by Diane Duane
The Klingon had paled as they spoke. Not surprisingly, he found the idea of not being his own master repugnant, revolting. “How can you tell?” he whispered hoarsely. “How did you know about Wurrl?”
“I touched him,” Sarek said.
“Could you tell with me?”
Sarek nodded silently. Keraz took a deep breath, then, sitting stiffly, rigidly, nodded. “Do it,” he commanded.
Slowly, the ambassador raised his hand and brushed it across the Klingon’s high, bony forehead. He found what he had expected to find, and Keraz read the truth without Sarek having to say it aloud. The commander threw back his head and voiced a wordless bellow of rage and frustration, then cursed vividly in at least six different languages.
Finally, Keraz subsided, panting, and sat glowering in silence for several moments. “Kamarag,” he said. “This is his doing. That cursed, dishonorable slime devil has stolen my honor. For this I will rip out his gizzard and feed it to mytarg!”
“What do you mean, he stole your honor?”
“He was trying to persuade us all to turn renegade, and ever since that meeting most of the warriors there have committed honorless raids on noncombatants—just as I did.”
“What meeting?” Sarek asked.
With a savage glare that the Vulcan knew wasn’t directed at him, Keraz explained about Kamarag’s clandestine conclave. “Fascinating,” the ambassador murmured, trying to picture Kamarag in that setting.
“Kamarag has no honor, Vulcan,” Keraz said bitterly. “But you…you are different. You have courage, as well as honor. A coward would not have been willing to be alone with me after Wurrl’s attack.”
“You possess a warrior’s honor,” Sarek said, honestly. “I knew you would not attack me.”
Keraz gave him a sideways glance. “I heard that your woman is…gravely ill,” he said, gruffly. “You have also shown honor in remaining here in performance of your duty. I respect such honor, Ambassador.”
“Is that why you agreed to speak frankly with me?” Sarek asked.
“Yes,” Keraz said. “Such a demonstration of honor is admirable, no matter what species displays it.”
The Vulcan inclined his head in recognition of Keraz’s words. “Perhaps we may conclude the negotiations quickly,” he said.
“I will keep that in mind,” the Klingon replied. With a curt nod, he rose and left Sarek alone beside the fountain.
Spock sat alone in the small courtyard of the med center. This area was designed to be a peaceful refuge where friends and relatives of patients could meditate and wait in peace. The walls were pale yellow, the floor was red-ocher tiles. Benches stood ranged around the central water sculpture, facing the shining spray within its protective field. Spock gazed at the water sculpture without really seeing it.
The Vulcan was attempting to make his mind a blank, preparatory to meditating, but every time he thought he’d succeeded, thoughts, like thieves in the night, tiptoed into his consciousness.
His mother was much worse. Last night she’d had another stroke, a major one. T’Mal had ordered her beamed directly to a hospital room in the med center.
Hearing footsteps, the Vulcan glanced up to see Leonard McCoy enter the solarium. As he took in the expression on the doctor’s face, the Vulcan rose slowly to his feet.
“How is she?” Spock demanded, hearing his voice ring hollowly in the silence.
Silently, the doctor shook his head. “Not good. She’s still alive…but she can’t last for long, Spock. Vital systems are just…closing down.”
Spock stared at his friend, speechlessly. He’d thought he was braced against any eventuality, but now shock held him silent.
McCoy sat down on a bench opposite his. The doctor’s face was drawn and haggard with mingled fatigue and sorrow. “We’ve managed to stabilize her again, but her body is just worn out. The strokes have caused metabolic imbalances and neural damage, despite everything the Healers and I could do to prevent that. Now her kidneys are shutting down…and her heart is compromised. I’m afraid it’s just a matter of time.”
“How long?” Spock asked, forcing the words past the tightness in his throat.
“Not long. Days…possibly only hours.”
Spock rose to his feet, paced back and forth, his boot heels echoing on the tiles. McCoy’s blue eyes followed his movements.
“Spock,” the doctor said after a moment. “If there’s anything I can do…if you want someone to talk to, I’m here. Jim should be beaming down any minute.”
“I must make a call,” Spock said, turning abruptly. “Wait here for me. I will not be long.”
Minutes later he sat at the nearest public comm link, facing Sarek’s aide, Soran. “Greetings,” he said, curtly, in his native language. “I would speak with Sarek. It is urgent.”
The young Vulcan’s forehead creased, ever so slightly. “That will be difficult. The ambassador is in the midst of the afternoon’s negotiations. May I relay a message?”
“No,” Spock said flatly. “I must speak with my father personally. Be so kind as to summon him at once.”
Soran hesitated for a long moment, then, after studying Spock’s face, nodded. “I will inform him immediately, Captain Spock. Please wait.”
Several more minutes passed, while Spock sat rigidly, words running through his mind. Finally a figure moved before the screen in a flash of formal ambassadorial robes, and then he was looking at Sarek. “Greetings, my son. You required a conversation with me?”
Spock nodded stiffly. “Yes, sir. Mother has suffered another stroke. Dr. McCoy says that her time is very short.”
“It will not be possible for me to leave,” Sarek said, his voice betraying no emotion whatsoever. Had Spock seen something flicker behind his eyes? There was no way to be sure.
“You said the negotiations were proceeding smoothly. Cannot Ambassador Stavel take over?”
“That is not an option,” Sarek said firmly. “I must handle this personally. There is more at stake here than I realized.”
Spock drew a deep breath. “I ask that you reconsider,” he said, tightly. “My presence does not comfort her. She is calling for you.”
Sarek’s eyes closed, and this time the pain on his features was not masked to someone who knew him well. “Spock…I cannot.” His face smoothed out, became impassive once more. “Farewell, Spock. I must return to the negotiation table now.”
The connection was abruptly broken. Numbly, Spock rose from his seat and returned to the solarium. There he found Kirk and McCoy waiting for him. McCoy checked the tricorder he was holding. “The monitors say she’s sleeping, Spock,” he said. “I’ll know the instant she wakes up. Sit down for a minute. You look done in.”
As the Vulcan obeyed, Kirk glanced at McCoy. “How is she?”
Quickly, the doctor summarized Amanda’s condition.
“Is Sarek coming home?” Kirk asked Spock.
The Vulcan’s eyes narrowed. “No. The negotiations take precedence.”
Kirk’s hazel gaze widened slightly as the captain evidently realized he’d touched on a sensitive subject.
McCoy shook his head grimly. “Lousy timing. That Klingon commander was out of his mind to pull a stunt like this. He couldn’t possibly have thought he’d get away with it!”
“Having seen Klingon ‘justice’ close up, I’m surprised that any amount of greed could induce a commander to commit treason against the Empire,” Kirk agreed.
Spock stared at his captain for a long moment. “Interesting that you should employ that particular word, Jim. Perhaps that is indeed the case…that Keraz was induced to invade Kadura.”
Kirk’s hazel eyes were bright with curiosity. “What do you mean, Spock?”
The Vulcan hesitated, then said, “I had hoped to broach this subject when Sarek was here, so he could relate events firsthand, but…there is no way of knowing when my father will return to Vulcan.” His voice was hard and flat in his own ears, and Spock saw Kirk and McCoy exchange q
uick glances.
“What do you mean? What’s going on?” the captain asked.
Spock reached out and took McCoy’s medical tricorder, propped it where they could all see Amanda’s monitors displayed. “If she wakes, I will have to stop,” he warned the others. “Sarek told me the entire story only a few days ago…. ” The Vulcan continued, summarizing Sarek’s findings about the Freelans and the KEHL.
When the first officer finished, the captain and chief surgeon exchanged glances; then both officers shook their heads dazedly. “I swear, Spock, if this were anyone but you tellin’ me this,” McCoy said, “I’d say he wasn’t firin’ on all thrusters. Romulans walking around the Federation without a by-your-leave? It sounds like the worst kind of paranoid delusion!”
“If it were anyone but a Vulcan saying this, I’d agree, Bones,” Kirk said. “But Sarek is definitely sane…and if he’s right about all this, he’s right that this poses a serious threat to Federation security.”
McCoy, catching sight of a change in the monitor, pointed wordlessly. Amanda was awake.
Quietly, the three officers entered the sick woman’s room. Spock sat by Amanda’s bedside, and his friends sat in the back of the room, their silent presence offering quiet support.
Even though Amanda was conscious, she seemed unaware of their presence. Occasionally she would call “Sarek?” in a questioning tone, then pause, plainly listening for a reply. Spock’s murmured “I am here, Mother, it is Spock” made no difference. Amanda remained unresponsive to the voice of her son.
After a half-hour had passed, the Vulcan rose and motioned his friends to join him in the corridor so he could speak freely.
“I will stay with her,” he said. “I appreciate your presence, but I know you have duties aboard ship.”
McCoy nodded, understanding the Vulcan’s unspoken plea for privacy.
Kirk cleared his throat. “If you would like some company, Spock…”
The Vulcan nodded. “Your offer is appreciated, Jim, but at the moment…I would prefer to be alone with her.”
“I understand completely. If you change your mind…”
Spock was wearing civilian clothing, a Vulcan robe, but he reached into the pocket and removed his communicator and held it up.
“Okay,” Kirk said.
McCoy put a hand on Spock’s arm. “The same goes for me, Spock. She could go on like this for some time. Don’t forget to eat something today, okay?”
The Vulcan nodded. “Is she in pain?”
“No, I don’t believe so,” McCoy said. “And, Spock?” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “It’s common for stroke victims to fixate on one person or one thing. Sometimes the person can be sitting right there, but the patient won’t recognize them, so…there’s not much you can do about it. Even if your father were here, she might not realize it.”
“I understand, Doctor.”
Spock gazed at his two friends, knowing there was nothing more to say. Both Kirk and McCoy hesitated, then nodded, and silently turned away.
Sarek paced slowly down the corridor toward yet another negotiating session. It was morning on Kidta, but the new day brought no lightening of his spirits. The Vulcan wondered whether he should attempt to contact Spock and inquire about his wife’s condition. Sarek knew, only too well, how angry Spock was over his failure to return home. He knew that, under most circumstances, his son was as logical as any Vulcan…but he also knew how deeply Spock cared for his mother. As he himself had once said to T’Lar, when it came to questions about the welfare of a family member, one’s logic became…uncertain.
As the ambassador hesitated in the corridor of the conference center, wanting to contact Spock, he was strangely reluctant. Sarek found himself concentrating on Amanda, trying to feel her presence, sense her mind through their bond. He closed his eyes, concentrating…concentrating…
A thread, so faint…he traced it, followed it, opening his mind, sensing it. Amanda…she was there, in his mind, but her mental thread was weak…was weakening, even as he touched it. Sarek’s breath caught in his throat as he realized that he was too late…too late. As he stood here in this hallway, his wife was dying.
Amanda!It was a mental cry of anguish that resonated within his mind. Grief struck him like a blow, grief and regret so agonizing that he swayed as he stood.
Quickly, realizing he needed solitude, Sarek turned to a small, empty conference chamber and entered it, not activating the lights. In the darkness, with nothing to distract him, perhaps he could find her, could reach her mind, even across space. It had been done before, by stronger telepaths than he…although he’d never been able to accomplish it.
But he had to try….
Spock sat by his mother’s bedside, holding her small, cold, wasted hand in both his own, as though he could somehow transfer some of his own strength to her by so doing. Amanda’s blue eyes were open at the moment; she had been semiconscious all afternoon.
The room was bathed in sunlight, and the monitoring devices were subdued, nonintrusive.
As Spock watched her, wondering whether she would take a sip of water if he offered it to her, Amanda’s lips parted, and she spoke. Barely more than a breath escaped—a breath that was a name.
“Sarek…”
She had been calling him for hours, and the sound of it wrenched her son’s heart as nothing in his life ever had. Spock leaned over and said, softly but distinctly, “I am here, Mother, I am here. Spock…I’m here with you, Mother.”
She opened her eyes again, stared vacantly at him. Fretfully, she tugged her hand away from his. “Sarek?” she murmured, turning her head on the pillow, seeking someone who wasn’t there.
“Mother?” Spock called softly. Amanda turned her head to gaze at him, and for a moment he thought he saw a flash of warmth and recognition in her eyes; then it faded. Her eyes moved again, and she stirred restlessly.
“Sarek?”
Spock sighed. A few minutes later he coaxed her to take a sip of water from a straw; then she seemed to slip off into a doze.
An hour later Amanda’s right hand moved restlessly, plucking at the coverlet. The Vulcan reached over to hold it. This seemed to calm her for a few minutes, and she dropped off again.
Spock fell into a doze himself; he’d scarcely slept since this had begun, and even his Vulcan constitution was wearing down. He jerked awake an hour and thirty-two point nine minutes later, hearing his mother call, “Sarek?” Her voice held such sadness, such utter desolation that his throat tightened.
Glancing up at the monitors, he saw that the levels were dropping…she was fading, fading away. Healer T’Mal came in, checked her patient, and when Spock, with a glance, whispered, “How long?,” the physician simply shook her head.
“Sarek?” Amanda’s voice cracked on the word. Spock attempted to give her some water, but she turned her head away, fretfully.
“Mother, it is Spock. I am here,” he said aloud, seeing that her eyes were wide open, and she was staring straight at him.
“Sarek?” she called.
This is unbearable.Spock got to his feet and paced restlessly around the room.There is almost no possibility that Sarek will arrive in time. But…unless he is here, she will have no peace. I must find a way to help her achieve tranquility, serenity…but how?
Suddenly, an idea occurred to him. But was Amanda strong enough to withstand what he had in mind?
Sarek sat alone in the dark, his head bowed in his hands, struggling to reach his wife. With all his being he wanted to be with her at the end, wanted to give her a sense of his presence along the tenuous pathway of their bond. Sarek pressed his hands to his eyes, shutting out all light, and proceeded to systematically blank out everything except the sense of Amanda’s presence in his mind.Amanda, I am here. My wife, I am with you. Amanda…I am with you…hear me, know it is I. Amanda, my wife, I am with you….
Over and over he repeated his message, casting his mind along that fragile link, not knowing whether he was succe
eding. His sense of her presence grew, eclipsing everything else; his entire existence was centered on the mental link he shared with her. Memories flashed through his mind, memories of times past—their wedding night, Spock’s birth, his Times with her, the heat of the passion between them seeming to fill the whole world—and for a moment he thought he sensed that she was sharing those memories with him. But he could not be certain…could not even be sure that she was aware of him. If she was unconscious, he might be touching some last dream, instead of her thinking, conscious mind.
Amanda…my wife, I am with you. You have made my life better in so many ways, and I thank you…Amanda, feel my presence. I am with you….
Spock glanced reflexively at the monitors, and what he saw there made him cross the room in one long stride.Am I too late? Spock’s fingers went to her head, brushing aside Amanda’s hair, seeking the proper contact points.
The Vulcan sent his mind out, searching, seeking his mother’s consciousness. She was almost gone…. Dimly he sensed her personality, the last sparks of life and consciousness, and sent his mind surging toward hers, seeking for contact. Desperately, he tried to locate and link with that last, faint spark of life. He was determined to give her peace, give her what she wanted so badly—her husband’s presence. He would call up a memory of Sarek so vividly that she would believe his father was actually present.
As he struggled to establish contact, time seemed to stretch, as though some uncanny relativistic space-time pocket had taken over the room—even though Spock’s inner chrono told him that less than a minute had passed. He was failing…the spark that was her life, her consciousness, was falling away in the dark, fading like a burnt-out cinder. Spock tried, but he could not touch her mind, could not capture that dying spark. Beneath his fingers, Amanda twitched, then gasped reflexively, once, twice—
Spock summoned all his mental strength for one last attempt, sending his mind hurtling after that fading life-spark….My mind to yours…our minds are one…
But it was no good. She eluded him, fading out, falling away, going too deep for him to catch and still live.Mother! Spock whispered silently, and knew she did not hear him…was not aware of him…