by Jean Lorrah
“A neurophysicist?” T’Pina deliberately focused onwhat they were saying lest her unwelcome physical reactions become apparent to Sendet.
He offered his clan name upon first acquaintance! What could that mean? Both of them were unbonded. It was not possible to have this kind of reaction to a bonded male.
“I know little of the plague on Nisus,” she continued, “but I thought it was a virus. Does it then attack the nervous system?”
Sendet blinked, glanced over at the healers deep in conversation, then back at T’Pina. “You are going to Nisus? Surely they have enough biotechnicians. Forgive me, but you do not seem old enough to be called as an expert.”
“I’m not,” T’Pina replied. “Nisus is my home. I have just completed my training at the Vulcan Academy.”
“Ah—I am also a graduate of the Academy, and have spent the past few years on the staff of the hospital there. T’Pina … I have heard your name. Did you not graduate first in your class?”
“I had that honor,” she replied, irrationally pleased that he had noticed and remembered.
“Daughter.”
T’Pina had not heard her mother come up behind her. With careful control, she turned to T’Kar. “Mother, this is Sendet, a neurophysicist from the Academy. Sendet, this is T’Kar, my mother.”
“I am honored,” said Sendet with impeccable politeness. T’Pina saw his eyes light on T’Kar’s clan badge worked in gold and silver, which she wore in honor of the formal occasion. “Your daughter does you great credit, T’Kar.”
“She has never disappointed me,” T’Kar replied. Wondering if that were a warning not to disappoint her now, T’Pina glanced at her mother’s face. But T’Kar was studying Sendet’s clan badge of gold with red and green stones. T’Pina had never studied clan heraldry; she would not have recognized the symbols if Sendet had not spoken his ancestral name. His emblem apparently meant nothing to T’Kar, either—except that the right to wear one meant the ability to trace his ancestry to one of the ancient warrior clans.
She glanced around, curious. Sorel wore his clan badge, but neither Sarek nor Spock wore theirs. Sarek wore only ambassadorial ribbons; he was neutral of all personal or factional claims when he acted for all of Vulcan. Starfleet regulations, though, could not preclude an officer from wearing such a token with his dress uniform—otherwise Mr. Scott, the Enterprise chief engineer, could not be dressed in tartans.
Spock, however, instead of a family emblem wore an IDIC. Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combination—more than merely the union of opposites, the Vulcan symbol of triangle piercing circle to release a brilliant jewel represented the ideal blending of diversity. The triangle was offset on the circle to represent motion and change; nothing alive remained static. Vulcans respected life—and that meant respecting change.
T’Pina’s gaze returned to Sendet. She wondered whether T’Deata were one of the Ancient Families. Since she would never know whether she belonged to one of them, she had never bothered to study them beyond the standard information in her history lessons. T’Deata was a matriarchal lineage designation, but it did not tell whether that clan had become converted to Surak’s philosophy during the great leader’s own lifetime, or in later generations.
Sendet was asking, “T’Kar, T’Pina, have you seen the stars from the observation deck? Motion is discernible at this warp—it is a unique experience.”
T’Kar looked from Sendet to T’Pina. “Indeed, one that I have appreciated often. The observation deck will not be crowded at this time. It is something you should see, my daughter. Will you escort her, Sendet?”
“I am honored,” the young man repeated, and T’Pina struggled to control her joy. Her mother approved! She lowered her eyes, lest either her mother or Sendet see her undisciplined delight, and started to leave with Sendet.
“T’Kar!” It was Sorel. He left the group of other healers. T’Pina hid her concern. Obviously the healer did not want her mother to leave.
“Come, T’Pina,” said Sendet. She followed him, wondering what the healer could have to say so urgently to T’Kar. Perhaps something to do with her nursing skills.
T’Pina and Sendet were not alone on the observation deck—but when they stared out at the hurtling stars, they might as well have been. Only by biting her lower lip did T’Pina suppress a gasp at the sensation of falling into eternity. Out there, before her, was utter coldness, absolute zero. Despite the layers of her clothing, she had to control a shiver
And then she felt, at her back, Sendet’s warmth, a shelter from the cold, the night. He did not touch her.
But one day, she thought, when the time was appropriate, they would touch.
Staring into the reflectionless glass that separated her from the depths of space, T’Pina allowed herself to smile.
Chapter Ten
The slidewalks stopped at the cluster of government buildings at the foot of the dam, so Korsal took a two-wheeled power cycle and rode up the steep, winding trail to the dam entrance. He ran inside, grabbing up a utility belt and communicator from the toolroom.
“Torrence, I’m at the dam. Where are you?”
“Turbine three,” her voice answered tightly. “Hurry!”
Every sound at the dam was dominated by the noise of rushing water, but as Korsal followed the orange lines that would take him to the turbines he heard another sound—a muffled clunking that shifted the ground beneath his feet, as if some giant machine were shaking itself apart.
Outside the entrance to the turbine chamber, the status lights showed turbine three off-line. That did nothing to account for the deafening clangor. Korsal pushed the door open and was assaulted anew by the noise.
Emily Torrence was a member of one of the dark races of Humans, skin as deep brown as coffee beans, hair black and springily curled—frizzed up tight against her skull now from the flying spray in the turbine chamber.
With a pair of waldos, she was maneuvering one of the gigantic cranes in an attempt to capture something spinning in the whirling water—something that showed a bit of itself above the water every so often, even though it shouldn’t.
Korsal recognized the underwater turbine blades —the wheel had shifted partly off its axle and was undulating wildly off-center.
“How did this happen?” he shouted as he fitted his hands into a second pair of waldos, putting another crane into operation.
“Ice!” Torrence replied.
Ice?
It was impossible to converse amid the deafening combination of rushing water and clanging, clanking runaway water wheel, so Korsal simply added his efforts to Torrence’s.
They clamped two cranes onto the recalcitrant wheel to stop its gyrations. Then, while Korsal watched both sets of waldos lest the raging water tear it loose again, Torrence released the turbine wheel from its axle, rejoined Korsal, and together they maneuvered the gigantic, dripping wheel over onto the concrete at the side.
Once they had captured the water wheel, the infernal banging and clattering stopped, but the rushing water was loud enough in itself to prevent conversation while they recalculated the control functions.
Two other wheels were off-true, hit by pieces of the same ice that had torn number three apart, but they could keep those turbines on-line until each could be repaired, by manually rebalancing the system. Temporarily, the power system could work with one turbine missing.
Toggling the control unit shut, Korsal and Torrence walked over to the useless water wheel. It wasn’t wheel-shaped any longer. Several blades were twisted outward, others shorn off. How could ice have done that much damage?
They left the turbine chamber for the plant status office before Korsal could ask his question. By that time, Torrence was having a reaction he had seen in Humans before: she was shaking, her skin turning gray beneath the brown.
Humans had a gland that poured a chemical into their blood during emergencies, to make them alert, strong—and in battle, supremely dangerous. When the situation passed, however, K
orsal had discovered, they often had withdrawal symptoms.
Torrence wore a waterproof jumpsuit, unlike Korsal, who had not stopped to change clothes. He was soaked to the skin from the spray, but it was Torrence who was chilling.
There were towels in a top drawer. Korsal handed one to Torrence, who mopped her face and began scrubbing at her hair.
Korsal stripped off his soaked shirt and toweled the water out of his hair and beard, keeping an eye on Torrence. She was coming out of the shock reaction, her skin texture and breathing returning to normal. He draped a dry towel around her shoulders, and she looked up at him gratefully, then poured them each a cup of steaming coffee from the machine that was ubiquitous in offices frequented by Humans.
“Now,” said Korsal, taking the other chair before the status console, “what’s this about ice?”
“The early thaw,” she replied. “Up in the mountains the ice broke loose in huge pieces this spring —too big to melt away before they reached the reservoir.”
Korsal said, “There are supposed to be safety sluices above the dam, to prevent anything too big for the system to handle from getting through until it’s melted down to size.”
“Apparently,” Torrence said grimly, “the safeties have stopped working.” She turned to the computer and logged onto the inspection schedule. “Look here —Dekrix and T’Lin were scheduled to fly an inspection tour five days ago, but there’s no log notation that they did so.”
“Check the hospital admissions,” Korsal suggested.
The names were there. T’Lin was a fatality. Dekrix was on the critical list.
Torrence bit her lower lip. “Both pilot and backup out of commission—and we’re so understaffed that we’re running with only one person on watch out here. I plead guilty. My last shift was over by the time I had run all the status checks; I didn’t call up the logs. And this shift I hardly got started before that ice hit the turbine. You realize what would have happened if that wheel had gotten away from us?”
“It probably would have spun down and knocked out all the turbines below it,” Korsal replied. “With only one and two operating, Nisus would have lost three quarters of its electrical power.”
Torrence nodded and started to get up. “I’ve got to do the rest of the status checks.”
“I’ll do them,” said Korsal. “You check the logs.”
“The hydroelectric plant’s not your job,” Torrence protested.
“Give me the checksheet so I don’t miss anything,” he told her. “Emily, all I have to do is watch for yellow or red lights! I’ll call you if I find any.”
She looked up with a smile. “Thanks.” Hunting around under various tools and printouts, she found an electronic tablet, which lit up with the checklist. As she handed it to Korsal, she put her hand on his arm. “Thank you for coming today without asking questions first. I couldn’t have—”
“Take your hands off my wife!”
Korsal turned. The man in the doorway was someone he knew only slightly, Torrence’s husband. “Charlie!” she was saying. “What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing?” the man countered. “I heard there was some kind of emergency, that you were calling all over town for help—but when I get here I find my wife half naked—”
“Charlie, shut up!” Torrence exclaimed, getting up and pulling the towel off her shoulders to show that she was fully dressed. Korsal, of course, was not—his shirt was hanging over the back of the chair, still dripping, while his soggy trousers clung uncomfortably to his legs.
“I won’t shut up!” the man replied, moving face-to-face with Korsal. The two were close in height, but Charles Torrence was built like an athlete; he was head athletic coach at the school, and Korsal remembered that he had an Olympic gold medal in some form of hand-to-hand combat. Torrence taught many forms of the martial arts, including Kershu. Korsal had encouraged his sons to take lessons with this man.
“Ms. Torrence was calling all over town,” Korsal said calmly, “for any engineer who could handle the waldos in the turbine room and help her rebalance the system afterward. I happened to be the first one she found.”
“Yeah—and now you’re trying to take advantage of her.” Torrence moved closer. “I don’t know why we ever let you stay on this planet, Korsal. You weren’t satisfied with white and green—now you got a taste for black—”
“Charlie!”
The anger in Emily Torrence’s voice cut through the man’s own. “You stop right now, and you apologize! What is the matter with you?”
Her response seemed to pull her husband out of his rage, and Korsal felt a breath of relief. It was not another attack of the plague.
Then he realized how absurd his relief was—the stress of the plague on the science colony was bringing out hidden prejudices. Perhaps … he wasn’t really at home here, after all.
Charles Torrence was looking from his fully dressed wife, her wet hair, to Korsal’s also-wet hair, his dripping shirt hung over the chair. “The emergency was in the turbine room?” he asked with tremulous calm.
“Yes, the turbine room,” his wife replied acidly. “You’ve been in there, Charlie. No one can work in there without getting soaked.”
The man looked stricken. “Oh, man—I am sorry!”
“You should be!” his wife told him.
“I am, Emmy. Korsal, listen, man—you’ve got a beautiful wife. If you caught her with another man, his clothes off—I mean, you’d think—”
“I hope,” Korsal said, trying hard to curb his anger, “that I would trust her enough to ask questions before I accused her.”
The Human looked thoroughly chastened. “I’m sorry. Both of you—dammit, Emmy, if I didn’t love you so much—”
“We’ll talk about it later,” she said wearily. “Right now I have work to do, and Korsal has volunteered to check the status boards. There are clean jumpsuits inthe locker room,” she added to Korsal. “You’d better put one on. I hear Klingons may be immune to the plague that’s going around, but it wouldn’t do to have you catch pneumonia!”
“No, and it won’t do to have more ice hit the turbines,” he told her. “I’ve got a hoverer license, and my son Kevin just got his. Round me up some maps of the safeties, and we’ll fly upriver tomorrow to see what’s happened.”
“I’d be happy to,” she replied. “Thanks.”
“And set the computer to run the logs daily and report any tests not done.”
“Someone should have thought of that a week ago!” Torrence said.
“No one is thinking clearly on Nisus,” said Korsal, “not even the Vulcans.”
Chapter Eleven
On the Enterprise observation deck, T’Pina stared out at the passing stars. “Nature has such beauty to offer,” she said at last, “and we see so little of it. Most people never leave the planets on which they are born.”
“Perhaps that is what nature intended,” Sendet replied—not at all the answer T’Pina had expected. She turned, looking up into his face, but he was as controlled as a healer. “I have never before been off Vulcan,” he added.
“Then I hope that after the epidemic has been stopped, you will be able to spend some time on Nisus,” said T’Pina. “It is very different from Vulcan. Nisus is a watery planet, very humid by our standards. There are oceans—you must take a sea voyage while you are there!”
“A …sea voyage?”
T’Pina was amused to see him slightly disconcerted at the idea, a common reaction among Vulcans. Travel by water was not in the heritage of their desert-born people, and the first experience of the deck of a boat shifting beneath one’s feet was as strange as free-fall. She wondered if Sendet had ever known that sensation, either, and determined to find out if the Enterprise had a zero-g recreational facility.
“Wide experience increases wisdom,” she quoted Surak, “provided the experience is not sought purely for the stimulation of sensation.”
“Sensation is necessary,” Sendet replied,
“lest the spirit die.”
It had the sound of an oft-quoted saying, but T’Pina had never heard it before.
“Not every Vulcan has always agreed with Surak’s precepts,” said Sendet in response to her raised eyebrow. “Surak’s philosophy brought peace to Vulcan’s warring tribes, and made civilization possible. However, the complete suppression of emotion will kill a civilization as certainly as the complete denial of rules or authority.”
“Complete suppression of emotion?” T’Pina asked. “No, I have never desired to seek the disciplines at Gol. However, my teachers have always warned me that my curiosity quotient is extremely high, even for a Vulcan.”
She was rewarded with a slight quirk of Sendet’s lips as he controlled a smile. “As is mine.”
“Then why do you say that nature intended us to remain on the worlds where we were born? Intelligent beings grow by seeking what lies over the next hill, on the other side of the mountains—or beyond the farthest star.”
“There is growth,” he said, “and there is corruption. On the other side of the mountain may be other people—weak but seductive people who leach away one’s strength.”
Now T’Pina was thoroughly confused. “What are you saying, Sendet? Many on Vulcan opposed our joining the Federation—but after all these years, the benefits of interaction with other cultures have been well proven.”
“T’Pina—look what it has done to us. Once the only Vulcans to interact with other cultures were those who left the planet, like the scientists who went to Nisus, and the traders. We did not permit aliens on our world. Now they overrun it. Nearly a quarter of the students at the Academy—”
“Sendet!” T’Pina exclaimed. “Surely you cannot believe it is an error to educate all those who have the ability and the desire. As for offworlders ‘overrunning’ Vulcan, statistics prove you in error. Fewer than one-hundredth of a percent of Vulcan citizens are of other races; less than one-half percent of the population, whether temporary residents like students and researchers or the few who have sought citizenship, are non-Vulcan.”