Sand and Stars

by Diane Duane

  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 corners.

  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 ownsenapa, 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—Saren—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.A 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 fromsenapa 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.”

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nbsp; 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. “Butthis 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. “Captain 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….

  Ten

  “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 theEnterprise, 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, theHoHwi’, 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 neutronium. “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, Karg! For this you will die in writhing agony. When I free my niece, she will perform thebe’joy’ 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 tocripple 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.

  “Vell,” 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 starshipEnterprise. I believe most of you know me—as 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 Chancellor 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 thatShardarr 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 findShardarr 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 theHoHwi’, and fire on my order.”

  “Aye, Captain!”

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nbsp; 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 could 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 theEnterprise 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!

  TheEnterprise 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 him—he was pale and unsteady, but still determined to gain his feet.

  “And where in hell do you thinkyou’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….

  “TargetHoHwi’ with a photon torpedo and fire, Mr. Chekov!”

  “Firing, Captain!”

  TheEnterprise 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.”