s'kara's mind as she began to run toward the settlement. She had to warn
them!
Hearing a shout from behind her, she forced her legs to an even swifter
pace, the chill air hurting her lungs. The whine of a stun ray filled
her ears. Dodging frantically, she raced across the field, her feet
flying so fast that she feared she'd overbalance and fall, breath
sobbing in her chest.
The whine came againm and, without knowing quite what had happened to
her, s'kara found herself lying on her face in the field, completely
helpless. Her eyelids were closed, and she couldn't open them.
Frantically, she tried to pray as she lay there, wondering how long the
stun beam would hold her. Her muscles screamed with pain, but she
couldn't adjust her position by so much as a sendisat.
Time went by ... s'kara finally began countin g her own heartbeats, and
had reached 412 when she heard footsteps approaching. A voice barked an
order in Klingonese, and the whine came again. Abruptly, she could move,
and her entire body convulsed in agony as all her muscles went into
spasms. Rough hands grabbed her, hoisted her up.
Flingohs ... five of them, all armed. One of them grinned, showing a
mouthful of snaggleteeth, and reached for the front of her insulated
coverall, clearly intending to rip it open.
s'kara closed her eyes tightly. She braced herself--only to have another
of the Flingons reach out and strike down the hand of her would-be
attacker. He snarled something that sounded like an order, and the other
Flingon reluctantly stepped back.
This Flingon was wearing a more elaborate metal sash across his broad
shoulders. He eyed her, then said, with a strong accent, "Do you speak
Standard, woman?" s'kara nodded. "Yes, I do."
"Good. We talk, you translate. Help us, and you will not be harmed."
A shrill shriek rent the air, and s'kara darted an anguished glance in
the direction of the village. Another scream followed.
"We are under Federation protection, here," s'kara told the leader.
"When they find out what you are doing, it will mean war with your
government."
The leader uttered a short, ugly bark of laughter. "We have no
government, woman. We are our own law, our own government. I am
Commander Keraz. You will address me as 'my lord." Is that understood?"
s'kara nodded sullenly. One of the Klingons holding her cuffed her
sharply. She took a deep breath. "Yes, my lord."
"Better."
All of them glanced up as yet another Flingon bird-of-prey hurtled out
of the sky. Keraz gave an order to one of his men, and the Flingon
trotted off.
"We will go into the village," Keraz said to s'kara. "We will assemble
the people. You will speak to them in your own language. What you will
tell them is this We are in control, and we will stay in control. As
long as they obey us, they will not be harmed. Resist, and we will kill
them--or worse. Is that clear?"
s'kara stared at him, wanting so badly to spit right into his swarthy
face that her jaw muscles worked. He watched her as though she were some
kind of mildly interesting insect. After long seconds, s'kara nodded,
then, as one of her guards raised his hand, said hastily, "Yes, my
lord."
Another scream rose out of the villagema scream that was cut off in the
middle by a whine of disruptor fire. s'kara tensed, her throat an aching
knot of despair. Keraz nodded at her guards, and they all started across
the field, passing the big combine.
I will survive this, Klingon, s'kara thought grimly. When this is over,
I will be alive, and free--and you will be sorry. By the Mother Goddess,
I swear it ...
As the little party entered the village, s'kara forced herself to note
every horror they passed, so she could tell the authorities when they
came. They would come, she told herself. The Federation took care of its
own. They would come ...
But would anyone still be alive to be rescued?
"What is this threat to the Federation, Father?" Spock asked, later that
same day, as he and Sarek walked in the gardens behind the villa.
Sarek's young aide, Soran, was watching the monitors that would signal
when Amanda awoke again. "You aroused my curiosity with your reference
to the Keep Earth Human League."
Overhead, Nevasa was past its zenith, declining toward the horizon, but
sunset was still more than an hour away.
Sarek glanced about him at the stark beauty of his wife's garden. Then
he quietly spoke of the Freelans, summarizing his discovery that they
were actually Romulans in disguise, and speaking of his discoveries
aboard the Freelan space station.
"I have been collecting data for over a year," he finished.
"I would appreciate it if you would review it for yourself tonight."
Spock nodded. "If it were anyone else telling me of this, I would
dismiss his words as illogical paranoia," the Starfleet officer said
slowly. "That you have seen proof of your theory convinces me, but ...
how did you know? What made you suspect the Freelans?" Sarek had known
that Spock would ask. The ambassador drew a deep breath, steeling
himself. "It is a long story," he began. "One that I did not think I
would ever speak of to another." His son raised an eyebrow inquiringly.
"Obviously you have access to information the rest of the Federation
does not. How did you obtain it? The Freelans are the most secretive of
beings No one has ever seen a Freelan
his or her mask " Slowly, deliberately, Sarek shook his head from side
to side.
"Not true," he said, heavily. '7 have seen the face of a Freelan.
When the incident first occurred, I remained silent about it for nearly
seventy Standard years, because I could not be sure of what I saw that
day. But now ... now the puzzle is complete, and I must inform the
authorities of what I have discovered."
"Seventy years?" Spock was clearly taken aback. "Please elucidate."
to the bench that faced T'Rukh, Sarek sank down, arranging his robes
meticulously while he searched for words.
"It began when I was a diplomatic attache at the Vulcan Embassy on Earth
... some seven years before I met your mother. I had been bonded to
T'Rea, the priestess"--the ambassador used the archaic Vulcan word
reldai, which in the old days, when Vulcan was ruled by the theocracy,
meant both "female religious leader" and "female ruler or princess"--"as
was traditional, when we were both seven years of age. I had not seen
T'Rea since we were children; she was a stranger to me." Sarek paused,
remembering his first wife as she'd looked the last time he'd seen her
... her intense black eyes, her
beauty, her proud, stern features. Mostly he remembered her hair, a
rippling obsidian curtain that had hung down past her hips. It had felt
as silken as her diaphanous wedding robe.
"As the newest of the diplomatic attaches on Earth, many of the routine
or less-desirable tasks fell to me," Sarek continued after a moment.
"One of those was being appointed the diplomatic liai
son to Freelan. I
was fifty-nine Standard years old, and had not yet experienced my first
Time. I knew that most males undergo their first Time in their thirties
or early forties, so this delay was somewhat unusual ... "He shrugged
slightly. "But I also knew that residence off-world could affect one's
cycle, and I had lived much of the past fifteen years on Tellar, Earth,
and several other worlds.
Many factors, as you know only too well, Spock, can affect the onset and
frequency of our Times." Spock nodded gravely.
"It was raining that day in San Francisco when the ambassador summoned
me to his office," Sarek continued, his voice deepening as the memories
took hold, transporting him back to the past. "I was still new enough to
Earth to find such an abundance of precipitation fascinating ... even
mesmerizing.
"I been the liaison to Freelan for three years at that time. Freelan had
only come to the attention of the Federation shortly before I was
appointed, so, as it happened, I was the first person to travel to that
distant world to discuss trade policies."
"How many trips had you made?"
"Over the course of three years ... seven in all," Sarek said, after a
moment's thought. "Naturally, of course, I was not permitted to set foot
on Freelan soil. I stayed on board their space station."
"Had you ever met a Freelan personally?" The ambassador shook his head.
"No. At that time, no one had.
They did not leave their world until decades later. All contact was by
comm link. Despite all this, my contact on Freelan, a diplomatic attache
named Darov, was someone I had come to know and respect over the years.
Darov and I had fallen into the habit, following a day's negotiation, of
playing chess after our respective evening repasts. Darov was a
challenging player," the older Vulcan continued after a moment. "Many of
our contests ended in a draw, and, more than once, I lost."
His son raised an eyebrow in surprise. "That is indeed ... impressive,"
he murmured. It had been many years since father and son had sat down to
a game, but the last time they had played, Sarek had still been able to
win more than half the time.
"As we played, we talked ... about many things. Darov was careful not
to reveal much in the way of information about his people, or himself,
but, over the years, I learned some things about the Freelans that
outsiders did not know.
For example, I knew that Darov was young, about my own age, that he was
married, and had a family that he was quite ... devoted ... to. A son
and two daughters, I believe."
"Did you gain any knowledge of Fredan society and culture?"
"Yes, though Darov was extremely cautious and secretive.
I gathered that his political leanings tended toward the moderate. Darov
favored increased contact with other worlds ... while the Freelan
government's official position was that outsiders constituted a
potential threat to the Freelan way of life."
"Darov wanted to change the way his world interacted with others?"
"I gained that impression over the years," Sarek said,
"though he never said so specifically."
"Fascinating," Spock murmured. "You did indeed learn more than is
generally known even now about Freelan and its people. I had no idea the
Freelans had political parties, or that not all Frcelans favored their
isolationist policies."
"There are many things you do not know about the Freelans," Sarek said
gravely. "That day in San Francisco, Ambassador Selden assigned me to
travel to Freelan to conduct trade negotiations concerning ore that had
recently been discovered on a moon in the Freelan system. This ore,
crysium, was a vital element in the construction and use of a new
diagnostic and treatment machine recently d eveloped by the Healers at
the Vulcan Science Academy."
Sarek's mouth quirked ironically. "At the time the ambassador spoke with
me, I was experiencing some minor physical symptoms of illness ... I
had not been sleeping or eating well. I considered asking him to send
another in my place. But I told myself that my symptoms were simply
those of mild fatigue due to overwork, and that a chance to rest aboard
ship would be beneficial ... "
As Sarek talked, the memory of that fateful voyage and its aftermath
grew in his mind, eclipsing for the moment his surroundings. Amanda's
garden faded into the neutral-colored walls of his tiny cabin aboard the
freighter Zephyr ...
Soft skin beneath his hands, long, silken hair spilling over his body,
the brush of a mind that inflamed him past all ability to resist ...
Sarek groaned aloud as he reached for T'Rea. She wore only the
body beneath the silken fabric.
The sight of her made him gasp and tremble; his mind and body were
aflame, hot as the sands of Gol, burning like the volcanoes that
tormented T'Rukh, searing him beyond all ability to resist. Sarek
reached for his bride, his hands catching in her garment, ripping it,
and then he was touching her flesh ...
With a gasp and a muffled cry, he sat upright on his narrow bunk aboard
the Zephyr, realizing that he had been dreaming. He was shaking
violently, so aroused that it was several minutes before he could
discipline his mind to overcome the fever racking his body.
So this is what it is like, Sarek thought finally, when he could once
more think rationally. Port farr ... and I am parsecs away from Vulcan,
and T'Rea ...
Through their bond, he could sense her, knew that her body was
experiencing that drawing, even as his was. For a moment he wondered
what it would be like to be married to her for the rest of his life, but
the rest of his life seemed like an insubstantial, faraway thing in
comparison to the heat of his desire.
The drawing was physical pain, his need to mate was torture. How long
before he succumbed to the madness, the plak tow? Grimly, Sarek set
about using biocontrol techniques to subdue the pon farr so he could
reason logically.
Minutes later, he rose from his bunk, outwardly composed, inwardly more
at peace It was early, yet. He had several days ... perhaps a standard
week ... before the blood-fever would consume him utterly.
Vulcan was five days away. Should he request that the captain take him
to Vulcan instead of docking at Freelan's space station in an hour?
Sarek shrank from the idea that anyone--any outworlder, any human--might
see him in his extremity. And yet surely he could hold out for a day,
maintain control long enough to meet with Darov and formalize the
ore-trade agreement. Much of the negotiation had already been
accomplished via subspace messages back and forth.
Surely Sarek could handle one day's work before sealing himself into his
cabin and preparing to wait out the agony before he could reach Vulcan
and his wedding T'Rea ... He had met her only a few times, and not ever
in the past twenty years. T'Rea had become an Acolyte of Gol, and her
mental skills were formidable. People spoke of her with respect, and a
little awe. Rumor had it that she was a candidate to ascend to the rank
of High Master.
Was she now High Master? What would it be like to be wed to the High
Master of Gol, someone whose telepathic skills greatly exceeded his own
modest ones? What would it be like to be wed to someone who had achieved
kolinahr--a person who had succeeded in purging all emotion from her
being? Someone who lived by Perfect Logic?
For a moment something in Sarek rebelled at the realization that there
could be no personal sharing between himself and such a woman, no
intimacy, no ... companionship. No warmth. No ... kindness, no
gentleness.
After a moment he pushed the thought away, rejecting it as illogical.
His work was in the diplomatic corps ... he lived on his homeworld only
a few days each year. He and T'Rea would live apart, that was the only
logical solution.
They would meet during their Times, and that would be all.
And children? a voice whispered inside him. What if there are children?
It was unlikely that the High Master of Gol would have either the time
or the inclination to raise children, Sarek decided. If a child should
be born as a result of this Time ... his blood heated at the thought of
the act necessary to engender a child ... then he would take that child
to raise. His work was difficult, requiring much traveling, but a child,