serendipitous coincidence, he found something he'd
been searching for for days.
"dis . . Awaiting your command. Spock . . ."
"Virtually no one suffers from stroke
anymore," Jeremy Grayson's daughter told
Spock when she arrived at her father's house from the
hospital to pick up some necessities. "But the
injuries suffered during his imprisonment, and some of the
drugs they used . . ."
"How is he?" Spock asked quietly.
"He's not regained consciousness," Grayson's
daughter said.
"And the prognosis for his recovery?"
"It's too soon to tell. He's an old
man, Mr. Spock, a very tired old man. But it
would upset him to think that you were leaving because of this."
"I am needed elsewhere," was all Spock could
say. Around his neck, beneath a high-collared shirt,
he wore the small peace symbol on its silver
chain; he could only hope that it would help
him achieve what Jeremy Grayson could not.
"All right," Grayson's daughter said with much of
her father's warmth and concern, traits that would someday be
characteristic of a certain greatgrandniece. "My father
spoke very highly of you, Mr. Spock. There were a
number of
promising young people whom he "adopted" over the
years. I think you might have been among that select
group."
"Indeed," Spock said, struggling with something that was
very like emotion.
STRANGERS FROM THE SKY
"If you ever need a place to stay . . ."
Spock merely nodded and took his leave of her.
The small silver talisman dangled cold and
hard against his alien flesh as he set off to do the
impossible.
Jeremy Grayson's daughter locked the house
behind her and returned to the hospital. Inside the
big, empty house the commphone began to beep. It
beeped continuously for the rest of the afternoon. Somewhere in
Egypt, a sometime sorcerer sipped his mint tea and
sighed.
- 299
Chapter Eight
JASON NYERE SAT listening to the proposal
being made by the bright young peace
representative and his psychiatrist friend, and
seriously considered mutiny.
He'd been surprised, stepping out of the conning
tower for some fresh air and a chance to rejoice in the silence
following the departure of the last wingboat, to see these
two emerge hand in hand from the main structure at
Byrd, stroll across the snow, and casually request
permission to come aboard.
"We've refused transport out," Jim
Kirk explained once the reintroductions were out of the
way. "We've signed all the necessary waivers, and
we're here on our own recognizance."
Nyere listened, trying to read between the line". There
was more to this bright young man than met the eye. "I
suppose my first question would have to be why? Why put
yourselves at risk of getting caught up in this thing when
you don't have to?"
"Maybe it's the reason we're here," Jim
Kirk suggested, at his charming best. "To get
caught up in what could be a critical moment in
history. Dr. Bellero's studies on space
psychology and the possibility of alien
life are what brought her here in the first place."
STRANGERS FROM THE SKY
"I can't tell you how gratifying it is,
Captain, to find my speculations confirmed in the
person of these Vulcans," Elizabeth Dehner
said sincerely. "They confirm what most reputable
scientists have maintained for years: that a civilisation
advanced enough for interstellar travel must be a peaceful
one."
Not counting Klingons, Romulans, Orions,
Jim Kirk thought, distracting himself.
"As for my people," he went on, hoping Nyere would
take that to mean the Dove Society, dis"...we are
committed to a peaceful solution, as I believe you
are, Captain. The way you've stood by the
Vulcans during the questioning indicates to me that you
want exactly what we want a just solution, with
nobody hurt. Dr. Bellero and I have a mission
to perform here, Captain, and we need your help."
"My "help" or my "cooperation," Mr.
Kirk?" Jason asked dryly; he was familiar
with this particular variety of hotshot. "Or is it
"Colonel"? I'wenty-four hours ago you were
passing yourself off as an intell-agent.
I'm still not entirely clear on whom you're working
for."
Jim Kirk grinned at him, disarming. "Do I
look like an intell-agent?"
"No, your color's too good." Jason Nyere
chuckled at the joke he was about to make. "You look
as if you spend more time on the rocks than under them."
He did a sudden about-face into seriousness. "I
don't know what you are, Kirk, and I don't know
if I can trust you. But I'll tell you something you can
pass on to your "people," whoever they arc even if it
means my neck. I have sat by and watched two
innocent people and they may not be "human," though
I'm not sure anymore if that's a privilege
or a disgrace, but they are people poked, prodded, put
through all manner of foolishness, and treated like they're
carrying some sort of disease, all because they are
"different." Historically speaking, I believe
I know something about that."
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"I'm certain you do, Captain," Elizabeth
Dehner offered sympathetically.
"And if I had the means to bust out of here and let
these people go his
"Captain" Jim Kirk gestured ingenuously
at the vast ship surrounding them "it seems to me you have
the means."
Nvere narrowed his slate-grey eyes at him.
"Don't think I haven't thought about it, Kirk.
But there's a question of what Commander T'Lera wants
oh, and don't underestimate the lady; she has very
strong opinions about what's to be done or not done in
her name tilde nd there's also the little matter of where
we go from here."
"Suppose I told you that my people were prepared
to take it from there?" Jim Kirk asked eagerly.
Was it to be this easy? "Suppose I told you we
had the means to conceal these people where no one could find them
not the media, not the PentaKrem, not anybody.
Suppose . . ."
But Jason Nyere was shaking his head; it was not
to be that easy. "No, Kirk. Thatts one of the
tamer scenarios the Council's toying with even as we
speak. I won't have these people sent into exile, no
matter how pleasant his
"Will you stand by and let the Council exercise a more
extreme option?" Kirk asked incisively.
"That's my business," Nyere snapped back, but
he'd given Kirk the answer he was
looking for.
"Suppose I said we had the means to send the
Vulcans home?" he ventured, out on a limb.
; Nyere chuckled. "Now you're creating
fantasies. Don't I wish!" He shook his
head sadly. "No, people, I'm sorry. There's
nothing I can do until Command gets back to me with the
Council's decision. After that . . ."
No one spoke for a long moment. Jim Kirk
shrugged at Dehner and they got up to leave. But not
before Jason Nyere asked them for a favor.
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"You're both free to come and go as you please, of
course. Talk to TeaLera and Sorahl. I
don't mean convince them to try to escape with you; I
doubt if you could. But let them know that all humans
aren't like the ones they've had to deal with across that
inquiry table."
"We'll do our best," Elizabeth Dehner
promised.
"Captain..." Jim Kirk shook his hand,
feeling optimistic that at least Nyere wouldn't
prove an obstacle; he'd hate to see the man
hurt.
Jason Nyere did not share Kirk's
optimism. When his guests were gone, he glared at
the silent comm screen locked on two-way silence
until the council reached its decision and willed it
to speak, at the same time as he dreaded what it
might ultimately tell him. After all this
struggle, he was faced with the same moMI dilemma
thrust upon him when the first retrieval order had come
down from Command. If the trigger was to be pulled, he
would be expected to pull it.
When he was sure that he was totally alone,
Jason Nyere put his head down on his arms and
wept.
Gary Mitchell's snowmobile made
excellent time over the fresh powder laid down by the
recent blizzard; he skimmed merrily along with the
late afternoon sun, skirting the horizon as it did this
time of year, directly in his face. It wasn't the
best of travel conditions; even with his goggles and the
mobile's photosensitive windshield he was
virtually snowbl, and he could as easily fall into a
crevasse in this unrelenting brightness as he could in
total darkness. The captain of the Aeroationav ship
that had dropped him on the edge of the shelf had wanted
to provide him with a snocat to get him
safely over the crevasses, but the thing was
armorplated and heavily tracked and much too slow for
Mitchell purposes. He'd taken the mobile and
headed directly into the sun, running on instinct.
It was instinct that made him veer off to avoid the
two identical snow tilde overed hillocks
directly in his path
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before he actually saw them. Skidding around them
to leeward, Mitchell saw why they were identical and
got out of his mobile to rap on Easter's
windshield.
"You guys all right in there?" He framed his
face with his mittened hands and pressed it against the
glass to see better. "Want some help digging
out?"
"We are fine, thank you, sir!" a cheery
voice said from the backseat. Mitchell could barely
distinguish a flash of white teeth in a dark face.
The death-pale spiky-haired figure in the
driver's seat seemed mute as well as sullen.
"Excepting, if you had a spare fuel block . .
."
"Sure thing!" Mitchell was halfway
back to his vehicle when the windshield on the
strangers' mobile slid down and the sullen figure
spoke.
"We don't need nothin' of yours," it said.
"Bugger off!"
"Hey, no skin off mine, man!" Mitchell
grinned. A crawling sensation at the back of his
neck told him what he didn't need to turn and
see: someone had stepped out of the second mobile and
aimed an automatic at his spine.
Mitchell himself had brought no weapons, hadn't
wanted to take the risk of being searched, had assumed
a vessel like Delphinus carried sufficient
armament to provide him with whatever he might need
once he got there. He'd also had a hard think about
the Prime Directive; if it forbade creating
new lifelines in the past, what did it have to say
about destroying existing ones, even if they belonged to the
scum of the Earth?
He backed slowly toward his snowmobile with his
hands raised and the grin frozen to his face, slid
in, and gunned the motor with one hand while he
slammed the hatch shut with the other, swinging away in a
great arc that he prayed was out of firing range, and
roared back the way he'd come. When he was
sure the lay of the land hid him from view, he
switched off the engine and sat there sweating, listening
to the ticking silence.
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What the hell had that been all about? They might
only be poachers, predators still bagging seals
regardless of the bans, but what were they doing this far in
on the shelf? They could be prospectors or
tourists or even, though he doubted it, natives out
joyriding. Or
Mitchell listened to his inner voice. It told
him that even if these friendly souls were acting alone and
running low on fuel, he'd better make damn
sure he got to Byrd before they did.
He reset his controls for a route around the
strangers and fed the snowmobile as much speed as
she'd take without shaking apart, caution to the wind.
If there were crevasses between him and Byrd, he
figured he'd fly right over them.
Yoshi was alone at the crew's table in the mess
hall when Sorahl brought him the computer printout.
The dinner crowd varied nightly. Yoshi,
Tatya, and Sorahl invariably ate together; most
times Jason joined them, less often
T'Lera. Melody preferred leftovers in her
cabin and her own company.
It was Tatya's turn to cook; she could be heard
rattling around in the galley, the strains of
Borodin's "Polovetsian Dances" weaving around
the sounds of cookware. Tatya had chosen the music
as well; perhaps the festive mood was in celebration
of the inquisitors' departure, or only false
hope.
Yoshi frowned at the printout in his hand,
mystified. "What's this?"
"I believe it will prove efficacious in the
cure of the kelpwilt," Sorahl said simply.
"Once you are able to return to your station and
actualise it, of course."
"It looks complicated," Yoshi said, avoiding
the issue of his return to the agrostation and what he
would have to sacrifice to get there. He
deciphered what molecule chains he
recognised, puzzling over the rest. "What's this
thing over here?"
"A synthetic enzyme similar to one developed
not
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long ago on our world," Sorahl explained.
"I was unable to find an analogue in any of
Earth's texts, which may account for the
unresponsiveness of the disease to present methods.
However, I believe it can be implemented under Earth
conditions."
"You mean you just made it up?" Yoshi was
incredulous.
"I assure you the research is accurate,"
Sorahl said, mistaking his meaning. "To within 99.44
percent, as measured under laboratory conditions.
Whether or not it will prove so under actual field
conditions his
"I didn't mean that," Yoshi said quietly,
getting to his feet as if in homage. "I meant,
all by yourself you've discovered something a dozen
agronomy experts with a million credits' worth
of grant money couldn't find under their noses in two
years of research, and you pass it off as if it's
all in a day's work. I meant you'd do this for us, after
all we've done to you. After all we may yet do
to you."
"It is no more than any Vulcan would do, given
the same circumstances," Sorahl said, puzzled that
humans still could not understand this.
Yoshi shook his head, amazed and ashamed.
Amazed at Sorahl's people, ashamed for his own.
"I also meant thank you my friend."
For the second time in history, human and
Vulcan exchanged the handshake of friendship in spite
of difference.
"Soup's on!" Tatya announced loudly,
blundering in from the galley with her hands full,
shattering the moment. Yoshi laughed for the first time since
he could remember, and Sorahl raised both
eyebrows in astonishment. Yoshi folded the printout
very small and slipped it into a pocket of his jeans,
and the three sat down to dinner.
"I'm told we have someone aboard who makes the
best chicken Kiev in the Southern
Hemisphere," was
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Jim Kirk's entrance line. If it was
calculated to have Tatyaeating out of his hand, it
succeeded.
"If I can twist Jason's arm into freeing up
some of the real chickens he's got frozen in the
hold, you're on, Mr. Kirk!" She giggled.
"Complaints, complaints!" the accused
party rumbled as Jason too joined them. He had
recovered from his earlier moment of despair; if his
eyes were bloodshot it might only be fatigue.
"I let you have the real coffee, didn't I?
You've been eating a lot higher on the hub than
my regular crew. Real eggs, fresh fruit and
vegetables his
"Only because of the Vulcans!" Tatya teased
him, returning to the galley for more plates and
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