Wing Commander Taryn was dreaming….

He did not dream often, but when he did, it was always the same dream…or, at least, if he dreamed other dreams, he did not remember them. The Dream (as he had come to think of it) was the only thing in the universe that he consciously feared. Each time he awakened from it, he hoped that it would be the last…but, though months and years of peaceful slumber passed, somehow, when he was least expecting it, the dream would come back….

In The Dream he was small…too short to reach the viewport in normal gravity without being lifted up. He was running, running down a neutral-colored corridor, a corridor that seemed to loom inward on him as he scuttled along. His short legs pumped harder, trying to hurl him forward faster, but he was afraid—afraid! he should not be afraid, he should be calm…he should be brave, he should not run away…but he was afraid, he was!—and his feet kept slipping out from under him. Try as he might, he could not reach the end of the corridor…it seemed to expand before him almost infinitely.

He would never reach it…never, he would always be here, trapped, knowing that horror and absolute devastation lay behind him. And he, Taryn, deserved no better. He was a coward, a fearful, sobbing, cringing coward….

Gasping, he stretched out both hands, making his short legs churn faster as he ran…ran…toward a goal that would never grow any closer….

And then, with the suddenness of dreams, he was there, at the end of the corridor, standing on tiptoe, yanking frantically at the emergency release on the airlock door. The life-support pod lay in an alcove beyond that door. He knew how to open it, how to activate it, and the button to push that would launch it. Taryn knew all this, just as he knew that it was time to abandon ship, just as he’d learned in the drills.

He punched in the code, slowly, not wanting to make a mistake, his ears straining for noises from behind him. Would they come after him? What would he do if they did?

He gnawed at his lower lip, waiting, until the airlock door indicated acceptance of his code. Finally it was time to grasp the opening bar in both hands and pull it downward.

Even as he touched it, it began to move in his hands. Horrified, he leaped back, and then the door began to slide open.

Choking in terror, he fled back down the corridor, running from this new, greater fear. He reached the end of the corridor, and there was the door from whence he had come, bolting in terror and anguish, knowing himself to be a coward. The control-room door. Placing a hand on it, Taryn began to pull it open.

No! No, don’t!His elder self screamed silently at his younger self, for all the good it did. Taryn pushed the door open, slowly, slowly, and saw—

—nothing except darkness as he jerked upright in bed, gasping. Slowly, reality began to trickle in. He was back on Freelan, in his own home. His wife Jolana was not here beside him, because she had gone to Romulus to visit their two grown children.

Taryn shivered, feeling cold despite the sweat on his bare chest and arms. That had been a bad one. He couldn’t remember much about the dream…which wasn’t unusual. He had a vague impression that in it, he was a frightened child, but the details were always lost. Frankly, he didn’twant to remember that dream…ever.

Stress,he thought.I’ve been working too hard again. But the invasion is so close…nothing must go wrong! The Praetor made it clear that he has complete confidence in me. He has given me more authority than I have ever had…and I must be worthy. Nothing must go wrong…we must be victorious.

Taryn forced himself to take deep, relaxing breaths. He glanced out the window, seeing the stars, as hard and cold and sharp in the blackness as spearpoints. He knew better than to look for Vulcan’s sun from here…it was too distant.

Vulcan’s primary sun, Nevasa—or 40 Eridani, as the Federation charts recorded it. Taryn wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to walk across the deserts of Vulcan—a world that was as hot, by all reputation, as Freelan was cold. A world where logic was revered, even over power. Sarek’s world…

Taryn had known for days that Wurrl had failed to kill the ambassador—the Klingon hadn’t been fast enough, it seemed. He’d been disappointed to learn about the Klingon’s failure—but also, in a way, the officer was pleased that that particular plan had failed. It would be so much more satisfying to overcome Sarek personally; after all the times the ambassador had defeated him at chess, victory at long last would be sweet indeed.

The wing commander sighed as he slumped back against the hard bolster.How much does Sarek know? he wondered, for the hundredth time. Sarek, he was sure, was the only one who could alert the Federation to their plans, the only one who suspected the true nature of Freelan and its inhabitants.

He suspects, but he has no proof,he reassured himself. And things were moving so fast now, that within a few weeks—perhaps sooner, if the fleet was ready ahead of schedule, as the praetor had promised yesterday it would be—the war would begin. At that point, keeping the identity of the Freelans secret would no longer be necessary.

Taryn’s mouth curved upward slightly as he thought of what it would be like to be present when Sarek realized his defeat. The Vulcan had beaten him again during their last chess game. He usually won because he baited Taryn into recklessness…but soon, Sarek’s days of winning would be over. Soon…

Pleasant anticipation relaxed him; the officer lay down again, reminding himself that the dream had never come twice in one night. But it was still a long, long time before he slept….

 

Sarek also was dreaming. Full-blooded Vulcans did not dream often, but it did happen from time to time.

The Vulcan dreamed that he was on the surface of Freelan. All around him were glaciers, jagged buttresses of ice, sharp-fanged and glittering in the sunlight. He was walking toward a house…Taryn’s house, he knew—though the Freelan had never described anything about his home, of course. Still, this house fit in with what little was known about Freelan architectural styles. It was a black, dome-shaped dwelling, everything about it designed to maximize the capture and retention of heat, as well as keeping snowfall from crushing the building.

Sarek walked, experiencing the icy wind off the glaciers, yet not chilled by it.

Beneath his feet the snow crunched and he continued his journey.

As he neared the front of the house, the door opened and a Freelan stepped out, his muffling robes stirring in the icy breeze. “Sarek,” the Freelan said, and the Vulcan recognized Taryn’s voice. “Why are you here?”

“I was searching for you, Taryn,” Sarek said. “My wife is dead.”

“What is that to me?” the Freelan asked haughtily.

“If it were not for you, I could have been at her deathbed,” Sarek said, knowing he spoke truth. “My son would not now despise me.”

“What is any of this to me?” Taryn was almost sneering. “Your domestic problems are your own concern, Vulcan.”

“And your deceitful world is mine!” Sarek raised his voice, and, darting forward, he savagely ripped the concealing mask from the Freelan’s head and stared in shock as he saw—

Amanda’s face beneath the muffling cowl and mask.

“Amanda!” Sarek said, stepping forward to touch her, to embrace her, but even as he did so, his treacherous, logical mind insisted,Amanda is dead….

And he awoke.

He was lying in his bunk in the VIP cabin aboard theEnterprise… Freelan’s icy surface and Amanda’s face had been a dream, he realized. Sarek experienced once again the desolation of knowing his wife was dead. Her absence in his mind was an aching void, one that he could not imagine ever being filled.

Knowing he would not be able to sleep again, he arose from the bed, then padded barefoot across the sleeping compartment to the small lounge, a slim red-covered volume in his hand. Seating himself on the low divan, the ambassador opened the book and began to read….

 

Sarek glanced up from the pages of the journal and sighed, remembering….

 

“I cannot stand this for one more instant,” Amanda burst out, pausing in her jerky pacing to glare at him. Sarek, reluctantly, had abandoned his work to join her in the living room of their residence in ShiKahr. “I don’t care what you think—I’m taking the aircar and going to the Llangon Mountains to look for him myself.” Turning on her heel, she headed for the door. Her husband stepped in front of her, barring her way.

“Amanda, there is no reason to—”

“Don’t youdare use that infuriating calm voice on me!” she cried. At the moment, Amanda Grayson was a portrait in fury. “This is your fault, Sarek!” she flared, cheeks red, blue eyes blazing. “If you had tried to understand Spock, rather than demand perfection from him, just because he’s your son, then this never would have happened! Now either come with me, or stay here! I don’t care which!”

“Amanda.” Sarek heard the steel underlying the calm tones of his own voice, did not trouble to repress it. “I will not allow you to take the aircar into the Llangon Mountains. The air currents there are treacherous, especially just after sunrise, and you are too upset to concentrate on piloting. We will wait here for the report from the authorities.”

Her small hands curled into fists, and for an instant Sarek wondered if she would strike him, but she whirled and strode away. The doorway he barred was the only exit from the room, so, after a few paces she halted with a jerk, then stood stiffly, her back to him. After a moment, Sarek said, in a milder tone, “I have trained Spock in anticipation of hiskahs-wan. He is familiar with the Vulcan plant life and the survival methods of our ancestors. Logic dictates that he will come back to us relatively unharmed, Amanda.”

She stared at him wildly, then laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that had nothing of humor about it. “And I’m supposed to be comforted by that, Sarek? By logic?”

“Logic is not meant to comfort, Amanda. It simply exists. It is a way of viewing the universe that offers reason and order, instead of chaos.”

“Humanchaos, you mean,” she snapped. “Why not just say it?” Her mouth tightened. “But youdo say it…only not in words. But it’s there, in your face, whenever Spock smiles or forgets himself in the slightest degree! Disapproval radiates from you—I see it, and so does Spock. The poor child will never be good enough for you, and he knows it—no wonder he’s willing to risk dying out there!”

Sarek was taken aback by the accusation. Surely his wife was wrong, was simply giving vent to her illogical human emotions….

“Oh, I know you won’t believe me,” she said, more calmly. “You excel at not seeing what’s right in front of your nose, Sarek. ButI see it. It’s obvious. Spock is trying to please you, but you’ve set him an impossible task—perfection! Even Vulcans aren’t perfect—as you ought to know!”

Her husband stared at her, wordlessly. Amanda’s eyes filled with angry tears. “I won’t let you ruin his life, Sarek—even if it means going home to Earth and taking him with me. Maybe he’d be better off there, among people who have some compassion, some tolerance!”

“Leave?” Sarek’s breath caught in his throat. “Surely you cannot be serious, Amanda. The situation has upset you, understandably—however, there is no need to consider such drastic action.”

She faced him, her hot anger dying away to something cold and, the ambassador sensed, far more formidable. “Don’t underestimate me, Sarek. I love you, nothing can ever change that, but you are an adult, perfectly capable of defending and caring for yourself. Spock is my child, and I will care for and protect him in the face of every threat to his being—even if that threat is his own father.”

Facing her, the Vulcan felt as though he were confronting some eternal arche-typal force—the personification of maternal protectiveness. Ale-matya with cubs could not have been more deadly in defense of her young, he realized, experiencing a mixture of shock and unwilling admiration. “I see,” he said, after a moment, “I do not want you to leave, Amanda,” he said, slowly and carefully.

She took a deep breath, but her expression remained hard and closed. Yet her voice betrayed just the faintest quaver. “I do not wish to leave either, my husband,” she replied formally. “Yet I will do so, if I decide that action is the best thing for our son.”

“I will—”

Sarek turned suddenly as his Vulcan hearing picked up a familiar sound. “An aircar,” he said, starting for the door.

“Spock?” she cried, catching up with him in a long stride, then bursting through the front door ahead of him. An aircar was just settling down onto the landing pad in the large courtyard.

The aircar’s side door opened, and two figures emerged, one large, one small. “Spock!” Amanda called, holding out both hands.

It was indeed their son, followed by Cousin Selek. Both turned and raised a hand in grave salute as the aircar took off, swooping back toward the center of ShiKahr.

“Spock…” Sarek said. He stood in the courtyard and basked in the realization that his son was safely home….

 

On that day, Sarek recalled, his son had informed his father gravely that he had chosen Vulcan. Amanda had never again threatened to leave him…though the strife between them during their son’s childhood had been far from over.

Following the successful completion of Spock’skahs-wan ordeal, Sarek had turned to the next major milestone in a seven-year-old’s life—that of his bonding. Amanda had protested the whole notion—and especially Sarek’s choice for his son’s betrothed.

Sarek recalled his conversation with Spock. Howhad his wife known that T’Pring was dishonest and faithless? There was no logical way to explain her knowledge…. Sarek recalled the conversation they’d had when he’d announced his choice of Spock’s bondmate to be his wife….

 

“T’Pring?You’ve chosenher? Sarek…no!” They were sitting in her garden in ShiKahr, watching Nevasa set, when he’d mentioned that he’d chosen Spock’s bondmate. Amanda leaped to her feet and regarded him with dismay.

The ambassador stared at his wife in mild surprise. “Amanda, why such disapproval? The girl’s lineage is impeccable. Her family is as highly placed in Vulcan society as my own. She will have property of her own, to match what our son will inherit. Why do you not approve?”

“Because,” Amanda said, flatly, fixing him with a level stare, “I don’t like her. That child is…I don’t know. She’s too polite, too…calculating. There’s something…cold…about her. I don’t approve of this whole business of betrothing children—it’s barbaric.”

“Amanda, you are not being logical. T’Pring will prove an excellent consort for our son. She is intelligent and she will have all the advantages that a well-placed family can give her…she will—”

“Make Spock’s life miserable, Sarek,” Amanda broke in, her eyes darkening with emotion. “I can tell that she’s not the right girl for Spock. T’Pring reminds me of one of those beautiful little snakes we have back on Earth—the ones with the lovely, jewel-like colors, that are so delicate, so beautiful…and so deadly that if they bite you, you live for less than a minute.”

“Such prejudice on your part is specious, Amanda,” Sarek said, experiencing a moment of impatience with his wife. “You have no reason for any of these allegations.”

She paused for nearly a minute before replying. “I know,” she said, finally. “I know that what I’m saying isn’t fair. But all my instincts tell me that T’Pring is totally wrong for Spock. Sarek…” She swung back to face her husband. “I want you to cancel the bonding. Or at least postpone it, until they’re…out of school, say.”

Sarek shook his head. “No, Amanda. This is my world, and we agreed long ago that Spock would be brought up according to Vulcan custom and tradition. You heard him choose Vulcan himself, after that time when he ran away to the Llangon Mountains. I have made my choice, and T’Pring is the consort I choose.”

Amanda drew a deep breath, and shook her head sadly, in turn. “You’re making a mistake,” she said. “But you’re right. I did agree, and you are following Vulcan tradition.”

The slender shoulders beneath her soft green gown sagged, suddenly, and she sighed deeply. The ambassador knew that she was giving in, but his victory did not please him. “Very well, my husband,” she said, tonelessly. “But I am not sanguine about this decision.”

“Logic dictates that the two will be well suited to one another, Amanda.”

She flashed him a contemptuous glance. “Logic? You can’t use logic to predict marital harmony, Sarek. I’m sure your father was being eminently logical when he betrothed you to T’Rea…but we both know how well that worked out. Don’t we?”

Before Sarek could arrive at a rejoinder, she turned and walked away, back into the house.

 

Peter Kirk laid the ornate Klingon cards down with a disgusted air. “I fold. You beat me again!”

Sitting on a stool outside the observation panel, Valdyr looked smug as she made a notation on a pad with a stylus. “You now owe me…five thousand, six hundred and seventy-three kilos of prime-grade dilithium crystals,” she said in Klingonese.

In the two days since Peter had come to Qo’noS, Valdyr’s twice-daily visits had become the high points of his days. She had treated him respectfully, and even, at times, with a rough kindness. She’d located several old Klingon books for him to read—includingThe Complete Works of William Shakespeare in, as Valdyr put it, “the original Klingon”—and had struggled to teach him an arcane Klingon card game that he was having some difficulty mastering. He insisted they speak Klingonese, so that he could become even more articulate in the difficult language.

He’d discovered that Klingons did possess a sense of humor…even if Valdyr’s was somewhat restrained. Just getting her to relax enough toalmost smile was a challenge.

He didn’t try to kid himself—Stockholm Syndrome was setting in badly, at least on his side. He wasn’t sure about Valdyr.

Between the Klingon books and his conversations with Valdyr, he ended up not needing her help in translating the odd term he’d heard her uncle speak. He’d found it easily enough in Shakespeare.The Merchant of Venice. Shylock used it.Joy’ meant torture, and, as Peter already knew,Be’ meant woman, or female. Torture by females was the rough translation.

Be’joy’referred to a specific, ritualistic torture performed on prisoners of war…by Klingon women.

Another subject they might never be able to discuss.So, tell me, Valdyr, when you perform the be’joy’, what do you think you’ll use first? The hot irons, the electronic stunner, or will you begin by flaying my flesh? Anyone taking any bets on how long I’ll last? And to think he’d once been worried about theKobayashi Maru!

He folded his hand in defeat and slipped it through the food slot. “Are you sure you’ve taught meall the rules of this game?” Peter grinned ruefully as her serious expression assured him that anything less would be dishonorable. “Well, in that case, you’ll have to send me to Rura Penthe to dig those crystals.”

Valdyr’s dark eyes sparkled indignantly. “Never! That is a place where only the worst criminals go.”

“Like my Uncle Jim and Dr. McCoy?” he asked dryly. “They’re really desperate characters, both of them.” He was sorry the minute he’d said it. They had a truce going, and now he’d thrown out a volley.

The Klingon woman’s eyes dropped. “I know they were innocent of assassinating Chancellor Gorkon,” she said, carefully shuffling the deck, then dealing cards through the food slot beneath the observation panel. “But that does not mean that your uncle never murdered a Klingon.”

“Hekilled Kruge, yes, but he didn’tmurder him,” the cadet insisted. “Kruge beamed down to kill Kirk because he wanted revenge for his lost crew. They were fighting on the edge of a precipice, as the Genesis planet was breaking up beneath their feet. A big chunk of rock gave way beneath Kruge, and he went over the cliff. Jim caught his hand to save him, but Kruge tried to yank him over, too. My uncle got mad and let him drop.”

“Let him?” Valdyr said, skeptically.

Peter grimaced. “It was self-defense! Kruge would have killed both of them, otherwise!”

“Kamarag says that Kirk lured Kruge down to that world just as it was breaking up, then abandoned him to die,” Valdyr said.

Young Kirk shook his head. “James T. Kirk doesn’t operate that way. If you knew him, you’d believe me.” They continued the game in silence for a few moments before Peter spoke again. “There’s one thing I still don’t understand, Valdyr.”

“What is that?”

“It’s been three years since Kruge died. Why did your uncle wait so long? Why decide to take revengenow? ”

The young woman stared at her cards, but Peter knew well enough that she’d already planned out her moves. Finally, she said, “At first he thought the government would support him in his quest for vengeance. But when Praxis exploded, moderate voices in the councils realized that we would need the help of the Federation to survive.” Valdyr examined her hand. “After that, he did not speak of Kirk for a long time. My uncle…has always been loyal to his government. But suddenly, a few weeks ago…” She sighed and moved a card. “…he changed. One day, revenge was all Kamarag could think of, speak of…plan for. Vengeance, and Kirk’s death. He said that if the government would not support him, he would act on his own.”

“Which is why I’m here,” Peter said, and she nodded. “What caused him to change so suddenly?” he wondered aloud.

“I do not know,” Valdyr said. “I only know that he is my uncle, the head of my family, and I must be loyal to him.” She looked up at him. “Are you going to place a bet, Pityr?”

They placed their bets, then upped the ante several times. Peter studied Valdyr, then finally said, “Your loyalty to your uncle includes torturing me, doesn’t it?” That was more than a volley, he realized. He’d just dropped a matter/antimatter bomb into their conversation.

Her eyes met his unflinchingly. “If the choice were mine…none of this would be happening. I am sorry, Pityr.”

They said nothing for a few minutes, then continued the game, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was not surprised when she beat him again. “I quit!” the human groused, struggling to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He tossed his cards back into the slot. “Life isn’t fair. I’ve been kidnapped, held prisoner, and now my jailer turns out to be a beautiful woman who’s acard shark to boot.” He’d used the current English idiom, as he knew of no Klingon one that was appropriate.

Valdyr glanced up at him, obviously startled. “You called me…what did you call me?”

“Beautiful and a card shark,” Peter said levelly. “Which term didn’t you understand?”

“What is this…card shark?”

“A shark is an Earth animal, a huge fish…you know, fish?” He racked his brain for the Klingon word. “An animal that swims in the sea, a dangerous predator, you know?”

“Oh!” she cried. “You mean,norgh? ”

“Yeah,norgh. You’re like that when you play cards. Understand?”

She thought it over, then gave a soft snort of derisive laughter. “What you mean is that, since I am a woman and I beat you always, I must be ruthless. I thought Earth males treated their females equally!”

“We do,” Peter protested. Valdyr just looked at him, her expression clearly distrustful. “Really, we do,” he insisted, holding up his hand as if under oath. “Aren’t Klingon women treated equally?” He felt guilty for asking, since he already knew the truth.

“No,” Valdyr admitted. “The men have always held the…outward power. If women want power, they must find a man to work through, advise him, push him, make him the…the…” She groped, at a loss for a suitable term.

“A figurehead?” suggested Peter in English.

Valdyr quickly accessed the English word on her portable comm link, then nodded. “Exactly,” she said.

“Well, what about Chancellor Azetbur? She’s a woman.”

Valdyr’s eyes sparkled. “She is special. Her father made the other members of the High Council promise to uphold her as his successor, and they have done so. The people support her…but the warriors’ code is difficult to change.”

Peter fixed her with an intent stare. “What aboutyou, Valdyr? What would you like to do with your life?”

She dropped her eyes. “I…have dreams.”

“Of what?”

“When I was small,” she said, “I wanted to be a warrior. It is hard for women to do…but possible. But I was sickly. When I realized I had attained my full size, I…knew I could never be strong enough to be a warrior, no matter how I studied.”

“Even so, you learned to fight.”

She nodded. “And I am good with a knife,” she said, with a touch of pride. “But, I am too small to truly defend myself against another Klingon with nothing more than my hands.”

She’d said that offhandedly, so he wouldn’t feel insulted. “So you can’t be a warrior. What’s next?”

She glanced around, as if suddenly concerned that they might be overheard. “I hoped to become a diplomat, like my uncle.”

“Are women allowed to be diplomats?”

“There is no law against it.”

Peter got up off his stool, paced the cell a few times. He still ached, but he was feeling much better. “That’s funny that you should say that,” he admitted. “I thought about shifting to a career in the Federation diplomatic corps myself.”

She cocked her head, her long braid swinging. He found himself suddenly wondering what that massive mane might look like all undone. “You did?” she asked.

He nodded. “That’s why I studied Klingonese and Romulan even before the Academy.”

“Then why did you change?”

“I’m not sure anymore,” he said, halting and staring at her, his brow furrowed. “I guess Command was what everyone expected me to do.”

“Everyone expectsme to marry Karg and spend my time running a household,” Valdyr said dryly.

Peter made a face at that, and Valdyr almost smiled. “I think,” she said, “we should try very hard to do what it is we want to do, not what we are expected to do!”

“I agree!” Peter said, flashing her a smile. Then, remembering who he was, and where, and what would soon be happening to him, he sobered abruptly. They did not speak of the coming torture, but it sat there between them.

Valdyr chewed on her lower lip, her sharp, slightly crooked teeth scoring the soft flesh. “Pityr,” she said softly, “please believe me. This is not something I wish to do. I…have no more control over this than you have.”

Peter sank back onto his stool, his shoulders slumping. “Your uncle is using me to capture and kill my uncle, Valdyr. What kind ofhonor can Kamarag gain out of this?”

She drew a quavering breath, shaking her head. In the smallest voice she admitted, “There is nothing about honor in any of this. There will be nothing for our family when it is over but shame.”

Peter came over to the observation panel, reached through the slot as far as he could, and just managed to brush the flesh of her arm with the tip of his forefinger. She leapt back, her knife instantly in her hand. “What—?”

“I’malive, Valdyr, just like you,” Peter said. “Remember when you first gave me water? You saved my life with that water. Why did you do that, when you knew what was facing me? When you knew whatyou would soon be doing to me?”

She tightened her jaw and remained silent, staring at his fingers as though they were some bizarre life-form.

“You gave me water…and I held your hands. Remember? They were sowarm, your hands, so much warmer than mine. I was pretty shocky, all my blood going to my injuries…but I’m warm now, Valdyr, just like you. I’m alive. Feel. Feel how warm I am. Go on…. ”

Hesitantly, she approached the panel as if mesmerized, then put out her hand, brushed his fingertips with hers. His skin tingled where she touched him. Her body temperature was slightly higher than his, although nowhere near as high as a Vulcan’s. “See?” Peter said, softly. “Warm. Alive. Just like you. And I want tostay alive!”

She was staring down at his hand, wide-eyed, as though she’d never seen it before.

“Can you really do it, Valdyr?” he whispered, as he closed his fingers around her long, elegant ones. “Can you do this thing that has no honor in it, just because your uncle wants you to? Can you really do this…to me?”

She shuddered and closed her eyes. With a surprising surge of strength she clasped his hand so powerfully, her nails scored his palm, drawing blood. Then she murmured, “Yes.”

What an idiot you are, mister!he thought bitterly.

Valdyr’s face was flushed, her eyes bright with…regret? Was it really?

Yes,Peter decided.It really is….

“I don’t want to die,” he said, gazing at her through the panel. “Valdyr, I especially don’t want to die at your hands.” He gripped her just as tightly as she gripped him. “I don’t want my uncle to die either. And more than that…I don’t want the peace our people are only now working out to crumble…. You know that’s what will happen when all this comes to light.”

She nodded grimly, raising her eyes to his.

“And I don’t want to see you give up your dreams. Don’t lose all the honor you’ve worked so hard to gain. I couldn’t bear to know that my death would take that from you.” He prayed she would not think his speech that of a self-serving coward willing to say anything to save his life. He was saying nothing but the plain truth.

“Valdyr,” he whispered, “I’ve come to really care about you. As a person of honor…of dignity…and of great strength.”

She looked down, staring at their joined hands, saw their commingled blood dripping onto the slot. With a choked, inarticulate sound, she yanked her hand away, then turned abruptly and bolted down the corridor, racing as though a demon was on her heels.

Peter reined in his own emotions as he pulled his abandoned hand back inside his cell. He stared at the crescent-shaped wounds on his palm, still oozing blood. He must’ve cut her as well, as puce-colored liquid mingled with red in his palm. He made a fist, holding their blood inside, and fought back the demons of his own fear.

 

As Wing Commander Taryn studied the chessboard before him, one slanting eyebrow went up in pleased surprise. “You are improving,” he remarked, considering his options and finding they were limited.

His opponent was a slender young woman with delicate, almost elfin features that were emphasized by her cropped black hair and elegantly pointed ears. Her name was Savel, and she was twenty-two Standard years old. Her Vulcan parents had been killed while trying to escape when Savel was a baby; she did not remember them at all. The young woman had lived in a government-operated creche until Taryn had taken her into his household at the age of five. The commander regarded her as an adopted daughter, and had raised her with the same advantages that he had bestowed upon his two sons.

“A very interesting gambit,” Taryn conceded. “Not one I ever taught you. Where did you learn it?”

Savel’s black eyes sparkled with pleasure. “While I was with you at Khitomer, Ambassador Sarek’s aide challenged me to a game. Soran won, using this very tactic.”

Taryn stiffened in his chair. “You played chess with Ambassador Sarek’s aide?”

Now it was Savel’s turn to tense. “Yes,” she admitted. “You did not forbid that,Vadi.” The word meant “uncle” in Romulan, which Savel spoke as fluently as she did Vulcan. “What harm could that do?”

“A great deal,” Taryn said, sternly. The commander leaned forward in his seat, his dark eyes holding hers. “What if I had been forced to come searching for you, and encountered Sarek? I told you, he suspects us. If we had met face-to-face…there is no telling what he might have done. He has already unmasked one of us, and for that reason I was at great pains during Khitomer to stay out of the ambassador’s way. You knew that, Savel.”

The young woman hung her head. “Yes, I knew. But Soran was…very pleasant to me. I found our conversation enjoyable. I do not often get the chance to speak with someone near my own age,Vadi.”

Taryn sighed. “I know,” he said. “But, Savel…you took an unnecessary risk. We are close to the completion of our plan, within grasp of our goal…. ”

Now it was the woman’s turn to whisper, “I know.” She gazed at him with a touch of remorse plain to read in her dark eyes. As she had been raised by Romulans, her control was not as great as a native-born Vulcan’s. “Forgive me,Vadi.”

“Very well. As long as you will promise not to take such a chance again.”

“I promise,” Savel said.“Vadi… it is still your move.”

“So it is.” Taryn studied the chessboard, then made one of the two moves possible to him. Savel’s mouth twitched as she moved a piece of her own, so quickly that Taryn knew he had fallen into her trap…for a trap it was. The commander sighed, frowning, but inwardly he felt a wash of pleasure at her growing skill as he said, “I see it now…mate in two.” With a near-bow of respect, he ceremoniously knocked over his king as a sign of defeat. Though losing to Sarek always rankled him, losing to Savel, whom he had taught himself, was almost pleasurable.

Taryn sat back in the overstuffed armchair in his comfortable study, with its shelves of data spindles, its ancient bas-reliefs and weapons hanging on the walls, and the glow from the fire-box chasing the last vestige of chill from the air. It was winter on Freelan, and even here, in the northern equatorial region, frost and snow were common during these long, dark months.

Taryn thought with longing of times he had lived on Romulus, in a small house on an ancient, winding street. The wind there was warm, even during the brief rainy season…a far contrast to the bitter gales that raged at night around his dome-shaped house on Freelan.

“Have you heard any news of Kamarag?” Savel asked. “Will we need to encounter him again?”

“I do not know,” Taryn said. “The reports I have received tell me that he has had Captain Kirk’s nephew kidnapped, and that he has demanded that Kirk exchange himself for the young man. Kamarag has good reason to hate Kirk, and he has sworn a blood oath to avenge his young protégé, Kruge. So it is possible that he will require no further prodding.”

Savel nodded. “There was a strong core of hate in him before I ever touched his mind,” she said. “Who is monitoring him now?”

“No one, at the moment,” Taryn replied. “Darus was, for a time, but he has now been detailed to Earth. There is a major trade conference there, and he and Stavin were needed to attend.”

She nodded. “It is possible we may have to visit Kamarag again. The ambassador may balk at actually executing Kirk, knowing that if he does that, he will surely be declared a traitor, once his actions are known to Azetbur and her councillors.”

“Getting close to him may be too risky, now,” Taryn said. “Even if the ambassador merely captures Kirk, that will probably be enough to touch off hostilities—especially since the raids along the Neutral Zone are increasing.”

“Who is working there,Vadi?” Savel asked, cocking her head at him.

Taryn smiled thinly. “That is the beauty of it…no one. We prodded Keraz, we prodded Chang, we prodded Kruge and Wurrl and Makesh and Kardis. Now insubordination and mutiny are creeping through the Klingon forces like a spy in the night. Every week there are new reports of terrorism…and we are responsible for only half of them! Azetbur is holding on by her elegant fingernails—but soon, her grip on her people will be lost. And then…” He nodded.

“War,” Savel said, with an expression Taryn could not read. It seemed to be compounded of equal parts eagerness and revulsion.

“Vadia-lya,”he said, referring to her as his “little niece” for the first time in years, “what troubles you?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled, gazing down at the thick-woven carpet beneath their feet. “It is only that—”

“Yes?”

“At Khitomer…” She bit her lip, her control visibly slipping now.

“Yes?”

“When the Federation president spoke, he sounded so…earnest.” She looked up, met Taryn’s gaze, and flushed visibly, but continued, “When he spoke of peace between the worlds, I could almost…visualize a galaxy where peace reigns. And that vision was attractive to me.”

“Ah, but Savel, therewill be peace,” Taryn reminded her. “Soon, the purpose to which I have dedicated my life will be achieved. Soon, therewill be peace. Of course a little strife must precede it, that is unavoidable. The war between the Federation and the Klingons will not last long, and the conflict between what remains of the Federation and our forces will be even briefer. But soon…within a year or two, we will have a lasting peace…and survival as well as victory for the Romulan Empire. Otherwise, what will happen to us?”

“The Federation will try to destroy us,” she replied without much conviction.

Taryn gazed at her thoughtfully, but finally nodded. “Another game?” he asked, waving at the chessboard.

Savel’s grave features brightened, though her control was back in place, and she did not smile. “Oh, yes,Vadi, ” she said, eagerly, and moved to set up the pieces.

 

Stepping off the turbolift, Sarek walked down the narrow corridor, halting outside Kirk’s quarters. He signaled the door. “Come,” the captain’s voice responded.

Kirk was just fastening the belt of his uniform jacket. He halted abruptly as he saw who his early-“morning” visitor was. “Ambassador!” he exclaimed, “Good morning.”

The Vulcan did not waste time on pleasantries. “Kirk, we must speak for a moment,” he said. “I have been giving a great deal of thought to your nephew’s abduction, and logic indicates that it is connected to our problem with the Freelans.”

“I was wondering the same thing myself,” Kirk said. “I called it instinct instead of logic, but it sounds like we’ve reached the same conclusion. What’s your reasoning?”

“While I was negotiating on Kidta, Commander Keraz told me that Ambassador Kamarag called a meeting of Klingon officers, and attempted to induce them to turn against Azetbur and her government. If Keraz and Wurrl were influenced by Freelan telepaths, why not the ambassador? With the history of events between you, Kamarag would prove an excellent candidate for mental influence.”

“You thinkKamarag kidnapped Peter?”

“Not personally, no. But that he was behind it…yes, I do.”

Kirk looked thoughtful. “That’s an interesting idea,” he said. “I know he hates me…I’ve been told many times how he’s denounced me publicly at every opportunity…but is his hatred strong enough to lead him to betray his government?”

“Perhaps not on his own, but with sufficient telepathic prodding…” Sarek countered. “Logic seems to favor Kamarag as a likely suspect in Peter’s abduction.”

“But how does that connect with Peter investigating the KEHL?”

“If the same person or persons are influencing both groups…it would be simple to induce the KEHL to turn Peter over to someone who would then take him to Kamarag.”

“You think there’s a third party involved?”

“I would suspect so. That way, the KEHL would not have to deal with an alien ship.”

“Makes sense. Uhura is trying to track down the ships that departed Earth during the time in question. But that’s a tall order. She’s been working on it since yesterday, so maybe she’ll have something soon.”

“Have you heard any reports about the KEHL and its activities?” Sarek asked. “I have not yet scanned today’s communiqués.”

“The leader, Induna, was finally released on bail,” Kirk said. “Last I heard, he was calling for—” The captain broke off as the intercom signaled. He activated it. “Kirk here.”

“Captain?” It was Commander Uhura’s voice. “Sir, I’ve managed to locate the points of origin of both the message sent to Peter in his apartment, and the subspace one that reached us.”

“Good work. What did you find out?”

“The first transmission, the one patched together with clips from old transmissions of yours, was sent from a vessel in Earth orbit…theBobino.”

“What kind of ship? What registry?”

“Bobinois a freighter, registered to an Otto Whitten, who owns her but is not her pilot.”

“Did you check him out?”

“Yes, Captain. This Whitten is a man with a past. A con artist…but clever. Arrested many times, but the charges were always dropped. The vessel is registered as a ‘freighter,’ but ‘smuggler’ is probably a more accurate description.”

Kirk glanced at Sarek. “Sounds about right,” he said. “Who is the pilot?”

“Bobino’s pilot is a woman named Erika Caymor. Same thing as Whitten. She’s been arrested a number of times, but she always gets off. Extortion, credit fraud, theft, smuggling…the list of charges against her goes on. But the authorities could never make anything stick. They’re a nasty—but clever—pair.”

“They sound like scum,” Kirk said, bitterly. Smugglers who had smuggled not contraband, but Peter Kirk, offworld. “What about the other transmission? The subspace one?”

“That message originated on Qo’noS, Captain. I can’t pin it down any further than that.”

“Damn!” Kirk muttered, looking over at Sarek and nodding ruefully. “Good work. Thank you, Commander.”

“I was glad to be of help, sir,” she said. “I put in a call to Vice-Admiral Burton’s office, asking them for any information they have onBobino ’s registered course. I’ll let you know when I hear from them.”

Kirk clicked off the intercom and turned back to the Vulcan. “Looks like logic and instinct are both paying off,” he said.

“What will you do now, Kirk?” Sarek asked. “Will you stay on course for Freelan? What about the ransom demand that you exchange yourself for your nephew?”

“At the moment, our course is taking us toward both destinations,” Kirk said. “I plan to get to the closest possible approach to the stated coordinates, then hand over theEnterprise to Spock and order him to take you to Freelan. I can hire a small ship at the nearest starbase and make that rendezvous myself.”

“Why not use theEnterprise ?”

Kirk shook his head. “I can’t justify using the starship for a personal mission like this.”

“But…Kirk. Going to keep that rendezvous alone will be extremely…hazardous,” Sarek said, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, I don’t plan to just waltz in with my eyes shut, Ambassador. TheEnterprise ’s speed has given me nearly a two-day lead that the kidnappers don’t expect. If they keep that rendezvous, I plan to be there well ahead of time, so I can find out where they come from.”

“Logic suggests that they will come across the Neutral Zone from Qo’noS,” Sarek said. “Kamarag told me once that his ancestral estate is located there.”

The captain programmed the food dispenser in his cabin for a cup of coffee, then, when it arrived, took a grateful sip. “It’s frightening,” he said, “to think that the Romulans could plan something like this for so long. Planting a colony on Freelan, disguising their appearance, all that security for decades…and the gradual acquisition of Vulcan children to raise so they could control their telepathic abilities. All of this beginning in the days before we even knew what the Romulans looked like! By my calculation, they’ve been working on this plan for seventy-five years!”

“Possibly longer,” Sarek said, sitting down on the edge of the bunk. “We have no idea when Freelan was first colonized. However, do not forget, Captain, that, like Vulcans, Romulans have a considerably greater life span than humans.”

The ambassador spoke without thinking, but, suddenly hearing his own words, he experienced a vivid memory of Amanda. They had been sitting together in her garden, watching T’Rukh, when she’d said, suddenly, “Sarek…I want you to know that I expect you to remarry after I am gone.”

Her husband had regarded her with mild surprise. “Amanda…is this statement a result of your having turned forty yesterday? I understand that this particular anniversary of birth is frequently stressful for humans…. ”

She’d smiled at him. “No, my husband. My remark was entirely logical. We’ve never spoken of it before, but it’s obvious that, barring some kind of accident, you will outlive me by at least sixty years. You should not deprive yourself of companionship, out of some misguided sense of loyalty. To do so would not be logical.”

“But—”

She’d smiled again and stopped his words with a shake of her head. “I know this is premature. But someday you’ll remember this conversation. Someday you’ll be relieved to know that you have my blessing in choosing another consort. Let’s leave it at that.”

And they had.

He looked up, to find Kirk regarding him intently from across the small room. “My apologies, Captain,” the ambassador said. “My thoughts turned…elsewhere. You were saying?”

The human shook his head slightly, his hazel eyes softening. “I want you to know, Ambassador, that I admire you and Spock for continuing with this mission…despite everything that’s happened.”

“Work is an anodyne to grief, Kirk,” Sarek said. “Or, at least…it presents a distraction.”

“Yes, I know,” the captain replied simply. “Ambassador…” He hesitated.

“Yes?” Sarek said, raising an eyebrow.

“I may be overstepping, here, but I just wanted you to know that…that Spock…” Kirk was struggling to find words. Sarek nodded encouragingly. The captain tried again. “He’s taking his mother’s death very hard,” he said in a rush. “With some people, it’s a relief to transmute grief into anger. If you don’t mind a word of advice…be patient. Let him work through this on his own. He’ll…come around.”

The Vulcan regarded the human steadily. “I will keep your words in mind, Kirk,” he said quietly. “Patience is a virtue on Earth…on Vulcan, we are taught that it is an essential component of life.”

Kirk sipped his coffee in silence for several moments. “Kamarag,” he said, finally. “Ambassador, if he does have Peter, I’ll have to go to Qo’noS…and stage a rescue.”

Sarek shook his head. “Captain…alone? That would be…most illogical.”

“Rescuing Peter isn’t an official mission,” Kirk pointed out. “But…maybe I don’t have to go to Qo’noS alone. Chancellor Azetbur was rather grateful that I saved her life…possibly she’d be interested in knowing about what’s going on.”

“I would not tell her directly, Kirk,” Sarek cautioned.

“Why not?”

“There is no way for us to know who may be under the Freelan influence now,” Sarek reminded him. “Azetbur herself might even be suborned.”

“They’d never get close enough to her,” Kirk said, but the captain was clearly taken aback at the idea.

“Possibly you are correct. But what about her aides? If they discover what you know, and that you have shared your knowledge with the chancellor, that would make her, in turn, a prime candidate for assassination.”

“You’re right…. ” Kirk set his coffee cup down so hard it sloshed into the saucer. “Damn! This entire situation breeds paranoia. You can’t trust anyone!”

“I will speak with Azetbur. I may be able to discern from her expressions and speech patterns whether she has been influenced. I will attempt to warn her…subtly, as well as discover whether she knows anything about Peter.”

“Thank you, Ambassador. I’d appreciate that.”

Minutes later, Sarek sat before the comm link in his cabin, waiting patiently as the screen flickered. Finally it cleared, and familiar features coalesced before him. Sarek inclined his head respectfully. “Madame Chancellor.”

Azetbur inclined her head in turn. “Ambassador Sarek. I trust you are well?”

“I am, Madame. And you?”

“Entirely,” she said. “Allow me to offer condolences on your recent bereavement.”

“Thank you, Madame Chancellor.”

The Klingon woman gazed at him, and, for the first time since he’d known her, seemed at a loss. “I heard about the attempt on your life, Ambassador. It was a relief to know that Wurrl had failed. I take oath on my father’s honor, Ambassador, that neither Keraz nor Wurrl was acting under my direction.”

“I know that, Madame Chancellor,” Sarek assured her. “I sensed Wurrl’s mind telepathically during the struggle. He was definitely not allied with your government.”

The chancellor visibly relaxed. “What is the purpose of your call, Ambassador?”

Sarek hesitated for a second, carefully phrasing his inquiry in the most subtle and least revealing terms he could manage. “Madame Chancellor…there was an…illegality, a violent act, perpetrated against a Federation citizen on Earth eight Terran Standard days ago. I am…disquieted…to inform you that this…incident, at least on the surface, appears linked to Qo’noS. Evidence indicates that this…link may be highly placed in your government.”

Azetbur blinked, and Sarek was quick to note the faint flicker of surprise cross her face. She was learning fast…her expression barely altered before her features were, once more, an impassive mask. But the ambassador knew that, whoever had been responsible for young Peter Kirk’s abduction, it had not been done with the chancellor’s knowledge or sanction. “Qo’noS?” she repeated. “I assure you, Ambassador, I have no knowledge of any such crime. Unless, of course, you are referring to the renegades who captured Kadura?”

“No, Madame Chancellor, this concerns a different matter altogether,” Sarek said. “Incidentally, may I inquire as to whether Commander Keraz has been captured?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Azetbur said. “He is still at large.” She gave the Vulcan an impatient glance. “Ambassador, if there has been violence done on Earth by Klingons—especially by any who are government officials, then I must demand that you be more specific.”

“Madame Chancellor, your zeal does you credit—but you have misunderstood. I am neither accusing nor identifying any Klingon official as having committed crimes.”

“Then whatare you saying, Ambassador?” she snapped. “I do not care for verbal swordplay; I am a Klingon.”

Sarek nodded. “I assure you that I would be more specific if I could, Madame Chancellor, but I regret that I am not at liberty to explain at this time.”

“When you are free to explain, will you, Ambassador? I must confess that my…curiosity…is aroused.” Her dark eyes sparkled dangerously.

“You have my word,” Sarek promised. “Madame Chancellor…I am not at liberty to do more than make a suggestion, for I have no way to substantiate my suspicions, but…” He paused while she listened intently. “If…individuals within your government appear to behave in a manner that is suspicious, or uncharacteristic…” He hesitated again, choosing his words with infinite care. “It is possible that…an external agency is exerting undue influence upon them. I believe that these external agencies were responsible for Commander Keraz’s actions at Kadura.”

Now it was Azetbur’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Really, Ambassador? What an extraordinary statement.”

“I make it only as one living being to another, Madame…not in any official or diplomatic capacity. Guard yourself, Madame Chancellor. I have reason to believe the intent is to subvert the peace process your government and the Federation have recently embarked upon.”

“What kind of undue influence?” she demanded. “Bribery? Torture of family members? Drugs, or other chemical forms of coercion?”

Sarek shook his head. “No, Madame. None of those methods. I regret that I cannot be more specific; however, I have overstepped my authority in divulging even this much to you.”

She gave him a long, thoughtful look, but forbore to ask, evidently realizing he could not be persuaded to say any more. Sarek took a deep breath. One final test, now. “Incidentally, Madame Chancellor…”

“Yes?”

“Captain Kirk requested that I express his wishes for your continuing good health and success in your administration.”

The Klingon woman’s expression brightened…for a moment she nearly smiled. “Please express my thanks to Kirk, and tell him I wish him success, too. We were…gratified…to learn that he and theEnterprise will continue to serve the Federation.”

Sarek nodded. “I have enjoyed our talk, Madame Chancellor; however, I know your schedule is a busy one. I shall say farewell.”

“Thank you for your…warning, Ambassador. Be assured I shall be watchful.”

Sarek nodded, then held up his hand in the formal salute. “Peace and long life, Madame Chancellor.”

Again the faintest of smiles touched the Klingon woman’s mouth.“Qapla’!, Ambassador Sarek,” she said, wishing him success.

 

“Captain?” Uhura turned to regard her superior officer. “I have an incoming call for you. It’s Vice-Admiral Burton, sir.”

“I’ll take it in my quarters, Commander,” Kirk said, and then he added, in an undertone too soft for anyone but her to catch, “Put this on a shielded frequency, Uhura.”

She nodded as he left the bridge.

In his quarters, Kirk turned on his screen and Vice-Admiral Burton, Starfleet’s chief of security, appeared. After the captain had outlined the problem of Peter’s disappearance, concluding with Uhura’s finding that the ransom message had originated on Qo’noS, the admiral, a beefy man with a shock of thick white hair, frowned. “More terrorism,” he concluded. “This is obviously not your ordinary kidnapping for profit.”

“I agree,” Kirk said. “How do you want me to handle this, sir?”

“Investigate your nephew’s disappearance without any public fanfare,” Burton said. “And if there’s any possibility that this is reprisal against you personally, by the Klingons, you’d better abandon this notion of going in alone. I’m officially authorizing you to use theEnterprise for this mission. If the Klingons are involved, then it becomes a matter of Federation security—and that makes it official. But…Kirk. I meant it about keeping this quiet. The KEHL is gaining converts every day. Something like this would add fuel to the fire.”

“I understand, Admiral. Did your office come up with any information on that smuggler’s destination?” the captain asked.

“We’ve got a copy ofBobino’ s official flight plan, Captain. They were scheduled to take a load of gourmet foodstuffs to Alpha Centauri A…but they’re overdue. Way overdue.”

“Any idea where they went instead?”

Burton nodded grimly. “They picked up a cargo of high-grade dilithium ore in Sector 51.34 two days ago.”

Sector 51.34 was only a parsec or so from the Klingon Neutral Zone. Kirk nodded, unsurprised.

“Captain, this clinches it. I want you to get to the bottom of this…and soon.”

“I will, sir,” Kirk replied.

 

“Mr. President,” Sarek said, to the image on his comm link. “Greetings.” Gravely, he saluted the chief executive.

“Ambassador Sarek,” Ra-ghoratrei said. “Allow me to offer my most sincere condolences on your bereavement. I very much…regret…having called you to duty at such a time.”

“I discussed my mission to Kidta before leaving, Mr. President,” Sarek said, uncomfortable at having to speak of this now. “My wife understood its importance. But I did not call you to discuss Kidta, Mr. President.”

“What is it, Ambassador?”

“Sir…I believe that I have discovered a threat to Federation security. I have discovered evidence—evidence that I will soon be able to share with you—that the Keep Earth Human League may be funded and supported by off-world interests.”

Ra-ghoratrei’s pale eyes widened. “What? The KEHL? But they are…” He hesitated. “They are more than they seem, apparently…. ”

“Yes, Mr. President. I suggest that you authorize a full-scale investigation into the group. I believe that such an investigation may turn up surprising information.”

“Can you be more specific, Ambassador?”

“No, Mr. President,” he said, “I cannot, at this time. But I will be contacting you within a few days with, I hope, conclusive proof. In the meantime, I ask that you authorize a full investigation—although I do not believe that it should be a public inquiry. I will explain my reasoning later.”

“Ambassador,” Ra-ghoratrei said thoughtfully, “your service to the Federation is legendary. I will do as you ask…but I do insist upon the explanation you promised.”

“You will receive one, Mr. President. Two days—three at the most—should prove sufficient.”

“Very well,” the president said. “Until we speak again, then, Ambassador Sarek.”

“Live long and prosper, Mr. President.” Sarek raised his hand in salute.

After cutting the connection, the Vulcan sat for several minutes composing a detailed message to Ra-ghoratrei, with additional copies to the head of Starfleet Security, Vice-Admiral Burton, and the chairman of the Security Council, Thoris of Andor. The message gave a complete summary of his suspicions and findings, plus the data he had collected so far.

Then the Vulcan placed each message under a time lock. If theEnterprise did not return from this mission, Ra-ghoratrei would receive the message in five days, with the others receiving theirs in six.

 

When he finally got off duty that evening, Kirk was weary to the bone. They were now en route for the Klingon Neutral Zone. A few hours ago, he’d received official orders from Starfleet affirming Vice-Admiral Burton’s verbal orders. He was to attempt to locate and rescue Peter Kirk; then he was directed to place himself and his vessel at the disposal of Ambassador Sarek, who was currently on a special fact-finding mission for the Federation president.

Unsealing his maroon uniform jacket, Kirk slumped into a chair. The captain had a hunch that the entire mess was only beginning—that it was only going to get worse before it got better.Assuming it doesget better, which is a big assumption, he reminded himself.

And besides,he thought,you’ve got it easy, compared to Peter. What might the Klingons be doing to the young man, while he sat here, safe aboard his orbiting fortress? Thoughts of Klingon torture, mind-sifters and beatings, raced through his mind, and the captain shuddered.

At least Qo’noS isn’t Rura Penthe,he thought, trying to find comfort in the fact—but he was tormented by images of Peter being brutalized by Klingons like Old One-Eye. Klingon jailers weren’t noted for their kindness and compassion, to put it mildly.

He and Peter had grown close, over the years; Kirk knew his nephew better than the cadet suspected. He was aware of Peter’s feeling that he had to live up to his illustrious uncle’s example, and regretted inadvertently placing his nephew under that kind of pressure. But Peter was a Kirk, and he was bound to pressure himself to achieve, no matter what anyone said to him.

An image of the young man’s features drifted before his eyes, and Kirk shook his head wearily. Would he ever see him again…alive? Where was Peter? Was he even now being tortured?

With a muffled groan, Jim Kirk leaned his head in his hands.Hang on, Peter, he thought.Just hang on a little longer….