Star Trek-TOS-027-Mindshadow

by Kevin Underwood

  Tela'at's lesson took longer than

  anticipated."

  Sarek studied her calmly. "Apologies

  serve no useful

  purpose. They cannot negate the fact that you are

  late."

  T'Pala bowed her head in submission, quite

  clearly

  deflated; Spock found the scene a painfully

  familiar

  one. He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. In

  all the

  years that Spock had lived in his father's

  house, he had

  never seen Sarek correct a guest; quite

  obviously, this

  girl was something more. There was an awkward

  silence.

  Amanda was the first to break it. "There's still

  some food in the kitchen, T'Pala, if you

  haven't eaten

  yet."

  "Thank you," T'Pala said. She nodded to them and

  went to her room; when she reemerged, she had shed

  the black cloak to reveal the long white dress

  underneath.

  Sarek seated himself at the three-dimensional

  chessboard,

  and when T'Pala smoothly took the seat across

  from him, Spock realized that he was watching what

  had become an evening ritual.

  At one time, he had been a participant himself.

  He continued to play quietly on Sarek's

  harp, but he

  kept one eye on the game. It was immediately

  apparent

  that T'Pala was a novice, since she applied

  no

  coherent strategy, and that the purpose of this game

  was instructional rather than recreational.

  "How did you fare on your test?" Sarek asked

  her.

  "Well, I think." T'Pala studied the board

  and made

  a move. "Did your Council meeting go

  well?"

  Sarek sighed. "I am having some difficulty

  convincing

  the Council of my position. I must admit that

  I do

  not understand the reasons for it. To deny protection

  in this case violates all precedent."

  "What do you think the ultimate outcome of the

  vote will be?"

  "I cannot predict it yet. At present, the

  vote is

  split--half favor Aritani's protection,

  half do not."

  Spock stopped playing.

  MINDSHADOW

  "I am especially interested in the subject,"

  T'Pala

  said, "as one of my examination questions requested

  me to state my position on the matter and to defend

  it."

  "And what position did you take?" Sarek

  smoothly

  captured T'Pala's bishop with a knight.

  She looked at the board with dismay, displeased by

  her error, eager to please Sarek with her

  defense. "I

  said I was against protection in this particular case,

  as

  it violates the doctrine of noninterference, one

  of the

  key principles of the Federation. A culture must

  be

  free to determine its own path. Also, a

  military attack

  on the raiders contradicts the Vulcan

  principle of

  nonviolence. Check." She looked up at him

  to gauge

  his reaction.

  Sarek was expressionless as he studied the threat

  posed to his king. "The noninterference directive

  refers

  to the development of a culture. If a culture

  unwittingly follows a path which will lead to its

  annihilation

  rather than its normal course of development,

  are we bound to assist that culture in committing

  genocide? If we have the means to protect that

  culture,

  are we not bound to do so in order that they may live

  in

  peace and continue their development? Federation

  history abounds with precedent favoring protection

  and rescue of undeveloped planets from

  external

  threats--Yonada, Betelgeuse Two,

  Halcyon, Capella,

  Soyuz Vtoroi. the examples are numerous.

  You

  forget, T'Pala, or you were not informed, that the

  reason Aritani now resists the aid of the

  Federation is

  that we were incapable of actually protecting them

  from the attacks, and they now consider us impotent.

  I

  believe we should comply with their original request

  and supply the aid they so desperately

  need."

  T'Pala turned to look at Spock. "You were

  on

  Aritani, Spock. Do you also favor

  protection?"

  There was a long silence. "I am not qualified

  to

  comment," he replied stonily.

  "But you were there," she persisted.

  "I have no memory of it."

  He felt rather than saw her flush with

  embarrassment

  as she turned her eyes back to the board to find

  that her opponent had moved.

  "Checkmate," said Sarek.

  "She's very young," Amanda said after T'Pala

  exCused

  herself. "She'll be nineteen next month. Her

  mother died when she was very young, and when her

  father died a few months ago, she came to stay with

  us. Her mother's family are distant relatives

  of

  Sarek's, and Sarek knew her father many years

  ago. If

  she's accepted into the diplomatic

  program, she'll

  continue to stay with us."

  "The Vulcan Diplomatic Corps?"

  Spock asked. He

  thought he had succeeded in masking his surprise, but

  Sarek looked at him sharply.

  "She retained her Vulcan citizenship during

  her long

  stay on Terra," his father said coldly. "Although

  she

  has acquired some Terran mannerisms as a

  result, she

  wishes to serve in the VDC. Her background

  makes

  her an excellent candidate as an attach to the

  Vulcan

  embassy on Terra."

  Spock noted that Sarek had not said T'Pala

  would

  make an excellent ambassador, merely an

  attache; it

  was a highly sought after position available only

  to the

  most elite in the VDC. Sarek had held the

  post for

  many years, and had groomed his son carefully for

  it,

  naming him Spock, meaning the Uniter, the one who

  might someday unite Vulcan and Terra into one

  great

  civilization, to bring together all that was best of the

  two worlds.

  MINDSHADOW

  So this girl was to be Sarek's new protge.

  "I have recommended that she be admitted into the

  VDC," Sarek continued, "but that is no

  guarantee that

  she will be accepted. Her grades are good, but not

  outstanding." He looked pointedly at Spock.

  "She is

  not as gifted as some others."

  Spock remained silent.

  "Of course," Sarek amended, "her strengths are

  in

  the social sciences, and she has a natural

  inclination

  toward politi
cs. Thus, it is logical for her

  to pursue a

  diplomatic career. If her talents

  were elsewhere--for

  example, the natural sciences--perhaps another

  profession

  would be more suitable."

  "Logical," Spock nodded in serene

  agreement.

  "Of course, she has other marks against her besides

  her grades," Amanda said softly. "Her father was

  Gerald Carstairs."

  Sarek fixed his disapproving gaze upon her.

  "The name is unfamiliar to me," Spock said.

  "You

  said he was a friend of Father's?"

  "An acquaintance," Sarek corrected. "There

  is no

  point in discussing what is no longer

  important, my

  wife."

  Amanda bowed her head slightly in acquiescence.

  Spock knew better than to try to pursue the

  subject.

  "if you will excuse me, then," Spock said as he

  rose.

  "Sleep well," said Amanda.

  Husband and wife sat alone quietly

  for a moment.

  "Thank you," Amanda said suddenly.

  Sarek lifted an eyebrow at her as if she had

  just said

  something completely insane.

  "For what you said to Spock... about choosing a

  profession. And drop that expression. You're as

  transparent

  as glass."

  He let free a small, exasperated sigh,

  and for once

  did not pretend that he had no idea what she was

  talking about.

  McCoy responded to the buzzer in spite of his

  promises to himself; but it was not Emma who had

  pressed it, as he had hoped and feared. Kirk

  stood

  nervously in the corridor with a

  suspicious-looking

  bundle under his arm.

  "Yes, Captain?" McCoy's tone was cold,

  and the

  look in his eyes could have turned the Vulcan

  desert to

  icy tundra. Kirk had already had

  occasion to speak to

  him earlier on the bridge, and McCoy had

  dropped

  more than a few hints that he was mad. Damn

  mad.

  Now here was the captain standing in front of the

  door to his quarters with a peace offering, an act

  that

  served only to confirm the doctor's

  suspicions.

  "Mind if I come in?" Kirk asked meekly.

  McCoy shrugged and retreated into his study. The

  captain followed and set the bundle on

  McCoy's desk,

  pulling the wrapping away.

  The unmarked decanter contained a clear liquid

  that

  could have been water--but it was bootleg ethanol,

  fresh from the Enterprise's own still hidden in the

  depths of Engineering. White lightning,

  moonshine,

  McCoy called it. It was as close to pure

  ethanol as its

  makers could come without igniting Engineering--198

  proof. One good shot and you felt no

  pain; two, and

  you'd never remember the fun you were having.

  The captain, of course, was not supposed to be

  aware of the still's existence, as it was decidedly

  nonregulation. Kirk had had a hell of a time just

  trying

  to find someone who would admit its existence, much

  less procure some of its output for him. Former

  Security

  Chief O'Shay had been his supplier, but

  Tomson

  had seemed genuinely shocked at the captain's

  sugges-

  MINDSHADOW

  tion: she'd probably never touched the stuff and

  would

  no doubt turn in any of her subordinates who

  did.

  Even Tersarkisov, the rowdiest engineer on

  board,

  had professed total ignorance until Kirk

  had convinced

  him that the liquor really was for the captain's

  personal

  consumption and that no court-martials would

  ensue.

  Kirk pushed the bottle toward McCoy. "The

  drinks

  are on me."

  McCoy silently produced two glasses and

  set them

  on the table. Kirk took it as a hopeful sign

  and filled

  them; usually the moonshine was mixed with something

  to lessen its effect and kill the taste, but this was

  no time for formalities. Kirk handed a glass

  to the

  sulking doctor and sat down across from him. "I

  think

  we need to talk."

  "Suit yourself." McCoy played with his glass and

  did not look at him.

  Kirk took a sip of his drink and shuddered at the

  taste. "Why are you angry at me, Doctor?"

  "You tell me."

  "Bones.. Kirk spread his hands helplessly.

  "How's the shoulder this morning, Captain?"

  McCoy

  said suddenly.

  Kirk colored slightly. "Who told you?"

  "You mean, besides the fact that you're moving

  with all the agility and grace of a

  ninety-year-old

  arthritic?" McCoy said sarcastically.

  "Maybe I'm just

  good at putting two and two together."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  He could hold his rage no longer. "You can drop

  the

  innocent act, Jim! I saw her leaving your

  quarters

  early this morning."

  "I see," Kirk said quietly.

  "And you've got the gall to come here, as though

  you can make everything right by bringing me a bottle-was

  For a moment, McCoy seemed to be deciding

  whether or not to smash his glass against the bulkhead.

  "Doctor," Kirk said in the same calm

  voice, "I

  realize what it looks like. But I went to her

  quarters so

  she could treat the shoulder--"

  "Get your story straight. She left your

  quarters,"

  McCoy said from between clenched teeth.

  "She gave me a sedative so I could sleep.

  I fell

  asleep in her quarters. This morning I woke

  up in my

  own. You figure it out."

  McCoy folded his arms tightly and considered the

  Captain's words; with a sigh, he closed his eyes

  and

  tilted his head back. "You're telling me that

  nothing

  happened between you--"

  "I'm not saying that I don't find her

  attractive. I

  won't lie to you, Bones. I do. And I can't

  remember

  everything that happened last night, after the medication."

  McCoy flailed his arms. "Oh, that makes me

  feel

  just great. Thanks for the honesty, Jim. Now, am

  I

  supposed to feel better, knowing that you find her

  attractive and you don't remember what

  happened?"

  Kirk stiffened. "If you can't trust either

  one of us,

  Doctor, you had better reexamine your

  personal relationships.

  Would you rather I lied?"

  McCoy's anger flared. "I'd rather you left her

  the

  hell alone."

  Kirk stood up so quickl
y that he spilled some of the

  volatile liquid down the front of his tunic

  and now

  reeked of the stuff but was too angered to care.

  "She's

  not anybody's property, Bones. You don't have

  the

  right to say that."

  "So now you're concerned about her personal

  rights, eh, you, who treats every single female who

  MINDSHADOW

  comes aboard this ship like they're fair game--comy

  think you have to play ladies' man with them all!

  Emma deserves better than that to was

  "That's not true! I keep my distance from every

  female officer on board this ship! You should

  talk!

  going after a woman half your age. She

  could be your

  daughter!"

  "She's older than Joanna," McCoy

  defended himself

  pathetically. "But it seems to me you've changed

  your hands-off policy toward women crewmembers.

  You've been flirting with Emma since she set

  foot on

  this ship."

  Kirk thought for a moment and set his glass down on

  the desk. "Then I'll stop."

  His words stole the momentum from McCoy's rage.

  "Well . . . what am I supposed to think,

  Jim?" The

  doctor shrugged helplessly. "You're younger than

  I

  am, handsomer--maybe you felt you needed to prove

  that--"

  "If you don't believe me," Kirk said

  softly, "then

  ask Emma--that is, if you trust her any more

  than you

  do me."

  McCoy put his head in his hands. "You don't

  know

  how I feel about her, Jim. I'm an

  old-fashioned Earth

  boy. This isn't just some convenient affair--I

  love

  her."

  "I know. That's why I'll stop the workouts in the

  gym if you like. I'll avoid all contact with

  her..."

  "No, there's no point in doing that..."

  McCoy's

  eyes glittered with pain and alcohol. "She's

  attracted

  to you, isn't she?"

  "You'll have to ask the lady that, Bones. I

  don't

  speak for her."

  "I thought so." McCoy looked at a distant

  spot on

  the wall. "I guess I'll have to take this up with

  her."

  "I guess so," said Kirk.

  He left the bottle with McCoy.

  Kirk was on the bridge, coming to all sorts of

  conclusions, none of them pleasant, about

  what had

  happened to his chief engineering officer. When the

  intercom finally buzzed, he nearly jumped out of

  his

  chair. He prayed it was news of Scott; he

  knew it was,

  of course, Lieutenant Tomson.

  "I don't think I need to remind you of the time,

  sir.

  Shall I put the bulletin out on Mr. Scott?"