by Diane Duane
Behind them,Shardarr fired, catching a warbird and shearing off half a wing. “Good going, Centurion!” Kirk whispered, just asEnterprise 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!”
Enterpriseheeled 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 thehell?” 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 aboardBaHwil’. I request that you and Ambassador Sarek speak for me and my crew…should we by any chance survive this. I will fight with you—and 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 Poldar—you 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 ofShardarr andBaHwil’ moving in a corkscrew evasive pattern, firing at the warbirds on theEnterprise ’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 I 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 withKlingons and Romulans, instead of against them!
Enterprisebucked like a spurred horse under another blast fromHoHwi’.
“Aft shield down sixty percent, Captain! We can’t take another hit there!”
Kirk glanced at the schematic, saw thatHoHwi’ had drifted closer toShardarr. “Ship to ship, Uhura! Tight beam toShardarr!”
“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 ofShardarr ’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.
Enterpriselurched 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 ourformer 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 oneHu’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.”
Eleven
The first thing Sarek was conscious of upon waking was that the pain from thesenapa 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 theEnterprise ’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 breathing deeply. Asleep.
Events rushed back as the ambassador stretched cautiously. The fight with Taryn…beaming over to theEnterprise. 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’s.
This evening McCoy agreed to let us 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 stiff-necked, 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 should I do now?
As it happened, Spock wasnot 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 withhim… 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 theEnterprise ’s battle with Kamarag’s ship, Spock experienced a strong flash of déjà 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 theEnterprise….
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.
“TheEnterprise engaged Kamarag’s ship, backed by Poldar aboardShardarr.” 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?”
“Enterprisemanaged 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 theEnterprise 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 clo
thes could be cleaned and repaired. The garments were comfortable—too comfortable, she thought—but they were soflimsy 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 allpale andsoft!”
“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 thinkyou’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.
