Star Trek - Sarek

by A. C. Crispin

try and understand his son, instead of being judgmental and always

  finding fault, the ambassador shook his head.

  And yet ... what could he have done differently? He had only done his

  duty. Amanda had understood .. why couldn't his son? ' James T. Kirk sat

  in the captain's chair, waiting.

  "Captain," Uhura said, an odd note in her voice, "I'm picking up a

  subspace transmission, sir. It's on the frequency reserved for personal

  communiqus and mail ... "

  Kirk glanced over at her, sitting up straight. "A message?"

  "Yes, sir." She looked over at him, her dark eyes compas sionate. She

  knew, of course, that Peter was missing.

  "What does it say?"

  "It says, "To Captain Kirk. Visit Sector 53.16, at coordinates 39 mark

  122, before thirteen hundr ed hours stardate 9544.6. A certain redhead is

  waiting, will die if you don't show. Come alone. Tell no one.'"

  Kirk drew a deep breath. "Uhura, trace that message back to its point of

  origin. I don't care how many substations they routed it through, follow

  it back all the way. Understood?"

  "Aye, Captain," she said, her lovely features set in lines of

  determination that matched his own.

  "And message Commandant Anderson that we've just received the ransom

  note."

  Wing Commander Taryn was dreaming ...

  He did not dream often, but when he did, it was always the same dream

  ... or, at least, if he dreamed other dreams, he did not remember them.

  The Dream (as he had come to think of it) was the only thing in the

  universe that he consciously feared. Each time he awakened from it, he

  hoped that it would be the last ... but, though months and years of

  peaceful slumber passed, somehow, when he was least expecting it, the

  dream would come back ...

  In The Dream he was small ... too short to reach the viewport in normal

  gravity without being lifted up. He was running, running down a

  neutral-colored corridor, a corridor that seemed to loom inward on him

  as he scuttled along.

  His short legs pumped harder, trying to hurl him forward faster, but he

  was afraid--afraid! he shoum not be afraid, he shoum be calm ... he

  should be brave, he shoum not run away ... but he was afraid, he

  was!--and his feet kept slipping out from under him. Try as he might, he

  could not reach the end of the corridor ... it seemed to expand before

  him almost infinitely.

  He would never reach it ... never, he would always be here, trapped,

  knowing that horror and absolute devastation lay behind him. And he,

  Taryn, deserved no better. He was a coward, a fearful, sobbing, cringing

  coward ...

  Gasping, he stretched out both hands, making his short legs churn faster

  as he ran ... ran ... toward a goal that would never grow any closer

  ...

  And then, with the suddenness of dreams, he was there, at the end of the

  corridor, standing on tiptoe, yanking frantically at the emergency

  release on the airlock door. The life-support pod lay in an alcove

  beyond that door. He knew how to open it, how to activate it, and the

  button to push that would launch it. Taryn knew all this, just as he

  knew that it was time to abandon ship, just as he'd learned in the

  drills.

  He punched in the code, slowly, not Wanting to make a mistake, his ears

  straining for noises from behind him.

  Would they come after him? What would he do if they did?

  He gnawed at his lower lip, waiting, until the airlock door indicated

  acceptance of his code. Finally it was time to grasp the opening bar in

  both hands and pull it downward.

  Even as he touched it, it began to move in his hands.

  Horrified, he leaped back, and then the door began to slide open.

  Choking in terror, he fled back down the corridor, running from this

  new, greater fear. He reached the end of the corridor, and there was the

  door from whence he had come, bolting in terror and anguish, knowing

  himself to be a coward. The control-room door. Placing a hand on it,

  Taryn began to pull it open.

  No! No, don't! His elder self screamed silently at his younger self, for

  all the good it did. Taryn pushed the door open, slowly, slowly, and

  saw--

  nothing except darkness as he jerked upright in bed, gasping. Slowly,

  reality began to trickle in. He was back on Freelan, in his own home.

  His wife Jolana was not here beside him, because she had gone to Romulus

  to visit their two grown children.

  Taryn shivered, feeling cold despite the sweat on his bare chest and

  arms. That had been a bad one. He couldn't remember much about the dream

  ... which wasn't unusual.

  He had a vague impression that in it, he was a frightened

  child, but the details were always lost. Frankly, he didn't want to

  remember that dream ... ever.

  Stress, he thought. I've been working too hard again. But the im, asion

  is so close ... nothing must go wrong! The Praetor made it clear that

  he has complete confidence in me.

  He has given me more authority than I have eer had ... and I must be

  worthy. Nothing must go wrong ... we must be victorious.

  Taryn forced himself to take deep, relaxing breaths. He glanced out the

  window, seeing the stars, as hard and cold and sharp in the blackness as

  spearpoints. He knew better than to look for Vulcan's sun from here ...

  it was too distant.

  Vulcan's primary sun, Nevasa--or 40 Eridani, as the Federation charts

  recorded it. Taryn wondered, not for the first time, what it would be

  like to walk across the deserts of Vulcan--a world that was as hot, by

  all reputation, as Freelan was cold. A world where logic was revered,

  even over power. Sarek's world ...

  Taryn had known for days that Wurrl had failed to kill the

  ambassador--the Klingon hadn't been fast enough, it seemed. He'd been

  disappointed to learn about the Klingon's failure--but also, in a way,

  the officer was pleased that that particular plan had failed. It would

  be so much more satisfying to overcome Sarek personally; after all the

  times the ambassador had defeated him at chess, victory at long last

  would be sweet indeed.

  The wing commander sighed as he slumped back against the hard bolster.

  How much does Sarek know? he wondered, for the hundredth time. Sarek, he

  was sure, was the only one who could alert the Federation to their

  plans, the only one who suspected the true nature of Freelan and its

  inhabitants.

  He suspects, but he has no proof, he reassured himself.

  And things were moving so fast now, that within a few weeks--perhaps

  sooner, if the fleet was ready ahead of schedule, as the praetor had

  promised yesterday it would be--the war would begin. At that point,

  keeping the identity of the Freelans secret would no longer be

  necessary.

  Taryn's mouth curved upward slightly as he thought of

  what it would be like to be present when Sarek realized his defeat. The

  Vulcan had beaten him again during their last chess game. He usually won

  because he baited Taryn into recklessness ... but soon, Sarek's days of

  winning would be over. Soon ...
/>
  Pleasant anticipation relaxed him; the officer lay down again, reminding

  himself that the dream had never come twice in one night. But it was

  still a long, long time before he slept ...

  Sarek also was dreaming. Full-blooded Vulcans did not dream often, but

  it did happen from time to time.

  The Vulcan dreamed that he was on the surface of Freelan. All around him

  were glaciers, jagged buttresses of ice, sharp-fanged and glittering in

  the sunlight. He was walking toward a house ... Taryn's house, he

  knew--though the Freelan had never described anything about his home, of

  course. Still, this house fit in with what little was known about

  Freelan architectural styles. It was a black, dome-shaped dwelling,

  everything about it designed to maximize the capture and retention of

  heat, as well as keeping snowfall from crushing the building.

  Sarek walked, experiencing the icy wind off the glaciers, yet not

  chilled by it.

  Beneath his feet the snow crunched and he continued his journey.

  As he neared the front of the house, the door opened and a Freelan

  stepped out, his muffling robes stirring in the icy breeze. "Sarek," the

  Freelan said, and the Vulcan recognized Taryn's voice. "Why are you

  here?"

  "I was searching for you, Taryn," Sarek said. "My wife is dead."

  "What is that to me?" the Freelan asked haughtily.

  "If it were not for you, I could have been at her deathbed," Sarek said,

  knowing he spoke truth. "My son would not now despise me."

  "What is any of this to me?" Taryn was almost sneering.

  "Your domestic problems are your own concern, Vulcan."

  "And your deceitful world is mine!" Sarek raised his

  voice, and, darting forward, he savagely ripped the concealing mask from

  the Freelan's head and stared in shock as he Amanda's face beneath the

  muffling cowl and mask.

  "Amanda!" Sarek said, stepping forward to touch her, to embrace her, but

  even as he did so, his treacherous, logical mind insisted, Amanda is

  dead ... And he awoke.

  He was lying in his bunk in the VIP cabin aboard the Enterprise ...

  Freelan's icy surface and Amanda's face had been a dream, he realized.

  Sarek experienced once again the desolation of knowing his wife was

  dead. Her absence in his mind was an aching void, one that he could not

  imagine ever being filled.

  Knowing he would not be able to sleep again, he arose from the bed, then

  padded barefoot across the sleeping compartment to the small lounge, a

  slim red-covered volume in his hand. Seating himself on the low divan,

  the ambassador opened the book and began to read ...

  December 7,2237---the Twentieth Day of Tasmeen I have paced until I am

  exhausted my legs are trembling so that I must sit ... but I cannot

  rest. I see that this entry is nearly illegible, and that is because my

  hands are also shaking.

  Spock is missing. He apparently left soon after sunset, and we have no

  idea where he has gone. He is only seven years old!

  Sarek is in his office. I glanced at him as I went past, and he appears

  to be working! How can he? lf I were to ask him how he can work while

  our son is missing, he would gaze at me with infuriating Vulcan calm and

  say, "Amanda, I have reported Spock's disappearance to the authorities.

  They are far more fitted than I to search for him. Pacing back and forth

  and indulging in emotional outbursts will accomplish nothing.

  Simply because I am working does not mean I am not concerned about our

  son." I must try to calm myself. Getting furious at my husband will not

  help bring my son back, and I suppose that he is right--but it is

  maddening when he remains so calm when I am upset.

  Spock is missing--my child is out there in the desert, with all its

  dangers. And my husband is worki ng!

  If only he had been more understanding of Spock, made some effort to see

  things from a child's viewpoint but no, the son of Sarek must be

  perfect, must be better than all the other children--I overheard him

  tell Spock that himself today. He told him that if he does not pass his

  kahs-wan ordeal next month, the first time he attempts it, that he,

  Sarek, will be disgraced. He didn't use that exact word, but the

  implication was clear.

  This admonishment followed on the heels of Spock's fight with those

  schoolboys, the ones who torment him every day with taunts of "Earther!"

  and "Haljblood!" and "Emotional Terran--can't control himself. l?"

  There have been times that I've had to dig my nails into my palms to

  stop myself from rushing out there and giving them all a slap. But of

  course that would only make things worse. This has been going on ever

  since Spock started school at age four ... It is torture to watch him

  try and fit in with the others.

  My son, so tall, so slender, with his black hair and this thin, somber

  little face ... it breaks my heart to see him so abused. I've begged

  Sarek to talk to their parents, but he refuses. He g pointed out

  (logically and correctly, I'm afraid) that such intervention on his part

  would only make the other boys torment our son more ... I cry when I

  see him trying to endure it, knowing how such teasing hurts. Why can't

  Vulcan children be as civilized as their parents?

  The boys tormented him once again today, and his father was totally

  unsupportive, let alone sympathetic.

  So he has run away. Where?

  After several minutes' reflection, I think I know. I believe he has set

  off into the wilderness in order to deliberately expose himself to

  danger. Spock is setting himself up for his own private survival ordeal,

  because

  he would rather die out there in the desert than disgrace his father

  next month.

  If our son dies out thereti will blame Sarek. I know it is not just, but

  I also know that I will do it anyway. I will blame my husband, and I

  will be unable to bear the sight of him.

  At least I-Chaya appears to have gone with his young master. The old

  sehlat wouldn't be much use as defense, I suppose, but at least the big

  furry creature will keep Spock warm. Nights in the desert are chilly,

  even by human standards.

  Someone else may also have accompanied Spock, but I am less sanguine

  about Sarek young cousin, Selek.

  Although the young man was perfectly poised and polite, I gained an

  impression of duplicity from him. His eyes never quite met mine when he

  introduced himself and explained who he was. And later ... I caught him

  gazing at me when he didn't realize that I saw him doing so. There is

  something about Cousin Selek ... something false. I am certain that he

  was lying about the purpose of his impromptu visit here. Perhaps he was

  lying about being related to my husband.

  No, that cannot be it. There was a definite family resemblance between

  them. But still, there was something ... something I cannot put roy

  finger on ...

  I have never heard of any Vulcan adult abusing a child. Surely Selek

  only went after Spock because he saw the chim running away and realized

  Spock could be in danger.t Surely Selek intends my son
no harm ...

  He seemed like a very nice young man, despite everything. There was a

  warmth in his eyes when he gazed at me that I found touching, despite my

  reservations when I realized he was not being fully truthful with I long

  to take the aircar myself and go looking for Spock. Writing in my

  journal usually helps to calm me when I'm upset, but not this time. I

  cannot sit still an instant longer--perhaps Sarek and I should take the

  aircar and go looking for Spock ourselves in the Llangon Mountains. It

  will soon be dawn ...

  Sarek glanced up from the pages of the journal and sighed, remembering

  ...

  "I cannot stand this for one more instant," Amanda burst out, pausing in

  her jerky pacing to glare at him. Sarek, reluctantly, had abandoned his

  work to join her in the living room of their residence in Shikahr. "I

  don't care what you think--I'm taking the aircar and going to the

  Llangon Mountains to look for him myself." Turning on her heel, she

  headed for the door. Her husband stepped in front of her, barring her

  way.

  "Amanda, there is no reason to--"

  "Don't you dare use that infuriating calm voice on me!" she cried. At

  the moment, Amanda Grayson was a portrait in fury. "This is your fault,

  Sarek!" she flared, cheeks red, blue eyes blazing. "If you had tried to

  understand Spock, rather than demand perfection from him, just because