Star Trek - Sarek

by A. C. Crispin

  suggest that you meditate and attempt to regain your control." He drew a

  deep breath, and added, in a tone that was intended to be conciliatory,

  "Remember, my son, you are Vulcan."

  "At the moment, if you are any example, being Vulcan is hardly a

  condition to be desired," Spock snapped. Without another word, he

  brushed past his father and headed down the corridor. Behind him he

  could hear the ambassador's footsteps receding.

  When Spock regained control, he gently opened the door to his mother's

  room, and entered, parting the pressure curtain with both hands.

  Amanda was awake. Spock noted the unmistakable signs that she had been

  crying, but there were no tears present when she smiled at him wanly and

  held out her hand. "I was just about to eat my lunch," she said, nodding

  at a tray placed across her lap by the Healer's aide. "Would you like to

  join me, Spock?"

  The Vulcan nodded and drew a chair up beside her bed.

  Amanda was making a valiant effort, he could tell, but she had to force

  herself to swallow several small mouthfuls. She smiled at him. "Do you

  know what I dreamt of last night?" she asked. "It was so strange ...

  after all these years on Vulcan, being a vegetarian ..."

  "What, Mother?"

  "I dreamt that I was eating an old-fashioned hamburger.

  It tasted wonderful--nice and rare, with cheese and lettuce and tomato

  ... "She smiled, shaking her head.

  "If you would like one," her son said, "I will contact my ship and ask

  them to beam one down immediately."

  "Oh, no, don't," Amanda said. "I'm sure that eating meat after all these

  years would make me quite ill. And the real thing could never match how

  good it tasted in my dream ... "She chuckled slightly. "But it was odd

  to dream about that after what ... sixty years?"

  "Indeed," Spock said, cautiously. He sensed that his mother was

  chattering on as a way of working herself up to

  what was really on her mind. Sarek, he thought, was probably aboard his

  transport and leaving orbit by now.

  "Spock," Amanda said, softly, putting down her spoon and gazing at him

  directly, "what is death like?"

  Spock stared at her for a long moment. How many times had he been asked

  this same question in the past three and a half years? Never before had

  he attempted an answer, but this time ... he cleared his throat.

  "Mother, I cannot tell you what death is like. In a way, since my katra

  departed to reside in Dr. McCoy when my physical body expired, I was not

  truly dead, as humans understand the term."

  "Oh," she murmured, disappointed. "I'm sorry if that question was ...

  disquieting. My curiosity got the better of me ... under the

  circumstances."

  Spock forbore to comment on her reference to her "circumstances."

  Instead he said, gently, "I cannot tell you what death is ... but I

  remember dying. I know what it is to die."

  Amanda sat up a little straighter against her pillows, pushing her tray

  aside. Her blue eyes never left his. "Really?

  Tell me if you can, Spock."

  "It was painful," Spock admitted, and if he had been human, he would

  have shuddered. "I had been exposed to enough radiation to literally

  burn me. In addition, my mind, while clear in some ways, was affected,

  and thus I could not control the pain. I suffered, but I knew before I

  even entered the chamber that I would not survive, so I also knew that I

  would not have to endure for long ... "

  Amanda's eyes filled with tears. Spock knew that imagining her son

  burned, poisoned, and dying of massive radiation exposure was upsetting

  her. He hesitated, watching her.

  "Mother ... if this is too painful for you, I will ..."

  "No," she said, fiercely. "It's a relief to talk about death, Spock. I

  couldn't, not with your father. It would have distressed him too much.

  But you ... you, of all people, you can understand."

  "I do," he said, quietly. His hand slid across the coverlet and grasped

  hers, holding it tightly, reassuringly. "As my body shut down, the pain

  stopped, and I experienced relief when that happened. All the while I

  knew that I was dying, but as soon as the pain ceased, I realized with

  some surprise that I was not frightened, or distressed. It was more as

  if what was occurring was simply a further, entirely natural step in the

  order of things. I found myself at peace ... such peace as I have never

  felt."

  "Peace," Amanda whispered. "No fear?"

  "Fear," Spock reminded her, "is a human emotion. No, Mother, there was

  neither fear nor pain. Do not forget that I had established a link

  between myself and McCoy, so I knew that my katra would ... continue."

  "No fear, no pain ..." she mused, plainly attempting to envision such a

  state. "What was there, then?"

  "For a moment, I had a sense that knowledge was waiting for me, infinite

  knowledge. It was a heady sensation, and lasted only for a moment--then

  my consciousness blanked out, and I did not return to awareness until I

  awakened on that pallet with T'Lar standing over me."

  "Did you have a sense of an afterlife?"

  "No, there was none of that. However, my leaira was residing within Dr.

  McCoy, so I cannot categorically state that there is no afterlife."

  "Do you believe in an afterlife?" his mother asked slowly.

  "I do not know. I have no objective data to allow me to draw a

  conclusion."

  Amanda smiled dryly. "Spoken like a true Vulcan, Spock."

  Attempting to lighten the moment, the first officer bowed slightly.

  "Mother ... you honor me."

  "Oh, stop it," she said, chuckling despite everything.

  "You and your father ... when you do that, I want to throw something at

  you!" She grasped one of the pillows, but her strength was not

  sufficient for her to make good on the implied threat ... instead she

  sank back against her pillows, gasping.

  Amanda's mention of his father caused all of Spock's anger to return

  full force. His mother did not miss the change in his expression, slight

  as it was. "Spock," she said, putting out a hand toward him, "try not to

  be angry with

  your father. Sarek is simply doing what he has to do, being who and what

  he is." Pride surfaced for a moment on her features. "And he is the

  best, Spock. Never forget that.

  Those people on Kadura could not have a better champion than your

  father."

  "Senkar is also an experienced diplomat who has handled situations of

  this kind before. My father could have allowed him to negotiate with

  this Klingon renegade."

  "You're really angry with him, aren't you?" Amanda's eyes were huge and

  full of distress. "Oh, Spock ... long ago I begged Sarek to try and

  understand you, instead of simply judging you and finding you wanting.

  Now I ask you the same thing ... try to understand your father! Forgive

  him ... I know I do."

  "Mother, I cannot," Spock said flatly. "You are his wife.

  His place is by your side."

  Visibly upset, his mother closed her eyes, shaking her head as she lay

  liraply against her pillows. "Oh, Spock ... do
n't be so hard on him. We

  all make mistakes."

  The Vulcan regarded her with concern, realizing that she was fighting

  back tears. He'd never meant to distress her ...

  Spock put out a hand, closed it comfortingly over his mother's. "Very

  well, Mother. I will attempt to be more ... understanding."

  Amanda nodded weakly, her eyelids drooping. "Thank you, Spock ... "

  The Healer's aide suddenly appeared from out of the shadows in the

  sitting room, where the monitor screens were placed. Motioning to Spock

  to go, she whispered, "She will sleep now, Captain Spock. I suggest you

  leave and return later."

  The Vulcan nodded quietly, and left the chill room and the slight,

  silent form of his mother.

  Peter Kirk unfastened the front of his uniform jacket even before the

  door to his apartment opened. His garments seemed to have absorbed some

  of the sticky fatigue that he felt must be seeping out of every pore.

  Stepping inside, he

  yanked the collar of his shirt open, feeling as if he were about to

  strangle.

  He was so tired he wasn't even sure how well he did on his navigation

  exam. Oh, he was sure he'd passed, but this was one test he might not

  have aced. To know he might've dropped a grade because of the time he'd

  spent with the KEHL made him feel like a fool.

  He tossed the tired uniform into the recycler. And as he did so, his

  comm link sounded, signaling an incoming call.

  Fearing it might be Lisa, Peter braced himself and accepted the call. He

  blinked in surprise when he found himself staring at his uncle. He'd

  only sent Jim that message early this morning, and the elder Kirk was

  the last person he'd expected to hear from. Uncle Jim couldn't possibly

  have gotten his message yet ... could he?

  "Hello, Peter," Kirk's image said, though he didn't smile.

  "Uncle Jim!" the younger man exclaimed. "This is a surprise! I thought

  you were out near the Neutral Zone someplace?"

  "I'm here in San Francisco," his uncle said, his words sounding clipped,

  as though he were rushed, or angry. He was wearing full uniform, but

  Peter couldn't tell where he was calling from ... his uncle's image

  filled nearly the entire screen.

  "You are? Well, that's great!"

  "I'm at my apartment," Kirk said, solemnly. "I need to see you, Peter.

  Can you come over?"

  The younger Kirk felt his spirits rise. If anyone would know how to deal

  with the KEHL, how to get around the skepticism of Commander

  Twelvetrees, it would be James T. Kirk.

  "I need to see you, Peter," Jim repeated. "Can you come over here

  immediately?"

  "Well ... sure," Peter said, glancing at the chrono with an inward

  groan. He desperately needed about six hours' sleep. But if Jim needed

  him ... " I'll be there as soon as I can. About half an hour."

  "Good," Kirk said, and the comm link went dark.

  Peter stared at the screen for a moment, puzzled. Some thing about the

  call seemed odd, but Peter decided his brief association with the KEHL

  was making him paranoid. Oh, well. He'd find out what was going on when

  he got there.

  After a brisk sonic shower, he wearily dragged on the first clothes that

  came to hand--a pair of loose exercise pants and a baggy white shirt.

  Glancing at his chrono as he hastily ran a comb through his hair, he saw

  that it was a few minutes after midnight; Peter groaned inwardly.

  Another night's sleep ruined--and tomorrow he was supposed to work with

  Lisa again, bright and early. Not to mention that there were only a few

  days left before his Kobayashi Maru test!

  I've got to slow down, or I'll drop in my tracks, he thought, as he left

  his apartment and hurried down the corridor toward the elevator.

  He decided to walk; his uncle's apartment was only ten minutes away, and

  the brisk fall air would wake him up. It was a weekday, so there were

  few people out this late. The cool breeze nipped at him, and Peter

  wished belatedly that he'd thought to put on a jacket.

  As he strode quickly down the sidewalk, not allowing his steps to lag,

  something moved in an alley to his left. In the glow of the streetlight,

  he caught a flash of silver. Peter checked, peering into the darkness,

  and a voice reached his ears. "Peter?"

  The voice, though choked and breathless-sounding, was familiar. The

  cadet frowned and started toward the alley.

  "Lisa?" he called softly. "Is that you?"

  A moment later, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness away from the

  streetlight, he saw her. She was walking toward him, obviously

  distressed. "Peter!"

  "What is it, Lisa?" he asked, concerned. Much as he detested her bigoted

  views, he had grown attached to Lisa the woman. "Is something wrong?"

  "Yes," she whispered, moving toward him. "It's ... it's Induna. He

  needs us, Peter, he needs us terribly. I need you to come with me!"

  "Well, I--"

  The cadet caught a flash of movement out of the corner of

  his eye, felt a rush of air on his cheek, and, in accordance with all of

  Starfieet's training, ducked. As he moved to the side, a blow caught him

  across his upper arm with numbing force. Lisa gasped and frantically

  scuttled back, toward the mouth of the alley.

  "Get help!" Peter yelled at her, as his assailants closed in.

  Two men, one tall, the other short, both burly, both obviously

  experienced street fighters. Peter lashed out with a side kick toward

  the shorter one's chest, but the man was too fast, and he hadn't struck

  hard enough. Accustomed to pulling blows in class, he did not connect

  with enough force to disable his opponent. Before he could follow up

  with a front punch, the taller man's fist smashed against his cheekbone

  with head-spinning force.

  Training stood him in good stead as he reacted without thought, grabbing

  the man's shirtfront and turning his fall into a back roll. As he went

  down with the man atop him, Peter brought his knee up into the other's

  stomach, hearing the breath whoosh from his attacker's lungs.

  Letting his opponent sail on over his head, Peter regained his feet in

  time to meet a rush from the shorter man. He struck at the man's neck,

  but again this one was too quick to allow the blow to land full-on.

  Peter leaped at him, his body twisting in midair, his foot coming up in

  a tornado kick. This time he had the satisfaction of feeling his instep

  connect solidly with the side of the man's head. Shorty went down, and

  stayed down.

  Whirling, hands and feet at the ready, Peter was just in time to block a

  blow from the tall man, but seconds later he took a smashing kick to his

  rib cage. Gasping for air, he aimed a back punch at the man's chest, and

  followed it up with a quick foot sweep.

  Two down. Panting from the stabbing pain in his ribs, Peter spun,

  half-staggering, half-running as he headed for the mouth of the alley.

  He glimpsed Lisa's silver coat just ahead of him. "Run, Lisa!" he tried

  to shout, but his breath was too short for much sound to emerge.

  As young Kirk raced toward the mouth of the alley and the comparative

&nbs
p; safety of the well-lit street, Lisa stepped out to bar his path. The

  cadet had only one shocked instant to realize that the faintly shining

  object she held in her hand, pointed straight at him, was a phaser.

  No! he thought, frantically. She set me up! It was a trap!

  "Stop right there, Peter," she commanded, in a voice he'd never heard

  her use before.

  Peter had been trained how to deal with an armed opponent. Hit her, hit

  her, his brain screamed, but for a critical instant he hesitated.

  Damn! he thought bleakly. What would Uncle Jim do?

  But he had no time to ponder the question, for, without further ado,

  Lisa Tennant gave him a brilliant smile, aimed carefully, and triggered

  the phaser.

  Peter heard the whine, glimpsed a flash of energy, and then there was

  only blackness ...

  Sarek sat at a comm link located in his private suite in the conference

  center on Deneb IV. Before him, on the screen, Chancellor Azetbur's

  three-dimensional image gazed out at him. "Ambassador Sarek ..." she

  said, inclifting her head slightly, one equal to another.

  "Madame Chancellor," the Vulcan returned the greeting.

  "I gather that you have been briefed regarding the situation on Kadurat'