the war that Taryn had planned for his whole life.
And she had been the one to bring it about. Vividly, she remembered
touching Kamarag's mind, inflaming his hatred for Kirk. It hadn't been
difficult ... the Klingon's hatred had already been like magma beneath
a planet's crust ... "But this is what you wanted, what we planned
for," she said, finally.
"But the speed with which this is happening is a problem for us." Taryn
rose from his antique carved desk and paced restlessly across the small
office, stopping for a moment to regard the extensive collection of
ancient weapons hanging on the wall. Some of them were so old that they
predated the Romulan exodus from Vulcan, following the Surak
reformation.
The commander stood for a moment, ostensibly
studying a training lirpa--one with a hollow bludgeon and a dulled
blade.
Savel had a good knowledge of the tactical situation they now faced. But
she had no idea of what information Taryn had gained from those
communiqu6s. "What problem?" she asked.
Taryn handed her the communiqu6s, inviting her to scan them for herself.
"Kamarag is doing far more than we expected. He plans to topple
Azetbur's government--not simply to lead a renegade raid. We did not
anticipate this."
Savel scanned the messages quickly, then nodded agreement.
"He has gone too far to simply go home after his raid.
There is no way that Kamarag can keep his actions secret, now ... not
with this many people involved. The ambassador has evidently decided
that the time has come to make his break with Chancellor Azetbur's
government. How do you think he will proceed, Vadi?"
"I believe that, once Kirk is dead, the ambassador will initiate
hostilities by leading his squadron across the Neutral Zone in an
all-out attack on the nearest Federation world. He will use the
publicity from that to declare himself a war leader, and thus sway the
public to his side. Staging a military coup will then be easy."
Savel raised an eyebrow as that notion sank in. "If Kamarag does that
... such an action would indeed precipitate all-out war between the
Federation and the Klingon Empire." Silently, the young Vulcan woman
considered, as she had been considering for the past several days, the
ramifications of interstellar war.
Memories surfaced in her mind, from the days before she'd come to live
with Taryn and his family. There had been eleven Vulcan children in the
creche, many of them orphans whose parents had suicided rather than be
forced to engender more children to live on Romulus, Remus, or Freelan.
And in the very early days ... there had been an old one, an ancient
Vulcan who had been brought in to teach them their native language.
Sakorn had been his name, and he was blind.
Savel vividly remembered the afternoons she and the other children had
spent with Sakorn during those language lessons. The ancient Vulcan had
also, whenever he could avoid the watchful eye of the other teachers,
attempted to imbue his charges with Vulcan ethics and values.
"War is an unconscionable waste of resources, and the most illogical of
tactics," she remembered him saying quietly, one summer afternoon, as
they'd all sat in the school courtyard together. "There are no winners
in war ... only losers. The innocent pay, and the guilty grow ever
richer and ever greedier. Violence breeds violence, and the cycle of
avarice and corruption is nearly impossible to break. There is no excuse
for a civilized being to resort to war ... there are always
alternatives to bloodshed."
Savel didn't know whether she completely agreed with Sakorn's
pronouncementsrebut her memories of the old one were still vivid enough
to make her breath catch in her throat as she imagined what he'd say if
he knew what she'd done.
"War ..." she repeated, hearing the doubt in her own voice. "What you
have been working to achieve for all these many years ...
"Indeed," the commander replied, taking down an ancient Vulcan senapa
and examining the scythelike obsidian blade, careful to touch only the
handle, for the cutting edge was dipped in the traditional poison. He
frowned down at the weapon, seemingly studying the flowing streaks of
red amid the black stone. "This development will, in all likelihood,
benefit us in the end. The more fragmented the Klingon Empire is, the
easier it will be to conquer.
But Kamarag is moving so much faster than I had anticipated ... he is
proceeding too swiftly. Our forces are days away from being able to take
full tactical advantage.
And if Kamarag kills Kirk tomorrow, and then proceeds full-scale into
Federation space ... the Federation and the Klingons could be engaged
in all-out war within a handful of days. The praetor has ordered full
mobilization of all forces, under my direct command ... but I do not
know whether we can be ready to invade in time."
Savel glanced at the small viewscreen that showed the vista of stars as
seen from Shardarr's bridge. Events, like the stars, seemed to be moving
toward them too fast. "Is there anything we can do to slow the
ambassador?"
"I cannot think of anything" Taryn said.
At the sound of the intercom, both turned toward the comm link. "Taryn
here," the commander snapped as he activated it.
"Commander, I have that tactical analysis prepared that you requested,"
came the voice of Taryn's second-in-command.
"Excellent," Taryn said. "Call a meeting of all senior officers in my
conference chamber. We will be there directly."
Motioning to Savel to join him, the commander strode out of his office
and down the narrow, utilitarian corridor.
Once they reached the sparsely furnished conference chamber, with its
huge comm link that dominated the bulkhead, the young Vulcan woman sat
in her accustomed place on the commander's left. One by one, his senior
officers filed into the room. They were all young, hand-picked by Taryn
to serve aboard his ship and intensely loyal to him.
Taryn began the meeting by having his second-in-command, Poldar, give a
briefing on the current tactical situation. Savel watched as he
pinpointed the location of Kamarag's renegade squadron, then pointed out
the locations of their own vessels. Several would reach the area within
two days, but others would not arrive for another five or six.
The fleet was massing ... the largest fleet ever assembled in Romulan
history. And Shardarr would spearhead the attack, if all went according
to plan.
"What about Federation vessels?" Taryn asked.
"There are a number in Sector 53.16," Poldar said, "but none close
enough to trouble us until we are well across the Neutral Zone. With the
exception of one vessel, Commander."
Taryn raised one slanting eyebrow, inviting the centurion
silently to continue. "Commander, I speak of the Enterprise.
Kirk's ship lies directly in the course Kamarag's squadron will take
across the Neutral Zone."
"Enterprise lies in the path of Kamarag's invasionary force?" Taryn
repeated slowly, plainly taken aback.
"Yes, Commander," Poldar said. "We received a new batch of intelligence
reports just as I was leaving the bridge for this meeting. We have a
positive identification on the ship ... it is definitely Kirk's?"
"That is not good," Tonik, the senior helm officer, said flatly. "If
Kamarag's squadron encounters the Enterprise, they may be decimated."
"Not even Enterprise can defeat half a score Of ships," Taryn pointed
out, the faintest touch of scorn in his voice.
"And Kirk ... Kirk is not with the ship. He is keeping a rendezvous
elsewhere." Despite the commander's confident air, Savel noted the lines
of strain deepen between his brows.
"Even if Kirk is not there, he will have left one of his senior offcers
in command of his vessel," Tonik pointed out, mildly. "And even if Kirk
is not with his vessel, that by no means makes Enterprise easy prey."
"Yes," one of the junior officers chimed in, "and with only five or six
Klingon ships remaining, Kamarag's force might not be threatening enough
to bring out the Federation fleet in force. And the fewer Starfleet
ships assembling to defend the Neutral Zone, the fewer captains we can
induce to cross into Klingon space ... should that tactic prove
necessary to gain our ends."
"I regret to say that I have more news that may not please you,
Commander," Poldar said, pausing to glance at another communiqu6.
"Intelligence has confirmed the presence of Ambassador Sarek aboard the
Enterprise."
Taryn straightened abruptly, and now he was frowning.
"Sarek ..." he repeated, and his officers watched him silently.
After a moment's contemplation of their newest piece of news, Taryn rose
from his seat and brusquely dismissed his officers. Savel stayed,
knowing that the order did not apply to her. When the chamber had
emptied, she stepped closer
to her adopted uncle, touched his sleeve. Taryn, who had been gazing
straight ahead, eyes hooded, his expression unreadable, startled
slightly and looked around.
"What is it, Vadi?" she asked, softly.
"Why is Sarek aboard that ship?" Taryn asked, his jaw muscles tight with
tension. "What is he planning? Sarek never does anything without a
reason ... "
"I do not know, Vadi, "Savel said. "The one time I was in his presence,
at Camp Khitomer, I tried to 'read' him--and could not. His shielding is
surprisingly good."
"How much does he know?" demanded Taryn, thinking aloud. "He tried to
break into our data banks ... I am certain he was somehow responsible
for the malfunction that nearly shut the entire system down that night
he was aboard our station."
"How do you know that?" Savel was taken aback to hear about the data
banks.
Taryn made an impatient gesture. "I cannot prove it. He left no
betraying trace. But I am certain that malfunction masked some espionage
attempt on his part. Did he gain access? Copy data? Is it possible that
he actually obtained proof of our plans?"
Grinding one fist into his palm, he strode restlessly around the
conference chamber, frowning. "No," he said, after a moment, answering
his own question. "He has no proof. He would have contacted Ra-ghoratrei
if he did ... and our contact in the president's office would have
informed us."
"But he did speak to Ra-ghoratrei yesterday," Savel pointed out. "The
report said so."
"Yes, but only to warn him against the KEHL. No ... he has no proof. I
am sure of that. But now ... to make sure he does not gain proof ... I
must lure him to me ... and kill him." Taryn said the last slowly, as
though he almost regretted the necessity.
"Are you sure that he did not somehow warn Ra-ghoratrei, Vadi?"
He turned to regard her as though he'd forgotten her presence. "No ... I
know Sarek. He is too proud, too
stubborn to go to Ra-ghoratrei with a tangle of speculations for which
he has no concrete proof. He is aboard the Enterprise at this moment
because he has come in search of that prooff Now we have a few days
before the fleet assembles. During that time ..." A muscle tightened in
Taryn's jaw. "Sarek must die."
"But if he is aboard the Enterprise ... As Tonik said, she will not be
an easy ship to destroy."
"No ... but if I can lure Sarek to Freelan, I could order one of the
squadrons on Freelan to waylay Enterprise and destroy her enroute."
"And if Sarek refuses to come to Freelan?"
"Then we will have to lure Enterprise away from her present position,
possibly across our Neutral Zone."
"Why? What purpose would that serve?"
"Two things would be accomplished." Taryn's expression lightened into
almost one of pleasure. "First," he held up one finger, "Enterprise
would be out of the way of Kamarag's squadron, allowing the Klingon to
enter Federation space in full force. And, two"--he held up a second
finger--"the delay involved while I allowed Enterprise to search for
Shardarr--"
"Without finding her until you choose, I presume."
"Correct ... that time delay will allow at least one or two of our
other ships to join us. Facing three, even four cruisers or
birds-of-prey, the starship will be outgunned. During the time they
waste while hunting us, we will jam their commu-nistions to keep Sarek
from sending a message to Ra-ghoratr i.
Then, when we are certain of victory, Shardarr and the other ships will
decloak ... and we will finish them."
"A good plan, Vadi," Savel said hollowly. Suppose Sarek had brought
Soran with him? He would be killed, too.
"But ... is there no other way? Sarek ... I have heard you speak of
him so many times as almost a ... friend. Is there no way to spare
him?"
"It is rrettable," Taryn said bleakly, the expression in his dark eyes
revealing his' own turmoil. "However, I can
think of no other way to insure that the ambassador does not warn
Ra-ghoratrei of what he may have learned about us and our plans."
"He may have already told the president. Killing Sarek may not prevent
the Federation from discovering what is happening."
"He has not told him. I am certain he has not. I know Sarek ... I have
studied his mind during our chess games.
He is stubborn, and proud. He would insist on having incontrovertible
proof ... not mere suspicions." Taryn sighed as he stared at the battle
plan still frozen on the wall screen. "I do regret the necessity. I
could have wished to keep Sarek alive, so he could be of use as a
negotiator."
Unable to sleep, Sarek rolled out of the narrow bunk and paced
restlessly around the cramped cabin. Then, driven by an impulse he did
not stop to analyze, he slipped on his robe and soft boots and, picking
up Amanda's journal, headed for the observation deck.
It was the middle of the shipboard "night," so the ambassador
encountered only a few crew members in the corridors or the turbolift.
Halting before the door to the observation deck, Sarek touched the entry
panel, then stepped into the starlit dimness.
While Enterprise was in warp, the stars appeared different than in
subspace ... each bore a trail of light caused by the effect of the
spacewarp that allowed the vessel to exceed the speed of light. The
closer the star, the more distinct the trail appeared to an observer. On
the bridge, the ship's viewscreens automatically filtered out the
trails, in order to clarify the image, but here they showed distinctly.
Moving as silently as a shadow, Sarek walked to one of the chairs
scattered about, and seated himself. He gazed outward, attempting to
clear his mind, preparatory to finding his center. It had been so long
since he had gained the tranquility found only in meditation.
Down ... seek the center ... concentrate effortlessly.
Allow all external stimuli and surroundings to slip away ...
Sarek felt his mind and body responding, as he sought out and touched
his own center--
The sound of a step intruded into his consciousness.
Sarek's eyes opened as he sensed a familiar presence, and he turned to
see Spock hesitating just inside the door of the observation lounge.
"I regret the intrusion," Spock said, coolly, formally, as he turned to
go.
Sarek hesitated, wanting to call him back, not wishing to have this
enmity between them. But he could not quite force himself to speak.
Suddenly the ambassador was struck by an overpowering sense of what
humans called d6jh vu--this had happened before ... nearly forty-five
Standard years before. Sarek blinked, and the memory surged up, as fresh
and real as though it were actually happening ...
The three of them were gathered around the table for the evening meal,
and Amanda had prepared many of their favorite dishes herself, not
trusting the selectors to season and spice every dish perfectly. Always
sensitive to his wife's moods, because of their bond, Sarek soon
realized that Amanda was both preoccupied and nervous.. though he could
not think of any reason for her to be uneasy.
Eighteen-year-old Spock sat on his right, and the youth's appetite,
customarily healthy, was noticeably lacking.
Today Sarek had met with the head of the Vulcan Science Academy to
discuss possible curricula for Spock's education, which would begin next
term. Sekla, the ambassador recalled (experiencing a flash of pride he
did not trouble to suppress), had openly expressed his eagerness to
guide and foster young Spock's intellectual and logical development.
His sows intelligence profiles and school records were, in Sekla's word,
"impressive." For a Vulcan, that was quite a compliment.
Sekla, Sarek had noted, had been careful not to say,
"Impressive for one of half blood." No mention had been made of his sows
shared heritage.
Now Sarek glanced inquiringly from his wife to his son.
"My wife, this meal is exemplary. I thank you. Yet I note that neither
of you appears to be hungry. Is something wrong?"
Amanda started, then obviously forced herself to relax as she turned to
face her husband. Her brown hair had recently begun to show a few
streaks of silver, but her soft features were relatively unlined, and
her blue eyes were as sapphire-intense as ever. "Nothing is wrong,
Sarek," she said, but he could tell through their bond that she was
equivocating ... not actually telling an untruth, but coming perilously
close to it. "However, I have determined to finish that translation of
T'Lyra's ancient poetry cycle tonight. My editor messaged me today to
inquire about when it would be completed, and I have only two poems
left. So I will take my leave of you. Spock"--she turned her gaze on her
son, and there was an intensity in her eyes that hadn't been there when
she'd spoken to her husband--"will you help your father clear the table?
That will give you a chance to talk."
"But, Mother--" Spock began, half-protesting, but Amanda merely gave him
a too-bright smile as she collected her own dishes and headed for the
autocleaner in the kitchen. Her son avoided his father's gaze as he
snatched up his dishes and followed his mother into the kitchen.
Sarek hastily rose, gathered his own dishes, and followed him. What is
transpiring here? he wondered, disquieted.
The elder Vulcan was just in time to hear Amanda insist,
"You have to tell him, Spock. You know that." Sarek hesitated,
half-shielded by the doorway, and saw his wife give his son an
encouraging smile. Spock gave her a wan half-smile in return. Sarek
tensed as he saw it. His sows control was virtually perfect in front of
him, but, in the company of humans, it slipped occasionally. Once, on
Earth, the ambassador had actually seen him grin when he'd thought he
was alone, as the youth observed the antics of a pair of his
grandparents' kittens.
I will insist that Spock reside at the Science Academy during his course
of study, Sarek thought. There are no humans there, and that hould
enable him to perfect his control.
Then Amanda left the kitchen, and Sarek stepped in.
Silently, father and son tidied the kitchen and dining area.
When they were finished, the elder Vulcan caught and held his son's
eyes. "What is it that you must tell me, Spock?" he asked bluntly.
His son took a deep breath. "Perhaps we might walk outside, Father? The
Watcher should be just past full phase."
"Certainly," Sarek agreed.
Together, t he two left the villa and walked into Amanda's garden. As
father and son walked slowly, Sarek glanced at his son's face, saw that
Spock's mouth was drawn tight, making him appear older than his eighteen
years. "Tell me what concerns you, Spock," Sarek said, finally, seeing
that the youth was not disposed to break the silence.
Spock drew a deep breath and halted, turning to face his father. His
eyes were level, but for a moment a muscle jumped in the corner of his
jaw ... twitched once, twice, then was forcibly repressed. "Father, I
decided some time ago that I did not wish to attend the Vulcan Science
Academy," he said, carefully enunciating each word. "I applied instead
to Starfleet Academy. I learned today that I have been accepted as a
cadet."
Sarek heard the words, but it took a second for them to register. Ever
since Spock's early childhood, Sarek had watched his eager fascination
with the universe, observed and fostered the development of his logical,
scientific mind.
For years science had been Spock's consuming interest in life. And now
he was talking about giving that up in order to wear a uniform?
The ambassador gazed at his son, searching for words, knowing that he
must make the youth recognize the gravity of this error in judgment.
"Spock," he began, careful to keep his voice low, "it is obvious that
this constitutes an unconsidered decision on your part. That is
understandable ... you are young, after all. But I cannot allow you to
... waste your years of study.
Your thinking processes and logical abilities are eminently suited for a
scientific career."
"I do not intend to give up science, Father," Spock said, a spark of
eagerness animating his features slightly when he realized that his
father was willing to discuss his decision rationally. "Starfleet ...
serving aboard a starship ... will provide an unparalleled opportunity
for scientific exploration, observation, and study. As a science
officer, I will be able to study the universe as I never could
if/remained here on Vulcan."
Spock's control was slipping; his father could hear the passion tingeing
his voice. Sarek stared at the youth stonily.
"Spock ... your control," he chided.
The other's eyes fell ... all animation drained from his features. "I
ask forgiveness," he said, and Sarek caught just a hint of sullenness in
his tone. "At any rate, Father, I have made my decision."
"Spock, what happened just now is an excellent example of why I demand
that you reconsider this decision," Sarek pointed out. "In Starfleet,
you will be among mostly humans.
Your control is precarious enough. In the company of humans, it may be
irrevocably damaged. You could disgrace your people ... your entire
lineage if you do this."
"I will endeavor to perfect my control--" Spock began.
Sarek shook his head and continued, adamantly, "Spock, every time your
control falters, you reflect poorly upon all of Vulcan."
Spock's features hardened. "My control is my own affair," he said,
coldly. "I wonder how my mother would react if she knew you were warning
me against being 'contaminated' by her species."
"Your mother has no part in this," Sarek said curtly, feeling his anger
at his son's stubbornness threatening his own control. "She is not
Vulcan, and this does not concern her."
"Mother is in favor of my decision," Spock said evenly.
"She believes it will be beneficial for me to interact with many
different kinds of beings. And I should point out that gaining
acceptance into Starfleet Academy is far from easy,
Father. Starfleet chooses only the top five percent of applicants." The
youth gave him a sideways glance. "Mother is proud that I have been
accepted." Sarek heard the implied rebuke, but did not acknowledge it.
"Assuming you graduate," he said, "are you aware that you will be
required to take an oath stating that you will do whatever is necessary
to carry out your orders? Including kill? Starfleet vessels carry
formidable weapons, Spock! You would have to be trained in the use of
them, as well as hand weapons. It is eminently possible that you would
be called upon to kill another, in the performance of your duty."
Spock's expression did not alter. "There is talk of commissioning an
all-Vulcan science vessel," he pointed out.
"Perhaps I will be assigned to that ship ..."
"And perhaps you will not," Sarek snapped. His own control was slipping,
but, at the moment, he did not care. He paced up and down the garden
path, his strides quick and jerky. "You will be a puppet, a toy for
Starfleet to order about as they please. You will have no free will.
Starfleet officers are respected by the masses, that is true. But no
Vulcan has ever graduated from the Academy, my son! Our people are not
suited for a life in the service!"
"That is something that remains to be seen, Father," Spock said, with
maddening calm. "I have decided that this is a step I wish to take. Do
not think you can dissuade me.
My mind is made up."
"Your future is bright," Sarek said, changing tactics. "I have little
doubt that you will distinguish yourself as a scientist if you attend
the Vulcan Science Academy. If you pursue this other path, however, you
will have disgraced your family.. your lineage. What would T'Pau say, if
she could hear you planning to bring ruin upon yourself?."
"I have determined that this path is mine, Spock stud. "I cannot allow
family opinion to dissuade me."
"If you do this," Sarek said, holding his son's eyes with his own,
putting every bit of intensity he was experiencing into his formal
words, "you will not be welcome in my lands, your name will not be known
to me. If you persist in disgracing yourself and your lineage, I will
not be able to excuse you, either publicly or privately. You will be
vrekasht to me, Spock, do you understand?" Vrekasht ... the ancient
word meant "exile," or "outcast." Sarek regretted having to say it, but
it was obvious that strong measures were required to make his son see
reason in this.
Spock's features hardened, and his mouth was a grim slash. "Vrekasht?"
he repeated. "Is that not rather ... overstating the gravity of the
situation, Father? I have only chosen my life's path ... not murdered
or mind-violated another."
"If you persist in joining Starfleet, then I have no doubt that you will
be called upon to do both, in the course of time," Sarek said,
inexorably. "I insist that you reconsider this disastrous course." Spock
gazed at him for a long moment; then his shoulders straightened, and he
raised his chin slightly. "No," he said, coldly. "My decision stands. If
you wish to name me vrekasht, then so be it. Farewell, Father." Without
another word, the youth turned and strode away, up the garden path,
toward the villa. Sarek watched him go, fighting with himself. Spock was
correct to name his son vrekasht was extreme ... and unjustified.
Sarek wished he had not done it. The word "Wait!" surged through him,
wanting to burst from his lips ... but the ambassador clenched his
teeth and the word died in his mouth, unspoken.
Spoek's tall figure was at the garden perimeter now ... was still moving
... it was not yet too late ... it was--too late. Over. There was a
last flicker of a Vulcan robe, and then his son vanished into the villa.
Go after him, one part of Sarek's mind insisted, but he could not. He
was correct, and he would not grovel, would not recant. Logic dictated
that he wait for Spock to consider his words. Surely his son would come
to his senses.
Sarek stared blindly at T'Rukh, waiting for Spock to reappear. An hour
passed ... two. Three, and the ambassador still waited, barely
stirring.
Finally he heard a step beside him, and turned, only to find that it was
Amanda who stood there. Traces of weeping still showed around her eyes,
but her features were composed.
"Where is Spock?" Sarek demanded.
"He beamed out an hour ago," she replied, her expression as cold as the
snows of her homeworld. "Our son is gone, Sarek." The Vulcan heard her
words, unable to believe that Spock had not reconsidered, had accepted
the sentence his father had imposed on him, and had left to pursue this
illogical, distasteful career choice. "Spock.. is gone?" he asked,
finally.
"That is what I said." Amanda's voice was flat. "He told me that you
declared him vrekasht, my husband. How could you?"
"I was trying to make him come to his senses," Sarek muttered, still
stunned by her pronouncement.
"That was a terrible, unjust thing to do, Sarek," Amanda said. "You have
done the unforgivable. Spock is my son, and I will not support you in
this." She took a deep breath. "I cannot stay with someone who could do
what you have done today. I am leaving you, Sarek."
"You are ... leaving? Amanda," he said, carefully, "I do not wish you
to leave."
"You have no choice, Sarek. I cannot stay with you anymore.. after
this." For the first time, Amanda's voice faltered slightly.
Sarek, noting that?aid, "But you will be back, Amanda.
You will return ... She shook her head. "I don't know, Sarek. Perhaps.
Or perhaps not. I only know that I can't bear the sight of you at the
moment. Farewell." Without giving him a chance to say anything more, she
turned and walked away, just as her son had. Sarek stood in his wife's
garden, bathed in T-Rukh's harsh light, alone.
Alone ... Sarek watched as the door to the observation deck slid shut
behind his son. His fingers tightened on Amanda's journal. Today he
would read of her days without him. She had been gone for nearly a year,
and they had never spoken of that time after she'd returned. What had
she done in all those days?
Today he would find out.
Those days without her had been the worst of his life ... in some ways,
worse even than now.
Why had she come back? Sarek still wasn't sure. His fat her, Solkar, had
died, and she had appeared without warning at the memorial service. At
its conclusion, Amanda had simply walked over to him, taken his arm, and
gone home with him as though she had never been away.
They had never discussed the separation.
Sarek took a deep breath and opened the slim red volume ...
Spock walked along the corridor leading from the observation deck,
almost wishing he had not left. His father had appeared so ... alone.
For a moment, Sarek had appeared actually ... vulnerable.
But then memories of Amanda's last hours surfaced, and the Vulcan's lips
tightened. Vulnerable? His father?
Reaching Kirk's cabin, the Vulcan identified himself and was admitted.
Kirk was still in uniform, though the captain had been off duty for over
an hour.
"We will reach the rendezvous coordinates in one hour point thirty-two
minutes," Spock said, without preamble.
"What are you planning to do, Captain?"
"We're almost a full two days ahead of the deadline, Spock," Kirk said.
"Your father and I discussed this yesterday.
He thinks, and I agree with him, that Kamarag is behind this. I believe
he's holding Peter on Qo'nos."
"And?" Spock prompted, when the officer paused.
"And I'm going in to rescue him," Kirk said. "With luck, I can take a
shuttlecraft in, locate him by sensor, grab him, and get back to the
Enterprise before Kamarag even reaches the rendezvous site." Spock
nodded; he'd been expecting something like this. "I will go with you,
Captain," he said. "You cannot go alone."
"I was planning to," Kirk said. "Invading the Klingon homeworld
single-handed is pretty foolhardy ... even for me." He shook his head,
as if wondering at himself. "I can't expect anyone to join me on such a
harebrained mission."
"You can expect your friends, Jim," said a new voice, and Spock turned
to see Leonard McCoy framed in the doorway behind him. "You know better
than to think Spock and I would let you go off to tackle a whole planet
of Klingons by yourselfl"
Kirk grinned ruefully. "I guess I do," he said finally, gazing at his
friends and shaking his head. "After all, three stand a much better
chance than just one, against a whole planet ... right?"
"You got it," McCoy said. "Right, Spock?"
"Right, Doctor," the Vulcan said, firmly.
Kirk spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "All right, then ... next
stop, Qo'nos. I'll meet you on the shuttlecraft deck in an hour."
"Approaching Qo'nos, Captain," Spock reported. "ETA to orbit, twelve
point two minutes."
Kirk, who was piloting the shuttlecraft Kepler, nodded in acknowledgment
of the Vulcan's words. "Anything within sensor range?"
"I detect no military craft, just freighters."
The captain checked his screens, wishing he had some idea of where on
Qo'nos Kamarag's ancestral home lay.
Northern or southern hemisphere? Eastern or western continent?
"Spock," he said, "what are our chances of tapping into the Klingon data
banks and accessing some information?"
"I may be able to do so, Captain," the Vulcan said, turning away from
his sensor array. Like Kirk and McCoy, Spock wore a black jumpsuit
designed for night raids.
"What information do you wish me to access?"
"Kamarag's home address," Kirk said, dryly.
"I will attempt to access its location, Captain," Spock said, turning
back to his instruments.
"Y'know, Jim, this will be the first time we've actually seen Qo'nos,"
McCoy pointed out. The doctor was sitting in the passenger seat behind
the captain. "Last time we were there, we were shut up like mice in a
shoebox, and shuttled around in closed vehicles."
Kirk nodded. "We didn't even see the planet from orbit." Spock regarded
his console intently. "I have Qo'nos on-screen." Intently, Kirk watched
as the tiny dot grew until, with magnification on maximum, they could
see their destination.
"Look at that," Kirk whispered, after a moment. "I didn't realize it had
a ring!"
"That ring is much of what remains of Praxis," Spock said. "There are
several large chunks of the moon still orbiting Qo'nos, and
corresponding gaps in the ring. This ring is ..." He consulted his
sensors." ... approximately two thousand kilometers across, and it
orbits Qo'nos's equator at a mean distance of eleven thousand, five
hundred seventy-one kilometers." Kirk glanced at his own sensors.
"There's also a lot of asteroidal material in the system," he said.
"Correct. A large number of asteroids will impact the planet in
approximately fifty years." Kirk stared at the planet that was growing
in their viewscreens. "Now all we have to do is avoid detection by the
Klingons while we locate Peter." He gave McCoy a lopsided grin. "Sure
you don't want to change your mind about coming, Bones?"
"Too late for that, Jim," he pointed out, smiling back at his friend.
Spock cleared his throat. "Piloting the shuttlecraft across the plane of
that ring will be difficult, Captain. The Kepler's shielding is
limited."
"Why go near the ring at all?" McCoy asked. "You can surely plot a
course that will keep us away from it." Kirk glanced at the ringed
world, watching it grow steadily in their viewscreen. "If we go in
directly, bold as brass, the Klingon sensors will be bound to pick us
up, and we'll have unwelcome surface-to-air company in no time," he
explained. "I think what Spock is planning"--he slanted an inquiring
look at the Vulcan--"is to use the ring as a ver."
"Precisely," said Spoek. "As I mentioned before, sensors indicate that
the ring has several gaps, caused by large chunks of Praxis acting as
ring shepherds. Their gravitational force clears a small gap around
them. I recommend that we traverse the ring plane through one of the
larger gaps.
Matching orbit with the ring. we can use it as a shield while we locate
Peter."
"How are you going to find him?" McCoy asked, staring mesmerized at the
ringed planet. "It's a big world."
"I did manage to locate Kamarag's aneostral compound in the Klingon data
banks," Spock said. "Thus we have an approximate idea of where to
search. Mr. Scott and I modified the sensors to detect any human life
readings. If Peter is the only human in that compound, we should be able
to trace him."
"It's a good plan," Kirk said, "but crossing the plane of the ring, even
through the longest gap, will require some tricky piloting."
"It is fortunate for us that the presence of the ring, and all the
attendant meteor showers since the demise of Praxis, has evidently
forced the Klingons to abandon whatever early-warning defense system
their planet boasted," Spock said, studying his instrument readouts.
"They probably still have a lot of meteor showers," Kirk said, eyeing
the ring. They were now close enough to it that, under the highest
magnification, the ring was revealed to be made of millions of chunks of
rock, ranging from pieces no bigger than a marble to huge boulders
larger than the Kepler.
Minutes later, the shuttlecraft was approaching the gap in the ring.
Kirk sent the little vessel skimming along its edge, matching its speed;
then he boosted the Kepler's velocity slightly, aiming for the break,
which was now clearly visible.
Qo'nos was an awesome sight below them the planet turned, brown and
greenish blue, its continents separated by shallow azure seas speckled
with atolls. The three largest landmasses were edged by volcanic
mountain chains, and it was evidently a far more seismically active
planet than Earth.
From this distance, signs of civilization, at least on the
daylight side, appeared minimal. Only a few angular blotches on the
western side of the continent below them betrayed the presence of large
cities.
But even the world turning below him could not hold the captain's
attention for long. As they sped along, Qo'nos's ring dominated their
view, spreading out before them like a golden plain studded with nuggets
of all sizes. The ring was nearly two thousand kilometers wide at this
point--and yet, it was far from solid. Glimpses of the surface beyond it
came and went, depending on its density. Kirk's eyes widened as he
studied the vista.
"Shields at maximum, Captain," Spock said. "Ready for crossover."
"It's a good thing we'll be crossing over on the dayside of the planet,"
Kirk said. "Otherwise, dust vaporizing against our shields would
spotlight us from the surface, if we tried this on the nightside."
"Will the shields hold?" McCoy asked tensely.
"Long enough to get us through," Kirk said, hoping he wasn't being
overly optimistic. He kept his eyes glued to the last-minute course
corrections flashing up at him. "Barring any major collisions, of
course," he added.
"Even though the gap is relatively free of large rocks, it still
contains quantities of dust and small particles. The shuttlecraft's
shields were not designed for continuous bombardment, Captain," Spock
warned. "They may burn out." Moments later, the ring gap lay directly
below them.
Kirk's fingers skipped nimbly across the controls as he delicately
jockeyed the shuttlecraft into position. With a short blast of the
maneuvering thrusters, the captain began the crossover.
Even here, in this relatively "clear" portion of the ring, they were
buffeted by debris. The little craft bucked as the shields absorbed the
impacts of direct hits from gravel-sized rocks--one, two, three ... a
dozen--Kirk lost count. All the while his hands moved, keeping them on
course, heading them down and through the sparsest portion of the gap.
He was aware, peripherally, of Spock backing him from the copilot's
seat, making tiny adjustments that helped stabilize the Kepler.
"Shields are weakening," the Vulcan reported matter-of-factly.
And then, a second later, he added, with a touch of excitement,
"Captain, I am picking up Peter's readings ... " Where? Kirk said.
"Can you plo t a course to bring us down near him?"
"Affirmative," Spock replied, and, only a few seconds later, the heading
the Vulcan had computed appeared on Kirk's screen. Quickly, the captain
laid it in.
"Shields are down by eighty percent," Spock cautioned.
"We're almost out of it," Kirk said tight/y, fighting the controls of
the bucketing Kepler. "Ten more seconds, and we're home free!"
"Shields are weakening ... weakening ..." Spock said.
Then the Vulcan added, matter-of-factly, "Shields are burned out,
Captain."
"We're okay," Kirk said, his throat raw with tension.
"We're out of it. Now all we have to do There was a sharp crack of sound
as something struck the Kepler, rocking the shuttle violently; then Kirk
heard the high, thin shriek of escaping air pressure. "Bones, check the
air pressure! Spock, take over!" he ordered, moving to locate the impact
and exit points of the tiny rock that had struck them. Moments later,
the captain saw with satisfaction that Kepler's automatic sealant system
was working as it was designed to, covering the tiny holes. The whine of
escaping air lessened, then stopped. Jim returned to his board.
Moments later, he knew they were in trouble. The shuttlecrafi's
directional controls now responded sluggishly to his exploratory
commands. "Damn it," Kirk said, feeling the Kepler yaw. "Piloting this
thing down through atmosphere won't be easy."
"You going' to be able to land this crate, Jim?" McCoy asked, his voice
carefully casual.
"We're sure going to try," Kirk said. Grimly, he fought the controls,
struggling to keep the shuttlecraft on course. It wouldn't help them to
land safely in one of Qo'nos's oceans,
and he certainly didn't want to find himself setting down thousands of
kilometers from Peter.
It was a bumpy ride, nursing the crippled shuttle down through Qo'nos's
turbulent upper atmosphere, fighting to keep the little craft stable and
on course.
Finally, they were approaching their destination. Red sunlight from
Qo'nos's setting sun splashed them as they headed down. Kirk wished for
Sulu as he struggled to keep the Kepler's landing skids parallel to the
ground. It had been a long time since he'd landed anything in these
conditions.
Glancing at his course readouts, he realized that they were about six
kilometers from his intended destination, and thought, Close enough. I
don't mind walking ...
Glimpsing a gap in the tree cover below, the captain sent the craft down
into it, and suddenly they were engulfed by huge trees with strange,
feathery leaves and giant red seedpods.
"Come on," he whispered to the little ship. "You can make it ... almost
there ..." He made a last-minute adjustment, saw the ground rushing up
toward them. Too fast!
"Brace for crash landing!" Kirk managed to shout, even as Kepler's nose
plunged downward.
The shuttlecraft hit, bounced wildly, struck again, bounced again, then,
finally, stopped. Kirk pushed himself upright in his seat, looking
around dazedly as he unsnapped his safety harness. "We made it," he
said, disbelievingly. He turned to regard his companions, who were both
sitting up, their expressions somewhat dazed.
"Captain," Spock said, "we should leave the vicinity quickly. Our
erratic approach may have been sighted."
"We obviously can't escape in the Kepler," Kirk said, gazing ruefully at
the damaged shuttle as they prepared to abandon ship. "Can you tell if
there are any spaceports nearby?"
Spock held up his trioorder, nodded. "Fifteen and a half kilometers due
west," he said, "lies the port called Tengchah Jav." He slung the
instrument over his shoulder.
Working quickly, the Vulcan opened the weapons locker, extracted three
small phasers, checked their settings and power packs, then distributed
one to each of them.
"I'm going to set the shuttle to self-destruct," Kirk said, his fingers
moving over the controls.
"Be sure you give us time to get out of range, Jim," McCoy admonished,
scrambling hastily out of the craft.
After setting up the self-destruct sequence, Kirk, with Spock and McCoy
behind him, walked away from the doomed Kepler. Jim gave the little
craft a valedictory pat as he left, wishing there were some way to
salvage the ship.
The three set off, walking quickly into the forest, picking their way
over rocks and fallen logs, as the night gathered around them.
Once you step upon this path, Valdyr warned herself, your life as a
Klingon will be over. There would be no place for her anywhere in
Klingon society, not on Qo'nos, not on her colonies, not anywhere. She
would be outcast, scorned and marked for death. She closed her eyes,
struggling not to let the magnitude of her plan stay her hand. This is
the path before you, she reminded herself. For you, it is the road of
honor, whether any other Klingon anywhere in the universe ever realizes
that.
For the final time, she checked her weapons. Under her sleeve, against
her forearm sat her small, wicked, three-pronged dagger, where a sudden
jerk of her wrist would release it. At her right hip hung the small,
silent crossbow that had been her favorite weapon since childhood. While
it was best used in close conditions, it did not have the hum and whine
of modern weapons, and would not reveal a concealed shooter. Under her
breastplate sat two hand disrupters, their battery packs fully charged.
She touched the weapons one final time. Then she took the key to Peter's
cell. He was still her prisoner.
Straightening her armor and tunic, she left her room and headed for her
uncle's private quarters. Du'hurgh, Kamarag's ancient family estate,
was a massive, old fortress, with dozens of rooms and numerous
passageways and staircases.
Taking an obscure route, she came to her uncle's quarters stealthily,
concerned that Karg might have guards posted, but there were none. And
why should there be? After all, who would dare enter Kamarag's private
quarters in the ambassador's own home? His simpleminded, weak niece?
And even if she did, what could she do there?
Moving silently, Valdyr slipped into her uncle's favorite study. Once
inside, she stood perfectly still, waiting, listening, but there was no
one, not even a serving woman.
Valdyr was nearly overcome by memories once she stood inside the
cavernous chamber. Every kind of ancient armament hung from its walls,
as well as paintings and tapestries of the finest warriors of their
family's lines. Her father had brought his children here every summer,
and the compound and this place, in particular, called up vivid memories
of him. Valdyr stared at the images of long-dead heroes and remembered
her father's thrilling tales of their exploits.
How she'd longed to be like them! Her gaze fixed on the portrait of a
woman, her many times great-grandmother who had fought at her husband's
side in so many decisive battles hundreds of years ago. That image had
always been her favorite. She gazed upon it now, knowing she would never
see it once she left here.
Then, so be it.
Moving to the computer that appeared so out of place in this ancient
hall, she paused for one last moment before using the private code of
her dead father to activate this link with the outside world. Then she
sent a carefully composed message to Brigadier Kerla, consort to
Chancellor Azetbur.
Her father had served under Kerla many years ago, before he was promoted
and sent to serve with Kruge. Her father and Kerla had been good
friends, trusted allies.
Valdyr knew Azetbur trusted Kerla as well. She would have to take a
chance with him. The message, at first, would seem like a normal piece
of correspondence. She had to make sure that it would be sent through
the relays, that no one would pay it any mind and stop it on its
journey. The relays would slow it down, she knew, but she could think of
no other way to insure that Brigadier Kerla would receive it.
She was, after all, only the daughter of a dead hero, only the niece of
an ambassador. Perhaps her father's name would take her message to
Kerla's hands. If it did not, than Peter, his uncle, and Valdyr herself
were all doomed.
Peter lay on the stone bench, reading and trying to keep his eyes from
staring at the vacant glass portal. The waiting was becoming unbearable.
Would Uncle Jim really just give himself up to Kamarag? He couldn't! He
would know kidnappers never live up to their promises, especially a
kidnapper as crazed as Kamarag. Peter sighed, trying not to 'wear
himself out worrying over a situation he could do nothing about.
He heard the slightest click, and his gaze snapped to the portal, but no
one was there. Another click followed, and Peter was on his feet
instantly. It was happening. They were coming to take him ... to
Valdyr. Uncle Jim had actually done it, given himself up. His mind raced
wildly.
His door swung open, and Valdyr entered, pointing a wicked-looking
Klingon hand disrupter at him. So, she'd had to come for him herself.
Boy, these people did nothing to make things easier, did they?
"Are you ready?" she demanded.
He stood up straight "Yes. I'm ready."
With a quick flip of her wrist she tossed the disrupter at him. He
snatched it clumsily, then stared at the weapon in his hand. He realized
she was holding a small crossbow by her side. "What's going on?" he
whispered.
"Shhhh," she warned him, then stuck her head out the door, looking both
ways. "Be prepared to use that. We have a long, dangerous journey ahead
of us. You must stay close to me, Pityr."
He grinned. "Try and stop me."
They moved quickly through endless, ancient stone cord-dors in stealthy
silence, and the whole time he hadn't a clue as to their destination.
After a good fifteen minutes of climbing dark, winding
staircases, and tiptoeing down long unused hallways, Valdyr finally
halted. Turning to him, she pres sed her mouth against his ear and
whispered, "Now it becomes difficult." Now? he thought, and stared at
her.
"To leave the dungeons is easy if you take the back passageways," she
explained quietly. "They are no longer used. But to enter the secret
tunnels, you must go through the heart of the compound. We will have to
be even more cautious. And we must be ready to fight."
"I'm ready," he assured her. "Lead the way." She opened the antique door
cautiously, indicating that he should wait behind in the stairwell. He
watched her through a crack in the wood as she stepped into a spacious,
well-lighted hallway. She had just begun to signal him to follow her
when two burly Klingons rounded a corner. She froze, as he did.
"Valdyr!" one of them said to her congenially. "Karg has been looking
for you. He wishes you to join him at the midday meal. You'd better
hurry." She stiffened and frowned. "And because Karg wishes it, Malak, I
am to obey? I am no trained targ, and I take no backhand summons from my
uncle's pet." Her tone dripped contempt.
Peter rolled his eyes, unable to believe that she was going to get into
a row with these two apes now. But the guard merely laughed, apparently
enjoying her display of spirit.
"I told him you would not listen to me, Valdyr," Malak agreed, "but I,
too, must do as I am bid by my commander." Suddenly the soldier with him
sniffed. "Do you smell something?" Malak tested the air and looked
thoughtful.
Damn it! Peter swore silently. He hadn't had a real bath in over a week,
and his sponge baths, no matter how thorough, were a poor substitute.
Besides, you're a human. You smell as different to them as they do to
you.
Before Malak could answer, Valdyr sneered, "Who could smell anything
while Karg walks these halls?" Malak laughed again. "Oh, Valdyr, you
were always a terror. I miss serving with your brother. If Karg were
wise, he'd seek another wife. Make things easy for yourself and hurry
along. You might still get a choice cut of meat. Come, Darj, we have
work to do." The laughing soldiers moved on, but Peter could see Darj
looking about the hall, as if trying to find the source of the odor he'd
detected. Valdyr watched them for a few minutes, then yanked open the
door.
"Hurry, there is no time! Karg will come looking for me if I do not
answer his summons shortly. Clutching his sleeve, she towed him through
the hallway. Finally, she stood before a huge piece of furniture. She
peered around behind it, then glanced at Peter, as if assessing his
size. "The passageway is behind this closet. I think you are thin enough
... "
"I knew I smelled something foul?" an angry voice said behind them.
They spun, and Peter found himself facing Darj. He was alone, holding a
weapon on both of them. He glanced at Valdyr, who was still half behind
the closet, half exposed.
There was no way they could pretend she was just "moving the prisoner."
Their attempt to escape was plain.
"Malak thinks little of his commander," Darj said, moving carefully
around them. "Fortunately for Karg, I am loyal! Malak will be demoted,
but if he's fortunate, he'll be allowed to live. You two, however, will
not have that privilege. Valdyr, move away from that closet, now."
"Certainly, Darj," she said demurely, surrendering. She stepped away
from the massive wooden piece, revealing the crossbow held firmly in her
right hand. She fired at the same instant, and the quarrel buried itself
deep in the soldier's throat.
Darj collapsed heavily, gurgling, then lay still. Before Peter could
react, Valdyr snatched up the soldier's weapon and pocketed it, then
rifled through his uniform. She shoved several small items into the
pouch she wore on her belt; then she began tugging the heavy body toward
the closet. "Help me!" she gasped, and Peter, who'd been standing there,
stunned--he'd never seen anyone killed before--jumped to obey.
"Into the closet," she ordered, and the two of them wrestled the heavy
body inside the massive wooden structure.
"This way? she snapped, and he followed her as she squeezed behind the
heavy furniture.
In back of the old wooden object was a small door that opened inward.
Valdyr pulled out an ornate iron key, and unlocked the secret door. It
slid open easily. And then they were inside, the door shut securely
behind them. Peter stood stock-still, in total darkness. If she
abandoned him here.
A light flared and he winced at the sudden brightness.
Valdyr was in front of him, holding a tiny but powerful lantern. "We
will be safe for a while now. The only one who knows these passages is
my uncle, and he is not here. Karg knows nothing of them. the fool can
search the entire compound and never find us. And even if they find
Darj's body and discover this passageway, by that time we will be deeply
into the hidden chambers."
She started moving along the narrow tunnel, and Peter followed her. "But
how long can we stay here?" he wondered.
"We only need to stay until dark," she explained. "Then, we can follow
the tunnels, and leave the compound."
"You mean these passageways will actually take us outside this
fortress?"
"That's correct. They were built hundreds of years ago, and have been
used by entire armies during local conflicts and feuds. There are dozens
of warrens and chambers, enough to hide an entire squadron of soldiers.
We will be safe ... until we leave. Once outside the compound we must
try to reach the spaceport--but by then Darj will surely be missed, and
your escape discovered. They will be searching for us."
They moved swiftly through the tunnels, saying little, as Valdyr guided
them to safety. Finally, she ushered him into a small, cozy chamber,
then set about lighting battery-powered lamps that hung on the wall.
"This place had always been special to my oldest brother and myself. We
used to play war in these tunnels, and hide from our nurses down here."
She moved over to a narrow bed, her only furniture in the room, and sat
down. "We spent hours down here, making up stories, planning our futures
... "
Peter remembered her speaking of her brother's death.
"You must miss him."
She nodded. "He was a lot like my father. He treated me more like a
little brother than a sister." She looked about the dimly lit chamber.
"It as almost as if I can feel his spirit here ... "
Peter watched as her eyes moved around the room. She had just killed one
of her countrymen. She was giving up everything in her life to do this
for him. He didn't know what to say to her. "I ... wish I could've
known your brother. 1 would like to think ... we could've found a
common ground ... "
She turned to him. "My brother and father would approve of what I'm
doing. They would know I'm fighting for Qo'nos, for the future of all
Klingon people."
Peter nodded. "I'm sure they would. You've chosen a very difficult path,
Valdyrmmuch more difficult than armed combat. You bring honor to their
memory."
They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. Finally, she said, "I
have sent a message to Azetbur. Once she receives it ..."
"When did you send it?" he asked, interested. "What did it say?."
She explained about sending the message to her father's old friend,
Brigadier Kerla, and how she had addressed and phrased it cautiously, so
it would go through the channels without being intercepted. "However, I
know that will slow it down. I cannot say how long it will take before
Azetbur will even see it."
Peter thought she was being optimistic. Realistically, it could be hours
before the thing even got into the hands of this Kerla, assuming some
well-meaning staff member didn't misinterpret it and delay it even
further. "When the chancellor finds out what you've done, she will
surely reward you."
Valdyr looked away, her expression grim. "I have betrayed my family. She
may personally be grateful, but ... family
honor is very important to our people. There will be no rewards for what
I've done. I expect to be outcast ... you would say, homeless, shunned
... when this is over. But I will have my own personal honor. No one
can take that from me. Not Karg. Not Kamarag. No one."
He admired her obstinate courage. "Valdyr ... I want to thank you for
helping me. And as long as I live, you will always have a place in my
family ... for whatever that's worth."
She looked at him, her expression shocked. "You would accept me in your
family? And how would your people feel about that, a Klingon woman
coming to them? What of your uncle--he hates us. How will he feel about
this?"
"My uncle is fair," Peter insisted. "The tragedy of Gorkon's death
changed the way he regards your people. He is as close to me as you were
to your father. I assure you, my uncle would welcome any warrior as
brave as you into our family."
"Then I hope we all live long enough to meet, Pityr. I have heard much
of this James Kirk. It would be interesting to face him and see if the
man and legend are the same."
Peter started to smile when a mark on her neck caught his eye. He
squinted. It was a terrible-looking bruise. He touched it gently. "What
happened, Valdyr? How did you get this?"
She flinched and moved away, so he pulled his hand back, fearing he'd
been too familiar. She looked away, and he thought he could see her
color darkening in the chamber's muted light. "It is just ..." she began
hesitantly. "It is nothing ... "
Then he realized. "Karg did this to you." His voice was low as he tried
to suppress the outrage he felt. "That's what happened, isn't it? This
is from Karg."
She turned, met his gaze defiantly. "It is Karg's mark. He marked me so
everyone would know to whom I belonged. I fought him, but he's ... too
strong for me ... "
Peter's fury flared. "I'd love to have about ten minutes alone with that
guy in a locked room," he grumble d.
She watched him curiously. "This bothers you, Pityr, this mark from
Karg?"
"Of course it bothers meg" he blurted. "He touched you against your
will. No one should be allowed to do that."
She actually laughed then, and the lightness of that sound startled him.
"Oh, Pityr, you humans are unusually funny!
If I were strong enough, I could keep Karg in his place--it might be a
good marriage then--but because I am small, he has all the advantage."
"It shouldn't have anything to do with strength, Valdyr," he argued.
"You should only be touched when you choose to be, and by whom you
choose to be."
"I see. And because Karg forced his touch on me, you are angry with me
about this7" she asked.
"Of course I'm not angry with you/I'm furious at Karg."
"Furious enough ... to fight for me?" She asked the question so
quietly, Peter instantly understood that the question meant more to her
than its simplicity indicated.
He stared into her deep, dark eyes, realizing that this was the first
interaction they'd been able to enjoy without having the viewing port
between them since she'd first dumped him into his cell. They were
together, here in this small room, with no one around, just the two of
them. He swallowed, wanting to make sure he said just the right thing.
"My people believe that fighting is the last resort, that there are
always alternatives to violent confrontation ... but ... I must
confess ... that guy ... Yes, Valdyr. If I had the chance, I would
fight Karg for you."
Her eyes widened as if she could not believe he'd actually said that.
She looked as if she might say something, than hesitated, and finally
murmured, "Pityr. What are apricots? ...
He blinked, momentarily confused. Then he remembered telling her that
was how she smelled to him. He smiled.
"They're a delicious fruit from Earth. They're only available a short
time each year, so they're highly prized. They have a wonderful perfume,
and a bowl of them in the warm summer air will scent a whole room. My
grandmother grew
them and we couldn't wait every year until they were ready to be eaten."
"And ... I have this same scent?"
"Yes ... "He leaned closer and deliberately inhaled her odor. Moving
slowly, for fear of shattering the mood between them, he touched her
face, turning it to him, as he allowed his lips to graze her cheek
lightly.
"What.. are you doing?" she whispered, holding per-feefly still.
"Kissing you," he explained, pressing his mouth to the edge of her jaw,
then the corner of her mouth. "Do Klingons kiss?"
"Yes," she murmured.
He met her gaze unflinchingly. "What do you want? Do you want me to
touch you?"
"I want only one male on Qo'nos to touch me," she admitted. He started
to pull back slightly, afraid he'd misinterpreted her interest. "I want
Pityr Kirk ... a human.t ... and a warrior. to touch mew She said it
as if it amazed her.
Then, as if her confession suddenly granted Peter total freedom, he took
the woman in his arms, armor and all, and pressed his mouth against
hers.
The kiss began tenderly, but almost immediately it ignited all the
stored-up emotion of his long days of captivity.
Peter pulled Valdyr fiercely against him, and was aware of her arms
coming up to encircle him with a strength he found exhilarating.
"Hlja'.t" she whispered, between kisses.
"Mevqo', Pityr ..."
There was no way in hell he could stop.
Finally, when they pulled away, she laughed and bit his chin hard. He
yelped and bit her back. And in the next instant they fell upon the
bunk, wrestling, yanking at each other's clothing, rolling over and over
in strenuous love-play that sent them crashing to the floor, laughing,
biting, tussling. Finally, he landed on his back, Valdyr straddling him,
pinning his shoulders to the ground.
"I like this way of kissing. You will teach me this human
kissing, Pityr Kirk!" she demanded before dissolving in laughter again.
He heaved her up and tossed her off him, rolling over to pin her down
this time. "I will teach you this human kissing, Valdyr-oy. And you will
teach me ... ?" He had no idea what to ask for.
She touched his cheek, her eyes glimmering. "Everything, Pityr-oy. I
will teach you everything."
He leaned down and began their lessons ... "Ambassador Sarek?"
Commander Uhura's voice was as cool and professional as usual, but there
was an underlying note of tension in it that made the Vulcan raise an
eyebrow as he activated the intercom in his cabin.
"Samk here, Commander," he replied.
"I have a message coming in for you, Ambassador," she said. "The codes
accompanying it identify it as being from Freelan "The way she trailed
off alerted the ambassador.
"Is it originating there?"
"All the codes are correct, and the directional frequency is right ...
but I don't believe it's actually coming from them.
My guess is that the transmission is being relayed via Freelan from some
other location." nodded. "That does not surprise me, Commander Uhura.
Please patch the message through to me here ... and, if you can do so
without arousing suspicion, trace the actual origination coordinates of
the message."
"Understood, Ambassador," she replied. Almost immediately the comm
screen in Samk's cabin flickered, and, a moment later, he found himself
facing a Freeinn. Despite the fact that Freeinns appeared virtually
identical in their shrouding robes, the Vulcan was certain that his
caller was Taryn. "Greetings," Sarek said, cautiously. "This is
Ambassador Samk.
Whom do I have the honor of addressing, please?"
"This Liaison Taryn," the image's mechanical tones responded, without
preamble. "Ambassador ... I must ask you to meet with me on a matter of
some urgency."
"Where would you like to meet?" Sarek said. "As you have already
discovered, I am not on Vulcan."
Taryn's shrouded figure moved slightly, and the Vulcan thought he
detected tension in the dark form. "Why ... I had hoped you could come
here, as is our custom," the Freelan liaison said.
"When would you prefer to meet?"
"As soon as possible."
Sarek shook his head. "I fear that will be difficult, Liaison.
The ship that is my transport has been diverted to patrol the Neutral
Zone. I will be unable to meet with you until the Enterprise has
completed its current mission. Why do you need to meet with me,
Liaison?"
Taryn did not reply for a long moment. "That trade agreement we
negotiated last month concerfflng kivas shipments," he said, finally.
"My government has overridden some of the provisions I agreed to. I have
no choice but to ask you to reconvene the negotiations."
Sarek raised an eyebrow in feigned surprise. "Overridden?" he asked.
"Liaison, when we met, I trusted that I was dealing with someone with
sufficient authority to negotiate in good faith. I am ... disappointed
... to discover that you no longer have the backing of your
government."
When the liaison replied, the Vulcan could hear the anger lacing his
voice, even through the mechanical tones. "I assure you, Ambassador,
that this is simply a temporary setback. I have not lost the backing of
my government. I do have the power to negotiate in good faith for my
world."
For the first time, Sarek permitted a touch of sarcasm to tinge his own
voice. "Your world? Which world is that?"
"What do you mean?" Taryn demanded angrily.
"My apologies," Sarek said, smoothly. "My mind must be ... confused.
Age catches up with all of us, as the human aphorism would have it. For
just a moment I thought I was speaking with someone else ... a diplomat
from another world altogether, by the name of ... Nanclus. You never
met him, of course. He was executed for treason last month."
"When can you meet with me?" Taryn asked, and the mechanical tones could
not disguise the cold fury in his voice.
"I do not know," Sarek said, honestly. "I will have to consult with the
ship's officers to discover that. I will speak with you again by the end
of today, Liaison."
"I may be away ... at a government conference," Taryn said. "My aide
will take your message, Ambassador."
"Very well." Sarek inclined his head and raised his hand in the Vulcan
salute. "I wish you peace.. and long life, Taryn." ' Without replying,
the Freelan broke the connection.
Sarek sat staring at the screen for a moment, until Uhura's face
flickered into view. "Ambassador Sarek ... I was correct, sir. That
call was patched through Freelan channels, but its actual point of
origin was in a sector of the Romulan Neutral Zone. The exact
coordinates are a few hours' journey from our present location."
Sarek inclined his head graciously. "I thank you for your diligence,
Commander," he said. "I find that information unsurprising ... but ..."
His mouth curved slightly as he thought about his son's reaction." ...
fascinating."
In his office aboard Shardarr, Commander Taryn pulled off his muffling
Freelan cowl and inhaled a deep breath of "fresh" air before turning to
face Savel, who was sitting across the desk from him. "He knows." The
commander's deep voice was grim. "He knows everything. Now he mocks me
with his knowledge. There is no question anymore.
Ambassador Sarek must die ... and as quickly as possible."
Quickly, the commander contacted Poldar over the intercom and ordered
him to plot a course that would take them within subspace jamming range
of the Enterprise.
"Our foremost ships are still half a day's journey away from our present
location, Commander," the centurion reported, when asked.
"What will you do now?" Save/inquired softly.
The commander gave her an enigmatic glance. "Delay, Savel. Make
Enterprise notice me, then hunt me, then chase me ... until it is my
pleasure to turn the tables, and hunt her."
Sayel gazed at him, her eyes wide and haunted, full of silent
apprehension a nd sadness. Where is Soran? If he dies.. I will be the
cause of it ... of all of this ...
"Pityr," Valdyr whispered against the cadet's car, "we have to leave
now."
Peter Kirk groaned, not certain whether he'd actually slept, or simply
lain, half-drugged with exhaustion and satisfaction. The room appeared
the same as it had when they'd entered it, the lantern still
illuminating the dimness, and he had no sense of time.
"Pityr," she whispered, "it is time. We must go."
"Not yet," he argued. "Just a few more minutes ."
She sighed, then relaxed against him. "One more minute," she said.
"Perhaps two. But no more, 7woy ..."
The human stroked her back, feeling the contours of flesh over bone that
weren't quite human. He realized that he ached. I must be covered with
bruises, he thought, remembering what had passed between them and
marveling at it.
Not to mention toothmarks. A faint taste lingered in his mouth, sweet
and somewhat smoky. Peter ran his tongue over his raw, bruised lips. The
faint saltiness of his own blood now mingled with the alien taste of
hers.
He tightened his arms around her, then kissed her again.
He didn't want to leave now. He didn't even want to move, though the
floor they were lying on was so cold and hard that he was shivering.
Finally he raised his head, resisting the urge to kiss her again, to
savor the taste and texture and feel of her strange mouth again ... and
again. "What time is it?"
"It is the middle of our night," she explained, as she picked up her
small lantern. "The few soldiers my uncle left here with Karg should be
weary from searching for us since the midday meal. Karg would've come
looking for me
shortly after I failed to heed his summons. I don't know how long it
would be before they missed Darj. Eventually, someone would've thought
to check your cell." He was surprised to see her grin.
She stood, and began pulling her clothing into place, then redonned her
armor. "They will search the road to Tengchah Jav--the closest
spaceport. Even if Karg were bright enough to figure out that we hid on
the premises--which he's not--he will have to search very discreetly.
Kamarag gave orders that nothing should arouse suspicion from any
official agency of the Klingon government."
"So, what's our plan?" he asked, as he slipped on his boots.
"We will take the tunnels to the farthest exit, and come out in the
woods near the south road. We can stay in the forest and follow the road
to the spaceport. It will be perhaps nine of your kilometers to the
port."
"Can't they scan for me while we're under here?" he asked. "After all, I
am the only human in the nearby vicinity."
She patted a wall. "There is so much scionitc in these walls that
scanning rays cannot penetrate. That is why they cannot follow us
here--to the scanners, this does not exist."
"And once we're out of the tunnels?"
"I have a small tracer for you. It will give off a false
registration--make the scanners think you are another Klingon. Soldiers
carry them so they can be found where they fall in battle, so they might
receive their warrior's ritual. It will mask your readings."
"Suppose we're seen?" Peter asked. He tapped his forehead.
"Don't you think someone might notice?"
"I have a hooded cloak for you," she said. "I cached one here
yesterday." She opened a recessed drawer under the stone sleeping shelf
and pulled it out.
"You've thought of everything," Peter said, "1 think.
What happens when we get to the spaceport?"
"We will have to get past the security gates, and keep a close eye out
for Karg's troops. Then, I will help you find a
ship." She hesitated, glancing at him sideways. "You will escape Qo'nos
... "
"You mean we will. Right?" he demanded, taking her by the shoulders.
"You're coming with me, back to Earth.
Aren't you7"
Valdyr gazed up at him, smiling sadly. "That is what I thought too, at
first. But ... I've reconsidered. Pityr ... be realistic. A Klingon,
on Earth? How could I live? I would be an exile, an outcast, living
among a species that hates my people--even as my people hate yours ...
"We don't have to stay on Earth," Peter insisted. "There are colonies
where even we wouldn't be noticed."
"And your career in Starfleet?"
"Listen, all that time alone in that cell made me think, too, and one of
the things I've realized is that I'm not James T. Kirkwand I never will
be. I want to be myself I'm not cut out to be a legend, Valdyr. I'm just
not cut out for command." He regarded her worriedly. "Valdyr-oy ...
think what will happen if you stay behind! Your uncle ... when he
catches up with you ...
Her exotic alien beauty almost glowed as she responded assuredly, "Do
not worry, Pityr-oy. He will not catch me. I will die by the Heghba',
with my honor intact."
It took the human a second to realize that she meant ritual suicide, and
when he did, his hands tightened convulsively on her shoulders. "No!" he
cried. "Don't even think it?
"I have betrayed my family by helping you," she pointed out reasonably.
"There is no other path left to regain my honor."
"Don't talk like that," he said fiercely, his heart pounding with fear
for her. "You're not doing that! I won't let you!
You'll have to fight me, Valdyr ... !" He stopped, realizing how
frantic he sounded.
Her face was very close to his in the confines of the dusty,
stone-walled chamber. Peter felt her breath touch his face as she said,
softly, "The last time I fought you, I won. But you were exhausted, at
the end of your stamina. I do not think it will be so easy for me the
next time."
He pressed his cheek against hers and held her to him. If that was the
best she could do for capitulation, he'd take it.
But at least she knew if she attempted to stay behind at the spaceport,
he wouldn't give in without a struggle.
"Now, we must go," she whispered and, taking his hand, led him out of
the room.
She led Peter along dark, dusty corridors that twisted and turned
without rhyme or reason. They traveled a surprisingly long time, saying
nothing, with no light but Valdyr's small hand-held lantern.
Finally, the corridor they were in ended in a tunnel that ran straight
up, with an ancient-looking, battered wooden ladder traveling up into
the darkness. Without a word, Valdyr began climbing, and Peter followed
without hesitation.
Finally, she halted, and Peter could see an opening in the stone before
her.
"Good," Valdyr whispered. "They have not discovered this exit. Quickly,
now!" She was out of the opening in seconds, and Peter clambered out
after her. And then for the first time he stood on Qo'nos's soil,
conscious and aware.
Despite Valdyr's urgency, he paused to glance around.
In the darkness, the forest looked like any forest at night--heavy tree
trunks crowding in on one another, with tangled, shapeless underbrush at
their roots. In the daylight, the colors and textures that would make
this forest unique alien--would be revealed, but for now, all that was
lost.
Then Peter glanced skyward--and stood transfixed.
Overhead, washed in gold by the reflected light of the sun on the
planet's other side, Qo'nos's ring arched like a bridge--a broken
bridge. The shadow of Qo'nos bisected the middle of the ring, leaving it
in darkness.
Valdyr threw the cloak over his shoulders and fastened the tracers.
"Pull your hood up," she commanded him. "We must hurry."
James T. Kirk picked his way cautiously down a narrow animal trail,
squinting in the darkness. From the look of Qo'nos's ring, it was nearly
midnight. His night vision was
excellent, almost as good as Spock's. (Unfortunately, the same could not
be said for his regular eyesight--and he'd now gone through so many
pairs of spectacles for reading that Bones McCoy claimed to have
exhausted the supply in all the antique shops in San Francisco.) The
rescue party had had to detour around several large, private estates,
which had nearly doubled their hike through the dark forest. Now,
finally, the trees were thinning ahead of them. "How far are we from
Kmarag's compound?" Jim whispered ahead to Spock. "My sense of
direction has been off ever since we made that last detour."
"We are almost--" The Vulcan broke off, and halted.
"Correction. We are here." Kirk pushed his way through the last screen
of undergrowth, McCoy following him. Together, the little party looked
down from a high ridge, seeing the huge, fortresslike house down in the
hollow, surrounded by both high stone walls and modern security fields.
"There seems to be a lot of activity going on," Kirk said, noting the
brilliant security lights and the presence of many armed figures racing
to and fro.
Spock regarded his tricorder intently. "Peter is no longer within the
compound," Spock said.
"Not there? Then where is he? Did they take him offworld?" Kirk
demanded, startled. Had Kamarag decided not to meet at the rendezvous?
Had the Klingon ambassador somehow discovered that Kirk had no intention
of obeying his instructions, and had returned to execute his nephew in
revenge?
"Peter has vanished," Spock said. "He is not in the compound at the
present moment. However," the Vulcan added, fiddling with his tricorder,
taking readings, "that does not necessarily mean that he is now
offworld. The rock formations in this area contain traces of selonite
... the same material that forms the basis for the cloaking device. It
makes readings impossible. If some of that scionitc-impregnated rock is
between us and Peter, that would make it impossible to scan him." Kirk
groaned aloud. "Just what we need!"
"I believe I should continue scanning," Spock said. "I may be able to
pick him up again ... if he is in the area." Leonard McCoy plopped
himself down on the ground with a groan. "Haven't hiked this much since
Y ellowstone," he grumbled, digging into his belt pouch and taking out a
small flask and container of ration pellets.
The three officers silently shared the skimpy provisions as Spock
continued to study the screen of his tricorder. "Fascinating," the
Vulcan murmured, after a few minutes. "I am picking up something ...
confusing. For a moment I thought I had detected Peter, but now the
human readings are blending and merging ... becoming intermixed with
Klingon readings."
"Where? What location?" Kirk demanded, jumping up.
"Due north," Spock said, pointing. "On the other side of the compound."
"Is it possible that it might be Peter, somehow masking his readings?"
McCoy asked, peering at the tricorder's tiny screen.
"I believe it may be," Spock muttered.
"Well, it's the best lead we've got," Kirk said.
"Captain ... these readings are moving toward the spaceport," Spock
said. "Slowly ... at a walking pace." Spock glanced up at his friend.
"I believe, Jim, that your nephew has not waited for rescue. He has,
instead, effected his own escape." Kirk felt a slow grin spread across
his features. "Well, that was damned inconsiderate of him, wasn't it?"
"Now what?" McCoy wondered aloud.
"Guess our next stop will be the spaceport, too," Kirk said, glancing at
his wrist chrono. "See that ground vehicle that just pulled up there,
outside the security gate?" He pointed down into the hollow.
"Yes, Captain," Spock replied.
"Think you could hot-wire that thing?"
"I believe I can, Captain," Spock said.
"Good. Let's make our way down there ... slowly. Keep
low. Take no chances. We've got plenty of time; we're going to hijack
that car in just about ... forty-five minutes." The three officers
cautiously made their way down the little ridge, crawling commando-style
where they was no ground cover. Finally, they huddled crouched in a
thicket about thirty meters from the guard station. The driver and the
guard were standing outside, talking desultorily. The fugitive trio
waited in silence, until, finally, Kirk glanced at his chrono again.
"Ready, Spock?"
"Ready, Captain." Kirk counted seconds in his head, and then, right on
schedule, came the moment he'd been waiting for. A dull boom erupted
from the forest they'd left behind, and a gout of distant yellow and red
flame brightened the night. Half a second later, the ground beneath
their feet shuddered.
"That's it!" Kirk said, grabbing McCoy and propelling him out of their
hiding place. "Go!" Spock was already racing forward. The guard was
still outside his security station, his gaze fixed on the fire in the
foothills. He never saw the Vulcan's dark figure, never realized that
anyone was there--until a hand clamped onto the juncture of neck and
shoulder, and he sagged, limp.
The driver turned toward his fallen comrade, then launched himself at
Spock's dimly seen shape with a loud war cry. Kirk darted up behind him,
chopped him hard on the neck, then kicked his feet out from under him.
When the Klingon, dazed but still game, tried to get up, the captain
stunned him with his phaser.
The captain caught his breath, then turned toward the car.
"Want me to drive?" he asked, heading for the open door.
"With all due respect ... no, "Spock said, firmly, heading him off. "I
have analyzed the controls with my tricorder, and I would prefer to
drive. Your efforts at chauffeuring during our sojourn on Iotia are
still vivid in my memory." Kirk chuckled as the three would-be rescuers
piled into the ground vehicle. It was a matter of moments to activate
the engine and turn the car. Kirk crouched beside Spock and felt
adrenaline course through his body. He glanced back at McCoy, who was
gripping the edge of the backseat with both hands, holding on as Spock
sent their stolen transportation barreling down the road.
"Jim, how the hell did you know that would happen?" the doctor demanded,
pointing in the direction of the explosion.
"That was the Kepler, "Kirk said. "You told me to give us plenty of time
to get away ... and it came in handy as a diversion." With a sharp cry,
the doctor grabbed the seat again and held on for dear life as the car
slewed around a sharp curve.
"Dammit, Spock, watch it! You're a Starfleet officer, not a chauffeur!"
"Spock, how long till we reach the spaceport?"
"ETA is ... fifteen point seven minutes, Captain," Spock said, intent
on driving. He sent the vehicle skidding into another tight turn,
frowning slightly in the lights of the controls. "This road,
unfortunately, winds about rather than going directly through the woods.
I apologize for the ... instability ... of the ride." Kirk grinned,
feeling the car surge forward. "Just as long as it gets us there before
Peter gets offworld, Spock. That way we'll only have to steal one
ship."
"I shall endeavor to avoid that eventuality," Spock promised gravely,
and increased speed until the groundcar seemed ready to take flight.
Peter and Valdyr had alternately walked and jogged for over an hour
before they reached the edge of the forest, which ran almost up against
the spaceport. The two paused for a moment, staring down at Tengchah
Jav's perimeter security gate--the first of several hurdles they had to
surmount in their quest to get off Qo'nos.
Valdyr glanced over her shoulder, then fished in her pocket, as they
approached the gate. "This gate is programmed to admit any valid
identification," she told him.
He gazed at the security device that would scan the number of people
approaching and only admit those with the proper ID. "That's great,"
Peter remarked, watching her take out a small ID disk. "I don't have
one."
"Yes, you do," she said. "I took Darj's." Handing him a disk, she fed
hers into the scanner. "Before I killed him, I'd wondered how I would
get you past this point."
Peter followed suit, and the gate swung open. Quickly, the two headed
for the nonmilitary side of the port. If they were in luck, they would
find a small, private vessel that was unsupervised while its crew was on
shore leave. "Maybe we can find a trader or a smuggler's ship," Peter
told Valdyr,
"with a Federation registry. Federation vessels have stan-darized
controls. I know I can pilot one of those. What other checkpoints do we
have to cross?" he asked in a low voice, as they hurried along, watching
keenly for any sign of Karg or his troops.
"There is an inside gate that leads to the civilian landing fields, but
it is not always guarded," she whispered. "If there is a guard ..." She
patted her crossbow.
Peter swallowed hard. "Valdyr, there's got to be another way. If there's
a guard ... distract him somehow--act helpless, or something."
She spun, glaring at him.
"Just for a second.t" he argued. "While he's helping you, I'll come up
behind him and knock him cold."
"Are you sure you can?" she asked pointedly. "You'll only get one
chance. Perhaps you should act helpless!"
"Let's not argue technique, okay?"
She nodded, if reluctantly. "Once we're inside that gate, we'll have to
choose a ship. Of course, they are all locked ... "
"I should be able to break the codes," Peter assured her.
"I learned the basics for breaking computer codes back when I was in my
teens, and most freighters--especially the older models--don't have the
most up-to-date security systems."
"That would bern" Valdyr began; then she glanced back over her shoulder
again, only to halt in her tracks. "Lights! A ground vehicle!" she
whispered, shoving the human toward a stack of vacuum-proof packing
crates. "Hide!"
Peter leaped for cover and Valdyr joined him. They crouched, rigidly
still, scarcely daring to breathe. After a
moment, he peered around the nearest container, making sure he was in
shadow. He watched the vehicle as it skidded to a stop. "Someone's in a
big hurry," he whispered, with a sinking feeling in his midsection.
"It is one of Kamarag's vehicles," Valdyr said, with despair in her
voice. "They have tracked us, somehow."
Without discussing it, the two fugitives both took out their disrupters
and prepared for battle. They watched anxiously as the vehicle's doors
opened, and three black-clad shapes emerged. Two were tall and lean, the
other shorter and stocky. They moved furtively, and one kept glancing at
some device in his hand--probably a scanner or tricorder. Peter groaned
inwardly. Valdyr took his hand, gripping it so hard she made the bones
grind.
Then his eyes narrowed as he stared at the three shapes.
The stockier man was obviously in charge ... both of the others turned
to report to him as they searched. There was something about the way
that one moved. Something familiar ... They wore no traditional
Klingon garb that he had ever seen. And none of these figures looked big
enough to be any of Karg's men. The shapes of their heads in the shadows
seemed ...
"We must kill them with the first shot," Valdyr murmured softly in his
ear, "or we will never escape."
He nodded distractedly, even as the three searching figures drew closer
to their hiding place. "Wait," he whispered,
"let them get closer first. We can't afford to miss."
She aimed her weapon, even as he did. But then he lowered the disrupter.
He was too busy staring at the tallest of the three figures. There were
too many things all wrong about this. The tall searcher suddenly moved
through a beam of light, and his face was illuminated. Peter saw a flash
of a familiar arching eyebrow, and the unmistakable curve of a pointed
ear.
Valdyr took deadly aim at the stocky male who was now almost on top of
them. Peter lurched, grabbed her firing hand, and called, "Valdyr, no!"
She turned to him, her face twisted in confusion. The three stealthy
figures turned in unison toward the sound.
Peter surged to his feet, distantly hearing the Klingon woman's shoc ked
growl. She clutched at him, attempting to pull him down, but he yanked
free and bolted away, trying to get clear of the crates. "Uncle Jim!" he
called softly. "It's me! Peter!"
"Peter?" Kirk halted on the pavement, staring wildly around until he
spotted his nephew. "Peter?
The young Kirk launched himself at his relative, and Jim seized his
nephew in a bear hug, nearly lifting the taller man off the ground. They
pounded each other's backs until they wheezed, grinning wildly.
"Gentlemen, I hate to intrude." Spock's cool tones cut across their
emotional give-and-take. "However, if we are to effect our escape, we
must not lose any time."
"I'm with Spock on that, Jim," Leonard McCoy agreed, glancing furtively
around. "We can't afford to get caught now."
"Right," Kirk said, stepping back and regarding Peter fondly. Then the
cadet watched his uncle's expression change to surprise, then alarm.
Peter turned to see Valdyr cautiously emerging from behind the stacks of
crates. She was still clutching the disrupter. All three men wheeled in
her direction, even as Jim Kirk's hand dropped to his phaser.
"No, Jim! Wait! She's with me! That is ..." He paused, collected his
wits as all three men glanced between him and the Klingon woman. He
walked over to the crates and took Valdyr by the arm. He murmured to
her, "Time to holster the weapon." Then, leading her somewhat
reluctantly to the small group, he introduced her. "Captain James T.
Kirk, Dr. Leonard McCoy, Captain Spock ... this is Valdyr. I wouldn't
be here without her. She helped me escape.
She's ... on our side." Peter trailed off, his face growing hot. The
captain stared at his nephew, as if wanting to be sure he meant what he
said.
"So," Valdyr said, eyeing the senior Kirk up and down,
"this is the famous legend?"
The captain looked slightly abashed. "Well ... I am out of uniform ...
"
"I presume she provided you with the Klingon robe," Spock asked,
reaching over to pull an object from it, "and the tracer?"
Peter nodded.
The Vulcan examined the device. "Yes. Here is the cause of those
confusing tricorder readings. It very nearly kept us from locating you."
"It kept Kamarag's men from finding us, as well," Peter explained while
Valdyr glowered.
"I can well imagine," Spock agreed dryly. "It is fortunate that
Federation technology is more advanced than ..."
McCoy elbowed Spock, and the Vulcan abruptly fell silent. The doctor
stepped smoothly into the breach, all his Southern courtliness in
evidence. "Well, if you've been helpin' Peter out, miss, we're all
mighty grateful. Aren't we, Jim?"
Kirk paused for a second, then finally said quietly, "Of course we are.
Thank you for helping Peter. For ..." He glanced quizzically at his
nephew." ... everything ... "
"Not to belabor Spock's point," McCoy added, "but it's time we got
ourselves out of here."
Peter gave him a sharp glance. "Valdyr's coming with us.
Where's your ship?"
Before Jim could say anything, Spock cleared his throat.
"We ... are currently without one."
Peter rolled his eyes. "So we still have to steal a ship?
That's where we were at before you showed up!"
"Miss. ... Valdyr," McCoy said, still exuding polite charm, "do you
know the layout of this spaceport?"
"The commercial freighters and offworld vessels are on that side," she
said, pointing southwest, "and the military vessels are in a shielded
underground hangar--to protect them from meteor showers--over there."
She pointed in the opposite direction.
"I was hoping to find a freighter," Peter said.
"Forget that," Kirk told him. "We're going to need something with a
cloaking device if we hope to get out of here in one piece. A
bird-of-prey should do the job nicely."
Peter's mouth dropped open. Is he crazy? But Valdyr
nodded in agreement. "My uncle's men will not expect us to go for a ship
that would be impossible for two people to pilot."
"Your uncle ... ?" Jim Kirk said.
Peter sighed and nodded. "Her uncle is Kamarag." None of the three
Federation officers said anything for another long moment while Valdyr
drew herself up stiffly.
Peter wondered if any human male in history ever had such an
uncomfortable family introduction.
The entire group climbed back into the crowded vehicle and turned toward
the manned gate half a kilometer away that was the entrance to the
military side of the spaceport.
They drove toward a cluster of outbuildings until Valdyr directed them
into a convenient alley. They were able to position the vehicle so that
the gate was within sight, while keeping the groundcar in darkness. The
group huddled inside began to confer.
"There are two guards," Valdyr told them.
"We can handle that," Kirk said, touching his pocket.
"We're armed. Phasers on stun." Spock, McCoy, and Kirk drew their
weapons. "Spock and I will move along the fence line ... "
"Jim," McCoy interrupted, "you'll be out in the open.
Don't you think they'll see you?"
Kirk gazed out of the vehicle, mulling over options.
"The chances of our approaching the guards without being seen," Spock
informed him, "are approximately ..."
"Spare me," McCoy groaned.
The Vulcan raised a surprised eyebrow.
"There is a simpler way," Valdyr said suddenly, with a sigh. "If your
weapon can stun, then give one to me. I can approach the guards as if I
were--how do you say it?--a helpless woman." She glowered at Peter, who
only smiled back at her. "They will not be expecting trouble from one as
small as myself. When I am close to them they will be easy to stun, and
there will be no chance of them sounding an
Kirk nodded and Spock handed his weapon over to the
Klingon female. When she was out of the vehicle, Kirk regarded his
nephew. "You do trust her, Peter?"
Peter nodded. "Valdyr has not only given up everything--including her
heritage--to save my life, but, I ... I'm in love with her!" He took a
deep breath.
The sudden silence in the car was shocking. McCoy's eyebrows had climbed
to his hairline, while Spock bgan an intense examination of the
vehicle's interior. Kirk gaped at his nephew. Peter swallowed. He had
wanted to find the perfect moment to discuss this with Jim; he hadn't
meant to just blurt it out in front of everyone.
"Does she know that?" the captain finally asked quietly.
Peter shook his head. "She knows ... I care for her. I know she cares
for me. We really haven't had the time or opportunity to have the kind
of meaningful discussions people like to have in a developing
relationship."
There was another uncomfortable pause, and then Spock interrupted "She
is at the gate."
The four men watched the Klingon woman as she sauntered up to the two
guards, twitching portions of her compact form provocatively. One of
them started grinning as soon as he saw her. Peter found himself
wondering how one acted sexy while wearing armor ... but, in a flash of
insight, he realized that the armor itself was exciting for Klingon
males! Whatever Valdyr was saying to the two guards made both of them
focus on her, and lose all interest in their post. This small spaceport
must not see many problems, he imagined. No doubt these two men spent
most of their time bored and restless.
Suddenly, Valdyr arched her back, stared up at the closest guard, and
bared her teeth. He grabbed her by the hair and tried to yank her over
to him, even as the other one grabbed her, pressed himself against her,
and bent his head to her neck. Peter's temper flared and his hand had
grabbed the handle of the car door when Spock's reasonable voice
intruded. "Wait," the Vulcan cautioned. "One moment ..."
No sooner did he say that than the two Klingon guards
suddenly looked amazed, then crumpled to the ground.
Valdyr grimaced, spat on the one who had clutched her, and then
matter-of-factly grabbed the closest by the heels and began struggling
to wrestle him into the guard station.
"That's our cue!" Jim announced, and opened the vehicle's doors.
At the gate, Spock lifted one of the unconscious Klingons effortlessly
and arranged him at his station inside the small building, while the
captain and McCoy struggled with the other one.
Peter grabbed Valdyr by the shoulders. "Are you all right?"
"Uuughh? she grunted. "I had to let those veq-nuj handle me. I'm sorry
now I didn't just kill them!"
"Valdyr ..." Peter said warningly. She gave him a knowing look, then
handed Spock back his phaser.
Suddenly, a mechanical whine intruded, and the entire party turned to
look out the windows at the source of the sound. Feeling a rumble
beneath his feet, Peter glanced over at a portion of the pavement that
was rising into the air, like a huge trapdoor. Distant figures
surrounded a small vessel that was on the platform rising up level with
the landing field.
"Looks like a miniature bird-of-prey," Kirk said.
"That is essentially what it is," Valdyr confirmed. "A small, armed
shuttle, very fast and maneuverable, it usually has a crew of three to
six."
"I'd say that's exactly what the doctor ordered," McCoy said, "if only
we could get to it."
Peter shook his head. "Forget it. I can see at least three crew members
out there, as well as four maintenance staff.
We wouldn't have a prayer of swiping that ship."
Kirk sighed. "Probably not," he admitted. But the expression on his
uncle's face said otherwise.
"A helpless woman will not get you that ship," Valdyr warned.
"No," Jim agreed. "And if we try to take out the crew and the
maintenance staff, even with three hand phasers and two disrupters
against all of them, we'd be spread awfully thin. It
would be hard to get close enough to stun them. These little jobs don't
have much range."
Valdyr lifted her head proudly as the captain casually included her.
Jim continued to eye the ship specula tively. "It'll be tough enough just
taking off, much less avoiding pursuit and setting a course that will
bypass that ring ... "
"What he's sayin', miss," McCoy translated for the Klingon woman, "is
that we're going' for it, soon as he finishes tellin' us how impossible
it is!"
Suddenly, an alarm began to whoop. The crew near the ship looked up, and
automatically the fugitives ducked so that they wouldn't be seen through
the guardhouse windows.
Valdyr pointed excitedly through the front windows, toward the automatic
gate she and Peter had entered with their coded disks.
Several vehicles had just arrived, and armed Klingons, small in the
distance, were aiming heavy disrupter rifles at the gate with its
blaring alarm. Suddenly, the gate blew apart, its metal structure
screaming, its beams and support hardware twisting and shattering. The
Klingons poured through the perimeter, over the blasted chunks of debris
that had been the entrance.
"Karg's men!" the Klingon woman said. "They have finally traced us."
"Karg must've decided that they couldn't capture us undetected, so
they're staging an all-out assault!" Peter agreed.
The warriors surrounding the small bird-of-prey had noticed the
invasion, too, and were pointing at the running figures.
"Stay down!" Valdyr ordered everyone. "Don't let them see you!" Tossing
her disrupter at Peter, she leapt out of the guardhouse, brandishing her
dagger. In Klingonese, she shouted at the men guarding the small
bird-of-prey. "Enemies have come to steal your vessel] Defend
yourselvesv' Waving her weapon at the ship, she beckoned the crew. With
a roar, the ship's crew members drew their own weapons and charged
forward to confront the invaders. With a
mighty yell, Valdyr raced toward Karg's troops, and the soldiers from
the ship followed her blindly.
"Valdyr, no!" Peter yelled, and lurched after her, but Jim grabbed him
roughly by the arm.
"She's bought us the time we need!" Jim told him. "We can't go up
against that firepower with three phasers! Now come on, we've got to get
that ship!"
"She'll be killed!" Peter argued. "I'm not leaving her!"
"Spock," the captain ordered.
"Peter, please," the Vulcan said quietly, taking the cadet's arm in a
formidable grip, "I would regret being forced to carry you to safety."
McCoy was peering out the doorway at the ensuing melee of soldiers
firing at each other. Disrupters whined and crackled. "Time, gentlemen!"
The captain stuck his head out the door to confirm McCoy's diagnosis.
"You've got Peter, Spock?"
"Yes, Captain."
Peter stared at the Vulcan, calculating his chances at pulling away from
the taciturn science officer without leaving his arm behind. Uncle Jim,
McCoy, and Spock left the guardhouse at a dead run, and Peter had to
either move his feet or be dragged. Pulling back as much as possible
against the Vulcan's immovable strength, he turned his head, straining
to see Valdyr, but it was impossible to pick her small frame out from
the mass of huge, fighting men. If he left her this way, he knew he'd
never see her again. He'd never be able to live with himself, either.
"Spock!" he implored. "They'll kill her!"
The Vulean's expression softened just slightly, but he didn't slow down.
"Once we're aboard the ship we may be able to effect her rescue."
Peter told himself that Vulcans never lie, and prayed that the old
saying was true.
He heard the disrupter fire cease, and looked back at the mob of
Klingons. He was shocked to see a number of bodies sprawled on the
ground, dead, and realized that the remaining soldiers, as a group, had
turned and were staring, and pointing, at them.
Spock saw it, too. "That is, if we get to the ship ..."
A loud voice Peter recognized as Karg's suddenly shouted, "HALT,
HUMANS!"
"We can make it!" Kirk insisted, as they drew closer to the ship.
"Halt, now!" shouted Karg again. "Or, we will kill this female maghwl?"
A jolt of disrupter fire charged the air, blasting the ground a few
meters in front of Peter and Spock.
The next blast nearly took off McCoy's leg.
Spock stopped running, and, even so, they nearly piled into McCoy, who
had skidded to an abrupt halt. "Jim!" the doctor bellowed. "Stop,
dammit! They've got our range!" The captain halted, and turned, his face
grim and set.
The combined group of soldiers closed the gap between them. As they did,
Peter shook his arm where Spock still gripped him. "Spock! Let me go!"
Spock stared at the cadet. "If I do, you will do nothing foolish?"
Peter hesitated.
Spock's eyebrow went up; then he sighed, loudly. "Never mind. It was a
poor choice of words. You are, after all, a Kirk." He released the
human's arm.
"They killed the ship's crew, her maintenance staff," McCoy murmured in
a shocked tone.
Peter's heart sank. And now Karg had them all, Valdyr, himself ... his
Uncle Jim. The cadet decided he must be some kind of bad-luck hex. After
all, Uncle Jim had gotten out of a million scrapes worse than this
before. As Karg drew near them, he could see he was towing Valdyr by the
hair.
She was unarmed. There was magenta blood splashed on her arm, and some
smeared on her face, but he didn't think any of it was hers.
"Won't Kamarag be pleased!" Karg gloated as the soldiers drew abreast of
them. "No doubt he's having some trouble finding his quarry in the
immensity of space. When he returns, won't he be impressed when we
present him with not only James T. Kirk and his wretched kin, but also
the gutless Vulcan computer and the butcher who calls himself a
physician! You will all pay for your crimes against Qo'nos!"
Peter heard McCoy murmur a bitter, "Oh, brother ... not again!"
"I have committed no crimes against Qo'nos," the captain said, coolly.
"I only came here to rescue my brothefts son, who is also innocent of
any crime. Besides," he added,
"Chancellor Azetbur invited me to visit her world anytime after I saved
her life at Khitomer."
The watching troops stirred when they heard their chancellor mentioned,
though Karg was undismayed by Kirk's reference. The captain glanced
around at the circle of armed Klingons. "Chancellor Azetbur knows
nothing of your betrayal ... yet," the officer reminded them boldly.
"If you abandon this scheme of Kamarag's now, you can still save ."
"Chancellor Azetbur is our enemy/" Karg bellowed furiously.
However, Peter noted that several of the soldiers shifted uneasily,
glancing at each other surreptitiously. Others glanced around,
uncomprehending, not understanding the captain because they didn't speak
English.
Peter studied them, an idea growing in the back of his mind. Perhaps not
all of these men were totally committed to betraying their government.
There came a time when even good soldiers had to question bad orders ...
The cadet recognized one of them, Malak, and saw that he, particularly,
seemed uncomfortable. In the harsh glow of the spotlighted landing
field, he saw two gleaming weapons on Malak's belt. One of the daggers
was small ... delicate.
He had Valdyr's blade Karg was still ranting. "That slut! Azetbur is a
pretender/ She is ..."
"Appointed by her father," Peter said loudly in Klingonese, raising his
voice to be heard over Karg's baritone, "and ratified by the Klingon
High Command. She is no pretender, but the legal head of your Empire. A
rightfully appointed head of state, who is working toward saving your
planet!"
All eyes turned to him as, dramatically, he swung his hand overhead,
pointing to the ring, the debris of Praxis that encircled Qo'nos. "It's
still there, isn't it? It hasn't gone away, has it? The symbol of your
world's inevitable demise.
You all know that, without the help of the Federation, Qo'nos is doomed.
Your military vessels are housed in underground shelters to keep them
safe from meteors that gouge your world. How many of you have lost loved
ones to the meteors? Is that the way warriors want to die? Being struck
by veq from the sky?"
Peter realized that his uncle, the doctor, and Spock were staring at
him. Even the captain and McCoy, who were probably hearing him over the
Universal Translators they carried, seemed impressed. Several of the
soldiers looked uncomfortable, glancing at Karg guiltily as if wondering
what they were all doing there in the first place.
"Azetbur is working with the Federation to guarantee you a future,"
Peter reminded the Klingons. "She's not dwelling on the past, like this
qoh"--he pointed at Kargm"who thinks that he can make the past into the
future, when anyone who raises his eyes can see that is impossible!
Azetbur, like yourselves, looks up at the sky and reads what is written
there--change. Change and continued life for Klingons and Qo'nos! Your
chancellor wants to make sure there is a future for all Klingonsmnot
just the wealthy ones who can hide in the fortresses, and not worry
about what falls from the sky. Your chancellor is loyal to the people of
Qo'nos--and she needs your loyalty in return. Do not betray her!"
It wasn't a bad speech, Peter realized. He suspected that he had more
than one convert in the crowd.
"Listen to him!" aldyr implored. "You heard from Treegor how he can
fight! He defeated two Klingon warriors at once! Peter Kirk is a
warrior, like yourselves. He speaks from his heart."
"Silence, you lain be7" Karg snarled, and swung a vicious blow at her
face.
Before Peter could react, Valdyr blocked the blow and slammed an elbow
into Karg's midsection, under his breastplate.
Then she punched him hard in the face with the back of her own fist,
making his nose spout blood.
Karg never released the grip on her hair. Enraged, he swore violently
and, in a blur, yanked his dagger out of his belt and stabbed the woman
viciously in the gut, twisting the knife and drawing it up as hard as he
could befor e yanking it out.
Valdyffs eyes widened, but she didn't cry out. Instead, she spat
directly in Karg's face. Blinded, he released her, and stepped back.
Valdyr's eyes rolled up and she crumpled to the ground, her hands folded
over the wound. Blood gushed through her fingers.
The Klingon soldiers seemed stunned by Karg's action, as though they
could not believe that their commander could be so foolish as to kill
Kamarag's own niece.
Peter screamed "NOW and bolted to Valdyr's side, barely realizing that
McCoy moved with him, some medical diagnostic tool already in his hand.
"Valdyr! Valdyr!" the cadet shouted as McCoy swung the tool around,
recalibrated it, swung it again, muttering wildly to himself.
She can't be dead.t he thought frantically.
The Klingon woman's eyes fluttered feebly, finally opened. The dark
light in her eyes was dim, barely focused.
"Pityr ..."
"Valdyr! Hold on! Fight like the warrior you are! Don't give in!"
"Pityr ... ? You must flee ... "
"Valdyr, listen. You'll be okay, just listen. Oh God, Doctor, do
something! Valdyr ... you've got to live. You've got to! I love you,
Valdyr. Do you hear me? I love you!"
A smile flickered across her face, revealing crooked teeth as McCoy
fumbled in his medical kit. He found a hypo, adjusted it, then pressed
it against her neck. "You love me?" she gasped. "This is true?"
"It's true, I swear it before all Qo'nos. I love you."
She nodded. "We cannot weep. But we can love, Pityr.
You are my mate. With you I would take the vow. I love you, too." Then
her eyes closed again, and her head rolled to the side. McCoy cursed
vehemently and gave her something else.
"Bonest' the captain asked softly.
McCoy shook his head, but continued working feverishly.
Peter felt every emotion he'd suffered through and repressed well up in
him and explode in a blinding rage. He touched the blood still seeping
through her locked fingers, then enclosed it in his fist. Clenching his
teeth in fury and bitter sorrow, he slowly rose ... and turned toward
Karg.
"Son, wait," his uncle warned quietly, but Peter ignored him.
Taking a step toward the Klingon, he thrust out his fist, still dripping
with Valdyr's blood, and growled, in Klingonese, "One of you who still
possesses a warrior's honor, give me a dagger, so I may deal with this
traitor who has no pretense to honor left him--to attack an unarmed
fernale.t"
"You would challenge me?" Karg asked him incredulously, shifting the
dagger that still gleamed with Valdyr's blood.
"It is his right," Malak said, stepping forward. "Valdyr has named him
her mate." The soldier removed the woman's dagger from his belt and
tossed it to Peter, who caught it by the hilt.
"It is a good day to die," Peter announced, smiling wolfishly as he
advanced on the officer.
"Peter! No!" Jim shouted, lurching forward.
But Spock caught his captain by the arm before he could interfere,
saying quietly, "Jim. This is a cultural issue."
"Dammit, Spock," Kirk growled.
"It is Peter's choice," Spock reminded him.
Karg charged the young man, his dagger extended. Peter deflected it, and
punched the Klingon hard in the eye with the fist that held Valdyr's
knife. With a second swipe, he opened a shallow cut on the Klingon's
corrugated forehead.
It bled freely. Karg howled, and his eye began to swell and close, even
as the blood dripped down, further blinding him.
Peter spun around the warrior, the small blade licking out, caressing
him as delicately as a lover, nicking his ear.
Flick ... and Valdyr's dagger scored the back of Karg's gauntleted
hand. Flick ... now his cheek was laid open.
The small cuts humiliated the warrior, enraging him past all caution.
Karg lurched forward, stabbing blindly, as Peter
danced out of the way, leaving a razor-thin line of blood along the
Klingon's neck.
The officer recovered himself slightly, holding back, and when Peter
came in again, he sliced the cadet's arm. The human ignored the wound,
though it burned like fire, and, flick--this time the little dagger cut
the small leather strap that held the right side of Karg's armor close
to his body.
The armor flapped annoyingly now, distracting the warrior.
Roaring with rage, he charged the rapidly moving human, but Peter
stepped aside like a matador, and, as he did so, he chopped his fist
down on the Klingon's bull-like neck, deadening the nerves in his arm,
nearly causing Karg to drop his dagger. He aimed a powerful kick at the
soldier's midsection, but Karg was ready, and blocked, numbing his foot
and halfway up his leg.
Limping, Peter staggered out of range, then came back in, and landed a
ringing blow to Karg's chin, making his head snap back. The Klingon's
teeth clacked shut, and blood suddenly poured from his mouth. Before he
could recover, Peter grabbed the healthy mass of hair that was a Klingon
warrior's pride.
"We humans call this 'death by humiliation,'" he whispered in his
enemy's ear. "Think of it as return payment for the way you abused
Valdyr." With a swift flash of her wicked blade, he severed most of the
long hair from Karg's head.
Behind them, he could hear the other Klingons laugh uproariously.
Karg went wild, bellowing and swearing as he charged the human. Peter
sidestepped him, and clubbed him hard where his neck and back joined.
Karg's eyes rolled up, and he fell heavily, face forward, onto the
pavement, then lay unmoving, unconscious. Peter, his rage still unspent,
hovered over the body, sweating, heaving for air. He wanted Karg to get
up, again and again, so that he could beat him to a bloody pulp--then
slice him like a holiday roast.
"Kill him, young Kirk!" Malak urged. "It is your right. He will have no
honor left to him, if you let him live."
No one moved as Peter shifted Valdyr's blade and stared at the back of
the unconscious soldier.
Then a weak, tremulous voice cut the air. "Pityr ..." He blinked, looked
around, saw Valdyr lying on the pavement, with McCoy still working on
her. Her eyes were half-open, her bloody hand raised slightly, beckoning
him.
"Dammit, man!" McCoy snapped at him. "Will you get yourself over here
before she burns up the little reserves she has left tryin' to get your
attention!"
Peter glanced up at Malak. "Karg doesn't deserve any honor. He's a
traitor, a man who brutalizes those who are weaker than he is. Let him
live with the shame of his defeat." He left the unconscious Klingon and
moved to Valdyr's side.
He took her hand as she whispered in a thin voice, "You fought for me?"
"And won," he said slipping her dagger back in its place.
"With your knife."
"My warrior ..." she whispered, and lost consciousness again.
As the Klingon woman slipped back into unconsciousness, McCoy continued
to work on the hideous wound in her abdomen. He worked swiftly with the
tiny electronic microcautery, but she had lost so much blood already!
Jim and Spock drew near the fallen woman. "Bones, will she make it?"
The doctor never looked up, never lost his focus. But before he could
answer, a harsh, accented Klingon voice called out, "This is the man who
killed Chancellor Gorkon?" McCoy glanced up, saw one of the soldiers
pointing at him.
"Now he will kill Kamarag's niece!"
"Not bloody likely," McCoy swore. "I'm not going' to let her die."
The shame of that failure still burned within him. The fact that the
chancellor's death had caused him--and his best friend--to be sent to
that hellhole Rura Penthe was bad enough ... but really, it was the
death of Gorkon himself that upset McCoy. He had never before lost a
patient because of his own lack of knowledge. Working on the chancellor
for those few, futile moments had been the
blackest point in his entire career. To struggle to save a dying man ...
and know so little about his most rudimentary needs ... First, do no
harm, the law of healers said, the law that ruled McCoy's life. After
Rura Penthe, he'd sworn that would never happen to him again. Not ever.
Ignoring the soldier's insult, he focused on his patient.
"In the time since the chancellor's death," Spock suddenly said,
addressing the crowd, "Dr. McCoy has studied Klingon physiology
extensively. He is completely qualified to assist this woman."
The warriors did not seem mollified. Then Malak stepped forward. "It is
well known that Vulcans do not lie."
Does everyone still believe that load of horse-puckey?
McCoy wondered, sealing the wound, and packing it with a sterile,
inflatable foam from a small container in his kit.
The doctor noticed Spock's expression change, as if he suddenly realized
what an opening he'd just been given.
"Warriors, know this," the Vulcan intoned. "You serve Kamarag loyally,
yet even Kamarag does not know that the plans he has made have been
influenced by the mind of an alien. Kamarag's thoughts and plans are not
his own--he is little more than a puppet."
The Klingons all looked at one another, then at Malak, who seemed
stunned.
"Why else would Kamarag," Spock continued, pressing his advantage,
"after three years of silence, suddenly concoct this plan to kidnap
Peter Kirk and lure James Kirk to his death, when James Kirk himself was
responsible for saving Azetbur's life? Did none of you question
Kamarag's motives? Did none of you question his plans to commit treason?
Did none of you question the lack of honor in his scheme?"
Malak answered for the group. "We did have questions, the same questions
Valdyr had from the beginning. But we are loyal to Kamarag's house, as
our families have been for generations. Now I look at what it has
brought us, and I have no answers. We have lost some of our brothers,
and have been forced to kill warriors we had no feud with." He
gestured back at the dead soldiers that had been protecting their ship.
"If we can g et off Qo'nos, and meet with Kamarag," Spock explained, "we
hope to prove to him how he has been influenced, and sway him from his
course."
Malak nodded. "Vulcans do not lie, so I believe you." He looked down at
McCoy. "Do you believe you can save Valdyr?"
McCoy wiped the sweat beading on his brow. "I've got her stabilized ...
barely. If I could get her to the Enterprise, to our sickbay ..."
"Take her," Malak said, startling the doctor. These fierce-looking
warriors were actually going to let them go? Malak looked at Captain
Kirk and Spock. "Take the bird-of-prey.
If you can outrun those who will surely come after you, do so. Save
Valdyr. And, if you can, save Kamarag. Then I will have done my duty to
my lord." He turned to his men, as if waiting for a challenge, but none
came.
"Can we move her?" Peter asked McCoy. The boy's face was nearly white
with worry.
"Carefully," McCoy warned, worried that any sharp motion would reopen
some of those bleeders.
Spock leaned down and asked, "Shall IT' Gratefully, McCoy nodded,
watching protectively as the Vulcan gently lifted the unconscious woman
and stood up with her cradled in his arms.
McCoy trotted alongside Spock as they all headed for the small warbird.
"Spock," Peter said, "I can override the lock, but I'll need your
tricorder." At the Vulcan's nod, Peter unfastened the device from around
Spock's waist, then made himself busy with the lock that would extrude
the gangplank. His fingers flashed over the controls of his tricorder as
he searched for the proper sequence. Suddenly there was a soft thunk;
then, with a hiss of pressurized air, the ramp extended out and down.
Kirk was in the lead, already heading for the ship's bridge.
"Put her here, Spock," McCoy directed the Vulcan, and
the science officer lowered Valdyr onto a padded seat set back away from
the tiny bridge, then went forward. McCoy crouched beside the woman,
checking her wound and reading his diagnostic tool. Everything had held.
The wound was secure. McCoy glanced around the tiny cabin.
Wouldn't this ship have its own medikit, with Klingon-specific drugs and
equipment?
"How bad is it?" Peter asked, his eyes searching the older man's face.
McCoy hesitated. Finally, he admitted, "There's a lot of internal
damage, but, Peter, with her spirit ... if anyone can make it with this
much damage, I'd say she can." Peter nodded, and tried to smile wanly.
McCoy looked up to see Jim hovering over his nephew's shoulder.
"We're going to need you up front, Peter," the captain ordered.
"Aye, sir," the cadet responded and, with a final glance back at Valdyr
and McCoy, moved up to the bridge.
Good, thought the doctor, get him out of my hair so I can get some real
work done.
Peter watched his uncle Jim swing himself into the pilot's seat and
begin powering up the ship. Spock, to Peter's surprise, elected to take
the gunner's seat, leaving the navigation console to the cadet.
Moments later, the tiny shuttle lifted off and swooped upward. Peter
could see the change come over his uncle as Kirk gloried in the small
ship's skyward rush. The cadet called off a course, and Kirk fed it into
the ship's computer.
Suddenly, a harsh Klingon voice came over the intercom, demanding to
know the ship's flight plan, its registration number, and a half a dozen
other required things ships had to have before leaving the spaceport.
Peter found it ironic that even Klingons had bureaucracy.
"Any way we can bluff our way out of this?" the captain asked his crew.
"I can speak enough Klingon, Uncle Jim," Peter told him,
"but I just don't have the answers to their questions."
"Nor do I, Captain," Spock told him.
"Fine," the captain said casually, and slapped the inter-corn into
silence, cutting the speaker off in mid-tirade.
"That's enough of that."
"Company coming," Peter reported tersely, as he watched his instruments.
"Two cruisers."
"Where's the damned cloaking device?" Kirk grumbled, peering at controls
covered by Klingon symbols. "On the Bounty, Scotty labeled everything in
English!" Peter craned his neck to see around his uncle. "It's on your
left, that third switch, with the red telltale beside it."
"It is possible, Captain," Spock warned, "that other Klingon vessels may
well have technology to identify this ship's energy signature, and thus
allow them to track us, even if we activate it."
"Well, it won't hurt to try," Kirk said. He quickly flipped the
appropriate switch. "There it is, Spock ... " Peter felt a subtle hum
course through the shuttle, and the viewscreen changed abruptly,
revealing a view of the planet below that was wavy and distorted, as
though seen through a haze.
The shuttle was almost out of the atmosphere, almost into space, when
one of the ships nearly caught them. "Cruiser at oh-four-three mark
six," Peter announced. "They've powered up their weapons and they're
tracking us!" Spock was setting up the gunher's targeting screen, all
his attention fixed on their opponent. The other ship fired, and the
shuttle shuddered violently.
"Direct hit!" Peter shouted. "Our amidships shield is down by eighty
percent. Another hit there, and we won't have to worry about confronting
Kamarag,"
"What the hell's going on up there?" McCoy shouted.
Quickly, he examined Valdyr. Puce swirls colored the white packing foam
in her wound. Oh no, she sprung a bleeder.t He had no time to check the
Klingon kit, and grabbed his microcautery. The ship suddenly veered
sharply before he could engage the instrument. If that had happened
while he was working in the wound, he could have caused irreparable
damage! He had to have a steady working field.
"Another jolt like that and I may as well throw this patient out the
airlock for all the good I'm doin' her!" he yelled.
He saw Peter turn to look at Valdyr, then heard Jim's "captain" voice
order sharply, "Focus on your job, mister!
Let the doctor handle his patient." The cadet's face flamed as he turned
back around.
Let the doctor handle his patient[ McCoy mentally mocked Kirk's order.
The ship lurched again, then zagged hard right. Bones had to grab
Valdyr's unconscious form to keep her secure in the chair. Handle,
indeed[ he fumed. I'm a doctor, not a damned juggled
"Spock?" Jim Kirk asked, not turning his head to see his officer. "I'm
coaxing every bit of speed out of this ship that I can--"
"Understood, Captain," the Vulcan said, his voice preternaturally calm.
"Targeting locking on ... and firing." The little bird-of-prey shivered
with the force of the blast. S im spared a glance for the viewscreen, in
time to see the disrupter blast score a direct hit on their opponent.
"That's got them!" the captain said exultantly. "Nice shooting, Spock!
No loss of life, but they'll have to break off' pursuit and make a
manual landing. Peter, let's up the stakes on this pursuit. Locate one
of the ring shepherds and plot us a course past it. Find us a way
through that ring." Peter worked at his controls feverishly. "Course
computed and laid in, sir," he reported, moments later, his voice
professionally confident.
"Looks good," Jim responded, standing by to make minute course
corrections. Then the ship shot toward the ring field at maximum speed.
"Cruiser approaching, dead astern! Six-four-three mark nine!" the
captain heard his nephew shout. "They're going to follow us--weapons
targeting!"
"Spock," Kirk said, "remember what happened to the Kepler?"
"I do indeed, Captain," the Vulcan said, targeting his weapons.
The shuttle hurtled into the gap. On their right side, close enough
almost to touch, loomed the huge granite ring shepherd. They were beside
it--they were past itm "Now, Spock!"
"Firing aft weapons," Spock announced, and the little warbird trembled
with the force of the blasts.
The powerful beams shot into the ring shepherd, blowing it apart in a
shower of debris, spreading directly into the path of the oncoming
cruiser.
Shards and chunks of rocks spun wildly, in eerie silence; then Peter's
voice reached Kirk, suddenly exultant. "Captain, the debris has
overloaded their shielding! They're breaking off`?" The Vulcan nodded.
"Even Klingons can understand diminishing returns. Pursuing us at the
cost of their own vessel was not worth the effort. Eminently logical."
"Have you all finished turnin' this blasted shoebox upside down?" McCoy
bellowed from the rear.
The three men glanced at one another in exasperation.
"Yes, Doctor," Jim assured him. Then Kirk turned to look at his nephew.
"Go on back if you want to, Peter. Spock and I can handle this now."
Peter nodded his gratitude and slipped out of the seat to join McCoy.
"How is she?" He still found it hard to believe they'd survived that
flight through the ring gap!
"A little the worse for wear, I'm afraid," McCoy admitted grumpily. He
had an odd-looking kit opened up beside him.
"Fortunately, I found this ship's medical kit. But I'm havin' a little
trouble with the diagnostic tool--language barrier, you know? Maybe you
can help." Peter smiled wanly. He desperately wanted to do something for
Valdyr, anything ... McCoy waved the device over the pale, comatose
woman. Peter translated what he could, giving McCoy the terms
phonetically, since none of them meant much to him, but the doctor kept
nodding and saying, "Uh-huh," as if he at least understood it. McCoy dug
around in the kit, found something and slapped it in his hypo. "This'll
be a big help," he mumbled, as he pressed it to aldyr's neck. "Though,
heaven knows she's got a damned pharmacy in there now."
Suddenly, the woman's eyes fluttered open. "Pityr ..." she gasped.
"He's right here, miss," McCoy told her. "Don't move now. Talk to her,
son, before she starts thrashin'."
"Valdyr." The cadet took her hand, squeezed it ently.
Her retu rning grip was weak, and that shocked him more than even her
appearance.
"My warrior," she whispered, "you cannot only fight ... you can speak
... so well ... like a diplomat ... as well as Azetbur ..."
Peter flushed with pride, knowing the high opinion aldyr had of the
female chancellor.
"I'd say he's every bit as eloquent as his uncle, young miss," McCoy
agreed, checking her signs, and examinin her wound for fresh blood.
Valdyr frowned, blinking drowsily. "Pityr, what am I missing?"
The cadet shook his head, not following her.
"This McCoy, he keeps saying to me, 'miss," 'miss'--what is this I am
missing? I do not want to be missing anything!"
MCOY heard her, and raised his eyebrows. Peter nodded, trying to assure
the doctor it was all right. "It's okay, Valdyr.
You're not missing anything. "Miss' is an archaic title, what humans
sometimes call young, unmated females. It's old-fashioned, but it's a
sign of respect."
Her gaze drifted to McCoy. "Thank you for that respect, Doctor. I did
not think that would be such an easy thing to get from humans."
"You earned that, miss," McCoy assured her. "Now, please, just lie
still."
Suddenly, she turned back to the young Kirk, her eyes widening. "Pityr,
do not forget to tell your uncle ... about Kamarag ... "
"He knows all about Kamarag, Valdyr," the cadet tried to reassure her.
"No," she insisted, "he does not! You must tell him about Kamarag's
fleet. I do not know how many ships, but he had
many officers that he spoke to! Do not let Kirk fly right into his
ambush ... "
"I'll tell him, Valdyr, I'll tell him. You've got to take it easy."
"Pityr, please, kiss me," she demanded, her voice hoarse and breathless.
"If I am to die, I want to take the memory of your kiss with me,
Pityr-oy."
"You're not going to die, Valdyr," Peter told her. "I'll fight death for
you, just like I fought Karg. And I'll win." Gently, he touched her
mouth with his.
She laughed lightly as he did. "Hlja'!" she whispered.
"Mevqo', Pityr "Then she slid back into unconsciousness.
glanced at McCoy, alarmed, but for once the doctor seemed unconcerned.
"It's okay," the older man assured him.
"Her body's shutting down its less important functions, to preserve its
energy. She's holding on."
cadet sighed, relieved. "Call me if she comes to," he asked, and McCoy
nodded as Peter returned to his station.
uncle and Spock acknowledged his arrival as Peter relayed the message
from Valdyr to Jim Kirk about Kamarag's forces.
"Don't worry, Peter. We can still beat him back to the point. We'll warn
Enterprise in time."
"And then what?" Peter demanded, bleakly.
shrugged. "Maybe there will be another ship or two around.
I'll contact Scotty, and have him call for help."
"The nearest starbase is two days' journey away," Peter pointed out
darkly.
"Take it easy for the moment, Peter," Kirk tried to reassure him. "We'll
find a way to handle Kamarag. And, by way, you were pretty damned
eloquent, cadet."
"Thanks, Uncle Jim."
elder Kirk patted the helm and changed the subject. "This is one sweet
little ship, isn't she?" he said to the other two men. "So ..." he
patted the console again, "what'll we name her?"
"Actually, Klingon ships are called 'he,'" Peter said, tightly.
"And he has a name. It's painted on his bow. I
spotted it as we boarded him." His face was as expressionless as
Spock's, belying the turmoil of emotions inside him.
"He's called the Taj."
Spock looked pensive. "Ironic ..." he muttered.
"What does it mean?" Jim asked.
"Dagger," Peter said, a shadow crossing his face.
No one said anything more as Taj flew on, swift and alone in the
blackness.
Hours later, a weary James T. Kirk piloted the Taj into the Enterpriseg
docking bay. Waiting for him in the docking bay was a welcoming
committee consisting of a medical team, a grim-faced Mr. Scott,
Commander Uhura, and Ambassador Sarek.
Within moments a medical team spirited Valdyr away, with McCoy and Peter
in tow. Kirk stood at the top of the gangplank and watched the two of
them, his heart aching a little for his nephew. Peter in love with a
Klingon? But it had happened, there was no denying it. It was obvious
that this was no casual affair; Peter had fallen, and fallen hard. Was
there any possibility of a future for the two of them together? Any hope
of happiness? He didn't know ...
Ten minutes later, once more in uniform, the captain hurried down the
corridor, fastening the flap of his maroon jacket.
When he reached the conference chamber, he found his officers, plus
Sarek, already assembled. Spock, also, was back in uniform. In contrast
to his own weary dishevelment, the Vulcan was, of course, impeccably
groomed and seemed as fresh as if he hadn't played hide-and-seek on
Qo'nos for the past fifteen hours.
Kirk lowered himself into a seat and addressed his chief engineer.
"Status, Mr. Scott?"
"Well, Captain ... I dinna know exactly what's going' on, but something
worrisome is happening. Half an hour ago, we picked up a blip for about
five seconds on our sensors--and then it was gone. Three minutes later,
another ... not far away. Just ... blip, then gone. Over and over,
sir. Never in the same space twice ... but stayin' just barely within
the boundary of the Neutral Zone--th' Romulan Neutral "What do the
sensors indicate?" Kirk asked. "Could it be Kamarag's fleet?"
"Noo, sir, it's not large enough for that. We canna get a full readin',
Captain, because it comes and goes so quickly.
Just bits and pieces. It isna small, that's for sure. I'd say
ship-sized."
"No possibility of it being a natural phenomenon?"
"Noo, Captain. My guess is that it's a ship. A cloaked ship. It decloaks
just long enough to register on our sensors as a blip, then it recloaks
and moves. But never very far away."
"A bird-of-prey," Kirk said, and Scott nodded. "Klingon?"
"Possibly," Spock said, studying the limited sensor data Scott displayed
for their benefit. "But I think not. The ion traces are different from
those we detected from cloaked Klingon vessels."
"And, Captain," Uhura spoke up, "there's something else that's
suspicious about it. The instant we first picked it up, something began
jamming our long-range communications.
We can't send subspace messages, sir."
"Hmmmm ..." Kirk sipped coffee, thinking hard.
"Show me the blips," he said, and Scott obediently called up a
three-dimensional schematic on the conference table's screen. Kirk
studied the pattern as he finished his coffee.
"What do you make of this, Spock?"
"I would like the opportunity to study it further," the Vulcan said,
gazing intently at the screen. Sarek also stared at the screen, barely
blinking. Kirk could almost hear the Vulcan wheels turning.
"What would happen," the ambassador said quietly, "if we were to move
closer to it?"
"We can try," Kirk said. "Mr. Scott, Commander Uhura, please report to
the bridge to oversee maneuvers. Scotty, see how much of an ion trail
our visitor is leaving. Uhura, try and determine the range their jamming
signal has."
"Yes, Captain."
"Aye, sir."
Minutes later, with the two senior officers standing by, Kirk instructed
the helm to head for the last recorded blip at one-eighth impulse power.
"Look!" Uhura exclaimed over the intercom as another blip abruptly
flashed on, then off. This one was deeper into the Neutral Zone by
several hundred kilometers.
"It's like a game," Kirk said, staring hard at the screen.
"They want to lure us into the Neutral Zone."
"A game," Sarek repeated softly, an undercurrent of excitement in his
voice. "Yes indeed ... a game! But not follow-the-leader ... watch
closely ..." The Vulcan's long-fingered hands flashed swiftly over the
computer controls.
As Kirk watched, the three-dimensional schematic was replaced by a
three-level grid pattern--a familiar pattern.
He turned to Sarek incredulously. "A chessboard, Ambassador?"
"Yes," the Vulcan said, his dark eyes shining with pleasure from solving
the puzzle. "And I recognize the game.
Taryn is in command of that vessel. And those moves, those
coordinates--they are identical to the moves Taryn made in one of our
recent games." He shook his head, adding, mostly to himself, "A Vulcan
gambit ... of course he would employ one. A Vulcan gambit ... it makes
perfect sense. I should have realized it before."
"But assuming that is Taryn, why would he come here?" Kirk said.
"Because he wants me. He knows that I have uncovered the Freelan plan. I
spoke to him while you were gone, and I deliberately baited him, trying
to lure him into some reckless action ... as I have done many times
during our
chess games. Now he is responding to my implicit challenge.
He is moving his ship in the pattern of the last game we played that he
won. He employed T'Nedara's gambit, and there"--Sarek swiftly outlined a
series of moves in red--"it is. The exact pattern of his moves in the
game we played."
"How many moves did he make during the entire game?" Spock asked,
obviously fascinated. As they had been speaking, several more blips had
appeared on the schematic.
"It was a long, hard-fought game. Each of us made hundreds of moves."
"Are you sure, Ambassador?" Kirk asked, wonderingly.
"Do you have any other evidence that this is Taryn? When he contacted
you, what did he want?"
"He demanded a meeting between us in the Freelan system. I told him I
would be unable to attend. As I said, I baited him. I could tell that he
was angry, though of course I could not see his features. Now he does
this," he gestured at the screen, "as his next move."
"But if he was on Freelan only hours ago--"
Sarek shook his head. "No. He merely said he was on Freelan. Commander
Uhura confirmed that the message from Taryn was only rout ed through
Freelan communications systems. The actual transmission originated
inside the Romulan Neutral Zone."
On Kirk's order, Enterprise moved again, and again the unseen vessel
responded with a series of moves. "The pattern is exact," Sarek said.
Catching Kirk's still-skeptical glance, he marked a new location on the
screen in purple.
"The next move," he said.
As the Vulcan had predicted, when Enterprise moved again, the blip
materialized for a second in those exact coordinates. Kirk shook his
head. "Okay, let's assume you're right, for argument's sake. But why the
game? What does he want?"
"The game grid for his ship's maneuvering coordinates is not the main
point, Captain. Taryn would probably be surprised to realize that I have
identified the pattern. He is simply amusing himself while he seeks to
draw us closer to his ship ... and away from the rendezvous point."
Kirk turned to the monitor that showed Uhura and Scotty, who were
listening in from the bridge, as ordered.
"Commander, have you discovered the range of their jamming capability?"
"Yes, sir," she replied promptly. "It extends for nearly a light-year in
all directions. We'll definitely have to move to get any kind of message
out."
"Great ..." Kirk said, grimly. "Starbase Eight is two full days away,
and that's the closest help we can expect. And now we can't even get a
message out."
"Captain," Scotty put in, "what I dinna understand is why the devil the
Romulans try to lure you away now, if they're the ones who forced you to
come out here in the first place? It doesna make sense!"
"It does if the Romulans wish to begin a war," Sarek said,
"between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Iftaryn has gone to this
trouble to initiate hostilities, he undoubtedly wishes Kamarag and his
fleet to cross into Federation space unimpeded."
"Good point," Kirk said. "So, really, Peter's kidnapping was almost
extraneous to the rest of this situation. The Romulans inflamed
Kamarag--and this is the form his revenge took. In addition to attacking
the Federation, he decided he had to get back at me, personally."
"That would seem the logical deduction, Captain," Spock said.
Sarek was staring at the growing schematic as if mesmerized.
"We cannot continue to allow them to jam Enterprise's subspace
communications. We must be able to send a message to Starfleet Command
... and the president."
"Why?" Kirk demanded. "I mean ... to request reinforcements, yes, that
I know. But why the president?"
"Taryn must realize now that I know about their plans.
He is trying to prevent me from revealing what I know to Ra-ghoratrei or
your Starfleet Admiral Burton."
"It is fortunate," Spock observed quietly, "that you sent that
time-locked message."
"At your suggestion," Sarek reminded the first officer.
"However, that message may not activate in time to prevent both a
Romulan and a Klingon invasion."
"So ... what's next?" the captain asked, rubbing his forehead.
"What do you mean, Captain?" Sarek asked.
"I mean that you've convinced me that that's a Romulan ship, and that
Taryn is commanding it. But as long as he doesn't cross the Neutral
Zone, I have no authority to go after him. And I can't go far ...
Kamarag is on his way, remember, with that fleet. So what do I do now?"
"Our original goal remains unchanged, Kirk. We must obtain indisputable
proof of the true nature of Freelan, and of the Romulan plot to
instigate war ... and to do that, I must transport over to Taryn's ship
and speak with him personally."
Kirk regarded Sarek, his eyes narrowing. "Slow down, Ambassador. Why
would you want to transport aboard that Romulan ship? Assuming I'd allow
it ... which I won't.
Beaming aboard a cloaked vessel? Something we can't even get a reliable
transporter lock on? That could be suicide.
And even if you survived the beaming, don't forget your destination."
"I am willing to take the risks, Captain," Sarek said gravely. "In fact,
I insist upon it."
"What could you hope to gain from dropping in on Taryn?" Kirk heard the
exasperation in his own voice.
"Two things, Kirk," Sarek said. "First, if I can catch Taryn without
warning, he will not have time to assume his disguise. If I beamed over
and recorded our interview on some type of scanning device, that would
constitute the proof we seek. And, secondly, if Taryn knows that their
plot is known to the Federation, he might be willing to negotiate for
the lives of the Vulcans on Freelan ... allow us to rescue those who
wish to leave that world."
"Why do you think he'd do that?" Kirk asked.
"Because of something I only now realized about the esteemed liaison ...
something I should have deduced long ago. Taryn has a vested interest in
saving those Vulcans."
Kirk gave Spock a "what the hell is going on?" look. The
captain sighed. "All right, I grant you your point about getting your
proof. But why should the Romulans care whether the Federation knows
about their plan? Won't they simply proceed with it anyway?"
Spock shook his head. "Unlikely, Captain. The entire Freelan plan was
dependent on secrecy and surprise ... and on the Klingons attacking the
Federation, thus diverting troops and resources, forcing Starfleet to
spread its defenses too thinly. If the fleet were warned, and war with
the Klingons averted, the Romulans would stand no chance against the
Federation."
"Precisely," Sarek said.
"Okay, I see what you're getting at ... but, Ambassador, I can't allow
you to beam over to that vessel, proof or no proof, kidnapped Vulcans or
no kidnapped Vulcans.
Starfleet would bust me down to yeoman duty for risking a person of your
reputation on such a stunt."
"I am willing to take the risk, Kirk," Sarek replied. "Just as you have
your duty, I have mine ... and it is to do everything in my power to
prevent a war ... or the probable slaughter of transplanted Vulcan
citizens."
Kirk's eyes met Sarek's and held for a long moment.
Slowly, Jim shook his head. "No," he said. "I'm sorry, Ambassador Sarek,
but the answer is no. It's too risky. We can't pinpoint the location of
the ship closely enough."
"Yes, we can," Spock said, suddenly. "If the ambassador can predict its
next location, then I can program the transporter to lock on to the
bridge before it even appears."
Kirk stared dubiously at the Vulcan officer. "Do you think he can
accomplish anything over there, Spock?"
"I do not know," Spock said, quietly. "It depends upon his plan."
"Kirk," Sarek said, earnestly, "I have known Taryn for more than sixty
years. I believe I can predict his actions and reactions accurately
enough to be able to choose the best technique for approaching him."
"They'll shoot you on sight, Ambassador!" Kirk replied.
"Not ifi am beamed onto the bridge, where Taryn can see me. He will not
summarily execute me. He may decide at
some point that that is what he must do, but he will let me speak,
first. And if I can speak with him ... I can negotiate.
If he will not listen, and chooses to kill me ... I am willing to take
that chance."
"The ambassador does not have to go alone, Captain," Spock said,
stiffly. "I am volunteering to accompany him."
You wouldn't even know they're father and son if you saw them like this,
Kirk thought, inwardly shaking his head.
Vulcans!
"Captain," Spock said, "as soon as you beam us aboard, you must use the
diversion to warp far enough away to be out of jamming range. Then you
must transmit the data we will relay."
Kirk hesitated, wavering. Finally, hearing an invisible clock ticking in
his head, knowing that Kamarag's fleet was on the way, he nodded curtly.
"All right."
The next minutes flew by in a blur as Sarek and Spock prepared the
transporter coordinates that would place them aboard the Romulan vessel.
Beaming would indeed be tricky the transporter chief would have barely
a second to fine-tune the location in order to make sure they arrived on
the shipmand not in an area of space beside her, or beneath her.
"This recording device will function automatically," Spock told his
father in the transporter room, fastening a small instrument into place
between two of the large cabo-chon gems on the ambassador's formal robe.
"It will transmit, and the Enterprise will record what it sends. If
Taryn is indeed aboard, and you can induce him to identify himself,
while showing his true features, that should constitute the proof we
need."
"All right. I pick up your transmission, warp out of here, and then
message Starfleet and the president," Kirk said.
"Then what? I've got to come back here and intercept Kamarag. What do
you want me to do about you two? Try to lock on and beam you back?"
"As soon as the message is sent, return to the rendezvous point," Sarek
said. "If my talk with Taryn has been successfully concluded, I will
contact you to arrange for us to
return. If not ... there is not much chance that we will be alive to be
retrieved," he added, matter-of-factly.
Kirk sighed and nodded. I hope to hell this works ... Spock and Sarek
stepped up onto the transporter pads.
The captain nodded at the transporter chief. "Energize."
Sarek heard the distinctive whine, felt the Enterprise's transporter
chamber begin to dissolve around him ...
And then he was materializing again. He saw, with a moment of brief,
intense relief that he was again surrounded by bulkheads. At his side,
Spock was reforming. They had made it. He was aboard Taryn's ship.
As he had requested, Spock had programmed their coordinates to place
them on the bridgema logical choice, since it was one of the largest,
relatively open areas.
The ambassador heard gasps of shock, startled exclamations as the
Romulans recognized both of them. Then, all around them, hands drew
disrupters. In less than a second after they had finished beaming, Sarek
found himself facing seven drawn weapons.
If I am wrong, the ambassador thought, and Taryn is not here--or is not
the man I believe him to be--neither Spock nor I will live another
minute.
But no blast of energy tore through him. Slowly, the ambassador pivoted,
studying his surroundings. The bridge of a bird-of-prey was considerably
more cramped than that of a Federation starship. All around him,
uniformed Romulans sat before instrument consoles, their seats swiveled
to face the intruders, the disrupters in their hands leveled
unwaveringly.
Uniformed Romulans? The Ambassador stared around him in surprise. No ...
not Romulans. At least ... not most of them.
Sarek was astonished to realize that the individuals surrounding him at
the various command posts were not Romulans--they were Vulcans. He'd
been expecting to find at least one Vulcan aboard Taryn's ship--but not
nine of them!
But these officers were, indisputably, Vulcans.
He could tell by the faint mental vibrations they exuded.
On his own world, Sarek was used to that, and, like most of his species,
had learned to ignore it, overlook it, tune it out.
But to encounter it here?
"What is this?" a voice barked harshly in Romulan.
Despite the millennia separating their peoples, the languages of Vulcans
and Romulans still held some of the same cadence and flow, though their
vocabularies and syntax had mutated greatly over the years. Swiftly, the
voice changed to English. "What is going on? Who are you?"
Sarek turned to regard the speaker. "You know who I am, Commander."
The individual facing him, one of the two present who was not holding a
drawn weapon, had to be Taryn. Sarek studied him unblinkingly. Yes, this
was Taryn ... even without the insignia on his uniform, he would have
known him. Everything fit. The arrogance he'd come to know so well shone
in this individual's eyes. Those eyes were dark and hooded amid his
craggy, hawklike features. He wore the uniform of a high-ranking Romulan
officer--a wing commander.
And from him, as from many of the other officers, Sarek sensed now
unshielded mental activity. It also emanated from the young woman
standing beside him, her eyes wide and startled. She, alone of the
bridge crew, was unarmed.
Sarek nodded at both of them. "Commander Taryn," he said. "And Savel? My
aide, Soran, has spoken of how much he enjoyed playing chess with you.
Allow me to present my ... associate, Captain Spock."
The ambassador had seen something flare in the girl's eyes when he'd
spoken of Soran. Recalling Soran's expressed interest in her, Sarek
noted her reaction and silently filed that information away for further
consideration. It could prove useful ...
"What are you two doing here?" Taryn demanded, his voice harsh and
rasping with surprise and anger he did not trouble to conceal. "How dare
you," he almost sputtered,
"invade my ship in this manner?"
"I recognized your game strategy, Taryn," Sarek said, attempting to make
it clear that the commander was responding to that name. He only hoped
that Kirk was picking up everything from the tiny recorder. "T'Nedara's
gambit.
A Vulcan gambit. I took it for a tacit invitation to call upon you." The
ambassador smiled faintly. "A Vulcan gambit, Taryn ... how appropriate,
under the circumstances."
Taryn bolted up out of his seat, and for a moment Sarek knew that his
life hung in the balance. The commander's hand dropped to the grip of
the hand disrupter he wore.
Then he took a deep breath ... another. Forced a faint, wry smile.
"Perhaps I was too clever, Sarek. I did not think you would recognize
the coordinates as being the same pattern as the moves in our chess
game."
"How could I not recognize them, Taryn?" Sarek asked simply. "That was
one of the few that you won. Naturally, I would remember." Exultation
surged inside him. Taryn had responded to Sarek's use of his name, and
he'd made reference to their games on Freelan--which were chronicled in
Sarek's diplomatic records of his negotiations with the Freelans. At
last, he had the proof he had risked his life to achieve.
Leave, Kirk, the Vulcan urged, silently. Take your starship and transmit
the message ...
"Why have you come here, Sarek?" Taryn asked, almost pleasantly. "You
know that I cannot permit either of you to return."
"I came to negotiate for the release of the Vulcans who reside on
Freelan," the ambassador replied. "The Federation has been warned. The
war you attempted to instigate will not come to pass. Starfleet will be
standing ready, should your forces attempt to initiate hostilities. We
both. know that the Romulan Empire is not prepared to take on a
battle-ready Federation ... a strong Federation that is still allied
with the Vulcans." Sarek took a deep breath and glanced slowly around
the bridge, at all the faces of the officers.
"And, finally," he concluded, "there will be no war with
the Klingons." He spoke decisively, not allowing any of his inner doubts
to show. There could still be war, and he knew it--but Taryn and his
officers must not.
"Why not?" Sayel blurted. Taryn glared at her, and she subsided
immediately, but not before Sarek glimpsed relief in her eyes.
"Because Captain Kirk managed to safely rescue his nephew," Spock said,
speaking for the first time since their beam-over. "And, even if
Kamarag's fleet manages to destroy the Enterprise, Starfleet has been
warned. The renegade ambassador will not get far into Federation space
before he is stopped. Azetbur has proved she will not support the
renegades ... your plan has failed."
"Enough of this!" the commander snapped, his temper obviously fraying.
"Why are you here, Sarek? Surely you know your life is forfeit, should I
give the word. What did you hope to gain?"
"The lives of the Vulcans on Freelan," Sarek said steadily.
"As I told you before. You are the wing commander for the Freelan
operation. Only the praetor can countermand your orders. If you give the
word, the Vulcans will be permitted to leave--those that choose to do
so. The Enterprise will take them away from Freelan before bloodshed can
occur."
"Bloodshed?" Savel glanced at the wing commander, and this time his
quelling glance only made her stiffen her spine and repeat her question.
"What do you mean, Ambassador?"
"Consider, Savel ..." Spock said. "What will the praetor do with Freelan
once the Federation president and Security Council know the truth about
your world?"
"If he follows precedent," Sarek pointed out, "he will, as the humans
put it, 'cut his losses." Possibly abandon the colony. And certainly
destroy all evidence of the plot. And the most tangible evidence of what
Romulus planned are the individuals such as yourself."
"In a way, miss," Spock added, "the Vulcans on Freelan can be considered
prisoners of war. The fact that you were born and grew up on that world
does not change the fact that you reside there due to acts of terrorism
and piracy commit ted by the Romulan military. Have you studied
history?" She nodded slowly.
"Then perhaps you can tell me ... how often are prisoners of war
actually returned to their native soil after such a long passage of
time?"
"I cannot think of a single instance," Sarek said, in answer to his
son's rhetorical question. The Vulcan ambassador gazed around him at the
closed, hard young faces of the bridge officers. "It is far safer--and
politically sounder to kill them or allow them to die."
Savel turned to the wing commander, her dark eyes full of distress.
"Would they do that, Vadi?" she demanded.
"Would you allow that?"
"If he does nothing, that is very likely what will happen," Spock said.
"Taryn," Sarek said, his voice deepening, "if we do not take your people
off Freelan, the chances are excellent that they will be considered a
failed experiment--or prisoners of war--and eliminated. Will you risk a
pogrom, Taryn? Will you allow your own people to be slaughtered?"
"My own people ..." the commander repeated tonelessly.
His face was expressionless, but Sarek did not miss the tension in his
jaw muscles. "I do not understand what you mean."
"Certainly you do," Sarek said, holding the commandefts eyes with his
own. "You are as Vulcan as I ... and as Vulcan as they are," he said,
his eyes flicking from one to another of the bridge officers. He pointed
to Savel. "As Vulcan as she is."
Silence fell on the bridge. Sarek glimpsed the surprise in Spock's eyes,
quickly masked. One by one, the young bridge officers turned to regard
their commander. Only Savel did not betray any amazement. She knew,
Sarek thought.
Taryn shook his head, unable to summon words. The commander was pale
beneath the weathering of his features.
"No," he said, forcing the word out. "No!"
"Come now," Sarek said, gently. "It is illogical to deny
the truth. Will you continue to deny your heritage, knowing that you
risk death for the other Vulcans on Freelan?"
The young officers were recovering from the shock of Sarek's revelation.
They stirred and murmured among themselves.
"Even if what you say is true, what could possibly induce me to
relinquish the Vulcans on Freelan?" Taryn demanded, his expression
darkening. "If I did that, I would be committing treason!"
"If you do not, you will be committing murder," Spock said quietly.
"And, in a manner of speaking, genocide. Is that what you wish for them?
Imprisonment and eventual death?" He indicated the officers.
"And for her?" Sarek nodded at Savel. The ambassador was impressed at
how well Spock was handling his part in this--obviously, he had
underestimated his sows abilities in the field of diplomacy.
"No!" Taryn cried, in what was almost a howl of pain. He smashed a fist
down on the arm of his command seat, bending it visibly. "I will not
betray my adopted people. I am Romulan, NOT Vulcan. I have dedicated my
life to the service of the praetor! My Vulcan blood is nothing but an
accident of birth--it means nothing to me!"
"Does Savel mean nothing to you?" Sarek asked, quietly.
He was thinking quickly, wondering what other inducement he could offer.
There was one possibility Taryn, he knew, would not allow himself to
lose face before his crew. "We have known each other for a long time,"
he said. "I know you, Taryn. I am willin to offer you what you want
most, in exchange for the lives of the Vulcans."
"What--what do you mean?" Taryn demanded. Whatever the commander had
expected, it obviously wasn't this.
"The chance to defeat me. Does that tempt you? You have wanted to win in
a contest between us for decades, Taryn."
The ambassador knew he was treading a very delicate line. "One final
contest, Taryn. One last chance to beat me." Sarek fixed the commander
with an intent gaze. "I will wager with you for their lives. A ame,
Taryn. If I win, you allow them to go free, you aree to help me in any
way
necessary to free the Vulcan captives. If I lose ..." The ambassador
drew a deep breath. "If I lose, you will get the battle you desire. I
suspect your fleet is on the way. Time, at the moment, is my enemy ...
but it is your friend. A game will take several hours. Will you gamble
that your fleet will reach here before endgame?"
"A game?" Taryn actually laughed. "A game, Vulcan? Are you insane? We
play for far higher stakes than simply a mere game! We play for lives
here. Are you willing to play the game as it should be played?"
Sarek suddenly realized what Taryn was talking about, even as Spock did.
His son gave him a warning glance. But the ambassador squared his
shoulders. "I am willing to do whatever is necessary to gain the lives
and the freedom of your captives, Taryn. I have the courage to do what I
must." He paused for a long, significant second. "Do you?"
Taryn was clearly taken aback. The officer glanced around at the faces
of his officers, seeing their waiting expressions.
"Old man, you surprise me," Taryn said, and then he smiled ... a
predatory, dangerous smile. "No one has ever before dared to question my
courage."
Slowly, the wing commander got to his feet. Standing, he was taller and
heavier-built than Sarek--and probably at least thirty years younger.
"Very well, then, Ambassador. I challenge you!" His voice rang out so
loudly that Savel jumped.
"I challenge you by the ancient laws and rite of the Toriatal.
T'kevaidors a sketitus dunt'ryala aikriian paselitan ... Toriatal," he
intoned solemnly. Sarek recognized the language as Old High Vulcan.
Taryn faced him, head high. "So ... you want their lives, Sarek--then
fight for them! Win their lives, or your life--and that of your
son's--are forfeit!"
Sarek recognized the words. This was a challenge so old that it was
still common to both the Vulcan and Romulan cultures. The Toriatal dated
back to the days before Surak had brought his message of logic and peace
to their mutual homeworld.
In the ancient days of the Toriatal, two warring Vulcan
nations would, in a land already devastated by conflict, choose
champions to represent them in battle, and agree to victory or defeat on
the basis of that single-combat-to-the-death outcome. At least now the
Enterprise would be safe from any Romulan ship in Taryn's fleet, Sarek
thought.
Under the terms of the Toriatal, a truce remained in effect until the
champions had completed their fight. No Romulan vessel would initiate
hostilities once he agreed to the Toriatal--until the battle was
concluded, and either he or Taryn lay dead.
"State the terms of the challenge," Sarek said, buying time while he
thought. Was this the only way? In any kind of physical contest, Taryn
would be the undisputed favorite.
He was a full-blooded Vulcan, younger, stronger than the ambassador--and
a soldier, in fighting condition. The odds were not good.
"Very well. If you win, Ambassador, I agree that I will release any of
the Vulcans residing on Fredan should they wish to go. I will help you
in whatever way is necessary to allow you to offer them that choice. I
will break off the planned attack, and not initiate hostilities with the
Enterprise. Acceptable?" Sarek nodded. "I understand."
"And, if I win, Ambassador, you agree that your life--in the unlikely
event you survive the challenge itself--and the life of your son are
mine to do with as I please. The ship you call Enterprise and its crew
will be fair game for my fleet, when it arrives." The ambassador turned
to look at Spock. "I am willing to wager my own life in this challenge,"
he said. "But I cannot ethically stake the life of my son."
"What I am staking is far greater than what you are willing to wager, as
it is, Ambassador," Taryn pointed out, truthfully. "A challenge is a
challenge. Do you accept, or not?" The Romulan exuded confidence as he
stood there.
Sarek drew a deep breath. The needs of the many ... he thought, but he
could not do it. Not with the life of his son at stake. Slowly, he shook
his head, and opened his mouth-- "Do it," Spock said in an undertone,
without turning his head. "Accept his terms. If you do not, our lives
are forfeit in any case." Sarek glanced at the first officer, then
straightened his shoulders. "Very well, Commander. I accept your
challenge.
I will fight you in the Toriatal."
"As challenger, the choice of type of combat is mine," Taryn said, a
gleam of anticipation in his eyes.
"Yes." All around him he heard murmurs of anticipation from the young
officers. Only Savel seemed distressed by what was happening. Out of the
corner of his eye Sarek saw her shaking her head as she whispered, "No,
Vadi!" Sarek wondered what kind of duel Taryn would choose.
He hoped Taryn's arrogance would lead him to choose unarmed combat. The
ambassador was an expert at several Vulcan martial arts, including
tal-shaya. In unarmed hand-to-hand, he might stand a chance. Although
Sarek had trained with traditional Vulcan weapons in his youth, and had
become proficient with them, he had not done any sparring with weapons
for years.
Also ... if they fought without weapons, there was a good chance that
neither of them would die. Sarek did not want to die--nor did he want to
kill Taryn.
"I choose weapons, Ambassador," Taryn said, and paused for a beat.
"Specifically, the senapa." The commander sat back with a faint, cold
triumphant smile.
Sarek took a deep breath. The senapa ... the deadliest, most painful of
weapons in the ancient Vulcan arsenal. A combatant could survive one
cut, or perhaps two--if he was strong and received an immediate blood
filtering and transfusion--but three was almost always a death sentence.
"I will prepare myself," the ambassador said.
"You will need a second," Spock said. "I offer myself, Ambassador."
Sarek turned to look at his son, and, finally nodded. "I accept."
Turning back to face Taryn, Sarek gave him the ancient, ceremonial
salute. "As soon as you are ready, Commander."
Taryn nodded. "Fifteen minutes, Ambassador. Savel will guide you to the
gymnasium."
In one corner of Shardarr's gymnasium, Spock quickly prepared Sarek for
the coming combat. Swiftly, efficiently, he stripped off the heavy,
formal robe and hung it on the wall, carefully arranging the folds so
the jeweled borders faced the combat square Poldar and Tonik were
marking off.
When his son leaned close to unfasten the ambassador's undertunic, Sarek
whispered quietly, "How long will it take Kirk to send the message and
return?"
"Approximately an hour, from the time we left," Spock reported, sotto
voce. Then he added, "You are not in any condition to attempt this."
"I am well aware of my limitations," Sarek agreed, bleakly. "If I can
hold out long enough, perhaps Kirk will return. If I am only wounded,
the estimable Dr. McCoy might be able to save me?"
"The closest supply of senapa poison antidote is on Vulcan," Spock
whispered grimly. "It is hardly standard provisioning for starships. I
do not like this. A duel with senapas ... Taryn will have a definite
advantage. He is younger, taller, and doubtless far quicker than you."
"Do not think that knowledge has escaped me," Sarek admitted, with a
flare of mordant humor. "But, as the challenger, it was his right to
choose the contest and the weapon to be used."
"When was the last time you trained?"
"It has been several months," Sarek admitted. "Since before ... before
your mother's illness was diagnosed." Sarek heard his son's indrawn
breath, sensed his apprehension.
It echoed his own. All the commander had to do was stay out of range,
and use his greater reach and faster reflexes to cut Sarek several times
... and it would be all over. Even one cut, the ambassador reflected,
would eventually slow him down ... and, as the minutes went by, and the
poison permeated his system, Sarek would grow dizzy and drop his guard,
thus becoming an easy target.
When he saw Taryn walking toward the improvised challenge square, Sarek
quickly rose to his feet. As was traditional, both combatants were clad
only in short, loose trousers, so that most of their bodies would be
bare--and thus more vulnerable to the poisoned blades.
Accompanied by Spock, Sarek walked to meet his opponent.
The centurion Taryn had addressed as Poldar--another of the transplanted
Vulcans--stood impassively awaiting them in the center of the combat
square. In his arms rested a carved display case, and within it, in
recessed niches, the two senapas. When he reached the middle of the
square, Taryn, with a mocking salute, indicated that the ambassador
should take the first choice of weapons.
Sarek studied the two senapas. They appeared identical; a cur ved,
half-moon blade, wickedly sharp, with a handgrip and a padded rest for
the knuckles, so they would not touch the blade. Sarek selected the
weapon nearest him, grasped it, then stepped back, waiting while Taryn
took the other. He hefted the senapa ... it had been a long time since
he'd practiced with one. It was, of course, a slashing weapon rather
than a stabbing one.
Poldar motioned the two seconds, Spock and Savel, to back away from the
square. Sarek took a deep breath, trying to loosen his muscles. He
rolled his weight onto the balls of his feet, and assumed a balanced
stance, right foot slightly ahead of the left.
"Begin," said Poldar, and Sarek was surprised to hear the centurion say
the word in Vulcan. He glanced at the young Vulcan--and that nearly
proved his undoing, for Taryn, moving with the silent deadliness of a
le-matya, sprang forward. Only his son's reflexive gasp made the Vulcan
leap backward, and he avoided Taryn's blade by centimeters.
Backing away cautiously, keeping one eye out for the boundary lines of
the combat square (for to step over one was to lose automatically and
face execution), Sarek was careful to stay near the middle of the
marked-off enclosure.
A square enclosure was far more dangerous than a circular one--a
combatant could be trapped in a corner, and it was a rare fighter indeed
who could fight his way out of that situation and remain unscathed.
The Vulcan tried a few experimental swipes with his senapa, getting the
feel of the weapon. At one time, Sarek had been able to flip the senapa
in the air and catch it by the handle with either hand--but that was
over a hundred years ago.
Taryn had evidently been sizing his opponent up, for he came in again,
low and fast, feinting to the right, then slashing quickly left. Again
Sarek managed to dodge and twist, avoiding the blade by a hairbreadth.
But the effort left him short of breath ... and Taryn, seeing that,
smiled.
The ambassador continued his slow circle in the center of the enclosure,
watching for an opening. "Step over the line, old one," Taryn said,
mockingly. "Make it easy on yourself."
"Did no one ever teach you that insulting your opponent is the mark of a
coward and a bully?" Sarek asked, keeping his voice maddeningly calm.
Taryn's face twisted with anger, and he lunged again at Sarek. The
ambassador sidestepped, his foot lashing out, tripping Taryn, even as he
brought his unweaponed fist down on the back of his opponent's neck.
With a grunt, Taryn fell forward, but he had been well trained--the
commander turned the fall into a roll, and was back on his feet before
Sarek could take advantage. Taryn eyed his opponent warily, and the
smug, overconfident expression in his eyes had now altered to a look of
respect.
Sarek began planning his next strategy--until he saw Taryn's eyes widen,
and then gleam excitedly. At the same moment, he felt a faint, stinging
burn along his left side, over his ribs. Looking down, he saw the thin
line of green. A tiny slash--but, over time, it would be enough. The
ambassador's breath hissed between his teeth. Deliberately he began
circling again, hoping that Taryn would be content not to close with him
for the moment.
Centering himself, the Vulcan reached inward with his sense of his
physical self. Like all Vulcans, he'd been trained in bioeontrol and
biofeedback. The poison ... yes, it was spreading outward from the
little wound. Just a tiny
amount, but it would make him sluggish, and, eventually, disable him.
Concentrating fiercely, the ambassador managed to slow down his
circulation, stemming the spread of the poison. It was all he could do
...
Tired of waiting for Sarek to succumb to the poison, Taryn attacked
again, lashing out in a hard, flat arc that would have slashed the
Vulcan's throat had he not ducked under it. Sarek came in close, his
elbow up and out, and it struck the commander hard, not in the throat as
he'd planned, but on the side of his jaw. Taryn grunted and staggered
back, but when Sarek attempted to follow his advantage, the commander
kicked him hard in the left patella.
Pain seared through Sarek's leg, and it nearly buckled beneath him.
Somehow, the Vulcan managed to stay on his feet, but he was gasping
painfully. Fire shot through his veins, and for a moment he couldn't
decide whether it was from the poison, or lack of air. Blackness hovered
at the edge of his vision, but several deep, gasping breaths forced it
to retreat.
"You are better than I expected, Ambassador," Taryn said. Sarek was too
winded to be gratified by the sweat that shone on the commander's face
and chest. "But you are in no condition for this and you know it. Step
out, and I guarantee you a quick, clean death with honor. Why prolong
this?"
I must end this soon, Sarek thought. Then a possible strategy occurred
to him, and he began shuffling toward the commander, feigning (he did
not have to playact much, actually) weakness along his entire left side.
Right-handed as usual, Sarek aimed an awkward, underhand slash at
Taryn's shoulder. The commander, as he'd planned, leaped to Sarek's
left, closing in for the kill. Sarek pivoted away from the other's
blade, and then with every ounce of control he could muster, the
ambassador flipped the senapa into the air--
and caught it left-handed.
Taryn was still leaning into his swing, unaware that his
entire side was now a target. With a flick of his left wrist, Sarek
slashed him lightly, along the ribs, once ... and then again.
Two slashes. Enough poison to disable even a strong opponent in a matter
of minutes. Dimly, Sarek heard Savel's anguished gasp. Quickly, he
disengaged, stepping back, still careful not to step into one of the
comers.
Feeling the sting along his ribs, Taryn checked, then stared down at
himself incredulously. Slowly, he looked back up at the weapon Sarek
still held left-handed. The commander chuckled faintly, hollowly.
"Better and ... better ... old one." He was beginning to gasp. "Very
well, then ... finish me. Go ... ahead."
"I have no desire to kill an old friend," Sarek said. "Let us declare
the challenge at an end. All I want are the Vulcan youths."
"You think ... I wish ... them harm?" Taryn's breath came hard, now,
and it was painful to hear. "No ... I never ...
"I did not think you wished them harm," Sarek was quick to say. "Let us
stop this now, Taryn. With a doctor's help, it is possible we both can
survive. I ask you ... as a friend ..."
"Please, Vadi!" Savel cried out, unable to restrain herself.
"No!" Taryn roared, and lunged forward, slashing wildly.
Sarek parried with his own senapa, and the brittle blades rang against
each other--and shattered. Taryn gasped, his eyes rolled up in his head,
and he fell.
Sarek stood staring at him, his eyes widening in distress as he saw the
small streak of green crawl across the commander's knuckle. Three
slashes ... fatal, in all likelihood.
"Where is your physician?" the ambassador demanded, dropping down beside
the commander's still form. "Bring the physician immediately!"
"No ... forbid it ..." Taryn mumbled, his eyes closed.
"Poldar ... take command ... do whatever you must to honor the outcome
... of the challenge ..."
"I will, Commander," the young centurion promised, bending over his
dying officer.
"He might be saved!" Sarek insisted, touching Taryn's forehead, feeling
the life throbbing within his body and his mind--though it was ebbing
fast. "Bring the doctor!"
Poldar steadfastly shook his head. Even when Savel added her voice to
the ambassador's, the young centurion stood firm, obviously determined
to honor Taryn's last orders.
In a final effort to save the commander, Sarek slid both hands around
Taryn's head, instinctively finding the correct points. "Make them bring
a doctor," he ordered Savel and Spock, who was crouched beside him, and
then he sent his mind into the commander's, melding with him, lending
him strength, keeping him alive--at the risk of his own life.
The meld deepened as Sarek poured more mental energy into the dying
commander. He and Taryn shared each other's minds, each other's lives.
In vivid flashes, the ambassador relived events from Taryn's past. The
births of his children. His wedding. His promotions. Their chess games.
Political allies, and deadly enemies ...
But all the while the other Vulcan's mind was growing weaker, weaker,
forcing the ambassador to pour more and more of his own strength into
this last, desperate effort.
Sarek deepened the meld, and felt himself going back, back in time, to
Taryn's youth ... then his childhood. Back all the way to his earliest
memory--one that, even in his dying, weakened condition, filled the
commander's mind with horror and revulsion ... Taryn remembered ...
and Sarek shared that memory, for they were One.
Sarek was Taryn, only his name was different--Sarenw and he was four
years old, aboard his parents' small trading vessel. All the Vulcans in
that sector knew that ships were disappearing ... piracy and hijackings
were assumed to be the cause. Orion slavers roamed the spaceways, and
the tales of rape, pillage, murder, and enslavement were rampant--and
horrifying.
So when their small freighter was suddenly seized in a tractor beam, and
a huge, unknown ship loomed over them, seemingly materializing out of
nowhere, Taryn's parents had made a decision that seemed right to them.
In whispers, his father and mother had decided that they would fight, to
the death if necessary, rather than allow themselves to be taken captive
and probably enslaved. If they were not killed in the fight, they
resolved to link their minds, and use their training in biocontrol to
stop each other's hearts. After long minutes of discussion, they decided
that they must include Taryn in their link ... they did not want their
son to suffer, and growing up as a slave seemed to them worse than not
living to grow up at all.
"Saren ..." said Mother, holding out her hand to her child, who stood
wide-eyed and trembling in the doorway to the tiny control room. "Come
here. Give me your hand."
"Yes, Saren," echoed Father, reaching out for his son.
"Come here. Take our hands." Instinctively, Taryn knew that if he did as
they bade, he would come to harm. Trembling, he shook his head
wordlessly.
"Come now, Saren," said Father impatiently. "You are letting your
emotions rule. We are Vulcans ... fear has no part in our lives. Do you
wish to be a coward?"
"No ..." little Taryn whimpered, tears beginning to trickle down his
face. He hadn't cried since he was a baby, and he was profoundly ashamed
of himself. He was a Vulcan, and Vulcans didn't cry! Or let themselves
be afraid.
But he couldn't help it.
"Saren, my son." Father's voice was stern. "Come here-- now!" The little
ship shuddered as something clamped on to their airlock. Mother cried
out that they must hurry--hurry!
Both Vulcans removed weapons from a locker.
Old-style stunners ... little defense against phasers or disrupters.
"Saren!" Father commanded, coming toward him. "Give me your hand!" The
child's remaining control snapped, and he shrieked aloud, "No! I'm
afraid!" Sobbing with terror, Taryn turned and bolted out of the control
room. It was only after he'd reached the airlock door, and it had begun
its ominous turn the moment he'd touched it, that the child's terror of
the unknown had overcome his fear of his parents, and what they'd
decided they must do.
As the invaders pushed their way into the ship, weapons drawn, Taryn had
bolted back up the corridor. He'd flung himself inside, and was
immediately struck by the stun beam. Helpless, he'd lain there,
unmoving' forced to watch as the invaders in their uniforms had burned
down the door, shot his father with a disrupter, vaporizing him
immediately, and then turned their attentions to his mother. As they'd
reached for her, she'd stiffened suddenly, her eyes glazing, then
crumpled in their arms, dead.
Sarek understood so much now about the commander why he'd issued the
challenge, why he could not abide the charge of cowardice or fear.
The ambassador knew that the commander had locked those memories away,
repressed them until they haunted him only in dreams. You were only a
child, he told the stricken commander. ,,l small child. You are not
responsible for what happened. You could not have changed it. Know this,
and let the pain go ... let it go ... Sarek sensed Taryn's
understanding, sensed that the commander was finally released from the
terror and guilt of that time--but his new understanding would do him
little good, because, despite his best efforts, the Freelan was slipping
away. Sarek clung to the meld with stubborn, dangerous persistence,
clung even when he felt the change, the dissolving sensation seize his
body.
Death? he wondered, dimly. Is this death?
But moments later, he recognized the sensation for what it was--he was
caught in a transporter beam.
James T. Kirk stood in the transporter room, watching Dr. McCoy and his
medical team struggle to stabilize the dying Romulan. "Tri-ox!" the
doctor shouted, and a nurse slapped a hypo into his hand.
Sarek was crouched beside the Romulan, both hands
pressed to his head, clearly melding with him--but, even as Kirk
watched, the ambassador, who was clad only in his undergarments,
suddenly slumped over onto the pad.
"They are suffering from senapa poisoning, Doctor," Spock said, his
voice incongruously calm in the organized melee of the medical team. "It
may be possible to reproduce the antidote." Grabbing a stylus from a
technician, he scribbled a chemical formula and diagram. "This is it."
McCoy quickly pushed the formula at a tech, and the man hurried out to
get it replicated. "What else do you know about how to treat this?" he
grunted, giving Sarek a tri-ox hypo also. "It sure as hell messes up the
blood's ability to carry oxygen!"
"The ancient text mentioned treating it by blood filtration and
transfusions."
"Okay," McCoy said. "Set up sickbay for filtration and transfusions.
Check our supply of Vulcan Q-positive blood.
That's a common type, we should have some on hand."
"But ... he's a Romulan," Kirk said. "Or do they have the same blood
types?"
"I have no idea," McCoy said. "But this one's a Vulcan, Jim."
Spock looked over at the captain and nodded confirmation.
"All right, Spock, you're going to have to play donor for your father
again," the doctor snapped. "Get ready."
"I am prepared, Doctor," the Vulcan said, removing his jacket and
rolling up the sleeve of his shirt.
"Okay, I think they're stable enough to move! Get those antigrav
stretchers over here, Nurse!" the doctor ordered.
The captain. turned to McCoy. "Will he make it?"
"Don't know yet, Jim," McCoy grunted, his fingers flying as he injected
the Romulan with a hypo. "Maybe. These Vulcans are tough ... as well as
stubborn," he added, giving Spock a sidelong glance.
Kirk watched as they loaded both unconscious Vulcans onto the stretchers
and followed them into the hall. He was halfway to sickbay when Uhura's
page reached him. "Cap tain Kirk ... Captain Kirk, please report to the
bridge immediately."
A quick slap on the nearest intercom panel brought him into contact.
"This is the captain. What's going on, Commander?"
Chekov's voice responded, sounding breathless and a little scared. "Sir,
I am picking up ships on our long-range sensors. Ten of them. Coming out
of the Neutral Zone, and heading straight for us."
"On my way," Kirk said, and began running for the turbolift. It never
rains but it pours, he thought grimly. What a time for Kamarag to show
up ...
"Right on time," Kirk muttered to himself as he reached the bridge and
glanced at the chrono. "I suppose punctuality is a must for a diplomat
... "
Chekov turned to regard him questioningly. "I beg your pardon, Captain?"
Kirk shook his head as he headed for his command seat.
"Nothing, Mr. Chekov. Status?"
"We have picked up ten ships coming out of the Klingon Neutral Zone."
"ETA, Commander?"
"Three point six minutes, sir."
"What type?"
"I am scanning four cruisers and six birds-of-prey, sir." Kirk's heart
sank even further. Klingon cruisers were almost a match for the
Enterprise, unlike the smaller warbirds.
The captain turned over plans in his mind ... run for it, try to stay
ahead of them until reinforcements could arrive? No ... because as soon
as they crossed the Neutral Zone, they'd probably split up, in order to
do the most possible damage to the maximum number of planets.
"Commander Uhura, try to hail Kamarag's ship."
"Yes, sir."
Kirk was surprised when the Klingon's ship, the Hohwi;
accepted the contact. Moments later, the ambassador's heavy features
coalesced on the screen. The moment his eyes fixed on the captain, he
scowled, and his glare would have drilled neutronlure. "Kirk ..." he
growled. "How dare you contact me? We have nothing to say to each
other--unless you want to beg me for your life, and that of your crew. I
would enjoy that sufficiently to allow you several minutes for that ...
"At the thought, he smiled, but it was anything but a pleasant
expression.
"Ambassador," the captain said, forcing himself to use his most
reasonable voice, when the very sight of the Klingon made him furious,
remembering how he'd agonized over Peter's disappearance, "we need to
talk. There are some things I have to tell you. Break off your attack,
because you're doing this as a result of alien mind influence.
Ambassador Sarek is aboard, and he has proof of what I'm telling
you--proof I'd be happy to let you see for yourself.
I'm sure that, under the circumstances, if I explain everything to
Chancellor Azetbur, she'll--"
Kamarag interrupted with a sound that was halfway between a growl and a
snarl. "Kirk, you lying, cheating murderer! I know you have kidnapped my
niece and are holding her prisoner. Your thrice-cursed nephew has
attacked my finest officer, Kargl For this you will die in writhing
agony. When I free my niece, she will perform the be/oy' on both Kirks,
and I and my troops will wager as to which of you shrieks the loudest
and longest!"
Turning his head, he addressed one of his officers. "This is an order.
Target Kirk's ship to cripple only--do you understand?
I want him alive! He is mine!"
Kirk, watching, would have found the ambassador's blustering amusing,
under different circumstances. He sounds like one of the villains in a
dime novel, he thought, sardonically.
"Ambassador Kamarag," he began, only to have the Klingon's image
abruptly disappear.
"He broke contact, Captain," Uhura said, unnecessarily.
"Just as well," Kirk muttered.
"Veil," Chekov said, dourly, "I guess that is that. Ve are
the only ship between them and the Federation colonies so I guess've
stay put."
"We'll give them a fight," Kirk said.
Then something occurred to the captain, and he turned to Uhura.
"Commander, open a wide-beam frequency to all those ships. I'm going to
see if some of those other commanders aren't a little more open to
reason."
"Frequency open, Captain."
Kirk took a deep breath. "This is Captain James T. Kirk of the
Federation starship Enterprise. I believe most of you know memas an
opponent, in the past, and as a friend to your Empire in recent days. I
swear to you on my honor as a Starfleet officer that you are following a
man who is under the influence of alien mind control. Kamarag is no
longer thinking independently. If you will break off the attack, and not
intrude into Federation space, I will personally speak to Chance llor
Azetbur on your behalf. Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan is aboard this vessel
and he will speak for you. It is my belief, under the circumstances,
that the chancellor will agree to grant clemency for any commander who
breaks off the attack. I ask you to consider what you are
doing--betraying your own government, to follow a madman. Kirk out."
The ships were almost within firing range. Kirk waited tensely, but none
of them broke formation--the warbirds clustered together in groups of
threes, with the cruisers between them and to either side
"Well," he said, to no one in particular, "it was worth a try ... guess
we go it alone ..."
"Captain," Uhura said, plainly startled by what she was hearing, "we're
being hailed."
"By the Klingons?"
"No, sir ... by the Romulan vessel!"
"On-screen."
The bridge crew watched as the screen flickered; then the oncoming
Klingon vessels were replaced by the features of an officer in Romulan
uniform. "I am Centurion Poldar," he said.
"I am Captain Kirk."
"Yes, I know. Captain, my commander's orders were to honor his word to
Ambassador Sarek. I hereby place my ship at your disposal. I am prepared
to fight alongside you as long as necessary." Kirk glanced at the
tactical schematic, and saw that Shardarr had drifted over until she was
behind the Federation vessel, clearly preparing to defend her from the
rear.
"I appreciate your assistance, Centurion," Kirk said.
"Too bad the odds aren't more even."
Poldar drew himself up. "I stand by my orders, Captain Kirk," the young
officer said expressionlessly. "You will find Shardarr prepared for
battle." He cut the connection.
"Well," Kirk muttered, "that's one for the history books ... "
"Stand by phasers and photon torpedoes," Kirk said.
"Target the Hohwiand fire on my order."
"Aye, Captain!"
As the Klingon vessels came closer, they slowed, and spread out until
they encircled the Federation and the Romulan vessel. Hohwi' was still
the closest. There wasn't much Kirk coutd do about tactics; surrounded
as he was, evasive action would be limited to only a few hundred
thousand square kilometers of space.
His eyes fixed on the tactical screen, Kirk watched the blips, then
snapped, "Fire, Mr. Chekov!"
Two deadly phaser blasts shot out, striking the Klingon vessel's
shields.
"Slight damage to their forward shield, Captain," Chekov reported.
The flagship returned fire, and the Enterprise shuddered violently as
she was struck amidships. "Port shield down twenty percent, Captain."
Oh hell, this is it, Kirk thought.
Just what I need, with a full sickbay, Leonard McCoy thought grumpily,
another damned space battle.t The Enterprise shuddered violently as she
was hit. Beside
the doctor, on the couch where he was lying for the transfusion to his
father, Spock struggled to sit up. The Vulcan had already given more
blood than was good for himmhe was pale and unsteady, but still
determined to gain his feet.
"And where in hell do you think you're going, Spock?" McCoy snapped.
"The ship is obviously engaged in battle, Doctor." Spock was halfway up
now, swaying like a ship in a gale. "I must report to the bridge." McCoy
gave him an evil grin and reached in his pocket for a hypo he'd prepared
specially and been saving, knowing he'd probably need it. "I told you
twenty-six years ago that my patients don't walk out on me during
medical procedures," he said, jamming the hypospray against the Vulcan's
arm. Spock sagged back onto the couch, unconscious.
The ship shuddered again. Leonard McCoy ignored the motion. He was a
doctor, and he had lots of work to do ... "Target Hohwi' with a photon
torpedo and fire, Mr. Chekov!"
"Firing, Captain!" The Enterprise gave a different, more internal
shudder as the weapon was launched. Kirk held his breath, then pounded
his fist on the arm of his chair in disappointment.
At the last possible second, the Klingon vessel managed to evade the
torpedo. Chekov was crestfallen. "A clean miss, Captain." Behind them,
Shardarr fired, catching a warbird and shearing off half a wing. "Good
going, Centurion!" Kirk whispered, just as Enterprise shuddered again.
"Forward shield down to fifty percent, Captain!" Chekov reported.
Kirk groaned inwardly. We're going down this time.
There's no way around it. "Lieutenant, evasive--five-oh-six mark four!"
Enterprise heeled over, but the disrupter blast caught her glancingly on
the saucer. The entire bridge lurched violently.
"One of the birds-of-prey is preparing to fire, Captain!" Chekov
exclaimed.
But, to everyone's utter astonishment, the Klingon vessel wheeled around
like a nervous horse and loosed a blast at Kamarag's ship!
"What the hell?" Kirk demanded.
"Captain, we're being hailed!"
"Captain Kirk? Ambassador Sarek?" A strongly accented voice came over
the ship-to-ship, audio only. "This is Commander Keraz aboard Bahwil'. I
request that you and Ambassador Sarek speak for me and my crew ...
should we by any chance survive this. I will fight with youmand we will
die as true warriors, with honor!"
"Glad you could join us," Kirk said, dryly.
With a graceful dip of her painted wings, the bird-of-prey moved out of
formation and joined the other two ships in the middle of the circle.
"Commander Keraz, Commander Poldaryou stay behind us, and use our
shields to augment your own," Kirk instructed. "See if you can't take
out a couple of those ships for me." Both commanders signaled their
assent to Kirk's plan.
Moments later, the captain was rewarded with a view of S hardarr and
Bahwil' moving in a corkscrew evasive pattern, firing at the warbirds on
the Enterprise's port and starboard sides. Bahwil' got lucky--or its
gunner was extremely skillful. Keraz's disrupters penetrated the
renegade's shields like a phaser slicing rock, and, for a moment, space
lit up with a mini-nova as the bird-of-prey exploded violently.
Kirk shook his head. This is the craziest fight 1 have ever been in ...
look at this! A Federation, a Klingon, and a Romulan ship, ready to duke
it out with a whole squadron of Klingon renegades? I never thought I'd
be fighting battles with Klingons and Romulans, instead of against them!
Enterprise bucked like a spurred horse under another blast from Hohwi'.
"Aft shield down sixty percent, Captain! We can't take another hit
there!"
Kirk glanced at the schematic, saw that Hohwi' had drifted closer to
Shardarr. "Ship to ship, Uhura! Tight beam to Shardarr.t"
"Aye, Captain?
"Centurion Poldar--I want you to fire at Kamarag's ship in exactly
thirty Federation Standard seconds," Kirk said, tersely. "Target
coordinates seven-six-three mark nine. I know she isn't there now--but
she will be! On my mark, and counting!" Without waiting for
acknowledgment from the Romulan, he turned to Chekov. "Target the
flagship on its port side and fire, Mr. Chekov. Targeting coordinates
seven-six-six mark two."
"Aye, Captain! Targeting ... and firing!" As Kirk had hoped, Hohwi'
evaded most of their blast, swinging to port--which brought the cruiser
directly into the line of Shardarr's blast. Fire flared along the
Klingon ship's side, and Chekov yelled, "Captain, she's lost all
maneuvering power!"
"Target weapons array and fire, Mr. Chekov!" The phasers blasted the
listing ship, wiping out her weapons with one shot. The bridge crew
whooped in triumph.
Three down, seven to go, Kirk thought grimly, just as one of the
warbirds fired on them.
Enterprise lurched so violently that Kirk was nearly flung from his
seat. Quickly, he activated his restraint system.
"Captain, we've lost our aft shield," Chekov reported.
"Another hit there, and we're dead."
"Chekov, target that vessel, and fire on my order."
"Aye, Captain?
James T. Kirk drew a deep breath, thinking that it might be his last. He
opened his mouth, said, "Fi--" and stopped in midword.
Suddenly, the long-range scanners showed a huge fleet of ships pouring
out of the Klingon Neutral Zone! Dozens of ships ... "Captain? We're
being hailed!" Uhura's eyes were wide with amazement.
"On-screen, Commander." A gruff, familiar voice filled the air, even as
the forward viewscreen filled with well-known features. "Kirk? This is
General Korrd. The chancellor tells me our former ambassador is giving
you some trouble." The general's fleshy, squint-eyed features were
wreathed in a malicious smile.
Kirk noted the emphasis on the word "former."
"Well, yes, General ... just a little trouble." Korrd guffawed heartily
at the captain's attempt at humor, which, to be frank, did not quite
come off. "Get that Vulcan of yours to man the guns, then!" the general
advised, genially. "He's one Hu'tegh fine gunner!" Kirk glanced at the
sensor array, saw that the renegade vessels were streaking off in all
directions. He realized suddenly that his uniform was sticking to him,
and that his face was covered with sweat.
"Kirk?" It was General Korrd again.
"Yes, General?"
"Looks like I'll have a good hunt for the next few days.
Wish me success, Kirk! Korrd out." The captain cut the connection with a
grin, shaking his head.
The bridge crew looked as though they didn't know whether to laugh or
cry, cheer or curse. Chekov seemed to be doing a little of everything,
mostly in Russian.
"Well, I'll be damned," Kirk said, to no one in particular.
"That was ... close."
The first thing Sarek was conscious of upon waking was that the pain
from the senapa wound was gone ... vanished. He did not have to exert
biocontrol to repress it. The second thing the ambassador realized, as
soon as he opened his eyes, was that he was in the Enterprise's sickbay.
The bed he was resting in was in a secluded alcove.
Glancing around, Sarek saw that his son occupied a bed across from him.
Spock's eyes were closed ... he was breath ing deeply. Asleep.
Events rushed back as the ambassador stretched cautiously.
The fight with Taryn ... beaming over to the Enterprise. McCoy's fight
to save the wing commander. The last thing Sarek remembered was being
hooked up to a blood-filtration device, at the same time as Spock was
readied for a massive transfusion. Spock's blood now coursed through his
veins ... Spock's blood had helped to preserve his life.
Just as it had all those years ago ... Slowly, the ambassador sat up,
then reached for the intercom switch beside the bed. He summoned one of
McCoy's nurses, and, when the man appeared, he made a request.
Minutes later, Sarek held in his hands one of the red volumes of his
wife's journal. Swiftly, the Vulcan flipped through the pages, searching
for a particular entry ... and found it ...
December 7,2267 Sarek is safe ... Dr. McCoy operated on his heart, and
he will be fine--mere words cannot convey my relief. I really thought
that I was going to lose him. Oh, Sarek ... if you weren't in my life
anymore, I don't know how I would go on. I would NOT want to go on.
But, thankfully, I don't have to face such desolation.
Something ... the gods, fate, fortune ... if there is a governing
force to the cosmos, today It was kind.
And today ... for the first time in eighteen long years ... today we
were a family again. It was wonderful.
I had given up hope that those two stubborn Vulcans would ever
reconcile--and, yet today they were both teasing me about logic, and the
glint of humor in Spock's eyes matched the one in Sarek T This evening
McCoy agreed to let ta all have dinner in sickbay, and we ate together
as a family--with an honored guest, of course. Captain Kirk is such a
charmer!
And he knows it, too ... ) It has indeed been an eventful day. I am
tired out, yet I don't want to sleep, yet. I want to savor the knowledge
that we are a family again, and that my son and husband are on good
terms.
Family ... what a lovely word. I don't think there is a better one in
the entire language ... After so many years of enmity and anger ...
family. I pray that their goodwill toward each other will continue.
They are both so stiffnecked, so stubborn./Neither is ever willing to
admit that he was wrong ... especially Sarek.
But today the fates were kind, and we were spared a tragedy. I wonder if
I would truly have hated my son for the rest of his life if he had
allowed his father to die because he felt he could not give over command
of his vessel? Or would I have forgiven him eventually?
Thank heavens I will never have to find out ...
The entry ended there. Slowly, thoughtfully, Sarek closed the journal,
struck by his wife's words, written so long ago.
Amanda could almost have been describing the present situation between
Spock and himself ... Amanda ... he thought, gazing across the room at
his son's sleeping face. Amanda, what shoum I do now?
As it happened, Spock was riot asleep. He lay quietly, breathing deeply,
relaxed, but he was fully aware that his father was reading one of his
mother's journals. As he watched surreptitiously, he saw the elder
Vulcan put the slim volume down with a sigh.
The first officer thought of the events of the previous day, recalling,
with a chill, Sarek's duel with Taryn. Several times, as he'd watched
from the sidelines, Spock had been convinced that the ambassador was
finished ... but always, Sarek had rallied and fought back with a skill
that had surprised and impressed his offspring.
Spock had never realized that his father, the diplomat, had so mastered
the ancient fighting techniques. And then, as Taryn had lain there,
gasping his last, Sarek had melded with him, saving the wing commander's
life. The first officer repressed a surge of envy. His father had never
chosen to meld with him ... but he had not hesitated to join his mind
with a stranger's ...
Glancing around the sickbay as McCoy bustled around in the next room,
checking on several patients who had been injured during the
Enterprise's battle with Kamarag's ship, Spock experienced a strong
flash of djh vu.
The Vulcan remembered that day his mother had come to his quarters,
begging him to go to his father and give Sarek the blood transfusion
that would enable McCoy to operate, and thus save Sarek's life. Amanda
had come to him, had begged with tears in her eyes ... and he, Spock,
had refused to go.
Because of duty.
He had told his mother that he could not, would not go to Sarek, and the
reason he had given her was that duty
demanded that he remain in command of the Enterprise ...
Remembering Amanda's response to his words, the Vulcan raised a hand to
his cheek. For a moment he almost reexperienced the slap she had given
him ... for a moment he could almost feel the sting. Spock recalled
being surprised by the strength of the blow--he'd received many in
fights that hadn't matched its impact.
Duty ... duty ... duty ... The word whispered through his mind,
sounding vaguely obscene when it was repeated enough times to lose all
meaning. Spock glanced over at his father, remembering the way he had
condemned Sarek for doing exactly what he himself had done, twenty-six
years before.
I am sorry, Mother, he thought, not quite sure what he was apologizing
for ... the events of that day twenty-six years ago, or what he'd said
to his father only days ago? He thought he'd grown more than his father.
But had he really?
Perhaps not ... "Spock ..." Sarek's voice reached him. Instantly Spock
sat up and regarded the ambassador.
"I am here ... sir," he said.
"Are you ... well?" the elder Vulcan asked, eyeing him measuringly.
"I am," Spock said. "And you?"
"Well," Sarek said, sounding slightly surprised. "Though thirsty. And
rather weak."
Spock glanced around the sickbay, saw no attendants, and, rather than
buzz for one, got up himself, poured a glass of water, and took it to
his father. "Here," he said, prepared to help the elder Vulcan sit up if
he needed it, but Sarek was able to do so unaided.
The ambassador sipped gratefully at the cool water. "And you, my son?"
he asked, putting the glass down.
"I am well," Spock said.
"The Klingon fleet?" Sarek asked.
"The Enterprise engaged Kamarag's ship, backed by Poldar aboard
Shardarr. "Spock raised an eyebrow. "And it
seems that your old acquaintance Keraz threw in his lot with the forces
of law and order. The captain was in to visit me several hours ago, ,and
told me that Azetbur has promised the commander a full pardon."
Sarek nodded. "What of Kamarag?"
"Enterprise managed to cripple his ship. I gather that Kamarag did not
choose to live through his defeat."
The ambassador nodded. "Loss of life is always regrettable, but ...
perhaps ... this is one time it is better so." The elder Vulcan glanced
over at the other diagnostic couch.
"Commander Taryn's readings are almost normal, now," he observed.
"Yes, McCoy says he's sleeping normally. He'll be able to return to his
ship within a day." Spock gazed at Sarek.
"From what little I heard of what he said to you and Poldar, his
experience during the duel and the mind-meld evidently ... changed
Taryn."
"He is grateful to me for saving his life," Sarek said. "But, even more,
he feels that he has regained his Vulcan heritage, apparently through
our mental link. I gather that his past had haunted him all his life.
When he faced, with me, what he most feared ... it lost its power over
him."
"What will happen now with the Vulcans on Freelan?"
"Taryn will escort us to Freelan and authorize any of them that choose
to leave aboard the Enterprise as free to go," the ambassador replied.
"But after the Vulcans who wish to emigrate are released," Spock
ventured, after a few minutes, "what will happen to Taryn? Do you think
he will come to Vulcan with the others?"
Sarek shook his head. "No," he said, and there was more than a touch of
sadness in his expression. "Taryn will go back to Romulus, to face his
superiors and his praetor. He has not said so, but I know his mind,
now."
"But ... if he does that, he will be executed for treason," Spock said.
"Yes," Sarek agreed, holding his son's eyes with his own.
"But he believes it is his duty ... and, after my recent
actions, who am I to tell anyone not to fulfill his duty, no matter what
the cost?"
The two Vulcans shared a long, unblinking look; then Spock swallowed.
His voice, when he spoke, had a rough edge, like a jagged tear in dark
velvet. "Father ..." The word emerged with difficulty after all these
days. "About what I said after mother's memorial service ..." He paused,
searching for words.
Grief mixed with a touch of hope flared in the ambassador's eyes. "Yes,
my son?" Before Spock could continue, he raised a hand. "I must tell you
that I have thought a great deal on what you said, after the memorial
service. I only hope that my actions did not hasten Amanda's end. You
may have been right when you accused me of going because I lacked the
courage to stay, Spock ... "
"And I may have been wrong, Father," Spock said, forcing the words out.
"I know, now, that my mother's death was inevitable. Remember, Dr. McCoy
told us that she had only days. And ... there is something else I must
tell you "
"Yes?"
"When I told you that Mother could not find peace,
I ... may not have been entirely correct."
Sarek raised an eyebrow.
"I was angry," Spock said, not allowing himself to sound defensive at
the admission, "and what I said, for the most part, was the truth ...
but ... at the very end ..." He had to stop, take a deep breath, before
he could go on. "She relaxed. She even smiled. She appeared peaceful."
Sarek nodded silently, and it was a long time before the ambassador
spoke. Finally he stirred. "Thank you, my son," he said softly. "Your
words have meant a great deal to me."
Valdyr watched Dr. McCoy check the regenerated tissue on her wound. She
had on a bizarre, blue, two-piece outfit one of the female nurses
brought for her to wear until her own clothes could be cleaned and
repaired. The garments were comfortable--too comfortable, she
thought--but they were so flimsy she wasn't entirely convinced they
would survive her normal activities. McCoy had discreetly lifted the top
over her abdomen and was running his hand gently over the new tissue.
She grimaced, peeking at it herself.
"That doesn't hurt, does it?" McCoy asked her, as he poked around.
"Of course not," Valdyr said sternly. As if any Klingon would have
admitted if it did! McCoy looked at her and she could see the amusement
etched on his face." He'd been so kind to her, she couldn't help but
relax around him. "Well," she admitted reluctantly, "it did at
first--just a little. Now, all it does is itch."
"That won't last, miss," he assured her. "Another day or so, and you
won't even know anything ever happened there."
She made a face at him, and he grinned. "How can you say that when that
place is all pale and soft.t"
"As your own cells replace it," McCoy said, "that'll be fixed, too. We
wouldn't want you looking like a patched-up battleship!" The sickbay
doors whooshed open, making both of them turn to see Peter enter the
exam area. The cadet looked at them quizzically, as if wondering if he'd
come at a bad time. McCoy waved him over as he covered the wound.
"However, I should tell you, Valdyr, human males like a little softness
in a woman." He raised an eyebrow at Peter, who gave them an embarrassed
smile.
"Not that one," Valdyr said confidently--and her words made Peter's face
turn crimson.
The cadet glowered at her disapprovingly. "I think you're feeling too
well," he decided.
"She's doing great," confirmed McCoy, "thanks to her amazing
constitution. I take it you're here to take my favorite patient away
from me?"
"Yes, sir," Peter said. Turning to Valdyr, he told her,
"We've got your quarters all prepared. It's time you gave up that bed to
someone who really needs it." At that moment, the doors opened, and Jim
Kirk entered.
"You've had half the ship locked away in here, Bones," the captain
complained good-naturedly. Eyeing Valdyr, the captain smiled and nodded.
"How are you feeling?"
She nodded back reservedly. He had come to her, himself, to tell her of
her uncle's death following the Heghba'. It had been a sign of great
respect, and she'd appreciated it. He had not flinched, either, when
she'd voiced the ritual howl.
Valdyr was coming to think humans weren't nearly as weak as she'd been
led to believe.
"We were just about to inspect Valdyr's quarters, Uncle Jim," Peter told
him. "Dr. McCoy told me this morning she could be released."
Kirk nodded and turned back to Valdyr. "I'm here on official business."
He looked at Valdyr meaningfully. "A little more pleasant business than
the last time, thank goodness. Miss. Valdyr, Chancellor Azetbur has
asked to speak with you."
"With me?" Valdyr said, incredulously. "The chancellor would speak with
me?"
Kirk walked over to the wall viewscreen and tapped a sequence on the
control panel. A Klingon face appeared.
"Tell the chancellor that Valdyr is here, ready to speak with her."
Valdyr's heart was hammering.
Suddenly, Chancellor Azetbur's image filled the screen.
She looked so stern, so powerful, so impossibly noble and honorable that
Valdyr simply stared, transfixed. She reminded the young Klingon woman
of the portrait in her uncle's home. "Chancellor ..." Valdyr finally
managed to whisper.
Azetbur's face warmed into a gracious smile. "Valdyr! It is an honor to
speak with you. And a pleasure."
Azetbur felt honored to meet her? Valdyr's gaped. "Oh, no, Chancellor. I
have no honor ... I betrayed--"
"Nonsense!" the chancellor interrupted briskly. "None of our people has
more honor. You risked everything to save Qo'nos and our people--and you
succeeded. You received an honorable wound in battle. You helped to save
the honor of your family, from Kamarag's attempt to destroy it.
Qo'nos will never forget your sacrifice. While you were recovering, I
have spoken to the people who know you well.
They have told me of your dreams for the future."
Valdyr glanced over at Peter quickly; he was smiling as he winked at
her.
"I want you to know that I, personally, wish to assure you that your
future will be as bright as the one you granted your people through your
courage." Azetbur leaned closer to the screen, her expression softening,
becoming less formal, more earnest. "You were born to be a leader,
Valdyr, and I shall make sure that is what you will become. You will be
trained as diplomat, under my auspices and tutelage. Our Empire needs
people like you to insure her welfare. Our people are facing a time when
they can no longer solve problems the way they have in the past. We need
warriors who will gain our ends with words, not weapons. You are our
future, aldyr."
"MET' Valdyr stammered, but after a second, she managed to regain her
composure enough to say, "Chancellor, you honor me too greatly. I do not
know what to say."
"What is there to say? It is only what you deserve. Kirk has told me
that his ship is currently on a vital mission to Freelan. As soon as his
mission is fulfilled, when you are completely recovered, General Korrd
will be sending a crew to fly the Taj home. He has instructions to bring
you to me, so we may discuss your education, and your future, at greater
length. Grow strong, Valdyr. I will see you soon." And then, abruptly,
she signed off.
Valdyr just sat there, completely taken aback. She'd been resigned to
giving up her life as a Klingon, to adjusting to this new life. Now ...
She looked at the men standing around her. Azetbur must have spoken to
them. She turned to Peter. "You told her ... about me?"
"I told her the truth," Peter explained. "I told her about your dreams
of getting an education, about being a diplomat ... "He trailed off.
"Isn't that what you wanted?"
That was what she'd wanted ... before. Did she still want it? "But ...
if I go back to school ..." She turned and looked at Captain Kirk. Was
this his way of pulling her and Peter apart? She didn't know what to
think.
"Valdyr," the captain said softly. "You're being given a
wonderful opportunity. You're very young. This could shape your whole
life. Think carefully before you decide."
McCoy suddenly stood in front of her. "Come on, Jim.
These kids need time to talk." Nodding farewell, the two older men left.
Peter pulled himself up to sit beside her on the bed. He had said little
so far.
"If ... I do this, Pityr," she said quietly, "then ... we must part
... Is that what you want me to do? You want me to leave you?"
He didn't answer for a long moment; then finally he said,
"Remember that talk we had, where I told you that everyone expected me
to be like my uncle Jim and take the Command track, and you said ..."
"That I was expected to marry and bear children and spend all my time
scheming for their advancement. Yes, I remember."
"Well, you made that sound like a fate worse than death, Valdyr. If you
pass this opportunity up ... that's all that will be left for you to
do. If you married me, and had my children, and worked to improve our
lives--someday you'd wake up and realize you ended up living the very
same life everyone wanted you to have on Qo'nos. And then, I think,
you'd be very unhappy."
The truth of his words hit her hard. But why did her future as a
diplomat require her to leave him? "Why can't our futures somehow ... be
closer together? Why must I be on Qo'nos and you on Earth? Why can't
things be better than that?"
He slipped an arm around her and pulled her close to him.
"I'm not sure it can't be, Valdyr. We'll have to work at it, and we'll
have to be willing to suffer separations ... Did
you know that Mr. Spock's parents are of mixed species?"
"No, I did not."
Peter nodded. "His mother was human." Then he chuckled.
"And his father is a diplomat. What I'm trying to say is, that Sarek and
his wife had to spend a lot of time apart, because of their work. She
was a teacher, and a mother, and that kept her at home."
"I understand about Mr. Spock's patenf s," Valdyr said,
"but what has that to do with ..."
"Us? Well, I just mention that because they enjoyed many years of
marriage, even though they spent a lot of time apart.
It was a good marriage. I've been thinking about them because, well, Mr.
Spock's mother just died ... while Sarek was on this last diplomatic
mission."
Valdyr was startled by that. "That was a difficult thing to do, to serve
with honor while one is grieving."
"Yes, but Sarek is a Vulcan. My point, Valdyr, is that other people
maintain relationships even when they aren't always together. Even when
they have to spend large amounts of time far apart."
"You are saying, if they can do it, that we could, too?" Peter shrugged.
"I mean, if a mere Vulcan can maintain a relationship with a human over
time and space ... what can a Klingon accomplish?"
She rested against him. "Now I know what it is I will be missing, Pityr.
I will be missing you so terribly." She felt him swallow, and knew that
was one of his ways of controlling the emotions he didn't want her to
see.
"We'll find a way, Valdyr," he promised her, hugging her tight. "We'll
find a way to be together. We'll just have to be patient."
Smiling, she let him help her off the bed, and lead her to her quarters.
During the next two days, the Enterprise warped toward Freelan,
accompanied through space by Shardarr. When they reached the fringes of
the Freelan stellar system, the ships dropped out of warp. Sarek
accompanied Taryn to the transporter chamber so he could reclaim his
ship from Poldar.
The wing commander, having a typically strong Vulcan constitution, was
fully recovered from the effects of the senapa poison. He had resumed
his uniform. For the first time, Sarek was able to study his features
freely, without either a mask of fabric or anger to conceal them. The
two Vulcans stood facing each other in the transporter chamber,
while the Enterprise's transporter chief discreetly busied herself with
duties.
"What has been the reaction to your orders to allow the Vulcans to
leave, should they choose to do so?" Sarek asked.
The officer drew himself up, his expression taking on a touch of the old
arrogance. "I am still wing commander. I am being obeyed," he said. "As
soon as I have beamed over, I will send Savel back ... and then any of
my officers who wish to leave. The Vulcans on Freelan have been told to
gather at a central point, so they may be beamed up efficiently. They
will do so."
"Of course," Sarek said, with a touch humor. "They are Vulcans.
Efficiency is in their blood."
"You gave me yo. ur word that Savel will be under your personal guidance
in establishing her new life," Taryn reminded the ambassador.
Sarek raised a hand formally. "I gave you my word. She will be given
every opportunity and advantage it is possible for me to offer."
The wing commander relaxed slightly. "Very well, then. I must go. If you
will wait for Savel, she will not be long."
"Taryn ..." Sarek began, and the officer, who had begun to turn away,
turned back. "Come with us," the ambassador said, aware of a note of
entreaty in his voice he did not entirely trouble to repress. "Your
people will need leadership, you are correct in that. You could provide
that leadership yourself. And ..." The ambassador's mouth quirked upward
slightly. "And we could play chess ... "
A slight smile touched the wing commander's grim mouth. "And have you
continue to beat me? I think not. It is my duty to take Shardarr back to
Romulus, and to face the praetor with what I have done."
"But you know what will happen."
"Of course," Taryn said. "But this is what I must do, Sarek. I am a
Romulan officer. I have lived as a Romulan ... and I will die as one."
Sarek sighed. "I was not expecting anything else," he said.
"But I had to ask ... "
Taryn nodded curtly, then stepped up on the transporter
pad. Again that faint smile touched his mouth, as he lifted his hand,
and, with a slight grimace, spread his fingers into the Vulcan salute.
"Peace and long life, Sarek," he said, quietly--
just as the transporter beam took him.
Minutes later, Savel and Taryn stood together in Shardarr's transporter
room. The young Vulcan woman's features were composed, but her voice
trembled uncontrollably.
"I do not want to leave you, Vadi! Let me go back with you to Romulus.
Perhaps I can bear witness for you, and they will understand."
Commander Taryn smiled faintly. "Understand? The praetor? Why, Savel, I
never knew you to make jokes before ... "
"But ..." She was trembling, thinking of what would happen to him back
on Romulus. "Please, Vadi.t"
"Savel," he said, chidingly, "remember your control. You are a Vulcan,
and under Ambassador Sarek's guidance. He has promised me that he will
sponsor you, until you are ready to take your place on your rightful
world. You must look to the future."
"You are a Vulcan, too," she said, an edge in her voice that betrayed
her anguish at parting from him. "Come with He was already shaking his
head. Taryn drew himself up proudly. "I am a Romulan," he corrected her.
"And I must take Shardarr back to Romulus and make my final report."
A number of the young Vulcan bridge officers were already aboard the
Enterprise, and were leaving with the Federation vessel ... but a
surprising number of the senior officers--including Centurion
Poldar--had announced their decision to accompany Taryn on their last
voyage home.
"Besides," the commander added, "the ambassador will need help to gain
the trust of the Vulcans who have chosen to go home to their native
world. They will need a leader.
You have the strength to guide them, Savel."
"What will happen to the others?" she wondered. At least
fifty of the Vulcans, mostly those who had married into Romulan
families, had chosen to stay.
"They will have to go underground, to live as Romulans for the rest of
their lives." He sighed. "The Plan has failed. I would not be surprised
if the praetor decides to evacuate Freelan entirely. The repercussions
of the failure of the Plan will echo through the Empire for many years
... perhaps decades."
"What will the praetor do?" Savel asked.
"What we Romulans always do in the face of adversity ... pull back,
regroup, wait. The Empire is patient, Savel. That is why it has endured
so long. The Empire will wait, and plan ... until it is time to try
again."
"If only there could be peace," she whispered.
He raised an ironic eyebrow. "If only there could be," he echoed. "But
not today, I fear." He glanced up at the waiting transporter technician.
"Come, it is time."
Savel straightened her shoulders and nodded, her features calm ...
though her eyes were full of anguish. With her bag of personal
belongings in hand, she slowly took her place on the transporter pad.
Taryn gave her a Romulan salute.
"Farewell, vadia-lya."
Squaring her shoulders, Savel hesitantly lifted her hand, spreading her
fingers apart as she had seen Sarek do. "Peace, Vadi ... peace and--"
She broke off. To say "long life" under these circumstances was
ridiculous. "Farewell," she said, instead.
Just as the beam of the transporter began to whine, Savel saw him smile
at her fondly. "Give my regards to Soran," he said, just before she
winked out of existence.
Wing Commander Taryn took a deep breath, squared his own shoulders, and
left the transporter room without a backward glance.
Peter Kirk and Valdyr stood together in the Enterprise's docking bay, at
the foot of Taj's gangplank, to say their farewells. They did not
embrace, because there were three Klingon officers in the doorway,
eyeing them interestedly.
Peter smiled unsteadily at the young Klingon woman.
"You'll get home days ahead of me," he reminded her.
"Uncle Jim finally introduced me to Ambassador Sarek and he said he
would grant us access to the diplomatic corem-net.
I expect to find a communiqu6 waiting when I get back to Earth. I want
to hear all about your schooling, Valdyr. I want to know everything that
happens to you, until we can see each other again. Promise me."
She nodded in turn. "On my honor, I will. You must do the same."
"On my honor, I will."
She gave him a faint smile. "Then ... I wish you safe voyage back to
your world. I know you will pass your warrior's test with honor, Pityr.
You have already faced far worse ... "
"Yes, but then I had you to help me be strong," he said, and for a
moment felt his control slipping. "Farewell Valdyr-oy. Safe voyage.
Until we meet again. May it be soon ... "
"Farewell, Pityr-oy. We will make it be soon," she replied fiercely,
giving him a wartlot's closed-fist salute.
As he watched, she turned and ran up the gangplank. The last glimpse he
had of her was the gleam of her armor, and a final toss of her long
braid.
Hearing over the intercom that the bay was about to alepressurize, Peter
hastily left, without looking back ...
Sarek sat on the divan in the small VIP cabin aboard the Earth-bound
Enterprise, Amanda's journal open in his lap.
The ambassador was rereading the entry his wife had made on the day that
the news of her father-in-law's death had reached her.
April 5,2249 l just received a communiqudfrom T'Pau, telling me that
Solkar died yesterday. He was the last surviving member of Sarek
immediate blood-kin--except, of course, for Spock ... whom Sarek has
declared vrekasht.
I find myself thinking about how lonely Sarek must be. Of course, after
what he did, he deserves to be alone ... but time, I am discovering,
has a way of putting things in perspective.
This past year, as I look back on it, has, in a way, been a good one. It
was a thrill to go back to teaching, and, because of my celebrity
(notoriety?), I've been given the best and brightest that Earth had to
offer. My students have been wonderful--watching them grow and expand
their horizons has been so rewarding.
Also, living here in San Francisco while Spock attends
Starfleet Academy has been a good opportunity to renew closeness with my
son.
It was also good to spend time with More and Dad ... Aunt Matilda
passed away this year, and she was younger than Dad ... it made me
realize, for the first time, that roy parents will not go on forever.
Neither will I, come to think of it.
Neither will Sarek.
It's funny how death puts things in perspective. I think ... I think
it's time to go home to Vulcan. Spock will soon, as second-year cadet,
be going off on training missions. He has made the admittedly difficult
adjustment to living in close quarters with so many human students, and
he is finally beginning to make a few friends.
He doesn't need me here anymore ... he needs the company of people his
own age, cadets who are learning the things he is learning.
And, of course, there is the thought of Sarek, alone.
When I asked T'Pau, rather hesitantly, how Sarek was these days, she
stared straight at me, her imperious expression unchanged--but her
words, uttered in her slightly lisping, accented speech, surprised me.
"Thee asks how Sarek is, Amanda? In all this year of exile from thy
homeworld, thee hast never asked. Why now?"
'7 ask because I know how Sarek wouldgrieve for his father, T'Pau," I
said, regarding her s teadily. am ... concerned about his welfare."
Her black eyes blinked at me, from out of her bony, once-beautiful
features. "Thee is right, Amanda. Sarek grieves for Solkar ... but he
grieves a hundredfom more for thee."
Her bluntness startled me. "Really?" I murmured, unable to think what to
say, trying to repress the stab of anguish her words brought.
T'Pau paused, then stared straight at me. "Wilt thee attend Solkar's
memorial service, Amanda? If thee tells me thee wishes to attend, I will
delay the service until thee can come home."
Home. She said home in referring to Vulcan. T'Pau sam that, to me ... an
ojworlder. My breath caught in my throat as I remembered so much ... the
beauty, the desolation, the heat ... Sarek g arms around me, the
closeness of our bodies no more intimate than that of the bond we share
...
For the first time in a year, I allowed myself to sense Sarek mind
through the bond. It was always there, of course, in the back of my
mind--I'd have known if anything had happened to him. But I've been too
angry to let myself touch his mind. And, of course, I'm not a telepath,
so my ability is limited ...
But I sensed him. And what I sensed made tears stream down my face.
She didn't even avert her eyes from the sight of so much rampant
emotionalism when I wept. When I managed to regain my control, she said,
only, "Wilt thee come home, Amanda?"
I nodded at her, and she gave me the date, location, and time of the
service, then cut the connection.
So now ... I must pack, and board the transport. I have only a few
hours to finish, so I can't spend any more time on this journal until
I'm bound for Vulcan.
Sarek, I am coming back to you. I have learned a great deal this past
year, and one of the things I have learned is that in punishing you, I
was punishing myself just as much. It is no longer worth it.
If I know you--and l do--you won't ever bring up the subject of my
selfimposed exile J?om you and Vulcan.
You'll simply want to go back to the way things were--except that our
son will not be part of our family anymore, as far as you're concerned.
Can I live with that? Yes, I believe I can. You see, ifi can forgive
you, then I have to believe that you and Spock will, someday, forgive
each other.
I must hurry ... time and that transport won't wait ...
Sarek closed the volume and sighed. It was painful to read those words
... to think of the time they had spent apart, and of how he would give
up nearly everything he possessed to regain that lost year. Putting that
volume aside, he picked up the next, then located the spot where he'd
left off the night before. Noting the date on the next entry, the
ambassador steeled himself to read what she had written.
March 14,2285 No entry for three days ... I can scarcely see to write
this ... I am so tired that I ache all over, but every time I lie down
and close my eyes, the images I see are too awful to bear. So, after
dozing for the first time in days, I am awake barely an hour later,
writing ... because doing nothing is even worse.
Is there a God?If there is a Supreme Being, how could he, she, it, or
they allow this to happen?
My son is dead. Spock is ... dead. Writing those words ... I am
trembling, shaking, and my heart feels as though some giant is squeezing
it in an inexorable fist. Spock, dead? It seems impossible. I keep
thinking there has been some mistake, that Starfleet will call us and
tell us it isn't true. How can it be true? Spock is--oh god, was--half-
Vulcan.t I expected him to outlive me for decades! Why did this have to
happen, why? My child, dead? How could this happen?
Of course I know how it happened. Even in the midst of my own anguish I
could find it in my heart to pity poor Jim Kirk ... he tried so hard to
break it gently. Spock was his best friend, they were so close, serving
together all these years. I could tell that the captain had been crying
too ... Sarek did not cry, of course. I found myself, for a moment,
hating him for that. As though his lack of human tears meant that he did
not care for Spock ... when I know that he did care, that our son was
the most important person in the galaxy to him ... except, possibly,
for me. I stared at him, the tears welling up and coursing down my face,
sobs racking me until it seemed that my bo could not hold them--and I
came so close to lashing out at him. For a horrible instant I wanted to
slap him, scream at him, and demand that he weep for our son ... I am
thankful that I did not. I would never have forgiven myself That would
have made an intolerable situation even worse.
Sarek takes comfort in the fact that Spock died well, in the performance
of his duty, sacrificing himself to save his shipmates. A hero, to use
the human term ... a word which does not translate into modern Vulcan.
But there is no comfort for me. Last night I clutched myself, rocking
back and forth, feeling as though I might explode with sorrow. Sarek
came and sat beside me, trying to comfort me with his presence. He
rested his hand on mine, silently, and ,,hen herinally spoke, it was
only to say the traditional words ... "My wife, I grieve with thee ...
" I know he does. But I feel that a mother's love is stronger, and thus
her grief is also greater. Illogical perhaps ... but true, I know it.
Spock, my son ... if only you had died on Vulcan!
Then you would not be lost to us forever. At least your living spirit,
your katra, could have been saved, could have been placed in the Hall of
Ancient Thought. If oly--
Abruptly, the precise, elegant handwriting broke off.
Sarek knew why. Vividly, he remembered the afternoon his wife had burst
into his study, her reddened eyes wide and wild ...
"Sarek?" Amanda's normally cultured, lovely voice shattered like fine
crystal in the stillness. "What about Spock's katra? It wouldn't have
died with his body, if he found someone to entrust it to ... his living
spirit could still be found!" Sarek turned from his computer terminal to
see his wife standing in the doorway, clutching it with both hands, as
though she might fall without the support. She was wearing a dressing
gown pulled carelessly over her nightdress, and her hair was mussed, in
contrast to her usual impeccable grooming.
Amanda's eyes flashed with incredulous hope as she continued,
breathlessly, "From what James Kirk told us, our son knew his actions
would kill him--so he would certainly have established the mental link
necessary to entrust his katra when he died! Spock was a good
telepath--he could have done it very quickly."
"But Kirk did not mention--" Sarek began, reasonably.
"Kirk's human!" Amanda burst out. "He may not even know what he holds in
his mind! Most humans wouldn't--oh, Sarek, if there's even a chance--"
She gazed at her husband pleadingly. "--even a small chance, we can't
afford to ignore it! We're talking about our son's living spirit--what
humans would call a soul, I suppose. We can't let him be lost forever!"
Sarek stared at her, his mind turning over what she had said. "Your
deduction is most unlikely, Amanda," he said at last, his tones gentle.
"From the scenario that Kirk described, the ship was in great peril, in
imminent danger of destruction. Spock could hardly have found time to
meld with Kirk before he went down to the engine room."
"It doesn't take a full meld, and you know it, Sarek," she insisted, her
blue eyes flashing stubbornly. "Our son was a trained telepath, he'd
melded with Kirk many times. He could have established the link that
would make Kirk his Keeper in a bare instant!" Sarek experienced a flare
of hope. Amanda was quick to notice the tiny change in his expression.
"You must go to Earth and see Kirk, my husband," she said formally. "You
will be able to tell whether Kirk holds our son's essence in his mind.
Go, Sarek. Spock would have found a way! I know it!" The ambassador
stood up, crossed the room to stand beside his wife. Slowly, formally,
he held out two fingers, and she returned the gesture. They stood
together, their mutual grief flowing between them, both gaining strength
from their closeness. Through their bond, Sarek shared some of Amanda's
hope that their child was not totally lost, and it slowly, gradually,
became his own hope.
Finally, Sarek nodded. "I will go to Earth, Amanda," he promised. "I
will speak with Kirk in person. If necessary, I will touch his mind, and
discover whether he is unconsciously Keeping our son's living spirit."
Amanda smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, Sarek," she said, softly.
"Thank you, my husband. Spock would have found a way ... I know it. My
son is not completely gone ... if he were, I think I would know. You
must find him, Sarek ... "
"If he is to be found, I will do so," Sarek said, his tone as grave and
earnest as if he took a solemn oath. "1 will bring his living spirit
back to Vulcan ... so he may be at peace."
Sarek looked up from the journal and sighed, remembering what had
followed. His son was alive today because of Amanda's unwavering faith
that he was not truly--not completely--lost to them.
I must give these journals to Spock, allow him to read them when I am
finished, he thought. My son deserves to gain the insight into his
motherg mind that they have given me ... Despite the bond we shared for
so many years, there are things about Amanda that I never knew until now
... If only his wife were still alive. If only he could express aloud,
for once, the emotions he had allowed only to surface in the silent
privacy of their bond. It would have meant so much to her to have heard
him say it out loud ... just once.
But she was dead. Amanda was dead.
Dead ... and nothing could change that. Amanda, unlike a Vulcan woman,
had no future ... at least, no future that was perceivable or
ve rifiable. As a human, she had not possessed a katra ... so nothing
could be placed in the Hall of Ancient Thought, to linger until it was
ready to go on to whatever lay next.
If Amanda had been Vulcan ... if Kadura had not been
taken hostage ... Sarek could have been the Keeper of her katra ... her
living spirit could have resided within him until it was released into
the energy nexus of the Hall of Ancient Thought.
If Amanda had been Vulcan, her husband and son could have gone to that
ancient citadel, stood within its confines and gained a sense of her
presence. By the time his wife's katra was ready to depart, Sarek would
have been prepared, would have had ample time to bid her farewell. Had
his wife been Vulcan, her death would not have meant such an abrupt and
shocking end, a complete and utter severing of their bond. Even if he
had been on Kadura, Spock could have been her Keeper ... But Amanda had
been human, and the ambassador had never, until a few weeks ago, wished
it otherwise. But when he'd learned that she was ill, Sarek had been
forcibly reminded of something he'd determinedly managed to forget ...
that his wife was almost certain to predecease him by years ... probably
decades.
The ambassador sighed aloud, thinking that if Amanda had been Vulcan her
katra would probably now be residing within him--or within Spock. She
would, in a sense, still be alive ... But if Amanda had been Vulcan,
she would not have been Amanda ... Sarek sighed, and his eyes returned
to the volume on his lap. He began reading again, finished that one,
and, with a sense of deep regret, picked up the last of the red-bound
books. Opening this one, he paged through it, saw that it was only a
third filled. He took a deep, painful breath, and determinedly began to
read.
The last brief series of entries made him sit up straighter, his eyes
moving quickly over the page. When he finished them, he went back and
read them again, slowly. He could almost hear her voice ...
September 17,2293 Frankly, I am worried about Sarek. The days since I
have been diagnosed have been a great strain, far worse
for him than for me. After all, he bears the burden of not allowing me
to glimpse his fear for me ... of not letting me sense his pain. The
only comfort I can offer is to let him think that I remain unaware of
his inner turmoil, so that is what I do ...
September 18,2293 Sarek left today to negotiate for the release of
Kadura, a planet taken by Klingon renegades. The president asked him
personally to handle the negotiations, and he had to accept. It is his
job, his duty to use his skills for the benefit of others, and I
understand that. He is the best in the galaxy at what he does, and I
know that. I am proud of him.
Which doesn't mean that I don't miss him, and wish he had stayed here
with me. I miss him more with each passing hour. You would think I would
be used to his absences by now, but this time ... I am not a saint ...
I am facing something that frightens me, and I wish he were here to help
me face it. But I am strong. I can manage by myself ... I always have,
whenever it was necessary.
Besides, there is still our bond. I miss his presence in the back of my
mind, but there is still a small sense of him remaining. Since I am not
telepathic, it is faint ... but, in a sense, he is always with me. Will
I ever see him again?
I fear not.
Something about the way I feel ... Spock mentioned a sensation of
"shutting down," when we spoke about dying. Is that what I am feeling?
Difficult to keep my thoughts organized enough to write. Hard to
concentrate ... so tired.
Spock ... I am worried about him. His eyes are haunted, his mouth a
knife-thin slash. Beyond his worry
for me, his constant concern and grief, I can sense his anger ...
Anger at death, perhaps. Anger at age, at the cruel fate that is turning
his mother into a shriveled, feeble stranger. Normal emotions--except
that my son is a Vulcan. But I have sensed more barely masked emotion
from Spock since his father left today than I have since he was a small
child. They say everyone has a weak point--and apparently I am Spock T
Spock g main anger ... is directed at his father.
How can I help him learn to understand, and accept and forgive--as I
have learned to do over the past decades? How can I help Spock, when I
will not be here much longer?
Tired now ... September 19,2293
So glad that I made Sarek promise to read these journals. Comforting to
know that he will understand, someday, what I was thinking, feeling,
here at the end.
Will I be here tomorrow? I sit here in my bedroom and gaze around me at
my beloved things ... and I am at peace, finally. If only Spock could
share my acceptance.
If only I had the strength to explain Sarek to my son.
Spock cannot forgive his father/or leaving me, but it not that he
doesn't love me, not that at all. Spock is half Vulcan, raised to be
Vulcan ... why can't he understand?
What a reversal ... usually it is Spock who has to explain Vulcan
behavior to me. Never forget that time in his quarters aboard Enterprise
when Sarek was dying. I slapped him, slapped my son. The crack of that
blow still rings in my ears. Only time I ever struck him in his life.
Oh, Spock ... you understood then/ Why can't you understand now?
Don't hate your father.
Love him, as I do. Understand him, as I do.
Sarek ... you are reading this, I know you are. Show
Spock this entry, even if you don't choose to let him see the others.
Show him. Perhaps it will help ...
So much still to do, to say. Wish I could visit my garden again. My
favorite place ...
Sarek, remember that, afterward. My garden. I want to be in my garden,
afterward.
More to write, but tired ... so tired.
Sarek ... I can still sense you ... in the back of my mind If only I
could touch you, see your face ... just once more ...
Peter Kirk stood before the closed bridge dooms and found himself
clenching his fists. Relax, he ordered himself, but his body refused to
listen. Whatg the big deal?It's only your first command/He took a deep
breath, let it out slowly, and moved forward just far enough to activate
the doors. They opened with a familiar whoosh.
The minute he stepped onto the bridge, the crew came to attention, but
Peter barely noticed them as more than shadowy shapes, he was so keyed
up. This was it. The moment of truth. He walked forward, trying to
conceal his tension.
The bridge seemed dimmer than he was used to. "As you were," he ordered
the crew, trying to sound normal, even cavalier as he approached the
captain's chair. The captain chair. Your chair Even now he was still
amazed that he was here. That he was finally in command of the
Enterprise.
He'd thought the commandant was joking when he'd told him. His first
command. The Enterprise. He eased himself in the command seat, and
touched the armrest console almost reverently.
"Present location, navigator?" he asked.
"Sector 3414, approaching the Loop Nebula, Captain," a familiar voice
replied.
Peter's head snapped up. For the first time, he really looked at the
crew. He'd known he'd be working with senior officers, of course, but
... "Commander Chekov," he said quietly. "I didn't expect to see you
here."
"Well, sir," Chekov replied with a saucy grin, "ve vere just in the
neighborhood ... " Peter blinked, and looked around him. Lieutenant
s'bysh sat at the helm, by Chekov's side. A glance to his left showed
Commander Uhura fussing with her communications board. She nodded at him
when she noticed him watching her.
He stiffened in surprise when the seat before the Life Sciences and
Support station revolved, revealing Dr. McCoy. The doctor's expression
was one of sheer delight, as he reported, "Life-support operating at
peak efficiency, sir, and sickbay's fully staffed and ready for action."
"Thank you, Doctor," Peter said blandly, in spite of the bead of sweat
he suddenly felt tracking down his face. He didn't want to look over at
the science station, but he had to.
"First Officer, anything to report?"
"Not at this time, sir," Spock's familiar, placid baritone replied.
So, it was old home week, huh? He shook his head. Either that or it was
a dream he'd wake up from ... but that wasn't bloody likely.
Most of the cadets "fortunate" enough to make it to the Kobayashi Maru
had to contend with a bridge crew of half cadets and half experienced
officers. It wasn't unusual for a well-known visiting ship's crew to
offer to man the simulator, but Peter had never heard of anyone taking
the test with the entire bridge crew from a Constellation-class
starship!
Usually, there were other cadets being tested, not just the command
officer, but Peter was so late taking his test, there were no longer any
cadets left to be part of his crew. The experienced bridge crew's job
was to "push" the captain, see if he or she had the confidence to
override their experience and advice. But to have this crew ... ?
Maybe he could lodge a protest with the exam board. Yeah. After Ifinish
the test! There was no getting out of it.
He glanced around the bridge once more. Uncle Jim was nowhere to be
found--at least he could be thankful for that.
He licked his lips.
Hell, it's just a test. It can't be half as bad as flying through the
ring around Qo 'nos, or escaping from Kamarag's prison! Then why was he
so nervous? He could feel Spock's unwavering gaze searing the back of
his head.
Suddenly, Uhura sat up straight. "Incoming transmission, sir. It's ...
garbled ... "
"Put it on speakers, Lieutenant," he ordered, swiveling his chair.
"Enterprise, can you hear me? This is the Kobayashi Maru," a heavily
accented Slavic voice reported. Peter strained to hear the woman, but
the broadcast was dim and full of stat ic.
"Can't you boost that, Commander?" he asked.
Uhura shook her head. "That is boosted, sir. That transmission is coming
straight through the Loop Nebula, sir. It's a miracle we can hear it at
all." She frowned, concentrating intensely, and manipulated her board.
"We have suffered a rupture in our matter-antimatter containment field,"
the woman on the Kobayashi Maru continued. "We have had severe damage to
our life-support system. We've ejected our fuel to keep the ship intact,
but we're down to batteries now."
"Kobayashi Maru, "Uhura shouted, "what are your coordinates?" The
transmission grew even fainter, and Peter strained to hear it.
"Coordinates 3417, mark 6. We are five hundred thousand kilometers away
from the Cygnus Loop Nebula, and drifting. Battery power can maintain
life-support for one hour ... repeat ... one hour. If we don't get
help soon, three hundred sixty-two lives will be lost. Enterprise, can
you hear me? We have one hour or less ..." The voice broke up into
garbled static.
"Mr. Chekov, can you bring up schematics on the location of Kobayashi
Maru?" Peter asked.
"Aye, sir," Chekov replied, and within seconds a graphic image appeared
on the big viewscreen.
The viewscreen before him showed Enterprise currently moving toward a
huge nebula, a massive cloud of gas and
dust, in colors of hazy blue, white, and pink. On the other side of the
nebula, if the coordinates they had given were correct, the dying
freighter, Kobayashi Maru, was drifting.
Peter frowned. So far, the rumors had been correct. This was a new
scenario. With the exception of the familiar, damaged vessel, most of
what was happening had been changed. For example, he now had to rescue
the people on the ship, not simply the ship itself. Once they were
aboard assuming he got that far, which was highly unlikely-- then he'd
worry about how to put a tractor beam on the vessel herself. Could he
tow her?
Peter forced himself to consider the big picture. "Mr. Chekov," Peter
said crisply, "where are we in relation to the Klingon Neutral Zone?"
Chekov's hands moved over his board, and the viewscreen presented an
image of the Neutral Zone in relation to the injured ship. "Three
parsees," Chekov reported,
"sir."
If they didn't have to go into the Neutral Zone, then what ... ? Never
mind, the Maru didn't have much time.
"Mr. Chekov, plot us fastest optimal course, skirting the nebula as
closely as we can without encountering interference.
ETA to intercept?"
Chekov acknowledged the order, did some quick calculations, then finally
reported. "We can circle the nebula around its smallest side, and arrive
at Kobayashi Maru in fifteen minutes, sir. Optimal speed this close to
the nebula ... warp two."
"If I might suggest, Captain," Spock interjected, "we could reduce that
time by ten point eighteen minutes by going through the nebula at warp
one."
Peter looked back at the colorful schematic. That was true, but why did
that make him uneasy?
"We are the only ship in this quadrant, sir," Spock continued. "And, as
you yourself confirmed, we are a safe distance from the Klingon Neutral
Zone. Going through the nebula would seem to be the most efficient
course of action."
Peter set his jaw. "All of that is true, Mr. Spock, but going through
the nebula leaves us blind, deaf, dumb, and helpless.
We can't even engage our shields in there. When we come out the other
side there would be several seconds before we became reoriented." He
smiled at the Vulcan.
"For some reason, that makes me uneasy," he added, dryly.
"Lieutenant s'bysh." He swung his chair back around.
"Take us around the nebula using Mr. Chekov's suggested course. Warp
two."
He turned to address his first officer. "Mr. Spock, I want you to send a
buoy with a long-range sensor scan in it through the nebula, that can
send us back information on the conditions on the other side of the
nebula, before we arrive there. It'll stay ahead of us and help us
pinpoint the Maru, or warn us of any other possible problems before we
stumble into them."
Spock reported the firing of the sensor buoy. Then, Peter slapped the
console. "Engineering!"
"Aye, sir!" a thick Scottish burr responded.
Why am I not surprised to hear you? "Scotty, we're going to need to beam
over more than three hundred people in less than thirty minutes ... "
"It isna possible, Captain! If we used every transporter in the bloody
ship it wouldn't ..."
"The cargo transporters, Mr. Scott. Can't they be adjusted to transport
people?"
"Aye, sir, but--" Scott began hesitantly.
"Use all the cargo bays, and get everyone you've got on this. We need to
be able to get those people on board fast, and from long range. There's
a cranky matter-antimatter pod floating somewhere around this area, so
we're not going to be able to get too close. We'll be on site in ten
minutes."
"Ten minutes!" the Scotsman protested. "But, Captain "
"You're running out of time, Mr. Scott!"
"Halfway around the rim of the nebula, sir," Chekov reported dutifully.
"Anything new from the Maru, Uhura?" Peter asked.
"I can't raise them, sir," she informed him.
"Long-range scanning, Mr. Chekov. Any signs of enemy ships out there?"
Peter found himself twitching in the chair.
Chekov shrugged, totally unconcerned. "Nothing, sir. But there have been
no reports of hostile activity in this region."
"Is that right?" he murmured. This was wrong, all wrong.
Where were the damned Klingons? Where was the enemy?
This was too easy. He realized his mouth was dry. "Mr. Spock, are we
getting any reports from that buoy?"
"Yes, sir, data coming in now."
"Put it on the screen." A new image came up, one that did not have the
nebula. The nebula would be behind the buoy, so it would be offscreen.
Before the buoy hung nothing but the blackness of space, and the
twinkling of far distant stars.
And in the foreground, but still at a distance, the crew could see a
damaged ship, drifting aimlessly. Dangerously close to it remained the
matter-antimatter pod. He'd have to make Scotty transport those people
from the farthest reach of transporter range. Oh, damn, damn, damn ...
this is too easy.
He blinked, staring at the viewscreen so hard his eyes burned.
"Approaching the other side of the nebula, sir," Chekov said quietly.
"Course and speed, Captain?" s'bysh asked.
Peter's head jerked up, and he stared at the innocent-looking
viewscreen. "Lieutenant Uhura, any word from the Kobayashi Maru?"
"Nothing, sir," she reported. "I keep hailing, but ..."
"We're past the nebula, they should be able to respond," Peter said to
himself.
"Unless their accident has destroyed their communications abilities,"
Spock suggested. "Shall we increase speed, Captain? We are still only
traveling at warp two ... "
Peter cut him off with a quick chop of his hand. "Helm, full stop."
s'bysh hesitated, and Peter shot her a look.
"Full stop, aye," she repeated, and obeyed.
"Captain!" McCoy snapped. "We're runnin' out of time!
Those people are breathin' away the last of their air!"
"Those people," Peter informed his crew tightly, "are sitting in the
middle of a trap. Mr. Chekov, what is our position relative to the
Romulan Neutral Zone?"
"Ve are just outside it, sir."
Oho/They almost got me there. If I'd gone straight in, I'd have been
over the Neutral Zone before I knew it. Nudging Chekov over, Peter
tapped in a sequence on his board. A scrolling line of data ran down the
side of the viewscreen for the crew to see. "Check out those readings.
There are five anomalies surrounding the Maru, and each of those
anomalies possesses a specific energy signature--a sure sign of cloaked
vessels."
The cadet took a deep breath. "The Kobayashi Maru is being used as the
bait in an elaborate trap. Yellow alert, everyone." He turned to Spock.
The Vulcan was clearly surprised by Peter's announcement and was
double-checking the readings. "They're there, aren't they, Mr. Spock?"
Amazingly, Spock hesitated. "Data does seem to show certain anomalies
"He trailed off, and continued to his viewscreen.
came barreling out of his chair. "Well, what are we gonna do about those
people? You can't just leave 'em there, Captain!"
"I have no intention of abandoning those people, Dr. McCoy," Peter
assured him, even as he began to unbutton his uniform jacket.
"Captain, what is it that makes you think these anomalies are the
readings of cloaked Romulan vessels?" Spock asked.
finished removing his jacket and draped it over the command chair.
"Well, since we're on the edge of the Romulan Neutral Zone, and we're
currently waging peace with the Klingons, my guess is those cloaked
vessels are Romulan cruisers ... from the size of them. Call it a 'gut
feeling," Spock, but we're about to test it out." He pressed the
intercom. "Mr. Scott, have one of your staff program the synthesizer to
manufacture two Vulcan lirpas." He turned to McCoy. "Doctor, please
bring those lirpas back to me as soon as they are ready."
"Lirpas?" McCoy drew himself up. "Me? What are you talking about,
lirpas?"
At the same moment, Scotty was saying, "Lirpas? Sir?"
Peter's voice took on an edge. "That was an order, Doctor! That was an
order, Engineer!"
McCoy cleared his throat, grunted, and left the bridge without further
comment.
"Lirpas?" Spock said, incredulously.
"Mr. Scott!" Peter called, slapping the console hurriedly.
"What's happening with those transporters?"
"We're almost ready, sir," Scott reported.
"Power it up, Mr. Scott. Two minutes. On my signal." He slapped off the
con before Scott could protest again.
"Excuse me, Captain," said Mr. Spock in his driest tone.
"If you believe we are confronting Romulan vessels, shouldn't we engage
our shields?"
"No," Peter countermanded, shaking his head. "We're not in firing range,
and we're not going to be for three minutes. However, Mr. Spock, if any
of those 'anomalies' move within the next several minutes, indicating
that one or more of those vessels is approaching, you are to raise
shields immediately. Understood?"
"Aye, sir," Spock agreed.
"Enterprise," a gasping voice called over the intercom,
"batteries have ruptured and are draining. We have less than ten
minutes' air
"The garbled message was drowned in static.
"Lieutenant Uhura," Peter instructed, removing his vest, "beam a message
to the Maru. Remind them of standard Federation evacuation drills. They
should already have all personnel in spacesuits or encased in protective
fields in accordance with abandon-ship procedures. We can't afford to
rush in there."
turned at the sound of the bridge doors and saw Dr. McCoy entering,
dragging two heavy lirpas behind him.
a baffled expression, the doctor handed them over to the young captain.
"Commander Uhura," Peter continued, "open a hailing frequency in the
direction of those cloaked coordinates. Prepare to transmit a message on
wide beam."
smiled at the bridge crew, knowing they must think he'd gone crazy.
Maybe he was crazy, because he was starting to enjoy himself. This whole
situation was a real challenge, and he already knew he'd kept his ship
from being blown to smithereens far longer than most candidates made it.
Of course, it was all for nothing if he couldn't pull off the rescue of
at least the personnel aboard Kobayashi Maru.
looked over at Communications inquiringly.
"Sir, hailing frequencies are open." She looked over at Spock and
shrugged.
"This is Captain Peter Kirk hailing the commander of the fleet
surrounding the injured ship Kobayashi Maru. We are aware of the trap
you have set and, frankly, Commander, I find your clumsy ploy insulting.
In response to this slight, I now have something to say to you
T'kevaidors a skelitus dunt'ryala aikriian paselitan ... Toriatal." He
heard Spock take a sharp breath that was almost a gasp. "Commander"
--Peter dropped back into Standard English--"I issue this challenge
under the ancient law of Toriatal. By rights, you must respond to my
declaration." Silence. Total, dead silence.
Peter waited, sweating. It no longer mattered that it was just a
simulation. He was as charged up as if he really were facing an
invisible enemy. Clutching the two lirpas, he listened to the blood
rushing in his ears.
The simulation program, he thought as he waited. It's trying to figure
out how to respond to my challenge.
Suddenly, Uhura's mouth dropped open. "Captain," she said breathlessly,
"we're being hailed ... by the Romulan commander!"
"On-screen, Lieutenant," he said, as he lifted one of the lirpas and
held it in a defensive position. The screen shifted,
changing, showing the interior of a Romulan cruiser, and an image of a
Romulan commander standing there.
"Who are you to issue the ancient challenge?" the holo-commander
demanded. "You are merely human. I am not obligated to respond to an
outworlder who dares to issue the Toriatal."
"You are obligated," Peter insisted, trying to remain cool.
His shirt was sticking to him as he held the heavy lirpa at the ready,
with the other leaning against the command chair beside him. "The law is
clear. "Whoever issues the Toriatal challenge has the right to be
answered. No leader may ignore a pi'operly given challenge." I have
issued it in the tradition of your oldest laws. What do you say? Do you
accept the challenge? Or are you afraid to fight a human?"
Again the long pause. Finally, the holo-commander said, hollowly, "I
accept the challenge."
"The choice of weapons is mine," Peter announced, "and I have chosen
lirpas."
"Captain," Spock said clearly, "several of the Romulan vessels are
bringing their weapons on-line."
"Will you disobey your own law, Romulan, and allow your ships to fire
upon us, even after I have issued the challenge?" Peter demanded. "If
you do, you dishonor your own heritage! The Toriatal mandates a state of
truce while it is in effect!"
The holo-commander was still for nearly a minute; then the image turned
its head and spoke to someone not in visual range.
Peter saw Spock's eyebrow climb. "Weapons ... are being taken off-line,
sir."
"Mr. Spock, I order you to beam me over to those coordinates," Peter
instructed his science officer. "While I am engaging the Romulan
commander, you and Mr. Scott will beam over every survivor from the
Kobayashi Maru. As soon as you have them all, order full astern speed,
and retreat back into the nebula. The Romulans will not be willing to
follow you in there. From there, you can make your escape."
Before Spock could offer his own protest, McCoy blurted,
"Are you crazy? He's gonna slice you into ribbons with that thing, and
while he's doin' it, his other ships are gonna play target practice with
us!"
"No, they won't," Peter told McCoy. "While the commander and I are in
combat, his troops must, by law, hold their fire, as must we. But
there's nothing in the law that says you can't quietly transport those
people off the Maru and get the hell out of here."
"Captain, I cannot allow you to do this," Spock said, quietly. "Even if
you were to defeat the Romulan commander, it is unlikely they will
return you to us. This is suicide."
Peter paused. "It's a no-win situation, Mr. Spock, I'll give you that.
But only for me. The Enterprise and the Kobayashi Maru will be safe. And
as the captain, my job is to insure the safety of the ship." He picked
up the second lirpa and keyed the intercom. "Mr. Scott, stand by with
those cargo transporters.
Transporter Chief?."
A mechanical-sounding voice said, "Transporter room, aye."
"Beam me directly from the bridge to the bridge of the Romulan vessel,"
Peter said, and, checking Chekov's readouts, gave the coordinates.
"Energize!" What's going to happen now? he wondered. Would they actually
beam him someplace? Would he really have to fight someone?
Suddenly, a voice outside the bridge doors called out,
"Wait a minute, wait a minute! Open these doors! Lights on!" The bridge
doors slid open and Commandant Kyle Anderson stormed in. "What the hell
is going on here?
Cadet, where did you come up with these 'anomalies' and energy readings
you're talking about? This is totally irregular."
Peter had to blink to reorient himself out of the simulation and back to
real life. His blood pressure was up, and he was really ready for a good
fight. "Here, sir," Peter said, putting down his lirpa and walking over
to Chekov's console.
"The anomalies are hard to spot, but the energy signature gives you
something to look for "
"That's impossible!" the commandant protested, not even looking at the
readout. "No one can spot a cloaked vessel["
Spock suddenly cleared his throat. "With all due respect, Commandant, I
am afraid that Cadet Kirk is correct. While he was aboard the
Enterprise, I acquainted him with some research that Mr. Scott and I
have been conducting. Our discoveries are still in the developmental
stage, but, during our escape from Qo'nos, Cadet Kirk had occasion to
monitor electromagnetic signatures on Klingon vessels."
"I see," the commandant said, as Spock showed him the anomalies. "All
right. I can see where that gave you an advantage in this scenario, but
what's all this nonsense about ancient Romulan challenges? Those ships
would've blown you out of space while you were waving that thing"--he
pointed to the lirpa--"in their faces."
Again, Spock came to his rescue. "With all due respect, sir, that's not
the case. That challenge dates from Pre-Reformation times on Vulcan, and
is respected by the Romulans. Cadet Kirk issued it correctly,
Commandant.
Even his pronunciation in Old High Vulcan was nearly perfect."
"Hmmm," the commandant said, "and they'd have to cease hostilities while
he fought the commander?" Spock nodded.
Anderson's features suddenly broke out in a wide grin.
"Well ... damn! Looks like you've spent too much time in space, Cadet
Kirk. This test is designed for inexperienced trainees!" He shook his
head. "Believe me, we'll fix those readings for the next poor fool who
has to face this scenario!
But for now ... it looks like you're the second Kirk to beat the no-win
scenario. And you didn't have to reprogram the computer to do it!" He
extended his hand to the cadet, who took it, shaking it heartily.
"But sir," Chekov protested, "the Romulans would have surely killed
him!"
"But he would've saved his ship and the people from the Kobayashi Maru,
and all without firing a shot!" another voice added from the bridge
doors.
Peter looked up to see his uncle standing there, smiling at him.
"A captain must be willing to sacrifice himself for his ship," Kirk
reminded everyone. "That's his job. Congratulations, Peter. That was one
hell of a test."
Peter nodded at everyone as they filed out. It was several minutes
before Peter and his uncle had privacy. The captain held out his hand
and, when his nephew took it, clapped him on the shoulder, grinning
proudly. "I knew you could do it," he exclaimed.
"I was inspired by recent events," Peter said, dryly.
"Obviously--but that doesn't take away from the fact that you kept your
head, and figured it all out. You're going to make a great captain
someday."
The younger man shook his head. "With all due respect, Uncle Jim ... I'm
quitting Command track today. I'm requesting reassignment to the
Starfleet diplomatic corps.
Ambassador Sarek is giving me a recommendation. Recent events have made
me realize that that's what I really want to do with my life."
Kirk regarded his nephew intently for nearly a minute, then nodded.
"It's your choice, Peter, and I respect you for makin g a difficult
decision." Humor glinted in the hazel eyes. "You weren't influenced in
your decision by the notion of attending long diplomatic conferences
with the Klingons, were you?"
Peter grinned. "Let's just say that I'll be taking a lot more classes in
Klingon language and culture," he admitted.
The two fell into step and went out into the corridor, through the
gleaming lobby of the Starfleet Academy.
"You're writing to her?" the captain asked.
"Yes ... and I got a reply last week. She's in school already and likes
it. Sheg. taking a course in advanced Standard English!"
"By the time you two meet again, any language barrier should be a thing
of the past," Kirk said, as they crossed the broad plaza that lay at the
foot of Starfleet's gleaming towers.
"By the time we meet again, let's hope a lot of barriers will
be a thing of the past," Peter said. "We'll both be working toward that,
Uncle Jim." James Tiberius Kirk smiled at his brother's son. "It isn't
often that personal interest and duty coincide." Peter nodded. "But when
it does ... it's great."
"I wish both of you the best of luck, Peter, I mean that." The younger
Kirk smiled. "I know you do. And that means a lot to me, Uncle Jim."
"And I want you to know something else," Jim admitted.
"I also think you would've been a hell of a starship captain." Peter
beamed. He knew that, in his uncle's eyes, this was the finest
compliment he could give anyone. "Thanks, Uncle Jim. But I'd never hold
a candle to you." The senior Kirk grinned and slapped his nephew on the
back. The captain of the Enterprise quickened his pace.
"Come on ... everyone's waiting for us." Then, suddenly, the hazel eyes
twinkled. "Ambassador Kirk, do you think?
Someday?" Peter shrugged. "You never know ..."
"Ambassador Kirk ..." the captain muttered, trying it on for size. "The
more I say it, the better it sounds ... "
Spock stood in the huge, skylighted conference chamber on the world
called Khitomer. The new peace conference boasted dozens of beings from
many worlds ... but not one Freelan. The absence of the cloaked and
masked delegates had been noted and commented upon, but only the member
worlds of the Federation Security Council knew the truth.
In the weeks since the Enterprise had brought the captive Vulcans out of
the Neutral Zone, the tensions in the galaxy had eased considerably. The
ringleaders of the KEHL, including Lisa Tennant, had been arrested and
charged with breaking into the computer system at the Vulcan consulate,
and for assaulting and abducting Peter Kirk. With its most dedicated
members out of action, the group was gradually returning to its status
as a harmless fringe organization.
Azetbur's dramatic rescue operation against the Klingon renegades had
restored the Federation's faith i the new chancellor, and this new peace
conference was a result.
Scientists from many worlds had been asked to join with governmental
delegates to advise the Federation on how best to help the Klingon
homeworld solve its many problems.
Today's sessions had been devoted to discussion of how the effects of
Praxis's explosion on Qo'nos might be overcome. Tomorrow the agenda
included the possibility of economic aid.
The Vulcan was attending the conference as one of Starfleet's
representatives. He'd enjoyed the day's session; searching for
scientific solutions to the problems facing Qo'nos was a stimulating
challenge. Now, as the delegates milled around, talking in groups after
the formal meetings had broken up, Spock searched the room for his
father. He had not seen Sarek since his arrival yesterday.
"A good session today, don't you think, Captain Spock?" came a voice
from behind him. Turning, Spock saw the new Romulan delegate, Pardek,
standing beside him. The Vulcan had been somewhat surprised when the
Empire had sent a delegate to replace Nanclus, in light of recent events
with Freelan, but, then, the Romulans had always excelled at talking
peace while plotting war.
"I agree," he said. Pardek was a little older than the Vulcan, with
rather heavy features and thick brow ridges.
He was stocky and compactly built, with the air of one who has known
military service. Not unusual in a Romulan.
"It is an honor to meet you, Captain," Pardek said. "Your name has been
... prominent ... in the Empire for a long time, now." Spock raised an
eyebrow, amused at the word choice.
"Indeed?" he asked dryly.
"You and your father both are well known to my government," Pardek said,
and the Vulcan knew he hadn't missed the irony. "Especially in the light
of recent events." Spock had to conceal surprise that the Romulan was
being even this direct. "Recent events," Spock repeated, "have.
certainly been ... stimulating."
"Undeniably," Pardek agreed. "By the way ... what has become of that
radical organization that was causing Earth so much trouble in the
recent past? That group of xenophobes.
I have scanned nothing about it in the media reports for days."
Spock slanted the Romulan an ironic glance, but Pardek remained
unruffled. "The Keep Earth Human League has been singularly quiet
lately," the Starfleet officer replied.
"The membership seems to be ... dissolving. Odd, isn't it?"
"Isn't it?" Pardek agreed, blandly. "I was thinking, Captain Spock. A
discussion of ... recent events might prove interesting between us. An
... unofficial discussion, you understand."
"The human phrase for what you mean is 'off the record," Delegate
Patrick."
"I like that term." Pardek smiled faintly, reminiscently.
"English is such a colorful language ... so descriptive. I enjoyed
learning it."
"You were saying there were matters you wished to discuss ... off the
record?"
Pardek hesitated, then said, "Your name and your father's but especially
the name of Sarek--have been on everyone's lips lately. Including the
praetor's?"
"For some reason," Spock said, "that does not surprise me. My father has
a ... friend ... who was setting off on a journey to see the praetor.
Perhaps you know of him?"
Pardek's fleshy features were carefully neutral. "Possibly," he
admitted. "Are we speaking of someone in the military?"
"Yes. He is rather highly ranked."
Pardek looked away. "'Was' is a more appropriate term, I fear."
"Ah," Spock said. "I am ... grieved ... to hear you say that."
Pardek raised an eyebrow. "But hardly surprised."
"No."
"It is regrettable," Pardek said, after a moment. "He was my friend,
too."
"Indeed?"
"Yes, I knew him for many years. And I cannot find it in myself to
condemn his actions in effecting the release of a number of captives.
Far better," Pardek said thoughtfully,
"to allow those who wished to leave to do so."
"But not all of those in question chose to leave," Spock pointed out.
"Which concerns me. There was a possibility of ... bloodshed. Reprisal,
on those who stayed."
"I am pleased to tell you that no such tragedy has occurred," Pardek
said earnestly. "The individuals who did not choose to leave have gone
underground, merging into the general population. No active search for
them has been mounted, under the circumstances. Most of the ones who
stayed did so because they had married into Romulan families. The
praetor understands this. He values public opinion, like any head of
state."
"Understandably. These individuals we are speaking of---" Spock began.
"Off the record, of course. Not in any official capacity ..." Pardek
reminded him.
"Of course. These individuals ... they have successfully managed to
infiltrate, to mingle and become lost amid the rest of your society?"
"Quite successfully. It was remarkable how quickly they simply ...
melted away. I suspect most of them have changed their names, and will
simply keep a low profile as a part of their Romulan families. They will
raise their children, grow old ... live ordinary lives as respectable
citizens of the Empire. In time, they will be virtually
indistinguishable from native-born Romulans."
"The praetor is not searching for them?"
"Not at all. As long as none of them surface to cause trouble, I expect
that policy to continue."
"Fascinating," Spock murmured. "Who knows how this ... mingling will
affect your people, in years to come ..."
"I have been wondering the same thing, Captain," the Romulan said.
"Perhaps this is not so surprising after all," Spock murmured
thoughtfully. "In days past, we were, after all, one people."
"Millennia past," Parrick pointed out. "Still, as recent events have
shown, there are still ... cultural links."
"Indeed," Spock agreed, thinking of the challenge and the senapa duel.
Watching it had brought home to him, as nothing else ever had, that
Vulcans and Romulans had once been one people. They were still far more
similar than they were different, at least physically ...
"Perhaps we might discuss our idea further. During the conference ...
and afterward."
"I would like that, Spock," the delegate said, and the Vulcan realized
they were speaking almost as if they both took some kind of vow to
explore this concept together.
"After I return to Romulus ... perhaps we might stay in contact?
Correspond?"
"I would be honored," Spock said.
"Spock?" A third voice reached them, and the Vulcan turned to see Sarek
approaching through the thinning crowd of diplomats.
After quickly introducing his father to the Romulan delegate, Spock
excused himself to leave the chamber with his father. Together, they
walked out of the conference center and down the massive steps.
As Sarek and his son walked down the steps leading from the conference
chamber, he reminded himself not to push the rapprochement between them
was still very fragile. It was extremely ... satisfactory ... to
simply walk beside his son again, shoulder to shoulder.
"For a first day, the negotiations went well," the ambassador observed
as they strolled across a manicured lawn beneath a vivid blue sky. In
the east, the sun was setting in a magnificent splash of coral and
fuchsia.
"I agree," Spock replied. "It seems possible that Qo'nos the planet may
indeed be salvageable. Destruction of the ring would be a colossal task
... but, given the time frame, it is feasible."
Sarek nodded; then the curiosity he had been holding back overcame him.
He searched for an appropriate opening.
"I was not expecting the Romulans to send a delegate," he began.
"I must admit I was surprised myself," Spock said.
Then Spock hesitated, and his father gained the impression that he was
about to say something, but changed his mind. "It has been nearly three
weeks since the Enterprise brought the captured Vulcans back to their
native world," he observed. "Tell me, Father, how are they doing? Are
the efforts at reeducating them regarding the ethics of mental contact
succeeding?"
"Their teachers are optimistic," Sarek said. "Particularly since Savel
seems to have emerged as a leader for them, and she is committed to
using her telepathic abilities ethically, to help others. She told me
the last time I saw her that she intends to train to become a Healer,
and work as a telepathic therapist. I am encouraged that the newcomers
will be able to adjust and prosper in our society."
"I believe they can," Spock said. "I spent considerable time talking
with Savel on the voyage back to Vulcan. She seems like a young person
with a great deal of potential. I was impressed by her."
"Not as impressed as young Soran is," Sarek said dryly.
Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? And does she return his interest?"
"My impression is that she does."
"Soran is unbonded, is he not?"
"Yes. His parents did not hold with the tradition of bonding as
children. That trend appears to be growing," Sarek said, thoughtfully.
"Then Soran is free."
"For the moment," Sarek said, with a glint of humor in his dark eyes. "I
do not expect that state of affairs to continue for long, however."
His son cocked an eyebrow at him, and there was an answering glint in
his own dark eyes.
Reaching the edge of the park-like grounds, father and son halted to
watch the sunset for a few minutes in silence. "On
the whole," Spock said finally, "I am impressed with Pardek. He strikes
me as an intelligent individual, one who is something of a visionary."
Sarek glanced up at his son, realizing that Spock was deliberately
granting him an opening. "Indeed? What makes you say that?"
"Our discussion at the end of today's session." Sarek raised an eyebrow.
"Yes? And what were you two discussing, if I may ask? You seemed very
intent."
"We wre," Spock admitted. "We began by speaking about the K HL," he
said, with a faint glimmer of humor.
"And then we moved on to speaking, off the record, about the young
Vulcans who elected not to go with the Enterprise ... "Spock went on to
summarize that portion of the conversation with Pardek.
"Knowing that the praetor has decided to ignore their existence is good
news," Sarek said, when his son had finished. "Did Pardek give any hint
as to Taryn's fate?" Spock nodded, his expression darkening. "Taryn is
dead, Father," he said. "I regret that I must be the one to tell you."
Sarek closed his eyes briefly. "I have been expecting to discover that,"
he said, heavily. "It is hardly a surprise, under the circumstances."
Finally, Sarek took a deep breath and broke the resulting silence. "Was
it Taryn's fate that you and Pardek were speaking of so intently, as I
approached?" His son slanted a sidelong glance at him. "Curious,
Father?"
"I must admit that I am." Spock took a deep breath, and began walking
again, in the general direction of the delegates' living quarters. "Very
well. Pardek was saying that it was surprising how easily the young
Vulcans were able to adapt to Romulan society. I observed that, after
all, we were one people long ago." The officer hesitated, then
continued, "I wonder if we might ever hope to be one people again."
Sarek stopped in midstride and stared at the other, barely troubling to
conceal his consternation. "My son, surely you are not serious."
"Why not?" Spock's expression held a glint of stubborn resolve that his
father well remembered. "We are working toward peace with the Klingons.
Why not peace--and eventual cooperation--with the Romulans?" Sarek
struggled to repress his dismay. "You are speaking of ... a fusion of
the two cultures?"
"Yes, I was ... although I concede that it would be ... difficult."
The ambassador sighed, shaking his head. "Spock ... my son, do you have
any idea how unrealistically idealistic you sound? You are speaking of
Romulans, remember? They have grown so far apart from our ideals that
there is no longer any common meeting ground, I assure you. Witness
their actions on Freelan--witness Nanclus's treachery and meddling!"
"Witness Taryn," Spock pointed out, quietly. "Witness his response to
your challenge. A challenge so old that both our peoples share it."
"Taryn," Sarek reminded him curtly, "was a Vulcan."
"He died a Romulan," Spock countered, with an edge in his voice,
"upholding his concept of Romulan honor and duty." Sarek sighed. "Spock
... Spock ... your dedication to the cause of peace does you credit,
my son. But the entire notion is ... ridiculous."
"I do not believe so. I intend to explore the concept with Pardek, but I
do not choose to discuss the topic further.
Your mind is dosed, Father." Sarek's eyes flashed, but his features
never changed. "As you wish," he said, coldly. But then, thinking of how
Amanda would react if she could hear them at the moment, the ambassador
modulated his tones, attempting to conciliate, using his best diplomatic
manner. "Perhaps you are right, Spock ... perhaps there is nothing to
be gained from discussing a subject on which we will never agree.
But there are other topics we might discuss ... say, over dinner?" His
son turned to regard him, his features cold and composed, but then, in
response to what he saw in his father's eyes, they softened
fractionally, and he nodded.
"You are right. There are other topics." Spock's expression lightened.
"Very well, Father. At dinner, then," he agreed.
Father and son walked on, together, as the shadows of evening lengthened
around them.
Sunrise on Vulcan ...
Sarek stood alone in Amanda's garden, waiting for the first light of
dawn. As sunrise approached, the darkness of the sky was untouched,
stars strewn everywhere--except behind the giant shape of Vulcan's
sister world. The Watcher was lit only by light reflected from Vulcan,
and so was nearly invisible, a dark ashen color in its newness. Here in
the mountains near Gol, dawn came 1.6 hours late, delayed by the
intervention of The Watcher.
As the ambassador watched, a glow appeared on the upper limb of The
Watcher, subtle at first, but growing brighter. The Vulcan had seen many
sunrises from orbit, and was always struck by the similarity to the way
Vulcan's sun rose over T'Rukh. The sister planet's tenuous atmosphere,
carrying enormous amounts of dust and SO from its myriad volcanoes,
caught Nevasa's ruddy light in a thin layer like high cirrus clouds.
Sarek turned and picked up a small container that had been resting on
the bench behind him. It was an ancient jar carved from white stone.
His eyes fixed on the sky, Sarek ran his fingernail around the jar's
seal, opening it. Carefully, he worked the stopper loose. Above him, the
arc of red spread outward; then, suddenly, the star itself appeared. The
hot glow grew
brighter, visibly swelling. Vulcan's sky brightened, hiding T'Rukh
behind rosy curtains of light. Slowly, as Nevasa came out of eclipse, a
delicate down-curving crescent of light became visible, growing toward
the horizon. The stars faded, grew dim, disappeared.
But they will return, Sarek thought. Tonight they will shine
again. The stars ... outlive us all.
Dawn. It was time.
Taking a deep breath, the Vulcan tilted the jar slightly, allowing some
of the gray powder within it to fall. The morning breeze caught part of
it, wafting it away, but much fell, to land in the soil below.
Sarek moved on a few steps, to a new location. This time he tilted the
jar into his hand, letting the ashy powder fill his palm. This is the
last time I will touch her, he thought, clenching his fist around the
ash, grasping it as he would have her hand. By this time Nevasa had
risen further, separating from the enormous arc that was T'Rukh, bright
ening the Vulcan sky to its normal, searing color.
Day had begun.
A time to gain, a time to lose ... Sarek thought, remembering one of
Amanda's favorite quotations. Slowly, one by one, he forced his fingers
to open, letting the ash sift down, between them. Letting go.
As the dawn breezes began to die, Sarek upended the jar, shaking it, so
the last trace of the ash within could sift out, to drift and finally
settle over the stones, the soil, the living plants from so many worlds.
Farewell, Amanda ... The Vulcan's lips moved, but no sound emerged.
Carefully, the ambassador replaced the stopper in the now-empty jar.
Then, his steps slow but steady, he turned and left the silent garden
behind.
As I write this, it has been ten years since my first novel, Yesterday's
Son, was published. Since then, I've had an opportunity to meet many of
the fans and stars who have helped to keep STAR TREK alive. Great fun
... and most rewarding. Going to a STAR TREK convention is like
attending a family reunion.
In writing Sarek, I've explored the planet Vulcan and its people more
than I ever did before. I feel privileged ... and content. As though
I'd finally reached a formerly inaccessi ble spot between my artistic
shoulder blades and given it a good scratching. Frankly, I've been
itching to write the scene of what actually happened the day Spock told
Sarek he didn't want to attend the Vulcan Science Academy ever since I
watched "Journey to Babel" in 1967. A chance to finally scratch a
twenty-six-year itch!
Sarek is the first of my novels to be published after Gene Roddenberry's
death (although the Great Bird knew that there was the possibility of a
story about Sarek's life in the works, and was, my editors told me, in
favor of the idea). All of us who love STAR TREK miss him, but it's
fitting and comforting that STAR TREK is continuing as a living legacy
to his vision of the future.
Every time I write a new STAR TREK novel, I get letters from people
wondering if I write things other than STAR Trek

