by Diane Duane
Sarek’s mouth quirked ironically. “At the time the ambassador spoke with me, I was experiencing some minor physical symptoms of illness…I had not been sleeping or eating well. I considered asking him to send another in my place. But I told myself that my symptoms were simply those of mild fatigue due to overwork, and that a chance to rest aboard ship would be beneficial…. ”
As Sarek talked, the memory of that fateful voyage and its aftermath grew in his mind, eclipsing for the moment his surroundings. Amanda’s garden faded into the neutral-colored walls of his tiny cabin aboard the freighterZephyr….
Soft skin beneath his hands, long, silken hair spilling over his body, the brush of a mind that inflamed him past all ability to resist…Sarek groaned aloud as he reached for T’Rea. She wore only the diaphanous overtunic of her wedding garb, and he could clearly see her body beneath the silken fabric.
The sight of her made him gasp and tremble; his mind and body were aflame, hot as the sands of Gol, burning like the volcanoes that tormented T’Rukh, searing him beyond all ability to resist. Sarek reached for his bride, his hands catching in her garment, ripping it, and then he was touching her flesh….
With a gasp and a muffled cry, he sat upright on his narrow bunk aboard theZephyr, realizing that he had been dreaming. He was shaking violently, so aroused that it was several minutes before he could discipline his mind to overcome the fever racking his body.
So this is what it is like,Sarek thought finally, when he could once more think rationally. Pon farr…and I am parsecs away from Vulcan, and T’Rea…
Through their bond, he could sense her, knew that her body was experiencing that drawing, even as his was. For a moment he wondered what it would be like to be married to her for the rest of his life, but the rest of his life seemed like an insubstantial, faraway thing in comparison to the heat of his desire.
The drawing was physical pain, his need to mate was torture. How long before he succumbed to the madness, theplak tow? Grimly, Sarek set about using biocontrol techniques to subdue thepon farr so he could reason logically.
Minutes later, he rose from his bunk, outwardly composed, inwardly more at peace. It was early, yet. He had several days…perhaps a standard week…before the blood-fever would consume him utterly.
Vulcan was five days away. Should he request that the captain take him to Vulcan instead of docking at Freelan’s space station in an hour?
Sarek shrank from the idea that anyone—any outworlder, anyhuman —might see him in his extremity. And yet…surely he could hold out for a day, maintain control long enough to meet with Darov and formalize the ore-trade agreement. Much of the negotiation had already been accomplished via subspace messages back and forth.
Surely Sarek could handle one day’s work before sealing himself into his cabin and preparing to wait out the agony before he could reach Vulcan and his wedding.
T’Rea…He had met her only a few times, and not ever in the past twenty years. T’Rea had become an Acolyte of Gol, and her mental skills were formidable. People spoke of her with respect, and a little awe. Rumor had it that she was a candidate to ascend to the rank of High Master.
Wasshe now High Master? What would it be like to be wed to the High Master of Gol, someone whose telepathic skills greatly exceeded his own modest ones? What would it be like to be wed to someone who had achievedkolinahr —a person who had succeeded in purging all emotion from her being? Someone who lived by Perfect Logic?
For a moment something in Sarek rebelled at the realization that there could be no personal sharing between himself and such a woman, no intimacy, no…companionship. No warmth. No…kindness, no gentleness.
After a moment he pushed the thought away, rejecting it as illogical. His work was in the diplomatic corps…he lived on his homeworld only a few days each year. He and T’Rea would live apart, that was the only logical solution. They would meet during their Times, and that would be all.
And children?a voice whispered inside him.What if there are children?
It was unlikely that the High Master of Gol would have either the time or the inclination to raise children, Sarek decided. If a child should be born as a result of this Time…his blood heated at the thought of the act necessary to engender a child…then he would take that child to raise. His work was difficult, requiring much traveling, but a child, especially an older child, would gain much from such exposure to the universe and its varied cultures.
A soft chime came from the intercom; then the steward’s voice informed the Vulcan that theZephyr would be docking with the Freelan station in thirty Standard minutes.
Sarek spent half of those minutes in deep meditation, checking his biocontrol, verifying that the mental barriers he had set up against the heat in his blood were holding, would hold long enough for him to accomplish his duty. The moment the negotiations with Darov were concluded, he would return toZephyr and order her captain to take him to Vulcan at the freighter’s maximum warp.
Then he would lock himself in his cabin for the duration of the trip, and fight to keep control over the madness that would be nibbling at the fringes of his mind.
Minutes later, dressed and outwardly as cool and composed as usual, Sarek walked through the short tunnel linking theZephyr ’s airlock with the Freelan station.
The station was empty at the moment, save for him…there were no other outworlders staying here as they met with the Freelans on the planet below via comm link. Sarek was relieved that he would be spared the necessity of engaging in small talk with other beings. He did not even enter his sleeping quarters—a neutral, pastel chamber as bland as any hotel room—but bypassed them to go directly into the adjoining office with its comm link.
Within moments, Darov’s figure materialized before him. Sarek was used to facing the cowled, swathed figure, completely muffled in shimmering garments as colorless as a Taka moth’s wing. Darov’s mechanical voice echoed in his ears. “Greetings, Liaison Sarek! I was not expecting you until this afternoon.”
“My ship made good time,” Sarek said neutrally. “Greetings to you, Liaison Darov, I trust you are well?”
“Entirely, thank you,” Darov said, and Sarek imagined that he could hear a touch of genuine warmth tingeing the artificial voice. “And you? Perhaps you will honor me with a game of chess after we conclude our meeting?”
Sarek bowed slightly. “I regret that I must respectfully decline, Darov. I am…fatigued, and am looking forward to reaching my homeworld, so I may rest.”
Darov’s cowl jerked slightly forward, as if the Freelan had moved his head suddenly to peer at Sarek’s face. But the liaison said only, “How unfortunate that you are not feeling up to playing. I will miss our game…it has become one of the few pleasures I still allow myself, with my busy schedule.” He straightened slightly, briskly. “If you are not well, let us by all means conclude these few points quickly, so that you may rest. Shall we begin?”
“Certainly,” Sarek replied, activating half of the screen to show the data he had brought concerning the crysium ore. “Now, concerning these subsidiary mining rights…”
Hours later, they were nearly finished, when Darov suddenly turned his head, then announced, “Excuse me, Sarek. I am being summoned on a priority channel. Would you wait for a moment?”
“Certainly, Darov,” Sarek said. The Freelan’s image vanished, and he busied himself going over the points they had negotiated. He experienced a brief flare of satisfaction at his own performance. He’d protected Vulcan’s interests in all major areas, while giving in on minor points that would no doubt allow Darov satisfaction regarding his own negotiation strategies.
Halfway through the list, the Vulcan attaché gasped suddenly as pain lanced through his mind and body like a phaser blast. T’Rea! Her desire called to him, reached out for him, threatened to engulf him.Wait, he attempted to transmit along the bond,I am coming to you….
“Sarek?Sarek? Sarek, are you—” Dimly, Darov’s voice reached the Vulcan. He swayed, open
ing his eyes, found himself still in his seat, clutching the comm board as though it were a lifeline.
“I…am fine,” the Vulcan managed after a moment. “Perhaps a brief rest…”
“I did not know that Vulcans could lie…until now,” Darov said flatly. The shrouded figure of the alien nearly filled the comm screen, as though he were leaning forward, peering intently at the Vulcan attaché. “Our station has a fully equipped automated med center. Perhaps you should—”
Agony lanced through Sarek again, rolled over him in waves so crushing that they left nothing in their wake except blackness…a dark so deep that it had no end, a dark that should have been cool, but was instead an inferno of black flame, and he was burning, burning, burning…
Hands on his shoulders, a voice in his ears, calling his name. T’Rea? He lunged blindly at the hands, at the body he sensed hovering over his, pulling at him, dragging him.
T’Rea! It had to be she, for the hands on his shoulders were not cool, as human hands were, but the same temperature as his own fevered flesh. It must be T’Rea!
Sarek called her name, reaching out, then opened his eyes to see a dark form bending over him. Moments later he was lifted in arms as strong as his own, lifted and carried. “T’Rea…” he gasped, only to hear a male voice say, “No, she is not here. Come, I will help you.”
Not T’Rea? A male? Arival?
He was being challenged! T’Rea had chosen thekal-if-fee —how dare she? Enraged, Sarek thrashed, striking out, then found himself falling. He crashed to the deck of the space station with stunning force.
(Space station? Wasn’t he on Vulcan?)
But he had no time to ponder his location, for his rival was bending over him, grappling with him. With a bellow, Sarek struck out, grabbing madly at the other male’s dimly seen figure, his hands seeking the challenger’s throat.
Cloth met his fingers, impeded them from their goal. Snarling, Sarek ripped savagely, felt the cloth give and come away in his hand.
(But he was on the Freelan space station, wasn’t he? Wasn’t this Darov, who was trying to save him? This couldn’t be a rival Vulcan!)
But it was. As the shrouding cloth parted, Sarek saw features swim before his eyes—features that nearly mirrored his own! He was right! A Vulcan male was trying to take T’Rea from him! He must kill him, kill him…killhim…
(A voice crying out, a voice he recognized, despite its lack of mechanical quality. Darov’s voice, calling his name…and those were Darov’s features? Slanting black brows, proud black eyes, high cheekbones chiseled like his own, black hair, rumpled now from their struggle, and, amid the black locks, ears that were…that were—)
“I regret this, my friend,” the dimly seen figure said, as Sarek froze in shocked confusion. The arm drew back; then Sarek saw the shoulder roll forward with sudden movement. Something struck him hard on the chin, and he knew no more….
“What happened then?” a voice said, pulling Sarek out of the haze of memory into which he had sunk. The sun was setting behind him, and, before him, T’Rukh loomed at full phase, T’Rukhemai disappearing behind it. Spock was gazing at him intently.
“Obviously you survived to reach Vulcan. How did you manage it, if you were deep inplak tow?”
“When I regained consciousness,” the ambassador said, “I was in the med center aboard the Freelan space station, and I was alone. The automated machinery had evidently diagnosed my condition, then administered sedatives and hormones that allowed me to function with some semblance of normalcy. It also helped that T’Rea, unknown to me, had contacted the consulate on Earth, discovered that I was several days’ journey away from home, and was shielding her mind, blocking me from reading her…desire…through our bond.
“Under the influence of the medication, I reboarded my ship, which reached Vulcan before the end of the fifth day. My marriage ceremony took place less than one hour after theZephyr achieved orbit around Vulcan.”
“And that was when Sybok was conceived?”
Sarek slanted a surprised glance at Spock. It wasn’t like his son to ask such personal questions…but perhaps that was because he’d never given him an opening before. “Yes,” the ambassador replied simply. “T’Rea hid his birth from me, though. I did not know he existed until her death, years later. When she ascended to be High Master of Gol, two years after our wedding, she divorced me. This was legal, under the ancient laws, because the High Master is expected to sever all ties to the outside world in order to more fully embracekolinahr and the teaching of that discipline to the Acolytes.”
“Did you regret her action?” Spock asked. Two highly personal questions!
The ambassador took a deep breath. “No, I did not. I was immersed in my work, and had just been appointed under-ambassador. Besides,” he added, with a glance at the villa, “if T’Rea had not divorced me, I would not have been free when I met your mother. My relationship with Amanda is eminently more…satisfying…than anything I shared with T’Rea during our single, brief encounter. She was…” Sarek paused, remembering. “…a typicalkolinahru.”
“What really happened that day with Darov?” Spock asked.“Pon farr can…distort…one’s sense of reality.”
“Precisely. For that reason, I dismissed what had happened as aplak tow –induced hallucination,” Sarek replied. “I concluded that I must have blundered around the station, at one point running into a mirror and deciding that my own reflection was a challenger in thekal-if-fee… then, by sheer happenstance, wandered into the med center, where the automated equipment took over and saved my life.”
“Under the circumstances, that would be the most logical deduction,” Spock agreed. “But now you know that is not true.”
“Yes. My first suspicion of that was when your ship, theEnterprise, discovered twenty-seven Standard years ago that the Romulans, whose faces no one had ever seen, were plainly of Vulcan stock.”
“Indeed,” Spock said, obviously recalling the incident. One corner of his mouth twitched. “I recall the first moment when our viewscreen gave us a glimpse of the Romulan commander. It is odd that you mention that Darov bore a resemblance to you…because this Romulan did, also. I was rather startled when I first saw his image on-screen.”
“Perhaps he and Darov were related in some way,” Sarek speculated. “At any rate, from that time on, I could not dismiss the notion that the Freelans were not what they seemed. Two years ago, when the Romulans began to emerge as a serious military threat to the security of the Federation, I began researching Freelan exhaustively. As I did so, a pattern emerged.”
“What kind of pattern?” Spock asked.
“I believe that the Romulans are behind the sudden popularity and high-profile activities of the Keep Earth Human League,” the ambassador replied.
Spock blinked. “Please explain that allegation. How could the Freelans have anything to do with the KEHL? The KEHL is against all extraterrestrials…including Romulans.”
Sarek rose from the bench and began pacing back and forth as he spoke. “Consider, Spock. Every time the KEHL has experienced an upsurge in growth, at least one Freelan has been attending a diplomatic, trade, or scientific conference within the same city.”
Spock raised an eyebrow.“Every time?”
His father nodded.
“What are you postulating, Father? Some form of mass coercion? Drugs? Hypnotism?” The younger Vulcan could not disguise his skepticism.
Pausing in midstride, Sarek turned to regard his son levelly. “Mental influence.” His words were clipped, terse. Quickly, he summarized his encounter with Induna, and what he’d discovered from the KEHL leader’s mind.
“But Romulans do not have the ability to meld or mind-touch,” Spock protested. “It could not have been a Freelan who influenced the KEHL president.”
“I know that Romulans do not share the Vulcan telepathic ability,” Sarek said, somewhat sharply. “I am not suggesting that they are influencing KEHL members personally. During the past three yea
rs, Freelans have begun using Vulcan secretaries and aides in increasing numbers. Have you noticed this?”
He watched his son in T’Rukh’s lurid illumination as Spock mentally reviewed the data stored in his mind. “I have only recently begun attending diplomatic conferences, but you are correct. Every time I have seen a Freelan envoy, he or shehas been accompanied by a Vulcan secretary or aide. The Khitomer Conference is a case in point.”
“Yes,” Sarek said. “Soran was rather taken with the Freelan aide he met there.”
“Father, the practice of hiring Vulcans as administrative aides is hardly unusual.”
“True,” Sarek agreed. “Many young Vulcans take employment on other worlds as a way of traveling after completing the first stage of their education. However…” He fixed his son with an intent gaze, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “None of those Freelan secretaries or aides were born on Vulcan.”
“Indeed?” Spock blinked, then his eyes narrowed. “Fascinating…” he murmured, suddenly comprehending what the other was saying. “None of them?”
The elder Vulcan shook his head. “None. Including the young woman named Savel. I have traced every young Vulcan traveling off-world for the past five years…and no records show that any of them have been hired by Freelans.”
“Yet I saw the Freelan envoy with her at his side myself,” Spock said. “I recall them clearly.”
“As do I,” Sarek agreed. “But whoever that young Vulcan woman was, she was not born on this world.”
“Then where did those young Vulcans who are influencing the KEHL leaders come from?” Spock asked.
“They came from Freelan.” Sarek’s voice was harsh and flat, and he swallowed to ease the dryness in his throat. “Spock, the Romulans have been systematically hi-jacking ships with Vulcan passengers for decades. I have studied the shipping reports, the passenger lists, for every nearby sector, and there is an eighty-six-point-seven-percent correlation between the disappearance of a ship and the presence of one or more Vulcans on board.”