Sand and Stars

by Diane Duane

  Turning away from the vista before him, the ambassador headed back toward the house, his strides quick and sure. For a moment he envisioned Spock’s reaction if he were to discover what his father was planning, and experienced a flicker of amusement. His son would be surprised, possibly shocked, if he knew that his sire was logically and rationally planning to commit a crime. The ambassador had little doubt that, in his place, Spock would choose the same course. But his son was half-human—he’d long ago learned to dissemble, to equivocate…even to lie. Yes, Spock would condone his decision—which, in a way, made his father’s conscience trouble him even more.

  But there was no help for it—his logic was faultless. His course was clear. He would not turn back.

  Reaching the villa, a low, sprawling structure with thick, protective walls, Sarek entered. The house was decorated for the most part in typical Vulcan fashion, austere, with only the most essential furnishings, but its very bareness lent a feeling of spacious comfort. In the living room, presence of the villa’s human occupant was reflected in the antique desk with its faded petit-point chair, in the matching coffee table, and in the handwoven hangings that lent soft touches of rose, turquoise, and sea green to the walls. A water sculpture made a faint susurration within the protective field that prevented evaporation of the precious liquid.

  Sarek paused in his office and contacted his young aide, Soran, instructing him to make arrangements for them to travel off-world. The Ambassador’s office was devoid of ornamentation, except for the painting of an icy world beneath a swollen red sun.

  Next door to his office was the bedroom, and through that lay his wife’s sitting room, with its view of the eastern gardens. Sarek already knew from the bond they shared that Amanda awaited him there. He hesitated for a moment before the carven portal leading into their room.

  Knowing that his wife had sensed his presence through their bond, Sarek opened the door and passed through the bedroom to the sitting room. Amanda occupied her favorite chair as she sat gazing out at The Watcher and the rocky spires of her garden.

  The light from Vulcan’s sister world shone on her face, revealing new lines that had not been there a month ago. Her bones seemed more prominent, the lines of cheekbones and nose showing through flesh. He studied her for a moment, noting that Amanda’s flowing garment now clearly outlined the angles of her shoulders and collarbone; she had never been a large woman, but during the past month she had clearly lost weight from her already small frame.

  “Sarek,” she greeted her husband, her mental and audible voice filled with warmth and welcome as she held out her hand to him.

  “Greetings, my wife,” the ambassador said, permitting himself the small smile that he reserved for her alone. Extending two fingers, he ceremoniously touched them to hers. The gesture, so simple on a physical level, was, between a bonded couple, capable of nearly infinite shades of meaning—at times merely a casual acknowledgment, the mental equivalent of a peck on the cheek, at times nearly as passionate as anything experienced in the throes ofpon farr. Sarek’s touch conveyed a depth of feeling that the ambassador had never voiced, for speaking of such things in words, aloud, was not the Vulcan way.

  “Is it cool out tonight?” Amanda asked, gazing out at her garden. She had planted it shortly after Spock’s birth, using unusually shaped and colored stones to complement the native Vulcan cactuslike trees, as well as desert plants from a dozen Federation worlds.

  “The temperature is normal for the season and time of day,” Sarek replied.

  “I thought of joining you on the terrace,” Amanda said, glancing out at the garden, “but I must have fallen asleep. I only awoke when I felt your presence next door.”

  Sarek sat down next to her, his gaze traveling over her features, noting with disquiet how drawn and pale she appeared. And she tired so easily these days…

  Concerned, the Vulcan raised the light level in the room, then studied his wife’s face intently. Even without The Watcher’s eerie illumination, Amanda appeared drawn and pale. No trace of pink remained in her cheeks, once so rounded and healthy.

  As she grew aware of his fixed regard, her blue eyes, once so direct, refused to meet his own. She busied herself capping her old-fashioned pen, then closing her journal and placing it back in the drawer of her desk.

  Sarek leaned closer to her, his eyes never leaving her countenance. “Amanda,” he said quietly, “I noted the other day that you appear to have lost weight…have you been feeling unwell, my wife?”

  The thin shoulders lifted in a small shrug. “I expect I may have picked up a cold, Sarek. Please don’t worry about me. I will be fine.”

  The ambassador shook his head. “I want you to contact T’Mal, and arrange for her to conduct a thorough evaluation of your physical condition.”

  Amanda glanced at him; then her eyes shifted quickly away. “All I need is a few day’s rest, Sarek. There is no need to visit my physician.”

  “Please allow the Healer to make such a judgment,” Sarek said. “Promise me that you will arrange to see her as soon as possible, Amanda.”

  She took a deep breath, and Sarek sensed through their bond that she was struggling to keep some strong emotion from him. “I have a great deal to accomplish this week,” she demurred. “My editor wants to move up the publication date for the new book. She told me today that there is a tremendous amount of interest in having the writings of Surak’s followers translated.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Yes,” Amanda said, clearly warming to her subject, “and when I told her about—”

  “Amanda,” Sarek interrupted, raising one hand, “you are changing the subject deliberately. Do not think that I did not notice.”

  His wife opened her mouth to protest, then closed it abruptly and stared fixedly at her hands. Sarek’s concern sharpened. Amanda seemed to have aged a decade in a matter of a few weeks.

  “I regret that I must leave you, tomorrow morning,” Sarek said. “I must go to Earth to consult with the Vulcan consulate and arrange to meet with the Federation president. It will aid me in concentrating on my work if I know that T’Mal will be monitoring your health while I must be away.”

  “You have to leave?” Amanda repeated, and something darkened her eyes. Sarek tried to catch her emotion, but she had been studying Vulcan mental disciplines as well as the Vulcan language for decades, and he was unsuccessful. “How…how long will you be gone?”

  “A week, possibly two,” the ambassador said. “If I could postpone this, I would, given your apparent ill health, but I cannot. The situation on Earth regarding the KEHL has worsened considerably in the past weeks.”

  “I know,” Amanda admitted. “It makes me ashamed of my whole planet—the Keep Earth Human League used to be just a haven for ineffectual crackpots and ignorant fools. But today’s news said there had been demonstrations in Paris in front of the Vulcan consulate! It makes me furious!” For a moment her eyes flashed sapphire with indignation, and she almost appeared her old self. “Those idiots are trying to convince the entire planet that Vulcan is responsible for every disaster from the Probe’s devastation to the Klingon raids along the Neutral Zone!”

  “The KEHL does appear to be set on fomenting discord between my people and yours,” Sarek said. “I have not heard any reports of incidents at the Andorian or Tellarite consulates.”

  “Do you believe that the KEHL’s sudden renaissance is due to Valeris’s involvement with that secret cabal?” Amanda asked.

  “The Terran news agencies certainly highlighted the Vulcan, Klingon, and Romulan conspirators far more than they did the activities of Admiral Cartwright or Colonel West when Chancellor Gorkon was assassinated and the Khitomer Conference disrupted,” Sarek conceded. “Which, under the circumstances, is unfortunate, but not surprising.”

  His wife gazed at him intently. “Sarek…does this resurgence of the Keep Earth Human League have any connection with your current project?”

  Sarek sat back in his seat a
nd glanced out the window at T’Rukh, its upper limb now shadowed. The ambassador was silent for nearly a minute before he spoke. “I have reached a number of conclusions of late, Amanda,” he said. “I have a number of suspicions. However, I have no evidence to support my theory that is not statistical, circumstantial, or purely inferential. I need concrete proof before I can bring my findings before the Federation officials and the president.”

  “And that’s why you are going to Earth? To get some kind of proof?”

  “Yes.” After a moment, the ambassador amended, “If possible.”

  “I see.” Amanda’s mouth tightened, but she did not pursue her line of questioning—which, almost more than the physical changes he had noted, alarmed the ambassador. If his wife had been feeling like herself, she would never have given up so easily. She would have kept after him until she’d satisfied her curiosity. But now she leaned her head back against her chair, gazing out at The Watcher in silence, her eyes half-closed with weariness.

  Sarek’s breath caught in his throat as he regarded her, and he identified the feeling that had been growing within him ever since he had entered the room.

  Fear.

  “Amanda,” he said, keeping his voice from betraying any shade of emotion, “I insist that you call the Healer and arrange to see her. If you will not promise, I will postpone my trip a day and do so myself.”

  She gazed at him, and he sensed deep emotion through their bond. Sorrow—but not for herself. Amanda’s grief was for him. “Very well, Sarek,” she agreed, at long last. “You have my word that I will make an appointment this week.”

  “You will call tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  The ambassador drew a deep breath, somewhat relieved, but still disquieted. “Perhaps I should call someone to stay with you while I am gone,” he said. “One of your friends, perhaps…” Swiftly, he reviewed options, and realized that most of his wife’s human contemporaries had died within the past several years. “Another possibility is our son. Perhaps he could take leave, return home for a visit if I contacted—”

  “No!” Amanda’s voice was sharp and final. “I don’t want you worrying our son. There have been Klingon renegades raiding all along the Neutral Zone, and I’m sure theEnterprise is one of the ships patrolling out there.”

  “If Spock knew that you were feeling unwell—”

  “Absolutely not,” she said, in a quieter but even more positive tone. “I expect you to respect my wishes in this, my husband,” she added, sternly.

  Sarek hesitated. Amanda fixed him with a look. “My promise for yours, Sarek. Do we have a bargain?”

  The ambassador nodded. “Very well, Amanda. You will contact the Healer, and I willnot contact our son.”

  She nodded at him, her blue eyes softening until they were the color of her homeworld’s skies. “I wish you a safe journey, Sarek,” she said, and then added, with a faint, tender smile, “Whatever you’re planning…be careful. Never forget that I love you…illogically and madly. Remember that…always.”

  The Vulcan gazed back at her, his eyes never leaving hers. Slowly, formally, he held out two fingers. “I will be careful, my wife.”

  In response to his gesture, his wife’s fingers brushed, then settled against his own. The warmth of their bond enfolded them, eliminating the need for spoken words.

  One

  Sarek of Vulcan stood at the window of the Vulcan consulate in San Francisco, gazing out with growing disquiet. Today’s demonstration by the Keep Earth Human League had begun with only a few picketers, some carrying homemade placards, others more sophisticated holosigns, but, even in the short time he’d been standing there, the crowd had grown rapidly.

  Now a full score of shouting humans milled before the gateway. Sarek’s Vulcan hearing could easily make out what they were chanting: “KEEP EARTH HU-MAN! KEEP EARTH HU-MAN!” interspersed with occasional, strident shouts of “VULCANS GO HOME!”

  “Illogical,” murmured a voice from beside him, and the Vulcan ambassador glanced sideways to see his young aide, Soran, standing beside him, his dark eyes troubled. “Last year, the Keep Earth Human League was considered a refuge for weak-minded racists. I examined the records…there were no more than forty or fifty members on this entire planet. But now, Federation Security estimates their numbers to be in the thousands. Why this sudden growth, Ambassador?”

  Sarek hesitated, on the verge of giving a vague answer, but instead shook his head slightly, warningly.

  “Ambassador Sarek?”

  The two Vulcans turned as one of the young diplomatic attachés, Surev, approached. A few minutes ago, the young Vulcan had asked the ambassador if he could spare a moment to be introduced to a human friend of his, and Sarek had graciously agreed. Now, however, Surev’s unlined features were even more somber than usual. “Ambassador, I believe we must cancel the meeting I mentioned.”

  “Why?”

  “I just received a communiqué from the Federation Security Office,” he announced. “The security chief, Watkins, asks that we stay inside the building until they can dispatch sufficient officers to control the crowd. It is not safe to go outside, and they say that under no circumstances should you agree to meet with the KEHL leader, Ambassador.”

  Sarek raised an inquiring eyebrow. “Has such a meeting been requested by the leadership?”

  Soran cleared his throat slightly. “As a matter of fact, it has, sir,” he said. “A message arrived a few minutes ago from the demonstrators.”

  “Why was I not informed?” the ambassador demanded, turning to face Soran. His aide was obviously taken aback by the question.

  “Ambassador, I never considered that you might wish to accede to their demand for a meeting—that would be most unwise. Possibly dangerous.” Soran sounded faintly aggrieved, and Sarek could not blame him. But his aide, as yet, knew nothing of the ambassador’s hidden agenda. He would have to take Soran into his confidence today, Sarek decided. He would need help when he made his next trip. And the youth was good with computers—almost as talented as his own son. Those skills would prove useful.

  “Who requested the meeting?” Sarek asked.

  “The planetary leader of the KEHL,” Surev said. “His name—or, at least, the name he goes by in the organization—is Induna. He is from the African nation of Kenya.”

  Sarek looked out the window again. Surev pointed to a human who stood nearly a head above the others. “That is Induna,” he said.

  The Vulcan ambassador studied the imposing figure of a dark-skinned human, who wore a silk robe brilliantly patterned in black and red. “I will speak to him,” he said, reaching a sudden decision. He needed more information about the KEHL, and firsthand observation would not be amiss.

  “Ambassador—you must not! It is not safe, sir!” Soran half-barred the doorway, struggling to maintain his composure in the face of what must seem extremely anomalous behavior on the part of the senior diplomat.

  Sarek merely looked at him for a long second. Soran hesitated, then stepped silently out of the way. Surev half-bowed. “May I at least accompany you as far as the gates, sir?”

  Sarek nodded graciously. “Certainly, Surev.”

  Leaving the domed building and walking down the ramp, Sarek heard the crowd as it caught sight of him, flanked by Surev and Soran. Insults were hurled at the Vulcans, many of them personally directed toward the ambassador himself. The sight of Federation security officers around the fringes of the crowd was reassuring.

  The Vulcan approached the demonstrators, seeing that someone had closed the gates to the consulate, which had always stood open before this. Shouts and epithets filled the air:

  “They want to take over Earth! Spawn of the devil!”

  “Dirty aliens, think they’re so smart!”

  “Go back to Vulcan!”

  “Vulcans go home!”

  Approaching the gateway, Sarek raised his voice to be heard. “I am Ambassador Sarek,” he called out. “I understand that Induna wishes
to speak with me. Which of you is Induna?”

  In response, the crowd (which now numbered forty or fifty people) parted, and the KEHL leader stepped forth. “I am Induna,” he announced. His voice was a deep, bass rumble.

  “Greetings, Induna,” Sarek said, raising his hand in the Vulcan salute. “I wish you peace and long life.”

  “I accept no good wishes from Earth’s enemy,” Induna said coldly.

  “I assure you that I wish only good relations between our worlds,” Sarek said. “I invite you to enter the gates, so we may speak together.”

  The man drew himself up, clearly antagonistic. “I have nothing to say to you, Ambassador, that cannot be said within hearing of those who follow me. And I refuse to speak with a being so cowardly that he hides behind gates.”

  “I am not hiding, nor do I have anything to hide,” Sarek corrected him, his tones civil but firm. The ambassador heard shouts from the crowd, but Induna appeared to be able to control his followers. “Very well, then, I will come to you, so we may speak together like civilized beings.” Before either of his companions could remonstrate with him, Sarek reached out and opened the gate. Head high, still flanked by the young diplomats, he strode forward into the crowd, straight for Induna.

  The moment he stepped into their midst, brushing against the demonstrators, Sarek was nearly sickened by the miasma of hatred that he sensed from the humans in the crowd. His planet and this world had been allies and friends for over a century. How could such a thing be happening now?

  The KEHL leader was clearly taken aback as the ambassador approached him, but recovered his aplomb quickly. Turning to the crowd, he motioned for quiet—but instead the shouting intensified.

  “Vulcans go home!”

  “Sarek sold out Earth to the Klingons!”

  Induna gestured again, more peremptorily. “Let me speak to this Vulcan, my friends and comrades,” he ordered. “If I can make him see that he and his kind have no place on our world, then he will leave Earth! We do not want war, we want peace—they can keep to their planet, as we shall keep to ours!”