government. How do you think he will proceed, Vadi?"

 

 

"I believe that, once Kirk is dead, the ambassador will initiate

 

hostilities by leading his squadron across the Neutral Zone in an

 

all-out attack on the nearest Federation world. He will use the

 

publicity from that to declare himself a war leader, and thus sway the

 

public to his side. Staging a military coup will then be easy."

 

 

Savel raised an eyebrow as that notion sank in. "If Kamarag does that

 

... such an action would indeed precipitate all-out war between the

 

Federation and the Klingon Empire." Silently, the young Vulcan woman

 

considered, as she had been considering for the past several days, the

 

ramifications of interstellar war.

 

 

Memories surfaced in her mind, from the days before she'd come to live

 

with Taryn and his family. There had been eleven Vulcan children in the

 

creche, many of them orphans whose parents had suicided rather than be

 

forced to engender more children to live on Romulus, Remus, or Freelan.

 

And in the very early days ... there had been an old one, an ancient

 

Vulcan who had been brought in to teach them their native language.

 

Sakorn had been his name, and he was blind.

 

 

Savel vividly remembered the afternoons she and the other children had

 

spent with Sakorn during those language lessons. The ancient Vulcan had

 

also, whenever he could avoid the watchful eye of the other teachers,

 

attempted to imbue his charges with Vulcan ethics and values.

 

 

"War is an unconscionable waste of resources, and the most illogical of

 

tactics," she remembered him saying quietly, one summer afternoon, as

 

they'd all sat in the school courtyard together. "There are no winners

 

in war ... only losers. The innocent pay, and the guilty grow ever

 

richer and ever greedier. Violence breeds violence, and the cycle of

 

avarice and corruption is nearly impossible to break. There is no excuse

 

for a civilized being to resort to war ... there are always

 

alternatives to bloodshed."

 

 

Savel didn't know whether she completely agreed with Sakorn's

 

pronouncementsrebut her memories of the old one were still vivid enough

 

to make her breath catch in her throat as she imagined what he'd say if

 

he knew what she'd done.

 

 

"War ..." she repeated, hearing the doubt in her own voice. "What you

 

have been working to achieve for all these many years ...

 

 

"Indeed," the commander replied, taking down an ancient Vulcan senapa

 

and examining the scythelike obsidian blade, careful to touch only the

 

handle, for the cutting edge was dipped in the traditional poison. He

 

frowned down at the weapon, seemingly studying the flowing streaks of

 

red amid the black stone. "This development will, in all likelihood,

 

benefit us in the end. The more fragmented the Klingon Empire is, the

 

easier it will be to conquer.

 

 

But Kamarag is moving so much faster than I had anticipated ... he is

 

proceeding too swiftly. Our forces are days away from being able to take

 

full tactical advantage.

 

 

And if Kamarag kills Kirk tomorrow, and then proceeds full-scale into

 

Federation space ... the Federation and the Klingons could be engaged

 

in all-out war within a handful of days. The praetor has ordered full

 

mobilization of all forces, under my direct command ... but I do not

 

know whether we can be ready to invade in time."

 

 

Savel glanced at the small viewscreen that showed the vista of stars as

 

seen from Shardarr's bridge. Events, like the stars, seemed to be moving

 

toward them too fast. "Is there anything we can do to slow the

 

ambassador?"

 

 

"I cannot think of anything" Taryn said.

 

 

At the sound of the intercom, both turned toward the comm link. "Taryn

 

here," the commander snapped as he activated it.

 

 

"Commander, I have that tactical analysis prepared that you requested,"

 

came the voice of Taryn's second-in-command.

 

 

"Excellent," Taryn said. "Call a meeting of all senior officers in my

 

conference chamber. We will be there directly."

 

 

Motioning to Savel to join him, the commander strode out of his office

 

and down the narrow, utilitarian corridor.

 

 

Once they reached the sparsely furnished conference chamber, with its

 

huge comm link that dominated the bulkhead, the young Vulcan woman sat

 

in her accustomed place on the commander's left. One by one, his senior

 

officers filed into the room. They were all young, hand-picked by Taryn

 

to serve aboard his ship and intensely loyal to him.

 

 

Taryn began the meeting by having his second-in-command, Poldar, give a

 

briefing on the current tactical situation. Savel watched as he

 

pinpointed the location of Kamarag's renegade squadron, then pointed out

 

the locations of their own vessels. Several would reach the area within

 

two days, but others would not arrive for another five or six.

 

 

The fleet was massing ... the largest fleet ever assembled in Romulan

 

history. And Shardarr would spearhead the attack, if all went according

 

to plan.

 

 

"What about Federation vessels?" Taryn asked.

 

 

"There are a number in Sector 53.16," Poldar said, "but none close

 

enough to trouble us until we are well across the Neutral Zone. With the

 

exception of one vessel, Commander."

 

 

Taryn raised one slanting eyebrow, inviting the centurion

 

 

silently to continue. "Commander, I speak of the Enterprise.

 

 

Kirk's ship lies directly in the course Kamarag's squadron will take

 

across the Neutral Zone."

 

 

"Enterprise lies in the path of Kamarag's invasionary force?" Taryn

 

repeated slowly, plainly taken aback.

 

 

"Yes, Commander," Poldar said. "We received a new batch of intelligence

 

reports just as I was leaving the bridge for this meeting. We have a

 

positive identification on the ship ... it is definitely Kirk's?"

 

 

"That is not good," Tonik, the senior helm officer, said flatly. "If

 

Kamarag's squadron encounters the Enterprise, they may be decimated."

 

 

"Not even Enterprise can defeat half a score Of ships," Taryn pointed

 

out, the faintest touch of scorn in his voice.

 

 

"And Kirk ... Kirk is not with the ship. He is keeping a rendezvous

 

elsewhere." Despite the commander's confident air, Savel noted the lines

 

of strain deepen between his brows.

 

 

"Even if Kirk is not there, he will have left one of his senior offcers

 

in command of his vessel," Tonik pointed out, mildly. "And even if Kirk

 

is not with his vessel, that by no means makes Enterprise easy prey."

 

 

"Yes," one of the junior officers chimed in, "and with only five or six

 

Klingon ships remaining, Kamarag's force might not be threatening enough

 

to bring out the Federation fleet in force. And the fewer Starfleet

 

ships assembling to defend the Neutral Zone, the fewer captains we can

 

induce to cross into Klingon space ... should that tactic prove

 

necessary to gain our ends."

 

 

"I regret to say that I have more news that may not please you,

 

Commander," Poldar said, pausing to glance at another communiqu6.

 

"Intelligence has confirmed the presence of Ambassador Sarek aboard the

 

Enterprise."

 

 

Taryn straightened abruptly, and now he was frowning.

 

 

"Sarek ..." he repeated, and his officers watched him silently.

 

 

After a moment's contemplation of their newest piece of news, Taryn rose

 

from his seat and brusquely dismissed his officers. Savel stayed,

 

knowing that the order did not apply to her. When the chamber had

 

emptied, she stepped closer

 

 

to her adopted uncle, touched his sleeve. Taryn, who had been gazing

 

straight ahead, eyes hooded, his expression unreadable, startled

 

slightly and looked around.

 

 

"What is it, Vadi?" she asked, softly.

 

 

"Why is Sarek aboard that ship?" Taryn asked, his jaw muscles tight with

 

tension. "What is he planning? Sarek never does anything without a

 

reason ... "

 

 

"I do not know, Vadi, "Savel said. "The one time I was in his presence,

 

at Camp Khitomer, I tried to 'read' him--and could not. His shielding is

 

surprisingly good."

 

 

"How much does he know?" demanded Taryn, thinking aloud. "He tried to

 

break into our data banks ... I am certain he was somehow responsible

 

for the malfunction that nearly shut the entire system down that night

 

he was aboard our station."

 

 

"How do you know that?" Savel was taken aback to hear about the data

 

banks.

 

 

Taryn made an impatient gesture. "I cannot prove it. He left no

 

betraying trace. But I am certain that malfunction masked some espionage

 

attempt on his part. Did he gain access? Copy data? Is it possible that

 

he actually obtained proof of our plans?"

 

 

Grinding one fist into his palm, he strode restlessly around the

 

conference chamber, frowning. "No," he said, after a moment, answering

 

his own question. "He has no proof. He would have contacted Ra-ghoratrei

 

if he did ... and our contact in the president's office would have

 

informed us."

 

 

"But he did speak to Ra-ghoratrei yesterday," Savel pointed out. "The

 

report said so."

 

 

"Yes, but only to warn him against the KEHL. No ... he has no proof. I

 

am sure of that. But now ... to make sure he does not gain proof ... I

 

must lure him to me ... and kill him." Taryn said the last slowly, as

 

though he almost regretted the necessity.

 

 

"Are you sure that he did not somehow warn Ra-ghoratrei, Vadi?"

 

 

He turned to regard her as though he'd forgotten her presence. "No ... I

 

know Sarek. He is too proud, too

 

 

stubborn to go to Ra-ghoratrei with a tangle of speculations for which

 

he has no concrete proof. He is aboard the Enterprise at this moment

 

because he has come in search of that prooff Now we have a few days

 

before the fleet assembles. During that time ..." A muscle tightened in

 

Taryn's jaw. "Sarek must die."

 

 

"But if he is aboard the Enterprise ... As Tonik said, she will not be

 

an easy ship to destroy."

 

 

"No ... but if I can lure Sarek to Freelan, I could order one of the

 

squadrons on Freelan to waylay Enterprise and destroy her enroute."

 

 

"And if Sarek refuses to come to Freelan?"

 

 

"Then we will have to lure Enterprise away from her present position,

 

possibly across our Neutral Zone."

 

 

"Why? What purpose would that serve?"

 

 

"Two things would be accomplished." Taryn's expression lightened into

 

almost one of pleasure. "First," he held up one finger, "Enterprise

 

would be out of the way of Kamarag's squadron, allowing the Klingon to

 

enter Federation space in full force. And, two"--he held up a second

 

finger--"the delay involved while I allowed Enterprise to search for

 

Shardarr--"

 

 

"Without finding her until you choose, I presume."

 

 

"Correct ... that time delay will allow at least one or two of our

 

other ships to join us. Facing three, even four cruisers or

 

birds-of-prey, the starship will be outgunned. During the time they

 

waste while hunting us, we will jam their commu-nistions to keep Sarek

 

from sending a message to Ra-ghoratr i.

 

 

Then, when we are certain of victory, Shardarr and the other ships will

 

decloak ... and we will finish them."

 

 

"A good plan, Vadi," Savel said hollowly. Suppose Sarek had brought

 

Soran with him? He would be killed, too.

 

 

"But ... is there no other way? Sarek ... I have heard you speak of

 

him so many times as almost a ... friend. Is there no way to spare

 

him?"

 

 

"It is rrettable," Taryn said bleakly, the expression in his dark eyes

 

revealing his' own turmoil. "However, I can

 

 

think of no other way to insure that the ambassador does not warn

 

Ra-ghoratrei of what he may have learned about us and our plans."

 

 

"He may have already told the president. Killing Sarek may not prevent

 

the Federation from discovering what is happening."

 

 

"He has not told him. I am certain he has not. I know Sarek ... I have

 

studied his mind during our chess games.

 

 

He is stubborn, and proud. He would insist on having incontrovertible

 

proof ... not mere suspicions." Taryn sighed as he stared at the battle

 

plan still frozen on the wall screen. "I do regret the necessity. I

 

could have wished to keep Sarek alive, so he could be of use as a

 

negotiator."

 

 

Unable to sleep, Sarek rolled out of the narrow bunk and paced

 

restlessly around the cramped cabin. Then, driven by an impulse he did

 

not stop to analyze, he slipped on his robe and soft boots and, picking

 

up Amanda's journal, headed for the observation deck.

 

 

It was the middle of the shipboard "night," so the ambassador

 

encountered only a few crew members in the corridors or the turbolift.

 

Halting before the door to the observation deck, Sarek touched the entry

 

panel, then stepped into the starlit dimness.

 

 

While Enterprise was in warp, the stars appeared different than in

 

subspace ... each bore a trail of light caused by the effect of the

 

spacewarp that allowed the vessel to exceed the speed of light. The

 

closer the star, the more distinct the trail appeared to an observer. On

 

the bridge, the ship's viewscreens automatically filtered out the

 

trails, in order to clarify the image, but here they showed distinctly.

 

 

Moving as silently as a shadow, Sarek walked to one of the chairs

 

scattered about, and seated himself. He gazed outward, attempting to

 

clear his mind, preparatory to finding his center. It had been so long

 

since he had gained the tranquility found only in meditation.

 

 

Down ... seek the center ... concentrate effortlessly.

 

 

Allow all external stimuli and surroundings to slip away ...

 

 

Sarek felt his mind and body responding, as he sought out and touched

 

his own center--

 

 

The sound of a step intruded into his consciousness.

 

 

Sarek's eyes opened as he sensed a familiar presence, and he turned to

 

see Spock hesitating just inside the door of the observation lounge.

 

 

"I regret the intrusion," Spock said, coolly, formally, as he turned to

 

go.

 

 

Sarek hesitated, wanting to call him back, not wishing to have this

 

enmity between them. But he could not quite force himself to speak.

 

 

Suddenly the ambassador was struck by an overpowering sense of what

 

humans called d6jh vu--this had happened before ... nearly forty-five

 

Standard years before. Sarek blinked, and the memory surged up, as fresh

 

and real as though it were actually happening ...

 

 

The three of them were gathered around the table for the evening meal,

 

and Amanda had prepared many of their favorite dishes herself, not

 

trusting the selectors to season and spice every dish perfectly. Always

 

sensitive to his wife's moods, because of their bond, Sarek soon

 

realized that Amanda was both preoccupied and nervous.. though he could

 

not think of any reason for her to be uneasy.

 

 

Eighteen-year-old Spock sat on his right, and the youth's appetite,

 

customarily healthy, was noticeably lacking.

 

 

Today Sarek had met with the head of the Vulcan Science Academy to

 

discuss possible curricula for Spock's education, which would begin next

 

term. Sekla, the ambassador recalled (experiencing a flash of pride he

 

did not trouble to suppress), had openly expressed his eagerness to

 

guide and foster young Spock's intellectual and logical development.

 

 

His sows intelligence profiles and school records were, in Sekla's word,

 

"impressive." For a Vulcan, that was quite a compliment.

 

 

Sekla, Sarek had noted, had been careful not to say,

 

 

"Impressive for one of half blood." No mention had been made of his sows

 

shared heritage.

 

 

Now Sarek glanced inquiringly from his wife to his son.

 

 

"My wife, this meal is exemplary. I thank you. Yet I note that neither

 

of you appears to be hungry. Is something wrong?"

 

 

Amanda started, then obviously forced herself to relax as she turned to

 

face her husband. Her brown hair had recently begun to show a few

 

streaks of silver, but her soft features were relatively unlined, and

 

her blue eyes were as sapphire-intense as ever. "Nothing is wrong,

 

Sarek," she said, but he could tell through their bond that she was

 

equivocating ... not actually telling an untruth, but coming perilously

 

close to it. "However, I have determined to finish that translation of

 

T'Lyra's ancient poetry cycle tonight. My editor messaged me today to

 

inquire about when it would be completed, and I have only two poems

 

left. So I will take my leave of you. Spock"--she turned her gaze on her

 

son, and there was an intensity in her eyes that hadn't been there when

 

she'd spoken to her husband--"will you help your father clear the table?

 

That will give you a chance to talk."

 

 

"But, Mother--" Spock began, half-protesting, but Amanda merely gave him

 

a too-bright smile as she collected her own dishes and headed for the

 

autocleaner in the kitchen. Her son avoided his father's gaze as he

 

snatched up his dishes and followed his mother into the kitchen.

 

 

Sarek hastily rose, gathered his own dishes, and followed him. What is

 

transpiring here? he wondered, disquieted.

 

 

The elder Vulcan was just in time to hear Amanda insist,

 

 

"You have to tell him, Spock. You know that." Sarek hesitated,

 

half-shielded by the doorway, and saw his wife give his son an

 

encouraging smile. Spock gave her a wan half-smile in return. Sarek

 

tensed as he saw it. His sows control was virtually perfect in front of

 

him, but, in the company of humans, it slipped occasionally. Once, on

 

Earth, the ambassador had actually seen him grin when he'd thought he

 

was alone, as the youth observed the antics of a pair of his

 

grandparents' kittens.

 

 

I will insist that Spock reside at the Science Academy during his course

 

of study, Sarek thought. There are no humans there, and that hould

 

enable him to perfect his control.

 

 

Then Amanda left the kitchen, and Sarek stepped in.

 

 

Silently, father and son tidied the kitchen and dining area.

 

 

When they were finished, the elder Vulcan caught and held his son's

 

eyes. "What is it that you must tell me, Spock?" he asked bluntly.

 

 

His son took a deep breath. "Perhaps we might walk outside, Father? The

 

Watcher should be just past full phase."

 

 

"Certainly," Sarek agreed.

 

 

Together, t he two left the villa and walked into Amanda's garden. As

 

father and son walked slowly, Sarek glanced at his son's face, saw that

 

Spock's mouth was drawn tight, making him appear older than his eighteen

 

years. "Tell me what concerns you, Spock," Sarek said, finally, seeing

 

that the youth was not disposed to break the silence.

 

 

Spock drew a deep breath and halted, turning to face his father. His

 

eyes were level, but for a moment a muscle jumped in the corner of his

 

jaw ... twitched once, twice, then was forcibly repressed. "Father, I

 

decided some time ago that I did not wish to attend the Vulcan Science

 

Academy," he said, carefully enunciating each word. "I applied instead

 

to Starfleet Academy. I learned today that I have been accepted as a

 

cadet."

 

 

Sarek heard the words, but it took a second for them to register. Ever

 

since Spock's early childhood, Sarek had watched his eager fascination

 

with the universe, observed and fostered the development of his logical,

 

scientific mind.

 

 

For years science had been Spock's consuming interest in life. And now

 

he was talking about giving that up in order to wear a uniform?

 

 

The ambassador gazed at his son, searching for words, knowing that he

 

must make the youth recognize the gravity of this error in judgment.

 

 

"Spock," he began, careful to keep his voice low, "it is obvious that

 

this constitutes an unconsidered decision on your part. That is

 

understandable ... you are young, after all. But I cannot allow you to

 

... waste your years of study.

 

 

Your thinking processes and logical abilities are eminently suited for a

 

scientific career."

 

 

"I do not intend to give up science, Father," Spock said, a spark of

 

eagerness animating his features slightly when he realized that his

 

father was willing to discuss his decision rationally. "Starfleet ...

 

serving aboard a starship ... will provide an unparalleled opportunity

 

for scientific exploration, observation, and study. As a science

 

officer, I will be able to study the universe as I never could

 

if/remained here on Vulcan."

 

 

Spock's control was slipping; his father could hear the passion tingeing

 

his voice. Sarek stared at the youth stonily.

 

 

"Spock ... your control," he chided.

 

 

The other's eyes fell ... all animation drained from his features. "I

 

ask forgiveness," he said, and Sarek caught just a hint of sullenness in

 

his tone. "At any rate, Father, I have made my decision."

 

 

"Spock, what happened just now is an excellent example of why I demand

 

that you reconsider this decision," Sarek pointed out. "In Starfleet,

 

you will be among mostly humans.

 

 

Your control is precarious enough. In the company of humans, it may be

 

irrevocably damaged. You could disgrace your people ... your entire

 

lineage if you do this."

 

 

"I will endeavor to perfect my control--" Spock began.

 

 

Sarek shook his head and continued, adamantly, "Spock, every time your

 

control falters, you reflect poorly upon all of Vulcan."

 

 

Spock's features hardened. "My control is my own affair," he said,

 

coldly. "I wonder how my mother would react if she knew you were warning

 

me against being 'contaminated' by her species."

 

 

"Your mother has no part in this," Sarek said curtly, feeling his anger

 

at his son's stubbornness threatening his own control. "She is not

 

Vulcan, and this does not concern her."

 

 

"Mother is in favor of my decision," Spock said evenly.

 

 

"She believes it will be beneficial for me to interact with many

 

different kinds of beings. And I should point out that gaining

 

acceptance into Starfleet Academy is far from easy,

 

 

Father. Starfleet chooses only the top five percent of applicants." The

 

youth gave him a sideways glance. "Mother is proud that I have been

 

accepted." Sarek heard the implied rebuke, but did not acknowledge it.

 

"Assuming you graduate," he said, "are you aware that you will be

 

required to take an oath stating that you will do whatever is necessary

 

to carry out your orders? Including kill? Starfleet vessels carry

 

formidable weapons, Spock! You would have to be trained in the use of

 

them, as well as hand weapons. It is eminently possible that you would

 

be called upon to kill another, in the performance of your duty."

 

Spock's expression did not alter. "There is talk of commissioning an

 

all-Vulcan science vessel," he pointed out.

 

 

"Perhaps I will be assigned to that ship ..."

 

 

"And perhaps you will not," Sarek snapped. His own control was slipping,

 

but, at the moment, he did not care. He paced up and down the garden

 

path, his strides quick and jerky. "You will be a puppet, a toy for

 

Starfleet to order about as they please. You will have no free will.

 

Starfleet officers are respected by the masses, that is true. But no

 

Vulcan has ever graduated from the Academy, my son! Our people are not

 

suited for a life in the service!"

 

 

"That is something that remains to be seen, Father," Spock said, with

 

maddening calm. "I have decided that this is a step I wish to take. Do

 

not think you can dissuade me.

 

 

My mind is made up."

 

 

"Your future is bright," Sarek said, changing tactics. "I have little

 

doubt that you will distinguish yourself as a scientist if you attend

 

the Vulcan Science Academy. If you pursue this other path, however, you

 

will have disgraced your family.. your lineage. What would T'Pau say, if

 

she could hear you planning to bring ruin upon yourself?."

 

 

"I have determined that this path is mine, Spock stud. "I cannot allow

 

family opinion to dissuade me."

 

 

"If you do this," Sarek said, holding his son's eyes with his own,

 

putting every bit of intensity he was experiencing into his formal

 

words, "you will not be welcome in my lands, your name will not be known

 

to me. If you persist in disgracing yourself and your lineage, I will

 

not be able to excuse you, either publicly or privately. You will be

 

vrekasht to me, Spock, do you understand?" Vrekasht ... the ancient

 

word meant "exile," or "outcast." Sarek regretted having to say it, but

 

it was obvious that strong measures were required to make his son see

 

reason in this.

 

 

Spock's features hardened, and his mouth was a grim slash. "Vrekasht?"

 

he repeated. "Is that not rather ... overstating the gravity of the

 

situation, Father? I have only chosen my life's path ... not murdered

 

or mind-violated another."

 

 

"If you persist in joining Starfleet, then I have no doubt that you will

 

be called upon to do both, in the course of time," Sarek said,

 

inexorably. "I insist that you reconsider this disastrous course." Spock

 

gazed at him for a long moment; then his shoulders straightened, and he

 

raised his chin slightly. "No," he said, coldly. "My decision stands. If

 

you wish to name me vrekasht, then so be it. Farewell, Father." Without

 

another word, the youth turned and strode away, up the garden path,

 

toward the villa. Sarek watched him go, fighting with himself. Spock was

 

correct to name his son vrekasht was extreme ... and unjustified.

 

Sarek wished he had not done it. The word "Wait!" surged through him,

 

wanting to burst from his lips ... but the ambassador clenched his

 

teeth and the word died in his mouth, unspoken.

 

 

Spoek's tall figure was at the garden perimeter now ... was still moving

 

... it was not yet too late ... it was--too late. Over. There was a

 

last flicker of a Vulcan robe, and then his son vanished into the villa.

 

 

Go after him, one part of Sarek's mind insisted, but he could not. He

 

was correct, and he would not grovel, would not recant. Logic dictated

 

that he wait for Spock to consider his words. Surely his son would come

 

to his senses.

 

 

Sarek stared blindly at T'Rukh, waiting for Spock to reappear. An hour

 

passed ... two. Three, and the ambassador still waited, barely

 

stirring.

 

 

Finally he heard a step beside him, and turned, only to find that it was

 

Amanda who stood there. Traces of weeping still showed around her eyes,

 

but her features were composed.

 

 

"Where is Spock?" Sarek demanded.

 

 

"He beamed out an hour ago," she replied, her expression as cold as the

 

snows of her homeworld. "Our son is gone, Sarek." The Vulcan heard her

 

words, unable to believe that Spock had not reconsidered, had accepted

 

the sentence his father had imposed on him, and had left to pursue this

 

illogical, distasteful career choice. "Spock.. is gone?" he asked,

 

finally.

 

 

"That is what I said." Amanda's voice was flat. "He told me that you

 

declared him vrekasht, my husband. How could you?"

 

 

"I was trying to make him come to his senses," Sarek muttered, still

 

stunned by her pronouncement.

 

 

"That was a terrible, unjust thing to do, Sarek," Amanda said. "You have

 

done the unforgivable. Spock is my son, and I will not support you in

 

this." She took a deep breath. "I cannot stay with someone who could do

 

what you have done today. I am leaving you, Sarek."

 

 

"You are ... leaving? Amanda," he said, carefully, "I do not wish you

 

to leave."

 

 

"You have no choice, Sarek. I cannot stay with you anymore.. after

 

this." For the first time, Amanda's voice faltered slightly.

 

 

Sarek, noting that?aid, "But you will be back, Amanda.

 

 

You will return ... She shook her head. "I don't know, Sarek. Perhaps.

 

Or perhaps not. I only know that I can't bear the sight of you at the

 

moment. Farewell." Without giving him a chance to say anything more, she

 

turned and walked away, just as her son had. Sarek stood in his wife's

 

garden, bathed in T-Rukh's harsh light, alone.

 

 

Alone ... Sarek watched as the door to the observation deck slid shut

 

behind his son. His fingers tightened on Amanda's journal. Today he

 

would read of her days without him. She had been gone for nearly a year,

 

and they had never spoken of that time after she'd returned. What had

 

she done in all those days?

 

 

Today he would find out.

 

 

Those days without her had been the worst of his life ... in some ways,

 

worse even than now.

 

 

Why had she come back? Sarek still wasn't sure. His fat her, Solkar, had

 

died, and she had appeared without warning at the memorial service. At

 

its conclusion, Amanda had simply walked over to him, taken his arm, and

 

gone home with him as though she had never been away.

 

 

They had never discussed the separation.

 

 

Sarek took a deep breath and opened the slim red volume ...

 

 

Spock walked along the corridor leading from the observation deck,

 

almost wishing he had not left. His father had appeared so ... alone.

 

For a moment, Sarek had appeared actually ... vulnerable.

 

 

But then memories of Amanda's last hours surfaced, and the Vulcan's lips

 

tightened. Vulnerable? His father?

 

 

Reaching Kirk's cabin, the Vulcan identified himself and was admitted.

 

Kirk was still in uniform, though the captain had been off duty for over

 

an hour.

 

 

"We will reach the rendezvous coordinates in one hour point thirty-two

 

minutes," Spock said, without preamble.

 

 

"What are you planning to do, Captain?"

 

 

"We're almost a full two days ahead of the deadline, Spock," Kirk said.

 

"Your father and I discussed this yesterday.

 

 

He thinks, and I agree with him, that Kamarag is behind this. I believe

 

he's holding Peter on Qo'nos."

 

 

"And?" Spock prompted, when the officer paused.

 

 

"And I'm going in to rescue him," Kirk said. "With luck, I can take a

 

shuttlecraft in, locate him by sensor, grab him, and get back to the

 

Enterprise before Kamarag even reaches the rendezvous site." Spock

 

nodded; he'd been expecting something like this. "I will go with you,

 

Captain," he said. "You cannot go alone."

 

 

"I was planning to," Kirk said. "Invading the Klingon homeworld

 

single-handed is pretty foolhardy ... even for me." He shook his head,

 

as if wondering at himself. "I can't expect anyone to join me on such a

 

harebrained mission."

 

 

"You can expect your friends, Jim," said a new voice, and Spock turned

 

to see Leonard McCoy framed in the doorway behind him. "You know better

 

than to think Spock and I would let you go off to tackle a whole planet

 

of Klingons by yourselfl"

 

 

Kirk grinned ruefully. "I guess I do," he said finally, gazing at his

 

friends and shaking his head. "After all, three stand a much better

 

chance than just one, against a whole planet ... right?"

 

 

"You got it," McCoy said. "Right, Spock?"

 

 

"Right, Doctor," the Vulcan said, firmly.

 

 

Kirk spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "All right, then ... next

 

stop, Qo'nos. I'll meet you on the shuttlecraft deck in an hour."

 

 

"Approaching Qo'nos, Captain," Spock reported. "ETA to orbit, twelve

 

point two minutes."

 

 

Kirk, who was piloting the shuttlecraft Kepler, nodded in acknowledgment

 

of the Vulcan's words. "Anything within sensor range?"

 

 

"I detect no military craft, just freighters."

 

 

The captain checked his screens, wishing he had some idea of where on

 

Qo'nos Kamarag's ancestral home lay.

 

 

Northern or southern hemisphere? Eastern or western continent?

 

 

"Spock," he said, "what are our chances of tapping into the Klingon data

 

banks and accessing some information?"

 

 

"I may be able to do so, Captain," the Vulcan said, turning away from

 

his sensor array. Like Kirk and McCoy, Spock wore a black jumpsuit

 

designed for night raids.

 

 

"What information do you wish me to access?"

 

 

"Kamarag's home address," Kirk said, dryly.

 

 

"I will attempt to access its location, Captain," Spock said, turning

 

back to his instruments.

 

 

"Y'know, Jim, this will be the first time we've actually seen Qo'nos,"

 

McCoy pointed out. The doctor was sitting in the passenger seat behind

 

the captain. "Last time we were there, we were shut up like mice in a

 

shoebox, and shuttled around in closed vehicles."

 

 

Kirk nodded. "We didn't even see the planet from orbit." Spock regarded

 

his console intently. "I have Qo'nos on-screen." Intently, Kirk watched

 

as the tiny dot grew until, with magnification on maximum, they could

 

see their destination.

 

 

"Look at that," Kirk whispered, after a moment. "I didn't realize it had

 

a ring!"

 

 

"That ring is much of what remains of Praxis," Spock said. "There are

 

several large chunks of the moon still orbiting Qo'nos, and

 

corresponding gaps in the ring. This ring is ..." He consulted his

 

sensors." ... approximately two thousand kilometers across, and it

 

orbits Qo'nos's equator at a mean distance of eleven thousand, five

 

hundred seventy-one kilometers." Kirk glanced at his own sensors.

 

"There's also a lot of asteroidal material in the system," he said.

 

 

"Correct. A large number of asteroids will impact the planet in

 

approximately fifty years." Kirk stared at the planet that was growing

 

in their viewscreens. "Now all we have to do is avoid detection by the

 

Klingons while we locate Peter." He gave McCoy a lopsided grin. "Sure

 

you don't want to change your mind about coming, Bones?"

 

 

"Too late for that, Jim," he pointed out, smiling back at his friend.

 

 

Spock cleared his throat. "Piloting the shuttlecraft across the plane of

 

that ring will be difficult, Captain. The Kepler's shielding is

 

limited."

 

 

"Why go near the ring at all?" McCoy asked. "You can surely plot a

 

course that will keep us away from it." Kirk glanced at the ringed

 

world, watching it grow steadily in their viewscreen. "If we go in

 

directly, bold as brass, the Klingon sensors will be bound to pick us

 

up, and we'll have unwelcome surface-to-air company in no time," he

 

explained. "I think what Spock is planning"--he slanted an inquiring

 

look at the Vulcan--"is to use the ring as a ver."

 

 

"Precisely," said Spoek. "As I mentioned before, sensors indicate that

 

the ring has several gaps, caused by large chunks of Praxis acting as

 

ring shepherds. Their gravitational force clears a small gap around

 

them. I recommend that we traverse the ring plane through one of the

 

larger gaps.

 

 

Matching orbit with the ring. we can use it as a shield while we locate

 

Peter."

 

 

"How are you going to find him?" McCoy asked, staring mesmerized at the

 

ringed planet. "It's a big world."

 

 

"I did manage to locate Kamarag's aneostral compound in the Klingon data

 

banks," Spock said. "Thus we have an approximate idea of where to

 

search. Mr. Scott and I modified the sensors to detect any human life

 

readings. If Peter is the only human in that compound, we should be able

 

to trace him."

 

 

"It's a good plan," Kirk said, "but crossing the plane of the ring, even

 

through the longest gap, will require some tricky piloting."

 

 

"It is fortunate for us that the presence of the ring, and all the

 

attendant meteor showers since the demise of Praxis, has evidently

 

forced the Klingons to abandon whatever early-warning defense system

 

their planet boasted," Spock said, studying his instrument readouts.

 

 

"They probably still have a lot of meteor showers," Kirk said, eyeing

 

the ring. They were now close enough to it that, under the highest

 

magnification, the ring was revealed to be made of millions of chunks of

 

rock, ranging from pieces no bigger than a marble to huge boulders

 

larger than the Kepler.

 

 

Minutes later, the shuttlecraft was approaching the gap in the ring.

 

Kirk sent the little vessel skimming along its edge, matching its speed;

 

then he boosted the Kepler's velocity slightly, aiming for the break,

 

which was now clearly visible.

 

 

Qo'nos was an awesome sight below them the planet turned, brown and

 

greenish blue, its continents separated by shallow azure seas speckled

 

with atolls. The three largest landmasses were edged by volcanic

 

mountain chains, and it was evidently a far more seismically active

 

planet than Earth.

 

 

From this distance, signs of civilization, at least on the

 

 

daylight side, appeared minimal. Only a few angular blotches on the

 

western side of the continent below them betrayed the presence of large

 

cities.

 

 

But even the world turning below him could not hold the captain's

 

attention for long. As they sped along, Qo'nos's ring dominated their

 

view, spreading out before them like a golden plain studded with nuggets

 

of all sizes. The ring was nearly two thousand kilometers wide at this

 

point--and yet, it was far from solid. Glimpses of the surface beyond it

 

came and went, depending on its density. Kirk's eyes widened as he

 

studied the vista.

 

 

"Shields at maximum, Captain," Spock said. "Ready for crossover."

 

 

"It's a good thing we'll be crossing over on the dayside of the planet,"

 

Kirk said. "Otherwise, dust vaporizing against our shields would

 

spotlight us from the surface, if we tried this on the nightside."

 

 

"Will the shields hold?" McCoy asked tensely.

 

 

"Long enough to get us through," Kirk said, hoping he wasn't being

 

overly optimistic. He kept his eyes glued to the last-minute course

 

corrections flashing up at him. "Barring any major collisions, of

 

course," he added.

 

 

"Even though the gap is relatively free of large rocks, it still

 

contains quantities of dust and small particles. The shuttlecraft's

 

shields were not designed for continuous bombardment, Captain," Spock

 

warned. "They may burn out." Moments later, the ring gap lay directly

 

below them.

 

 

Kirk's fingers skipped nimbly across the controls as he delicately

 

jockeyed the shuttlecraft into position. With a short blast of the

 

maneuvering thrusters, the captain began the crossover.

 

 

Even here, in this relatively "clear" portion of the ring, they were

 

buffeted by debris. The little craft bucked as the shields absorbed the

 

impacts of direct hits from gravel-sized rocks--one, two, three ... a

 

dozen--Kirk lost count. All the while his hands moved, keeping them on

 

course, heading them down and through the sparsest portion of the gap.

 

 

He was aware, peripherally, of Spock backing him from the copilot's

 

seat, making tiny adjustments that helped stabilize the Kepler.

 

 

"Shields are weakening," the Vulcan reported matter-of-factly.

 

 

And then, a second later, he added, with a touch of excitement,

 

"Captain, I am picking up Peter's readings ... " Where? Kirk said.

 

"Can you plo t a course to bring us down near him?"

 

 

"Affirmative," Spock replied, and, only a few seconds later, the heading

 

the Vulcan had computed appeared on Kirk's screen. Quickly, the captain

 

laid it in.

 

 

"Shields are down by eighty percent," Spock cautioned.

 

 

"We're almost out of it," Kirk said tight/y, fighting the controls of

 

the bucketing Kepler. "Ten more seconds, and we're home free!"

 

 

"Shields are weakening ... weakening ..." Spock said.

 

 

Then the Vulcan added, matter-of-factly, "Shields are burned out,

 

Captain."

 

 

"We're okay," Kirk said, his throat raw with tension.

 

 

"We're out of it. Now all we have to do There was a sharp crack of sound

 

as something struck the Kepler, rocking the shuttle violently; then Kirk

 

heard the high, thin shriek of escaping air pressure. "Bones, check the

 

air pressure! Spock, take over!" he ordered, moving to locate the impact

 

and exit points of the tiny rock that had struck them. Moments later,

 

the captain saw with satisfaction that Kepler's automatic sealant system

 

was working as it was designed to, covering the tiny holes. The whine of

 

escaping air lessened, then stopped. Jim returned to his board.

 

 

Moments later, he knew they were in trouble. The shuttlecrafi's

 

directional controls now responded sluggishly to his exploratory

 

commands. "Damn it," Kirk said, feeling the Kepler yaw. "Piloting this

 

thing down through atmosphere won't be easy."

 

 

"You going' to be able to land this crate, Jim?" McCoy asked, his voice

 

carefully casual.

 

 

"We're sure going to try," Kirk said. Grimly, he fought the controls,

 

struggling to keep the shuttlecraft on course. It wouldn't help them to

 

land safely in one of Qo'nos's oceans,

 

 

and he certainly didn't want to find himself setting down thousands of

 

kilometers from Peter.

 

 

It was a bumpy ride, nursing the crippled shuttle down through Qo'nos's

 

turbulent upper atmosphere, fighting to keep the little craft stable and

 

on course.

 

 

Finally, they were approaching their destination. Red sunlight from

 

Qo'nos's setting sun splashed them as they headed down. Kirk wished for

 

Sulu as he struggled to keep the Kepler's landing skids parallel to the

 

ground. It had been a long time since he'd landed anything in these

 

conditions.

 

 

Glancing at his course readouts, he realized that they were about six

 

kilometers from his intended destination, and thought, Close enough. I

 

don't mind walking ...

 

 

Glimpsing a gap in the tree cover below, the captain sent the craft down

 

into it, and suddenly they were engulfed by huge trees with strange,

 

feathery leaves and giant red seedpods.

 

 

"Come on," he whispered to the little ship. "You can make it ... almost

 

there ..." He made a last-minute adjustment, saw the ground rushing up

 

toward them. Too fast!

 

 

"Brace for crash landing!" Kirk managed to shout, even as Kepler's nose

 

plunged downward.

 

 

The shuttlecraft hit, bounced wildly, struck again, bounced again, then,

 

finally, stopped. Kirk pushed himself upright in his seat, looking

 

around dazedly as he unsnapped his safety harness. "We made it," he

 

said, disbelievingly. He turned to regard his companions, who were both

 

sitting up, their expressions somewhat dazed.

 

 

"Captain," Spock said, "we should leave the vicinity quickly. Our

 

erratic approach may have been sighted."

 

 

"We obviously can't escape in the Kepler," Kirk said, gazing ruefully at

 

the damaged shuttle as they prepared to abandon ship. "Can you tell if

 

there are any spaceports nearby?"

 

 

Spock held up his trioorder, nodded. "Fifteen and a half kilometers due

 

west," he said, "lies the port called Tengchah Jav." He slung the

 

instrument over his shoulder.

 

 

Working quickly, the Vulcan opened the weapons locker, extracted three

 

small phasers, checked their settings and power packs, then distributed

 

one to each of them.

 

 

"I'm going to set the shuttle to self-destruct," Kirk said, his fingers

 

moving over the controls.

 

 

"Be sure you give us time to get out of range, Jim," McCoy admonished,

 

scrambling hastily out of the craft.

 

 

After setting up the self-destruct sequence, Kirk, with Spock and McCoy

 

behind him, walked away from the doomed Kepler. Jim gave the little

 

craft a valedictory pat as he left, wishing there were some way to

 

salvage the ship.

 

 

The three set off, walking quickly into the forest, picking their way

 

over rocks and fallen logs, as the night gathered around them.

 

 

Once you step upon this path, Valdyr warned herself, your life as a

 

Klingon will be over. There would be no place for her anywhere in

 

Klingon society, not on Qo'nos, not on her colonies, not anywhere. She

 

would be outcast, scorned and marked for death. She closed her eyes,

 

struggling not to let the magnitude of her plan stay her hand. This is

 

the path before you, she reminded herself. For you, it is the road of

 

honor, whether any other Klingon anywhere in the universe ever realizes

 

that.

 

 

For the final time, she checked her weapons. Under her sleeve, against

 

her forearm sat her small, wicked, three-pronged dagger, where a sudden

 

jerk of her wrist would release it. At her right hip hung the small,

 

silent crossbow that had been her favorite weapon since childhood. While

 

it was best used in close conditions, it did not have the hum and whine

 

of modern weapons, and would not reveal a concealed shooter. Under her

 

breastplate sat two hand disrupters, their battery packs fully charged.

 

She touched the weapons one final time. Then she took the key to Peter's

 

cell. He was still her prisoner.

 

 

Straightening her armor and tunic, she left her room and headed for her

 

uncle's private quarters. Du'hurgh, Kama-rag's ancient family estate,

 

was a massive, old fortress, with dozens of rooms and numerous

 

passageways and staircases.

 

 

Taking an obscure route, she came to her uncle's quarters stealthily,

 

concerned that Karg might have guards posted, but there were none. And

 

why should there be? After all, who would dare enter Kamarag's private

 

quarters in the ambassador's own home? His simpleminded, weak niece?

 

 

And even if she did, what could she do there?

 

 

Moving silently, Valdyr slipped into her uncle's favorite study. Once

 

inside, she stood perfectly still, waiting, listening, but there was no

 

one, not even a serving woman.

 

 

Valdyr was nearly overcome by memories once she stood inside the

 

cavernous chamber. Every kind of ancient armament hung from its walls,

 

as well as paintings and tapestries of the finest warriors of their

 

family's lines. Her father had brought his children here every summer,

 

and the compound and this place, in particular, called up vivid memories

 

of him. Valdyr stared at the images of long-dead heroes and remembered

 

her father's thrilling tales of their exploits.

 

 

How she'd longed to be like them! Her gaze fixed on the portrait of a

 

woman, her many times great-grandmother who had fought at her husband's

 

side in so many decisive battles hundreds of years ago. That image had

 

always been her favorite. She gazed upon it now, knowing she would never

 

see it once she left here.

 

 

Then, so be it.

 

 

Moving to the computer that appeared so out of place in this ancient

 

hall, she paused for one last moment before using the private code of

 

her dead father to activate this link with the outside world. Then she

 

sent a carefully composed message to Brigadier Kerla, consort to

 

Chancellor Azetbur.

 

 

Her father had served under Kerla many years ago, before he was promoted

 

and sent to serve with Kruge. Her father and Kerla had been good

 

friends, trusted allies.

 

 

Valdyr knew Azetbur trusted Kerla as well. She would have to take a

 

chance with him. The message, at first, would seem like a normal piece

 

of correspondence. She had to make sure that it would be sent through

 

the relays, that no one would pay it any mind and stop it on its

 

journey. The relays would slow it down, she knew, but she could think of

 

 

no other way to insure that Brigadier Kerla would receive it.

 

 

She was, after all, only the daughter of a dead hero, only the niece of

 

an ambassador. Perhaps her father's name would take her message to

 

Kerla's hands. If it did not, than Peter, his uncle, and Valdyr herself

 

were all doomed.

 

 

Peter lay on the stone bench, reading and trying to keep his eyes from

 

staring at the vacant glass portal. The waiting was becoming unbearable.

 

Would Uncle Jim really just give himself up to Kamarag? He couldn't! He

 

would know kidnappers never live up to their promises, especially a

 

kidnapper as crazed as Kamarag. Peter sighed, trying not to 'wear

 

himself out worrying over a situation he could do nothing about.

 

 

He heard the slightest click, and his gaze snapped to the portal, but no

 

one was there. Another click followed, and Peter was on his feet

 

instantly. It was happening. They were coming to take him ... to

 

Valdyr. Uncle Jim had actually done it, given himself up. His mind raced

 

wildly.

 

 

His door swung open, and Valdyr entered, pointing a wicked-looking

 

Klingon hand disrupter at him. So, she'd had to come for him herself.

 

Boy, these people did nothing to make things easier, did they?

 

 

"Are you ready?" she demanded.

 

 

He stood up straight "Yes. I'm ready."

 

 

With a quick flip of her wrist she tossed the disrupter at him. He

 

snatched it clumsily, then stared at the weapon in his hand. He realized

 

she was holding a small crossbow by her side. "What's going on?" he

 

whispered.

 

 

"Shhhh," she warned him, then stuck her head out the door, looking both

 

ways. "Be prepared to use that. We have a long, dangerous journey ahead

 

of us. You must stay close to me, Pityr."

 

 

He grinned. "Try and stop me."

 

 

They moved quickly through endless, ancient stone cord-dors in stealthy

 

silence, and the whole time he hadn't a clue as to their destination.

 

 

After a good fifteen minutes of climbing dark, winding

 

 

staircases, and tiptoeing down long unused hallways, Valdyr finally

 

halted. Turning to him, she pres sed her mouth against his ear and

 

whispered, "Now it becomes difficult." Now? he thought, and stared at

 

her.

 

 

"To leave the dungeons is easy if you take the back passageways," she

 

explained quietly. "They are no longer used. But to enter the secret

 

tunnels, you must go through the heart of the compound. We will have to

 

be even more cautious. And we must be ready to fight."

 

 

"I'm ready," he assured her. "Lead the way." She opened the antique door

 

cautiously, indicating that he should wait behind in the stairwell. He

 

watched her through a crack in the wood as she stepped into a spacious,

 

well-lighted hallway. She had just begun to signal him to follow her

 

when two burly Klingons rounded a corner. She froze, as he did.

 

 

"Valdyr!" one of them said to her congenially. "Karg has been looking

 

for you. He wishes you to join him at the midday meal. You'd better

 

hurry." She stiffened and frowned. "And because Karg wishes it, Malak, I

 

am to obey? I am no trained targ, and I take no backhand summons from my

 

uncle's pet." Her tone dripped contempt.

 

 

Peter rolled his eyes, unable to believe that she was going to get into

 

a row with these two apes now. But the guard merely laughed, apparently

 

enjoying her display of spirit.

 

 

"I told him you would not listen to me, Valdyr," Malak agreed, "but I,

 

too, must do as I am bid by my commander." Suddenly the soldier with him

 

sniffed. "Do you smell something?" Malak tested the air and looked

 

thoughtful.

 

 

Damn it! Peter swore silently. He hadn't had a real bath in over a week,

 

and his sponge baths, no matter how thorough, were a poor substitute.

 

Besides, you're a human. You smell as different to them as they do to

 

you.

 

 

Before Malak could answer, Valdyr sneered, "Who could smell anything

 

while Karg walks these halls?" Malak laughed again. "Oh, Valdyr, you

 

were always a terror. I miss serving with your brother. If Karg were

 

wise, he'd seek another wife. Make things easy for yourself and hurry

 

along. You might still get a choice cut of meat. Come, Darj, we have

 

work to do." The laughing soldiers moved on, but Peter could see Darj

 

looking about the hall, as if trying to find the source of the odor he'd

 

detected. Valdyr watched them for a few minutes, then yanked open the

 

door.

 

 

"Hurry, there is no time! Karg will come looking for me if I do not

 

answer his summons shortly. Clutching his sleeve, she towed him through

 

the hallway. Finally, she stood before a huge piece of furniture. She

 

peered around behind it, then glanced at Peter, as if assessing his

 

size. "The passageway is behind this closet. I think you are thin enough

 

... "

 

 

"I knew I smelled something foul?" an angry voice said behind them.

 

 

They spun, and Peter found himself facing Darj. He was alone, holding a

 

weapon on both of them. He glanced at Valdyr, who was still half behind

 

the closet, half exposed.

 

 

There was no way they could pretend she was just "moving the prisoner."

 

Their attempt to escape was plain.

 

 

"Malak thinks little of his commander," Darj said, moving carefully

 

around them. "Fortunately for Karg, I am loyal! Malak will be demoted,

 

but if he's fortunate, he'll be allowed to live. You two, however, will

 

not have that privilege. Valdyr, move away from that closet, now."

 

 

"Certainly, Darj," she said demurely, surrendering. She stepped away

 

from the massive wooden piece, revealing the crossbow held firmly in her

 

right hand. She fired at the same instant, and the quarrel buried itself

 

deep in the soldier's throat.

 

 

Darj collapsed heavily, gurgling, then lay still. Before Peter could

 

react, Valdyr snatched up the soldier's weapon and pocketed it, then

 

rifled through his uniform. She shoved several small items into the

 

pouch she wore on her belt; then she began tugging the heavy body toward

 

the closet. "Help me!" she gasped, and Peter, who'd been standing there,

 

stunned--he'd never seen anyone killed before--jumped to obey.

 

 

"Into the closet," she ordered, and the two of them wrestled the heavy

 

body inside the massive wooden structure.

 

 

"This way? she snapped, and he followed her as she squeezed behind the

 

heavy furniture.

 

 

In back of the old wooden object was a small door that opened inward.

 

Valdyr pulled out an ornate iron key, and unlocked the secret door. It

 

slid open easily. And then they were inside, the door shut securely

 

behind them. Peter stood stock-still, in total darkness. If she

 

abandoned him here.

 

 

A light flared and he winced at the sudden brightness.

 

 

Valdyr was in front of him, holding a tiny but powerful lantern. "We

 

will be safe for a while now. The only one who knows these passages is

 

my uncle, and he is not here. Karg knows nothing of them. the fool can

 

search the entire compound and never find us. And even if they find

 

Darj's body and discover this passageway, by that time we will be deeply

 

into the hidden chambers."

 

 

She started moving along the narrow tunnel, and Peter followed her. "But

 

how long can we stay here?" he wondered.

 

 

"We only need to stay until dark," she explained. "Then, we can follow

 

the tunnels, and leave the compound."

 

 

"You mean these passageways will actually take us outside this

 

fortress?"

 

 

"That's correct. They were built hundreds of years ago, and have been

 

used by entire armies during local conflicts and feuds. There are dozens

 

of warrens and chambers, enough to hide an entire squadron of soldiers.

 

We will be safe ... until we leave. Once outside the compound we must

 

try to reach the spaceport--but by then Darj will surely be missed, and

 

your escape discovered. They will be searching for us."

 

 

They moved swiftly through the tunnels, saying little, as Valdyr guided

 

them to safety. Finally, she ushered him into a small, cozy chamber,

 

then set about lighting battery-powered lamps that hung on the wall.

 

"This place had always been special to my oldest brother and myself. We

 

used to play war in these tunnels, and hide from our nurses down here."

 

She moved over to a narrow bed, her only furniture in the room, and sat

 

down. "We spent hours down here, making up stories, planning our futures

 

... "

 

 

Peter remembered her speaking of her brother's death.

 

 

"You must miss him."

 

 

She nodded. "He was a lot like my father. He treated me more like a

 

little brother than a sister." She looked about the dimly lit chamber.

 

"It as almost as if I can feel his spirit here ... "

 

 

Peter watched as her eyes moved around the room. She had just killed one

 

of her countrymen. She was giving up everything in her life to do this

 

for him. He didn't know what to say to her. "I ... wish I could've

 

known your brother. 1 would like to think ... we could've found a

 

common ground ... "

 

 

She turned to him. "My brother and father would approve of what I'm

 

doing. They would know I'm fighting for Qo'nos, for the future of all

 

Klingon people."

 

 

Peter nodded. "I'm sure they would. You've chosen a very difficult path,

 

Valdyrmmuch more difficult than armed combat. You bring honor to their

 

memory."

 

 

They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes. Finally, she said, "I

 

have sent a message to Azetbur. Once she receives it ..."

 

 

"When did you send it?" he asked, interested. "What did it say?."

 

 

She explained about sending the message to her father's old friend,

 

Brigadier Kerla, and how she had addressed and phrased it cautiously, so

 

it would go through the channels without being intercepted. "However, I

 

know that will slow it down. I cannot say how long it will take before

 

Azetbur will even see it."

 

 

Peter thought she was being optimistic. Realistically, it could be hours

 

before the thing even got into the hands of this Kerla, assuming some

 

well-meaning staff member didn't misinterpret it and delay it even

 

further. "When the chancellor finds out what you've done, she will

 

surely reward you."

 

 

Valdyr looked away, her expression grim. "I have betrayed my family. She

 

may personally be grateful, but ... family

 

 

honor is very important to our people. There will be no rewards for what

 

I've done. I expect to be outcast ... you would say, homeless, shunned

 

... when this is over. But I will have my own personal honor. No one

 

can take that from me. Not Karg. Not Kamarag. No one."

 

 

He admired her obstinate courage. "Valdyr ... I want to thank you for

 

helping me. And as long as I live, you will always have a place in my

 

family ... for whatever that's worth."

 

 

She looked at him, her expression shocked. "You would accept me in your

 

family? And how would your people feel about that, a Klingon woman

 

coming to them? What of your uncle--he hates us. How will he feel about

 

this?"

 

 

"My uncle is fair," Peter insisted. "The tragedy of Gorkon's death

 

changed the way he regards your people. He is as close to me as you were

 

to your father. I assure you, my uncle would welcome any warrior as

 

brave as you into our family."

 

 

"Then I hope we all live long enough to meet, Pityr. I have heard much

 

of this James Kirk. It would be interesting to face him and see if the

 

man and legend are the same."

 

 

Peter started to smile when a mark on her neck caught his eye. He

 

squinted. It was a terrible-looking bruise. He touched it gently. "What

 

happened, Valdyr? How did you get this?"

 

 

She flinched and moved away, so he pulled his hand back, fearing he'd

 

been too familiar. She looked away, and he thought he could see her

 

color darkening in the chamber's muted light. "It is just ..." she began

 

hesitantly. "It is nothing ... "

 

 

Then he realized. "Karg did this to you." His voice was low as he tried

 

to suppress the outrage he felt. "That's what happened, isn't it? This

 

is from Karg."

 

 

She turned, met his gaze defiantly. "It is Karg's mark. He marked me so

 

everyone would know to whom I belonged. I fought him, but he's ... too

 

strong for me ... "

 

 

Peter's fury flared. "I'd love to have about ten minutes alone with that

 

guy in a locked room," he grumble d.

 

 

She watched him curiously. "This bothers you, Pityr, this mark from

 

Karg?"

 

 

"Of course it bothers meg" he blurted. "He touched you against your

 

will. No one should be allowed to do that."

 

 

She actually laughed then, and the lightness of that sound startled him.

 

"Oh, Pityr, you humans are unusually funny!

 

 

If I were strong enough, I could keep Karg in his place--it might be a

 

good marriage then--but because I am small, he has all the advantage."

 

 

"It shouldn't have anything to do with strength, Valdyr," he argued.

 

"You should only be touched when you choose to be, and by whom you

 

choose to be."

 

 

"I see. And because Karg forced his touch on me, you are angry with me

 

about this7" she asked.

 

 

"Of course I'm not angry with you/I'm furious at Karg."

 

 

"Furious enough ... to fight for me?" She asked the question so

 

quietly, Peter instantly understood that the question meant more to her

 

than its simplicity indicated.

 

 

He stared into her deep, dark eyes, realizing that this was the first

 

interaction they'd been able to enjoy without having the viewing port

 

between them since she'd first dumped him into his cell. They were

 

together, here in this small room, with no one around, just the two of

 

them. He swallowed, wanting to make sure he said just the right thing.

 

"My people believe that fighting is the last resort, that there are

 

always alternatives to violent confrontation ... but ... I must

 

confess ... that guy ... Yes, Valdyr. If I had the chance, I would

 

fight Karg for you."

 

 

Her eyes widened as if she could not believe he'd actually said that.

 

She looked as if she might say something, than hesitated, and finally

 

murmured, "Pityr. What are apricots? ...

 

 

He blinked, momentarily confused. Then he remembered telling her that

 

was how she smelled to him. He smiled.

 

 

"They're a delicious fruit from Earth. They're only available a short

 

time each year, so they're highly prized. They have a wonderful perfume,

 

and a bowl of them in the warm summer air will scent a whole room. My

 

grandmother grew

 

 

them and we couldn't wait every year until they were ready to be eaten."

 

 

"And ... I have this same scent?"

 

 

"Yes ... "He leaned closer and deliberately inhaled her odor. Moving

 

slowly, for fear of shattering the mood between them, he touched her

 

face, turning it to him, as he allowed his lips to graze her cheek

 

lightly.

 

 

"What.. are you doing?" she whispered, holding per-feefly still.

 

 

"Kissing you," he explained, pressing his mouth to the edge of her jaw,

 

then the corner of her mouth. "Do Klingons kiss?"

 

 

"Yes," she murmured.

 

 

He met her gaze unflinchingly. "What do you want? Do you want me to

 

touch you?"

 

 

"I want only one male on Qo'nos to touch me," she admitted. He started

 

to pull back slightly, afraid he'd misinterpreted her interest. "I want

 

Pityr Kirk ... a human.t ... and a warrior. to touch mew She said it

 

as if it amazed her.

 

 

Then, as if her confession suddenly granted Peter total freedom, he took

 

the woman in his arms, armor and all, and pressed his mouth against

 

hers.

 

 

The kiss began tenderly, but almost immediately it ignited all the

 

stored-up emotion of his long days of captivity.

 

 

Peter pulled Valdyr fiercely against him, and was aware of her arms

 

coming up to encircle him with a strength he found exhilarating.

 

"Hlja'.t" she whispered, between kisses.

 

 

"Mevqo', Pityr ..."

 

 

There was no way in hell he could stop.

 

 

Finally, when they pulled away, she laughed and bit his chin hard. He

 

yelped and bit her back. And in the next instant they fell upon the

 

bunk, wrestling, yanking at each other's clothing, rolling over and over

 

in strenuous love-play that sent them crashing to the floor, laughing,

 

biting, tussling. Finally, he landed on his back, Valdyr straddling him,

 

pinning his shoulders to the ground.

 

 

"I like this way of kissing. You will teach me this human

 

 

kissing, Pityr Kirk!" she demanded before dissolving in laughter again.

 

 

He heaved her up and tossed her off him, rolling over to pin her down

 

this time. "I will teach you this human kissing, Valdyr-oy. And you will

 

teach me ... ?" He had no idea what to ask for.

 

 

She touched his cheek, her eyes glimmering. "Everything, Pityr-oy. I

 

will teach you everything."

 

 

He leaned down and began their lessons ... "Ambassador Sarek?"

 

Commander Uhura's voice was as cool and professional as usual, but there

 

was an underlying note of tension in it that made the Vulcan raise an

 

eyebrow as he activated the intercom in his cabin.

 

 

"Samk here, Commander," he replied.

 

 

"I have a message coming in for you, Ambassador," she said. "The codes

 

accompanying it identify it as being from Freelan "The way she trailed

 

off alerted the ambassador.

 

 

"Is it originating there?"

 

 

"All the codes are correct, and the directional frequency is right ...

 

but I don't believe it's actually coming from them.

 

 

My guess is that the transmission is being relayed via Freelan from some

 

other location." nodded. "That does not surprise me, Commander Uhura.

 

Please patch the message through to me here ... and, if you can do so

 

without arousing suspicion, trace the actual origination coordinates of

 

the message."

 

 

"Understood, Ambassador," she replied. Almost immediately the comm

 

screen in Samk's cabin flickered, and, a moment later, he found himself

 

facing a Freeinn. Despite the fact that Freeinns appeared virtually

 

identical in their shrouding robes, the Vulcan was certain that his

 

caller was Taryn. "Greetings," Sarek said, cautiously. "This is

 

Ambassador Samk.

 

 

Whom do I have the honor of addressing, please?"

 

 

"This Liaison Taryn," the image's mechanical tones responded, without

 

preamble. "Ambassador ... I must ask you to meet with me on a matter of

 

some urgency."

 

 

"Where would you like to meet?" Sarek said. "As you have already

 

discovered, I am not on Vulcan."

 

 

Taryn's shrouded figure moved slightly, and the Vulcan thought he

 

detected tension in the dark form. "Why ... I had hoped you could come

 

here, as is our custom," the Freelan liaison said.

 

 

"When would you prefer to meet?"

 

 

"As soon as possible."

 

 

Sarek shook his head. "I fear that will be difficult, Liaison.

 

 

The ship that is my transport has been diverted to patrol the Neutral

 

Zone. I will be unable to meet with you until the Enterprise has

 

completed its current mission. Why do you need to meet with me,

 

Liaison?"

 

 

Taryn did not reply for a long moment. "That trade agreement we

 

negotiated last month concerfflng kivas shipments," he said, finally.

 

"My government has overridden some of the provisions I agreed to. I have

 

no choice but to ask you to reconvene the negotiations."

 

 

Sarek raised an eyebrow in feigned surprise. "Overridden?" he asked.

 

"Liaison, when we met, I trusted that I was dealing with someone with

 

sufficient authority to negotiate in good faith. I am ... disappointed

 

... to discover that you no longer have the backing of your

 

government."

 

 

When the liaison replied, the Vulcan could hear the anger lacing his

 

voice, even through the mechanical tones. "I assure you, Ambassador,

 

that this is simply a temporary setback. I have not lost the backing of

 

my government. I do have the power to negotiate in good faith for my

 

world."

 

 

For the first time, Sarek permitted a touch of sarcasm to tinge his own

 

voice. "Your world? Which world is that?"

 

 

"What do you mean?" Taryn demanded angrily.

 

 

"My apologies," Sarek said, smoothly. "My mind must be ... confused.

 

Age catches up with all of us, as the human aphorism would have it. For

 

just a moment I thought I was speaking with someone else ... a diplomat

 

from another world altogether, by the name of ... Nanclus. You never

 

met him, of course. He was executed for treason last month."

 

 

"When can you meet with me?" Taryn asked, and the mechanical tones could

 

not disguise the cold fury in his voice.

 

 

"I do not know," Sarek said, honestly. "I will have to consult with the

 

ship's officers to discover that. I will speak with you again by the end

 

of today, Liaison."

 

 

"I may be away ... at a government conference," Taryn said. "My aide

 

will take your message, Ambassador."

 

 

"Very well." Sarek inclined his head and raised his hand in the Vulcan

 

salute. "I wish you peace.. and long life, Taryn." ' Without replying,

 

the Freelan broke the connection.

 

 

Sarek sat staring at the screen for a moment, until Uhura's face

 

flickered into view. "Ambassador Sarek ... I was correct, sir. That

 

call was patched through Freelan channels, but its actual point of

 

origin was in a sector of the Romulan Neutral Zone. The exact

 

coordinates are a few hours' journey from our present location."

 

 

Sarek inclined his head graciously. "I thank you for your diligence,

 

Commander," he said. "I find that information unsurprising ... but ..."

 

His mouth curved slightly as he thought about his son's reaction." ...

 

fascinating."

 

 

In his office aboard Shardarr, Commander Taryn pulled off his muffling

 

Freelan cowl and inhaled a deep breath of "fresh" air before turning to

 

face Savel, who was sitting across the desk from him. "He knows." The

 

commander's deep voice was grim. "He knows everything. Now he mocks me

 

with his knowledge. There is no question anymore.

 

 

Ambassador Sarek must die ... and as quickly as possible."

 

 

Quickly, the commander contacted Poldar over the intercom and ordered

 

him to plot a course that would take them within subspace jamming range

 

of the Enterprise.

 

 

"Our foremost ships are still half a day's journey away from our present

 

location, Commander," the centurion reported, when asked.

 

 

"What will you do now?" Save/inquired softly.

 

 

The commander gave her an enigmatic glance. "Delay, Savel. Make

 

Enterprise notice me, then hunt me, then chase me ... until it is my

 

pleasure to turn the tables, and hunt her."

 

 

Sayel gazed at him, her eyes wide and haunted, full of silent

 

apprehension a nd sadness. Where is Soran? If he dies.. I will be the

 

cause of it ... of all of this ...

 

 

"Pityr," Valdyr whispered against the cadet's car, "we have to leave

 

now."

 

 

Peter Kirk groaned, not certain whether he'd actually slept, or simply

 

lain, half-drugged with exhaustion and satisfaction. The room appeared

 

the same as it had when they'd entered it, the lantern still

 

illuminating the dimness, and he had no sense of time.

 

 

"Pityr," she whispered, "it is time. We must go."

 

 

"Not yet," he argued. "Just a few more minutes ."

 

 

She sighed, then relaxed against him. "One more minute," she said.

 

"Perhaps two. But no more, 7woy ..."

 

 

The human stroked her back, feeling the contours of flesh over bone that

 

weren't quite human. He realized that he ached. I must be covered with

 

bruises, he thought, remembering what had passed between them and

 

marveling at it.

 

 

Not to mention toothmarks. A faint taste lingered in his mouth, sweet

 

and somewhat smoky. Peter ran his tongue over his raw, bruised lips. The

 

faint saltiness of his own blood now mingled with the alien taste of

 

hers.

 

 

He tightened his arms around her, then kissed her again.

 

 

He didn't want to leave now. He didn't even want to move, though the

 

floor they were lying on was so cold and hard that he was shivering.

 

 

Finally he raised his head, resisting the urge to kiss her again, to

 

savor the taste and texture and feel of her strange mouth again ... and

 

again. "What time is it?"

 

 

"It is the middle of our night," she explained, as she picked up her

 

small lantern. "The few soldiers my uncle left here with Karg should be

 

weary from searching for us since the midday meal. Karg would've come

 

looking for me

 

 

shortly after I failed to heed his summons. I don't know how long it

 

would be before they missed Darj. Eventually, someone would've thought

 

to check your cell." He was surprised to see her grin.

 

 

She stood, and began pulling her clothing into place, then redonned her

 

armor. "They will search the road to Tengchah Jav--the closest

 

spaceport. Even if Karg were bright enough to figure out that we hid on

 

the premises--which he's not--he will have to search very discreetly.

 

 

Kamarag gave orders that nothing should arouse suspicion from any

 

official agency of the Klingon government."

 

 

"So, what's our plan?" he asked, as he slipped on his boots.

 

 

"We will take the tunnels to the farthest exit, and come out in the

 

woods near the south road. We can stay in the forest and follow the road

 

to the spaceport. It will be perhaps nine of your kilometers to the

 

port."

 

 

"Can't they scan for me while we're under here?" he asked. "After all, I

 

am the only human in the nearby vicinity."

 

 

She patted a wall. "There is so much scionitc in these walls that

 

scanning rays cannot penetrate. That is why they cannot follow us

 

here--to the scanners, this does not exist."

 

 

"And once we're out of the tunnels?"

 

 

"I have a small tracer for you. It will give off a false

 

registration--make the scanners think you are another Klingon. Soldiers

 

carry them so they can be found where they fall in battle, so they might

 

receive their warrior's ritual. It will mask your readings."

 

 

"Suppose we're seen?" Peter asked. He tapped his forehead.

 

 

"Don't you think someone might notice?"

 

 

"I have a hooded cloak for you," she said. "I cached one here

 

yesterday." She opened a recessed drawer under the stone sleeping shelf

 

and pulled it out.

 

 

"You've thought of everything," Peter said, "1 think.

 

 

What happens when we get to the spaceport?"

 

 

"We will have to get past the security gates, and keep a close eye out

 

for Karg's troops. Then, I will help you find a

 

 

ship." She hesitated, glancing at him sideways. "You will escape Qo'nos

 

... "

 

 

"You mean we will. Right?" he demanded, taking her by the shoulders.

 

"You're coming with me, back to Earth.

 

 

Aren't you7"

 

 

Valdyr gazed up at him, smiling sadly. "That is what I thought too, at

 

first. But ... I've reconsidered. Pityr ... be realistic. A Klingon,

 

on Earth? How could I live? I would be an exile, an outcast, living

 

among a species that hates my people--even as my people hate yours ...

 

 

"We don't have to stay on Earth," Peter insisted. "There are colonies

 

where even we wouldn't be noticed."

 

 

"And your career in Starfleet?"

 

 

"Listen, all that time alone in that cell made me think, too, and one of

 

the things I've realized is that I'm not James T. Kirkwand I never will

 

be. I want to be myself I'm not cut out to be a legend, Valdyr. I'm just

 

not cut out for command." He regarded her worriedly. "Valdyr-oy ...

 

think what will happen if you stay behind! Your uncle ... when he

 

catches up with you ...

 

 

Her exotic alien beauty almost glowed as she responded assuredly, "Do

 

not worry, Pityr-oy. He will not catch me. I will die by the Heghba',

 

with my honor intact."

 

 

It took the human a second to realize that she meant ritual suicide, and

 

when he did, his hands tightened convulsively on her shoulders. "No!" he

 

cried. "Don't even think it?

 

 

"I have betrayed my family by helping you," she pointed out reasonably.

 

"There is no other path left to regain my honor."

 

 

"Don't talk like that," he said fiercely, his heart pounding with fear

 

for her. "You're not doing that! I won't let you!

 

 

You'll have to fight me, Valdyr ... !" He stopped, realizing how

 

frantic he sounded.

 

 

Her face was very close to his in the confines of the dusty,

 

stone-walled chamber. Peter felt her breath touch his face as she said,

 

softly, "The last time I fought you, I won. But you were exhausted, at

 

the end of your stamina. I do not think it will be so easy for me the

 

next time."

 

 

He pressed his cheek against hers and held her to him. If that was the

 

best she could do for capitulation, he'd take it.

 

 

But at least she knew if she attempted to stay behind at the spaceport,

 

he wouldn't give in without a struggle.

 

 

"Now, we must go," she whispered and, taking his hand, led him out of

 

the room.

 

 

She led Peter along dark, dusty corridors that twisted and turned

 

without rhyme or reason. They traveled a surprisingly long time, saying

 

nothing, with no light but Valdyr's small hand-held lantern.

 

 

Finally, the corridor they were in ended in a tunnel that ran straight

 

up, with an ancient-looking, battered wooden ladder traveling up into

 

the darkness. Without a word, Valdyr began climbing, and Peter followed

 

without hesitation.

 

 

Finally, she halted, and Peter could see an opening in the stone before

 

her.

 

 

"Good," Valdyr whispered. "They have not discovered this exit. Quickly,

 

now!" She was out of the opening in seconds, and Peter clambered out

 

after her. And then for the first time he stood on Qo'nos's soil,

 

conscious and aware.

 

 

Despite Valdyr's urgency, he paused to glance around.

 

 

In the darkness, the forest looked like any forest at night--heavy tree

 

trunks crowding in on one another, with tangled, shapeless underbrush at

 

their roots. In the daylight, the colors and textures that would make

 

this forest unique alien--would be revealed, but for now, all that was

 

lost.

 

 

Then Peter glanced skyward--and stood transfixed.

 

 

Overhead, washed in gold by the reflected light of the sun on the

 

planet's other side, Qo'nos's ring arched like a bridge--a broken

 

bridge. The shadow of Qo'nos bisected the middle of the ring, leaving it

 

in darkness.

 

 

Valdyr threw the cloak over his shoulders and fastened the tracers.

 

"Pull your hood up," she commanded him. "We must hurry."

 

 

James T. Kirk picked his way cautiously down a narrow animal trail,

 

squinting in the darkness. From the look of Qo'nos's ring, it was nearly

 

midnight. His night vision was

 

 

excellent, almost as good as Spock's. (Unfortunately, the same could not

 

be said for his regular eyesight--and he'd now gone through so many

 

pairs of spectacles for reading that Bones McCoy claimed to have

 

exhausted the supply in all the antique shops in San Francisco.) The

 

rescue party had had to detour around several large, private estates,

 

which had nearly doubled their hike through the dark forest. Now,

 

finally, the trees were thinning ahead of them. "How far are we from

 

Kmarag's compound?" Jim whispered ahead to Spock. "My sense of

 

direction has been off ever since we made that last detour."

 

 

"We are almost--" The Vulcan broke off, and halted.

 

 

"Correction. We are here." Kirk pushed his way through the last screen

 

of undergrowth, McCoy following him. Together, the little party looked

 

down from a high ridge, seeing the huge, fortresslike house down in the

 

hollow, surrounded by both high stone walls and modern security fields.

 

 

"There seems to be a lot of activity going on," Kirk said, noting the

 

brilliant security lights and the presence of many armed figures racing

 

to and fro.

 

 

Spock regarded his tricorder intently. "Peter is no longer within the

 

compound," Spock said.

 

 

"Not there? Then where is he? Did they take him off-world?" Kirk

 

demanded, startled. Had Kamarag decided not to meet at the rendezvous?

 

Had the Klingon ambassador somehow discovered that Kirk had no intention

 

of obeying his instructions, and had returned to execute his nephew in

 

revenge?

 

 

"Peter has vanished," Spock said. "He is not in the compound at the

 

present moment. However," the Vulcan added, fiddling with his tricorder,

 

taking readings, "that does not necessarily mean that he is now

 

off-world. The rock formations in this area contain traces of selonite

 

... the same material that forms the basis for the cloaking device. It

 

makes readings impossible. If some of that scionitc-impregnated rock is

 

between us and Peter, that would make it impossible to scan him." Kirk

 

groaned aloud. "Just what we need!"

 

 

"I believe I should continue scanning," Spock said. "I may be able to

 

pick him up again ... if he is in the area." Leonard McCoy plopped

 

himself down on the ground with a groan. "Haven't hiked this much since

 

Y ellowstone," he grumbled, digging into his belt pouch and taking out a

 

small flask and container of ration pellets.

 

 

The three officers silently shared the skimpy provisions as Spock

 

continued to study the screen of his tricorder. "Fascinating," the

 

Vulcan murmured, after a few minutes. "I am picking up something ...

 

confusing. For a moment I thought I had detected Peter, but now the

 

human readings are blending and merging ... becoming intermixed with

 

Klingon readings."

 

 

"Where? What location?" Kirk demanded, jumping up.

 

 

"Due north," Spock said, pointing. "On the other side of the compound."

 

 

"Is it possible that it might be Peter, somehow masking his readings?"

 

McCoy asked, peering at the tricorder's tiny screen.

 

 

"I believe it may be," Spock muttered.

 

 

"Well, it's the best lead we've got," Kirk said.

 

 

"Captain ... these readings are moving toward the spaceport," Spock

 

said. "Slowly ... at a walking pace." Spock glanced up at his friend.

 

"I believe, Jim, that your nephew has not waited for rescue. He has,

 

instead, effected his own escape." Kirk felt a slow grin spread across

 

his features. "Well, that was damned inconsiderate of him, wasn't it?"

 

 

"Now what?" McCoy wondered aloud.

 

 

"Guess our next stop will be the spaceport, too," Kirk said, glancing at

 

his wrist chrono. "See that ground vehicle that just pulled up there,

 

outside the security gate?" He pointed down into the hollow.

 

 

"Yes, Captain," Spock replied.

 

 

"Think you could hot-wire that thing?"

 

 

"I believe I can, Captain," Spock said.

 

 

"Good. Let's make our way down there ... slowly. Keep

 

 

low. Take no chances. We've got plenty of time; we're going to hijack

 

that car in just about ... forty-five minutes." The three officers

 

cautiously made their way down the little ridge, crawling commando-style

 

where they was no ground cover. Finally, they huddled crouched in a

 

thicket about thirty meters from the guard station. The driver and the

 

guard were standing outside, talking desultorily. The fugitive trio

 

waited in silence, until, finally, Kirk glanced at his chrono again.

 

"Ready, Spock?"

 

 

"Ready, Captain." Kirk counted seconds in his head, and then, right on

 

schedule, came the moment he'd been waiting for. A dull boom erupted

 

from the forest they'd left behind, and a gout of distant yellow and red

 

flame brightened the night. Half a second later, the ground beneath

 

their feet shuddered.

 

 

"That's it!" Kirk said, grabbing McCoy and propelling him out of their

 

hiding place. "Go!" Spock was already racing forward. The guard was

 

still outside his security station, his gaze fixed on the fire in the

 

foothills. He never saw the Vulcan's dark figure, never realized that

 

anyone was there--until a hand clamped onto the juncture of neck and

 

shoulder, and he sagged, limp.

 

 

The driver turned toward his fallen comrade, then launched himself at

 

Spock's dimly seen shape with a loud war cry. Kirk darted up behind him,

 

chopped him hard on the neck, then kicked his feet out from under him.

 

When the Klingon, dazed but still game, tried to get up, the captain

 

stunned him with his phaser.

 

 

The captain caught his breath, then turned toward the car.

 

 

"Want me to drive?" he asked, heading for the open door.

 

 

"With all due respect ... no, "Spock said, firmly, heading him off. "I

 

have analyzed the controls with my tricorder, and I would prefer to

 

drive. Your efforts at chauffeuring during our sojourn on Iotia are

 

still vivid in my memory." Kirk chuckled as the three would-be rescuers

 

piled into the ground vehicle. It was a matter of moments to activate

 

the engine and turn the car. Kirk crouched beside Spock and felt

 

adrenaline course through his body. He glanced back at McCoy, who was

 

gripping the edge of the backseat with both hands, holding on as Spock

 

sent their stolen transportation barreling down the road.

 

 

"Jim, how the hell did you know that would happen?" the doctor demanded,

 

pointing in the direction of the explosion.

 

 

"That was the Kepler, "Kirk said. "You told me to give us plenty of time

 

to get away ... and it came in handy as a diversion." With a sharp cry,

 

the doctor grabbed the seat again and held on for dear life as the car

 

slewed around a sharp curve.

 

 

"Dammit, Spock, watch it! You're a Starfleet officer, not a chauffeur!"

 

 

"Spock, how long till we reach the spaceport?"

 

 

"ETA is ... fifteen point seven minutes, Captain," Spock said, intent

 

on driving. He sent the vehicle skidding into another tight turn,

 

frowning slightly in the lights of the controls. "This road,

 

unfortunately, winds about rather than going directly through the woods.

 

I apologize for the ... instability ... of the ride." Kirk grinned,

 

feeling the car surge forward. "Just as long as it gets us there before

 

Peter gets off-world, Spock. That way we'll only have to steal one

 

ship."

 

 

"I shall endeavor to avoid that eventuality," Spock promised gravely,

 

and increased speed until the groundcar seemed ready to take flight.

 

 

Peter and Valdyr had alternately walked and jogged for over an hour

 

before they reached the edge of the forest, which ran almost up against

 

the spaceport. The two paused for a moment, staring down at Tengchah

 

Jav's perimeter security gate--the first of several hurdles they had to

 

surmount in their quest to get off Qo'nos.

 

 

Valdyr glanced over her shoulder, then fished in her pocket, as they

 

approached the gate. "This gate is programmed to admit any valid

 

identification," she told him.

 

 

He gazed at the security device that would scan the number of people

 

approaching and only admit those with the proper ID. "That's great,"

 

Peter remarked, watching her take out a small ID disk. "I don't have

 

one."

 

 

"Yes, you do," she said. "I took Darj's." Handing him a disk, she fed

 

hers into the scanner. "Before I killed him, I'd wondered how I would

 

get you past this point."

 

 

Peter followed suit, and the gate swung open. Quickly, the two headed

 

for the nonmilitary side of the port. If they were in luck, they would

 

find a small, private vessel that was unsupervised while its crew was on

 

shore leave. "Maybe we can find a trader or a smuggler's ship," Peter

 

told Valdyr,

 

 

"with a Federation registry. Federation vessels have stan-darized

 

controls. I know I can pilot one of those. What other checkpoints do we

 

have to cross?" he asked in a low voice, as they hurried along, watching

 

keenly for any sign of Karg or his troops.

 

 

"There is an inside gate that leads to the civilian landing fields, but

 

it is not always guarded," she whispered. "If there is a guard ..." She

 

patted her crossbow.

 

 

Peter swallowed hard. "Valdyr, there's got to be another way. If there's

 

a guard ... distract him somehow--act helpless, or something."

 

 

She spun, glaring at him.

 

 

"Just for a second.t" he argued. "While he's helping you, I'll come up

 

behind him and knock him cold."

 

 

"Are you sure you can?" she asked pointedly. "You'll only get one

 

chance. Perhaps you should act helpless!"

 

 

"Let's not argue technique, okay?"

 

 

She nodded, if reluctantly. "Once we're inside that gate, we'll have to

 

choose a ship. Of course, they are all locked ... "

 

 

"I should be able to break the codes," Peter assured her.

 

 

"I learned the basics for breaking computer codes back when I was in my

 

teens, and most freighters--especially the older models--don't have the

 

most up-to-date security systems."

 

 

"That would bern" Valdyr began; then she glanced back over her shoulder

 

again, only to halt in her tracks. "Lights! A ground vehicle!" she

 

whispered, shoving the human toward a stack of vacuum-proof packing

 

crates. "Hide!"

 

 

Peter leaped for cover and Valdyr joined him. They crouched, rigidly

 

still, scarcely daring to breathe. After a

 

 

moment, he peered around the nearest container, making sure he was in

 

shadow. He watched the vehicle as it skidded to a stop. "Someone's in a

 

big hurry," he whispered, with a sinking feeling in his midsection.

 

 

"It is one of Kamarag's vehicles," Valdyr said, with despair in her

 

voice. "They have tracked us, somehow."

 

 

Without discussing it, the two fugitives both took out their disrupters

 

and prepared for battle. They watched anxiously as the vehicle's doors

 

opened, and three black-clad shapes emerged. Two were tall and lean, the

 

other shorter and stocky. They moved furtively, and one kept glancing at

 

some device in his hand--probably a scanner or tricorder. Peter groaned

 

inwardly. Valdyr took his hand, gripping it so hard she made the bones

 

grind.

 

 

Then his eyes narrowed as he stared at the three shapes.

 

 

The stockier man was obviously in charge ... both of the others turned

 

to report to him as they searched. There was something about the way

 

that one moved. Something familiar ... They wore no traditional

 

Klingon garb that he had ever seen. And none of these figures looked big

 

enough to be any of Karg's men. The shapes of their heads in the shadows

 

seemed ...

 

 

"We must kill them with the first shot," Valdyr murmured softly in his

 

ear, "or we will never escape."

 

 

He nodded distractedly, even as the three searching figures drew closer

 

to their hiding place. "Wait," he whispered,

 

 

"let them get closer first. We can't afford to miss."

 

 

She aimed her weapon, even as he did. But then he lowered the disrupter.

 

He was too busy staring at the tallest of the three figures. There were

 

too many things all wrong about this. The tall searcher suddenly moved

 

through a beam of light, and his face was illuminated. Peter saw a flash

 

of a familiar arching eyebrow, and the unmistakable curve of a pointed

 

ear.

 

 

Valdyr took deadly aim at the stocky male who was now almost on top of

 

them. Peter lurched, grabbed her firing hand, and called, "Valdyr, no!"

 

 

She turned to him, her face twisted in confusion. The three stealthy

 

figures turned in unison toward the sound.

 

 

Peter surged to his feet, distantly hearing the Klingon woman's shoc ked

 

growl. She clutched at him, attempting to pull him down, but he yanked

 

free and bolted away, trying to get clear of the crates. "Uncle Jim!" he

 

called softly. "It's me! Peter!"

 

 

"Peter?" Kirk halted on the pavement, staring wildly around until he

 

spotted his nephew. "Peter?

 

 

The young Kirk launched himself at his relative, and Jim seized his

 

nephew in a bear hug, nearly lifting the taller man off the ground. They

 

pounded each other's backs until they wheezed, grinning wildly.

 

 

"Gentlemen, I hate to intrude." Spock's cool tones cut across their

 

emotional give-and-take. "However, if we are to effect our escape, we

 

must not lose any time."

 

 

"I'm with Spock on that, Jim," Leonard McCoy agreed, glancing furtively

 

around. "We can't afford to get caught now."

 

 

"Right," Kirk said, stepping back and regarding Peter fondly. Then the

 

cadet watched his uncle's expression change to surprise, then alarm.

 

 

Peter turned to see Valdyr cautiously emerging from behind the stacks of

 

crates. She was still clutching the disrupter. All three men wheeled in

 

her direction, even as Jim Kirk's hand dropped to his phaser.

 

 

"No, Jim! Wait! She's with me! That is ..." He paused, collected his

 

wits as all three men glanced between him and the Klingon woman. He

 

walked over to the crates and took Valdyr by the arm. He murmured to

 

her, "Time to holster the weapon." Then, leading her somewhat

 

reluctantly to the small group, he introduced her. "Captain James T.

 

Kirk, Dr. Leonard McCoy, Captain Spock ... this is Valdyr. I wouldn't

 

be here without her. She helped me escape.

 

 

She's ... on our side." Peter trailed off, his face growing hot. The

 

captain stared at his nephew, as if wanting to be sure he meant what he

 

said.

 

 

"So," Valdyr said, eyeing the senior Kirk up and down,

 

 

"this is the famous legend?"

 

 

The captain looked slightly abashed. "Well ... I am out of uniform ...

 

"

 

 

"I presume she provided you with the Klingon robe," Spock asked,

 

reaching over to pull an object from it, "and the tracer?"

 

 

Peter nodded.

 

 

The Vulcan examined the device. "Yes. Here is the cause of those

 

confusing tricorder readings. It very nearly kept us from locating you."

 

 

"It kept Kamarag's men from finding us, as well," Peter explained while

 

Valdyr glowered.

 

 

"I can well imagine," Spock agreed dryly. "It is fortunate that

 

Federation technology is more advanced than ..."

 

 

McCoy elbowed Spock, and the Vulcan abruptly fell silent. The doctor

 

stepped smoothly into the breach, all his Southern courtliness in

 

evidence. "Well, if you've been helpin' Peter out, miss, we're all

 

mighty grateful. Aren't we, Jim?"

 

 

Kirk paused for a second, then finally said quietly, "Of course we are.

 

Thank you for helping Peter. For ..." He glanced quizzically at his

 

nephew." ... everything ... "

 

 

"Not to belabor Spock's point," McCoy added, "but it's time we got

 

ourselves out of here."

 

 

Peter gave him a sharp glance. "Valdyr's coming with us.

 

 

Where's your ship?"

 

 

Before Jim could say anything, Spock cleared his throat.

 

 

"We ... are currently without one."

 

 

Peter rolled his eyes. "So we still have to steal a ship?

 

 

That's where we were at before you showed up!"

 

 

"Miss. ... Valdyr," McCoy said, still exuding polite charm, "do you

 

know the layout of this spaceport?"

 

 

"The commercial freighters and off-world vessels are on that side," she

 

said, pointing southwest, "and the military vessels are in a shielded

 

underground hangar--to protect them from meteor showers--over there."

 

She pointed in the opposite direction.

 

 

"I was hoping to find a freighter," Peter said.

 

 

"Forget that," Kirk told him. "We're going to need something with a

 

cloaking device if we hope to get out of here in one piece. A

 

bird-of-prey should do the job nicely."

 

 

Peter's mouth dropped open. Is he crazy? But Valdyr

 

 

nodded in agreement. "My uncle's men will not expect us to go for a ship

 

that would be impossible for two people to pilot."

 

 

"Your uncle ... ?" Jim Kirk said.

 

 

Peter sighed and nodded. "Her uncle is Kamarag." None of the three

 

Federation officers said anything for another long moment while Valdyr

 

drew herself up stiffly.

 

 

Peter wondered if any human male in history ever had such an

 

uncomfortable family introduction.

 

 

The entire group climbed back into the crowded vehicle and turned toward

 

the manned gate half a kilometer away that was the entrance to the

 

military side of the spaceport.

 

 

They drove toward a cluster of outbuildings until Valdyr directed them

 

into a convenient alley. They were able to position the vehicle so that

 

the gate was within sight, while keeping the groundcar in darkness. The

 

group huddled inside began to confer.

 

 

"There are two guards," Valdyr told them.

 

 

"We can handle that," Kirk said, touching his pocket.

 

 

"We're armed. Phasers on stun." Spock, McCoy, and Kirk drew their

 

weapons. "Spock and I will move along the fence line ... "

 

 

"Jim," McCoy interrupted, "you'll be out in the open.

 

 

Don't you think they'll see you?"

 

 

Kirk gazed out of the vehicle, mulling over options.

 

 

"The chances of our approaching the guards without being seen," Spock

 

informed him, "are approximately ..."

 

 

"Spare me," McCoy groaned.

 

 

The Vulcan raised a surprised eyebrow.

 

 

"There is a simpler way," Valdyr said suddenly, with a sigh. "If your

 

weapon can stun, then give one to me. I can approach the guards as if I

 

were--how do you say it?--a helpless woman." She glowered at Peter, who

 

only smiled back at her. "They will not be expecting trouble from one as

 

small as myself. When I am close to them they will be easy to stun, and

 

there will be no chance of them sounding an

 

 

Kirk nodded and Spock handed his weapon over to the

 

 

Klingon female. When she was out of the vehicle, Kirk regarded his

 

nephew. "You do trust her, Peter?"

 

 

Peter nodded. "Valdyr has not only given up everything--including her

 

heritage--to save my life, but, I ... I'm in love with her!" He took a

 

deep breath.

 

 

The sudden silence in the car was shocking. McCoy's eyebrows had climbed

 

to his hairline, while Spock bgan an intense examination of the

 

vehicle's interior. Kirk gaped at his nephew. Peter swallowed. He had

 

wanted to find the perfect moment to discuss this with Jim; he hadn't

 

meant to just blurt it out in front of everyone.

 

 

"Does she know that?" the captain finally asked quietly.

 

 

Peter shook his head. "She knows ... I care for her. I know she cares

 

for me. We really haven't had the time or opportunity to have the kind

 

of meaningful discussions people like to have in a developing

 

relationship."

 

 

There was another uncomfortable pause, and then Spock interrupted "She

 

is at the gate."

 

 

The four men watched the Klingon woman as she sauntered up to the two

 

guards, twitching portions of her compact form provocatively. One of

 

them started grinning as soon as he saw her. Peter found himself

 

wondering how one acted sexy while wearing armor ... but, in a flash of

 

insight, he realized that the armor itself was exciting for Klingon

 

males! Whatever Valdyr was saying to the two guards made both of them

 

focus on her, and lose all interest in their post. This small spaceport

 

must not see many problems, he imagined. No doubt these two men spent

 

most of their time bored and restless.

 

 

Suddenly, Valdyr arched her back, stared up at the closest guard, and

 

bared her teeth. He grabbed her by the hair and tried to yank her over

 

to him, even as the other one grabbed her, pressed himself against her,

 

and bent his head to her neck. Peter's temper flared and his hand had

 

grabbed the handle of the car door when Spock's reasonable voice

 

intruded. "Wait," the Vulcan cautioned. "One moment ..."

 

 

No sooner did he say that than the two Klingon guards

 

 

suddenly looked amazed, then crumpled to the ground.

 

 

Valdyr grimaced, spat on the one who had clutched her, and then

 

matter-of-factly grabbed the closest by the heels and began struggling

 

to wrestle him into the guard station.

 

 

"That's our cue!" Jim announced, and opened the vehicle's doors.

 

 

At the gate, Spock lifted one of the unconscious Klingons effortlessly

 

and arranged him at his station inside the small building, while the

 

captain and McCoy struggled with the other one.

 

 

Peter grabbed Valdyr by the shoulders. "Are you all right?"

 

 

"Uuughh? she grunted. "I had to let those veq-nuj handle me. I'm sorry

 

now I didn't just kill them!"

 

 

"Valdyr ..." Peter said warningly. She gave him a knowing look, then

 

handed Spock back his phaser.

 

 

Suddenly, a mechanical whine intruded, and the entire party turned to

 

look out the windows at the source of the sound. Feeling a rumble

 

beneath his feet, Peter glanced over at a portion of the pavement that

 

was rising into the air, like a huge trapdoor. Distant figures

 

surrounded a small vessel that was on the platform rising up level with

 

the landing field.

 

 

"Looks like a miniature bird-of-prey," Kirk said.

 

 

"That is essentially what it is," Valdyr confirmed. "A small, armed

 

shuttle, very fast and maneuverable, it usually has a crew of three to

 

six."

 

 

"I'd say that's exactly what the doctor ordered," McCoy said, "if only

 

we could get to it."

 

 

Peter shook his head. "Forget it. I can see at least three crew members

 

out there, as well as four maintenance staff.

 

 

We wouldn't have a prayer of swiping that ship."

 

 

Kirk sighed. "Probably not," he admitted. But the expression on his

 

uncle's face said otherwise.

 

 

"A helpless woman will not get you that ship," Valdyr warned.