"My apologies. And may I express the Federation's deep regret over the loss of your son."
"Regret? You can't imagine what it feels like to lose a son. He was twenty-five years old, my oldest. Only halfway through a Beta Promethean life. He was destined to sit on the Inner Council after I am gone."
Sarek thought for a moment why he could very well know how it felt to lose a son. And how grateful he had been when his own son's regenerated body and spirit were reunited in the fal-tor-pan ceremony. Careful not to insult Kannish by discussing his own personal experiences, however, Sarek simply nodded slowly.
"We must," he began, "insure that no such thing should ever happen again. The Federation has every hope that a peaceful and productive relationship between it and the Beta Promethean people can continue. If the Starship Excelsior had drifted into Beta Promethean star space without prior permission, I want to assure you that it was an accident, and that our Starfleet will be most careful not to do so again until a working treaty for your area of the galaxy can be defined between us. Many of your people are traders, and certainly know how important it is that intergalactic travel go unrestricted. I must ask, however, that before we discuss such broad issues, we discuss the incarceration of nine of our Starfleet officers. The Federation wants to assure you that they were not spying. What can we do to effect their safe return?"
Kannish glowered across the table. The two Beta Prometheans that sat near him seemed to fidget on their stools. Sarek's own aides, two young humans newly posted to the diplomatic corps, sat as still as they could.
Kannish waved his muscled hand as if to dismiss the issue. "No, no, this is not productive at all. The important issues first. Surely in the great scheme of things, the Starfleet officers hardly matter. But the dilithium prices, which have until now—"
"To us," Sarek broke in as politely as he could, "the matter of the officers is of the utmost importance. Perhaps you could assure me that they are all healthy?"
"I don't understand the Federation's concern with a few officers." Kannish shook his head. "The Federation itself should be of paramount importance. The lives of the officers are a small price to pay."
"The Federation is the lives of the officers. Each one is of great value to the Federation."
"Then your worlds will not progress very far in this universe. Surely you can see how unimportant individual lives are in the vast spaces of the galaxy and in the creator's vision."
"Indeed, the single life is dwarfed by the time and space of our universe. Yet it is the very sanctity of that life that gives our society strength. . . ."
Kannish and Sarek spoke on into the night, Kannish laying out demands—a new, higher dilithium price and a commitment to buy dilithium only from the Beta Prometheans, a guarantee of noninterference in the political workings of their planet, and fees paid to the Beta Prometheans for travel within their system—while Sarek continually tried to steer the conversation back to the officers somewhere in a Beta Promethean prison. And away from the discourse on the inefficiency of a democracy, which Kannish appeared to be anxious to expound on. When he noticed that his counterpart's energy was wearing down, Sarek remembered that a Beta Promethean was old at fifty. He begged his own exhaustion—in truth he wasn't the least bit tired—and the group broke up, with assurances that they would meet again the next day.
In the hallway outside, he walked back to the shuttle that would take him back to Starbase 499 while talking quietly with his aides.
"This is going to be a difficult one," Sarek said, as much to himself as for the education of the young diplomats. "You notice he was fairly obtuse about the health of our Starfleet officers, and did not really want to discuss them at all."
"They don't take the individual life very seriously here," the young man on his left said.
"No, they do not," Sarek agreed. "But divergent philosophies are not our central problem. We have to get them to spell out a working timetable for the return of the men. And that may be difficult. All this 'for good of the system' talk aside, the traders here seem to go their own way a good deal of the time. I do not believe the Ruling Family controls the hostages. Or even knows exactly where they are."
When they were seated inside their shuttle, the young man turned to the ambassador.
"I know you also have a son, sir," he said. "Isn't he serving in the Starfleet?"
"He was. He is on an extended leave," Sarek said. "I believe just now he is at the Vulcan Science Academy pursuing a complex problem to its logical conclusion."
The Planet Vulcan
Kirk stepped out of the shuttle onto the Vulcan planet surface and immediately felt the increased gravity and searing heat. He threaded his way through the terminal and boarded a tram that took him to the Science Academy. There he looked up an acquaintance in an obscure office. Although the Vulcan did not know where Mr. Spock was living just then, he knew where he could be found that evening. Kirk thanked the scientist for the directions, and walked leisurely through the city.
It was extraordinarily peaceful after the streets of San Francisco. The buildings were bleached from the constant desert climate, and the landscape was sparse and simple. The air was close and warm. The sister planet was enormous in the sky, its dust storms and volcanoes visible to the naked eye. No one hurried. Long-robed Vulcans walked calmly in small groups. Many pedestrians appeared to be deep in meditation. Handfuls of alien visitors roamed the streets like tourists.
Kirk found the small Globe Theatre at the bottom of a narrow alley. Posters flanking the box office announced the Melpomene Players' production of William Shakespeare's Hamlet. The lobby was deserted, the performance had already begun. Kirk walked around the building until he found the stage door. He opened it quietly and stepped into an empty corridor. Following it, he found himself in the semidarkness of backstage. Then he heard the voice of the man he was looking for, speaking in bombastic tones.
"He will come straight," he heard Mr. Spock intone. "Look you lay home to him: Tell him his pranks have been too broad to bear with, And that your Grace hath screen 'd and stood between much heat and him. I'll sconce me even here. Pray you, be round with him."
Kirk walked closer to the sound until he was standing behind the set. Bright lights flooded the stage and he could see through a crack in the ersatz stone wall that Spock and a woman were playing a scene. Then a handsome young Deltan male walked up, stood right next to Kirk in the shadows, and shouted toward the stage.
"Mother, mother, mother?"
The female human's voice came from the stage.
"I'll warrant you; fear me not:—withdraw, I hear him coming."
Kirk watched as Spock stepped through a curtain in the set. Then the young man walked past Kirk and went onto the stage.
"Now, mother, what's the matter?" Kirk heard him ask the actress.
"Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended."
"Mother, you have my father much offended."
"Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue."
"Go, go, you question with a wicked tongue."
As the voices continued, becoming increasingly agitated, Kirk walked around the braces that held up the flats and came up beside Mr. Spock, who was standing just offstage behind a curtain. Spock turned and saw him.
"Captain Kirk," Spock whispered. "This is an unexpected surprise. If you have come to see our production, you would enjoy it much better from a seat in the front of the house."
"Spock, what the hell are you doing?"
"I am playing Polonius. Surely you recognized Hamlet, Captain."
"I can see that. I mean, since when have you gone in for acting?"
"Oh. That is quite recent actually. And primarily because of you."
"Me?"
"You often told me that I should get more in touch with the human side of my nature."
"Your emotions. I said you should get in touch with your emotions, Spock."
"Precisely. I took an acting class which promised exactly that. One thing
led to another, and here I am."
"I see. The roar of the greasepaint."
The onstage voices continued to float over the scenery to them.
"Why, how now, Hamlet!"
"What's the matter now?"
"Have you forgot me?"
"No, by the rood, not so: You are the queen, your husband's brother's wife; And—would it were not so!—you are my mother."
"Nay, then, I'll set those to you that can speak."
"Come, come, and sit you down; you shall not budge; You go not till I set you up a glass where you may see the inmost part of you."
Kirk was about to speak when Spock tilted his head toward the stage.
"One moment," Spock said to Kirk. "I have a line coming up. . . ."
"What wilt thou do? Thou wilt not murder me?—Help, help, ho!" the young man onstage yelled.
"What, ho! Help, help, help!" Spock shouted through the curtain.
"How now, a rat? Dead for a ducat, dead!"
Kirk watched, amazed, as a sword ripped through the curtain. Spock wrapped his arm around it, shouted "O, I am slain!" then fell to the ground, dragging the curtain with him. It tore off its moorings, and wrapped around Spock as he slumped to the ground. Kirk stepped back just in time to keep from being seen by the audience. There was more dialogue, and finally the lights dimmed onstage. In the shadows Kirk saw Spock jump nimbly to his feet and walk by him.
"That is all for my character. Come to my dressing room. We can speak before the calls."
Kirk followed Spock down a staircase to a basement, and into a low-ceilinged room with Spock's name on the door. Obviously, Kirk noted, the Vulcans had taken pains to re-create a human theater environment. Spock sat in a chair before a large mirror and began removing his stage makeup.
"Captain. I am aware of your interest in culture, but surely, even in your retirement, you have not come so far simply to view a Vulcan production of Hamlet?"
"I might have. I think your death scene was marvelous."
"Thank you. We have not had adequate rehearsal time and, between you and me, the director is handicapped by a large ego and self-absorbed personality that precludes him from recognizing and acknowledging the genius of William Shakespeare. Thus our production has been saddled with artificial notions that cloud the fundamental issues. The producer was impressed by his résumé, and imported him from somewhere in the galaxy."
"I'm sorry."
"On the other hand, his inadequate direction has united the cast against him, and I have benefited from a wonderful camaraderie I have not before experienced. Not since our voyages aboard the Enterprise, that is."
Kirk stared at Spock for a moment, then decided to plunge ahead.
"I'll bet you'd like to know why I've come to see you."
"I assumed you would tell me when it suited you."
"I will. I am. That is, well, how should I put this …?"
"Let us 'cut the cackle and get down to the horses.' I would be glad to accompany you to Beta Prometheus."
Kirk stopped. "How did you guess?"
"I, too, have been following the news. Our old helmsman is in a difficult situation. For two days now, Starfleet has not moved to assist the hostages, and the Federation is mired in politics. You are a captain with intense loyalties to your crew, which you have demonstrated on more than one occasion. You have come to visit me suddenly and without warning, although I have not heard from you since our last voyage together over nine months ago. It is only logical that you have come to recruit me for a mission."
"I sent you a postcard just last Christmas."
"It said only, 'Winter Solstice Greetings.' In standard print."
"Okay, I admit I was never much for writing. Will you come with me?"
"I will."
"You understand, Spock, that this is entirely on our own. I haven't been reactivated by Starfleet."
"As you are wearing civilian clothes and not your uniform, I had assumed that to be the case, Captain."
"I can't stand waiting around doing nothing, and I thought I'd go out there and, you know, get a little closer to the situation. In case I can be of some assistance. But what about the play? Do you have an understudy?"
"I was informed earlier that tonight we are giving our last performance," Spock answered with some finality. "The principal critic is Vulcan and found the play to be illogical."
"Great. I mean, I'm sorry about the play, but I'm glad you're available. I thought we would get together at my apartment in San Francisco tomorrow. We can make plans then."
"Logical. How many of the others have you recruited?"
"So far … let me think. None."
"I am the first?"
"You're the first."
"I am flattered, Captain."
"By the way, there's no need to call me 'Captain' any longer, Spock. I'm a civilian now."
"I am aware of that, Captain."
"So you can call me Jim."
"Thank you, Captain."
"I guess old habits die hard."
A stage manager stuck his head in and announced the calls. Spock and Kirk went up the staircase, and Kirk found himself milling about with dozens of actors, hushed and waiting. From the stage he heard a solemn voice.
"Take up the bodies. Such a sight as this becomes the field, but here shows much amiss. Go, bid the soldiers shoot."
There was silence, the lights dimmed out, and Kirk was standing in pitch darkness. He heard applause, and bright lights came up. The actors poured onto the stage. Kirk watched from the wings as they smiled and bowed.
Later Kirk and Spock walked up the alley together, the noise from the carousing actors dimming behind them.
"I hate to take you away from all this," Kirk apologized.
"It was going to be my last foray into the theater in any case. As an experiment it held out some remarkably interesting events, but I shall return soon to my research at the Academy. There is altogether too much Sturm und Drang in theatrical production for me. I prefer a more logical approach to problems."
"But that's what Shakespeare is noted for, the Sturm and Drang as you call it."
"I was referring to the backstage atmosphere. Actors and actresses from the more emotional races having affairs, arguments, and nervous breakdowns. And all the shouting, crying, yelling. No, the theatre life is not for a Vulcan, or even a half-Vulcan. I will be glad to get back to my studies."
"What, and quit show business?" Kirk said wryly.
Spock simply said, "I will see you in San Francisco." He waved and turned down the street. Kirk watched the tall figure disappear into the balmy night, then turned and headed back toward the terminal.
The Eurosphere, Earth
Kirk came down to Earth at London Intergalactic, and shuttled immediately up-country. There was no public tram beyond the foot of the mountains, so he hired a private shuttle and gave his driver the name of the small hamlet.
The heather-covered hills flashed beneath the taxi. Small towns and country manors grew farther and farther apart until they reached the Highlands. There was no landing dock in the little village, so the driver hovered onto a grassy field behind the single street of small shops. Sheep bleated and scurried out of the way as the space van stopped a foot above the ground and its single engine stopped humming.
Kirk made arrangements for the driver to return in several hours. Then he jumped down and walked across the field toward a handful of low buildings. He stepped onto the village's only carbonized road. Spotting several open shops, he chose the local pub. The last time he had seen senior engineering officer Montgomery Scott, the man suggested he had a lot of idle endeavors to catch up on, and planned a good deal of them in his retirement.
The doors of Pluto's Inn slid open and Kirk stepped inside a brightly skylit room, the far wall lined from bar to roof with bottles from every brand of fermented and distilled drink known in the immediate solar system. The ceiling was laced with a unique collection of laser signs featuring the names of the most pop
ular brands, and the floor was a jumble of tables and chairs made from highly polished natural woods. At this hour in the midafternoon, Kirk was the only customer. He approached a burly woman who was wiping glasses behind the bar.
"I don't think I've ever seen such a fine collection of natural wood furniture."
"Then you're a stranger to the Highlands," she said in a musical burr. "We get everything we kin from Mother Earth. As long as we replace it, she does na mind. Who are ye seeking?"
"Montgomery Scott. An old friend. How did you …?"
"Strangers do na come here for the entertainment. We do na have Alien Parks or Environpods or Fantasy Stimulators."
"You have the greenest earth and the bluest sky I've ever seen."
"Aye, and lakes and rivers so clear you can count the scales on the fish at the bottom. But regulations have nay permitted hunting nor fishing for some centuries now. You're from the city, I can see by your clothes."
"And I thought I was blending right in."
"They're the right style, but they're artificial. They come from the synthesizers. Feel this. It comes from the sheep." She held out the tunic she was wearing. He politely felt the material.
"Ye kin tell, can't ye?"
"Uh, yes, it's quite remarkable." Kirk did not go on to say that he didn't understand how the woman could wear something so rough next to her skin all day, just for the sake of avoiding synthetics. Then he realized that she was probably a Gaian, a follower of a native religion he had heard about in which the principal Goddess was the Earth herself. They tended to congregate in the country, away from the megalopolises, and were committed to self-sufficiency and natural products.
"Do you think you could help me. Mr. Scott is about six feet tall and—"
"—almost as round, since he retired. Ye'll find Scotty at the end of the third path in the second vale if ye leave the village walking north. But if you just sit here, he'll come walking through that door in a coupla hours, calling for his pint o' bitter, and ready to tell the tallest tales ye've ever haird tell of."
"Tales?"
The Fearful Summons Page 11
