by Various
“True,” Sarek replied, then he breathed deep the perfume of his own tea. They sipped their drinks together for several minutes, each contemplating what the other had said. It was Sarek who finally broke the silence. “I find much of what you propose troubling, Spock. However, given the inevitable decline and fall of the Empire, yours seems the most logical course.”
“Most generous,” Spock said.
“I offer you this caveat, however,” Sarek added. “Even the most thoroughly logical agenda can be confounded by the actions of an irrational political actor—and humans are nothing if not irrational. They can be passionate, vindictive, sometimes even loyal…but more than any other species I have ever met, they are willing to kill and die for ideology. Most any species will fight for territory, resources, or survival. But Terrans, far beyond all the others, will readily slaughter billions and lay waste to entire worlds for the sake of an idea. Choosing the nobler of two paths will not come naturally to them…. They will have to be fooled into acting in their own best interest.”
There was wisdom in Sarek’s words, Spock knew. “Your point is well taken,” he said. “Perhaps it is my own human ancestry that has spurred me on this admittedly ideological course of action. That, most of all, is why I humbly seek to enlist you as my chief political counsel.”
“I would be honored.”
Rising from his seat, Spock said, “There also is one other matter of importance.” Gesturing toward the sleep nook in the back of the cabin, he called out, “Marlena. Join us.”
Sarek also stood up as Marlena appeared from the shadows. She was attired in her nightclothes, and her long, dark hair was thickly tousled. She strode to Spock’s side and clutched delicately at his arm. “You shouldn’t have woken me,” she said with a glare.
“I was having a good dream for a change.”
Spock ignored her complaint. “This is Lieutenant Marlena Moreau—my fiancée.” Turning to her, he continued. “Marlena, this is Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan…my father.”
She looked quickly from Spock to Sarek, then blushed with shame. “Forgive me, Ambassador. I didn’t mean to…I mean, I wanted to make a better first impression than this. I…” She stammered for a few seconds more without forming any actual words. Spock and Sarek waited, each with one eyebrow raised.
“Emotional, isn’t she?” Sarek noted.
“Indeed,” Spock admitted.
“Why do you wish to marry her?”
With a tilt of his head, Spock gave the only honest answer. “It seems the logical thing to do.”
Sarek nodded. “I understand.” He took two short steps toward the door. “Rest tonight, Spock. We will speak again before the conference.” He glanced once at Marlena, then, almost imperceptibly, signaled his approval to Spock with the barest hint of a nod. “The future awaits us; we have much to do.”
2268
3
The Quality of Mercy
E laan, the Dohlman of Elas, paced like a caged tiger. Spock watched the swarthy, lavishly bejeweled beauty prowl back and forth. She threw angry glances in his direction. They were alone together in Lieutenant Uhura’s quarters, which Spock had designated as Elaan’s cabin for the duration of this mission.
Grabbing a small statuette off a nearby shelf, she shouted, “You have no right to keep me here!” She hurled the figurine at Spock, who remained still and let it fly past, confident from the moment she’d thrown it that her hysteria had compromised her aim. “I am a dohlman! On my world, you would be—”
“We are not on your world,” Spock corrected her. “We are aboard the Enterprise. And as a passenger on this ship, you are required to recognize my authority.”
A fiery fit of temper propelled her across the cabin to confront him. Her eyes glistened with tears, and she looked on the verge of weeping. “Have you no mercy? No compassion? I am a dohlman, born to rule…to conquer.” A single tear rolled down her left cheek to her jaw, then it crept forward toward her chin. Spock noted the subtle manner in which she lifted her chin, an invitation for him to wipe away her concocted grief.
He turned his back on her. “I am well acquainted with the reputed properties of Elasian tears, Dohlman.” Spock stepped over to the small table that stood against one wall and set the toppled teacups upright once more. “Let us continue reviewing the protocol for your introduction to the Troyian Caliph.”
Her footfalls were soft, the gentle pattering of bare feet on the carpeted deck. She approached from behind him, and his keen Vulcan hearing was alert for any warning of an attack. Elaan had already stabbed and wounded Petri, the Troyian ambassador who had originally been given the task of educating her in Troyian protocol. Because of Petri’s subpar combat reflexes and ensuing convalescence in sickbay, the only person from whom Elaan would consent to receive further instruction in etiquette was the highest-ranking individual on the ship: its captain.
She slipped past Spock, eyeing him first with suspicion, then with perverse amusement. “The Empire’s never taken an interest in our conflict before,” she said, dropping her voice into a slightly lower register, giving her words a smoky, seductive quality. “Some of the Empress’s envoys have even encouraged us.” Moving behind her seat at the table, she continued. “But now you arrive and convince Caliph Hakil to accept a marriage as grounds for a truce and a treaty. Why?”
“A nonviolent resolution to the situation is the most desirable outcome for all parties,” Spock said.
“Not for me,” Elaan shot back. “I’d much rather kill the Troyians, down to their last infant. I’ve dreamed of cleansing their world in fire and salting its ashes. How is this a desirable outcome for me?”
Spock pulled his communicator from his belt and flipped it open. A triple chirp signaled that his standby channel was open. “Bring him in,” he said into the device, then he closed it and placed it back on his belt.
Moments later, the door to the corridor opened, and two security guards dragged in Elaan’s bodyguard, Kryton. The young man’s clothes were torn, and his face was bruised and bloody. He was barely conscious. “We caught him sending transmissions to a nearby Klingon cruiser,” Spock said. “He has been conspiring with them to sabotage this mission, because he desires you for himself.”
“Absurd!” Elaan cried. “I am a dohlman!” She stared in horror at Kryton, who hung limply in the hands of the two Starfleet guards. Disgust filled her voice with venom. “You’re but a lowly soldier—you could never be my mate!”
Calmly, Spock explained, “Not as long as you remained Dohlman of Elas. However, once he had helped the Klingons conquer the Tellun system, you would be equals—as slaves of the Klingon Empire. A minor step down the social ladder for Kryton…but a significant demotion for you.”
As she looked back at Kryton, her pity turned to fury. “You will pay dearly for this betrayal, Kryton.”
The bodyguard’s eyes were dull and half-glazed with pain. He lifted his head at the sound of her anger. “I did what my heart bade me, Dohlman,” he croaked through bloody, swollen lips. “I love you….”
“You are not permitted to love one such as me!” She whirled toward Spock. “Captain, please tell your men to remove this presumptuous worm from my chambers!”
The captain nodded to the guards, who pulled Kryton out of the cabin and took him back to the brig for his imminent execution, which Spock had postponed only until after this planned exhibition. For a change, Elaan was silent. Spock concluded that she most likely was brooding over the sudden revelation that her staunchest defender had been about to sell her into slavery.
Finally, she broke her reverie. “Captain,” she asked, “is that Klingon ship still nearby? Do they still plan to attack, to prevent my wedding to Hakil?”
“No,” Spock said. “I have dealt with the Klingons.”
Elaan looked quizzically at him. “I heard no alerts, no sounds of combat. Did they flee? Or did you strike your own bargain with them?”
“They are no longer part of the equation, Dohlman
,” he said. “I suggest you leave it at that.”
The less said, Spock reasoned, the better. The Tantalus field device had enabled him to uncover Kryton’s treachery; once the Klingon ship’s precise coordinates had been locked in, Spock had found it remarkably easy with the Tantalus field to eliminate the Klingon crew en masse while leaving their vessel intact. He had already ordered Mister Scott to capture the Klingon cruiser and tow it back to Starbase 12 for a complete analysis, from its disruptors to its spaceframe. It was a fortuitous addendum to his growing list of accomplishments, but his principal objective for this mission remained incomplete.
“I have spared you from becoming a slave of the Klingons,” Spock said. “And I would also spare you the indignity of being enslaved by the Empire. Marry the Caliph of Troyius and end the war between your worlds. United for your mutual defense, you will be able to negotiate from a position of strength for your worlds’ immensely valuable commodity.”
Perplexed, she tilted her head and squinted suspiciously. “What commodity, Captain?”
“This one,” Spock said, reaching forward. He touched the long crystalline jewels that formed her ornate neckpiece, arcing down in a semicircle atop her chest. “Dilithium crystals, more abundant on your planet than on Halkan or even on Coridan. Elas and Troyius are in possession of the largest natural deposits of high-quality dilithium in all of known space.”
“But the Imperial engineers surveyed our planets decades ago,” Elaan said, unable to hide her surprise. “They said they found nothing of value!”
“They lied,” Spock said. “Because your two worlds are so well armed and well fortified, it would have been exceptionally costly for the Empire to conquer you in open combat. It was easier to provoke you into a prolonged war of attrition, so that when your worlds became so weakened that they could no longer oppose an invasion, the Empire would eradicate you all.”
The more he told her, the sharper her focus became. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because the Klingons apparently are ready to conquer your worlds by force—an outcome that Starfleet cannot permit. My orders were to halt your conflict by force of arms, and to subdue your worlds in preparation for an occupying force.”
“Then the marriage…?”
Spock nodded his affirmation. “A plan of my own making. If the Klingons do plan to annex your worlds, you will be better able to repel their attacks if your defenses are intact and united. This will also reduce the number of Starfleet vessels and personnel that must be committed to defending you, freeing our resources for other objectives—and preserving your autonomy from direct imperial oversight.”
“Slaughter would have been quicker,” Elaan said.
“But less effective,” Spock replied. “And more costly. Better for all if peace can be achieved without impairing the value of either world to the Empire.”
For the first time since he had met Elaan, she smiled. “You speak almost like a statesman, Captain Spock. And I say ‘almost’ only because I’ve never heard one sound quite so reasonable.”
“Then you accept my proposal? You will wed Caliph Hakil?”
She gave an enthusiastic nod. “I will,” she said with conviction. “And I shall do more besides. Once our worlds are united, I will see to it that the exclusive mining rights for our dilithium are not given to the Empire.” Before Spock could counsel her that defying the Empire might undo all the benefits of uniting with Troyius, she added, “I will, instead, grant them directly to you, Spock.” She strode to the bed and sprawled herself across it. “As a sign of my enduring gratitude.”
“Most kind,” he said, fully aware of the understatement. With control over such an enormous wealth of dilithium crystals, Spock’s path to the Admiralty was all but assured. It was more than he had hoped for; he had intended only to cultivate a future ally in the person of Elaan. Instead, he had acquired himself a patroness—and a very generous one, at that.
Perhaps, he mused, I have underestimated the persuasive value of fairness and mercy. If it can spur such generosity in one, how will it affect the many?
He resolved to find out.
“First the Halkans, then that business with Coridan,” whispered Montgomery Scott. “Now a peace treaty? It’s damned peculiar, that’s what it is.”
Huddled with him were Doctor McCoy and the communications officer, Lieutenant Uhura. Their clandestine meeting was safe from eavesdropping here, in a dimly lit maintenance bay on one of the lowest decks in the secondary hull of the Enterprise. Scott himself had personally rid the compartment of listening devices and set up surveillance countermeasures in the bulkhead around it. There was no place on the ship more private than this.
“I agree,” McCoy said, leaning forward on the scuffed work bench. “Spock’s behaved oddly ever since the Halkan mission, when he asked Captain Kirk not to destroy the planet.”
Uhura got a ferocious look in her eyes. “Our duplicates,” she said. “From the other universe. You think they got to him.”
“I don’t know, lass,” Scott said. “I can’t prove it.”
McCoy’s tone was sharp. “You don’t have to prove it. Starfleet ordered Spock to subdue Elas and Troyius, but he went and made them stronger than ever—then secured their dilithium rights for himself. He disobeyed fleet orders, Scotty—you can assassinate him for that.”
“Not without orders from Starfleet Command,” Scott said. “I keep filing reports, but nothing happens.”
Pushing away from the work bench, Uhura sighed with anger and frustration. “It’s as if he’s protected by the gods,” she said. “He disobeys Captain Kirk, and nothing. Seizes the ship, and nothing. Defies Starfleet Command, and nothing. It’s like they’re afraid of him!”
“Maybe they are,” McCoy said. “After that business with the Klingon cruiser, I’m starting to fear him a little myself.”
Scott nodded. “Aye. You didn’t see it, lass. The whole ship was deserted, like the whole crew just up and vanished.” His stare became distant and creased with horror, and his voice, already quiet, hushed even lower. “Mess hall tables covered with plates of food half eaten, the gravy still fresh on the knives. A half-buffed pair of boots next to a bunk, the rag and the polish just lying on the deck. You could tell what every man on that ship was doing right before he vanished.” He looked Uhura in the eye. “And not one bloodstain. Not a single phaser burn, no carbon scoring, no sign of a struggle at all. Just the pieces of the lives they left behind. I’ve never seen a weapon that could do that, lass.”
She looked skeptical. “Then what did it, Mister Scott? Magic? Fairies and elves? A genie from a bottle?”
McCoy folded his arms and shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe the legends are true,” he said. “Even in medical school I heard about Vulcan psionics. Some people think they’re telepaths. Others say they can be clairvoyant or precognitive. Hell, I heard that in ancient times Vulcans could kill with a thought.”
Uhura rolled her eyes. “And you really believe that?”
“I don’t know what I believe,” McCoy said. “But what I know is that three days ago that Klingon ship was stalking us in the Tellun system. Then, less than an hour after Spock found it, it went adrift, and we boarded it to find every last member of its crew gone without a trace.”
Scott looked from McCoy to Uhura and lifted his brow imploringly. “You have to admit, Uhura, it seems a bit too convenient to be mere coincidence.”
“But we have no proof,” she said. “We can’t send a message to Starfleet Command that says we think Spock is using ancient telepathic powers to crush his enemies.”
“You’re telling me,” McCoy grumbled. “They’d probably give him a medal and call him a hero of the Empire.”
They stood apart from one another in the shadows and remained silent for a long moment. “So,” Uhura finally said. “What are we going to do?”
Scott shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do. We don’t have any proof that Spock’s been compromised, and Starfle
et hasn’t ordered us to take action.”
“Maybe I could declare him mentally unfit,” McCoy said. “I could say his brokering a peace treaty was irrational, and—”
“And he’d give you a half-dozen reasons why it’s completely logical,” Scott cut in. “You should know better by now than to argue logic with Spock. It’s a losing proposition.”
Uhura’s temper flared higher by the moment. “Listen to the two of you!” she hissed. Backpedaling away from them, she continued. “ ‘Nothing we can do. Losing proposition.’ You’re not men. Men would stand and fight! Men would eliminate Spock now, before his brand of appeasement spreads. But since neither of you seems willing to act like a man”—she drew her dagger from her boot—“I guess I’ll have to do it for you.”
Scott tried to interpose himself between Uhura and the door, but he wasn’t quick enough. She cut him off and was backing out of the room. “Where do you think you’re going, lass? What do you think you’re going to do?”
“What you should have done, Mister Scott,” she replied. “I’m going to kill Captain Spock before he—”
An incandescent flash of light and a lilting, almost musical ringing sound filled the air around Uhura—and when it faded she was gone. No bloodstain. No phaser burns. No sign that she’d ever been there at all.
All that Scott could do was stare at the abruptly empty space in the room where she had stood. He tried to control his terror as he realized with a shudder that the same fate might be about to befall him, as well.
A glance to his right confirmed that Doctor McCoy was harboring the same brand of paranoid musings.
Their shared horror was interrupted by the shrill whistling note of the intraship comm, followed by Captain Spock’s baritone voice. “Spock to Mister Scott.”
Trading fearful looks with Doctor McCoy, Scott moved to a nearby panel and thumbed open a secure, encrypted channel that would mask his location if anyone happened to be monitoring for that information. “Scott here.”