by Diane Duane
“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 accomplished 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 intopon 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 theEnterprise, 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 Klingons…formenting 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 preside
nt.”
“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 communiqué 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 obtained 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 night—would 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 understaffed 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 whooshed 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.
“TheEnterprise. 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, theEnterprise 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.”
