Hours later, a weary James T. Kirk piloted theTaj into theEnterprise ’s docking bay. Waiting for him in the docking bay was a welcoming committee consisting of a medical team, a grim-faced Mr. Scott, Commander Uhura, and Ambassador Sarek.

Within moments a medical team spirited Valdyr away, with McCoy and Peter in tow. Kirk stood at the top of the gangplank and watched the two of them, his heart aching a little for his nephew.Peter in love with aKlingon? But it had happened, there was no denying it. It was obvious that this was no casual affair; Peter had fallen, and fallen hard. Was there any possibility of a future for the two of them together? Any hope of happiness? He didn’t know….

Ten minutes later, once more in uniform, the captain hurried down the corridor, fastening the flap of his maroon jacket.

When he reached the conference chamber, he found his officers, plus Sarek, already assembled. Spock, also, was back in uniform. In contrast to his own weary dishevelment, the Vulcan was, of course, impeccably groomed and seemed as fresh as if he hadn’t played hide-and-seek on Qo’noS for the past fifteen hours.

Kirk lowered himself into a seat and addressed his chief engineer. “Status, Mr. Scott?”

“Well, Captain…I dinna know exactly what’s goin’on, but something worrisome is happening. Half an hour ago, we picked up a blip for about five seconds on our sensors—and then it was gone. Three minutes later, another…not far away. Just…blip, then gone. Over and over, sir. Never in the same space twice…but stayin’ just barely within the boundary of the Neutral Zone—th’RomulanNeutral Zone.”

“What do the sensors indicate?” Kirk asked. “Could it be Kamarag’s fleet?”

“Noo, sir, it’s not large enough for that. We canna get a full readin’, Captain, because it comes and goes so quickly. Just bits and pieces. It isna small, that’s for sure. I’d say ship-sized.”

“No possibility of it being a natural phenomenon?”

“Noo, Captain. My guess is that it’s a ship. A cloaked ship. It decloaks just long enough to register on our sensors as a blip, then it recloaks and moves. But never very far away.”

“A bird-of-prey,” Kirk said, and Scott nodded. “Klingon?”

“Possibly,” Spock said, studying the limited sensor data Scott displayed for their benefit. “But I think not. The ion traces are different from those we detected from cloaked Klingon vessels.”

“And, Captain,” Uhura spoke up, “there’s something else that’s suspicious about it. The instant we first picked it up, something began jamming our long-range communications. We can’t send subspace messages, sir.”

“Hmmmm…” Kirk sipped coffee, thinking hard. “Show me the blips,” he said, and Scott obediently called up a three-dimensional schematic on the conference table’s screen. Kirk studied the pattern as he finished his coffee. “What do you make of this, Spock?”

“I would like the opportunity to study it further,” the Vulcan said, gazing intently at the screen. Sarek also stared at the screen, barely blinking. Kirk could almost hear the Vulcan wheels turning.

“What would happen,” the ambassador said quietly, “if we were to move closer to it?”

“We can try,” Kirk said. “Mr. Scott, Commander Uhura, please report to the bridge to oversee maneuvers. Scotty, see how much of an ion trail our visitor is leaving. Uhura, try and determine the range their jamming signal has.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Aye, sir.”

Minutes later, with the two senior officers standing by, Kirk instructed the helm to head for the last recorded blip at one-eighth impulse power.

“Look!” Uhura exclaimed over the intercom as another blip abruptly flashed on, then off. This one was deeper into the Neutral Zone by several hundred kilometers.

“It’s like a game,” Kirk said, staring hard at the screen. “They want to lure us into the Neutral Zone.”

“A game,” Sarek repeated softly, an undercurrent of excitement in his voice. “Yes indeed…a game! But not follow-the-leader…watch closely…” The Vulcan’s long-fingered hands flashed swiftly over the computer controls.

As Kirk watched, the three-dimensional schematic was replaced by a three-level grid pattern—a familiar pattern. He turned to Sarek incredulously. “A chessboard, Ambassador?”

“Yes,” the Vulcan said, his dark eyes shining with pleasure from solving the puzzle. “And I recognize the game. Taryn is in command of that vessel. And those moves, those coordinates—they are identical to the moves Taryn made in one of our recent games.” He shook his head, adding, mostly to himself, “AVulcan gambit…of course he would employ one. A Vulcan gambit…it makes perfect sense. I should have realized it before.”

“But assuming thatis Taryn, why would he come here?” Kirk said.

“Because he wants me. He knows that I have uncovered the Freelan plan. I spoke to him while you were gone, and I deliberately baited him, trying to lure him into some reckless action…as I have done many times during our chess games. Now he is responding to my implicit challenge. He is moving his ship in the pattern of the last game we played that he won. He employed T’Nedara’s gambit, and there”—Sarek swiftly outlined a series of moves in red—“it is. The exact pattern of his moves in the game we played.”

“How many moves did he make during the entire game?” Spock asked, obviously fascinated. As they had been speaking, several more blips had appeared on the schematic.

“It was a long, hard-fought game. Each of us made hundreds of moves.”

“Are yousure, Ambassador?” Kirk asked, wonderingly. “Do you have any other evidence that this is Taryn? When he contacted you, what did he want?”

“He demanded a meeting between us in the Freelan system. I told him I would be unable to attend. As I said, I baited him. I could tell that he was angry, though of course I could not see his features. Now he does this,” he gestured at the screen, “as his next move.”

“But if he was on Freelan only hours ago—”

Sarek shook his head. “No. He merelysaid he was on Freelan. Commander Uhura confirmed that the message from Taryn was only routed through Freelan communications systems. The actual transmission originated inside the Romulan Neutral Zone.”

On Kirk’s order,Enterprise moved again, and again the unseen vessel responded with a series of moves. “The pattern is exact,” Sarek said. Catching Kirk’s still-skeptical glance, he marked a new location on the screen in purple. “The next move,” he said.

As the Vulcan had predicted, whenEnterprise moved again, the blip materialized for a second in those exact coordinates. Kirk shook his head. “Okay, let’s assume you’re right, for argument’s sake. But why the game? What does he want?”

“The game grid for his ship’s maneuvering coordinates is not the main point, Captain. Taryn would probably be surprised to realize that I have identified the pattern. He is simply amusing himself while he seeks to draw us closer to his ship…and away from the rendezvous point.”

Kirk turned to the monitor that showed Uhura and Scotty, who were listening in from the bridge, as ordered. “Commander, have you discovered the range of their jamming capability?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied promptly. “It extends for nearly a light-year in all directions. We’ll definitely have to move to get any kind of message out.”

“Great…” Kirk said, grimly. “Starbase Eight is two full days away, and that’s the closest help we can expect. And now we can’t even get a message out.”

“Captain,” Scotty put in, “what I dinna understand is why the devil the Romulans try to lure you away now, if they’re the ones who forced you to come out here in the first place? It doesna make sense!”

“It does if the Romulans wish to begin a war,” Sarek said, “between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. If Taryn has gone to this trouble to initiate hostilities, he undoubtedly wishes Kamarag and his fleet to cross into Federation space unimpeded.”

“Good point,” Kirk said. “So, really, Peter’s kidnapping was almost extraneous to the rest of this situation. The Romulans inflamed Kamarag—and this is the form his revenge took. In addition to attacking the Federation, he decided he had to get back atme, personally.”

“That would seem the logical deduction, Captain,” Spock said.

Sarek was staring at the growing schematic as if mesmerized. “We cannot continue to allow them to jamEnterprise ’s subspace communications. We must be able to send a message to Starfleet Command…and the president.”

“Why?” Kirk demanded. “I mean…to request reinforcements, yes, that I know. But why the president?”

“Taryn must realize now that I know about their plans. He is trying to prevent me from revealing what I know to Ra-ghoratrei or your Starfleet Admiral Burton.”

“It is fortunate,” Spock observed quietly, “that you sent that time-locked message.”

“At your suggestion,” Sarek reminded the first officer. “However, that message may not activate in time to prevent both a Romulan and a Klingon invasion.”

“So…what’s next?” the captain asked, rubbing his forehead.

“What do you mean, Captain?” Sarek asked.

“I mean that you’ve convinced me that that’s a Romulan ship, and that Taryn is commanding it. But as long as he doesn’t cross the Neutral Zone, I have no authority to go after him. And I can’t go far…Kamarag is on his way, remember, with that fleet. So what do I do now?”

“Our original goal remains unchanged, Kirk. We must obtain indisputable proof of the true nature of Freelan, and of the Romulan plot to instigate war…and to do that, I must transport over to Taryn’s ship and speak with him personally.”

Kirk regarded Sarek, his eyes narrowing. “Slow down, Ambassador. Why would you want to transport aboard that Romulan ship? Assuming I’d allow it…which I won’t. Beaming aboard a cloaked vessel? Something we can’t even get a reliable transporter lock on? That could be suicide. And even if you survived the beaming, don’t forget your destination.”

“I am willing to take the risks, Captain,” Sarek said gravely. “In fact, I insist upon it.”

“What could you hope to gain from dropping in on Taryn?” Kirk heard the exasperation in his own voice.

“Two things, Kirk,” Sarek said. “First, if I can catch Taryn without warning, he will not have time to assume his disguise. If I beamed over and recorded our interview on some type of scanning device, that would constitute the proof we seek. And, secondly, if Taryn knows that their plot is known to the Federation, he might be willing to negotiate for the lives of the Vulcans on Freelan…allow us to rescue those who wish to leave that world.”

“Why do you think he’d do that?” Kirk asked.

“Because of something I only now realized about the esteemed liaison…something I should have deduced long ago. Taryn has a vested interest in saving those Vulcans.”

Kirk gave Spock a “what the hell is going on?” look. The captain sighed. “All right, I grant you your point about getting your proof. But why should the Romulans care whether the Federation knows about their plan? Won’t they simply proceed with it anyway?”

Spock shook his head. “Unlikely, Captain. The entire Freelan plan was dependent on secrecy and surprise…and on the Klingons attacking the Federation, thus diverting troops and resources, forcing Starfleet to spread its defenses too thinly. If the fleet were warned, and war with the Klingons averted, the Romulans would stand no chance against the Federation.”

“Precisely,” Sarek said.

“Okay, I see what you’re getting at…but, Ambassador, I can’t allow you to beam over to that vessel, proof or no proof, kidnapped Vulcans or no kidnapped Vulcans. Starfleet would bust me down to yeoman duty for risking a person of your reputation on such a stunt.”

“I am willing to take the risk, Kirk,” Sarek replied. “Just as you have your duty, I have mine…and it is to do everything in my power to prevent a war…or the probable slaughter of transplanted Vulcan citizens.”

Kirk’s eyes met Sarek’s and held for a long moment. Slowly, Jim shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry, Ambassador Sarek, but the answer is no. It’s too risky. We can’t pinpoint the location of the ship closely enough.”

“Yes, we can,” Spock said, suddenly. “If the ambassador can predict its next location, then I can program the transporter to lock on to the bridge before it even appears.”

Kirk stared dubiously at the Vulcan officer. “Do you think he can accomplish anything over there, Spock?”

“I do not know,” Spock said, quietly. “It depends upon his plan.”

“Kirk,” Sarek said, earnestly, “I have known Taryn for more than sixty years. I believe I can predict his actions and reactions accurately enough to be able to choose the best technique for approaching him.”

“They’ll shoot you on sight, Ambassador!” Kirk replied.

“Not if I am beamed onto the bridge, where Taryn can see me. He will not summarily execute me. He may decide at some point that that is what he must do, but he will let me speak, first. And if I can speak with him…I can negotiate. If he will not listen, and chooses to kill me…I am willing to take that chance.”

“The ambassador does not have to go alone, Captain,” Spock said, stiffly. “I am volunteering to accompany him.”

You wouldn’t even know they’re father and son if you saw them like this,Kirk thought, inwardly shaking his head.Vulcans!

“Captain,” Spock said, “as soon as you beam us aboard, you must use the diversion to warp far enough away to be out of jamming range. Then you must transmit the data we will relay.”

Kirk hesitated, wavering. Finally, hearing an invisible clock ticking in his head, knowing that Kamarag’s fleet was on the way, he nodded curtly. “All right.”

The next minutes flew by in a blur as Sarek and Spock prepared the transporter coordinates that would place them aboard the Romulan vessel. Beaming would indeed be tricky: the transporter chief would have barely a second to fine-tune the location in order to make sure they arrived on the ship—and not in an area of space beside her, or beneath her.

“This recording device will function automatically,” Spock told his father in the transporter room, fastening a small instrument into place between two of the large cabochon gems on the ambassador’s formal robe. “It will transmit, and theEnterprise will record what it sends. If Taryn is indeed aboard, and you can induce him to identify himself, while showing his true features, that should constitute the proof we need.”

“All right. I pick up your transmission, warp out of here, and then message Starfleet and the president,” Kirk said. “Then what? I’ve got to come back here and intercept Kamarag. What do you want me to do about you two? Try to lock on and beam you back?”

“As soon as the message is sent, return to the rendezvous point,” Sarek said. “If my talk with Taryn has been successfully concluded, I will contact you to arrange for us to return. If not…there is not much chance that we will be alive to be retrieved,” he added, matter-of-factly.

Kirk sighed and nodded.I hope to hell this works….

Spock and Sarek stepped up onto the transporter pads. The captain nodded at the transporter chief. “Energize.”

 

Sarek heard the distinctive whine, felt theEnterprise ’s transporter chamber begin to dissolve around him…

And then he was materializing again. He saw, with a moment of brief, intense relief that he was again surrounded by bulkheads. At his side, Spock was re-forming. They had made it. He was aboard Taryn’s ship.

As he had requested, Spock had programmed their coordinates to place them on the bridge—a logical choice, since it was one of the largest, relatively open areas.

The ambassador heard gasps of shock, startled exclamations as the Romulans recognized both of them. Then, all around them, hands drew disrupters. In less than a second after they had finished beaming, Sarek found himself facing seven drawn weapons.

If I am wrong,the ambassador thought,and Taryn is not here—or is not the man I believe him to be—neither Spock nor I will live another minute.

But no blast of energy tore through him. Slowly, the ambassador pivoted, studying his surroundings. The bridge of a bird-of-prey was considerably more cramped than that of a Federation starship. All around him, uniformed Romulans sat before instrument consoles, their seats swiveled to face the intruders, the disrupters in their hands leveled unwaveringly.

UniformedRomulans? The Ambassador stared around him in surprise.No…not Romulans. At least…not most of them.

Sarek was astonished to realize that the individuals surrounding him at the various command posts werenot Romulans—they were Vulcans. He’d been expecting to find at least one Vulcan aboard Taryn’s ship—but not nine of them!

But these officers were, indisputably, Vulcans.

He could tell by the faint mental vibrations they exuded. On his own world, Sarek was used to that, and, like most of his species, had learned to ignore it, overlook it, tune it out. But to encounter it here?

“What is this?” a voice barked harshly in Romulan. Despite the millennia separating their peoples, the languages of Vulcans and Romulans still held some of the same cadence and flow, though their vocabularies and syntax had mutated greatly over the years. Swiftly, the voice changed to English. “What is going on? Who are you?”

Sarek turned to regard the speaker. “You know who I am, Commander.”

The individual facing him, one of the two present who wasnot holding a drawn weapon, had to be Taryn. Sarek studied him unblinkingly. Yes, this was Taryn…even without the insignia on his uniform, he would have known him. Everything fit. The arrogance he’d come to know so well shone in this individual’s eyes. Those eyes were dark and hooded amid his craggy, hawklike features. He wore the uniform of a high-ranking Romulan officer—a wing commander.

And from him, as from many of the other officers, Sarek sensed now unshielded mental activity. It also emanated from the young woman standing beside him, her eyes wide and startled. She, alone of the bridge crew, was unarmed. Sarek nodded at both of them. “Commander Taryn,” he said. “And Savel? My aide, Soran, has spoken of how much he enjoyed playing chess with you. Allow me to present my…associate, Captain Spock.”

The ambassador had seen something flare in the girl’s eyes when he’d spoken of Soran. Recalling Soran’s expressed interest in her, Sarek noted her reaction and silently filed that information away for further consideration. It could prove useful….

“What are you two doing here?” Taryn demanded, his voice harsh and rasping with surprise and anger he did not trouble to conceal. “How dare you,” he almost sputtered, “invade my ship in this manner?”

“I recognized your game strategy, Taryn,” Sarek said, attempting to make it clear that the commander was responding to that name. He only hoped that Kirk was picking up everything from the tiny recorder. “T’Nedara’s gambit. AVulcan gambit. I took it for a tacit invitation to call upon you.” The ambassador smiled faintly. “A Vulcan gambit, Taryn…how appropriate, under the circumstances.”

Taryn bolted up out of his seat, and for a moment Sarek knew that his life hung in the balance. The commander’s hand dropped to the grip of the hand disrupter he wore. Then he took a deep breath…another. Forced a faint, wry smile. “Perhaps I wastoo clever, Sarek. I did not think you would recognize the coordinates as being the same pattern as the moves in our chess game.”

“How could I not recognize them, Taryn?” Sarek asked simply. “That was one of the few that you won. Naturally, I would remember.” Exultation surged inside him. Taryn had responded to Sarek’s use of his name, and he’d made reference to their games on Freelan—which were chronicled in Sarek’s diplomatic records of his negotiations with the Freelans. At last, he had the proof he had risked his life to achieve.

Leave, Kirk,the Vulcan urged, silently.Take your starship and transmit the message….

“Why have you come here, Sarek?” Taryn asked, almost pleasantly. “You know that I cannot permit either of you to return.”

“I came to negotiate for the release of the Vulcans who reside on Freelan,” the ambassador replied. “The Federation has been warned. The war you attempted to instigate will not come to pass. Starfleet will be standing ready, should your forces attempt to initiate hostilities. We both know that the Romulan Empire is not prepared to take on a battle-ready Federation…a strong Federation that is still allied with the Vulcans.” Sarek took a deep breath and glanced slowly around the bridge, at all the faces of the officers.

“And, finally,” he concluded, “there will be no war with the Klingons.” He spoke decisively, not allowing any of his inner doubts to show. Therecould still be war, and he knew it—but Taryn and his officers must not.

“Why not?” Savel blurted. Taryn glared at her, and she subsided immediately, but not before Sarek glimpsed relief in her eyes.

“Because Captain Kirk managed to safely rescue his nephew,” Spock said, speaking for the first time since their beam-over. “And, even if Kamarag’s fleet manages to destroy theEnterprise, Starfleet has been warned. The renegade ambassador will not get far into Federation space before he is stopped. Azetbur has proved she will not support the renegades…your plan has failed.”

“Enough of this!” the commander snapped, his temper obviously fraying. “Why are you here, Sarek? Surely you know your life is forfeit, should I give the word. What did you hope to gain?”

“The lives of the Vulcans on Freelan,” Sarek said steadily. “As I told you before. You are the wing commander for the Freelan operation. Only the praetor can countermand your orders. If you give the word, the Vulcans will be permitted to leave—those that choose to do so. TheEnterprise will take them away from Freelan before bloodshed can occur.”

“Bloodshed?” Savel glanced at the wing commander, and this time his quelling glance only made her stiffen her spine and repeat her question. “What do you mean, Ambassador?”

“Consider, Savel…” Spock said. “What will the praetor do with Freelan once the Federation president and Security Council know the truth about your world?”

“If he follows precedent,” Sarek pointed out, “he will, as the humans put it, ‘cut his losses.’ Possibly abandon the colony. And certainly destroy all evidence of the plot. And the most tangible evidence of what Romulus planned are the individuals such as yourself.”

“In a way, miss,” Spock added, “the Vulcans on Freelan can be considered prisoners of war. The fact that you were born and grew up on that world does not change the fact that you reside there due to acts of terrorism and piracy committed by the Romulan military. Have you studied history?”

She nodded slowly.

“Then perhaps you can tell me…how often are prisoners of war actuallyreturned to their native soil after such a long passage of time?”

“I cannot think of a single instance,” Sarek said, in answer to his son’s rhetorical question. The Vulcan ambassador gazed around him at the closed, hard young faces of the bridge officers. “It is far safer—and politically sounder—to kill them or allow them to die.”

Savel turned to the wing commander, her dark eyes full of distress. “Would they do that,Vadi?” she demanded. “Would you allow that?”

“If he does nothing, that is very likely what will happen,” Spock said.

“Taryn,” Sarek said, his voice deepening, “if we do not take your people off Freelan, the chances are excellent that they will be considered a failed experiment—or prisoners of war—and eliminated. Will you risk a pogrom, Taryn? Will you allow your own people to be slaughtered?”

“My own people…” the commander repeated tonelessly. His face was expressionless, but Sarek did not miss the tension in his jaw muscles. “I do not understand what you mean.”

“Certainly you do,” Sarek said, holding the commander’s eyes with his own. “You are as Vulcan as I…and as Vulcan as they are,” he said, his eyes flicking from one to another of the bridge officers. He pointed to Savel. “As Vulcan as she is.”

Silence fell on the bridge. Sarek glimpsed the surprise in Spock’s eyes, quickly masked. One by one, the young bridge officers turned to regard their commander. Only Savel did not betray any amazement.She knew, Sarek thought.

Taryn shook his head, unable to summon words. The commander was pale beneath the weathering of his features. “No,” he said, forcing the word out. “No!”

“Come now,” Sarek said, gently. “It is illogical to deny the truth. Will you continue to deny your heritage, knowing that you risk death for the other Vulcans on Freelan?”

The young officers were recovering from the shock of Sarek’s revelation. They stirred and murmured among themselves.

“Even if what you say is true, what could possibly induce me to relinquish the Vulcans on Freelan?” Taryn demanded, his expression darkening. “If I did that, I would be committing treason!”

“If you do not, you will be committing murder,” Spock said quietly. “And, in a manner of speaking, genocide. Is that what you wish for them? Imprisonment and eventual death?” He indicated the officers.

“And for her?” Sarek nodded at Savel. The ambassador was impressed at how well Spock was handling his part in this—obviously, he had underestimated his son’s abilities in the field of diplomacy.

“No!” Taryn cried, in what was almost a howl of pain. He smashed a fist down on the arm of his command seat, bending it visibly. “I willnot betray my adopted people. I amRomulan, NOT Vulcan. I have dedicated my life to the service of the praetor! My Vulcan blood is nothing but an accident of birth—it means nothing to me!”

“Does Savel mean nothing to you?” Sarek asked, quietly. He was thinking quickly, wondering what other inducement he could offer. There was one possibility: Taryn, he knew, would not allow himself to lose face before his crew. “We have known each other for a long time,” he said. “I know you, Taryn. I am willing to offer you what you want most, in exchange for the lives of the Vulcans.”

“What—what do you mean?” Taryn demanded. Whatever the commander had expected, it obviously wasn’t this.

“The chance to defeat me. Does that tempt you? You have wanted to win in a contest between us for decades, Taryn.”

The ambassador knew he was treading a very delicate line. “One final contest, Taryn. One last chance to beat me.” Sarek fixed the commander with an intent gaze. “I will wager with you for their lives. A game, Taryn. If I win, you allow them to go free, you agree to help me in any way necessary to free the Vulcan captives. If I lose…” The ambassador drew a deep breath. “If I lose, you will get the battle you desire. I suspect your fleet is on the way. Time, at the moment, is my enemy…but it is your friend. A game will take several hours. Will you gamble that your fleet will reach here before endgame?”

“A game?” Taryn actually laughed. “Agame, Vulcan? Are you insane? We play for far higher stakes than simply a mere game! We play for lives here. Are you willing to play the game as it should be played?”

Sarek suddenly realized what Taryn was talking about, even as Spock did. His son gave him a warning glance. But the ambassador squared his shoulders. “I am willing to do whatever is necessary to gain the lives and the freedom of your captives, Taryn. I have the courage to do what I must.” He paused for a long, significant second. “Do you?”

Taryn was clearly taken aback. The officer glanced around at the faces of his officers, seeing their waiting expressions.

“Old man, you surprise me,” Taryn said, and then he smiled…a predatory, dangerous smile. “No one has ever before dared to question my courage.”

Slowly, the wing commander got to his feet. Standing, he was taller and heavier-built than Sarek—and probably at least thirty years younger. “Very well, then, Ambassador. I challenge you!” His voice rang out so loudly that Savel jumped.

“I challenge you by the ancient laws and rite of theToriatal. T’kevaidors a skelitus dunt’ryala aikriian paselitan…Toriatal,” he intoned solemnly. Sarek recognized the language as Old High Vulcan. Taryn faced him, head high. “So…you want their lives, Sarek—then fight for them! Win their lives, or your life—and that of your son’s—are forfeit!”

Sarek recognized the words. This was a challenge so old that it was still common to both the Vulcan and Romulan cultures. TheToriatal dated back to the days before Surak had brought his message of logic and peace to their mutual homeworld.

In the ancient days of theToriatal, two warring Vulcan nations would, in a land already devastated by conflict, choose champions to represent them in battle, and agree to victory or defeat on the basis of that single-combat-to-the-death outcome. At least now theEnterprise would be safe from any Romulan ship in Taryn’s fleet, Sarek thought. Under the terms of theToriatal, a truce remained in effect until the champions had completed their fight. No Romulan vessel would initiate hostilities once he agreed to theToriatal —until the battle was concluded, and either he or Taryn lay dead.

“State the terms of the challenge,” Sarek said, buying time while he thought. Was this the only way? In any kind of physical contest, Taryn would be the undisputed favorite. He was a full-blooded Vulcan, younger, stronger than the ambassador—and a soldier, in fighting condition. The odds were not good.

“Very well. If you win, Ambassador, I agree that I will release any of the Vulcans residing on Freelan should they wish to go. I will help you in whatever way is necessary to allow you to offer them that choice. I will break off the planned attack, and not initiate hostilities with theEnterprise. Acceptable?”

Sarek nodded. “I understand.”

“And, ifI win, Ambassador, you agree that your life—in the unlikely event you survive the challenge itself—and the life of your son are mine to do with as I please. The ship you callEnterprise and its crew will be fair game for my fleet, when it arrives.”

The ambassador turned to look at Spock. “I am willing to wager my own life in this challenge,” he said. “But I cannot ethically stake the life of my son.”

“What I am staking is far greater than what you are willing to wager, as it is, Ambassador,” Taryn pointed out, truthfully. “A challenge is a challenge. Do you accept, or not?” The Romulan exuded confidence as he stood there.

Sarek drew a deep breath.The needs of the many… he thought, but he could not do it. Not with the life of his son at stake. Slowly, he shook his head, and opened his mouth—

“Do it,” Spock said in an undertone, without turning his head. “Accept his terms. If you do not, our lives are forfeit in any case.”

Sarek glanced at the first officer, then straightened his shoulders. “Very well, Commander. I accept your challenge. I will fight you in theToriatal.”

“As challenger, the choice of type of combat is mine,” Taryn said, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes.

“Yes.”

All around him he heard murmurs of anticipation from the young officers. Only Savel seemed distressed by what was happening. Out of the corner of his eye Sarek saw her shaking her head as she whispered, “No,Vadi!”

Sarek wondered what kind of duel Taryn would choose. He hoped Taryn’s arrogance would lead him to choose unarmed combat. The ambassador was an expert at several Vulcan martial arts, includingtal-shaya. In unarmed hand-to-hand, he might stand a chance. Although Sarek had trained with traditional Vulcan weapons in his youth, and had become proficient with them, he had not done any sparring with weapons for years.

Also…if they fought without weapons, there was a good chance that neither of them would die. Sarek did not want to die—nor did he want to kill Taryn.

“I choose weapons, Ambassador,” Taryn said, and paused for a beat. “Specifically, thesenapa.” The commander sat back with a faint, cold triumphant smile.

Sarek took a deep breath. Thesenapa… the deadliest, most painful of weapons in the ancient Vulcan arsenal. A combatant could survive one cut, or perhaps two—if he was strong and received an immediate blood filtering and transfusion—but three was almost always a death sentence. “I will prepare myself,” the ambassador said.

“You will need a second,” Spock said. “I offer myself, Ambassador.”

Sarek turned to look at his son, and, finally nodded. “I accept.”

Turning back to face Taryn, Sarek gave him the ancient, ceremonial salute. “As soon as you are ready, Commander.”

Taryn nodded. “Fifteen minutes, Ambassador. Savel will guide you to the gymnasium.”

 

In one corner ofShardarr ’s gymnasium, Spock quickly prepared Sarek for the coming combat. Swiftly, efficiently, he stripped off the heavy, formal robe and hung it on the wall, carefully arranging the folds so the jeweled borders faced the combat square Poldar and Tonik were marking off. When his son leaned close to unfasten the ambassador’s undertunic, Sarek whispered quietly, “How long will it take Kirk to send the message and return?”

“Approximately an hour, from the time we left,” Spock reported, sotto voce. Then he added, “You are not in any condition to attempt this.”

“I am well aware of my limitations,” Sarek agreed, bleakly. “If I can hold out long enough, perhaps Kirk will return. If I am only wounded, the estimable Dr. McCoy might be able to save me.”

“The closest supply ofsenapa poison antidote is on Vulcan,” Spock whispered grimly. “It is hardly standard provisioning for starships. I do not like this. A duel withsenapas… Taryn will have a definite advantage. He is younger, taller, and doubtless far quicker than you.”

“Do not think that knowledge has escaped me,” Sarek admitted, with a flare of mordant humor. “But, as the challenger, it was his right to choose the contest and the weapon to be used.”

“When was the last time you trained?”

“It has been several months,” Sarek admitted. “Since before…before your mother’s illness was diagnosed.”

Sarek heard his son’s indrawn breath, sensed his apprehension. It echoed his own. All the commander had to do was stay out of range, and use his greater reach and faster reflexes to cut Sarek several times…and it would be all over. Even one cut, the ambassador reflected, would eventually slow him down…and, as the minutes went by, and the poison permeated his system, Sarek would grow dizzy and drop his guard, thus becoming an easy target.

When he saw Taryn walking toward the improvised challenge square, Sarek quickly rose to his feet. As was traditional, both combatants were clad only in short, loose trousers, so that most of their bodies would be bare—and thus more vulnerable to the poisoned blades.

Accompanied by Spock, Sarek walked to meet his opponent. The centurion Taryn had addressed as Poldar—another of the transplanted Vulcans—stood impassively awaiting them in the center of the combat square. In his arms rested a carved display case, and within it, in recessed niches, the twosenapas. When he reached the middle of the square, Taryn, with a mocking salute, indicated that the ambassador should take the first choice of weapons.

Sarek studied the twosenapas. They appeared identical; a curved, half-moon blade, wickedly sharp, with a handgrip and a padded rest for the knuckles, so they would not touch the blade. Sarek selected the weapon nearest him, grasped it, then stepped back, waiting while Taryn took the other. He hefted thesenapa… it had been a long time since he’d practiced with one. It was, of course, a slashing weapon rather than a stabbing one.

Poldar motioned the two seconds, Spock and Savel, to back away from the square. Sarek took a deep breath, trying to loosen his muscles. He rolled his weight onto the balls of his feet, and assumed a balanced stance, right foot slightly ahead of the left.

“Begin,” said Poldar, and Sarek was surprised to hear the centurion say the word in Vulcan. He glanced at the young Vulcan—and that nearly proved his undoing, for Taryn, moving with the silent deadliness of ale-matya, sprang forward. Only his son’s reflexive gasp made the Vulcan leap backward, and he avoided Taryn’s blade by centimeters.

Backing away cautiously, keeping one eye out for the boundary lines of the combat square (for to step over one was to lose automatically and face execution), Sarek was careful to stay near the middle of the marked-off enclosure. A square enclosure was far more dangerous than a circular one—a combatant could be trapped in a corner, and it was a rare fighter indeed who could fight his way out of that situation and remain unscathed.

The Vulcan tried a few experimental swipes with hissenapa, getting the feel of the weapon. At one time, Sarek had been able to flip thesenapa in the air and catch it by the handle with either hand—but that was over a hundred years ago.

Taryn had evidently been sizing his opponent up, for he came in again, low and fast, feinting to the right, then slashing quickly left. Again Sarek managed to dodge and twist, avoiding the blade by a hairbreadth. But the effort left him short of breath…and Taryn, seeing that, smiled.

The ambassador continued his slow circle in the center of the enclosure, watching for an opening. “Step over the line, old one,” Taryn said, mockingly. “Make it easy on yourself.”

“Did no one ever teach you that insulting your opponent is the mark of a coward and a bully?” Sarek asked, keeping his voice maddeningly calm.

Taryn’s face twisted with anger, and he lunged again at Sarek. The ambassador sidestepped, his foot lashing out, tripping Taryn, even as he brought his unweaponed fist down on the back of his opponent’s neck. With a grunt, Taryn fell forward, but he had been well trained—the commander turned the fall into a roll, and was back on his feet before Sarek could take advantage. Taryn eyed his opponent warily, and the smug, overconfident expression in his eyes had now altered to a look of respect.

Sarek began planning his next strategy—until he saw Taryn’s eyes widen, and then gleam excitedly. At the same moment, he felt a faint, stinging burn along his left side, over his ribs. Looking down, he saw the thin line of green. A tiny slash—but, over time, it would be enough. The ambassador’s breath hissed between his teeth. Deliberately he began circling again, hoping that Taryn would be content not to close with him for the moment.

Centering himself, the Vulcan reached inward with his sense of his physical self. Like all Vulcans, he’d been trained in biocontrol and biofeedback. The poison…yes, it was spreading outward from the little wound. Just a tiny amount, but it would make him sluggish, and, eventually, disable him. Concentrating fiercely, the ambassador managed to slow down his circulation, stemming the spread of the poison. It was all he could do….

Tired of waiting for Sarek to succumb to the poison, Taryn attacked again, lashing out in a hard, flat arc that would have slashed the Vulcan’s throat had he not ducked under it. Sarek came in close, his elbow up and out, and it struck the commander hard, not in the throat as he’d planned, but on the side of his jaw. Taryn grunted and staggered back, but when Sarek attempted to follow his advantage, the commander kicked him hard in the left patella.

Pain seared through Sarek’s leg, and it nearly buckled beneath him. Somehow, the Vulcan managed to stay on his feet, but he was gasping painfully. Fire shot through his veins, and for a moment he couldn’t decide whether it was from the poison, or lack of air. Blackness hovered at the edge of his vision, but several deep, gasping breaths forced it to retreat.

“You are better than I expected, Ambassador,” Taryn said. Sarek was too winded to be gratified by the sweat that shone on the commander’s face and chest. “But you are in no condition for this and you know it. Step out, and I guarantee you a quick, clean death with honor. Why prolong this?”

I must end this soon,Sarek thought. Then a possible strategy occurred to him, and he began shuffling toward the commander, feigning (he did not have to playact much, actually) weakness along his entire left side.

Right-handed as usual, Sarek aimed an awkward, underhand slash at Taryn’s shoulder. The commander, as he’d planned, leaped to Sarek’s left, closing in for the kill. Sarek pivoted away from the other’s blade, and then with every ounce of control he could muster, the ambassador flipped thesenapa into the air—

—and caught it left-handed.

Taryn was still leaning into his swing, unaware that his entire side was now a target. With a flick of his left wrist, Sarek slashed him lightly, along the ribs, once…and then again.

Two slashes. Enough poison to disable even a strong opponent in a matter of minutes. Dimly, Sarek heard Savel’s anguished gasp. Quickly, he disengaged, stepping back, still careful not to step into one of the corners.

Feeling the sting along his ribs, Taryn checked, then stared down at himself incredulously. Slowly, he looked back up at the weapon Sarek still held left-handed. The commander chuckled faintly, hollowly. “Better and…better…old one.” He was beginning to gasp. “Very well, then…finish me. Go…ahead.”

“I have no desire to kill an old friend,” Sarek said. “Let us declare the challenge at an end. All I want are the Vulcan youths.”

“You think…I wish…them harm?” Taryn’s breath came hard, now, and it was painful to hear. “No…I never…”

“I did not think you wished them harm,” Sarek was quick to say. “Let us stop this now, Taryn. With a doctor’s help, it is possible we both can survive. I ask you…as a friend…”

“Please,Vadi!” Savel cried out, unable to restrain herself.

“No!” Taryn roared, and lunged forward, slashing wildly. Sarek parried with his ownsenapa, and the brittle blades rang against each other—and shattered. Taryn gasped, his eyes rolled up in his head, and he fell.

Sarek stood staring at him, his eyes widening in distress as he saw the small streak of green crawl across the commander’s knuckle. Three slashes…fatal, in all likelihood.

“Where is your physician?” the ambassador demanded, dropping down beside the commander’s still form. “Bring the physician immediately!”

“No…forbid it…” Taryn mumbled, his eyes closed. “Poldar…take command…do whatever you must…to honor the outcome…of the challenge…”

“I will, Commander,” the young centurion promised, bending over his dying officer.

“He might be saved!” Sarek insisted, touching Taryn’s forehead, feeling the life throbbing within his body and his mind—though it was ebbing fast. “Bring the doctor!”

Poldar steadfastly shook his head. Even when Savel added her voice to the ambassador’s, the young centurion stood firm, obviously determined to honor Taryn’s last orders.

In a final effort to save the commander, Sarek slid both hands around Taryn’s head, instinctively finding the correct points. “Make them bring a doctor,” he ordered Savel and Spock, who was crouched beside him, and then he sent his mind into the commander’s, melding with him, lending him strength, keeping him alive—at the risk of his own life.

The meld deepened as Sarek poured more mental energy into the dying commander. He and Taryn shared each other’s minds, each other’s lives. In vivid flashes, the ambassador relived events from Taryn’s past. The births of his children. His wedding. His promotions. Their chess games. Political allies, and deadly enemies…

But all the while the other Vulcan’s mind was growing weaker, weaker, forcing the ambassador to pour more and more of his own strength into this last, desperate effort. Sarek deepened the meld, and felt himself going back, back in time, to Taryn’s youth…then his childhood. Back all the way to his earliest memory—one that, even in his dying, weakened condition, filled the commander’s mind with horror and revulsion….

Taryn remembered…and Sarek shared that memory, for they were One.

Sarek was Taryn, only his name was different—Saren—and he was four years old, aboard his parents’ small trading vessel. All the Vulcans in that sector knew that ships were disappearing…piracy and hijackings were assumed to be the cause. Orion slavers roamed the spaceways, and the tales of rape, pillage, murder, and enslavement were rampant—and horrifying.

So when their small freighter was suddenly seized in a tractor beam, and a huge, unknown ship loomed over them, seemingly materializing out of nowhere, Taryn’s parents had made a decision that seemed right to them.

In whispers, his father and mother had decided that they would fight, to the death if necessary, rather than allow themselves to be taken captive and probably enslaved. If they were not killed in the fight, they resolved to link their minds, and use their training in biocontrol to stop each other’s hearts. After long minutes of discussion, they decided that they must include Taryn in their link…they did not want their son to suffer, and growing up as a slave seemed to them worse than not living to grow up at all.

“Saren…” said Mother, holding out her hand to her child, who stood wide-eyed and trembling in the doorway to the tiny control room. “Come here. Give me your hand.”

“Yes, Saren,” echoed Father, reaching out for his son. “Come here. Take our hands.”

Instinctively, Taryn knew that if he did as they bade, he would come to harm. Trembling, he shook his head wordlessly.

“Come now, Saren,” said Father impatiently. “You are letting your emotions rule. We are Vulcans…fear has no part in our lives. Do you wish to be a coward?”

“No…” little Taryn whimpered, tears beginning to trickle down his face. He hadn’t cried since he was a baby, and he was profoundly ashamed of himself. He was a Vulcan, and Vulcans didn’t cry! Or let themselves be afraid. But he couldn’t help it.

“Saren, my son.” Father’s voice was stern. “Come here—now!”

The little ship shuddered as something clamped on to their airlock. Mother cried out that they must hurry—hurry! Both Vulcans removed weapons from a locker. Old-style stunners…little defense against phasers or disrupters.

“Saren!” Father commanded, coming toward him. “Give me your hand!”

The child’s remaining control snapped, and he shrieked aloud, “No! I’m afraid!”

Sobbing with terror, Taryn turned and bolted out of the control room. It was only after he’d reached the airlock door, and it had begun its ominous turn the moment he’d touched it, that the child’s terror of the unknown had overcome his fear of his parents, and what they’d decided they must do.

As the invaders pushed their way into the ship, weapons drawn, Taryn had bolted back up the corridor. He’d flung himself inside, and was immediately struck by the stun beam. Helpless, he’d lain there, unmoving, forced to watch as the invaders in their uniforms had burned down the door, shot his father with a disrupter, vaporizing him immediately, and then turned their attentions to his mother. As they’d reached for her, she’d stiffened suddenly, her eyes glazing, then crumpled in their arms, dead.

Sarek understood so much now about the commander…why he’d issued the challenge, why he could not abide the charge of cowardice or fear.

The ambassador knew that the commander had locked those memories away, repressed them until they haunted him only in dreams.You were only a child, he told the stricken commander.A small child. You are not responsible for what happened. You could not have changed it. Know this, and let the pain go…let it go…

Sarek sensed Taryn’s understanding, sensed that the commander was finally released from the terror and guilt of that time—but his new understanding would do him little good, because, despite his best efforts, the Freelan was slipping away. Sarek clung to the meld with stubborn, dangerous persistence, clung even when he felt the change, the dissolving sensation seize his body.

Death?he wondered, dimly.Is this death?

But moments later, he recognized the sensation for what it was—he was caught in a transporter beam.

 

James T. Kirk stood in the transporter room, watching Dr. McCoy and his medical team struggle to stabilize the dying Romulan. “Tri-ox!” the doctor shouted, and a nurse slapped a hypo into his hand.

Sarek was crouched beside the Romulan, both hands pressed to his head, clearly melding with him—but, even as Kirk watched, the ambassador, who was clad only in his undergarments, suddenly slumped over onto the pad.

“They are suffering fromsenapa poisoning, Doctor,” Spock said, his voice incongruously calm in the organized melee of the medical team. “It may be possible to reproduce the antidote.” Grabbing a stylus from a technician, he scribbled a chemical formula and diagram. “This is it.”

McCoy quickly pushed the formula at a tech, and the man hurried out to get it replicated. “What else do you know about how to treat this?” he grunted, giving Sarek a tri-ox hypo also. “It sure as hell messes up the blood’s ability to carry oxygen!”

“The ancient text mentioned treating it by blood filtration and transfusions.”

“Okay,” McCoy said. “Set up sickbay for filtration and transfusions. Check our supply of Vulcan Q-positive blood. That’s a common type, we should have some on hand.”

“But…he’s a Romulan,” Kirk said. “Or do they have the same blood types?”

“I have no idea,” McCoy said. “Butthis one’s a Vulcan, Jim.”

Spock looked over at the captain and nodded confirmation.

“All right, Spock, you’re going to have to play donor for your father again,” the doctor snapped. “Get ready.”

“I am prepared, Doctor,” the Vulcan said, removing his jacket and rolling up the sleeve of his shirt.

“Okay, I think they’re stable enough to move! Get those antigrav stretchers over here, Nurse!” the doctor ordered.

The captain turned to McCoy. “Will he make it?”

“Don’t know yet, Jim,” McCoy grunted, his fingers flying as he injected the Romulan with a hypo. “Maybe. These Vulcans are tough…as well as stubborn,” he added, giving Spock a sidelong glance.

Kirk watched as they loaded both unconscious Vulcans onto the stretchers and followed them into the hall. He was halfway to sickbay when Uhura’s page reached him. “Captain Kirk…Captain Kirk, please report to the bridge immediately.”

A quick slap on the nearest intercom panel brought him into contact. “This is the captain. What’s going on, Commander?”

Chekov’s voice responded, sounding breathless and a little scared. “Sir, I am picking up ships on our long-range sensors. Ten of them. Coming out of the Neutral Zone, and heading straight for us.”

“On my way,” Kirk said, and began running for the turbolift.It never rains but it pours, he thought grimly.What a time for Kamarag to show up….