Captain's Log Stardate 7340.37
"We remain on yellow alert, awaiting the arrival of the Romulan fleet, and Federation reinforcements. Within the next twelve hours, I must either protect the time portal against unauthorized use, or destroy Gateway. The only possible solution I can think of involves breaking General Order Nine, but at this point, I have little choice. Kirk out."
The Captain punched the "record" button and slumped into his chair, casting a wistful look at his bunk. Instead, he keyed for another cup of coffee, and opened a channel on the intercom.
"Spock here."
"Have you spoken with Doctor McCoy about what happened in the transporter room when the landing party returned?"
"No, Captain."
"Zar was there. Somehow he knew, without being told, what had happened on the surface—that the landing party had been wiped out. Have you seen him since?"
"No."
"He was extremely shaken up by the whole thing. Apparently he was linked in some way to his friends, Cordova and Steinburg, and experienced their deaths. McCoy suggests precognition, or possibly clairvoyance. Any ideas?"
The Vulcan was slow in answering. "No, Captain. The qualities you have mentioned are not unknown among telephaths, but I have never had direct experience with either, except once …"
"I remember. The Intrepid. As I recall, it was painful."
"Yes. You saw him in the transporter room?"
"Yes. He said that the initial shock knocked him out, but by the time he saw us, he was mostly blaming himself because he hadn't warned us in time to save them. Seems that he'd been feeling uneasy for a couple of hours before their deaths."
"Is he in sickbay now?"
"No, that's why I contacted you. I can't locate him, and I want to ask him a few questions about this ability of his. Is it true that he can sense the presence of other life-forms by tuning in on their emotional output? He doesn't have to be in physical contact?"
"Yes, although the life-form must be reasonably high on the evolutionary scale. Lower life-forms, insects for example, experience little emotion that is translatable in sentient terms."
"That's what I thought. Good. Order Mr. Scott to relieve you, and come down to my quarters. Bring Zar with you. Kirk out."
The Vulcan depressed the intercom switch with a slight frown, one that deepened when there was no response from Zar's quad. He tried the gym, the library, the recreation areas. Nothing. Turning command over to the Chief Engineer, he headed for his own quarters, following what Kirk would have termed a hunch, and Spock thought of as logical deduction. . . .
The door opened, the familiarity of his cabin, bunk, chair, microreader, tapes, everything normal. . . . His eyes stopped their scan, focused on a still form lying on the floor of the alcove, half-hidden by the crimson drapery. . . .
For a split second he stood poised, unable to make himself move, then his body took over, walking him without volition to that black-clad shape. As he bent down, fingers curved to grasp the shoulder gently, Zar stirred, grunted and woke.
The Vulcan's voice was harsh with relief. "What are you doing here?"
The younger man was obviously embarrassed. "I couldn't stay in the quad. It was so … empty. So I came here to return the tape on my planet's history, and I decided to view that tape on Vulcan art-forms. After a while I was tired. I didn't expect you back. Aren't you on duty?"
"Yes. Why didn't you use the bunk?"
The gray eyes widened. "It's your bunk, not mine. Besides, I can sleep anywhere."
One eyebrow flicked upward. "Obviously. Get up. The Captain wants to see you. Come on."
"Me?"
"Actually, both of us. I don't know why."
Kirk was starting on his second cup of black coffee, rubbing eyes that felt sand-blasted from fatigue, when the door signal flashed. "Come." he called, and waved his visitors to seats. "Sit down, please. I have a few questions, and a proposition for you." He sat back on his bunk, cradling his coffee, while two sets of eyes, one inquisitive, one reserved, regarded him steadily.
"Zar, can you tell if a sentient life-form is near you, without seeing it?"
The younger man nodded. "I can with every life-form I've encountered."
"Can you block your mind the way Spock can? For instance, screen out pain and prevent your mind from being read by drugs, and so forth?"
"I can block myself so that no telepath can read me against my will. Those other things … I don't know."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "He has a natural mindshield of a high order. The pain block and resistance to drugs is a technique requiring a great deal of study and discipline, as well as physiological controls he doesn't possess. Possibly, with a more qualified instructor, he could develop them. I'm not prepared to postulate."
"But his mind can't be read against his will by mindmelding?" Kirk leaned forward.
"No more than mine can." The Vulcan looked uneasy as he answered.
"What do we know about Romulan telepathic abilities?"
"Almost nothing, Captain. They exist, but in what degree it is impossible to speculate." Spock's eyes narrowed. "Captain, there is only one logical reason for your asking these questions … the answer is 'no.'."
Kirk frowned. "I didn't ask you, did I?"
Zar looked at the two officers, puzzled. "What are you talking about? Captain, what was your proposition?"
"Has Spock told you about the cloaking device the Romulans have set up around the Guardian's location?"
"No, he hasn't told me anything. Obviously, the Romulans haven't utilized the time portal, at least in a manner that's discernible to us … however, that raises an interesting question. Would we actually be aware of it, if history did change around us? It's possible we would simply adjust to the changes in the fabric of existence around us unknowingly … I wonder what equations for such a problem would look like …"
Spock looked interested. "A fascinating concept. Hypothetically, if the—"
The Captain raised his hand. "I hate to interrupt, but while you two sit there and discuss the logic involved, the time-continuum may change. Zar, the situation is this …" Kirk continued, outlining the problem, and concluded, "… so we have to penetrate this cloaking device, and somehow protect the time portal before the Romulans discover it. To do this, we must get inside the perimeter of the screen."
The younger man looked thoughtful. "You want me to get inside this cloaking device, because I can sense the presence of the Romulans, without seeing them … is that correct?"
"Can you do it?"
The gray eyes began to shine. "I'll try, sir. Once I get inside without getting caught, what will I do to the time portal?"
"That's where Spock comes in. He's figured out a way to rig a force field around the Guardian that will prevent the Romulans from going through, even if they do discover it. By the time they could break through the shield, we should have reinforcements here."
"Yes, sir." Zar stood up. "When do we go?"
"'We' are not going." The Vulcan was also on his feet, and the flat statement rang like a challenge. "At least you're not. I am perfectly capable of installing that force field alone. Captain—" without turning his head, "surely you are aware that you are violating General Order Nine in requesting civilian assistance in this matter?"
"I'm doing the only thing I can to protect the Guardian short of destroying the entire planet. I'm willing to break General Order Nine to accomplish that."
"It's not your decision to make, Captain." Spock's eyes turned to Kirk's, and the expression in them made the Captain blink, before his own gaze hardened. The Vulcan's voice was harsh. "Zar, return to your quarters."
"No, sir." Something about the cold, quiet tone made both officers look at him. "You're right, it's not his decision to make—it's mine. I'm going."
"No." The Vulcan shook his head. "It's too dangerous. I cannot allow it. I will go alone."
"That's where you're wrong. I will go alone, if necessary. The Captain can get someone to set up the f
orce field, but you can't find anyone else that can get you through that screen, and warn you of enemies once you're inside. It would be better if I went alone, as a matter of fact. Then I wouldn't have to worry about you slowing me down."
"That's enough of that." Kirk snapped. "You both go, or nobody goes, and I begin the destruction." Spock turned to look at him, and the Vulcan's eyes made the Captain clench his fists. "Spock, I know what you're thinking. But I have no choice. I'd sacrifice any person on this ship, starting with myself, to keep the Romulans from getting a chance at the time portal. It's my duty, and nobody, not even you, can interfere with that." He looked at Zar, and continued. "I'm sending Zar, because he's willing to go, and he has this unique … perception, whatever you call it, and therefore has the best chance of getting in, and getting back out, alive. And I'm asking you to go too, because you can protect him better than anyone else. If you prefer, I'll send Zar and somebody else. Think it over. We haven't much time."
Spock turned back to Zar, who was standing quietly, hands at his sides, open challenge in his eyes. The First Officer snapped out a sentence in a language Kirk assumed was Vulcan. The younger man's chin came up, and he answered with an equally sharp manner in the same language. Spock's mouth tightened, then he nodded, slowly, reluctantly.
Without another word, the young man left the room. The Captain turned to his First Officer. "Well, who won?"
"He's gone to get ready." Spock didn't meet his eyes. Kirk knew that the Vulcan was as angry as he'd ever seen him—at both of them.
"I wish there were some other way, Spock." The Captain sighed. "Well, at least it won't take long. In an hour—two at the outside—you'll be back aboard, and the Guardian will be safe." He paused. "It took courage to stand up to you the way he did."
"It was total disrespect."
"I don't think he meant it that way …" Kirk remembered the look on Spock's face when Zar had announced that he'd only slow him down. "He's cocky, though … I was like that, myself, at one time." He grinned reminiscently. "My old man had hell to pay trying to discipline me—nothing worked. Did your father ever have the same problem?"
The Vulcan raised an astonished eyebrow, saw Kirk's knowing grin and gave in. "Vulcan methods worked on me … usually."
"Well, if you want, when this is over, I'll order up a security squad, and we can take turns walloping him."
The Captain was waiting when the two volunteers, clad alike in dark, insulated coveralls, entered the transporter room. Watching them as they moved to strap on phasers and communicators, he was struck again by the similarities—and the differences. Both moved easily, gracefully, but Spock's grace was economical, precise, while Zar's was … feline? Kirk rejected the word, but could find no better one.
When they stood on the transporter pads, Spock holding the portable force-field unit, the Captain flicked switches, was rewarded by an answering hum. "Remember, you've got twelve hours to set up that unit and get back to the landing coordinates, before Bob and I start taking that planet apart. If you're still on it …"
"Understood, Captain." Spock nodded. A second later, the two figures shimmered into nothingness.
Gateway was quiet, except for the wind, and even that seemed strangely muted. The ever-present ruins closed in around them, as they picked their way cautiously over the boulders and chunks of fallen buildings. The ashy platinum sand, studded with silica-like sparkles, was too fine to hold their footprints. Within minutes, all traces of their passage were gone.
Spock checked his tricorder often, and finally signaled a halt. "The screen should begin directly in front of us," he said in a low voice.
Zar looked, could see nothing but more rocks and tumbled structures ahead—a mirror image of what lay behind them, even though his sense of direction told him the Guardian was about forty meters in front of him. He narrowed his eyes, and sensed, more than saw, a shimmer in the air in front of him. "I can see it."
"Yes. Can you pick up anything on the other side of the screen?"
"Two—maybe three, near the Guardian. We'll have to angle in from the left."
Even though Zar's perception told him that the way ahead was clear, they dropped to hands and knees to cross the device's camouflage barrier a few minutes later. Both were conscious of a tingling sensation, but that passed as they moved away. Spock started to get to his feet, but Zar grabbed his arm. "Stay down—they're all around this area. Follow me."
The Vulcan found himself hard put to keep up, as they dodged from outcrop to outcrop, wiggling prone much of the time. They were well-camouflaged themselves, smeared with ashy dust, by the time they reached a point where they could see the time portal.
Beside the monolith, still quiescent, a small, alien craft stood, hatch open. Romulans were busy unloading it. They were paying no attention to the huge stone figure, but there was no way for anyone to get near the Guardian without being seen immediately.
Spock jerked his head in silent command, and they withdrew until they were a safe distance away. Zar located a rocky niche sheltered from sight and the wind, and they settled down to await the completion of the unloading. "We can only hope that the Romulans are as efficient at unloading a shuttlecraft as they are at everything else," Spock said. "We have eleven hours, twenty-four point three minutes before the Captain's deadline."
Zar nodded silently, and the two sat, listening to the wind, as the minutes limped by. The younger man used his perception to check on the Romulan's presence, occasionally scrambling up to peer out at the scene. Finally, to keep himself from getting sleepy, he turned to the silent figure beside him. "I was reading my biology lesson the other day …"
"Yes?"
"There was a discussion of hybrids … I'm one …"
"No. I am." Zar was startled. "You? I thought …" he trailed off in confusion.
"I'm half Human. Didn't you know? I thought McCoy would tell you. Why does the fact surprise you?"
"Most hybrids are sterile …" the young man blurted, wishing he could retrieve the remark as soon as it was voiced.
Immediately, he picked up a current of wry amusement, though Spock's voice was unchanged. "I'm not. Obviously."
"That means I'm only one-quarter Vulcan … I thought I was half. You don't show any signs of your Human ancestry."
"Thank you." The amusement deepened.
"Which of your parents is Vulcan?"
"My father, Sarek, former ambassador to Earth, and several other planets, including the seat of the Federation Council."
"Sarek of Vulcan? I've read about him … an extremely old and respected family."
"Yes. Not an easy kinship to uphold."
"Still, it must be a good feeling to know where you belong … no matter where you go, some world claims you, and you're part of it. A home. I miss that …" Zar stopped abruptly, swallowed to relieve the sudden tightness at the back of his throat, and had a vision of sharp, ice-covered peaks and plunging valleys. And the picture I saw … what does it mean? He glanced over at the Vulcan, found that he was watching him closely, his face a blur in the shadow. The intent gaze was disconcerting, and Zar hastily scrambled over to look out at the landing craft. "They're still unloading. . . ."
Spock looked at him calmly. "I filed a statement for Vulcan citizenship for you with the leader of the Family, the day we returned from Sarpeidon. T'Pau knows about you. You should make your claim to her, if anything happens to me."
Zar found the implication disturbing, and his tone was sharper than he'd intended. "If anything happens to you, there's not much chance that I'll be alive, either. . . . How much time left?"
"Eleven hours, twelve point three minutes."
"I'm not sure I'd make that claim—even though it would be good to have a … home. Vulcan social traditions, according to what I've read, are somewhat rigid."
"I know. Family expectations can be difficult to integrate with personal ambitions … needs. The Family determines most life-choices—or tries to. Career … even marriage. You would b
e expected to preserve the succession … uphold the tradition."
"You mean marry to order?" The idea seemed very alien to the younger man, and he shuddered slightly. There would be no joy in that, only duty. Ironically, his mother's face, lips curved in a smile of remembrance spilled into his mind, warring with the picture that had been there since his talk with Kirk, and he wondered futilely what the truth was. Don't think about it. Concentrate on something else. "Marriage … that's not a subject I ever considered. As for the succession, I wonder if I could even interbreed with a full-blooded Vulcan … or Human, for that matter?"
"I don't know. Probably … you may not want to consider marriage to a Vulcan, however."
"Why?"
"Because of the pon farr."
"Pon farr? That translates to 'time of mating,' or 'time of wedding.' What is it?"
Spock drew a deep breath, and Zar could sense the emotions—embarrassment, reticence. Then he told him, his voice quiet, of the mating drive that occurred every seven years, and of the madness that could result … even to the point of death, if the urge was denied too long.
The younger man was stunned. "That's how Vulcans marry?" His next thought made his eyes widen. "That's not going to happen to me, is it?"
The First Officer was carefully examining a small, nondescript pebble. "Probably not," he said, without looking up. "It is largely brought about by racial conditioning. You could feel vestiges, but I doubt that you would experience the insanity."
"Insanity …" Zar shivered suddenly. "Have you ever … did you …"
"Once."
Zar gritted his teeth to stop the next question, but it rushed out anyway, as though it had a life of its own. "Was that with …" He swallowed, "I mean, when …"
"No." He had expected resentment from the Vulcan, but could detect none in the flat voice, sense none in the emotional output. "It happened on Vulcan, several years ago."
"Then you're married … I didn't know." Zar wondered fleetingly if he had brother or sisters. Legitimate ones, one part of his mind sneered. But Spock shook his head.
"No. My prospective consort chose the challenge. No marriage took place." The pebble dropped, stirring the ashy sand. "Are they still unloading the ship?"
Yesterday's Son Page 12
