CHAPTER 10

Spock looked up from the circle of his students and saw Santek’s approach. The Romulan raised his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. Though Santek’s control was good, Spock could see that he was apprehensive about something.

“Teacher,” he said, “I apologize for disturbing you during a lesson, but I must speak with you.”

The Vulcan had wondered about Santek’s absence. A good student, the man had been with him almost since the beginning of his work on Romulus.

Spock nodded, though he already had an idea what the Romulan would say. “Please, speak.”

“Teacher,” Santek sighed, “I regret that I will not be able to continue my studies. You have honored me with your instruction, and I beg your forgiveness if I have disappointed or failed you.”

The Vulcan considered his student a moment before answering. In that time, D’tan rose to his feet and approached Santek.

“You dishonor your teacher,” said D’tan. “You, who have been with us from the beginning.” The youth was clearly angry and had forgotten his control.

Despite D’tan’s age, he had always been a serious and earnest student. His emotional display genuinely surprised Spock, even more than Santek’s decision to join the escape attempt.

From the moment Belan had informed the Vulcan of the escape attempt, the number of Romulans who had chosen to terminate their studies and join Belan had grown steadily. And the number of students remaining had decreased proportionally.

“You betray all the Teacher has taught you,” D’tan said, furious now. “You betray the wisdom of Surak.”

Spock was certain that in another moment D’tan would strike Santek. And if Santek’s expression was any indication of his state of mind, he would reply in kind.

Madness.

“Enough,” the Vulcan announced.

Immediately, the two Romulans regained their composure. Spock addressed Santek.

“You do not need my forgiveness,” he said.

D’tan began to speak, but the Vulcan silenced him with a gesture.

“You have chosen your path,” he told Santek. “It is only logical that you follow your nature. And it is you who have honored me with your study.”

Raising his hand, he added, “Live long and prosper.”

The Romulan’s face betrayed his surprise. At a loss for words, he simply nodded, turned, and left.

The Vulcan turned his attention to D’tan, who had by then regained control of himself.

“I beg forgiveness, Teacher,” said the Romulan, keeping his voice calm and even—though it obviously took some effort. “I allowed my passions to guide me.”

“We find ourselves in difficult times. Do not think of it again,” Spock advised him.

D’tan shook his head. “I do not understand, Teacher. How can you allow your students to forget all we have labored to acquire? Is not such behavior wasteful and therefore illogical?”

The Vulcan made a subtle gesture of dismissal with his hands. “It is impossible to teach those whose minds are elsewhere,” he said. “A student’s path must be freely chosen.”

Through the mask of D’tan’s control, Spock could see the war of emotions within him. It was easy to understand. The boy would soon be facing death, and everything he had come to believe was being tested.

The Vulcan himself had come to find recent events … unsettling. He had always believed that the only difference between the Romulans and his own people was education. From a scientific standpoint, that was very nearly true.

However, under extreme pressure, Santek had shown that his nature was still distinctly Romulan. He’d been unable to submit to his fate, however logical the submission.

D’tan, when pushed to his limits, had lost control as well. Perhaps even the best teaching could not erase the lessons of a lifetime—or plumb the mysteries of a person’s nature.

If that were true, then what of his efforts on Romulus? What could the future hold for the unification movement to which he and his students had labored to give life? Indeed, what could the future hold for those awaiting their deaths here on Constanthus?

Spock scanned the faces still attending him. And he wondered.

Despite his outburst, D’tan remained determined to continue his studies. But was it because he believed in them—or was he motivated more by his loyalty to his teacher?

How many of the others who remained were staying for the same reason? How many of them felt the call of their inner selves and denied it for Spock’s sake?

With these questions in mind, the Vulcan addressed his remaining charges. “How many others wish to end their study, as Santek has? There will be no censure for those who choose this path.”

He waited.

None of the Romulans before him moved or spoke.

Then one of them got up and approached the Vulcan. She lifted her hand in salute, turned, and retreated toward the group planning the escape.

Another student followed, and then another, each of them offering the Vulcan salute before leaving. None of them spoke during the grim procession—at least, not with their voices.

In the end, there was only the Teacher and twelve others—four of whom, including D’tan, had accompanied him on his journey from Romulus. And then one of these four students approached him.

Minan had been among the first Romulans to become a student of Surak. And now she was the last to leave. Spock noted that her control was impeccable as she faced him and raised her hand.

“Thank you, Teacher,” she said. A moment later, she was gone.

Among the eleven students to remain was Skrasis. Yet this did not surprise the Vulcan. The youth had great potential.

Unfortunately it would go unfulfilled. Regrets, of course, were not logical, but Spock made no effort to correct the thought.

All of the remaining eleven looked at him expectantly, as if their teacher could explain the recent turn of events. But, in this instance, Spock had no solace to give them.

He himself was too troubled by what had just taken place. Nearly three quarters of his original body of students had abandoned their studies.

Granted, some of them were still quite new to the principles of logic. Yet the Teacher knew he had made his case well. And he knew as well that it was right to continue his efforts, even in the face of death.

Spock saw the truth in these thoughts. Yet it seemed the truth was somehow inadequate now. It was not logical, but so it was.

“I suggest we meditate individually,” he said, “so that we may consider today’s lessons in the depth they deserve.”

His followers nodded their assent. As they left for their quarters, the Vulcan watched them go.

Though he had called the break for the benefit of his students, he needed the peace and certainty of meditation as much as they did. No …

More.

Hunched over on the floor of his cell, Scotty peered once again past the energy barrier that penned him in— essentially the same sort of barrier he’d seen in his confinement on the warbird. Satisfied that his guards weren’t around, he resumed his attempts to pry loose a bulkhead plate in the cell’s back wall.

His tool in this effort was a metal eating utensil which the Romulans had given to him with his meal a half hour before. Hardly the picture of efficiency, they hadn’t bothered to check on him since. He doubted they would even notice the utensil was missing when they picked up the remains of his uneaten lunch.

Certainly, the personnel on this station had their flaws—perhaps because the place was such a dead end for them. But then they were no more imperfect than the station itself.

This was an older facility and—Scotty guessed—a relatively unimportant one. Some of the construction techniques and pieces of equipment he had seen on his brief walk through the corridors predated even the Romulan technology he’d encountered on the Enterprise.

That meant the station was very likely even older than he was. And would probably be here after he was gone, the engineer groused.

Truth to tell, it depressed him to meet his end in such a sloppy operation. All the more reason to keep at what he was doing—to continue in his attempt to pry up the bulkhead plate—and not think about the consequences.

Scotty grunted as he applied some elbow grease. Fortunately, the plate was already loose and was located on the back wall—the warmest of the three available to him.

That meant there was a relatively high concentration of antiquated circuitry behind the plating. And if he could gain access to it, he might be able to get out of here.

Then, even if he couldn’t quite escape, he might be able at least to throw the Romulans a curve. Perhaps disable an important system. It might help him later on.

Abruptly he heard the sound of footsteps. Slipping the utensil into his boot, he stood up to face whoever was approaching.

As it turned out, it was only one of his jailers. By the look on the Romulan’s face, he had something to say— for a change.

“You will see the station administrator in a little while,” he said. “He will interrogate you. He wanted you to know.”

Scotty didn’t say anything. He just curled his lip at the Romulan.

The guard shook his head at the human’s idiocy. Then he turned and departed the way he’d come.

As soon as he was sure the Romulan was gone, Scotty cursed beneath his breath. Here he’d thought he was to be handled with kid gloves until the proconsul arrived. Obviously, someone had had other ideas in the meantime.

If you couldn’t trust a Romulan bureaucrat, he thought with disgust, who could you trust?

He had only minutes left before he was ushered out of his cell. At the rate he was going, it would take hours for him to work his way behind the bulkhead panel.

And once they brought him to an interrogation room, the engineer held no illusions about his prospects of escape—no matter what shape the station was in.

In the academy, Scotty had had a grizzled old instructor who taught a course in survival techniques. The old man had said, “If you are under interrogation by an advanced race, I have one piece of advice for you: talk. Tell them anything and everything they want to know.”

At the time, there had been audible gasps of surprise from everyone in the class, including Scott himself.

“But, sir,” a cadet had asked, “what if that costs lives?”

The instructor had answered without thinking. “There is nothing you can do about that. If you’ve been captured by someone like the Klingons, you no longer have any control over the situation. No matter how tough you are—or think you are—you will eventually tell them what they want to know.

“If you do it without subjecting yourself to debilitating or even lethal torture,” the man had said, “then you will be preserving a valuable Starfleet asset: yourself. If you remain alive, then there is the possibility of escape or a negotiated release. But if you allow yourself to be killed protecting secrets you are going to give up anyway, you will not have done Starfleet, or yourself, any favors.”

A shocked silence had descended over the room as the students absorbed the professor’s surprising—but coldly logical—advice.

After a long moment, Scotty’s own hand had gone up. “But, sir,” he’d asked plainly, “how would we live with ourselves afterward?”

For the first and only time since Scotty had known him, the old man had been speechless.

Right now, the memory offered the engineer no comfort. He had no illusions about his own ability to withstand the calculated precision of a full-bore Romulan interrogation.

Not as Montgomery Scott, anyway. Not as the clear-thinking, often ingenious officer who’d come within a hair of making it to Constanthus.

No, if he was going to be of any use to his friend Spock, he was going to have to present a different persona to his interrogator. After all, the act had worked on the Romulan warbird commander. Why not trot it out again?

Hell, it was just about the only card he had left.

***

Spock knew that the time was very near. Of course he had not been a part of the escape plans, nor had he spoken about them with Belan since the Constantharine excused himself from his studies.

However, he had overheard enough of the discussions to know the basic scheme—another product of the hybrid’s improved hearing. It would take place during the afternoon mealtime, when the soldiers delivered food to the unificationists through the only entrance into the compound.

The Vulcan himself had seen the soldiers’ vulnerability during these intervals. Undoubtedly, they had come to view the unificationists as pacifists, and they had become more and more lax in their attention to the minutiae of security. Though not covered in the teachings of Surak, Speck’s Starfleet training required him to make such observations.

At the moment, there were two groups of prisoners, one on each side of the entrance. Each group was assembled as if it were engaged in academic dialogue on the principles of logic—something it had done day after day, in the same place at the same time.

As a result, doing it now would arouse no suspicions. It was a precaution that was both logical and practical.

In fact, the Teacher was impressed with the entire plan. It was an admirable effort. Unfortunately, it also seemed doomed to failure.

Clearly, the first phase would have a good chance of success. Spock had no doubt that his former students would be able to overpower the guards who entered the compound and make it into the command center of the detention complex.

After that the prospects were much less certain. The prisoners would be entering a highly fortified facility that was no doubt full of soldiers and security systems.

The chances of getting out of the complex were virtually nonexistent. But then, those involved in the escape attempt already knew that.

“Teacher,” came a voice from beside him.

He turned and faced D’tan. Looking down at his charge, one of eleven in a semicircle before him, Spock realized that he had for a few moments allowed his mind to wander during a lesson. It was something he had never done before. In fact, until now, he would have called it a purely human tendency.

Odd, the Vulcan thought.

“Teacher, shall we conduct the class inside today?” D’tan asked, in recognition of what would soon take place.

Spock considered the question for only a moment. “No,” he replied.

D’tan looked pained. “But, today, we would no doubt find it an atmosphere more conducive to study,” the youth pressed.

According to the strictest principles of logic, D’tan was correct. Nevertheless, that was not what the Teacher intended to do. The conflict between the two should have concerned him, but it did not.

Addressing his students, he said, “Today we will continue our studies where we are. We will bear witness to all that we see. And we will remember.”

Complete stillness descended over his followers. They looked to Spock for an explanation of his decision. But for the second time in as many days, he felt inadequate to the task.

Today he would not be their teacher. Instead they would learn from their former comrades out in the courtyard—those who had set a different course for themselves. Spock sighed, wondering what he himself might learn.

As he observed Belan and the others waiting for their moment, he noticed his students rising and forming a line to either side of him. After a moment or two, he realized what they were doing.

In Surak’s time, they were known as lines of witnessing. On his immediate left was D’tan, and on his right was Skrasis. each at the head of a queue.

The old and the new, the Teacher thought. It was fitting.

As on ancient Vulcan, he and his students would bear witness to the events that would follow. They would recall these events for others who wished to know of them, for as long as they lived.

Though pleased to see the old tradition surviving so long after Surak practiced it, and so far from the burning sands of his homeworld, Spock was uncomfortable in the role of leader just then. Surely, Surak had not known the sort of doubt he felt, as he attended what would come.

He did not have long to wait. As usual, the guards were extremely punctual.

Four of them pushed out the cart that contained the prisoners’ food, while a total of eight others watched the prisoners themselves.

As usual, the rebels approached the food cart from all sides. It was then that the Vulcan realized something was wrong.

The soldiers were unusually alert, watching the prisoners more carefully than at any time since Spock and his followers were brought into the compound. Subtle signs of tension in their posture told the Teacher that they were on guard.

The only explanation was that the spy had somehow informed his superiors, despite their precautions.

For a moment, Spock was certain that Belan would realize his plan had been discovered and call off the attempt. Either the Constantharine saw the signs as Spock did and chose to ignore them, or missed them entirely in his preoccupation. In either case, the subject was soon rendered moot.

Being closest to a soldier, Belan was the first to strike. He lunged for the guard’s weapon, at the same time calling out to his accomplices to do the same. Almost simultaneously, the rest of the prisoners in Belan’s group converged on the remaining soldiers.

As Belan struggled with his guard, he struck him in the side of the neck, using a technique that predated the exodus of the Empire’s founders from Vulcan. And though the blow was primitive by current Vulcan martial arts standards, it was nonetheless effective.

When the Romulan crumpled to the floor, Belan grabbed his hand weapon. Within seconds, all of the guards were similarly accosted.

Spock noted that Santek had also secured a weapon. So had Minan, both of them employing fighting techniques that the Vulcan had taught him. And though the soldiers resisted, each of them was soon lying on the ground, disarmed and presumably at least temporarily disabled.

It was then that their captors made their move. Soldiers appeared suddenly all along the wall that ringed the compound—armed with disruptor rifles.

Others appeared behind the Teacher and his students. Their weapons, Spock noticed, were set to kill. He sighed.

For at the same time, the soldiers on the walls went about their grisly work. The hum of disruptor fire grew loud, like a swarm of angry insects. Dark blue chaos walked on long legs across the courtyard.

Belan had been the first to arm himself. He was also the first to fall—with a disruptor blast in the center of his back.

Another of the prisoners was cut down, and another. Their comrades returned the guards’ fire—or tried to. But not a single one of their weapons worked.

What’s more, Spock knew why. They had been deactivated by the guards in anticipation of the attack.

Within seconds, only four of the twelve armed unificationists remained standing. Three of those were brought down at once by another disruptor barrage. Santek was the last to fall, shaking his weapon above his head in a final act of defiance.

In the wake of the slaughter, there was a moment of complete and tangible silence. Though it lasted only a fraction of a second, it seemed much longer. The Vulcan didn’t wonder at the discrepancy.

Then as quickly as they appeared, the soldiers withdrew from their positions. Surveying the scene, the Vulcan noted that besides the twelve armed prisoners, an additional two had been struck down.

Spock was the first to move, walking purposefully toward the carnage. He knew that having dispatched the threat, the soldiers would not retrieve the bodies or the useless weapons. Not right away, anyway. Instead, they would be left as reminders to the rebels who remained.

Even as the Vulcan approached his fallen students, he could see that none of them was stirring. None of them had survived. Apparently, the soldiers were as deadly as they were precise.

Still there was work to do.

Standing over Belan’s body, Spock raised his hand and offered the Vulcan salute. A moment later, he could sense that the surviving unificationists had assembled behind him.

Spock did not have to turn around to know that they had joined him in his tribute to their fallen comrades. There would be no more lessons today. For now, they would only grieve.

Even as his mind laid out the elements of the mourning ritual, the Vulcan knew there was a larger lesson in the bodies of those before him. He only hoped he had the wisdom to uncover it.