STAR TREK - TOS - 49 - Pandora Principle

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Carolyn Clowes - Star Trek - Pandora Principle
Chapter One
SOMEONE WAS SCREAMING.
She hated that sound, hated this trap of strange weaving lights, this place of nowhere to hide. Beyond the
light was darkness. no! She couldn't hide there. That was where It waited, where It searched and
screamed for her. Because of her. Because of what she'd done-
If only she could remember what that was.
But the screaming was so loud she couldn't think. Hunger gnawed at her. Fear hammered in her brain.
And a new pain-a tearing, racking pain she didn't understand. She huddled tight, curled inside herself,
hugged her knees and held her breath to make the hurting go away. But that didn't help, and she tasted
blood. Her own.
If only that screaming would stop.
Not move. Not now. Not ever make a sound. Make It never see me, make It never hear me, make It go
away. but It was always there, waiting for her in the shadows, sharp, deadly as a blade.
Then suddenly, It wasn't waiting anymore.
Run! run, run, run.
Pain. Ripping, cutting, sharper than the stones that slashed her feet. Icy sweat poured down her face,
seeped and burned into her eyes, and made her cold. So very, very cold.
Make It never hurt me! Make It never get me!.
She ran down dreadful corridors of light, past curving walls of solid rock, along twisting narrow tunnels
until the light was swallowed up and she saw nothing more at all. The terror owned her now, and she was
running against the pain, running for her life, on and on into the deep and screaming dark. Not fast
enough. Shouts, footsteps rang behind her getting closer, closer. And she remembered something then, a
thing that drained her will away and turned her heart to ice: It would get her in the end, because she
couldn't run forever, because this place was a trap. With no way out.
She was going to die.
On planet Thieurrull the nights were cold. By day twin suns broiled its surface, scorching and squeezing
dry unfortunate life-forms that found no shelter. Relentless heat whited out the jagged mountain range
against an orange sky and melted barren plains into a shimmer. Between the mountains and the waste lay
the remains of what had once been a colony. Dust swirled in empty doorways. Slag heaps blackened in
the suns, and servo-miners stood abandoned in craters gouged from the land. Heavy boots no longer
tramped the burning clay. Rough, angry voices no longer cursed the choking dust. Harsh laughter and
oaths and drunken shouts no longer echoed on the wind. The soldiers were gone. The workers and
women and ships were gone. The food was gone.
A world and its few remaining souls had been left to die.
When darkness fell on derelict mine shafts and fissures in the parched ground, living creatures crawled or
slithered to the surface hunting for the day's dead. If more than one scavenger happened upon a rotting
carcass the fight was to the death; the deadliest survived. Battles fought and feeding done, they began the
search again for safety and shelter from the planet's cruel dawn. Painfully, impossibly, life still clung to
Hellguard.
It had no moons. At night with only starshine burning through thin atmosphere, the rusts and umbers of
searing daylight bled to shades of gray and black. The distant suns that blazed in the deep skies of
Hellguard were fiery and cold, and they flung their terrible, taunting beauty across the endless curve of
space.
Far beyond the colony, out on the open plain, a circle of tents stood under the star-drenched sky. The
wind swept around them, howling over the waste, and their lamps made a dusty ring floating in the dark.
And in the shadows of the colony, unseen by those who brought this strange new light, a tiny flicker of it
caught and burned in hollow, hungry eyes that watched the night.
Spock sat by himself in the shadows that flickered against the walls of the main tent. Around the flame of
a single lamp, twelve more Vulcans gathered, sat down together and waited. Somewhere outside a tent
flap came loose and whipped and rattled in the wind. The recording device looked incongruous lying
there on the mat-covered ground, a gleaming metallic piece of technology, out of time with lamplight, men
in robes, and the keening wind that blew through this treacherous, alien night.
Spock watched his father switch on the recorder. The only change in Sarek's composed, expressionless
face came when the lamplight caught his eyes; for an instant they burned like flames. Then Sarek began to
speak. And Spock was grateful for the shadows, grateful for the dark, grateful that his part in this was
done. Tonight his elders met to testify to tragedy; he had only been a messenger, bearing news from
beyond the grave.
Vulcan's fleet had lost four ships in the past fifteen years: Criterion, Perceptor, Constant and Diversity, all
science survey vessels, all Vulcan crews, all gone missing in space. One by one they simply vanished-the
last, Diversity, six years ago. In every case transmissions were routine, from sectors bordering the
Neutral Zone but within the Federation. Then silence. No signals, no log buoys, no debris. Nothing. Until
three months ago.
Enterprise was crossing Gamma Hydra sector, patrolling up the uneasy perimeter of the Romulan Neutral
Zone, when the bridge heard a faint, frantic Mayday in obsolete Federation code. It originated from a
Romulan cargo craft fleeing toward Federation space, with a warship of the Empire in pursuit and
gaining. As Enterprise breached the Line and drew within transporter range, the warbird unleashed a bolt
of fire enveloping its prey. The only occupant, a Vulcan woman, was beamed aboard unconscious and
too badly burned to live. Spock reached her side in sickbay just before the end, touched gentle fingers to
her charred face and joined her fading mind so she would not die alone. His log of the incident read
"Explanation: None." But when Enterprise docked at starbase he requested leave and hired transport
home to Vulcan.
That all took precious time. Vulcan's Council took even more with private inquiries to the Empire and
lengthy discussions of Federation law, which Vulcan was about to break. In the end the Federation was
not informed. Symmetry carried no complement of weapons; Vulcan's survey vessels never did. Crossing
the Neutral Zone and penetrating the sovereign space of the Romulan Star Empire were tasks better left
to long-range sensors, secrecy, and speed. Even a starship, a Constitution or an Enterprise, would stand
no chance in the Empire's front yard. A single ship of Vulcan registry would be doomed, but a single ship
it had to be.
For this mission flew only on the last thought of a dying Vulcan in the final mindtouch of her life, a thought
that sent shock waves through Council and families alike: On an abandoned world called Hellguard-the
fifth planet of 872 Trianguli-there were children, Vulcan children, dying on a burning rock in space.
". but no trace at all of our science ships or their small crews," Sarek said, speaking for the record. "Five
hundred and fifty-six citizens of Vulcan, our sisters and brothers, daughters and sons, are lost to us. If
they are alive," and the deafening thought of thirteen minds was a prayer that they were not, "they are
beyond our reach. In memory I speak their names."
The Empire had denied everything. No, it knew nothing of Vulcan ships! What evidence did Vulcan have
to make such charges?. Children? How could there be children? It was biologically impossible; their
scientists had said so; regrettable these ships had gone astray, but did Vulcan have some proof?.
Now they had proof, living proof. And Vulcans would keep no more secrets tonight, at least not from
each other. Sarek spoke the last of the names. Lamplight flickered in the dusk. Shadows danced up the
walls of the tent; the air hung heavy, and time seemed to be standing still. The recorder went on blinking.
"The remaining inhabitants range in approximate ages from five to fourteen. Life-scans confirm what we
were told. They are indeed half Vulcan." He switched off the recorder to allow a moment of grief. Heads
bowed in silence and in pain. There was no need to state what every Vulcan knew, no witness to
reconstruct events. Only the shattering, irrefutable truth: a band of starving children who should not exist
at all.
Vulcan males and joined females are subject to a season as primitive and unrelenting as their planet's
windswept sands. At other times mating (or not) is a matter of personal choice; but every seventh year it
becomes a matter of life or death, a matter of being Vulcan. Pon Farr: eternal paradox of the Vulcan
nature, its private pain, its illogical, secret soul. When their times approached, Vulcans would never
choose to venture off-world in survey ships. Vulcans would never choose to mate far from home. And
Vulcans would never choose to mate with Romulans. Somehow on this remote, decaying world, internal
chemistries had been tampered with. Vulcan minds had been broken. The sacred personal cycles had
been disturbed.
Vulcans had been raped.
Sarek lifted his head and reached for the recorder once more. The flames in his eyes came not entirely
from the lamplight, and his quiet voice filled the tent like a tolling bell-or a peal of distant, dangerous
thunder. "I conclude the statement of fact. Now Salok will speak of the survivors and what is to be
done."
Salok was old even by Vulcan reckoning, a healer with a very special skill: he was extraordinary with
children. When Salok told them not to be afraid they weren't. When Salok told them that it wouldn't hurt
it didn't. And whatever else he said, they neither questioned nor explained. Salok always healed them,
and he always understood. But not tonight. Tonight he looked worn and frail. His hands trembled. His
eyes clouded. Here were things he did not understand and had never encountered before. He mourned
with Vulcan for the lost, but the pain he felt was for the found.
"As Sarek has spoken," he began, "we meet to consider the children. Spock's information was correct:
they were left here to die. Many have. Survivors hide in the empty buildings and rubble of the abandoned
colony. It is a vicious life, a wonder that they live at all. Malnutrition is their immediate problem, but not
the most serious. That is their minds, their savagery and ignorance. I observed no system of values, not
even a primitive code of behavior. They kill without thought or regret over a morsel of food. They even
kill each other-the youngest, weakest ones. The bodies," his voice became carefully remote, "are used for
food."
Thirteen pairs of eyes closed briefly. Vulcans killed no living creature for food, and cannibalism was
beyond their imagining.
"This planet is dying. We cannot help them here. I suggest our research station at Gamma Eri, a
protected environment where they can be healed and taught. I shall go with them, and we must send them
our finest, our most adept physicians and teachers. When the children have attained some measure of
civilization and rational thought, they can be relocated on worlds for which their progress and their gifts
are best suited. This will take. a very long time." He paused, exhausted. Consenting silence, nodding
heads, and a vast unspoken relief answered his words. "Then it shall be done. Tomorrow the ship
returns. At dawn we must begin the-"
"I ask forgiveness." Spock was standing, hands clasped behind his back. "I regret that I cannot concur."
Heads turned. Spock felt the disapproval at his impertinence; it could not be helped. He took a deep
breath and went on.
"Someday these children will seek to know their origins, their identities, their places in the Universe.
Gamma Eri is an orbital science station, not a world, not a home-"
"We save their lives, Spock!" The thunder in Sarek's voice was not so distant. "We seek to repair their
minds. What more would you have us do?"
"Treat them as we would our own," Spock said quietly, "for in fact they are. To uproot them from their
birthworld as we must, to tend them on a station that does not even orbit Vulcan's sun, to instill in them a
'measure' of Vulcan thought and then to send them on their way-is that the sum of our debt to those we
named tonight? These are their children. They deserve a home."
Sarek's face was stone. The others averted their gaze, allowing a father to deal with his wayward son,
who was behaving so incorrectly. "These children, Spock," Sarek explained, "are the products of
coercion. Rape. Living reminders of Vulcan nature torn apart and shamed. Our kindred were violated.
They did not choose their fate."
"Nor did their children." Spock looked at his father across the tent, across a lifetime. "Our world is their
birthright. It is for them to decide what measure of Vulcan shall be theirs."
"Now, now, Spock," old Salok intervened, "we mean to help them, and we will. We do not blame them
for the poverty of their natures, but we must recognize it. Adapting to life on Vulcan would be painful and
difficult-for them, as well as for us. We must seek to do the greatest good for the greatest number."
"Forgive me, Salok, but that equation fails to balance when the greatest good is merely the avoidance of
difficulty, and when it is purchased at the expense of a helpless few. We say we value diversity in its
infinite combinations. Are we to abandon that principle simply because it becomes inconvenient?"
"Do not presume to speak to us of our principles, Spock!" Sarek's voice cut like a knife through the
shocked, uncomfortable gathering. "This decision was never yours to make. It is not now. Your. dissent.
has been noted."
Spock regretted it had come to this. "I am constrained to point out," he said into the chilly silence, "that
the Federation Council would agree with my concern. A homeworld is considered mandatory for
displaced populations, and displaced populations are a matter for the Federation."
Simple blackmail. They all stared at him in disbelief; Sarek closed his eyes in shame.
"You would speak to outworlders of this?" S'tvan, philosopher and physicist, was on his feet, his voice
unsteady with the effort at control; his only daughter and his youngest son had been aboard the Constant.
"You would threaten disclosure? Public humiliation? How dare you! This is not a Federation matter-this
is a Vulcan problem! We will care for these half-breeds in our own way!"
Spock let that pass. "I am an officer of Starfleet, S'tvan, sworn to uphold a Federation law that Vulcan
itself helped to draft. Violation of the Treaty on this mission would result only in our own deaths, since we
come unarmed, and the loss of yet another ship. We do not provoke war, so my silence, like my life and
my commission, was my own. But now we speak of others. I could not keep silent. They are
children-and they are Vulcans."
"They are not!" Sickened, S'tvan sat down again, and one by one the others turned away. Spock thought
he saw a glimmer of respect in the old healer's eyes, but then he stood alone.
"You are dismissed from our proceedings, Spock!" said Sarek.
Spock nodded. It was just as well; the thing was done. He picked up his tricorder and walked to the
tent's only exit. As he unfastened the flap, his father spoke sadly at his shoulder.
"You would betray all of Vulcan, Spock?"
"If I must." The tent flap caught in the wind, tugged at his hand. "I did not believe it would be required. Or
that all of Vulcan would be so fragile."
"Before you do, Spock, consider this: You did not speak from logic here. Perhaps your human nature
betrays you. once again."
"Perhaps. It sometimes does. I am what I am, Father." Spock let go of the flap and stepped outside.
When he turned to fasten it behind him, he found it was already closed.
He left the circle of the camp and walked out on the plain, so absorbed in thought that he was unaware of
a shadow, not his own, moving after him in the dark.
What happened in the tent came as no surprise, even Sarek's reminder of his human failings. Spock
hardly needed reminding.
Only months ago he had knelt upon the plain of Gol to leave behind the things of Earth, to belong at last
to Vulcan in the peace and freedom of Kolinahr. But the Time of Truth was not within his reach. And his
teacher watched him fail. Your answer lies elsewhere, Spock. not on Vulcan. Spock walked away from
Gol that day, knowing that he would never be free, knowing that some things could not be left behind.
Now he stood on another plain, watched the skies, and knew his father was correct: his human nature
did betray him, then and now. But he'd known all that before. It changed nothing. Tonight he spoke
because of what he was, because of what he'd seen.
Spock had seen their faces. Darting, fearful, wasting faces. Starving bones and starving minds. Dull,
empty eyes that held no promise, that watched and waited for the dark. Half-children and half-dead,
half-animal. and half Vulcan. He walked upon their world well-fed, nourished by millennia of civilization,
by blessings and aspirations, by all it meant to be a Vulcan. And except for a fortunate circumstance of
birth, any one of those savage, starving creatures might as easily have been himself.
No, he could not keep silent. I do what I must, he thought, but the children's fate is not the only question
here.
There were far too many questions here. He must find answers, or other ships and other lives might never
see their homes. If it happened to Vulcans, it could happen to anyone.
But why had it happened at all?
Spock turned his back against the wind, set his tricorder on the ground, and shielded it from blowing dust
as he monitored its readings. They confirmed his earlier data and told him nothing new: seismic instability.
Recurrent planetquakes would have made mining too hazardous, which could account for the Romulans'
departure, but so could many things on this inhospitable world.
Why had they been here in the first place? And what had they been mining? He'd found no resources of
scientific or military value. At the excavation sites his scans showed only common iron ores: hematite,
pyrite, a few more useful minerals that could be mined anywhere else with far less trouble. Investigations
of two mine shafts revealed both blocked by cave-ins; the expedition had no time to explore further. But
Spock knew he must.
Because neither Symmetry's instruments nor their own surface scans could penetrate the damping field
emanating from those rocky cliffs. A natural phenomenon? Or something of value buried there? That
might explain the mining colony; it did not account for missing Vulcan ships. If there were answers here
they lay beneath those mountains, and he had until dawn to find them.
As Spock reached for his tricorder he felt a pricking at the edges of his mind-and at the back of his neck.
A new awareness intruded on his thoughts, sent a warning ripple down his spine.
He was not alone. Something was watching him.
With every appearance of unconcern he keyed the bioscan, rose to his feet and began a sweep of the
horizon. Halfway around, it registered. Life-form: small, Vulcanoid; distance: 30.2 meters-between
himself and the camp. He stared into the windy dark, saw no one, then continued scanning and
considered what to do. He perceived no danger, no hostile intent, only the palpable sensation of being
observed. So this watcher was allowing him to study and to think undisturbed. For the moment he
decided to do likewise. Shouldering his tricorder he set out across the plain and did not glance back. He
knew he was being followed.
A long-ago rockfall from the mountains created a natural barrier, partially separating the colony from the
plains. Spock should have gone around it. It yielded no new information, provided no shortcuts, and
came to an impassable dead end. He retraced his path through the maze of boulders, and in sight of open
ground again resigned himself to taking the longer-
A split instant's warning wasn't enough. The attacker dropped from the rocks above, slamming him down
against jagged stone. The sickening crack he heard was the impact of his skull, and to Spock's profound
annoyance the world began to fade. He fought to remain conscious, aware of his right arm pinned
beneath him, his left arm flung back over the rock, and the glint of starlight on a sharp piece of scrap
metal pressing into his throat.
A ferocious face with teeth bared in a snarl belonged to a young boy, a surprisingly strong young boy.
Too late Spock knew he'd underestimated the danger here, but he'd been so certain-
The boy growled a warning, jammed a knee into his chest.
Spock's vision swam. His left hand seemed far away, but free; if he could distract this youth for a
moment. the point of the metal jabbed into his flesh just below the angle of his jaw, and Spock felt blood
trickle down his neck. Any movement at all would drive it deeper. A groping hand found his ration pack,
ripped it from his belt. After some hurried scrabbling Spock heard it hit the ground. That ration pack was
empty, and the grim purpose in the face looming closer was unmistakable. Spock knew then that there
would be no distracting him. There was no more time.
Suddenly the boy jerked upward, stiffened. His mouth opened in a scream that never came. The light
went out of his eyes, and he toppled backward to the ground, then lay still.
Spock pushed himself off the rocks to kneel beside the body, searching the shadows, steeling himself for
another attack. None came. But if the boy was alone, what had killed him? The body lay sprawled on the
ground, the mouth a silent scream, the eyes still open, staring up at a sky they would never see again. He
had been young. Gently Spock closed the eyes and turned the body over.
Then he saw the knife.
It pierced the rib cage neatly on the lower right side, where the heart would be, if this half-Vulcan's
anatomy were similar to his own. Someone out there was efficient-and so far, invisible.
He found his tricorder, shut it off, and tried to ignore the throbbing in his head. His mysterious watcher
seemed to want him alive-or intended to kill him next. Then his ears caught the faintest of sounds: a
pebble pinging against rock, scattering to the ground. Mindful of the risk, he sat down in a patch of dim
starlight and waited. So did his silent sentinel. Just when he was ready to concede defeat, a shadow
moved soundlessly from behind one rock to another. It moved again. Finally, from between large
boulders, the shadow separated itself from the blackness. It crept toward him and stepped into the light.
At last his elusive watcher stood revealed-and an eyebrow lifted in the dark.
Fascinating. It was a little girl.
She was starving. Naked, except for some rags tied about her waist, she was a walking skeleton. Every
rib, every bone in her body stood out in stark relief, covered only by skin and layers of dirt. The child
was filthy. Dark hair hung down her shoulders in shaggy, matted tangles. Sores blistered her feet and
legs, and a lifetime of dust crusted between her fingers and toes. With wary eyes on Spock, she circled
until the corpse was between them, jerked her knife free, then prodded and shoved to turn the body
over. She seized his empty ration pack and searched it with a practiced hand. Never glancing at the boy's
face, she pried the sliver of metal from his grasp, examined it and stuck it in the rags at her waist. Then
holding her knife ready, she advanced.
Spock sat very still. A sudden feeling of disquiet grew as he watched her approach, and the reason for it
was impossible.
She peered at him under her dusty snarls of hair with bright, hollow eyes. Intelligent, crafty, curious eyes.
How old? he wondered. Nine? Ten? And how often has she killed? She stopped out of reach, leveled
her knife at his face and sighted along its blade. They studied each other in silence. What was in Spock's
mind simply could not be: it was absurd, but. he felt he knew her. Nonsense. He was obviously
concussed and must alert himself to further symptoms. She sidled closer, inspecting him inch by inch. His
face, hands, clothing and shoes were all gone over with acquisitive interest. Eyes lit on his tricorder. She
pointed with her knife. Reluctantly, Spock pushed it toward her on the ground.
"What?" she hissed, displeased that it contained no food. Her language was Romulan, and Spock
answered her in kind.
"It. tells me things," he said. Her eyes went wide. She snatched it up and held it to her ear, listening, then
scowled.
"Tells!" she ordered, shaking it soundly. When it refused she bashed it with a bony fist. "Stupid
sonabastard!" she swore, and flung it back to him. "You tells!"
"Certainly. What do you wish to know?"
"Stars!" She pointed up at them, and Spock stared. She spoke that word in Vulcan. When-and how-did
she learn it?
"You know what they are?". and what else do you know?
She swept a scrawny arm across the sky. "My stars!" she said fiercely, aiming her knife at his heart lest
he disagree.
"Yes, I see that." This encounter was becoming stranger by the minute, and Spock thought it wise to
reassure her. "I mean you no harm. I go that way." He nodded to the mountains beyond. "If you wish you
may-" A look of sheer terror crossed her face. She turned where he pointed, then whirled around in fury.
"Not!"
"But why? What about those-"
"Notnot!" She stamped her foot; eyes flashed, nostrils flared, and she brandished the knife for emphasis.
She backed up to a rock in sight of the open plain, shoved the boy's piece of metal under it, and sat
down to watch. The knife never wavered. With her free hand, she shook his empty ration pack and
began picking crumbs out of the dust. The wind whistled around them, and she shivered in the cold.
Spock's head throbbed. He sought to identify that disturbing impression, which he could neither
understand nor dispel: she still seemed familiar. Or reminded him of. whom? The Vulcan woman beamed
aboard the Enterprise had been T'Pren, but T'Pren was on board Diversity, gone missing only six years
ago. This child could not be T'Pren's daughter; she was far too old. No, he could not know her. yet he
did. Explanations eluded him, and time was slipping away. When he tried to shift his legs into a more
comfortable position, she menaced him with her knife.
"As you wish, but I must go now," he said, starting to rise.
"Not!" The knife sang past his face, missing him by inches, to lodge in a crevice in the rock beyond. She
darted over, yanked it out-and hadn't missed at all. Something small wriggled on her blade: a species of
rock-dweller about three inches long writhed on the sharp point that impaled it. She thrust it out by way
of example. "Notgo!" she hissed, and seemed very firm about it.
Spock concluded that he was overmatched and might do well to keep it in mind. The child retreated to
her rock and unstuck her prey, whose muscles went on twitching even after she sliced off the head,
popped it into her mouth and began to chew. Resolutely he concentrated on the open plain where lights
still burned in the Vulcans' tents, but he couldn't shut out the sounds of crunching bone and sharp teeth
gnawing through tough, leathery skin. He felt quite ill. No doubt that blow to his head.
"You eats," she ordered him, holding out the last piece of meat. A precious gift indeed. but it ended in
three claws, and dark blood dripped between grimy fingers onto the ground.
"No," he said, hoping she wouldn't insist. "It is yours."
Frowning, she crammed it into her mouth. Blood ran down her chin. She licked it away, licked all her
fingers and bent over the drops of blood on the ground. She scraped them up with the dirt and ate that
too; all the while, she guarded him relentlessly.
Spock looked up at the sky, trying to judge the hour by the movement of the stars. They burned near and
bright and beautiful against a faint glimmer of the dawn. Dawn-no time to reach those mountains now.
Out across the plain the Vulcans were emerging from their tents, beginning to break camp. Today would
see the success or failure of their mission. Symmetry would be making its rescue run across the Zone-a
calculated risk, marginally safer than remaining in orbit without defenses or a cloaking screen. But if it
failed to elude patrols and never arrived at all, they would be stranded here, along with the children of
Hellguard.
With a start he realized the child had moved so stealthily he never noticed. Now she stood at the far edge
of the rock where he was sitting, watching him watch the stars. After a moment she climbed onto it and
sat with him looking up at the sky, so intense and quiet that Spock felt he was witnessing some private
ceremony. Her knife dangled forgotten in her hand.
"Stars," she whispered, her face solemn and expectant. She searched the sky as if she were waiting for
something to happen-or trying to remember something. Where did she learn that word? Why did she
save my life? And why, Spock questioned his own rationality again, why should this all seem so.
important?
"I am going there," he murmured, "to see your stars. And you shall come with me." She stared at him
transfixed, eyes huge and wondering. "My people come to take us there. They bring you food. You will
eat. And then we go-"
"Not!" She scrambled off the rock and backed away, clutching the knife and ration pack in her hands,
shaking her head in fear, looking from him to the approaching Vulcans and to the mountains behind her.
Then she pointed at the sky. "Run!" she cried, and to Spock's utter consternation, she vanished into the
dark.
The incident left him profoundly disturbed. Her last word was also Vulcan, meaning flee, run for one's
life. Whatever his words meant to her, the attempt to win her trust had failed. But she was hungry; she
would come with the others to be fed. Of course she would. If she didn't, her face would haunt him all his
days.
He lifted the body and carried it out onto the plain, the body that so nearly was his own. He lived
because this boy died, because an intelligent, dangerous child had saved his life for reasons known only
to herself. Spock vowed under Hellguard's blazing stars that today he would return the favor. And he
began to build a cairn of stones.
"The decision has been made, Spock. Do you wish to know?"
A bloodred dawn was rising in the sky, already hot and fading all but the brightest stars. The wind had
died with the morning light, and dust swirled around the silent Vulcans as they went about their tasks. An
open-sided shelter stood on poles in the center of the compound. Spock pried open crates of food,
cakes of high-moisture nutrient specifically formulated and laced with sedative to make the children
docile, calm their fears and ease the shock of their transport to the Symmetry. If it ever came.
"I do, Salok," he paused, grateful to the tired old man.
"I thought you might, as you were absent from our discussion. No doubt your scientific studies were
more pressing."
Spock detected a gleam of humor in the old healer's eyes. So his confrontation in the tent, his
embarrassing words, his abrupt departure from the gathering would be acknowledged in typical Vulcan
fashion: they never happened. Beyond the colony the ragged mountains towered over them, stark and
broken in a crimson dawn. He thought of ships and lives and the sudden terror on a small, hungry face.
"My studies were of interest to me, Salok."
"I am gratified to hear it, Spock. And profitable?"
"Perhaps not, Salok, but only time will tell."
"Ah, time," said Salok, "time will tell us many things, Spock. Our meeting was of interest also." The light
in his old eyes brightened. "Your elders think it best to offer the children places with their kindred families
on Vulcan." Carefully, Spock betrayed no sign of relief. "It seems that to do otherwise would necessitate
cumbersome discussions with the Federation, which would entail the outworlders' questions regarding
our mating cycles, which we would then be obliged to answer. To say nothing of the questions, Spock,
about our disregard for Federation law and the Interstellar Treaty with the Romulan Empire." Spock was
well-aware of these consequences; he had relied on them. "But the children must agree. If they wish to
identify their kin and declare themselves citizens of Vulcan, the medical procedure will be administered.
The right to demand it will always be theirs."
"But they are only children, Salok. Surely-"
"As will be our laws and customs. They are not exempt. Their natures are untrained. It will be difficult-for
everyone. Those incapable of understanding will be cared for-but not on Vulcan. We cannot make this
choice for them, or for all the lives they will affect. Our decision is just, and it was not made lightly. This
choice must be theirs, Spock, not yours or mine."
Vulcan justice: What was given would be earned, and what was earned would be given. These children
must choose what every Vulcan child was born to-and would come to realize that their Vulcan kin
wished they were never born at all.
"Their circumstances must be explained to them, Salok."
"I have no doubt that they will be," he murmured.
摘要：

CarolynClowes-StarTrek-PandoraPrincipleChapterOneSOMEONEWASSCREAMING.Shehatedthatsound,hatedthistrapofstrangeweavinglights,thisplaceofnowheretohide.Beyondthelightwasdarkness.no!Shecouldn'thidethere.ThatwaswhereItwaited,whereItsearchedandscreamedforher.Becauseofher.Becauseofwhatshe'ddone-Ifonlyshecou...

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