should we by any chance survive this. I will fight with youmand we will

 

die as true warriors, with honor!"

 

 

"Glad you could join us," Kirk said, dryly.

 

 

With a graceful dip of her painted wings, the bird-of-prey moved out of

 

formation and joined the other two ships in the middle of the circle.

 

 

"Commander Keraz, Commander Poldaryou stay behind us, and use our

 

shields to augment your own," Kirk instructed. "See if you can't take

 

out a couple of those ships for me." Both commanders signaled their

 

assent to Kirk's plan.

 

 

Moments later, the captain was rewarded with a view of S hardarr and

 

Bahwil' moving in a corkscrew evasive pattern, firing at the warbirds on

 

the Enterprise's port and starboard sides. Bahwil' got lucky--or its

 

gunner was extremely skillful. Keraz's disrupters penetrated the

 

renegade's shields like a phaser slicing rock, and, for a moment, space

 

lit up with a mini-nova as the bird-of-prey exploded violently.

 

 

Kirk shook his head. This is the craziest fight 1 have ever been in ...

 

look at this! A Federation, a Klingon, and a Romulan ship, ready to duke

 

it out with a whole squadron of Klingon renegades? I never thought I'd

 

be fighting battles with Klingons and Romulans, instead of against them!

 

 

Enterprise bucked like a spurred horse under another blast from Hohwi'.

 

 

"Aft shield down sixty percent, Captain! We can't take another hit

 

there!"

 

 

Kirk glanced at the schematic, saw that Hohwi' had drifted closer to

 

Shardarr. "Ship to ship, Uhura! Tight beam to Shardarr.t"

 

 

"Aye, Captain?

 

 

"Centurion Poldar--I want you to fire at Kamarag's ship in exactly

 

thirty Federation Standard seconds," Kirk said, tersely. "Target

 

coordinates seven-six-three mark nine. I know she isn't there now--but

 

she will be! On my mark, and counting!" Without waiting for

 

acknowledgment from the Romulan, he turned to Chekov. "Target the

 

flagship on its port side and fire, Mr. Chekov. Targeting coordinates

 

seven-six-six mark two."

 

 

"Aye, Captain! Targeting ... and firing!" As Kirk had hoped, Hohwi'

 

evaded most of their blast, swinging to port--which brought the cruiser

 

directly into the line of Shardarr's blast. Fire flared along the

 

Klingon ship's side, and Chekov yelled, "Captain, she's lost all

 

maneuvering power!"

 

 

"Target weapons array and fire, Mr. Chekov!" The phasers blasted the

 

listing ship, wiping out her weapons with one shot. The bridge crew

 

whooped in triumph.

 

 

Three down, seven to go, Kirk thought grimly, just as one of the

 

warbirds fired on them.

 

 

Enterprise lurched so violently that Kirk was nearly flung from his

 

seat. Quickly, he activated his restraint system.

 

 

"Captain, we've lost our aft shield," Chekov reported.

 

 

"Another hit there, and we're dead."

 

 

"Chekov, target that vessel, and fire on my order."

 

 

"Aye, Captain?

 

 

James T. Kirk drew a deep breath, thinking that it might be his last. He

 

opened his mouth, said, "Fi--" and stopped in midword.

 

 

Suddenly, the long-range scanners showed a huge fleet of ships pouring

 

out of the Klingon Neutral Zone! Dozens of ships ... "Captain? We're

 

being hailed!" Uhura's eyes were wide with amazement.

 

 

"On-screen, Commander." A gruff, familiar voice filled the air, even as

 

the forward viewscreen filled with well-known features. "Kirk? This is

 

General Korrd. The chancellor tells me our former ambassador is giving

 

you some trouble." The general's fleshy, squint-eyed features were

 

wreathed in a malicious smile.

 

 

Kirk noted the emphasis on the word "former."

 

 

"Well, yes, General ... just a little trouble." Korrd guffawed heartily

 

at the captain's attempt at humor, which, to be frank, did not quite

 

come off. "Get that Vulcan of yours to man the guns, then!" the general

 

advised, genially. "He's one Hu'tegh fine gunner!" Kirk glanced at the

 

sensor array, saw that the renegade vessels were streaking off in all

 

directions. He realized suddenly that his uniform was sticking to him,

 

and that his face was covered with sweat.

 

 

"Kirk?" It was General Korrd again.

 

 

"Yes, General?"

 

 

"Looks like I'll have a good hunt for the next few days.

 

 

Wish me success, Kirk! Korrd out." The captain cut the connection with a

 

grin, shaking his head.

 

 

The bridge crew looked as though they didn't know whether to laugh or

 

cry, cheer or curse. Chekov seemed to be doing a little of everything,

 

mostly in Russian.

 

 

"Well, I'll be damned," Kirk said, to no one in particular.

 

 

"That was ... close."

 

 

The first thing Sarek was conscious of upon waking was that the pain

 

from the senapa wound was gone ... vanished. He did not have to exert

 

biocontrol to repress it. The second thing the ambassador realized, as

 

soon as he opened his eyes, was that he was in the Enterprise's sickbay.

 

 

The bed he was resting in was in a secluded alcove.

 

 

Glancing around, Sarek saw that his son occupied a bed across from him.

 

Spock's eyes were closed ... he was breath ing deeply. Asleep.

 

 

Events rushed back as the ambassador stretched cautiously.

 

 

The fight with Taryn ... beaming over to the Enterprise. McCoy's fight

 

to save the wing commander. The last thing Sarek remembered was being

 

hooked up to a blood-filtration device, at the same time as Spock was

 

readied for a massive transfusion. Spock's blood now coursed through his

 

veins ... Spock's blood had helped to preserve his life.

 

 

Just as it had all those years ago ... Slowly, the ambassador sat up,

 

then reached for the intercom switch beside the bed. He summoned one of

 

McCoy's nurses, and, when the man appeared, he made a request.

 

 

Minutes later, Sarek held in his hands one of the red volumes of his

 

wife's journal. Swiftly, the Vulcan flipped through the pages, searching

 

for a particular entry ... and found it ...

 

 

December 7,2267 Sarek is safe ... Dr. McCoy operated on his heart, and

 

he will be fine--mere words cannot convey my relief. I really thought

 

that I was going to lose him. Oh, Sarek ... if you weren't in my life

 

anymore, I don't know how I would go on. I would NOT want to go on.

 

 

But, thankfully, I don't have to face such desolation.

 

 

Something ... the gods, fate, fortune ... if there is a governing

 

force to the cosmos, today It was kind.

 

 

And today ... for the first time in eighteen long years ... today we

 

were a family again. It was wonderful.

 

 

I had given up hope that those two stubborn Vulcans would ever

 

reconcile--and, yet today they were both teasing me about logic, and the

 

glint of humor in Spock's eyes matched the one in Sarek T This evening

 

McCoy agreed to let ta all have dinner in sickbay, and we ate together

 

as a family--with an honored guest, of course. Captain Kirk is such a

 

charmer!

 

 

And he knows it, too ... ) It has indeed been an eventful day. I am

 

tired out, yet I don't want to sleep, yet. I want to savor the knowledge

 

that we are a family again, and that my son and husband are on good

 

terms.

 

 

Family ... what a lovely word. I don't think there is a better one in

 

the entire language ... After so many years of enmity and anger ...

 

family. I pray that their goodwill toward each other will continue.

 

 

They are both so stiffnecked, so stubborn./Neither is ever willing to

 

admit that he was wrong ... especially Sarek.

 

 

But today the fates were kind, and we were spared a tragedy. I wonder if

 

I would truly have hated my son for the rest of his life if he had

 

allowed his father to die because he felt he could not give over command

 

of his vessel? Or would I have forgiven him eventually?

 

 

Thank heavens I will never have to find out ...

 

 

The entry ended there. Slowly, thoughtfully, Sarek closed the journal,

 

struck by his wife's words, written so long ago.

 

 

Amanda could almost have been describing the present situation between

 

Spock and himself ... Amanda ... he thought, gazing across the room at

 

his son's sleeping face. Amanda, what shoum I do now?

 

 

As it happened, Spock was riot asleep. He lay quietly, breathing deeply,

 

relaxed, but he was fully aware that his father was reading one of his

 

mother's journals. As he watched surreptitiously, he saw the elder

 

Vulcan put the slim volume down with a sigh.

 

 

The first officer thought of the events of the previous day, recalling,

 

with a chill, Sarek's duel with Taryn. Several times, as he'd watched

 

from the sidelines, Spock had been convinced that the ambassador was

 

finished ... but always, Sarek had rallied and fought back with a skill

 

that had surprised and impressed his offspring.

 

 

Spock had never realized that his father, the diplomat, had so mastered

 

the ancient fighting techniques. And then, as Taryn had lain there,

 

gasping his last, Sarek had melded with him, saving the wing commander's

 

life. The first officer repressed a surge of envy. His father had never

 

chosen to meld with him ... but he had not hesitated to join his mind

 

with a stranger's ...

 

 

Glancing around the sickbay as McCoy bustled around in the next room,

 

checking on several patients who had been injured during the

 

Enterprise's battle with Kamarag's ship, Spock experienced a strong

 

flash of djh vu.

 

 

The Vulcan remembered that day his mother had come to his quarters,

 

begging him to go to his father and give Sarek the blood transfusion

 

that would enable McCoy to operate, and thus save Sarek's life. Amanda

 

had come to him, had begged with tears in her eyes ... and he, Spock,

 

had refused to go.

 

 

Because of duty.

 

 

He had told his mother that he could not, would not go to Sarek, and the

 

reason he had given her was that duty

 

 

demanded that he remain in command of the Enterprise ...

 

 

Remembering Amanda's response to his words, the Vulcan raised a hand to

 

his cheek. For a moment he almost reexperienced the slap she had given

 

him ... for a moment he could almost feel the sting. Spock recalled

 

being surprised by the strength of the blow--he'd received many in

 

fights that hadn't matched its impact.

 

 

Duty ... duty ... duty ... The word whispered through his mind,

 

sounding vaguely obscene when it was repeated enough times to lose all

 

meaning. Spock glanced over at his father, remembering the way he had

 

condemned Sarek for doing exactly what he himself had done, twenty-six

 

years before.

 

 

I am sorry, Mother, he thought, not quite sure what he was apologizing

 

for ... the events of that day twenty-six years ago, or what he'd said

 

to his father only days ago? He thought he'd grown more than his father.

 

But had he really?

 

 

Perhaps not ... "Spock ..." Sarek's voice reached him. Instantly Spock

 

sat up and regarded the ambassador.

 

 

"I am here ... sir," he said.

 

 

"Are you ... well?" the elder Vulcan asked, eyeing him measuringly.

 

 

"I am," Spock said. "And you?"

 

 

"Well," Sarek said, sounding slightly surprised. "Though thirsty. And

 

rather weak."

 

 

Spock glanced around the sickbay, saw no attendants, and, rather than

 

buzz for one, got up himself, poured a glass of water, and took it to

 

his father. "Here," he said, prepared to help the elder Vulcan sit up if

 

he needed it, but Sarek was able to do so unaided.

 

 

The ambassador sipped gratefully at the cool water. "And you, my son?"

 

he asked, putting the glass down.

 

 

"I am well," Spock said.

 

 

"The Klingon fleet?" Sarek asked.

 

 

"The Enterprise engaged Kamarag's ship, backed by Poldar aboard

 

Shardarr. "Spock raised an eyebrow. "And it

 

 

seems that your old acquaintance Keraz threw in his lot with the forces

 

of law and order. The captain was in to visit me several hours ago, ,and

 

told me that Azetbur has promised the commander a full pardon."

 

 

Sarek nodded. "What of Kamarag?"

 

 

"Enterprise managed to cripple his ship. I gather that Kamarag did not

 

choose to live through his defeat."

 

 

The ambassador nodded. "Loss of life is always regrettable, but ...

 

perhaps ... this is one time it is better so." The elder Vulcan glanced

 

over at the other diagnostic couch.

 

 

"Commander Taryn's readings are almost normal, now," he observed.

 

 

"Yes, McCoy says he's sleeping normally. He'll be able to return to his

 

ship within a day." Spock gazed at Sarek.

 

 

"From what little I heard of what he said to you and Poldar, his

 

experience during the duel and the mind-meld evidently ... changed

 

Taryn."

 

 

"He is grateful to me for saving his life," Sarek said. "But, even more,

 

he feels that he has regained his Vulcan heritage, apparently through

 

our mental link. I gather that his past had haunted him all his life.

 

When he faced, with me, what he most feared ... it lost its power over

 

him."

 

 

"What will happen now with the Vulcans on Freelan?"

 

 

"Taryn will escort us to Freelan and authorize any of them that choose

 

to leave aboard the Enterprise as free to go," the ambassador replied.

 

 

"But after the Vulcans who wish to emigrate are released," Spock

 

ventured, after a few minutes, "what will happen to Taryn? Do you think

 

he will come to Vulcan with the others?"

 

 

Sarek shook his head. "No," he said, and there was more than a touch of

 

sadness in his expression. "Taryn will go back to Romulus, to face his

 

superiors and his praetor. He has not said so, but I know his mind,

 

now."

 

 

"But ... if he does that, he will be executed for treason," Spock said.

 

 

"Yes," Sarek agreed, holding his son's eyes with his own.

 

 

"But he believes it is his duty ... and, after my recent

 

 

actions, who am I to tell anyone not to fulfill his duty, no matter what

 

the cost?"

 

 

The two Vulcans shared a long, unblinking look; then Spock swallowed.

 

His voice, when he spoke, had a rough edge, like a jagged tear in dark

 

velvet. "Father ..." The word emerged with difficulty after all these

 

days. "About what I said after mother's memorial service ..." He paused,

 

searching for words.

 

 

Grief mixed with a touch of hope flared in the ambassador's eyes. "Yes,

 

my son?" Before Spock could continue, he raised a hand. "I must tell you

 

that I have thought a great deal on what you said, after the memorial

 

service. I only hope that my actions did not hasten Amanda's end. You

 

may have been right when you accused me of going because I lacked the

 

courage to stay, Spock ... "

 

 

"And I may have been wrong, Father," Spock said, forcing the words out.

 

"I know, now, that my mother's death was inevitable. Remember, Dr. McCoy

 

told us that she had only days. And ... there is something else I must

 

tell you "

 

 

"Yes?"

 

 

"When I told you that Mother could not find peace,

 

 

I ... may not have been entirely correct."

 

 

Sarek raised an eyebrow.

 

 

"I was angry," Spock said, not allowing himself to sound defensive at

 

the admission, "and what I said, for the most part, was the truth ...

 

but ... at the very end ..." He had to stop, take a deep breath, before

 

he could go on. "She relaxed. She even smiled. She appeared peaceful."

 

 

Sarek nodded silently, and it was a long time before the ambassador

 

spoke. Finally he stirred. "Thank you, my son," he said softly. "Your

 

words have meant a great deal to me."

 

 

Valdyr watched Dr. McCoy check the regenerated tissue on her wound. She

 

had on a bizarre, blue, two-piece outfit one of the female nurses

 

brought for her to wear until her own clothes could be cleaned and

 

repaired. The garments were comfortable--too comfortable, she

 

thought--but they were so flimsy she wasn't entirely convinced they

 

would survive her normal activities. McCoy had discreetly lifted the top

 

over her abdomen and was running his hand gently over the new tissue.

 

She grimaced, peeking at it herself.

 

 

"That doesn't hurt, does it?" McCoy asked her, as he poked around.

 

 

"Of course not," Valdyr said sternly. As if any Klingon would have

 

admitted if it did! McCoy looked at her and she could see the amusement

 

etched on his face." He'd been so kind to her, she couldn't help but

 

relax around him. "Well," she admitted reluctantly, "it did at

 

first--just a little. Now, all it does is itch."

 

 

"That won't last, miss," he assured her. "Another day or so, and you

 

won't even know anything ever happened there."

 

 

She made a face at him, and he grinned. "How can you say that when that

 

place is all pale and soft.t"

 

 

"As your own cells replace it," McCoy said, "that'll be fixed, too. We

 

wouldn't want you looking like a patched-up battleship!" The sickbay

 

doors whooshed open, making both of them turn to see Peter enter the

 

exam area. The cadet looked at them quizzically, as if wondering if he'd

 

come at a bad time. McCoy waved him over as he covered the wound.

 

"However, I should tell you, Valdyr, human males like a little softness

 

in a woman." He raised an eyebrow at Peter, who gave them an embarrassed

 

smile.

 

 

"Not that one," Valdyr said confidently--and her words made Peter's face

 

turn crimson.

 

 

The cadet glowered at her disapprovingly. "I think you're feeling too

 

well," he decided.

 

 

"She's doing great," confirmed McCoy, "thanks to her amazing

 

constitution. I take it you're here to take my favorite patient away

 

from me?"

 

 

"Yes, sir," Peter said. Turning to Valdyr, he told her,

 

 

"We've got your quarters all prepared. It's time you gave up that bed to

 

someone who really needs it." At that moment, the doors opened, and Jim

 

Kirk entered.

 

 

"You've had half the ship locked away in here, Bones," the captain

 

complained good-naturedly. Eyeing Valdyr, the captain smiled and nodded.

 

"How are you feeling?"

 

 

She nodded back reservedly. He had come to her, himself, to tell her of

 

her uncle's death following the Heghba'. It had been a sign of great

 

respect, and she'd appreciated it. He had not flinched, either, when

 

she'd voiced the ritual howl.

 

 

Valdyr was coming to think humans weren't nearly as weak as she'd been

 

led to believe.

 

 

"We were just about to inspect Valdyr's quarters, Uncle Jim," Peter told

 

him. "Dr. McCoy told me this morning she could be released."

 

 

Kirk nodded and turned back to Valdyr. "I'm here on official business."

 

He looked at Valdyr meaningfully. "A little more pleasant business than

 

the last time, thank goodness. Miss. Valdyr, Chancellor Azetbur has

 

asked to speak with you."

 

 

"With me?" Valdyr said, incredulously. "The chancellor would speak with

 

me?"

 

 

Kirk walked over to the wall viewscreen and tapped a sequence on the

 

control panel. A Klingon face appeared.

 

 

"Tell the chancellor that Valdyr is here, ready to speak with her."

 

 

Valdyr's heart was hammering.

 

 

Suddenly, Chancellor Azetbur's image filled the screen.

 

 

She looked so stern, so powerful, so impossibly noble and honorable that

 

Valdyr simply stared, transfixed. She reminded the young Klingon woman

 

of the portrait in her uncle's home. "Chancellor ..." Valdyr finally

 

managed to whisper.

 

 

Azetbur's face warmed into a gracious smile. "Valdyr! It is an honor to

 

speak with you. And a pleasure."

 

 

Azetbur felt honored to meet her? Valdyr's gaped. "Oh, no, Chancellor. I

 

have no honor ... I betrayed--"

 

 

"Nonsense!" the chancellor interrupted briskly. "None of our people has

 

more honor. You risked everything to save Qo'nos and our people--and you

 

succeeded. You received an honorable wound in battle. You helped to save

 

the honor of your family, from Kamarag's attempt to destroy it.

 

 

Qo'nos will never forget your sacrifice. While you were recovering, I

 

have spoken to the people who know you well.

 

 

They have told me of your dreams for the future."

 

 

Valdyr glanced over at Peter quickly; he was smiling as he winked at

 

her.

 

 

"I want you to know that I, personally, wish to assure you that your

 

future will be as bright as the one you granted your people through your

 

courage." Azetbur leaned closer to the screen, her expression softening,

 

becoming less formal, more earnest. "You were born to be a leader,

 

Valdyr, and I shall make sure that is what you will become. You will be

 

trained as diplomat, under my auspices and tutelage. Our Empire needs

 

people like you to insure her welfare. Our people are facing a time when

 

they can no longer solve problems the way they have in the past. We need

 

warriors who will gain our ends with words, not weapons. You are our

 

future, aldyr."

 

 

"MET' Valdyr stammered, but after a second, she managed to regain her

 

composure enough to say, "Chancellor, you honor me too greatly. I do not

 

know what to say."

 

 

"What is there to say? It is only what you deserve. Kirk has told me

 

that his ship is currently on a vital mission to Freelan. As soon as his

 

mission is fulfilled, when you are completely recovered, General Korrd

 

will be sending a crew to fly the Taj home. He has instructions to bring

 

you to me, so we may discuss your education, and your future, at greater

 

length. Grow strong, Valdyr. I will see you soon." And then, abruptly,

 

she signed off.

 

 

Valdyr just sat there, completely taken aback. She'd been resigned to

 

giving up her life as a Klingon, to adjusting to this new life. Now ...

 

She looked at the men standing around her. Azetbur must have spoken to

 

them. She turned to Peter. "You told her ... about me?"

 

 

"I told her the truth," Peter explained. "I told her about your dreams

 

of getting an education, about being a diplomat ... "He trailed off.

 

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

 

 

That was what she'd wanted ... before. Did she still want it? "But ...

 

if I go back to school ..." She turned and looked at Captain Kirk. Was

 

this his way of pulling her and Peter apart? She didn't know what to

 

think.

 

 

"Valdyr," the captain said softly. "You're being given a

 

 

wonderful opportunity. You're very young. This could shape your whole

 

life. Think carefully before you decide."

 

 

McCoy suddenly stood in front of her. "Come on, Jim.

 

 

These kids need time to talk." Nodding farewell, the two older men left.

 

 

Peter pulled himself up to sit beside her on the bed. He had said little

 

so far.

 

 

"If ... I do this, Pityr," she said quietly, "then ... we must part

 

... Is that what you want me to do? You want me to leave you?"

 

 

He didn't answer for a long moment; then finally he said,

 

 

"Remember that talk we had, where I told you that everyone expected me

 

to be like my uncle Jim and take the Command track, and you said ..."

 

 

"That I was expected to marry and bear children and spend all my time

 

scheming for their advancement. Yes, I remember."

 

 

"Well, you made that sound like a fate worse than death, Valdyr. If you

 

pass this opportunity up ... that's all that will be left for you to

 

do. If you married me, and had my children, and worked to improve our

 

lives--someday you'd wake up and realize you ended up living the very

 

same life everyone wanted you to have on Qo'nos. And then, I think,

 

you'd be very unhappy."

 

 

The truth of his words hit her hard. But why did her future as a

 

diplomat require her to leave him? "Why can't our futures somehow ... be

 

closer together? Why must I be on Qo'nos and you on Earth? Why can't

 

things be better than that?"

 

 

He slipped an arm around her and pulled her close to him.

 

 

"I'm not sure it can't be, Valdyr. We'll have to work at it, and we'll

 

have to be willing to suffer separations ... Did

 

 

you know that Mr. Spock's parents are of mixed species?"

 

 

"No, I did not."

 

 

Peter nodded. "His mother was human." Then he chuckled.

 

 

"And his father is a diplomat. What I'm trying to say is, that Sarek and

 

his wife had to spend a lot of time apart, because of their work. She

 

was a teacher, and a mother, and that kept her at home."

 

 

"I understand about Mr. Spock's patenf s," Valdyr said,

 

 

"but what has that to do with ..."

 

 

"Us? Well, I just mention that because they enjoyed many years of

 

marriage, even though they spent a lot of time apart.

 

 

It was a good marriage. I've been thinking about them because, well, Mr.

 

Spock's mother just died ... while Sarek was on this last diplomatic

 

mission."

 

 

Valdyr was startled by that. "That was a difficult thing to do, to serve

 

with honor while one is grieving."

 

 

"Yes, but Sarek is a Vulcan. My point, Valdyr, is that other people

 

maintain relationships even when they aren't always together. Even when

 

they have to spend large amounts of time far apart."

 

 

"You are saying, if they can do it, that we could, too?" Peter shrugged.

 

"I mean, if a mere Vulcan can maintain a relationship with a human over

 

time and space ... what can a Klingon accomplish?"

 

 

She rested against him. "Now I know what it is I will be missing, Pityr.

 

I will be missing you so terribly." She felt him swallow, and knew that

 

was one of his ways of controlling the emotions he didn't want her to

 

see.

 

 

"We'll find a way, Valdyr," he promised her, hugging her tight. "We'll

 

find a way to be together. We'll just have to be patient."

 

 

Smiling, she let him help her off the bed, and lead her to her quarters.

 

 

During the next two days, the Enterprise warped toward Freelan,

 

accompanied through space by Shardarr. When they reached the fringes of

 

the Freelan stellar system, the ships dropped out of warp. Sarek

 

accompanied Taryn to the transporter chamber so he could reclaim his

 

ship from Poldar.

 

 

The wing commander, having a typically strong Vulcan constitution, was

 

fully recovered from the effects of the senapa poison. He had resumed

 

his uniform. For the first time, Sarek was able to study his features

 

freely, without either a mask of fabric or anger to conceal them. The

 

two Vulcans stood facing each other in the transporter chamber,

 

 

while the Enterprise's transporter chief discreetly busied herself with

 

duties.

 

 

"What has been the reaction to your orders to allow the Vulcans to

 

leave, should they choose to do so?" Sarek asked.

 

 

The officer drew himself up, his expression taking on a touch of the old

 

arrogance. "I am still wing commander. I am being obeyed," he said. "As

 

soon as I have beamed over, I will send Savel back ... and then any of

 

my officers who wish to leave. The Vulcans on Freelan have been told to

 

gather at a central point, so they may be beamed up efficiently. They

 

will do so."

 

 

"Of course," Sarek said, with a touch humor. "They are Vulcans.

 

Efficiency is in their blood."

 

 

"You gave me yo. ur word that Savel will be under your personal guidance

 

in establishing her new life," Taryn reminded the ambassador.

 

 

Sarek raised a hand formally. "I gave you my word. She will be given

 

every opportunity and advantage it is possible for me to offer."

 

 

The wing commander relaxed slightly. "Very well, then. I must go. If you

 

will wait for Savel, she will not be long."

 

 

"Taryn ..." Sarek began, and the officer, who had begun to turn away,

 

turned back. "Come with us," the ambassador said, aware of a note of

 

entreaty in his voice he did not entirely trouble to repress. "Your

 

people will need leadership, you are correct in that. You could provide

 

that leadership yourself. And ..." The ambassador's mouth quirked upward

 

slightly. "And we could play chess ... "

 

 

A slight smile touched the wing commander's grim mouth. "And have you

 

continue to beat me? I think not. It is my duty to take Shardarr back to

 

Romulus, and to face the praetor with what I have done."

 

 

"But you know what will happen."

 

 

"Of course," Taryn said. "But this is what I must do, Sarek. I am a

 

Romulan officer. I have lived as a Romulan ... and I will die as one."

 

 

Sarek sighed. "I was not expecting anything else," he said.

 

 

"But I had to ask ... "

 

 

Taryn nodded curtly, then stepped up on the transporter

 

 

pad. Again that faint smile touched his mouth, as he lifted his hand,

 

and, with a slight grimace, spread his fingers into the Vulcan salute.

 

"Peace and long life, Sarek," he said, quietly--

 

 

just as the transporter beam took him.

 

 

Minutes later, Savel and Taryn stood together in Shardarr's transporter

 

room. The young Vulcan woman's features were composed, but her voice

 

trembled uncontrollably.

 

 

"I do not want to leave you, Vadi! Let me go back with you to Romulus.

 

Perhaps I can bear witness for you, and they will understand."

 

 

Commander Taryn smiled faintly. "Understand? The praetor? Why, Savel, I

 

never knew you to make jokes before ... "

 

 

"But ..." She was trembling, thinking of what would happen to him back

 

on Romulus. "Please, Vadi.t"

 

 

"Savel," he said, chidingly, "remember your control. You are a Vulcan,

 

and under Ambassador Sarek's guidance. He has promised me that he will

 

sponsor you, until you are ready to take your place on your rightful

 

world. You must look to the future."

 

 

"You are a Vulcan, too," she said, an edge in her voice that betrayed

 

her anguish at parting from him. "Come with He was already shaking his

 

head. Taryn drew himself up proudly. "I am a Romulan," he corrected her.

 

"And I must take Shardarr back to Romulus and make my final report."

 

 

A number of the young Vulcan bridge officers were already aboard the

 

Enterprise, and were leaving with the Federation vessel ... but a

 

surprising number of the senior officers--including Centurion

 

Poldar--had announced their decision to accompany Taryn on their last

 

voyage home.

 

 

"Besides," the commander added, "the ambassador will need help to gain

 

the trust of the Vulcans who have chosen to go home to their native

 

world. They will need a leader.

 

 

You have the strength to guide them, Savel."

 

 

"What will happen to the others?" she wondered. At least

 

 

fifty of the Vulcans, mostly those who had married into Romulan

 

families, had chosen to stay.

 

 

"They will have to go underground, to live as Romulans for the rest of

 

their lives." He sighed. "The Plan has failed. I would not be surprised

 

if the praetor decides to evacuate Freelan entirely. The repercussions

 

of the failure of the Plan will echo through the Empire for many years

 

... perhaps decades."

 

 

"What will the praetor do?" Savel asked.

 

 

"What we Romulans always do in the face of adversity ... pull back,

 

regroup, wait. The Empire is patient, Savel. That is why it has endured

 

so long. The Empire will wait, and plan ... until it is time to try

 

again."

 

 

"If only there could be peace," she whispered.

 

 

He raised an ironic eyebrow. "If only there could be," he echoed. "But

 

not today, I fear." He glanced up at the waiting transporter technician.

 

"Come, it is time."

 

 

Savel straightened her shoulders and nodded, her features calm ...

 

though her eyes were full of anguish. With her bag of personal

 

belongings in hand, she slowly took her place on the transporter pad.

 

Taryn gave her a Romulan salute.

 

 

"Farewell, vadia-lya."

 

 

Squaring her shoulders, Savel hesitantly lifted her hand, spreading her

 

fingers apart as she had seen Sarek do. "Peace, Vadi ... peace and--"

 

She broke off. To say "long life" under these circumstances was

 

ridiculous. "Farewell," she said, instead.

 

 

Just as the beam of the transporter began to whine, Savel saw him smile

 

at her fondly. "Give my regards to Soran," he said, just before she

 

winked out of existence.

 

 

Wing Commander Taryn took a deep breath, squared his own shoulders, and

 

left the transporter room without a backward glance.

 

 

Peter Kirk and Valdyr stood together in the Enterprise's docking bay, at

 

the foot of Taj's gangplank, to say their farewells. They did not

 

embrace, because there were three Klingon officers in the doorway,

 

eyeing them interestedly.

 

 

Peter smiled unsteadily at the young Klingon woman.

 

 

"You'll get home days ahead of me," he reminded her.

 

 

"Uncle Jim finally introduced me to Ambassador Sarek and he said he

 

would grant us access to the diplomatic corem-net.

 

 

I expect to find a communiqu6 waiting when I get back to Earth. I want

 

to hear all about your schooling, Valdyr. I want to know everything that

 

happens to you, until we can see each other again. Promise me."

 

 

She nodded in turn. "On my honor, I will. You must do the same."

 

 

"On my honor, I will."

 

 

She gave him a faint smile. "Then ... I wish you safe voyage back to

 

your world. I know you will pass your warrior's test with honor, Pityr.

 

You have already faced far worse ... "

 

 

"Yes, but then I had you to help me be strong," he said, and for a

 

moment felt his control slipping. "Farewell Valdyr-oy. Safe voyage.

 

Until we meet again. May it be soon ... "

 

 

"Farewell, Pityr-oy. We will make it be soon," she replied fiercely,

 

giving him a wartlot's closed-fist salute.

 

 

As he watched, she turned and ran up the gangplank. The last glimpse he

 

had of her was the gleam of her armor, and a final toss of her long

 

braid.

 

 

Hearing over the intercom that the bay was about to alepressurize, Peter

 

hastily left, without looking back ...

 

 

Sarek sat on the divan in the small VIP cabin aboard the Earth-bound

 

Enterprise, Amanda's journal open in his lap.

 

 

The ambassador was rereading the entry his wife had made on the day that

 

the news of her father-in-law's death had reached her.

 

 

April 5,2249 l just received a communiqudfrom T'Pau, telling me that

 

Solkar died yesterday. He was the last surviving member of Sarek

 

immediate blood-kin--except, of course, for Spock ... whom Sarek has

 

declared vre-kasht.

 

 

I find myself thinking about how lonely Sarek must be. Of course, after

 

what he did, he deserves to be alone ... but time, I am discovering,

 

has a way of putting things in perspective.

 

 

This past year, as I look back on it, has, in a way, been a good one. It

 

was a thrill to go back to teaching, and, because of my celebrity

 

(notoriety?), I've been given the best and brightest that Earth had to

 

offer. My students have been wonderful--watching them grow and expand

 

their horizons has been so rewarding.

 

 

Also, living here in San Francisco while Spock attends

 

 

Starfleet Academy has been a good opportunity to renew closeness with my

 

son.

 

 

It was also good to spend time with More and Dad ... Aunt Matilda

 

passed away this year, and she was younger than Dad ... it made me

 

realize, for the first time, that roy parents will not go on forever.

 

Neither will I, come to think of it.

 

 

Neither will Sarek.

 

 

It's funny how death puts things in perspective. I think ... I think

 

it's time to go home to Vulcan. Spock will soon, as second-year cadet,

 

be going off on training missions. He has made the admittedly difficult

 

adjustment to living in close quarters with so many human students, and

 

he is finally beginning to make a few friends.

 

 

He doesn't need me here anymore ... he needs the company of people his

 

own age, cadets who are learning the things he is learning.

 

 

And, of course, there is the thought of Sarek, alone.

 

 

When I asked T'Pau, rather hesitantly, how Sarek was these days, she

 

stared straight at me, her imperious expression unchanged--but her

 

words, uttered in her slightly lisping, accented speech, surprised me.

 

"Thee asks how Sarek is, Amanda? In all this year of exile from thy

 

homeworld, thee hast never asked. Why now?"

 

 

'7 ask because I know how Sarek wouldgrieve for his father, T'Pau," I

 

said, regarding her s teadily. am ... concerned about his welfare."

 

 

Her black eyes blinked at me, from out of her bony, once-beautiful

 

features. "Thee is right, Amanda. Sarek grieves for Solkar ... but he

 

grieves a hundredfom more for thee."

 

 

Her bluntness startled me. "Really?" I murmured, unable to think what to

 

say, trying to repress the stab of anguish her words brought.

 

 

T'Pau paused, then stared straight at me. "Wilt thee attend Solkar's

 

memorial service, Amanda? If thee tells me thee wishes to attend, I will

 

delay the service until thee can come home."

 

 

Home. She said home in referring to Vulcan. T'Pau sam that, to me ... an

 

ojworlder. My breath caught in my throat as I remembered so much ... the

 

beauty, the desolation, the heat ... Sarek g arms around me, the

 

closeness of our bodies no more intimate than that of the bond we share

 

...

 

 

For the first time in a year, I allowed myself to sense Sarek mind

 

through the bond. It was always there, of course, in the back of my

 

mind--I'd have known if anything had happened to him. But I've been too

 

angry to let myself touch his mind. And, of course, I'm not a telepath,

 

so my ability is limited ...

 

 

But I sensed him. And what I sensed made tears stream down my face.

 

 

She didn't even avert her eyes from the sight of so much rampant

 

emotionalism when I wept. When I managed to regain my control, she said,

 

only, "Wilt thee come home, Amanda?"

 

 

I nodded at her, and she gave me the date, location, and time of the

 

service, then cut the connection.

 

 

So now ... I must pack, and board the transport. I have only a few

 

hours to finish, so I can't spend any more time on this journal until

 

I'm bound for Vulcan.

 

 

Sarek, I am coming back to you. I have learned a great deal this past

 

year, and one of the things I have learned is that in punishing you, I

 

was punishing myself just as much. It is no longer worth it.

 

 

If I know you--and l do--you won't ever bring up the subject of my

 

selfimposed exile J?om you and Vulcan.

 

 

You'll simply want to go back to the way things were--except that our

 

son will not be part of our family anymore, as far as you're concerned.

 

 

Can I live with that? Yes, I believe I can. You see, ifi can forgive

 

you, then I have to believe that you and Spock will, someday, forgive

 

each other.

 

 

I must hurry ... time and that transport won't wait ...

 

 

Sarek closed the volume and sighed. It was painful to read those words

 

... to think of the time they had spent apart, and of how he would give

 

up nearly everything he possessed to regain that lost year. Putting that

 

volume aside, he picked up the next, then located the spot where he'd

 

left off the night before. Noting the date on the next entry, the

 

ambassador steeled himself to read what she had written.

 

 

March 14,2285 No entry for three days ... I can scarcely see to write

 

this ... I am so tired that I ache all over, but every time I lie down

 

and close my eyes, the images I see are too awful to bear. So, after

 

dozing for the first time in days, I am awake barely an hour later,

 

writing ... because doing nothing is even worse.

 

 

Is there a God?If there is a Supreme Being, how could he, she, it, or

 

they allow this to happen?

 

 

My son is dead. Spock is ... dead. Writing those words ... I am

 

trembling, shaking, and my heart feels as though some giant is squeezing

 

it in an inexorable fist. Spock, dead? It seems impossible. I keep

 

thinking there has been some mistake, that Starfleet will call us and

 

tell us it isn't true. How can it be true? Spock is--oh god, was--half-

 

Vulcan.t I expected him to outlive me for decades! Why did this have to

 

happen, why? My child, dead? How could this happen?

 

 

Of course I know how it happened. Even in the midst of my own anguish I

 

could find it in my heart to pity poor Jim Kirk ... he tried so hard to

 

break it gently. Spock was his best friend, they were so close, serving

 

together all these years. I could tell that the captain had been crying

 

too ... Sarek did not cry, of course. I found myself, for a moment,

 

hating him for that. As though his lack of human tears meant that he did

 

not care for Spock ... when I know that he did care, that our son was

 

the most important person in the galaxy to him ... except, possibly,

 

for me. I stared at him, the tears welling up and coursing down my face,

 

sobs racking me until it seemed that my bo could not hold them--and I

 

came so close to lashing out at him. For a horrible instant I wanted to

 

slap him, scream at him, and demand that he weep for our son ... I am

 

thankful that I did not. I would never have forgiven myself That would

 

have made an intolerable situation even worse.

 

 

Sarek takes comfort in the fact that Spock died well, in the performance

 

of his duty, sacrificing himself to save his shipmates. A hero, to use

 

the human term ... a word which does not translate into modern Vulcan.

 

 

But there is no comfort for me. Last night I clutched myself, rocking

 

back and forth, feeling as though I might explode with sorrow. Sarek

 

came and sat beside me, trying to comfort me with his presence. He

 

rested his hand on mine, silently, and ,,hen herinally spoke, it was

 

only to say the traditional words ... "My wife, I grieve with thee ...

 

" I know he does. But I feel that a mother's love is stronger, and thus

 

her grief is also greater. Illogical perhaps ... but true, I know it.

 

 

Spock, my son ... if only you had died on Vulcan!

 

 

Then you would not be lost to us forever. At least your living spirit,

 

your katra, could have been saved, could have been placed in the Hall of

 

Ancient Thought. If oly--

 

 

Abruptly, the precise, elegant handwriting broke off.

 

 

Sarek knew why. Vividly, he remembered the afternoon his wife had burst

 

into his study, her reddened eyes wide and wild ...

 

 

"Sarek?" Amanda's normally cultured, lovely voice shattered like fine

 

crystal in the stillness. "What about Spock's katra? It wouldn't have

 

died with his body, if he found someone to entrust it to ... his living

 

spirit could still be found!" Sarek turned from his computer terminal to

 

see his wife standing in the doorway, clutching it with both hands, as

 

 

though she might fall without the support. She was wearing a dressing

 

gown pulled carelessly over her nightdress, and her hair was mussed, in

 

contrast to her usual impeccable grooming.

 

 

Amanda's eyes flashed with incredulous hope as she continued,

 

breathlessly, "From what James Kirk told us, our son knew his actions

 

would kill him--so he would certainly have established the mental link

 

necessary to entrust his katra when he died! Spock was a good

 

telepath--he could have done it very quickly."

 

 

"But Kirk did not mention--" Sarek began, reasonably.

 

 

"Kirk's human!" Amanda burst out. "He may not even know what he holds in

 

his mind! Most humans wouldn't--oh, Sarek, if there's even a chance--"

 

She gazed at her husband pleadingly. "--even a small chance, we can't

 

afford to ignore it! We're talking about our son's living spirit--what

 

humans would call a soul, I suppose. We can't let him be lost forever!"

 

Sarek stared at her, his mind turning over what she had said. "Your

 

deduction is most unlikely, Amanda," he said at last, his tones gentle.

 

"From the scenario that Kirk described, the ship was in great peril, in

 

imminent danger of destruction. Spock could hardly have found time to

 

meld with Kirk before he went down to the engine room."

 

 

"It doesn't take a full meld, and you know it, Sarek," she insisted, her

 

blue eyes flashing stubbornly. "Our son was a trained telepath, he'd

 

melded with Kirk many times. He could have established the link that

 

would make Kirk his Keeper in a bare instant!" Sarek experienced a flare

 

of hope. Amanda was quick to notice the tiny change in his expression.

 

"You must go to Earth and see Kirk, my husband," she said formally. "You

 

will be able to tell whether Kirk holds our son's essence in his mind.

 

Go, Sarek. Spock would have found a way! I know it!" The ambassador

 

stood up, crossed the room to stand beside his wife. Slowly, formally,

 

he held out two fingers, and she returned the gesture. They stood

 

together, their mutual grief flowing between them, both gaining strength

 

from their closeness. Through their bond, Sarek shared some of Amanda's

 

hope that their child was not totally lost, and it slowly, gradually,

 

became his own hope.

 

 

Finally, Sarek nodded. "I will go to Earth, Amanda," he promised. "I

 

will speak with Kirk in person. If necessary, I will touch his mind, and

 

discover whether he is unconsciously Keeping our son's living spirit."

 

Amanda smiled at him gratefully. "Thank you, Sarek," she said, softly.

 

"Thank you, my husband. Spock would have found a way ... I know it. My

 

son is not completely gone ... if he were, I think I would know. You

 

must find him, Sarek ... "

 

 

"If he is to be found, I will do so," Sarek said, his tone as grave and

 

earnest as if he took a solemn oath. "1 will bring his living spirit

 

back to Vulcan ... so he may be at peace."

 

 

Sarek looked up from the journal and sighed, remembering what had

 

followed. His son was alive today because of Amanda's unwavering faith

 

that he was not truly--not completely--lost to them.

 

 

I must give these journals to Spock, allow him to read them when I am

 

finished, he thought. My son deserves to gain the insight into his

 

motherg mind that they have given me ... Despite the bond we shared for

 

so many years, there are things about Amanda that I never knew until now

 

... If only his wife were still alive. If only he could express aloud,

 

for once, the emotions he had allowed only to surface in the silent

 

privacy of their bond. It would have meant so much to her to have heard

 

him say it out loud ... just once.

 

 

But she was dead. Amanda was dead.

 

 

Dead ... and nothing could change that. Amanda, unlike a Vulcan woman,

 

had no future ... at least, no future that was perceivable or

 

ve rifiable. As a human, she had not possessed a katra ... so nothing

 

could be placed in the Hall of Ancient Thought, to linger until it was

 

ready to go on to whatever lay next.

 

 

If Amanda had been Vulcan ... if Kadura had not been

 

 

taken hostage ... Sarek could have been the Keeper of her katra ... her

 

living spirit could have resided within him until it was released into

 

the energy nexus of the Hall of Ancient Thought.

 

 

If Amanda had been Vulcan, her husband and son could have gone to that

 

ancient citadel, stood within its confines and gained a sense of her

 

presence. By the time his wife's katra was ready to depart, Sarek would

 

have been prepared, would have had ample time to bid her farewell. Had

 

his wife been Vulcan, her death would not have meant such an abrupt and

 

shocking end, a complete and utter severing of their bond. Even if he

 

had been on Kadura, Spock could have been her Keeper ... But Amanda had

 

been human, and the ambassador had never, until a few weeks ago, wished

 

it otherwise. But when he'd learned that she was ill, Sarek had been

 

forcibly reminded of something he'd determinedly managed to forget ...

 

that his wife was almost certain to predecease him by years ... probably

 

decades.

 

 

The ambassador sighed aloud, thinking that if Amanda had been Vulcan her

 

katra would probably now be residing within him--or within Spock. She

 

would, in a sense, still be alive ... But if Amanda had been Vulcan,

 

she would not have been Amanda ... Sarek sighed, and his eyes returned

 

to the volume on his lap. He began reading again, finished that one,

 

and, with a sense of deep regret, picked up the last of the red-bound

 

books. Opening this one, he paged through it, saw that it was only a

 

third filled. He took a deep, painful breath, and determinedly began to

 

read.

 

 

The last brief series of entries made him sit up straighter, his eyes

 

moving quickly over the page. When he finished them, he went back and

 

read them again, slowly. He could almost hear her voice ...

 

 

September 17,2293 Frankly, I am worried about Sarek. The days since I

 

have been diagnosed have been a great strain, far worse

 

 

for him than for me. After all, he bears the burden of not allowing me

 

to glimpse his fear for me ... of not letting me sense his pain. The

 

only comfort I can offer is to let him think that I remain unaware of

 

his inner turmoil, so that is what I do ...

 

 

September 18,2293 Sarek left today to negotiate for the release of

 

Kadura, a planet taken by Klingon renegades. The president asked him

 

personally to handle the negotiations, and he had to accept. It is his

 

job, his duty to use his skills for the benefit of others, and I

 

understand that. He is the best in the galaxy at what he does, and I

 

know that. I am proud of him.

 

 

Which doesn't mean that I don't miss him, and wish he had stayed here

 

with me. I miss him more with each passing hour. You would think I would

 

be used to his absences by now, but this time ... I am not a saint ...

 

I am facing something that frightens me, and I wish he were here to help

 

me face it. But I am strong. I can manage by myself ... I always have,

 

whenever it was necessary.

 

 

Besides, there is still our bond. I miss his presence in the back of my

 

mind, but there is still a small sense of him remaining. Since I am not

 

telepathic, it is faint ... but, in a sense, he is always with me. Will

 

I ever see him again?

 

 

I fear not.

 

 

Something about the way I feel ... Spock mentioned a sensation of

 

"shutting down," when we spoke about dying. Is that what I am feeling?

 

 

Difficult to keep my thoughts organized enough to write. Hard to

 

concentrate ... so tired.

 

 

Spock ... I am worried about him. His eyes are haunted, his mouth a

 

knife-thin slash. Beyond his worry

 

 

for me, his constant concern and grief, I can sense his anger ...

 

 

Anger at death, perhaps. Anger at age, at the cruel fate that is turning

 

his mother into a shriveled, feeble stranger. Normal emotions--except

 

that my son is a Vulcan. But I have sensed more barely masked emotion

 

from Spock since his father left today than I have since he was a small

 

child. They say everyone has a weak point--and apparently I am Spock T

 

 

Spock g main anger ... is directed at his father.

 

 

How can I help him learn to understand, and accept and forgive--as I

 

have learned to do over the past decades? How can I help Spock, when I

 

will not be here much longer?

 

 

Tired now ... September 19,2293

 

 

So glad that I made Sarek promise to read these journals. Comforting to

 

know that he will understand, someday, what I was thinking, feeling,

 

here at the end.

 

 

Will I be here tomorrow? I sit here in my bedroom and gaze around me at

 

my beloved things ... and I am at peace, finally. If only Spock could

 

share my acceptance.

 

 

If only I had the strength to explain Sarek to my son.

 

 

Spock cannot forgive his father/or leaving me, but it not that he

 

doesn't love me, not that at all. Spock is half Vulcan, raised to be

 

Vulcan ... why can't he understand?

 

 

What a reversal ... usually it is Spock who has to explain Vulcan

 

behavior to me. Never forget that time in his quarters aboard Enterprise

 

when Sarek was dying. I slapped him, slapped my son. The crack of that

 

blow still rings in my ears. Only time I ever struck him in his life.

 

 

Oh, Spock ... you understood then/ Why can't you understand now?

 

 

Don't hate your father.

 

 

Love him, as I do. Understand him, as I do.

 

 

Sarek ... you are reading this, I know you are. Show

 

 

Spock this entry, even if you don't choose to let him see the others.

 

Show him. Perhaps it will help ...

 

 

So much still to do, to say. Wish I could visit my garden again. My

 

favorite place ...

 

 

Sarek, remember that, afterward. My garden. I want to be in my garden,

 

afterward.

 

 

More to write, but tired ... so tired.

 

 

Sarek ... I can still sense you ... in the back of my mind If only I

 

could touch you, see your face ... just once more ...

 

 

Peter Kirk stood before the closed bridge dooms and found himself

 

clenching his fists. Relax, he ordered himself, but his body refused to

 

listen. Whatg the big deal?It's only your first command/He took a deep

 

breath, let it out slowly, and moved forward just far enough to activate

 

the doors. They opened with a familiar whoosh.

 

 

The minute he stepped onto the bridge, the crew came to attention, but

 

Peter barely noticed them as more than shadowy shapes, he was so keyed

 

up. This was it. The moment of truth. He walked forward, trying to

 

conceal his tension.

 

 

The bridge seemed dimmer than he was used to. "As you were," he ordered

 

the crew, trying to sound normal, even cavalier as he approached the

 

captain's chair. The captain chair. Your chair Even now he was still

 

amazed that he was here. That he was finally in command of the

 

Enterprise.

 

 

He'd thought the commandant was joking when he'd told him. His first

 

command. The Enterprise. He eased himself in the command seat, and

 

touched the armrest console almost reverently.

 

 

"Present location, navigator?" he asked.

 

 

"Sector 3414, approaching the Loop Nebula, Captain," a familiar voice

 

replied.

 

 

Peter's head snapped up. For the first time, he really looked at the

 

crew. He'd known he'd be working with senior officers, of course, but

 

... "Commander Chekov," he said quietly. "I didn't expect to see you

 

here."

 

 

"Well, sir," Chekov replied with a saucy grin, "ve vere just in the

 

neighborhood ... " Peter blinked, and looked around him. Lieutenant

 

s'bysh sat at the helm, by Chekov's side. A glance to his left showed

 

Commander Uhura fussing with her communications board. She nodded at him

 

when she noticed him watching her.

 

 

He stiffened in surprise when the seat before the Life Sciences and

 

Support station revolved, revealing Dr. McCoy. The doctor's expression

 

was one of sheer delight, as he reported, "Life-support operating at

 

peak efficiency, sir, and sickbay's fully staffed and ready for action."

 

 

"Thank you, Doctor," Peter said blandly, in spite of the bead of sweat

 

he suddenly felt tracking down his face. He didn't want to look over at

 

the science station, but he had to.

 

 

"First Officer, anything to report?"

 

 

"Not at this time, sir," Spock's familiar, placid baritone replied.

 

 

So, it was old home week, huh? He shook his head. Either that or it was

 

a dream he'd wake up from ... but that wasn't bloody likely.

 

 

Most of the cadets "fortunate" enough to make it to the Kobayashi Maru

 

had to contend with a bridge crew of half cadets and half experienced

 

officers. It wasn't unusual for a well-known visiting ship's crew to

 

offer to man the simulator, but Peter had never heard of anyone taking

 

the test with the entire bridge crew from a Constellation-class

 

starship!

 

 

Usually, there were other cadets being tested, not just the command

 

officer, but Peter was so late taking his test, there were no longer any

 

cadets left to be part of his crew. The experienced bridge crew's job

 

was to "push" the captain, see if he or she had the confidence to

 

override their experience and advice. But to have this crew ... ?

 

 

Maybe he could lodge a protest with the exam board. Yeah. After Ifinish

 

the test! There was no getting out of it.

 

 

He glanced around the bridge once more. Uncle Jim was nowhere to be

 

found--at least he could be thankful for that.

 

 

He licked his lips.

 

 

Hell, it's just a test. It can't be half as bad as flying through the

 

ring around Qo 'nos, or escaping from Kamarag's prison! Then why was he

 

so nervous? He could feel Spock's unwavering gaze searing the back of

 

his head.

 

 

Suddenly, Uhura sat up straight. "Incoming transmission, sir. It's ...

 

garbled ... "

 

 

"Put it on speakers, Lieutenant," he ordered, swiveling his chair.

 

 

"Enterprise, can you hear me? This is the Kobayashi Maru," a heavily

 

accented Slavic voice reported. Peter strained to hear the woman, but

 

the broadcast was dim and full of stat ic.

 

 

"Can't you boost that, Commander?" he asked.

 

 

Uhura shook her head. "That is boosted, sir. That transmission is coming

 

straight through the Loop Nebula, sir. It's a miracle we can hear it at

 

all." She frowned, concentrating intensely, and manipulated her board.

 

 

"We have suffered a rupture in our matter-antimatter containment field,"

 

the woman on the Kobayashi Maru continued. "We have had severe damage to

 

our life-support system. We've ejected our fuel to keep the ship intact,

 

but we're down to batteries now."

 

 

"Kobayashi Maru, "Uhura shouted, "what are your coordinates?" The

 

transmission grew even fainter, and Peter strained to hear it.

 

"Coordinates 3417, mark 6. We are five hundred thousand kilometers away

 

from the Cygnus Loop Nebula, and drifting. Battery power can maintain

 

life-support for one hour ... repeat ... one hour. If we don't get

 

help soon, three hundred sixty-two lives will be lost. Enterprise, can

 

you hear me? We have one hour or less ..." The voice broke up into

 

garbled static.

 

 

"Mr. Chekov, can you bring up schematics on the location of Kobayashi

 

Maru?" Peter asked.

 

 

"Aye, sir," Chekov replied, and within seconds a graphic image appeared

 

on the big viewscreen.

 

 

The viewscreen before him showed Enterprise currently moving toward a

 

huge nebula, a massive cloud of gas and

 

 

dust, in colors of hazy blue, white, and pink. On the other side of the

 

nebula, if the coordinates they had given were correct, the dying

 

freighter, Kobayashi Maru, was drifting.

 

 

Peter frowned. So far, the rumors had been correct. This was a new

 

scenario. With the exception of the familiar, damaged vessel, most of

 

what was happening had been changed. For example, he now had to rescue

 

the people on the ship, not simply the ship itself. Once they were

 

aboard assuming he got that far, which was highly unlikely-- then he'd

 

worry about how to put a tractor beam on the vessel herself. Could he

 

tow her?

 

 

Peter forced himself to consider the big picture. "Mr. Chekov," Peter

 

said crisply, "where are we in relation to the Klingon Neutral Zone?"

 

 

Chekov's hands moved over his board, and the viewscreen presented an

 

image of the Neutral Zone in relation to the injured ship. "Three

 

parsees," Chekov reported,

 

 

"sir."

 

 

If they didn't have to go into the Neutral Zone, then what ... ? Never

 

mind, the Maru didn't have much time.

 

 

"Mr. Chekov, plot us fastest optimal course, skirting the nebula as

 

closely as we can without encountering interference.

 

 

ETA to intercept?"

 

 

Chekov acknowledged the order, did some quick calculations, then finally

 

reported. "We can circle the nebula around its smallest side, and arrive

 

at Kobayashi Maru in fifteen minutes, sir. Optimal speed this close to

 

the nebula ... warp two."

 

 

"If I might suggest, Captain," Spock interjected, "we could reduce that

 

time by ten point eighteen minutes by going through the nebula at warp

 

one."

 

 

Peter looked back at the colorful schematic. That was true, but why did

 

that make him uneasy?

 

 

"We are the only ship in this quadrant, sir," Spock continued. "And, as

 

you yourself confirmed, we are a safe distance from the Klingon Neutral

 

Zone. Going through the nebula would seem to be the most efficient

 

course of action."

 

 

Peter set his jaw. "All of that is true, Mr. Spock, but going through

 

the nebula leaves us blind, deaf, dumb, and helpless.

 

 

We can't even engage our shields in there. When we come out the other

 

side there would be several seconds before we became reoriented." He

 

smiled at the Vulcan.

 

 

"For some reason, that makes me uneasy," he added, dryly.

 

 

"Lieutenant s'bysh." He swung his chair back around.

 

 

"Take us around the nebula using Mr. Chekov's suggested course. Warp

 

two."

 

 

He turned to address his first officer. "Mr. Spock, I want you to send a

 

buoy with a long-range sensor scan in it through the nebula, that can

 

send us back information on the conditions on the other side of the

 

nebula, before we arrive there. It'll stay ahead of us and help us

 

pinpoint the Maru, or warn us of any other possible problems before we

 

stumble into them."

 

 

Spock reported the firing of the sensor buoy. Then, Peter slapped the

 

console. "Engineering!"

 

 

"Aye, sir!" a thick Scottish burr responded.

 

 

Why am I not surprised to hear you? "Scotty, we're going to need to beam

 

over more than three hundred people in less than thirty minutes ... "

 

 

"It isna possible, Captain! If we used every transporter in the bloody

 

ship it wouldn't ..."

 

 

"The cargo transporters, Mr. Scott. Can't they be adjusted to transport

 

people?"

 

 

"Aye, sir, but--" Scott began hesitantly.

 

 

"Use all the cargo bays, and get everyone you've got on this. We need to

 

be able to get those people on board fast, and from long range. There's

 

a cranky matter-antimatter pod floating somewhere around this area, so

 

we're not going to be able to get too close. We'll be on site in ten

 

minutes."

 

 

"Ten minutes!" the Scotsman protested. "But, Captain "

 

 

"You're running out of time, Mr. Scott!"

 

 

"Halfway around the rim of the nebula, sir," Chekov reported dutifully.

 

 

"Anything new from the Maru, Uhura?" Peter asked.

 

 

"I can't raise them, sir," she informed him.

 

 

"Long-range scanning, Mr. Chekov. Any signs of enemy ships out there?"

 

Peter found himself twitching in the chair.

 

 

Chekov shrugged, totally unconcerned. "Nothing, sir. But there have been

 

no reports of hostile activity in this region."

 

 

"Is that right?" he murmured. This was wrong, all wrong.

 

 

Where were the damned Klingons? Where was the enemy?

 

 

This was too easy. He realized his mouth was dry. "Mr. Spock, are we

 

getting any reports from that buoy?"

 

 

"Yes, sir, data coming in now."

 

 

"Put it on the screen." A new image came up, one that did not have the

 

nebula. The nebula would be behind the buoy, so it would be offscreen.

 

Before the buoy hung nothing but the blackness of space, and the

 

twinkling of far distant stars.

 

 

And in the foreground, but still at a distance, the crew could see a

 

damaged ship, drifting aimlessly. Dangerously close to it remained the

 

matter-antimatter pod. He'd have to make Scotty transport those people

 

from the farthest reach of transporter range. Oh, damn, damn, damn ...

 

this is too easy.

 

 

He blinked, staring at the viewscreen so hard his eyes burned.

 

 

"Approaching the other side of the nebula, sir," Chekov said quietly.

 

 

"Course and speed, Captain?" s'bysh asked.

 

 

Peter's head jerked up, and he stared at the innocent-looking

 

viewscreen. "Lieutenant Uhura, any word from the Kobayashi Maru?"

 

 

"Nothing, sir," she reported. "I keep hailing, but ..."

 

 

"We're past the nebula, they should be able to respond," Peter said to

 

himself.

 

 

"Unless their accident has destroyed their communications abilities,"

 

Spock suggested. "Shall we increase speed, Captain? We are still only

 

traveling at warp two ... "

 

 

Peter cut him off with a quick chop of his hand. "Helm, full stop."

 

 

s'bysh hesitated, and Peter shot her a look.

 

 

"Full stop, aye," she repeated, and obeyed.

 

 

"Captain!" McCoy snapped. "We're runnin' out of time!

 

 

Those people are breathin' away the last of their air!"

 

 

"Those people," Peter informed his crew tightly, "are sitting in the

 

middle of a trap. Mr. Chekov, what is our position relative to the

 

Romulan Neutral Zone?"

 

 

"Ve are just outside it, sir."

 

 

Oho/They almost got me there. If I'd gone straight in, I'd have been

 

over the Neutral Zone before I knew it. Nudging Chekov over, Peter

 

tapped in a sequence on his board. A scrolling line of data ran down the

 

side of the viewscreen for the crew to see. "Check out those readings.

 

There are five anomalies surrounding the Maru, and each of those

 

anomalies possesses a specific energy signature--a sure sign of cloaked

 

vessels."

 

 

The cadet took a deep breath. "The Kobayashi Maru is being used as the

 

bait in an elaborate trap. Yellow alert, everyone." He turned to Spock.

 

The Vulcan was clearly surprised by Peter's announcement and was

 

double-checking the readings. "They're there, aren't they, Mr. Spock?"

 

 

Amazingly, Spock hesitated. "Data does seem to show certain anomalies

 

"He trailed off, and continued to his viewscreen.

 

 

came barreling out of his chair. "Well, what are we gonna do about those

 

people? You can't just leave 'em there, Captain!"

 

 

"I have no intention of abandoning those people, Dr. McCoy," Peter

 

assured him, even as he began to unbutton his uniform jacket.

 

 

"Captain, what is it that makes you think these anomalies are the

 

readings of cloaked Romulan vessels?" Spock asked.

 

 

finished removing his jacket and draped it over the command chair.

 

"Well, since we're on the edge of the Romulan Neutral Zone, and we're

 

currently waging peace with the Klingons, my guess is those cloaked

 

vessels are Romulan cruisers ... from the size of them. Call it a 'gut

 

feeling," Spock, but we're about to test it out." He pressed the

 

intercom. "Mr. Scott, have one of your staff program the synthesizer to

 

manufacture two Vulcan lirpas." He turned to McCoy. "Doctor, please

 

bring those lirpas back to me as soon as they are ready."

 

 

"Lirpas?" McCoy drew himself up. "Me? What are you talking about,

 

lirpas?"

 

 

At the same moment, Scotty was saying, "Lirpas? Sir?"

 

 

Peter's voice took on an edge. "That was an order, Doctor! That was an

 

order, Engineer!"

 

 

McCoy cleared his throat, grunted, and left the bridge without further

 

comment.

 

 

"Lirpas?" Spock said, incredulously.

 

 

"Mr. Scott!" Peter called, slapping the console hurriedly.

 

 

"What's happening with those transporters?"

 

 

"We're almost ready, sir," Scott reported.

 

 

"Power it up, Mr. Scott. Two minutes. On my signal." He slapped off the

 

con before Scott could protest again.

 

 

"Excuse me, Captain," said Mr. Spock in his driest tone.

 

 

"If you believe we are confronting Romulan vessels, shouldn't we engage

 

our shields?"

 

 

"No," Peter countermanded, shaking his head. "We're not in firing range,

 

and we're not going to be for three minutes. However, Mr. Spock, if any

 

of those 'anomalies' move within the next several minutes, indicating

 

that one or more of those vessels is approaching, you are to raise

 

shields immediately. Understood?"

 

 

"Aye, sir," Spock agreed.

 

 

"Enterprise," a gasping voice called over the intercom,

 

 

"batteries have ruptured and are draining. We have less than ten

 

minutes' air

 

 

"The garbled message was drowned in static.

 

 

"Lieutenant Uhura," Peter instructed, removing his vest, "beam a message

 

to the Maru. Remind them of standard Federation evacuation drills. They

 

should already have all personnel in spacesuits or encased in protective

 

fields in accordance with abandon-ship procedures. We can't afford to

 

rush in there."

 

 

turned at the sound of the bridge doors and saw Dr. McCoy entering,

 

dragging two heavy lirpas behind him.

 

 

a baffled expression, the doctor handed them over to the young captain.

 

 

"Commander Uhura," Peter continued, "open a hailing frequency in the

 

direction of those cloaked coordinates. Prepare to transmit a message on

 

wide beam."

 

 

smiled at the bridge crew, knowing they must think he'd gone crazy.

 

Maybe he was crazy, because he was starting to enjoy himself. This whole

 

situation was a real challenge, and he already knew he'd kept his ship

 

from being blown to smithereens far longer than most candidates made it.

 

Of course, it was all for nothing if he couldn't pull off the rescue of

 

at least the personnel aboard Kobayashi Maru.

 

 

looked over at Communications inquiringly.

 

 

"Sir, hailing frequencies are open." She looked over at Spock and

 

shrugged.

 

 

"This is Captain Peter Kirk hailing the commander of the fleet

 

surrounding the injured ship Kobayashi Maru. We are aware of the trap

 

you have set and, frankly, Commander, I find your clumsy ploy insulting.

 

In response to this slight, I now have something to say to you

 

T'kevaidors a skelitus dunt'ryala aikriian paselitan ... Toriatal." He

 

heard Spock take a sharp breath that was almost a gasp. "Commander"

 

--Peter dropped back into Standard English--"I issue this challenge

 

under the ancient law of Toriatal. By rights, you must respond to my

 

declaration." Silence. Total, dead silence.

 

 

Peter waited, sweating. It no longer mattered that it was just a

 

simulation. He was as charged up as if he really were facing an

 

invisible enemy. Clutching the two lirpas, he listened to the blood

 

rushing in his ears.

 

 

The simulation program, he thought as he waited. It's trying to figure

 

out how to respond to my challenge.

 

 

Suddenly, Uhura's mouth dropped open. "Captain," she said breathlessly,

 

 

"we're being hailed ... by the Romulan commander!"

 

 

"On-screen, Lieutenant," he said, as he lifted one of the lirpas and

 

held it in a defensive position. The screen shifted,

 

 

changing, showing the interior of a Romulan cruiser, and an image of a

 

Romulan commander standing there.

 

 

"Who are you to issue the ancient challenge?" the holo-commander

 

demanded. "You are merely human. I am not obligated to respond to an

 

outworlder who dares to issue the Toriatal."

 

 

"You are obligated," Peter insisted, trying to remain cool.

 

 

His shirt was sticking to him as he held the heavy lirpa at the ready,

 

with the other leaning against the command chair beside him. "The law is

 

clear. "Whoever issues the Toriatal challenge has the right to be

 

answered. No leader may ignore a pi'operly given challenge." I have

 

issued it in the tradition of your oldest laws. What do you say? Do you

 

accept the challenge? Or are you afraid to fight a human?"

 

 

Again the long pause. Finally, the holo-commander said, hollowly, "I

 

accept the challenge."

 

 

"The choice of weapons is mine," Peter announced, "and I have chosen

 

lirpas."

 

 

"Captain," Spock said clearly, "several of the Romulan vessels are

 

bringing their weapons on-line."

 

 

"Will you disobey your own law, Romulan, and allow your ships to fire

 

upon us, even after I have issued the challenge?" Peter demanded. "If

 

you do, you dishonor your own heritage! The Toriatal mandates a state of

 

truce while it is in effect!"

 

 

The holo-commander was still for nearly a minute; then the image turned

 

its head and spoke to someone not in visual range.

 

 

Peter saw Spock's eyebrow climb. "Weapons ... are being taken off-line,

 

sir."

 

 

"Mr. Spock, I order you to beam me over to those coordinates," Peter

 

instructed his science officer. "While I am engaging the Romulan

 

commander, you and Mr. Scott will beam over every survivor from the

 

Kobayashi Maru. As soon as you have them all, order full astern speed,

 

and retreat back into the nebula. The Romulans will not be willing to

 

follow you in there. From there, you can make your escape."

 

 

Before Spock could offer his own protest, McCoy blurted,

 

 

"Are you crazy? He's gonna slice you into ribbons with that thing, and

 

while he's doin' it, his other ships are gonna play target practice with

 

us!"

 

 

"No, they won't," Peter told McCoy. "While the commander and I are in

 

combat, his troops must, by law, hold their fire, as must we. But

 

there's nothing in the law that says you can't quietly transport those

 

people off the Maru and get the hell out of here."

 

 

"Captain, I cannot allow you to do this," Spock said, quietly. "Even if

 

you were to defeat the Romulan commander, it is unlikely they will

 

return you to us. This is suicide."

 

 

Peter paused. "It's a no-win situation, Mr. Spock, I'll give you that.

 

But only for me. The Enterprise and the Kobayashi Maru will be safe. And

 

as the captain, my job is to insure the safety of the ship." He picked

 

up the second lirpa and keyed the intercom. "Mr. Scott, stand by with

 

those cargo transporters.

 

 

Transporter Chief?."

 

 

A mechanical-sounding voice said, "Transporter room, aye."

 

 

"Beam me directly from the bridge to the bridge of the Romulan vessel,"

 

Peter said, and, checking Chekov's readouts, gave the coordinates.

 

"Energize!" What's going to happen now? he wondered. Would they actually

 

beam him someplace? Would he really have to fight someone?

 

 

Suddenly, a voice outside the bridge doors called out,

 

 

"Wait a minute, wait a minute! Open these doors! Lights on!" The bridge

 

doors slid open and Commandant Kyle Anderson stormed in. "What the hell

 

is going on here?

 

 

Cadet, where did you come up with these 'anomalies' and energy readings

 

you're talking about? This is totally irregular."

 

 

Peter had to blink to reorient himself out of the simulation and back to

 

real life. His blood pressure was up, and he was really ready for a good

 

fight. "Here, sir," Peter said, putting down his lirpa and walking over

 

to Chekov's console.

 

 

"The anomalies are hard to spot, but the energy signature gives you

 

something to look for "

 

 

"That's impossible!" the commandant protested, not even looking at the

 

readout. "No one can spot a cloaked vessel["

 

 

Spock suddenly cleared his throat. "With all due respect, Commandant, I

 

am afraid that Cadet Kirk is correct. While he was aboard the

 

Enterprise, I acquainted him with some research that Mr. Scott and I

 

have been conducting. Our discoveries are still in the developmental

 

stage, but, during our escape from Qo'nos, Cadet Kirk had occasion to

 

monitor electromagnetic signatures on Klingon vessels."

 

 

"I see," the commandant said, as Spock showed him the anomalies. "All

 

right. I can see where that gave you an advantage in this scenario, but

 

what's all this nonsense about ancient Romulan challenges? Those ships

 

would've blown you out of space while you were waving that thing"--he

 

pointed to the lirpa--"in their faces."

 

 

Again, Spock came to his rescue. "With all due respect, sir, that's not

 

the case. That challenge dates from Pre-Reformation times on Vulcan, and

 

is respected by the Romulans. Cadet Kirk issued it correctly,

 

Commandant.

 

 

Even his pronunciation in Old High Vulcan was nearly perfect."

 

 

"Hmmm," the commandant said, "and they'd have to cease hostilities while

 

he fought the commander?" Spock nodded.

 

 

Anderson's features suddenly broke out in a wide grin.

 

 

"Well ... damn! Looks like you've spent too much time in space, Cadet

 

Kirk. This test is designed for inexperienced trainees!" He shook his

 

head. "Believe me, we'll fix those readings for the next poor fool who

 

has to face this scenario!

 

 

But for now ... it looks like you're the second Kirk to beat the no-win

 

scenario. And you didn't have to reprogram the computer to do it!" He

 

extended his hand to the cadet, who took it, shaking it heartily.

 

 

"But sir," Chekov protested, "the Romulans would have surely killed

 

him!"

 

 

"But he would've saved his ship and the people from the Kobayashi Maru,

 

and all without firing a shot!" another voice added from the bridge

 

doors.

 

 

Peter looked up to see his uncle standing there, smiling at him.

 

 

"A captain must be willing to sacrifice himself for his ship," Kirk

 

reminded everyone. "That's his job. Congratulations, Peter. That was one

 

hell of a test."

 

 

Peter nodded at everyone as they filed out. It was several minutes

 

before Peter and his uncle had privacy. The captain held out his hand

 

and, when his nephew took it, clapped him on the shoulder, grinning

 

proudly. "I knew you could do it," he exclaimed.

 

 

"I was inspired by recent events," Peter said, dryly.

 

 

"Obviously--but that doesn't take away from the fact that you kept your

 

head, and figured it all out. You're going to make a great captain

 

someday."

 

 

The younger man shook his head. "With all due respect, Uncle Jim ... I'm

 

quitting Command track today. I'm requesting reassignment to the

 

Starfleet diplomatic corps.

 

 

Ambassador Sarek is giving me a recommendation. Recent events have made

 

me realize that that's what I really want to do with my life."

 

 

Kirk regarded his nephew intently for nearly a minute, then nodded.

 

"It's your choice, Peter, and I respect you for makin g a difficult

 

decision." Humor glinted in the hazel eyes. "You weren't influenced in

 

your decision by the notion of attending long diplomatic conferences

 

with the Klingons, were you?"

 

 

Peter grinned. "Let's just say that I'll be taking a lot more classes in

 

Klingon language and culture," he admitted.

 

 

The two fell into step and went out into the corridor, through the

 

gleaming lobby of the Starfleet Academy.

 

 

"You're writing to her?" the captain asked.

 

 

"Yes ... and I got a reply last week. She's in school already and likes

 

it. Sheg. taking a course in advanced Standard English!"

 

 

"By the time you two meet again, any language barrier should be a thing

 

of the past," Kirk said, as they crossed the broad plaza that lay at the

 

foot of Starfleet's gleaming towers.

 

 

"By the time we meet again, let's hope a lot of barriers will

 

 

be a thing of the past," Peter said. "We'll both be working toward that,

 

Uncle Jim." James Tiberius Kirk smiled at his brother's son. "It isn't

 

often that personal interest and duty coincide." Peter nodded. "But when

 

it does ... it's great."

 

 

"I wish both of you the best of luck, Peter, I mean that." The younger

 

Kirk smiled. "I know you do. And that means a lot to me, Uncle Jim."

 

 

"And I want you to know something else," Jim admitted.

 

 

"I also think you would've been a hell of a starship captain." Peter

 

beamed. He knew that, in his uncle's eyes, this was the finest

 

compliment he could give anyone. "Thanks, Uncle Jim. But I'd never hold

 

a candle to you." The senior Kirk grinned and slapped his nephew on the

 

back. The captain of the Enterprise quickened his pace.

 

 

"Come on ... everyone's waiting for us." Then, suddenly, the hazel eyes

 

twinkled. "Ambassador Kirk, do you think?

 

 

Someday?" Peter shrugged. "You never know ..."

 

 

"Ambassador Kirk ..." the captain muttered, trying it on for size. "The

 

more I say it, the better it sounds ... "

 

 

Spock stood in the huge, skylighted conference chamber on the world

 

called Khitomer. The new peace conference boasted dozens of beings from

 

many worlds ... but not one Freelan. The absence of the cloaked and

 

masked delegates had been noted and commented upon, but only the member

 

worlds of the Federation Security Council knew the truth.

 

 

In the weeks since the Enterprise had brought the captive Vulcans out of

 

the Neutral Zone, the tensions in the galaxy had eased considerably. The

 

ringleaders of the KEHL, including Lisa Tennant, had been arrested and

 

charged with breaking into the computer system at the Vulcan consulate,

 

and for assaulting and abducting Peter Kirk. With its most dedicated

 

members out of action, the group was gradually returning to its status

 

as a harmless fringe organization.

 

 

Azetbur's dramatic rescue operation against the Klingon renegades had

 

restored the Federation's faith i the new chancellor, and this new peace

 

conference was a result.

 

 

Scientists from many worlds had been asked to join with governmental

 

delegates to advise the Federation on how best to help the Klingon

 

homeworld solve its many problems.

 

 

Today's sessions had been devoted to discussion of how the effects of

 

Praxis's explosion on Qo'nos might be overcome. Tomorrow the agenda

 

included the possibility of economic aid.

 

 

The Vulcan was attending the conference as one of Starfleet's

 

representatives. He'd enjoyed the day's session; searching for

 

scientific solutions to the problems facing Qo'nos was a stimulating

 

challenge. Now, as the delegates milled around, talking in groups after

 

the formal meetings had broken up, Spock searched the room for his

 

father. He had not seen Sarek since his arrival yesterday.

 

 

"A good session today, don't you think, Captain Spock?" came a voice

 

from behind him. Turning, Spock saw the new Romulan delegate, Pardek,

 

standing beside him. The Vulcan had been somewhat surprised when the

 

Empire had sent a delegate to replace Nanclus, in light of recent events

 

with Freelan, but, then, the Romulans had always excelled at talking

 

peace while plotting war.

 

 

"I agree," he said. Pardek was a little older than the Vulcan, with

 

rather heavy features and thick brow ridges.

 

 

He was stocky and compactly built, with the air of one who has known

 

military service. Not unusual in a Romulan.

 

 

"It is an honor to meet you, Captain," Pardek said. "Your name has been

 

... prominent ... in the Empire for a long time, now." Spock raised an

 

eyebrow, amused at the word choice.

 

 

"Indeed?" he asked dryly.

 

 

"You and your father both are well known to my government," Pardek said,

 

and the Vulcan knew he hadn't missed the irony. "Especially in the light

 

of recent events." Spock had to conceal surprise that the Romulan was

 

being even this direct. "Recent events," Spock repeated, "have.

 

certainly been ... stimulating."

 

 

"Undeniably," Pardek agreed. "By the way ... what has become of that

 

radical organization that was causing Earth so much trouble in the

 

recent past? That group of xeno-phobes.

 

 

I have scanned nothing about it in the media reports for days."

 

 

Spock slanted the Romulan an ironic glance, but Pardek remained

 

unruffled. "The Keep Earth Human League has been singularly quiet

 

lately," the Starfleet officer replied.

 

 

"The membership seems to be ... dissolving. Odd, isn't it?"

 

 

"Isn't it?" Pardek agreed, blandly. "I was thinking, Captain Spock. A

 

discussion of ... recent events might prove interesting between us. An

 

... unofficial discussion, you understand."

 

 

"The human phrase for what you mean is 'off the record," Delegate

 

Patrick."

 

 

"I like that term." Pardek smiled faintly, reminiscently.

 

 

"English is such a colorful language ... so descriptive. I enjoyed

 

learning it."

 

 

"You were saying there were matters you wished to discuss ... off the

 

record?"

 

 

Pardek hesitated, then said, "Your name and your father's but especially

 

the name of Sarek--have been on everyone's lips lately. Including the

 

praetor's?"

 

 

"For some reason," Spock said, "that does not surprise me. My father has

 

a ... friend ... who was setting off on a journey to see the praetor.

 

Perhaps you know of him?"

 

 

Pardek's fleshy features were carefully neutral. "Possibly," he

 

admitted. "Are we speaking of someone in the military?"

 

 

"Yes. He is rather highly ranked."

 

 

Pardek looked away. "'Was' is a more appropriate term, I fear."

 

 

"Ah," Spock said. "I am ... grieved ... to hear you say that."

 

 

Pardek raised an eyebrow. "But hardly surprised."

 

 

"No."

 

 

"It is regrettable," Pardek said, after a moment. "He was my friend,

 

too."

 

 

"Indeed?"

 

 

"Yes, I knew him for many years. And I cannot find it in myself to

 

condemn his actions in effecting the release of a number of captives.

 

Far better," Pardek said thoughtfully,

 

 

"to allow those who wished to leave to do so."

 

 

"But not all of those in question chose to leave," Spock pointed out.

 

"Which concerns me. There was a possibility of ... bloodshed. Reprisal,

 

on those who stayed."

 

 

"I am pleased to tell you that no such tragedy has occurred," Pardek

 

said earnestly. "The individuals who did not choose to leave have gone

 

underground, merging into the general population. No active search for

 

them has been mounted, under the circumstances. Most of the ones who

 

stayed did so because they had married into Romulan families. The

 

praetor understands this. He values public opinion, like any head of

 

state."

 

 

"Understandably. These individuals we are speaking of---" Spock began.

 

 

"Off the record, of course. Not in any official capacity ..." Pardek

 

reminded him.

 

 

"Of course. These individuals ... they have successfully managed to

 

infiltrate, to mingle and become lost amid the rest of your society?"

 

 

"Quite successfully. It was remarkable how quickly they simply ...

 

melted away. I suspect most of them have changed their names, and will

 

simply keep a low profile as a part of their Romulan families. They will

 

raise their children, grow old ... live ordinary lives as respectable

 

citizens of the Empire. In time, they will be virtually

 

indistinguishable from native-born Romulans."

 

 

"The praetor is not searching for them?"

 

 

"Not at all. As long as none of them surface to cause trouble, I expect

 

that policy to continue."

 

 

"Fascinating," Spock murmured. "Who knows how this ... mingling will

 

affect your people, in years to come ..."

 

 

"I have been wondering the same thing, Captain," the Romulan said.

 

 

"Perhaps this is not so surprising after all," Spock murmured

 

thoughtfully. "In days past, we were, after all, one people."

 

 

"Millennia past," Parrick pointed out. "Still, as recent events have

 

shown, there are still ... cultural links."

 

 

"Indeed," Spock agreed, thinking of the challenge and the senapa duel.

 

Watching it had brought home to him, as nothing else ever had, that

 

Vulcans and Romulans had once been one people. They were still far more

 

similar than they were different, at least physically ...

 

 

"Perhaps we might discuss our idea further. During the conference ...

 

and afterward."

 

 

"I would like that, Spock," the delegate said, and the Vulcan realized

 

they were speaking almost as if they both took some kind of vow to

 

explore this concept together.

 

 

"After I return to Romulus ... perhaps we might stay in contact?

 

Correspond?"

 

 

"I would be honored," Spock said.

 

 

"Spock?" A third voice reached them, and the Vulcan turned to see Sarek

 

approaching through the thinning crowd of diplomats.

 

 

After quickly introducing his father to the Romulan delegate, Spock

 

excused himself to leave the chamber with his father. Together, they

 

walked out of the conference center and down the massive steps.

 

 

As Sarek and his son walked down the steps leading from the conference

 

chamber, he reminded himself not to push the rapprochement between them

 

was still very fragile. It was extremely ... satisfactory ... to

 

simply walk beside his son again, shoulder to shoulder.

 

 

"For a first day, the negotiations went well," the ambassador observed

 

as they strolled across a manicured lawn beneath a vivid blue sky. In

 

the east, the sun was setting in a magnificent splash of coral and

 

fuchsia.

 

 

"I agree," Spock replied. "It seems possible that Qo'nos the planet may

 

indeed be salvageable. Destruction of the ring would be a colossal task

 

... but, given the time frame, it is feasible."

 

 

Sarek nodded; then the curiosity he had been holding back overcame him.

 

He searched for an appropriate opening.

 

 

"I was not expecting the Romulans to send a delegate," he began.

 

 

"I must admit I was surprised myself," Spock said.

 

 

Then Spock hesitated, and his father gained the impression that he was

 

about to say something, but changed his mind. "It has been nearly three

 

weeks since the Enterprise brought the captured Vulcans back to their

 

native world," he observed. "Tell me, Father, how are they doing? Are

 

the efforts at reeducating them regarding the ethics of mental contact

 

succeeding?"

 

 

"Their teachers are optimistic," Sarek said. "Particularly since Savel

 

seems to have emerged as a leader for them, and she is committed to

 

using her telepathic abilities ethically, to help others. She told me

 

the last time I saw her that she intends to train to become a Healer,

 

and work as a telepathic therapist. I am encouraged that the newcomers

 

will be able to adjust and prosper in our society."

 

 

"I believe they can," Spock said. "I spent considerable time talking

 

with Savel on the voyage back to Vulcan. She seems like a young person

 

with a great deal of potential. I was impressed by her."

 

 

"Not as impressed as young Soran is," Sarek said dryly.

 

 

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? And does she return his interest?"

 

 

"My impression is that she does."

 

 

"Soran is unbonded, is he not?"

 

 

"Yes. His parents did not hold with the tradition of bonding as

 

children. That trend appears to be growing," Sarek said, thoughtfully.

 

 

"Then Soran is free."

 

 

"For the moment," Sarek said, with a glint of humor in his dark eyes. "I

 

do not expect that state of affairs to continue for long, however."

 

 

His son cocked an eyebrow at him, and there was an answering glint in

 

his own dark eyes.

 

 

Reaching the edge of the park-like grounds, father and son halted to

 

watch the sunset for a few minutes in silence. "On

 

 

the whole," Spock said finally, "I am impressed with Pardek. He strikes

 

me as an intelligent individual, one who is something of a visionary."

 

Sarek glanced up at his son, realizing that Spock was deliberately

 

granting him an opening. "Indeed? What makes you say that?"

 

 

"Our discussion at the end of today's session." Sarek raised an eyebrow.

 

"Yes? And what were you two discussing, if I may ask? You seemed very

 

intent."

 

 

"We wre," Spock admitted. "We began by speaking about the K HL," he

 

said, with a faint glimmer of humor.

 

 

"And then we moved on to speaking, off the record, about the young

 

Vulcans who elected not to go with the Enterprise ... "Spock went on to

 

summarize that portion of the conversation with Pardek.

 

 

"Knowing that the praetor has decided to ignore their existence is good

 

news," Sarek said, when his son had finished. "Did Pardek give any hint

 

as to Taryn's fate?" Spock nodded, his expression darkening. "Taryn is

 

dead, Father," he said. "I regret that I must be the one to tell you."

 

Sarek closed his eyes briefly. "I have been expecting to discover that,"

 

he said, heavily. "It is hardly a surprise, under the circumstances."

 

Finally, Sarek took a deep breath and broke the resulting silence. "Was

 

it Taryn's fate that you and Pardek were speaking of so intently, as I

 

approached?" His son slanted a sidelong glance at him. "Curious,

 

Father?"

 

 

"I must admit that I am." Spock took a deep breath, and began walking

 

again, in the general direction of the delegates' living quarters. "Very

 

well. Pardek was saying that it was surprising how easily the young

 

Vulcans were able to adapt to Romulan society. I observed that, after

 

all, we were one people long ago." The officer hesitated, then

 

continued, "I wonder if we might ever hope to be one people again."

 

Sarek stopped in midstride and stared at the other, barely troubling to

 

conceal his consternation. "My son, surely you are not serious."

 

 

"Why not?" Spock's expression held a glint of stubborn resolve that his

 

father well remembered. "We are working toward peace with the Klingons.

 

Why not peace--and eventual cooperation--with the Romulans?" Sarek

 

struggled to repress his dismay. "You are speaking of ... a fusion of

 

the two cultures?"

 

 

"Yes, I was ... although I concede that it would be ... difficult."

 

The ambassador sighed, shaking his head. "Spock ... my son, do you have

 

any idea how unrealistically idealistic you sound? You are speaking of

 

Romulans, remember? They have grown so far apart from our ideals that

 

there is no longer any common meeting ground, I assure you. Witness

 

their actions on Freelan--witness Nanclus's treachery and meddling!"

 

 

"Witness Taryn," Spock pointed out, quietly. "Witness his response to

 

your challenge. A challenge so old that both our peoples share it."

 

 

"Taryn," Sarek reminded him curtly, "was a Vulcan."

 

 

"He died a Romulan," Spock countered, with an edge in his voice,

 

"upholding his concept of Romulan honor and duty." Sarek sighed. "Spock

 

... Spock ... your dedication to the cause of peace does you credit,

 

my son. But the entire notion is ... ridiculous."

 

 

"I do not believe so. I intend to explore the concept with Pardek, but I

 

do not choose to discuss the topic further.

 

 

Your mind is dosed, Father." Sarek's eyes flashed, but his features

 

never changed. "As you wish," he said, coldly. But then, thinking of how

 

Amanda would react if she could hear them at the moment, the ambassador

 

modulated his tones, attempting to conciliate, using his best diplomatic

 

manner. "Perhaps you are right, Spock ... perhaps there is nothing to

 

be gained from discussing a subject on which we will never agree.

 

 

But there are other topics we might discuss ... say, over dinner?" His

 

son turned to regard him, his features cold and composed, but then, in

 

response to what he saw in his father's eyes, they softened

 

fractionally, and he nodded.

 

 

"You are right. There are other topics." Spock's expression lightened.

 

"Very well, Father. At dinner, then," he agreed.

 

 

Father and son walked on, together, as the shadows of evening lengthened

 

around them.

 

 

Sunrise on Vulcan ...

 

 

Sarek stood alone in Amanda's garden, waiting for the first light of

 

dawn. As sunrise approached, the darkness of the sky was untouched,

 

stars strewn everywhere--except behind the giant shape of Vulcan's

 

sister world. The Watcher was lit only by light reflected from Vulcan,

 

and so was nearly invisible, a dark ashen color in its newness. Here in

 

the mountains near Gol, dawn came 1.6 hours late, delayed by the

 

intervention of The Watcher.

 

 

As the ambassador watched, a glow appeared on the upper limb of The

 

Watcher, subtle at first, but growing brighter. The Vulcan had seen many

 

sunrises from orbit, and was always struck by the similarity to the way

 

Vulcan's sun rose over T'Rukh. The sister planet's tenuous atmosphere,

 

carrying enormous amounts of dust and SO from its myriad volcanoes,

 

caught Nevasa's ruddy light in a thin layer like high cirrus clouds.

 

 

Sarek turned and picked up a small container that had been resting on

 

the bench behind him. It was an ancient jar carved from white stone.

 

 

His eyes fixed on the sky, Sarek ran his fingernail around the jar's

 

seal, opening it. Carefully, he worked the stopper loose. Above him, the

 

arc of red spread outward; then, suddenly, the star itself appeared. The

 

hot glow grew

 

 

brighter, visibly swelling. Vulcan's sky brightened, hiding T'Rukh

 

behind rosy curtains of light. Slowly, as Nevasa came out of eclipse, a

 

delicate down-curving crescent of light became visible, growing toward

 

the horizon. The stars faded, grew dim, disappeared.

 

 

But they will return, Sarek thought. Tonight they will shine

 

 

again. The stars ... outlive us all.

 

 

Dawn. It was time.

 

 

Taking a deep breath, the Vulcan tilted the jar slightly, allowing some

 

of the gray powder within it to fall. The morning breeze caught part of

 

it, wafting it away, but much fell, to land in the soil below.

 

 

Sarek moved on a few steps, to a new location. This time he tilted the

 

jar into his hand, letting the ashy powder fill his palm. This is the

 

last time I will touch her, he thought, clenching his fist around the

 

ash, grasping it as he would have her hand. By this time Nevasa had

 

risen further, separating from the enormous arc that was T'Rukh, bright

 

ening the Vulcan sky to its normal, searing color.

 

 

Day had begun.

 

 

A time to gain, a time to lose ... Sarek thought, remembering one of

 

Amanda's favorite quotations. Slowly, one by one, he forced his fingers

 

to open, letting the ash sift down, between them. Letting go.

 

 

As the dawn breezes began to die, Sarek upended the jar, shaking it, so

 

the last trace of the ash within could sift out, to drift and finally

 

settle over the stones, the soil, the living plants from so many worlds.

 

 

Farewell, Amanda ... The Vulcan's lips moved, but no sound emerged.

 

 

Carefully, the ambassador replaced the stopper in the now-empty jar.

 

Then, his steps slow but steady, he turned and left the silent garden

 

behind.

 

 

As I write this, it has been ten years since my first novel, Yesterday's

 

Son, was published. Since then, I've had an opportunity to meet many of

 

the fans and stars who have helped to keep STAR TREK alive. Great fun

 

... and most rewarding. Going to a STAR TREK convention is like

 

attending a family reunion.

 

 

In writing Sarek, I've explored the planet Vulcan and its people more

 

than I ever did before. I feel privileged ... and content. As though

 

I'd finally reached a formerly inaccessi ble spot between my artistic

 

shoulder blades and given it a good scratching. Frankly, I've been

 

itching to write the scene of what actually happened the day Spock told

 

Sarek he didn't want to attend the Vulcan Science Academy ever since I

 

watched "Journey to Babel" in 1967. A chance to finally scratch a

 

twenty-six-year itch!

 

 

Sarek is the first of my novels to be published after Gene Roddenberry's

 

death (although the Great Bird knew that there was the possibility of a

 

story about Sarek's life in the works, and was, my editors told me, in

 

favor of the idea). All of us who love STAR TREK miss him, but it's

 

fitting and comforting that STAR TREK is continuing as a living legacy

 

to his vision of the future.

 

 

Every time I write a new STAR TREK novel, I get letters from people

 

wondering if I write things other than STAR Trek