Star Trek - Sarek

The crowd swelled and heaved like a storm-tossed sea.

  "She's right! Go home!" screamed another protester. "Devil's spawn!"

  yelled yet another.

  "Quiet!" Induna roared. "Let us speak--"

  But the leader's words were lost as the crowd surged forward. Missiles

  filled the air. An egg spattered against Soran's robe. "Filthy aliens!"

  screamed an old woman.

  The missiles grew harder, more dangerous. A rock struck Sarek on the arm

  with force enough to bruise. He flinched back, realized that Induna was

  still yelling for the crowd to quiet down, and knew the KEHL leader had

  lost all control of the mob--for mob it now was.

  Federation security officers moved in with crowd-control stunners and

  forcefields. Sarek was shoved, hit hard on the back; he turned and

  grappled momentarily with his attacker.

  With a quick thrust, he shoved the woman aside.

  As the mob surged, shrieking and yelling, the Vulcan and Induna were

  thrust almost into each other's arms. Sarek struggled to free himself,

  felt the KEHL leader flail at him, whether out of fear or anger, he

  couldn't tell. It no longer mattered. Sarek's hand came up, searching

  for the correct location at the juncture of the human's neck and

  shoulder.

  Steely-hard fingers grasped, then squeezed--Induna sagged forward

  bonelessly.

  But Sarek did not release his grip on the leader's shoulder.

  He fell to his knees, half-supporting the big human, his breath catching

  in his throat. He, like most Vulcans, was a touch-telepath, and the

  moment his fingers closed on Induna's flesh, Sarek had received flashes

  of the human's mental state--

  flashes that literally staggered him.

  Induna was not acting entirely of his own volition, Sarek realized,

  stunned by his discovery. The KEHL leader was under the influence of a

  trained telepathic presence. Using expert mental techniques, the unknown

  telepath had inflamed this man's tiny core of xenophobia into a raging

  firestorm of hatred and bigotry.

  On his own, Induna would never have been more than mildly distrustful of

  Vulcans and other extraterrestrials.

  Someone had exploited his incipient xenophobia, someone expert enough to

  enter his thoughts and influence them so gradually, so patiently, that

  the subject came to believe that everything in his mind had originated

  there.

  Someone had molded and influenced and delicately reshaped this human's

  innermost desires and fears into all-out species bigotry--

  and that someone was Vulcan.

  Sarek could scarcely believe the evidence of his own senses. Such mental

  influence was contrary to every ethical and moral tenet his people had

  developed over millennia of civilized existence.

  But he could not have been mistaken about the mental "signature" the

  telepath had left on Induna's mind. Sarek came back to the here-and-now,

  blinking, and realized that he was crouched in the center of a fighting,

  trampling mob.

  Induna still sagged against him. The ambassador struggled back to his

  feet, heaving the KEHL leader up with him, lest his unconscious body be

  crushed in the frenzy.

  Even as he gained his feet, he was nearly knocked down again by the

  panicked rush of retreating demonstrators.

  Federation Security was routing the mob, stunning many and taking them

  into custody. Others were running away at full speed. In only seconds,

  it seemed, he was left alone, still supporting the KEHL leader's

  unconscious form. Soran and Surer were still on their feet, nearby. Both

  young Vulcans had obviously been in the thick of the fray--their robes

  and hair were disheveled, and Soran was bleeding from a cut over his

  eye.

  "We're terribly sorry about this, Ambassador Sarek!" exclaimed the head

  of the Federation security force, as he was hastening toward the

  Vulcans. "But we warned the consulate against having any contact with

  the demonstrators!"

  "Your warning was received," Sarek said. "I chose to attempt to speak

  with the protesters personally. The decision was mine alone. I take full

  responsibility."

  The human glanced sharply at the unconscious KEHL leader. "Is that

  lnduna?"

  Sarek nodded.

  "We'll take him into custody, Ambassador," the officer said, reaching

  for the leader's limp figure. Sarek surrendered him to the authorities.

  "I wish to state for the record," the ambassador said,

  "that this man did not order the mob to attack us. In fact, he ordered

  them to desist, but they did not obey."

  "Okay, Ambassador," the officer said, beckoning to a subordinate with a

  stretcher, "I'll be sure to put that in my report."

  Sarek stood for a second longer, watching as Induna was placed in one of

  the emergency vehicles. Then he turned back to the two young Vulcans.

  "Let us go back inside," he said.

  Safe once more behind the closed and electronically locked gates, Sarek

  dismissed young Surev to his duties, then turned to Soran. "As the

  humans would say, "One more piece has been added to the puzzle.'"

  The young Vulcan raised an eyebrow inquiringly. "Indeed, Ambassador? To

  what puzzle are you referring?"

  "The puzzle that has occupied me for over a year now," Sarek said.

  "There is a great deal to tell you, Soran. Let us walk in the garden,

  and talk. The weather is pleasant, today."

  The young Vulcan seemed surprised. "You do not wish to go inside,

  Ambassador?"

  Sarek shook his head. "I will be able to speak more ... freely ... in

  the garden, near the water sculpture," he said.

  The youth stared at him for a moment; then his eyes widened

  fractionally. "You suspect listening devices, sir?"

  "Under the circumstances," the ambassador said, gravely,

  "I would prefer to take no chances that what I am about to impart to you

  will be overheard."

  Together, they walked around the curving path that circled the

  consulate, and were soon in a stone garden modeled on those on Vulcan.

  Sarek was reminded vividly of Amanda's garden, and wondered, briefly,

  what her visit to the Healer might have revealed. "What do you know of

  the Freelans, Soran?" Sarek asked.

  The youth cleared his throat slightly. "Freelan ... an isolated world

  located in the middle of the Romulan Neutral Zone. Perhaps surprisingly,

  the Romulans have never laid claim to the planet, possibly because it is

  so inhospitable and remote. Freelan exists in the grip of an extensive

  ice age, with only the equatorial regions supporting life and

  agriculture.

  The technological level of the inhabitants is high, especially in the

  cryogenic sciences and related products, but Freelan is resource-poor."

  "Correct," Sarek said. "For someone who has only been my aide for

  forty-seven point six Standard days, you are well informed, Soran."

  "You have been the diplomatic liaison between Freelan and the Federation

  for seventy-two point seven Standard years, Ambassador. It is my

  responsibility to be familiar with all your duties," the aide responded.

  Sarek nodded approvingly.

&
nbsp; "Freelan," Sarek said quietly, "is, as you probably also know, something

  of an enigma."

  Sarek was deliberately understating the situation. Freelan was unique in

  the explored galaxy. The Freelans did not possess space travel of their

  own, but their contacts with the Federation had, for decades, led to

  their world being included as a regular stop on local trade routes. The

  planet had never affiliated itself with any political or diplomatic

  alliance.

  Freelan was not a member of the Federation, though it did send delegates

  to many trade, scientific, and diplomatic conferences. Its delegates,

  however, remained scrupulously neutral in all their dealings and

  contacts with other planets.

  Cultural exchanges between Freelan and other worlds were virtually

  nonexistent, due to the Freelan taboo--religious or cultural, no one

  knew which--that prohibited Freelans from revealing their faces or

  bodies. When the natives had any contact with anyone not of their world,

  they shrouded themselves in concealing garments. Their muffling cloaks,

  hoods, and masks were made from material impregnated with selonite,

  which prevented them from being scanned by tricorders or medical

  sensors.

  Those wishing to meet with a Freelan on business or diplomatic matters

  had to travel to the mysterious world, where the Freelans maintained a

  space station to accommodate "guests." The station was fully automated,

  and all meetings were conducted via comm link with the surface below.

  Other than that concession to outside contact, Freelan remained a closed

  world. No off-worlder had ever landed on Freelan.

  All that was known of the reclusive race that lived there was that they

  were bipedal, and roughly humanoid-shaped, with two arms. All else was

  conjecture.

  "I had never encountered a Freelan personally," Soran said, "until I

  attended the conference at Camp Khitomer last month."

  "Did you actually speak to the Freelan envoy?" Sarek asked.

  "No, sir. As you 'know, the Freelans are not noted for mingling with

  people from other worlds. I did, however, meet the envoy's aide, a young

  Vulcan woman who introduced herself as Savel. During the evening break,

  we passed time by playing a game of chess."

  The ambassador raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? It is common for Freelans to

  employ young Vulcans as aides. So you played chess with this Savel? Who

  won?"

  Soran cleared his throat. "I did, sir. However, I found her a ...

  challenging ... opponent."

  "I see," Sarek remarked, mildly, noting, with amusement, that his young

  aide was not meeting his eyes. "I have, for years, played chess with the

  diplomatic liaison from Freelan.

  Taryn is a formidable opponent. This ... Savel ... I believe I recall

  her. Short hair? Slender figure? Wearing a silver tunic and trousers?"

  "Yes, Ambassador," Soran said, shifting sligh tly on the bench. The young

  Vulcan was clearly uncomfortable under Sarek's regard.

  The elder Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. I am not surprised that you

  ... enjoyed your game. You are unbonded, are you not, Soran?"

  The young Vulcan nodded. "Yes, Ambassador. My family does not ascribe to

  the ancient tradition of bonding while children. My parents chose each

  other as adults."

  "I assume from her name that Savel was also unbonded?" Sarek inquired,

  blandly. Most young Vulcan women altered their names with the T' prefix

  when they became betrothed.

  "That is what I gathered from our time together," Soran said, somewhat

  puzzled by the ambassador's continuing interest in his brief encounter.

  "I found the information that she was unbonded ... to be of interest."

  He cleared his throat again. "Of interest to me personally, that is."

  Sarek nodded encouragingly. "I do not find that fact surprising. Savel

  appeared ... quite intelligent."

  "Yes," Soran agreed. "However, Ambassador, there was something ... odd

  about her."

  Sarek was not surprised to discover this. Under the circumstances, he

  had been expecting as much. "What was that?" he inquired.

  "I ... enjoyed ... the time I spent with Savel," Soran admitted. "I

  wished to encounter her again, but I realized, when the conference

  ended, that I had no way to contact her. Freelans curtail their

  interactions with the outside world, as you know. So, when we returned

  home, I made inquiries, intending to discover Savel's family, in the

  event they would consent to forward a message from me."

  Sarek leaned forward, suddenly intent. "And what did you discover?"

  The youth took a deep breath and met the ambassador's eyes squarely.

  "Sir, there was no record of a"Sayel' being born on Vulcan within the

  last thirty years. According to Vulcan records--and you know how

  complete they are--no such person exists."

  Sarek nodded, his suspicion confirmed. "Soran ... what I have to tell

  you now must remain strictly between us."

  "Understood."

  "For some time I have become increasingly suspicious of the Freelans. I

  believe they are ... not what they seem.

  During the last year of studying them and their system, I have come to

  believe that Freelan presents a serious threat to the peace that

  currently exists in the galaxy."

  "The Freelans, sir?" Soran did not succeed in concealing his surprise.

  "How could that be?"

  "I do not wish to prejudice you any more than is necessary to gain your

  help, Soran. I would prefer that you draw your own conclusions, as a

  check on my own logic," Sarek said. "Suffice it to say that I believe

  the Freelans constitute a threat to the Federation, and I intend to gain

  proof of that threat before I can present my findings to President

  Ra-ghoratrei." Sarek paused. "When I first arrived, I had thought to

  speak with the Federation president of my suspicions ... but he is

  currently off-world, and will not return for nearly a week. By the time

  he returns, I anticipate having the proof I need."

  "But surely you could speak to the undersecretary, or Madame Chairman of

  the Security Council," Soran asked,

  "if this threat is as grave as you believe?"

  Sarek hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Soran ... today I gained

  proof--not demonstrable proof, except to a telepath, unfortunately--that

  undue mental influence may be at work on this world ... and possibly

  others. As a matter of fact ..." Sarek stared intently into the other's

  face. "If you will permit me?" He raised his hand in a meaningful

  gesture.

  Soran, catching his intention, nodded permission. Sarek gently touched

  the side of his face for a moment, then nodded. "Your thoughts are

  entirely your own," he confirmed.-

  Soran nodded. "So you intend to gain proof while the president is

  off-world, then present it to him upon his return?"

  "If possible. I will require your help, Soran," the ambassador said. As

  the youth started to speak, he held up a warning hand. "I must caution

  you, before you agree too quickly ... gaining the proof I seek will

  require that we travel to Freelan and infiltrate the memory banks of


  their planetary computer system."

  Soran's eyes widened. "Espionage? You intend to commit espionage,

  Ambassador? But that is ..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

  "An interstellar crime, as well as a violation of every law of

  diplomacy. I know," Sarek said, heavily. "Nevertheless, I have

  determined it is necessary in this instance. Will you help me? If you

  say no, I will understand, and ask only that you say nothing of this to

  anyone."

  The youth took a deep breath, and his eyes never left the ambassador's.

  "Serving as your aide is an honor I have aspired to for years, sir. If

  you have determined that your intended course of action is necessary to

  preserve the safety of the Federation, then it will be my privilege to

  assist you in gaining your proof."

  Sarek nodded at the youth, genuinely touched by his loyalty. "Thank you,

  Soran. I will contact Liaison Taryn and arrange a meeting to review the

  current trade policies between Freelan and Vulcan. If he agrees to the

  meeting--and there is no reason why he should not--I wish to embark for

  the Freelan space station tomorrow."

  "I will make the necessary arrangements, Ambassador." Sarek nodded, and

  remained sitting in the garden as his aide left, moving quickly. Slowly,

  the ambassador climbed to his feet, and walked back around the consulate