STAR TREK - TOS - 20 - Vulcan Academy Murders

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Star Trek - TOS 020 - Vulcan Academy Murders

By Jean Lorrah

CHAPTER 1

Fire photon torpedoes!"

Captain James T. Kirk leaned forward in the command chair, as if forcing the weapons of the USS

Enterprise to fire by his very strength of will.

Nothing happened.

The Klingon warship on the viewscreen drew bead on the Federation starship and fired again. The

Enterprise shook, but the screens held.

"Mr. Sulu, I want torpedoes!" The Captain's voice was firm but determined.

"No response, sir!" the helmsman replied, still struggling with the controls.

Kirk punched a button on the arm of his chair. "Auxiliary Control! Mr. Chekov, fire photon torpedoes!"

"Firing, Captain!" And the screen showed the torpedoes away at last.

The voice from Auxiliary Control, however, was not Pavel Chekov's. Ensign Carl Remington, fresh out

of Star Fleet Academy, had replied. Kirk heard the fear in the boy's voice, and wondered if he would

break under fire.

"Number One Phasers-fire!"

The Klingons were moving in for the kill-the short-range weapons caught them full blast, but their screens

also held.

"Number Two Phasers-now!" Kirk pressed his advantage.

The Klingon vessel's port screens went down in a satisfying display of fireworks. "All weapons-fire!"

Remington responded at once. Torpedoes and phasers blasted the enemy ship; the Enterprise was

peppered with return fire, her own screens shorting out for a long moment. Then the rest of the Klingon

screens fizzled out, and the long-necked ship blazed in death glory.

"Cease firing!" Kirk commanded-and realized that the firing had stopped before his order. "Auxiliary

Control!"

No answer.

"Chekov! Remington! Respond!"

There was a long pause. Then Chekov's voice, weak and choking. "Keptin. Medical aid-" A cough, then

silence.

"Sickbay!" Kirk exclaimed, punching another button. "Bones, get someone to Auxiliary Control, on the

double!" Then the general intercom, "Anyone in vicinity, take over Auxiliary Control!"

"Grogan here, Captain!" came a female voice as the AC button lit reassuringly. "Mr. Chekov's

unconscious, and Mr. Remington. I think he's dead!"

"Grogan, man the console-power is out on the bridge!"

"Aye, Captain."

But the battle was over. The Klingon ship lay dead in space-scans showed all power out, life support

systems nonfunctional. The gasps of the aliens, choking on fumes from the fires consuming the last of their

air, rang in the ears of the Enterprise crew.

"Enterprise to Klingon vessel-crew prepare to be beamed aboard our ship! Scotty-"

The engineer's voice responded, "Aye, Captain, we'll try-but we scan only a dozen or so left alive, and

they're dyin' even as we try to fix on 'em."

Kirk sat frozen now, listening to the reports coming in. The Enterprise had sustained major damage-they

would have to put in at the nearest starbase for repairs. The computer monitored the ship; those damage

reports were swift. But people had to care for people; the reports of deaths and injuries followed at a

more leisurely, and trying, rate.

"We got three of the devils aboard alive," Scotty reported as he entered the bridge from the turbolift, "all

sick as dogs from breathin' smoke, and well deservin' of it!" The Scotsman headed immediately for the

sputtering helm console.

"Where are they?" Kirk asked.

"Sickbay. I suppose Dr. McCoy will patch 'em up well enough for interrogation."

Kirk stared at the viewscreen, which still displayed the Klingon vessel, now a tomb for all but three of its

crew. "Why did they do it?" he wondered aloud. "I know they dispute our right to this quadrant, but to

attack? All we did was warn them that they were in Federation space."

"They're Klingons," Scotty responded. "What do you expect?"

"But why risk their lives? One on one they knew they had a less than even chance against a starship. Why

bother to fight over a hundred cubic light-years of vacuum?"

Mr. Spock, who had been silently manning his post throughout the battle, suddenly spoke up. " 'We go

to gain a little patch of ground/ That hath in it no profit but the name.'"

"Hmm?" asked Kirk.

"Hamlet," the Vulcan supplied. "Shakespeare understood the warrior mentality. 'Witness this army, of

such mass and charge,/ Exposing what is mortal and unsure/ To all that fortune, death, and danger dare,/

Even for an eggshell.'" He paused, then added, "Or as a Klingon poet might put it, Captain, any excuse

for a fight."

"Cynicism, Spock?"

"Observation, Captain. I have seen how, the Klingons act, only too often. They are not logical. but they

are predictable."

"Are you suggesting that I might have avoided this battle?" Kirk asked.

"No, Captain, quite the opposite. I am suggesting that given contact with the Klingons in a disputed

quadrant, battle was inevitable."

But Kirk felt no better because his First Officer agreed he had had no way out. There had to be a better

way than blasting away at one another. They were like children playing pirates-but with genuine loss of

life and limb!

Finally McCoy reported from Sickbay. "Four dead, Captain. Rosen, Livinger, M'Gura, Jakorski.

Ninety-three injuries, but only eleven serious enough to confine them to Sickbay. One of those,

however-Jim, when you can, will you please come down here?"

"Remington?" Kirk asked, recalling that Grogan had thought the boy dead.

"Yes. I'd like to talk with you privately."

Scotty had the bridge console operating again; all final reports were in. "Mr. Spock, take command,"

Kirk instructed, and took the turbolift to Sickbay.

Those of his crew who were conscious managed to smile at the Captain, and he turned on his charm in

return, assuring them they had all done a fine job, and would certainly soon be back on their feet with

McCoy's help. But his enforced cheer dropped away like a mask when he followed the doctor into the

intensive care unit, and saw Carl Remington lying pale and unmoving. He certainly looked dead. Only the

life sign indicators on the board over his head showed life in the still form. "How bad?"

"It's hopeless," McCoy replied. "Dammit, Jim, the worst of it is, it'll take him days to die. He's totally

paralyzed. His voluntary nervous system is burnt out-must have taken a freak burst of energy in those last

blasts from the Klingon ship. His involuntary system is working-I took him off life support, and. he's alive,

for the moment. But he can't do anything-and I do mean anything. He can't even blink his eyes. But if he

stabilizes instead of dying in the next few days, he could go on like that for years."

"Dear God," Kirk whispered. "Does he know? I mean, can he hear us? Is he-aware in there?"

"I don't know. He hasn't responded-there's no increase in heartbeat or respiration to indicate emotional

response-but maybe he can't even do that. Should I ask Spock to-?"

"No!" But after a moment Kirk sighed. "Yes. We have to know."

Mr. Spock, although always reluctant to use the mind meld, agreed. "Yes-I understand that you must

know whether Mr. Remington is aware before you can decide on treatment for him. I will meld with him,

Doctor, if you will grant me privacy."

Kirk and McCoy retreated to the doctor's office to wait for Spock's report. Kirk slumped into a chair,

for the first time that day allowing his state of mind to show in his posture.

"Maybe he's technically dead," McCoy offered. "I found no brain wave activity-"

"And maybe his body will just turn off, too, and save you the trouble-" Kirk cut off his angry retort, and

rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing the palms of his hands over his eyes. "I'm sorry, Bones. You did

everything you could."

"And so did you," the doctor said. "Here-my prescription." He held out a brandy. Kirk took it gratefully,

without protest. After a moment McCoy sat down in his desk chair and said, "Jim, Remington's one of

those kids you identify with, isn't he?"

"Bones, I-"

"I know-you care about your whole crew equally. But I also know that whenever you see one of these

up-and-comers right out of the Academy and ready to take on the galaxy, you remember a certain James

T. Kirk setting out to become the youngest Captain in Star Fleet-and doing it."

"That was a long time ago, Bones."

"And at times like these you wonder what it's all for. Why set yourself up for a day like today? They

come only too often, don't they?"

Kirk nodded. "But somebody has to do it. Maybe we're protecting vacuum here-but if we let the

Klingons have this particular piece of vacuum, they'd build a starbase that much closer to populated

Federation territory. But dammit, that doesn't make it any easier to have people die, or be crippled for

life."

He sat staring into his drink, and McCoy didn't prod him further, knowing the Captain would probably

have another drink or two, sleep from exhaustion, and be up early for a workout in the gym before facing

the funeral ceremony.

It was nearly half an hour before Spock emerged from the intensive care unit, pale and grim. "Mr.

Remington is. there, Doctor. He cannot respond, but his mind is alert, trapped deep within himself."

"Oh, God," McCoy said softly, tears welling in his blue eyes. He didn't let them fall, but they roughened

his voice as he said, "This is when I wonder why I'm a doctor-if I hadn't done anything for that boy

today, perhaps he'd just have died. Instead, he is condemned to living death." He poured himself a

brandy this time, hesitated, then poured one for Spock. "Don't argue-just drink it."

"I am not arguing, Doctor," said Spock, downing the drink in one swallow. Then he sat down in the last

chair in the small office, and said, "Doctor McCoy, Captain. there may be a chance for Mr. Remington to

recover."

"Spock," said McCoy, "there is no way to repair that kind of nerve damage. Nerves don't regenerate. If

anyone was even working on a technique for nerve regeneration, I'd have heard of it."

"Not if it was happening at the Vulcan Academy of Sciences," Spock replied, "and was still in the

experimental stage."

"Was?" asked McCoy, realizing that Spock's ever-perfect grammar would call for the subjunctive if he

were speaking hypothetically. "You mean there is such a technique?"

"Yes, Doctor, there is."

"But-how can you know that when I don't? I read the Journal of the Vulcan Academy, too."

"They have not completed their research, and so cannot yet release the results," Spock explained.

"However, I have a. personal reason for knowing about the experiments."

Kirk sat up, immediately alert with concern for his friend. "Personal, Spock? Is something wrong?"

"Not with me," the Vulcan replied in the flat tone that masked his feelings. Both human men recognized

that it meant he was controlling carefully. "It is. my mother."

"Amanda?" McCoy asked, recalling the lovely lady whom he had gotten to know on the voyage to

Babel. "Is she ill? Is there anything I can do, Spock?"

"She has degenerative xenosis."

McCoy held his tongue, knowing that expressions of sympathy would not be welcomed by his Vulcan

friend. The disease was one of the products of star travel-it seemed to be a kind of allergic reaction to

living for long periods on alien worlds. Once it had started, there was no cure; the nervous fibers

dissolved away until the person simply died because the body could no longer operate. "How long?" he

finally asked gently.

"We hope-my father Sarek and I-that she will not die, Doctor. She would have had only a few more

months, but the regeneration techniques developed by the healer Sorel and his associate, Dr. Daniel

Corrigan, were tested successfully on Dr. Corrigan."

"Sounds like a man after your own heart, Bones," Kirk commented, "trying his experiments on himself."

"Although he is only a few years older than my mother," Spock explained, "Dr. Corrigan began a few

years ago to age very rapidly-physically. Fortunately, his mind remained untouched, and he and Sorel

were able to develop their methodology. Sarek tells me that Dr. Corrigan recovered completely-including

nerve regeneration. At this point they are trying the technique only on people who cannot be cured by

any other means. My mother is in the stasis now; in a few days she will be released. The latest

communication from my father says that the monitors show almost total regeneration. She will be well,

and will have many more years with my father."

"Spock," said Kirk, "I'm very happy to hear that. But why didn't you tell us before?"

"I intended to-but the communication came just before the battle. I was going to ask for leave on Vulcan,

and request that you come with me, Dr. McCoy. I have complete faith in Dr. Corrigan, who has been my

mother's physician for many years. However-"

"Thank you, Spock." McCoy felt warmth at Spock's trust in him. "I would be honored. Do you think

they'll accept Remington? Jim-the Enterprise will have to be drydocked for repairs anyway-"

"Take Remington to Vulcan, Bones. That's an order. And of course your leave is granted, Spock. For

once you'll get shore leave at home-we're not even that far from Vulcan!"

"Since you will also have leave time, Captain," Spock said formally, "may I invite you to my home? I am

certain my father will be honored to have both of you as guests-and when my mother is released from

stasis, she will surely be pleased to see you again."

So it was settled, with relief all around. Now the only problem was McCoy's: keeping Remington alive

until they reached Vulcan.

CHAPTER 2

Sarek of Vulcan stepped out of the sonic shower and pulled on the light clothing suitable to Vulcan's

summer. The day was already giving promise of being torrid enough to make even native Vulcans

uncomfortable. His students would surely be restless; how had he ever allowed himself to be coerced

into teaching the entrance-level computer course always three-quarters filled with offworlders?

The house was empty, but he had become used to that this past month. If Amanda had to be in stasis, it

was fortunate that she was missing the hottest part of the summer. Despite all her years on Vulcan, she

still minded this kind of heat.

Remembering that he would have human guests arriving this evening, Sarek set the cooling unit several

degrees below the temperature necessary for his own comfort Even Spock would undoubtedly require a

few days to reaccustom himself to the fierceness of Vulcan's summer. It was nearly two years since

Spock had last set foot on Vulcan, under such regrettable circumstances-

No, Sarek refused to let himself dwell on the past. Amanda had been right. He had been wrong to

disown his son. He deeply regretted not standing with Spock for what should have been his marriage, but

what was done was done. And on the journey to Babel father and son had found one another again-yes,

he could look forward with equanimity to seeing Spock once more.

Nonetheless, he did not miss the sardonic quality in Spock's coming home to face his father flanked by

the same two men he had taken to his Koon-ut Kali-fi. Having gotten to know the crusty doctor and the

brave, if impetuous, captain on that same trip to a most disputative excuse for a peace conference, Sarek

highly approved of his son's choice of friends. He hoped, however, that soon Spock would not feel a

need to bring protectors into his family home.

Sarek walked from his home on the outskirts of ShiKahr to the Vulcan Academy, where he taught and

did research when he was not off-planet on diplomatic missions. Sorel insisted that he take at least that

much exercise daily, to be certain that his heart maintained full function after the emergency surgery

performed by Dr. McCoy. Sarek had not felt so well in years as he did now that he had recovered. The

walk was pleasant, not a chore-although he would wait until the cool of the evening to walk back.

Amanda's illness had come as a shock-Sarek had faced his own mortality on board the Enterprise, but

despite the probability that he would outlive his human wife, he had never before truly faced Amanda's.

His relief at the reports Sorel and Corrigan had given him the past few days was un-Vulcan, he knew, but

he did not care. Amanda was going to be well again!

In Sarek's office, his teaching assistant, Eleyna Miller, was going through the programs designed by the

class he was about to teach. "Good morning, Sarek," she said formally. "I think you'll want to go over

Mr. Watson's attempt at a starship navigation program. At least, I deduce that that is what it is supposed

to be."

Sarek leaned over her shoulder to study the screen. The columns of numbers should have been totally

familiar to him; after all, he had taught this same course and assigned these same problems for years. Mr.

Watson's answers, however, were always unique. "Using this program, plot a course at Warp 4 from

Vulcan to Earth," he instructed the computer.

"Not possible," the computer replied nasally.

"You can't get there from here," Sarek told Eleyna, deadpan, and was rewarded with one of her

disapproving looks.

Although as human as Amanda, Eleyna did not share Sarek's wife's sense of humor-on the other hand,

even after more than a year of working closely with Sarek, perhaps she did not believe a Vulcan could

possibly be joking with her. On the third hand, it could be part of that "I am more Vulcan than Vulcans"

attitude that some humans put on when they studied here. Every so often Sarek wanted to tell Eleyna to

be herself-but then, he could never be sure that the strictly formal facade she wore was not herself, and

so he curbed the remark.

He sorted through Watson's program, highlighting the errors, and added marginal notes to explain where

his student had gone wrong. By the time he had finished, it was time for class. The temperature was

already rising. The classrooms were several degrees cooler than the outside air, but that was not enough

for many offworlders' comfort. Sarek looked out across a sea of perspiring, squirming humans,

punctuated with an occasional Andorian, Hemanite, or Lemnorian. The handful of Vulcans sat properly,

paying strict attention, taking notes, and still-after a month of the class-looking faintly disapproving when

the rest of the class laughed at Sarek's occasional jokes.

The two Tellarites, Sarek noted, were absent-undoubtedly holed up in their quarters with the

airconditioning on full.

Sarek finished his demonstration of the new assignment, and asked for questions. As usual, Mr. Watson's

immediate response showed that he had missed the point. Patiently, Sarek explained again, wondering

once more how Watson had passed the Academy entrance examinations. T'Sia, a Vulcan girl from one

of the colonies, then asked an insightful question, and the class came to life with interest-the discussion

continued until time was up.

Two humans, Mr. Zarn and Mr. Stevens, left with T'Sia, still debating. Sarek wondered if the young

woman had the slightest notion of her appeal to the human males. Although she appeared to be

full-grown, T'Sia would not reach sexual maturity for at least twenty more years. The young humans,

finding total lack of response or even comprehension, would soon lose interest. He had seen new

students go through this same process time and again.

Human women were more subtle-and far more likely to know or surmise the facts of Vulcan biology.

They didn't waste time on Vulcan students; those few looking for a real challenge focused their interest on

their male professors, But because male Vulcans who had attained sexual maturity were either bonded or

married, no such attempt had ever succeeded, to Sarek's knowledge.

Returning to his office, he found Eleyna working at the computer. For the first time, he wondered what

she did in her time off. Did she ever take time off? It was a rare occurrence for Sarek not to find her in

his office. Her dissertation was proceeding admirably-he could not fault her for her work or for her

assistance. Yet. he could not seem to get to know her. Many of his human students, both male and

female, had become friends, but Eleyna was an enigma.

Thinking of his human students playing their mating games, Sarek considered whether at Eleyna's age she

should not have a male consort. Matchmaking was routine in Vulcan society. Only last year, Sarek and

Amanda had helped find a suitable bondmate for his cousin's daughter. But humans did not operate that

way.

Ah, but Eleyna seemed to be trying to act Vulcan. Sarek wondered if she would appreciate introductions

to some of his human male graduate students. Perhaps it would be better, though, to wait and ask

Amanda's advice.

"Eleyna, I am going over to the hospital," he told her.

She looked up, startled-she had been so engrossed that she hadn't heard him enter. Her composure

slipped for once, and she blushed, catching her lower lip between her teeth. Then her facade was back.

She cleared her screen, and put her hand over the cartridge in the slot. "Your students' programs are

graded, Sarek. I can work on my own console in my room if you-"

"No, Eleyna-go ahead with what you were doing. I will be back in approximately one-point-three hours."

he replied, for he had seen that she was working with a green cartridge that accessed the main Academy

computer. At Eleyna's level of work she often needed programs from the main system that were

unavailable to student consoles, but easily keyed up on those in faculty offices. Pleased to allow his

student the time she needed for her own work, he set off across the campus toward the medical

buildings.

Sarek wended his way into the cool depths of the hospital complex, to a door marked STERILE FIELD

ONLY. He entered the airlock, removed his clothes, waited for the rays to bathe his body, and put on

the disposable sterile gown that slid out of the slot. Barefoot, he went to the inner door, and spoke into

the lock that he had insisted be keyed to his voice as well as the physicians'. "Sarek to see Amanda."

The door slid open, and he stepped into the sterile chamber. Lights came on over the bank of gauges on

the left-hand wall, but Sarek was interested only in the dim light they threw into the mass of fluid in the

center of the room. The bluish mist was in a colloidal liquid-gaseous state. Within it, Amanda drifted,

suspended by antigrav units. Nothing touched the mist but her body. There were no walls enclosing the

liquid; a force field held it in a roughly rectangular box-shape.

In six more days Amanda would be removed from the fluid and brought back to consciousness. By the

end of the month, Sorel had promised yesterday, she would be released from the hospital, completely

cured.

As her body drifted slowly within the mist, her long silver hair forming its own aimless patterns, Amanda

seemed a mythic creature from the oceans of her mysterious home planet. Sarek could not see her clearly

enough to note any changes; although the treatment was specifically to stop and reverse the nerve

degeneration that had begun crippling her, it would also have the effect of reversing aging, as it had done

for Dr. Corrigan.

Amanda had laughed when Corrigan told her that. "Why, you'll make it look as if Sarek's robbed the

cradle!"

"No-but when it's all over, you'll probably look much the way you did in your mid-thirties," the doctor

had reassured her. Sarek had been pleased to hear that. Although Amanda had been in her early twenties

when he met and married her, he felt that she had improved with age; he preferred the grace and wisdom

of maturity.

The door behind him swooshed open, and someone else padded on bare feet to the wall of gauges.

Sarek remained where he was. He knew better than to ask about the readings; delaying one of Sorel's

technicians might give the healer an excuse to rescind the visitation privilege he found so illogical.

But the intruder did not leave after studying the dials; instead he came to Sarek's side-and Sarek

discovered that it was Sorel himself!

Although they were about the same age, Sorel always seemed much older to Sarek. Healers were the

most formal and controlled of all Vulcans; they had to be, as they had the strongest ESP, and had to deal

with sick minds as well as sick bodies.

Sorel was as tall as Sarek, but much thinner. His straight black hair showed only the first traces of gray,

while Sarek's had been silver for years. But it was Sorel's eyes that made him inscrutable. The irises were

so black that they became indistinguishable from the pupils, making it impossible to read them. Since he

did not allow his face to reveal his feelings either, it sometimes felt to Sarek as if he were being treated by

a computer. and a disapproving one at that.

He waited for the healer to open the conversation. If there were any change in Amanda's condition, Sorel

would tell him; if not, there was no point in asking.

After a few moments, Sorel said abruptly, "Sarek, I must apologize."

Startled, Sarek waited until he could speak impassively. "You have given no offense, Sorel."

"I made no effort to understand your request for visitation privileges, merely because it was illogical.

Now. my wife is in stasis."

"T'Zan? I did not know she was ill."

"An accident, last night. She was repairing a neural stimulator; it short-circuited, and she sustained

extensive nerve damage. We fear. even the stasis chamber may not assure total regeneration."

"Who is her physician?"

"Corrigan."

Of course. Sorel's partner, the human doctor who had come to Vulcan with the first human scientists

invited to the Academy. and who had found a home here, as a few rare humans did. Sorel and Corrigan

had first teamed to bring Spock to term alive, and the partnership had flourished over many years. They

were generally regarded as the best medical team on Vulcan.

Sorel continued, "Daniel did not ask me-he simply keyed the door of T'Zan's stasis chamber to my voice.

I did not think I would do anything so illogical. and I have been there already this morning."

Thinking the healer might be embarrassed at admitting an emotional act, Sarek suggested, "Naturally, you

wished to inspect Dr. Corrigan's work."

A faint smile-the first Sarek had ever seen on the healer's face-tugged wryly at Sorel's mouth. "No,

Sarek. I looked at the dials, but I do not know what they said. I went to do what you do: to be with her,

to look at her. I envy you the knowledge that when your wife is released from stasis she will be well."

"If T'Zan is not well when she is released, Corrigan will find a way to make her well. Humans are like

that. When they have exhausted all logical approaches, they apply illogical ones until they succeed."

Sorel frowned, and looked into the stasis tank, then back at Sarek. "I sometimes wonder if your bonding

with a human has not changed you. Yet-I have never known Amanda to act illogically, while you-

Sarek expected to be reminded once again of how stupid-although no Vulcan would use such a harsh

term-he had been to take on the Babel assignment when he had had two heart attacks. Instead, Sorel

said, "I hear that your students think you something of a. comedian." He had to use the English word;

Vulcan had no such term.

"Offworld students respond to different techniques from those most successful with Vulcans," said Sarek.

"And yet Amanda is very successful at teaching Vulcans."

"Indeed. However, you do know one illogical act on Amanda's part."

"Indeed? Enlighten me."

"She married me," Sarek explained.

"Ah. Indeed." Sorel stared into the blue mist again. "You deliberately provoke the universal Vulcan failing

of curiosity, Sarek. How did you come to marry her? Forgive me. I do not expect you to answer."

The awkward moment was broken when the door swooshed open a third time, to admit Dr. Daniel

Corrigan. The human physician was short and stocky, genial and gregarious. He had never tried to adopt

Vulcan ways, and yet somehow he had managed to keep up his association with Sorel, the most formal

of Vulcans. "I might have known you'd be making rounds as usual, Sorel," he greeted his partner. "Good

morning, Sarek."

"Good morning, Dr. Corrigan. If you wish to consult with Sorel-"

"No, there's nothing to consult about-but good news, Sorel. T'Zan is responding much better than we

could have predicted. Prognosis is now complete recovery. But I suppose you checked that out for

yourself."

"No, Daniel. I read the dials, but I was unable to interpret the data."

Sarek was surprised to hear the Vulcan healer admit to emotion before a human. Then he realized that

the surprising thing was that in all the years he had seen them working together professionally, he had

never known that they had a personal friendship as well.

"Thank you, Daniel," Sorel was saying. "Can you estimate how long T'Zan must stay in stasis?"

"Twenty to twenty-five days. We'll keep her carefully monitored-but it's only a matter of time now."

"I am pleased to hear that T'Zan will be well," said Sarek. "Does her absence leave you alone in your

home, Sorel?"

"Yes," replied the healer. "My children have all left home, although Soton has rooms here at the

Academy. My daughter T'Mir will be coming home tonight, however."

"And my son," said Sarek. "Two of his friends will be with him, and I plan to take all of them to Angelo's

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