“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 [138] 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.”
[139] 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 [140] 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 be 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.”
[141] “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?”
The gray eyes narrowed, as Zar concentrated on the actions he could not see. “Yes—how much time left?”
“Eleven hours, five point five minutes.” Spock retrieved the pebble, dropped it again, to look at his [142] companion squarely. “Do you have any more questions about ... what we’ve been discussing? It is something you should know—though I never envisioned myself giving what McCoy might term a ‘straight from the shoulder.’ ”
Zar understood neither the reference, nor the self-deprecation that accompanied it. Something else was bothering him. After
a long silence, he ventured, “Only every seven years?”
Again he sensed amusement, this time betrayed in the Vulcan’s voice. “You sound dismayed. Surely you know by now whether you’re subject to that time constraint or not ... even for those of us who are, it can be accelerated or retarded under certain circumstances. Sometimes circumvented entirely.”
This time it was Zar’s turn to voice a dry, “Obviously.”
“Very few non-Vulcans even know that the pon farr exists. It is not a subject for light discussion. Most Vulcans prefer to forget about it ... as much as possible.”
“I understand.” The wind tumbled through the ruins like the ghost of-a long-dead surf. After a few minutes, the younger man peered out at the landing craft. “There are only two of them left, now. Do you want to try it?”
“We still have time. Wait a few more minutes. The fewer we have to deal with, the better our chances for remaining undetected.”
Zar nodded, and settled back against the rock. “I’ve read about Sarek, but never any mention of his Human wife. Is she from Earth?”
“Yes. While he was ambassador to Earth, he married Amanda Grayson, a teacher.”
“A teacher—that’s funny.”
“What do you mean?”
“Both of our mothers were teachers ... I wonder if they’re all alike?”
“Teachers, or mothers?” The Vulcan leaned back [143] against the rock, and looked up at the perpetually star-spattered sky.
“Both, I guess. In some ways she was a harder taskmaster than you are. We had no one but each other to talk to, but I couldn’t make any grammatical mistakes without being corrected.”
“That sounds like my mother, too—someday, I suppose you’ll meet her.” The thought carried amusement.
“You’re amused. Why?”
“How can you tell that?”
“I can pick up your emotions. When we’re in close proximity, and there aren’t any Humans to drown them out. Humans are like listening to ordinary voices in a room, and sometimes they even shout. You’re like a whisper in a large room ... but I can hear a whisper, if there’s nothing to distract my attention.” Zar paused, then continued, “Your emotions are clear-cut, not jumbled, like Human ones. You feel one thing at a time—the way you think.”
“Vulcans are not supposed to feel emotions at all.” Spock said, his voice distant.
“I know. However, I’d be willing to bet that they all do. Don’t worry, I can screen it out, if it bothers you. ... You forgot to tell me what was funny.”
“I was thinking of my mother. I suddenly envisioned her reaction if somebody told her that she had a twenty-six-year-old grandson. Considering Sarpeidon’s year as it relates to Terran Standard, you’re nearly twenty-eight, actually. Amanda would ...” The Vulcan shook his head slightly, evidently picturing the reaction again.
Zar sensed the amusement, stronger than before. Curiosity gnawed at him, and he finally asked, “What would her reaction be?”
“Probably the same as mine was, considering that she isn’t old enough to have a grandson your age.”
“You thought that when you first found me ... about yourself, and my age, I mean?”
“Yes.” Spock noted the younger man’s surprise, [144] and said, nettled, “It’s true, after all. How old do you think I am?”
“I don’t know. I never thought about it ... fairly old, I guess.”
“The situation is a physical impossibility.”
“Oh.”
Silence for several minutes. Then the Vulcan said, abruptly, “There’s something I must tell you.”
“What?”
“The meaning of the word ‘krenath.’ ”
Zar had forgotten his mention of the word to Kirk. He felt his face grow hot, and was glad it was dark.
“On Earth, in the past, Humans illogically placed the blame for illegitimacy on the children of the union. Fortunately, the word ‘bastard’ now has no real literal meaning. Colloquially, it is used to denote a person who is undesirable, for various unspecified reasons.” Spock took a deep breath, then continued, “On Vulcan, where family is one of the most important factors in a person’s life, it is different. The krenath are regarded as wronged by the mistakes of their elders. They are accorded every possible redress, including full status in both families. It’s the parents who are stigmatized.”
The younger man thought for a long moment, felt his anger draining away. He realized something of the effort it had cost the Vulcan to voice that explanation.
“So you would be admitting to a serious breach of ... custom ... by acknowledging me?”
“Yes.”
Zar fought back the question that came to his mind. It obviously wasn’t the Vulcan’s intention to acknowledge him—at least while Spock was still alive. Embarrassed, he scrambled over to peer out, then turned back excitedly. “They’ve gone. All except one guard. Let’s move.”
Chapter XIV
The bridge of the Enterprise was quiet, the atmosphere one of silent expectation. Kirk slumped in his command chair, sipping yet another cup of coffee—one that he hastily put down as he straightened to face Lieutenant Sulu. The young helmsman repressed a sigh—the waiting was wearing on all of them. “Subspace sweep completed, sir. No sign of any approaching craft.”
“Very good, Mr. Sulu. Next sweep in ten minutes, then shorten the intervals by one minute each time.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Lieutenant Uhura, have you picked up anything from the approaching Federation craft giving a new ETA?”
“No, sir. I’ll inform you immediately if I do.” She sounded a bit huffy. The Captain realized he was telling her how to do her job, a vice he normally avoided. Nothing bred sloppiness and inefficiency in subordinates faster. He shook his head, realizing that fatigue was making inroads on his judgment and efficiency.
He heard the bridge door, then McCoy stood at his elbow. Kirk looked up, realized that the Doctor was upset. “What’s up, Bones?”
“Jim, I’ve looked all over the ship for Zar, and can’t find him. Nobody’s seen him. Or Spock. Do you know where they are?”
“I sent them down to Gateway to rig a force field around the Guardian.” The Captain’s voice was low, even.
[146] “You what?” The Doctor spoke in a whisper, but Sulu looked around, hastily turned back to the navigational controls.
“Mr. Sulu, you have the con. I’ll be in the small briefing room with Doctor McCoy. Inform me immediately of any developments.”
“Aye, sir.”
In private, McCoy repeated his question, only several decibels louder. Kirk gave him a hard look, then snapped, “You’re dangerously close to insubordination, Doctor. I suggest you sit down and shut up.”
McCoy sat, arid said quietly, “Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
The Captain sat down opposite him and smiled wearily. “No hard feelings, Bones. It’s a rough time for all of us.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. I just finished those autopsies.”
“I sent Zar and Spock down to the surface, because Spock can rig that force field faster than anyone on this ship—with the possible exception of Scotty, whom I can’t spare if there’s a fight. And I sent Zar—or, rather, he volunteered to go, because he can use that power of his to warn them of Romulans.”
McCoy gave him a long look. “Jim, you must realize that if the Romulans don’t kill them, those two will probably do each other in. The situation there is explosive.”
“I admit your point, but I had no choice. Just as I’ll have no choice but to begin the destruction of Gateway in roughly ten and a half hours if they fail—whether or not they’re back by then.”
The Doctor stared. “You wouldn’t do that, Jim. ...”
“You know I will. But it won’t be necessary. They should be back any time. I sent the two best-equipped people I could, and if they can’t pull this off, nobody can.”
“But ... Zar ... he has no training, no military [147] experience. The
Romulans are ruthless. If they capture him, it’ll be the landing party all over again.”
“He’s got more training and experience at sheer survival than any of us. He could beat any of us at rough-country scouting—you said so yourself, if I recall. And if the Romulans are savage, remember, Zar isn’t so civilized by a long shot.”
McCoy didn’t look reassured. Kirk shook his head. “I did what I had to, Bones. Don’t look like that ... anybody would think you’re his father. Not Spock.”
The Doctor took a deep breath. “You’re right, Jim. Sorry I got out of line. What I really came up to the bridge to talk to you about was you.” He pointed at the Captain. “Have you looked at yourself lately? You look like Matt Decker, and you’re starting to act like him. You need sleep. Now, are you going to crawl in the sack and let me give you a hypo to knock you out for four or five hours—six would be better—or am I going to have to declare you unfit for duty?”
Kirk sighed. “Blackmail again, Doctor?”
“Sorry, Jim. I’m doing what I have to. Besides, there’s nothing you can do at the moment, is there?”
“You win, Bones.” He keyed the intercom. “Mr. Sulu?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“I’m going to my quarters. Notify me immediately of any changes in patrol status, or if Mr. Spock reports in. He’s on Gateway’s surface. He should be requesting beam-up any time. Kirk out.”
He stood up, waving the Doctor aside. “I’m going, Bones. And I don’t need a hypo. I want to see that I’m called in five hours, if Sulu hasn’t paged me before. Five hours ... any more than that, and I’ll court-martial you, understand?” He stifled a yawn, then rubbed his bloodshot hazel eyes fiercely.
“Yes, sir!” McCoy snapped to attention in his best pseudo-military manner. He did it poorly.
The Captain shook his head as he left. “It’s a good [148] thing you didn’t have to go through the Academy. ...” The door to the briefing room closed behind him.
McCoy slumped back into his seat, leaning his head in his hands. Against his will, he thought of angry eyes, both black and gray, and powerful hands. ...
STAR TREK: TOS #11 - The Yesterday Saga I - Yesterday's Son Page 13
