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."
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'