Savel stared at herself in the mirror as she brushed her thick, shining hair. Today she was wearing a long blue dress instead of her usual silvery padded tunic and snug trousers, and she felt more feminine than she had in a long time.

For a moment, she indulged herself by imagining what Soran might think if he could see her in this garb. He had been so courteous, so quietly attentive…it had been very flattering. Savel knew that most Vulcans were bonded by the time they were adults…was Ambassador Sarek’s young aide betrothed?

Surely not; if he’d been promised to another, he wouldn’t have stared at her quite so intensely. His eyes had been very dark, very earnest….

Savel suddenly wondered what would happen to Soran if her adopted uncle’s most cherished dream was realized, and war erupted between the Federation and the Klingons—followed swiftly by a full-scale Romulan invasion. Everyone knew that Vulcans were pacifists…but that word was not at all synonymous with “cowards.” If pushed to defend their homeworld, Savel was quite sure that the Vulcans would fight, and fight well.

And what if Soran was hurt…even killed?

Savel’s throat tightened, and she told herself she was being ridiculous. She’d only met the young Vulcan for a few hours; thinking about him now was senseless…illogical!

She stared at her reflection, wondering where Soran was, what he was doing at the moment. Would she ever see him again? Would she ever find someone on Freelan that she found as attractive? The odds against that happening were great—and not simply because she was so drawn to Soran. The young Vulcans residing on Freelan were technically free to intermarry with the Romulans…but few did.

To put it bluntly, the majority of the transplanted Vulcans on Freelan were regarded with suspicion and disapproval…though there were exceptions. Savel knew of several Vulcans-by-blood who had risen to high-ranking positions in the Romulan military—some had intermarried. One or two had even received vital political appointments.

But generally the transplanted Vulcans tended to seek each other’s society, rather than looking to the Romulans for mates or companionship. Was this because they had all grown up with the knowledge that they were a captive people? Or did their telepathic abilities set them apart?

Some Romulans were willing to accept and welcome the new additions into their society…but many more were like Taryn’s wife Jolana. Why? Was Jolana cold and withdrawn because she suspected Savel’s loyalty? Since many Vulcans-by-blood served in the military, and served well, that attitude was illogical. Or was their distrust and aversion due to jealousy or fear of the Vulcan telepathic abilities? There was no way to be sure without a deep mind-meld, and Savel had no desire for such intimacy with her adopted “aunt”…so she would never know.

With a sigh, she smoothed down the skirt of the blue dress, and headed for the door of her room. Tonight she and Taryn would be leaving aboard his ship. The commander would take command of the invasionary force that was being assembled and supplied near Remus. Savel held no military rank, but her telepathic skills made her invaluable in espionage efforts.

As she stepped through the door, Savel thought for a moment more about Soran, but she forced the image of the handsome young aide’s face from her mind. She would never see him again…thinking about him was illogical.

Squaring her slender shoulders, head high, Savel resolutely went to find her uncle, so they could plan what their strategy would be during the upcoming war.

 

Peter Kirk paced restlessly, turning again and again to stare through the observation port at the front of his cell. It had been three days since Valdyr had fled from him. Three days.

He was still fed regularly, his meals brought now by different Klingon guards, but she had not returned. The guards had come and gone as quickly as possible, sparing him barely a glance.

The cadet discovered that, for the first time since this whole thing had started, he was afraid—gut-wrenchingly, genuinely afraid—but not for himself.

Could Kamarag have observed Valdyr’s behavior toward her prisoner and considered it disloyal or treacherous? Could she have been punished for their conversations, for…touching him? He ran his thumb over the healing wounds on his palms, as if trying to reassure himself that that passionate handclasp had actually happened, that he hadn’t imagined the entire thing. No, it had happened. He glanced at his hand. Oh yes, it had happened.

But where was Valdyr? What if she never returned?

At the thought of never seeing the young Klingon woman again, Peter swallowed painfully.Valdyr…

Peter opened his fist and stared down at the marks of her nails. What had happened between them?

Or, at least…what had happened tohim? He scowled, fighting the reality, struggling against the truth…. Peter groaned inwardly and struck the wall of his cell with his fist so hard that he winced from the pain. But even that couldn’t distract him. The truth was still there, immutable, unmistakable….

How long was he going to go on lying to himself?

All right, dammit!Peter finally admitted.I love her. I’m a fool!

It was inconceivable that he should love her—a Klingon! When had it happened? How could it have happened? Were Klingons and humans even biologically compatible? Who even knew? And yet…trying to deny how he felt would be like denying that he had two hands, or two eyes…or one heart.

Very little was known about the complexities of Klingon society, though there was plenty of speculation. Some of the things he’d heard about the sexual capacity of Klingon women would’ve made an Orion slaver blush. It was probably nothing but sleazy speculation, he knew—the same kinds of things had been said about other groups at other times. Peter had paid such gossip little mind…until now. But now thinking of those things brought images to his mind…images….

Did Klingons love like humans? Were they even capable of similar emotions? More importantly, was there any hope at all that Valdyr might ever have the same feelings for him, or would she just find the whole thing one more dishonorable complication in a situation that was causing her considerable soul-searching and anguish?

There had been women in Peter’s life, and some of them he’d loved—or, at least, he’d thought so at the time. Yet the most intimate moments with them had not moved him the way that touching Valdyr’s hand had. Peter tried telling himself this was just a greater manifestation of Stockholm Syndrome, but neither his emotions nor his hormones were listening.

Love? Yeah, let’s get really kinky, here, Peter. You’ll probably never see her again until they haul you out to that platform, where she’ll be waiting to perform thebe’joy’on you, with Uncle Jim as a witness. You’ll really enjoythat,won’t you? You’ll lovethat, right?

Suppose…suppose…she’d refused to perform thebe’joy’. Maybe that was why she hadn’t returned. Suppose one of the guards who’d been delivering his meals got the job because she’d refused and her uncle was furious. What if he died without ever seeing her again, at the hands of a stranger?

The cadet sank onto his bunk, cradling his head in his hands, feeling despair ready to overwhelm him.

Something made him glance back at the observation portal, and suddenly, as if his desire had conjured her up, Valdyr stood there, staring at him expressionlessly. She said nothing, standing at attention like the good Klingon warrior she yearned to be.

Slowly, he got up and walked toward the portal, trying to frame words. Valdyr’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly and he stopped dead in his tracks, suddenly wary. Something was wrong….

She wasn’t alone. Without warning, Kamarag stepped into view. With him was another soldier, one Peter dimly remembered seeing before. Hadn’t this guy been one of the goons who had come to get him out of his cell aboard the transport vessel?

Valdyr no longer met his eyes. Was it time for thebe’joy’? Peter swallowed, but stood tall, head high. He would not shame himself….

“Ah, the young Kirk,” the ambassador murmured approvingly, addressing Valdyr in Klingonese. “He looks fine, niece. Strong. Healthy. You have done well.” Kamarag eyed Peter through the portal as if sizing up a side of beef. “Cadet Kirk!” he said in English. “Do you know what day it is?”

“No, Ambassador,” Peter replied, in the same tongue, “I do not.”

“It is the day I will have my revenge!” Kamarag informed him. For a Klingon, his demeanor was positively jovial. “Even now your uncle speeds to our rendezvous, where I will take him prisoner. As soon as I have him, Karg here will bring you and Valdyr to join us.” He indicated the other male. Peter stared at the warrior. So this was Karg…no wonder Valdyr hated him.

“Aboard my flagship,HoHwi’, we shall all enjoy an old Klingon ritual. Tell me…do you find my niece attractive, young Kirk?”

Peter refused to show fear. “Any male would,” he said, honestly.

“Good, good! I like your spirit…it will add immeasurably to thebe’joy’! No doubt you have longed in the past days to find yourself…close…to her, hungered for her touch? Even human males are not immune to a lovely female’s charms, that is obvious. Well…I am happy to tell you that you will soon have your wish granted. Soon, you will be very close to Valdyr indeed—while she separates your skin into its many fragile layers inch by bloody inch! By the time she is finished with you, she will know you…intimately. Outside…and inside.”

Kamarag guffawed, and Karg did, too.Good grief, Peter thought, refusing to feel the fear that wanted to claw its way out of him with a shriek.Where did this guy learn English? Reading Edgar Rice Burroughs? He sounds like he comes from Barsoom….

Kamarag was still grinning. “No doubt your uncle will enjoy the spectacle; he will, after all, be the next to succumb to it!”

Peter said nothing. He would not let himself be baited…besides, Kamarag was, finally, saying something of real interest.

“And as soon as thebe’joy’ is finished, my fleet will speed into Federation territory—and all the riches that await us there.”

Peter was stunned. He had thought that Kamarag’s only interest lay in torturing him and his uncle. He’d had no idea the ambassador had a “fleet” of his own and was planning to start a war!

“Your fleet?” he dared to ask, hoping Kamarag would keep talking, keep boasting.He must mean the renegades who were causing so much trouble….

“Yes indeed. I have a sizable force accumulated of captains who are ready to take back their honor as Klingon warriors! Together, we will reduce your Starfleet to scrap metal.”

Dream on,Peter thought. The ambassador had lost his mind if he seriously thought he and his “fleet” could conquer the Federation. Starfleet would wipe them out, there was no doubt. But—Peter repressed a shiver—he also had no doubt that Kamarag and his cohorts would wreak terrible destruction on the worlds closest to the Neutral Zone before they were stopped.

The ambassador turned so that his niece would be sure to hear him. “By the timeChancellor Azetbur learns of our action, it will be too late. At last, we will all regain our honor!” He faced Peter again, noted how the young man was eyeing the walls of his cell. “It is a terrible thing to be held prisoner while events of such magnitude unfold around you, is it not, young Kirk?”

Peter refused to give him the satisfaction of a reply.

Valdyr’s face never changed expression, yet she seemed to be struggling with emotion. “My uncle,” she said softly, pitching her words for Kamarag’s hearing alone, turning her back on Karg, “I ask that you reconsider what you are about to do. Attacking the Starfleet isHoh’egh.”

Of course Valdyr realizes it’s suicide,Peter thought, his spirits rising slightly.Kamarag may be crazy, but she’s not….

The ambassador stared down at her. “You are worried for me, niece?”

Valdyr nodded. “Not only for you, Uncle. For all of our people. Our world isdying, my uncle,” she insisted, still speaking softly, but passion now tinged her voice. “We have neither the technology nor the means to save our people. By working with the Federation, Chancellor Azetbur hopes…”

“Enough of this!” Kamarag growled, losing his patience. “I will not hear another word about that depraved female and how she will save the Klingon Empire! Mention that name again, Valdyr, and you will have more to fear from Karg than your wedding night!”

Valdyr flushed deeply, and she set her jaw. She drew herself up as tall as she could, and this time she addressed both males. “Is this how you would control me, Uncle, bythreatening me with a husband? Is this how a Klingon male earns his female’s loyalty—through fear? Where is your honor? You—”

Karg’s fist shot out faster than Peter’s eyes could follow, smashing brutally into her jaw. She hit the ground hard, but never uttered a sound.

Valdyr’s face was swelling, and her lip was split and bleeding, but he knew from personal experience she could handle that. Her hand went for her dagger automatically, but Karg anticipated it and grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully. She endured it without flinching, as the powerful warrior leaned down close to her face.

“Your disrespect to your uncle is disturbing, Valdyr,” he warned her. “Do not think I will tolerate such attitudes from my wife. Where are your loyalties? To yourfamily, or to that perverted female who has usurped the rightful role of a male?”

“I am a Klingon!” Valdyr snarled. “My respect and my loyalties are to my family, Karg—of which you are not a part!”

“That will be rectified soon enough,” Karg reminded her. “We will be wed as soon as James T. Kirk dies beneath your knife. Then you will be mine! And you will learn respect…. ” Hauling her up by the front of her armor, he backhanded her hard enough to snap her head back. She blinked, dazed.

Peter slammed against the viewing port before he even realized he’d moved forward. He pounded his fists against the glass. “Karg, you coward!” he heard himself shouting, barely remembering to speak English. “You want someone to fight, come in here and take me on. I’ll flatten you, you bastard, just like I did thelast time.”

His taunts had the effect he intended. Karg’s face suffused with rage and he released Valdyr and moved toward the viewing port. Kamarag stopped him with a gesture.

“Enough of this,” Kamarag said to Karg. “I must fetch James T. Kirk. Wait for my call, then bring Cadet Kirk to me at the head of my fleet. Once this business is done, you can enjoy your wedding night in Federation space, as we head for the nearest colony!”

Karg gave Valdyr a last, sneering glance; then the two males left.

Peter pressed against the port, straining to see down the hallway, trying to determine if Karg and Kamarag were out of earshot. He turned back to Valdyr, and was surprised to find her intense black eyes focused on his face, as if she were trying to look through him. “Valdyr!” he whispered. “Are you all right? Valdyr?”

She glanced down the hallway, then finally climbed to her feet and came over to face him. “You meant what you said to Karg, didn’t you?”

“What?” He shook his head, unsure he’d fully understood her.

“Do you understand what you said to him, how he interpreted it?” she asked again.

Peter just stared. “What was not to understand? If I could’ve gotten my hands on him, I’d’ve mopped the floors up with him, I’d’ve…”

She shook her head. “You challenged him as an equal. Warrior to warrior. You refused to let him view you as a helpless human prisoner. You challenged him—over his woman.”

Peter felt his barely suppressed rage bubble over. Clenching his fists, he pounded one hand hard against the viewing port. “You’renot his woman!”

“My uncle has arranged the mating. It will be done.”

“Like hell it will!” Peter raged, feeling jealousy overwhelm him. The thought of Karg “claiming” Valdyr on the much-referenced wedding night made him crazy. “He’ll touch you over my dead body! He can’t have you!” Hearing himself beginning to sputter incoherently, he wound down.

“I will ask you the same question you asked me so many days ago, Pityr,” Valdyr said softly, in a tone he had never heard her use. “Why do you care? What does it matter to you who touches me?”

He ground his teeth. Better to say nothing than to have her laugh in his face, or give her something to taunt him with when he had to endure her knife. But something in her eyes compelled truth. “It matters to me. It matters a lot. The man…who touches you…should do so with respect…. ”

She never took her eyes from his. “That will never happen, Pityr. My uncle is about to betray his government, a course of events that will eventually bring about either the destruction of our world, or, at the very least, of our family. And the man…who would touch me with…respect…will soon be dead…by my hand…. ”

What…what does she mean by that?Peter stood plastered against the window, as close to her as he could get, afraid to interpret her words too freely…afraid to hope.

“Pityr…” Her voice was hoarser than usual. “I cannot stay long. I—”

“Where were you?” he demanded. “You’ve been gone for three days!”

“I was here,” she said tonelessly, not looking at him. “I came down once, while you were asleep, to look at you. But I could not talk to you until I…” She trailed off.

“Until you what?” he asked softly.

“Until I knew my own mind,” she admitted.

“What does that mean?”

“After the other day…I sent a message to my uncle, asking him to release me from this duty. But he…he refused.”

“Why did you ask to be released?” Peter asked, wishing she’d look up at him.

But she kept her eyes downcast. “Qo’noS…is not a good place to live, since Praxis exploded. Half of the moon was blown into a very long elliptical orbit that in fifty years will finally intersect with this world…which will mean the end for life on this planet. So many meteors will impact that it will destroy our atmosphere, crush our homes and land. Even now, Qo’noS is encircled by a ring of debris that reminds us night and day that our time is limited.

“Meteor showers are now common. One of your human months ago, my mother was at home in HatlhHurgh with my oldest brother. A shower fell, and our home was destroyed, my mother and brother killed. My father had died three years ago, when your uncle destroyed his own vessel to trap Kruge’s crew. So my three living brothers and I had no one. Kamarag took us all in. He is now the head of my family, Pityr!” Her voice was tight and brittle, and she shook her head so hard her thick braid slid across her breastplate. “Honor demands that I serve him, and do as he wishes!”

“Well, you are doing that,” Peter said, feeling his throat tighten as he glimpsed her expression.

“But to serve him, I have to be prepared to betray the leader of the Empire, Chancellor Azetbur. I have to share the responsibility for the death of our homeworld. Without the Federation to help us, everyone on Qo’noS will eventually die! And…worst of all…I must personally bring about your death!” She moved closer to the window, until she was pressed against the glass, even as he was. “Pityr…Pityr-oy…” She closed her eyes, but the anguish in her voice was unmistakable.

The cadet froze as he took in what she had just said, feeling a surge of incredulous joy. The suffix “oy” was used as an endearment. “Valdyr…” he whispered. “Valdyr, look at me…”

Finally, she looked up. Carefully, Peter stuck his hand through the slot, until his fingertips brushed hers. He stroked the tips of her fingers, his heart pounding. “Valdyr-oy…” he whispered, his blue eyes holding her dark ones.

She gazed at him incredulously; then he felt her fingertips slide over his, and suddenly she was touching his palm gently, rubbing her fingertips against the crescent wounds there. He in turn felt the small scabs from his own nails that were sheltered in her palm. “How can this be?” she whispered, her voice a mixture of anguish and joy. “It is not possible. We are not the same people. We are alien to one another. Enemies by blood…”

“Not anymore,” he protested softly, “not enemies. Not by blood. We have shared blood. We are part of each other.”

“Impossible,” she repeated, as if trying to convince herself. “Humans are weak and cowardly. They have no heart, no endurance. They cannot fight, they have no will to do it. They stink of fear. Human males have no stamina, no passion. All they can do in bed is talk. A Klingon woman would kill any human male foolish enough to bed her.”

“Is that what they say?” Peter murmured, losing himself in her dark eyes. “Well, on my world they say things, too. Klingons never bathe, so they smell. They are stupid, ignorant savages who live on base emotions, allowing their passions to rule their lives. They rut like animals. Klingons cannot weep…because they cannot love.”

She looked shocked to hear that Terrans had prejudices that equaled those on her own world. “Do they say that?” she murmured, and he nodded, silently. “But Pityr…I am learning that what they say is not true. I have seen you fight like the finest warrior, against odds so great, there was no way to win. You fought…and almost won. I had never seen such heart, such will to win…such stamina…”

He clasped her hand in his tightly. “I am learning, too. You’re always clean, and your fragrance reminds me of apricots. You’re so smart, you’re the only one here who has the sense to see what the future holds. And I’ve heard anguish in your voice…a sorrow too noble for tears. I know you don’t want to hurt me. I understand you are just doing what you must.”

She shook her head. “You believe it is true, then?”

It was his turn to be confused.

“That, because we cannot weep,” she explained, “we cannot love.”

“No, I don’t believe that.”

“But you believe that I could still bring about your death? Even now?”

“I thought…when you explained about your uncle…”

“The days I stayed away…I did so…because no matter how I felt about my family loyalty, I realized…that I could not live with the betrayal of Azetbur, and the destruction of my planet…and more than that…I could not live with your death.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

She released his hand, glanced up and down the hallway. “I do not know yet. You will have to trust me.”

He shrugged, smiling. “My fate has been in your hands since I first arrived here, Valdyr.”

A look of pleasure washed across her face, and then she was gone, leaving him with nothing but the memory of her touch.

 

Commander Taryn sat in his quarters aboard the Romulan bird-of-preyShardarr, reviewing intelligence communiqués from Romulus. Savel, who sat opposite him, watched alertly as the commander’s expression darkened. “What is it?” she asked, when he finally looked up.

“Matters may be moving more precipitously than we anticipated,” he replied, the lines in his craggy, raptor-beaked countenance deepening. “Kamarag has gathered a squadron of renegade captains around him by offering them Federation plunder and amnesty from the new government he claims he will head. He is clearly planning some kind of coup to coincide with his raid into Federation space. His squadron is currently assembling in space, not far from Qo’noS.”

Savel digested this news in silence. Itis really going to happen, she thought. The war…the war that Taryn had planned for his whole life. Andshe had been the one to bring it about. Vividly, she remembered touching Kamarag’s mind, inflaming his hatred for Kirk. It hadn’t been difficult…the Klingon’s hatred had already been like magma beneath a planet’s crust…. “But this is what you wanted, what we planned for,” she said, finally.

“But the speed with which this is happening is a problem for us.” Taryn rose from his antique carved desk and paced restlessly across the small office, stopping for a moment to regard the extensive collection of ancient weapons hanging on the wall. Some of them were so old that they predated the Romulan exodus from Vulcan, following the Surak reformation. The commander stood for a moment, ostensibly studying a traininglirpa —one with a hollow bludgeon and a dulled blade.

Savel had a good knowledge of the tactical situation they now faced. But she had no idea of what information Taryn had gained from those communiqués. “What problem?” she asked.

Taryn handed her the communiqués, inviting her to scan them for herself. “Kamarag is doing far more than we expected. He plans to topple Azetbur’s government—not simply to lead a renegade raid. We did not anticipate this.”

Savel scanned the messages quickly, then nodded agreement. “He has gone too far to simply go home after his raid. There is no way that Kamarag can keep his actions secret, now…not with this many people involved. The ambassador has evidently decided that the time has come to make his break with Chancellor Azetbur’s government. How do you think he will proceed,Vadi?”

“I believe that, once Kirk is dead, the ambassador will initiate hostilities by leading his squadron across the Neutral Zone in an all-out attack on the nearest Federation world. He will use the publicity from that to declare himself a war leader, and thus sway the public to his side. Staging a military coup will then be easy.”

Savel raised an eyebrow as that notion sank in. “If Kamarag does that…such an action would indeed precipitate all-out war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire.” Silently, the young Vulcan woman considered, as she had been considering for the past several days, the ramifications of interstellar war.

Memories surfaced in her mind, from the days before she’d come to live with Taryn and his family. There had been eleven Vulcan children in the creche, many of them orphans whose parents had suicided rather than be forced to engender more children to live on Romulus, Remus, or Freelan. And in the very early days…there had been an old one, an ancient Vulcan who had been brought in to teach them their native language. Sakorn had been his name, and he was blind.

Savel vividly remembered the afternoons she and the other children had spent with Sakorn during those language lessons. The ancient Vulcan had also, whenever he could avoid the watchful eye of the other teachers, attempted to imbue his charges with Vulcan ethics and values.

“War is an unconscionable waste of resources, and the most illogical of tactics,” she remembered him saying quietly, one summer afternoon, as they’d all sat in the school courtyard together. “There are no winners in war…only losers. The innocent pay, and the guilty grow ever richer and ever greedier. Violence breeds violence, and the cycle of avarice and corruption is nearly impossible to break. There is no excuse for a civilized being to resort to war…there are always alternatives to bloodshed.”

Savel didn’t know whether she completely agreed with Sakorn’s pronouncements—but her memories of the old one were still vivid enough to make her breath catch in her throat as she imagined what he’d say if he knew what she’d done.

“War…” she repeated, hearing the doubt in her own voice. “What you have been working to achieve for all these many years…”

“Indeed,” the commander replied, taking down an ancient Vulcansenapa and examining the scythelike obsidian blade, careful to touch only the handle, for the cutting edge was dipped in the traditional poison. He frowned down at the weapon, seemingly studying the flowing streaks of red amid the black stone. “This development will, in all likelihood, benefit us in the end. The more fragmented the Klingon Empire is, the easier it will be to conquer. But Kamarag is moving so much faster than I had anticipated…he is proceeding too swiftly. Our forces are days away from being able to take full tactical advantage. And if Kamarag kills Kirk tomorrow, and then proceeds full-scale into Federation space…the Federation and the Klingons could be engaged in all-out war within a handful of days. The praetor has ordered full mobilization of all forces, under my direct command…but I do not know whether we can be ready to invade in time.”

Savel glanced at the small viewscreen that showed the vista of stars as seen fromShardarr ’s bridge. Events, like the stars, seemed to be moving toward them too fast. “Is there anything we can do to slow the ambassador?”

“I cannot think of anything,” Taryn said.

At the sound of the intercom, both turned toward the comm link. “Taryn here,” the commander snapped as he activated it.

“Commander, I have that tactical analysis prepared that you requested,” came the voice of Taryn’s second-in-command.

“Excellent,” Taryn said. “Call a meeting of all senior officers in my conference chamber. We will be there directly.”

Motioning to Savel to join him, the commander strode out of his office and down the narrow, utilitarian corridor.

Once they reached the sparsely furnished conference chamber, with its huge comm link that dominated the bulkhead, the young Vulcan woman sat in her accustomed place on the commander’s left. One by one, his senior officers filed into the room. They were all young, handpicked by Taryn to serve aboard his ship and intensely loyal to him.

Taryn began the meeting by having his second-in-command, Poldar, give a briefing on the current tactical situation. Savel watched as he pinpointed the location of Kamarag’s renegade squadron, then pointed out the locations of their own vessels. Several would reach the area within two days, but others would not arrive for another five or six.

The fleet was massing…the largest fleet ever assembled in Romulan history. AndShardarr would spearhead the attack, if all went according to plan.

“What about Federation vessels?” Taryn asked.

“There are a number in Sector 53.16,” Poldar said, “but none close enough to trouble us until we are well across the Neutral Zone. With the exception of one vessel, Commander.”

Taryn raised one slanting eyebrow, inviting the centurion silently to continue. “Commander, I speak of theEnterprise. Kirk’s ship lies directly in the course Kamarag’s squadron will take across the Neutral Zone.”

“Enterpriselies in the path of Kamarag’s invasionary force?” Taryn repeated slowly, plainly taken aback.

“Yes, Commander,” Poldar said. “We received a new batch of intelligence reports just as I was leaving the bridge for this meeting. We have a positive identification on the ship…it is definitely Kirk’s.”

“That is not good,” Tonik, the senior helm officer, said flatly. “If Kamarag’s squadron encounters theEnterprise, they may be decimated.”

“Not evenEnterprise can defeat half a score of ships,” Taryn pointed out, the faintest touch of scorn in his voice. “And Kirk…Kirk is not with the ship. He is keeping a rendezvous elsewhere.” Despite the commander’s confident air, Savel noted the lines of strain deepen between his brows.

“Even if Kirk is not there, he will have left one of his senior officers in command of his vessel,” Tonik pointed out, mildly. “And even if Kirk is not with his vessel, that by no means makesEnterprise easy prey.”

“Yes,” one of the junior officers chimed in, “and with only five or six Klingon ships remaining, Kamarag’s force might not be threatening enough to bring out the Federation fleet in force. And the fewer Starfleet ships assembling to defend the Neutral Zone, the fewer captains we can induce to cross into Klingon space…should that tactic prove necessary to gain our ends.”

“I regret to say that I have more news that may not please you, Commander,” Poldar said, pausing to glance at another communiqué. “Intelligence has confirmed the presence of Ambassador Sarek aboard theEnterprise.”

Taryn straightened abruptly, and now hewas frowning. “Sarek…” he repeated, and his officers watched him silently.

After a moment’s contemplation of their newest piece of news, Taryn rose from his seat and brusquely dismissed his officers. Savel stayed, knowing that the order did not apply to her. When the chamber had emptied, she stepped closer to her adopted uncle, touched his sleeve. Taryn, who had been gazing straight ahead, eyes hooded, his expression unreadable, startled slightly and looked around.

“What is it,Vadi?” she asked, softly.

“Why is Sarek aboard that ship?” Taryn asked, his jaw muscles tight with tension. “What is he planning? Sarek never does anything without a reason…. ”

“I do not know,Vadi,” Savel said. “The one time I was in his presence, at Camp Khitomer, I tried to ‘read’ him—and could not. His shielding is surprisingly good.”

“How much does he know?” demanded Taryn, thinking aloud. “He tried to break into our data banks…I am certain he was somehow responsible for the malfunction that nearly shut the entire system down that night he was aboard our station.”

“How do you know that?” Savel was taken aback to hear about the data banks.

Taryn made an impatient gesture. “I cannot prove it. He left no betraying trace. But I am certain that malfunction masked some espionage attempt on his part. Did he gain access? Copy data? Is it possible that he actually obtainedproof of our plans?”

Grinding one fist into his palm, he strode restlessly around the conference chamber, frowning. “No,” he said, after a moment, answering his own question. “He has no proof. He would have contacted Ra-ghoratrei if he did…and our contact in the president’s office would have informed us.”

“But he did speak to Ra-ghoratrei yesterday,” Savel pointed out. “The report said so.”

“Yes, but only to warn him against the KEHL. No…he has no proof. I am sure of that. But now…to make sure he does not gain proof…I must lure him to me…and kill him.” Taryn said the last slowly, as though he almost regretted the necessity.

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

He turned to regard her as though he’d forgotten her presence. “No…I know Sarek. He is too proud, too stubborn to go to Ra-ghoratrei with a tangle of speculations for which he has no concrete proof. He is aboard theEnterprise at this moment because he has come in search of that proof! Now we have a few days before the fleet assembles. During that time…” A muscle tightened in Taryn’s jaw. “Sarek must die.”

“But if he is aboard theEnterprise… As Tonik said, she will not be an easy ship to destroy.”

“No…but if I can lure Sarek to Freelan, I could order one of the squadrons on Freelan to waylayEnterprise and destroy her en route.”

“And if Sarek refuses to come to Freelan?”

“Then we will have to lureEnterprise away from her present position, possibly across our Neutral Zone.”

“Why? What purpose would that serve?”

“Two things would be accomplished.” Taryn’s expression lightened into almost one of pleasure. “First,” he held up one finger,“Enterprise would be out of the way of Kamarag’s squadron, allowing the Klingon to enter Federation space in full force. And, two”—he held up a second finger—“the delay involved while I allowedEnterprise to search forShardarr—”

“Without finding her until you choose, I presume.”

“Correct…that time delay will allow at least one or two of our other ships to join us. Facing three, even four cruisers or birds-of-prey, the starship will be outgunned. During the time they waste while hunting us, we will jam their communications to keep Sarek from sending a message to Raghoratrei. Then, when we are certain of victory,Shardarr and the other ships will decloak…and we will finish them.”

“A good plan,Vadi,” Savel said hollowly. Suppose Sarek had brought Soran with him?He would be killed, too. “But…is there no other way? Sarek…I have heard you speak of him so many times as almost a…friend. Is there no way to spare him?”

“It is regrettable,” Taryn said bleakly, the expression in his dark eyes revealing his own turmoil. “However, I can think of no other way to insure that the ambassador does not warn Ra-ghoratrei of what he may have learned about us and our plans.”

“He may have already told the president. Killing Sarek may not prevent the Federation from discovering what is happening.”

“He has not told him. I am certain he has not. I know Sarek…I have studied his mind during our chess games. He is stubborn, and proud. He would insist on having incontrovertible proof…not mere suspicions.” Taryn sighed as he stared at the battle plan still frozen on the wall screen. “I do regret the necessity. I could have wished to keep Sarek alive, so he could be of use as a negotiator.”

 

Unable to sleep, Sarek rolled out of the narrow bunk and paced restlessly around the cramped cabin. Then, driven by an impulse he did not stop to analyze, he slipped on his robe and soft boots and, picking up Amanda’s journal, headed for the observation deck.

It was the middle of the shipboard “night,” so the ambassador encountered only a few crew members in the corridors or the turbolift. Halting before the door to the observation deck, Sarek touched the entry panel, then stepped into the starlit dimness.

WhileEnterprise was in warp, the stars appeared different than in subspace…each bore a trail of light caused by the effect of the spacewarp that allowed the vessel to exceed the speed of light. The closer the star, the more distinct the trail appeared to an observer. On the bridge, the ship’s viewscreens automatically filtered out the trails, in order to clarify the image, but here they showed distinctly.

Moving as silently as a shadow, Sarek walked to one of the chairs scattered about, and seated himself. He gazed outward, attempting to clear his mind, preparatory to finding his center. It had been so long since he had gained the tranquility found only in meditation.

Down…seek the center…concentrate effortlessly. Allow all external stimuli and surroundings to slip away….

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

The sound of a step intruded into his consciousness. Sarek’s eyes opened as he sensed a familiar presence, and he turned to see Spock hesitating just inside the door of the observation lounge.

“I regret the intrusion,” Spock said, coolly, formally, as he turned to go.

Sarek hesitated, wanting to call him back, not wishing to have this enmity between them. But he could not quite force himself to speak.

Suddenly the ambassador was struck by an overpowering sense of what humans called déjà vu—this had happened before…nearly forty-five Standard years before. Sarek blinked, and the memory surged up, as fresh and real as though it were actually happening….

 

The three of them were gathered around the table for the evening meal, and Amanda had prepared many of their favorite dishes herself, not trusting the selectors to season and spice every dish perfectly. Always sensitive to his wife’s moods, because of their bond, Sarek soon realized that Amanda was both preoccupied and nervous…though he could not think of any reason for her to be uneasy.

Eighteen-year-old Spock sat on his right, and the youth’s appetite, customarily healthy, was noticeably lacking.

Today Sarek had met with the head of the Vulcan Science Academy to discuss possible curricula for Spock’s education, which would begin next term. Sekla, the ambassador recalled (experiencing a flash of pride he did not trouble to suppress), had openly expressed his eagerness to guide and foster young Spock’s intellectual and logical development. His son’s intelligence profiles and school records were, in Sekla’s word, “impressive.” For a Vulcan, that was quite a compliment.

Sekla, Sarek had noted, had been carefulnot to say, “Impressive for one of half blood.” No mention had been made of his son’s shared heritage.

Now Sarek glanced inquiringly from his wife to his son. “My wife, this meal is exemplary. I thank you. Yet I note that neither of you appears to be hungry. Is something wrong?”

Amanda started, then obviously forced herself to relax as she turned to face her husband. Her brown hair had recently begun to show a few streaks of silver, but her soft features were relatively unlined, and her blue eyes were as sapphire-intense as ever. “Nothing is wrong, Sarek,” she said, but he could tell through their bond that she was equivocating…not actually telling an untruth, but coming perilously close to it. “However, I have determined to finish that translation of T’Lyra’s ancient poetry cycle tonight. My editor messaged me today to inquire about when it would be completed, and I have only two poems left. So I will take my leave of you. Spock”—she turned her gaze on her son, and there was an intensity in her eyes that hadn’t been there when she’d spoken to her husband—“will you help your father clear the table? That will give you a chance to talk.”

“But, Mother—” Spock began, half-protesting, but Amanda merely gave him a too-bright smile as she collected her own dishes and headed for the autocleaner in the kitchen. Her son avoided his father’s gaze as he snatched up his dishes and followed his mother into the kitchen.

Sarek hastily rose, gathered his own dishes, and followed him.What is transpiring here? he wondered, disquieted.

The elder Vulcan was just in time to hear Amanda insist, “You have to tell him, Spock. You know that.” Sarek hesitated, half-shielded by the doorway, and saw his wife give his son an encouraging smile. Spock gave her a wan half-smile in return. Sarek tensed as he saw it. His son’s control was virtually perfect in front of him, but, in the company of humans, it slipped occasionally. Once, on Earth, the ambassador had actually seen him grin when he’d thought he was alone, as the youth observed the antics of a pair of his grandparents’ kittens.

I will insist that Spock reside at the Science Academy during his course of study,Sarek thought.There are no humans there, and that should enable him to perfect his control.

Then Amanda left the kitchen, and Sarek stepped in. Silently, father and son tidied the kitchen and dining area. When they were finished, the elder Vulcan caught and held his son’s eyes. “What is it that you must tell me, Spock?” he asked bluntly.

His son took a deep breath. “Perhaps we might walk outside, Father? The Watcher should be just past full phase.”

“Certainly,” Sarek agreed.

Together, the two left the villa and walked into Amanda’s garden. As father and son walked slowly, Sarek glanced at his son’s face, saw that Spock’s mouth was drawn tight, making him appear older than his eighteen years. “Tell me what concerns you, Spock,” Sarek said, finally, seeing that the youth was not disposed to break the silence.

Spock drew a deep breath and halted, turning to face his father. His eyes were level, but for a moment a muscle jumped in the corner of his jaw…twitched once, twice, then was forcibly repressed. “Father, I decided some time ago that I did not wish to attend the Vulcan Science Academy,” he said, carefully enunciating each word. “I applied instead to Starfleet Academy. I learned today that I have been accepted as a cadet.”

Sarek heard the words, but it took a second for them to register. Ever since Spock’s early childhood, Sarek had watched his eager fascination with the universe, observed and fostered the development of his logical, scientific mind. For years science had been Spock’s consuming interest in life. And now he was talking about giving that up in order to wear auniform?

The ambassador gazed at his son, searching for words, knowing that he must make the youth recognize the gravity of this error in judgment.

“Spock,” he began, careful to keep his voice low, “it is obvious that this constitutes an unconsidered decision on your part. That is understandable…you are young, after all. But I cannot allow you to…waste your years of study. Your thinking processes and logical abilities are eminently suited for a scientific career.”

“I do not intend to give up science, Father,” Spock said, a spark of eagerness animating his features slightly when he realized that his father was willing to discuss his decision rationally. “Starfleet…serving aboard a starship…will provide an unparalleled opportunity for scientific exploration, observation, and study. As a science officer, I will be able to study the universe as I never could if I remained here on Vulcan.”

Spock’s control was slipping; his father could hear the passion tingeing his voice. Sarek stared at the youth stonily. “Spock…your control,” he chided.

The other’s eyes fell…all animation drained from his features. “I ask forgiveness,” he said, and Sarek caught just a hint of sullenness in his tone. “At any rate, Father, I have made my decision.”

“Spock, what happened just now is an excellent example of why I demand that you reconsider this decision,” Sarek pointed out. “In Starfleet, you will be among mostly humans. Your control is precarious enough. In the company of humans, it may be irrevocably damaged. You could disgrace your people…your entire lineage if you do this.”

“I will endeavor to perfect my control—” Spock began.

Sarek shook his head and continued, adamantly, “Spock, every time your control falters, you reflect poorly upon all of Vulcan.”

Spock’s features hardened. “My control is my own affair,” he said, coldly. “I wonder how my mother would react if she knew you were warning me against being ‘contaminated’ by her species.”

“Your mother has no part in this,” Sarek said curtly, feeling his anger at his son’s stubbornness threatening his own control. “She is not Vulcan, and this does not concern her.”

“Mother is in favor of my decision,” Spock said evenly. “She believes it will be beneficial for me to interact with many different kinds of beings. And I should point out that gaining acceptance into Starfleet Academy is far from easy, Father. Starfleet chooses only the top five percent of applicants.” The youth gave him a sideways glance. “Mother is proud that I have been accepted.”

Sarek heard the implied rebuke, but did not acknowledge it. “Assuming you graduate,” he said, “are you aware that you will be required to take an oath stating that you will do whatever is necessary to carry out your orders? Includingkill? Starfleet vessels carry formidable weapons, Spock! You would have to be trained in the use of them, as well as hand weapons. It is eminently possible that you would be called upon to kill another, in the performance of your duty.”

Spock’s expression did not alter. “There is talk of commissioning an all-Vulcan science vessel,” he pointed out. “Perhaps I will be assigned to that ship…”

“And perhaps you will not,” Sarek snapped. His own control was slipping, but, at the moment, he did not care. He paced up and down the garden path, his strides quick and jerky. “You will be a puppet, a toy for Starfleet to order about as they please. You will have no free will. Starfleet officers are respected by the masses, that is true. But no Vulcan has ever graduated from the Academy, my son! Our people are not suited for a life in the service!”

“That is something that remains to be seen, Father,” Spock said, with maddening calm. “I have decided that this is a step I wish to take. Do not think you can dissuade me. My mind is made up.”

“Your future is bright,” Sarek said, changing tactics. “I have little doubt that you will distinguish yourself as a scientist if you attend the Vulcan Science Academy. If you pursue this other path, however, you will have disgraced your family…your lineage. What would T’Pau say, if she could hear you planning to bring ruin upon yourself?”

“I have determined that this path is mine,” Spock said. “I cannot allow family opinion to dissuade me.”

“If you do this,” Sarek said, holding his son’s eyes with his own, putting every bit of intensity he was experiencing into his formal words, “you will not be welcome in my lands, your name will not be known to me. If you persist in disgracing yourself and your lineage, I will not be able to excuse you, either publicly or privately. You will bevrekasht to me, Spock, do you understand?”

Vrekasht…the ancient word meant “exile,” or “outcast.” Sarek regretted having to say it, but it was obvious that strong measures were required to make his son see reason in this.

Spock’s features hardened, and his mouth was a grim slash.“Vrekasht?” he repeated. “Is that not rather…overstating the gravity of the situation, Father? I have only chosen my life’s path…not murdered or mind-violated another.”

“If you persist in joining Starfleet, then I have no doubt that you will be called upon to do both, in the course of time,” Sarek said, inexorably. “I insist that you reconsider this disastrous course.”

Spock gazed at him for a long moment; then his shoulders straightened, and he raised his chin slightly. “No,” he said, coldly. “My decision stands. If you wish to name mevrekasht, then so be it. Farewell, Father.”

Without another word, the youth turned and strode away, up the garden path, toward the villa. Sarek watched him go, fighting with himself. Spock was correct: to name his sonvrekasht was extreme…and unjustified. Sarek wished he had not done it. The word “Wait!” surged through him, wanting to burst from his lips…but the ambassador clenched his teeth and the word died in his mouth, unspoken.

Spock’s tall figure was at the garden perimeter now…was still moving…it was not yet too late…it was—too late. Over. There was a last flicker of a Vulcan robe, and then his son vanished into the villa.

Go after him,one part of Sarek’s mind insisted, but he could not. He was correct, and he would not grovel, would not recant. Logic dictated that he wait for Spock to consider his words. Surely his son would come to his senses.

Sarek stared blindly at T’Rukh, waiting for Spock to reappear. An hour passed…two. Three, and the ambassador still waited, barely stirring.

Finally he heard a step beside him, and turned, only to find that it was Amanda who stood there. Traces of weeping still showed around her eyes, but her features were composed. “Where is Spock?” Sarek demanded.

“He beamed out an hour ago,” she replied, her expression as cold as the snows of her homeworld. “Our son is gone, Sarek.”

The Vulcan heard her words, unable to believe that Spock had not reconsidered, had accepted the sentence his father had imposed on him, and had left to pursue this illogical, distasteful career choice. “Spock…is gone?” he asked, finally.

“That is what I said.” Amanda’s voice was flat. “He told me that you declared himvrekasht, my husband. How could you?”

“I was trying to make him come to his senses,” Sarek muttered, still stunned by her pronouncement.

“That was a terrible, unjust thing to do, Sarek,” Amanda said. “You have done the unforgivable. Spock is my son, and I will not support you in this.” She took a deep breath. “I cannot stay with someone who could do what you have done today. I am leaving you, Sarek.”

“You are…leaving? Amanda,” he said, carefully, “I do not wish you to leave.”

“You have no choice, Sarek. I cannot stay with you anymore…after this.” For the first time, Amanda’s voice faltered slightly.

Sarek, noting that, said, “But you will be back, Amanda. You will return…. ”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Sarek. Perhaps. Or perhaps not. I only know that I can’t bear the sight of you at the moment. Farewell.”

Without giving him a chance to say anything more, she turned and walked away, just as her son had. Sarek stood in his wife’s garden, bathed in T’Rukh’s harsh light, alone.

Alone…

 

Sarek watched as the door to the observation deck slid shut behind his son. His fingers tightened on Amanda’s journal. Today he would read of her days without him. She had been gone for nearly a year, and they had never spoken of that time after she’d returned. What had she done in all those days?

Today he would find out.

Those days without her had been the worst of his life…in some ways, worse even than now.

Why had she come back? Sarek still wasn’t sure. His father, Solkar, had died, and she had appeared without warning at the memorial service. At its conclusion, Amanda had simply walked over to him, taken his arm, and gone home with him as though she had never been away.

They had never discussed the separation.

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

 

Spock walked along the corridor leading from the observation deck, almost wishing he had not left. His father had appeared so…alone. For a moment, Sarek had appeared actually…vulnerable.

But then memories of Amanda’s last hours surfaced, and the Vulcan’s lips tightened. Vulnerable? His father?

Reaching Kirk’s cabin, the Vulcan identified himself and was admitted. Kirk was still in uniform, though the captain had been off duty for over an hour.

“We will reach the rendezvous coordinates in one hour point thirty-two minutes,” Spock said, without preamble. “What are you planning to do, Captain?”

“We’re almost a full two days ahead of the deadline, Spock,” Kirk said. “Your father and I discussed this yesterday. He thinks, and I agree with him, that Kamarag is behind this. I believe he’s holding Peter on Qo’noS.”

“And?” Spock prompted, when the officer paused.

“And I’m going in to rescue him,” Kirk said. “With luck, I can take a shuttlecraft in, locate him by sensor, grab him, and get back to theEnterprise before Kamarag even reaches the rendezvous site.”

Spock nodded; he’d been expecting something like this. “I will go with you, Captain,” he said. “You cannot go alone.”

“I was planning to,” Kirk said. “Invading the Klingon homeworld single-handed is pretty foolhardy…even for me.” He shook his head, as if wondering at himself. “I can’t expect anyone to join me on such a harebrained mission.”

“You can expect your friends, Jim,” said a new voice, and Spock turned to see Leonard McCoy framed in the doorway behind him. “You know better than to think Spock and I would let you go off to tackle a whole planet of Klingons by yourself!”

Kirk grinned ruefully. “I guess I do,” he said finally, gazing at his friends and shaking his head. “After all, three stand amuch better chance than just one, against a whole planet…right?”

“You got it,” McCoy said. “Right, Spock?”

“Right, Doctor,” the Vulcan said, firmly.

Kirk spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. “All right, then…next stop, Qo’noS. I’ll meet you on the shuttlecraft deck in an hour.”