Oh, no, Peter thought, stunned as the man came into view.
This was her uncle? Could it really be? He recognized Kamarag
instantly--the Klingon who had declared so publicly that there would be
no peace while James T. Kirk lived.
Peter swallowed. Things were becoming entirely too clear.
Kamarag was big, his long dark hair and thick beard shot with gray, with
heavy, jowly features that appeared never to have smiled. He glared at
the young Kirk, and Peter could feel his hatred, as palpable as a
clenched fist. The ambassador was not in uniform, but wore a 1ongish
oyster-white tunic over dark gray trousers, with a dark cape slung over
one shoulder. An intricately carved leather strap held it in place. The
strap bore the same insignia as the other Klingons wore--the insignia,
no doubt, of the house of Kamarag.
The cadet stared at the ambassador. Ambassador? he
thought. What a joke. Sarek was an ambassador, a diplomat, a man of
peace ... this jerk was nothing but a warmonger, a kidnapper, a pompous
ass, a ... Peter ran out of silent epithets4his rage was suddenly too
all-encompassing to be vented with mere insults. He had been drugged,
kidnapped, beatenmand it was this man's fault. Trembling with fury, he
glared at Kamarag, feeling a tirade on the verge of erupting.
Slowly, the impulse faded. What good would cursing and insulting Kamarag
do7 He needed to keep his wits about him, Peter realized. Jim Kirk might
lose his temper at an enemy, but Sarek never would. And right now, he,
Peter Kirk, needed to be diplomatic.
"Ambassador Karostag," he said, and nodded politely to the older male.
But the Klingon ignored his greeting as he leaned forward and stared at
the human. Slowly, his thick lips parted, and a terrible smile
transformed his features. Peter felt every hair on his body rise. Then
the Klingon turned to his niece. In Klingonese, he said, clearly, "He
ate and drank?"
She nodded.
"Good," he continued, still in his native tongue. "I am depending on
you, niece. Do not fail me. Make your prisoner strong and healthy. Treat
him well." He patted the woman fondly on the shoulder. "He must be able
to withstand your ..."
Peter couldn't translate the last word, and searched his mind for its
meaning, but came up blank. He'd caught the word for women, or female,
in there, but as for the rest ... he'd be willing to bet it wasn't a
trip to the local equivalent of an amusement park that Kamarag was
referring to. Ordeal? Trial? He had no way of knowing.
Kamarag was still conferring with Valdyr, smiling solicitously.
When the older man turned back to stare at his prisoner once more, Peter
found that the look the ambassador gave him chilled his blood. Then the
elder Klingon stalked away. Peter turned back to Valdyr to ask her about
what that term, be9oy; meant, and found, to his surprise,
that her rich amber color had paled into a sickly yellow. Her eyes were
wide as she watched her uncle stride away.
"Valdyr?" Peter asked softly, trying to get her attention.
"What does be.Toy' mean? I couldn't translate it. Hey, Valdyr!"
Her head snapped around and she stared at him wild-eyed.
"Do not speak to me, human!" she commanded.
"Remember your place. You are my enemy. My prisoner.
And I am a Klingon!"
He was stunned to see her eyes filled with frustration and genuine
grief; then she turned and stormed away, leaving him alone in his stone
cell.
Sarek materialized on the windswept plateau high in the steppes above
Shikahr only minutes before sunset. Before him lay the steps leading to
the top of Mount Seleya, where the ancient temple and amphitheater were
located. The ambassador's robes flowed around him as he strode forward
and began climbing. The stairs were steep and long; the Vulcan's heart
was pounding by the time he reached the top, but he did not pause to
catch his breath. Instead he detoured around the ancient,
cylinder-shaped temple, heading for the small amphitheater.
The Vulcan was surprised by the number of people on the steps and ranged
around the old temple. Glancing ahead, he could see that the
amphitheater, reached by a narrow stone walkway that hung precariously
over a thousand-meter gulf, was even more crowded.
Many people, it seemed, wished to pay last respects to the memory of his
wife.
The ambassador had arrived on his homeworld only thirty minutes ago.
First he had gone to the reed center, where, after spending a few
minutes with the physical shell that had housed his wife's spirit, Sarek
authorized the cremation.
Now he was at the temple, barely in time for the memorial service. The
ceremony would be brief ... his son had asked T'Lar, the High Master of
Gol, to preside, and she had agreed.
As Sarek moved toward the small, shallow amphitheater, the crowd parted
before him. The ambassador's gaze touched many familiar faces from his
homeworld ... diplomatic personnel and their families, as well as
high-ranking government officials whom Sarek and Amanda had entertained
during official functions. Members of his family whom he had not seen in
years were there, heads respectfully bowed as they murmured the
traditional words, "I grieve with thee." Amanda would be gratified that
so many of those who initially disapproved of our marriage have come to
honor her memory, the ambassador thought, as he moved through the crowd.
As he crossed the narrow bridge, he saw that the highest-ranking
officials and closest family members were awaiting him in the
amphitheater--and there was his son, wearing a formal dark robe with
ancient symbols embroidered in silver on the breast. Spock was standing
with his crewmates from the Enterprise. As Sarek walked toward him,
Spock glanced up, recognized his father, then, deliberately, looked
away.
Sarek had not spoken to his son except for the brief, stilted words they
had exchanged when Spock had called to inform his father of Amanda's
passing. By the time Spock called him, the ambassador had known for
nearly six hours that his wife was dead. When Sarek had attempted to
speak about her, Spock had cut him off, then curtly informed his father
that the final repairs to his ship would be completed within forty-eight
Standard hours, and that he would be leaving Vulcan with his vessel.
As Sarek walked to the forefront of the gathering, Spock, still avoiding
his father's gaze, silently took his place beside the ambassador.
Together, they walked up to stand before the two huge, smooth pillars on
the raised platform. From the side of one of the pillars, there was
movement; then T'Lar, accompanied by two Acolytes, stepped forth. The
High Master wore a dark brown robe with a pale gold overtunic.
As Sarek and Spock stood there, T'Lar began to speak "Today we honor
the memory of Amanda Grayson Sarek," she began, speaking Standard
English in deference to the humans present. "She was a human who honored
us with her presence on our world.
"From Amanda Grayson Sarek, w
e learned that our people and humans could
live together in peace ... that they could be allies, friends, and
bondmates. Amanda Grayson Sarek possessed great strength, fortitude, and
courage the strength to survive a world that poses great hardships for
outworlders; the fortitude to endure the suspicion and distrust in which
humans were frequently held; and the courage to forever alter the way
Vulcans view the people of Terra. She changed us, not through strident
protest, but by quietly prevailing, becoming over the years a living
testament.
"Today we honor her ... we honor the wife, we honor the mother, we
honor the teacher, we honor the person of Amanda Grayson Sarek. Her life
is one to be held in highest regard and esteem." T'Lar delivered her
words in measured tones, raising her voice only to be heard above the
wind, for the large crowd stood in complete, respectful silence.
After the High Master had finished, by tradition the spouse was supposed
to speak. Sarek hesitated for a long moment after the last echo of
T'Lar's voice had faded into silence, then said "As a diplomat, I use
words as a builder would use tools. But words will not serve me today.
Grieve with me, for, with Amanda's passing, we have all lost someone
very ... rare. I can say no more." Spock glanced at his father in
surprise; then his expression hardened and he deliberately looked the
other way.
Sarek waited a moment to see whether his son wished to say anything,
then he raised a hand in salute to the waiting crowd. "My family, my
friends ... I wish you peace and long life."
"Live long and prosper," T'Lar said aloud, speaking for the crowd. Many
of the watchers held up their hands in the Vulcan salute, heads
respectfully bowed.
The ceremony was over.
Unlike human funerals, etiquette following a Vulcan memorial service
demanded that the family of the deceased be left in private. Sarek
watched as James Kirk came up to his son and said something quietly to
him; then the group of Starfleet officers silently took their leave.
"What did Kirk say?" Sarek asked, when he and Spock were alone, standing
amid the stark peaks surrounding Mount Seleya.
"He asked if we could both meet with him tomorrow at nine hundred hours
aboard the Enterprise to discuss the Freelan situation. I gave the
captain a brief overview while you were gone." Spock still did not look
at his father as he spoke. Instead his eyes remained fastened on the
mountain peaks, scarlet from the reflection of Nevasa's sunset.
"Good," Sarek said. "I was going to request such a meeting with Kirk
upon my return. I have new information to add to what I have already
told you." The Vul can hesitated. "Spock," he said finally, "about your
mother ... I would have returned home if it had been
possible. I--"
"She called for you," Spock interrupted, staring straight ahead. His
features seemed carved from the same rock that surrounded them.
"Whenever she was conscious, she called for you. Her decline was rapid,
after you left."
"The situation with Kadura was grave," Sarek said.
"Lives were in jeopardy Amanda told me that she understood."
"She understood very well." Spock's voice held a bitter edge.
"But the fact that she understood and forgave you does not make your
actions correct. Any competent diplomat could have negotiated a
settlement for Kadura's freedom.
But only you could have eased my mother's passing."
took a deep breath. "The entire time I sat there beside her ... two
days.. there was only one thing in the world that she wanted--you. And
you were not there. Without your presence, there was no solace for her
... no tranquility.
She called for you, and would not be comforted."
"Her ending was not ... peaceful?" the ambassador
asked, his voice a hollow whisper. Pain that was nearly physical in its
intensity struck him like a blow.
hesitated. "Even her sleep was restless," he said finally.
A muscle twitched in his jawline. "She was not aware of my presence at
all." closed his eyes, struggling for control. He experienced a brief
impulse to tell Spock how he had attempted to reach Amanda, but that was
a private thing ... not to be spoken of. Grief washed over him anew. So
... I did not reach her, there at the end. I thought I might have ... I
thought perhaps she could detect my presence ... but it was not so,
evidently ... "You were not there to ease her passing," Spock went on,
inexorably.
"Despite my presence, she died alone."
the elder Vulcan drew himself up, gazing impassively at Spock, his face
a cold mask. "These highly emotional recriminations are both illogical
and distasteful, Spock.
understandable, under the circumstances. You are, after all, Amanda's
child as well as mine. You are half-human ... and it is your human half
I am facing, now."
Spock turned his head and met his father's eyes. Their gazes locked. The
younger Vulcan's mouth tightened ... his gaze was as scorching as the
desert that lay around them.
But his voice, when he finally spoke, was icy. "In that case, I will
take my distasteful human half and depart ... sir. I bid you farewell."
Spock swung around and walked away, his pace light, even. His control
was perfect; his movements betrayed nothing of the anger Sarek had
sensed. The elder Vulcan hesitated, wanting to call him back, but he had
been perfectly logical--and right. One did not apologize for being
logical or correct ... As the ambassador watched, his son crossed the
narrow bridge, then strode away into the gathering darkness, leaving his
father alone.
James T. Kirk sat in his conference room at 0855 hours, awaiting Sarek
and his first officer. Spock had returned to his cabin aboard the
Enterprise to spend the night, instead of remaining with his father. In
Kirk's estimation, that did not bode well ... he'd seen his friend's
reaction when he spoke of Sarek's leaving when Amanda was dying. Kirk
had known Spock for many years, but had never seen him like this. If he
had to label it, he would call it anger.
Spock's brief revelation three days ago concerning Romu-lan moles
masquerading as Freelansma whole damned planet of them, apparently, was
extremely wordsome.
James T. Kirk had had many run-ins with both Romulans and Klingons in
his career, and, while it could not be denied that Klingons were fierce
warriors and made awesome enemies, Kirk had decided long ago that he
would rather confront Klingons in a knock-down, drag-out rather than
Romulans.
There was something about Romulans ... a subtlety, a canniness ... It
was the idea of Vulcan intellect without Vulcan ethics that Kirk found
frightening.
And now ... the Romulans were planning something big, if Sarek was
right. That did not bode well for the Federation.
Kirk recalled the moments after he had saved President Ra-ghoratrei at
Camp Khitomer. The
delegates and envoys had milled around,
congratulating the Starfleet officers, everyone exclaiming over the fact
that the supposed Klingon assassin had actually proved to be Colonel
West, a human.
While Kirk was standing there, being congratulated and thanked by
President Ra-ghoratrei and Chancellor Azetbur, he'd noticed the Freelan
envoy, shrouded in his or her muffling robes, facing Ambassador Nanclus,
the Romulan who had plotted with General Chang and Admiral Cartwright to
bring about war between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Beside
the Freelan had stood a young Vulcan woman, lovely and serene, her short
black hair cropped to reveal her elegant ears.
Kirk shook his head, slowly, his mind churning with questions and
speculations. If someone had ripped the Freelan's robes away, what would
they all have seen? If Sarek was correct in his reasoning ... and
Vulcans were, after all, noted for their reasoning abilities ... then
they would have all seen a Romulan face beneath that muffling cowl and
mask.
If that was true, then what did the Romulans want out of all this? Was
Sarek correct in his deductions? Was the Freelan goal to cause war
between the Federation and the Klingon Empire?
The door slid open and Ambassador Sarek entered. He was wearing his
formal robes of state, but even their bejeweled elegance could not
disguise the Vulcan's fatigue, the deeply shadowed eyes, the hair that
had turned nearly white. Sarek's expression was positively grim as he