by Diane Duane
“I regret to say that I have more news that may not please you, Commander,” Poldar said, pausing to glance at another communiqué. “Intelligence has confirmed the presence of Ambassador Sarek aboard theEnterprise.”
Taryn straightened abruptly, and now hewas 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 obtainedproof 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 theEnterprise at this moment because he has come in search of that proof! 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 theEnterprise… 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 waylayEnterprise and destroy her en route.”
“And if Sarek refuses to come to Freelan?”
“Then we will have to lureEnterprise 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 allowedEnterprise to search forShardarr—”
“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 communications to keep Sarek from sending a message to Raghoratrei. 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 regrettable,” 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.
WhileEnterprise 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 déjà 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 son’s intelligence profiles and school records were, in Sekla’s word, “impressive.” For a Vulcan, that was quite a compliment.
Sekla, Sare
k had noted, had been carefulnot to say, “Impressive for one of half blood.” No mention had been made of his son’s 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 son’s 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 should 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, the 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 auniform?
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 I 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? Includingkill? 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 said. “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 word
s, “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 bevrekasht 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 mevrekasht, 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 sonvrekasht 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.
Spock’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.
