telepathy, which is traditionally accomp lished by touch, could be used
for such a purpose." He paused for a second, then continued in a lower
tone,
"However, recent events have convinced me otherwise."
Spock nodded, a shadow in his eyes mirroring the sadness in his
father's. "Sybok," he said. "I saw him influence minds from a
considerable distance. His mental powers were ... unusual, however. But
the ability to influence minds more subtly ... I possess that capacity
myself."
This time it was the ambassador's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Really? I
did not know that."
"I have done so several times," Spock admitted. "Though never to effect
any lasting mental impression or change in the subject's mind. But I did
it on Eminiar Seven, and again on Omega Four." He paused. "And I am only
half-Vulcan.
Thus I find the possibility of Vulcan offspring who possess the mental
abilities, without the ethical constraints we are taught, entirely
plausible. And ... disquieting."
Spock was silent for a moment; then he asked, "Did you ever discuss with
Darov what happened that day you went into pon farr? You said that you
were friends ... "
"I might have," the ambassador said. "Except for the fact that I never
saw Darov again. I never discovered what had become of him. I suspect he
was executed for helping me that day. Darov was replaced by Taryn. My
impression of him is that he is considerably younger than Darov ...
though I cannot be certain, of course, since I never knew Darov's age.
He is a far different individual. Much colder ... and possessing, I
believe, a formidable intellect.
We have never discussed politics, but I am certain that Taryn is far
from the moderate Darov was." Sarek paused, thinking. "I have gained the
impression, over the decades, that the liaison is ... patriotic.
Possibly a zealot."
Spock raised an eyebrow as he considered the ambassador's words. "If he
is indeed a wing commander, that would not be surprising. Many
high-ranking Romulan officers favor all-out war with the Federation."
The Starfleet officer rose from the bench to pace beside his father
along the garden paths. "My final question is, why?
Obviously, all of this ... the Freelan base, the captured Vulcans, the
KEHL--this entire plan took years ... decades ... to set into motion.
What do the Romulans hope to gain?"
Sarek did not answer directly. Instead he asked, "What are the goals of
the KEHL?"
"As I understand them ... to remove all nonterrestrials from Earth
itself. Especially Vulcans."
"Not just from Earth," Sarek said. "From the Federation
itself. I have researched the KEHL, also. The organization is adamantly
opposed to the continued presence of Vulcan as a member of the
Federation." Spock nodded slowly. "That does not surprise me." His
features tightened. "If the Romulans are successful in driving a wedge
between Earth and Vulcan, to the point where Vulcan either secedes or is
expelled from the Federation, then Earth will have lost its most
powerful ally."
"Yes," Sarek said. "A Federation without Vulcan would be weakened in
many ways. Also consider What is the current situation with the
Klingons?"
"Extremely unstable. When I left the Enterprise, we were orbiting a
planet whose colony had been devastated by a Klingon attack. Chancellor
Azetbur assured us that the raiders were renegades, and that she was
attempting to capture them and bring them to justice. I believe her, but
many others will not. The entire Federation/Klingon situation is
unstable. James Kirk referred to it last week as 'a powder keg waiting
for a spark.'"
"An essentially correct, if somewhat dramatic way of putting it," Sarek
said, dryly.
"Instability in the Federation could well provide such a spark," Sarek
continued. "Azetbur's government is struggling to stay in power. She has
popular support, but many of the older, high-ranking families object to
having a woman as chancellor. A number of high-ranking officers have
turned renegade, deserting the fleet and using their vessels to commit
acts of piracy."
"Actions which only fuel the xenophobia the KEHL is fostering."
"Precisely." Bathed in T'Rukh's garish light, Spock's features were
drawn so tightly they appeared fleshless, skull-like. "It is also
possible that the Freelans are using their trained Vulcans to influence
high-ranking Kling-Ohs ... fomenting dissent, inciting the Empire into
civil upheaval, and then war with the Federation. The humans have an
ancient phrase for such strategy"Divide and conquer.'"
"Indeed," Sarek agreed. He sighed wearily, feeling himself relax for the
first time in ... how long? He could not tell ... "My son, it is a ...
relief ... to speak of this all, after holding silent so long," the
ambassador said, sinking down onto another bench. "I have discussed my
conspiracy theory with only two people before you--Soran, just recently,
and your mother. It is difficult to know who to trust. Any high-ranking
official could now be under Freelan influence." Spock shook his head
slightly as he considered that. "A situation that might justifiably
induce paranoia," he concurred.
"Last year, when I first began to suspect that the Freelans were using
telepathy to influence people, I advised all members of Vulcan's
diplomatic corps to work on strengthening their mental disciplines, so
they could not only detect, but shield against, any attempt at mental
influence. I traveled to Gol nearly every day for months, training with
one of the high-ranking Acolytes."
"I learned similar techniques while I was at Gol," Spock was quick to
assure his father. "My shielding is better than average."
"Good." Sarek gazed around him at the garden in T'Rukh's waning light.
"All indications are that the Romulan plan is reaching fruition. I
hypothesize that we may have only months ... perhaps less ... to act
to stop them."
"What is your recommendation?"
"First, we must gain concrete proof of the Freelans' true identity and
purpose in order to expose them. Your skills with computers equal my
own. It is my hope that, working together, we can break into the Freelan
system more successfully than I was able to that first time. Then we can
download their memory banks."
"That would constitute indisputable proof," Spock agreed. "We must
present that proof in open session of the Federation Security Council."
"I agree."
"We do have time," Spock said. "The KEHL is still a long way from
influencing Earth to expel Vulcan from the Federation."
"Do not be too sure. Elections will be held in two months, and the KEHL
is sponsoring many candidates ... some openly, others with secret
affiliations. Some of these candidates are vying for offices at very
high levels in Earth's government."
Sarek rubbed his forehead as fatigue washed over him so strongly it
seemed to gnaw at his bones; he felt every one of his 128 years.
"Someth
ing else to consider, Spock If the KEHL keeps growing, Vulcan
will not struggle to remain a member of the Federation. Our people do
not react well to being ... insulted."
Spock nodded grimly. "I suggest that we discuss the matter with James
Kirk and ask his help in gaining positive proof, and in bringing all of
this before the Federation Security Council and the president."
"I agree," Sarek said.
It was full night now, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. The
younger Vulcan glanced around him at the eerily lit garden and repressed
a shiver. "It is late. We should go in."
"Yes. Your mother will be waking soon."
"So, you're Jim Kirk's nephew!" Commander Gordon Twelvetrees exclaimed,
holding out his hand.
the tall, stately Lakota Indian who was Admiral Idota's aide. The
admiral was one of Uncle Jim's friends, and while Peter hadn't really
expected to find anyone in at such a late hour, he'd hoped to leave a
message for Idota with the desk clerk. He was pleasantly surprised to
find the admiral's aide still at work.
"Oh, at ease, son," the commander said, waving him to the couch in his
office. He poured a cup of fresh, fragrant coffee into the fine
Starfleet china that every admiral's office had, and handed it to the
cadet.
Peter nodded his thanks, and took a sip. It wasn't anything like the
brew at the cadet's commissary. This was a hearty, robust
blend--Jamaican, probably. He relished the taste.
"You got lucky finding me here tonight," the commander said. "Usually I
keep the same bankers' hours as the admiral."
The young Kirk smiled thankfully at his superior. "I'm glad you could
see me. Why the late hours?"
"I was here waiting for a communiqu6 from the Neutral Zone. Something
the admiral's been expecting. When they told me Jim Kirk's nephew had a
problem ..."
For once Peter didn't flinch at the reference to his relative.
At times like this, being Uncle Jim's nephew came in handy.
"Thank you, sir. I'm most grateful for your time." He tugged his cadet's
uniform into place, glad he'd taken the time to change and freshen up.
He hesitated, trying to find the right place to begin, then finally
started from the top, telling Twelvetrees about trying to meet Sarek for
lunch, the demonstration, the riot and his involvement, and how he found
himself at the local KEHL headquarters.
The story didn't take very long, and Twelvetrees never interrupted,
listening to every word with complete attention.
As he neared the end of his tale, Peter withdrew the three tapes with
the pilfered information and showed them to the commander.
"I know it was probably a foolish thing for me to do, sir, to pretend to
be a member of KEHL, but I felt it was a unique opportunity I couldn't
pass up, in spite of the risks.
And I think it's paid off. These tapes hold the entire files of their
membership rolls, their agenda, and the stolen information they obt ained
from the Vulcan consulate. I think they're enough to discredit this
organization for once and all. They're really getting dangerous, sir,
and they're no longer willing to work within the law. Their violation of
Vulcan communications alone is proof of that."
Commander Twelvetrees took the computer tapes almost reverently, staring
at the innocuous bits of flat plastic as he
turned them around in his big hands. "You certainly are a Kirk, son.
That's the same thing Jim would've done in that very circumstance. He
must be proud of you."
Peter was about to say that his Uncle Jim didn't know anything about
this, when a troubling realization began gnawing at his gut. Despite the
commander's words, he realized that the aide wasn't taking him
seriously. Not at all.
Twelvetrees sat back against the couch, and pocketed the cassettes. "I
want to thank you for the effort you took to obtain this information,
Peter. Most people--working to complete their finals, cramming day and
nightmwould only have their own personal problems in mind, and would've
turned their back on this. You've got the kind of heart, the kind of
backbone Starfleet needs to bring us successfully into the future. I
won't forget what you've tried to do here.
However ..."
Peter felt as if ice crystals were forming in his stomach.
" ... I have to tell you that Starfleet has had the KEHL under
surveillance for quite some time. We've even had several people
infiltrate the ranks. I can understand your alarm, but the truth is the
KEHL is just a fringe-element, disorganized group. They've been gaining
popularity due to the media exposure, and, unfortunately, we were
KEHL is no threat to anyone, Peter."
"But ... those tapes ..." Kirk protested.
"Oh, don't worry, Peter ... I'll take a look at these before I hand
them over to Starfleet Security--just in case there's something in there
we can use. They'll probably decide to warn the Vulcans about the breach
in their security. But don't forget, none of the KEHL's plans have ever
come to anything. And we both know there's no such thing as a Vulcan
conspiracy." He stood, indicating the interview was at an end. "You have
your navigational final tomorrow morning, don't you?"
"Yes, sir," Peter responded desultorily, as the commander walked him to
the office door.
"You focus on that, son. I barely made it through that one myself. Don't
you worry about these tapes, the KEHL, or
anything but your exam. I'll make sure this information gets the
attention it deserves, and if we find anything of any importance, I'll
let you know." The commander extended his hand again as his doors
whooshecl open, practically demanding Peter's exit.
The young Kirk took the hand offered him. "Thank you, sir. And believe
me, if you really look at that information, I think you'll be surprised
... and concerned."
"Don't you worry, Peter," the commander assured him, his deep voice
calming and sincere. "Starfleet Security has the situation well in hand.
Thanks again for your concern."
Peter watched the doors slide closed behind him and slumped against the
wall, despondently. He hadn't been born yesterday; he knew a kiss-off
when he saw one. Despite the commander's promise, Peter couldn't shake
the feeling that the officer was probably going to toss his tapes in the
nearest recycler.
The cadet shrugged.
He could still get in a few good hours of studying if he hurried. The
commander was right about one thing. If he was going to ace the
navigational final, he'd need to be sharp, focused. Peter straightened
up and squared his shoulders.
He'd get focused, all right. As soon as he tended to one more thing.
Minutes later, young Kirk strode briskly up to the communications center
that sat in the center of the massive Starfleet Security headquarters.
"Can I help you, sir?" the young man manning the
desk asked.
"Yes. I want to send a message to a Federation starship." Peter realized
that he had no idea where his uncle was right now.
"And what ship is that, sir?" the operator asked casually.
"The Enterprise. I want to send a message to Captain James T. Kirk."
The communications clerk glanced up, faintly surprised.
"Well ... that ship is currently on assignment. A message could take a
long time to ..."
"Send it Priority One. I am Captain Kirk's nephew. It's regarding a
family emergency."
"Of course, sir," the operator agreed, all business. He handed Peter a
message pad and stylus. "If you'll encode your message here it will be
sent on the private-messages channel, Priority One."
Peter picked up the pad, and, stylus poised, stood pondering just
exactly what to say.
Spock stood waiting outside the door of his parents' room, forcing
himself to remain still, hands clasped behind his back, his expression
controlled, remote. Inwardly, however, the Vulcan wanted nothing more
than to pace restlessly.
Movement would have aided him in dispelling some of his disquiet.
This morning, the Enterprise had entered the Vulcan spacedock, and, in
response to Spock's request that he evaluate Amanda's condition, Leonard
McCoy had beamed down to the villa.
The doctor was currently in Amanda's room, examining his mother.