STAR TREK - TOS - Sarek_玖贝云文库

SAREK [066-118-4.7]

By A.C. CRISPIN

Synopsis

Sunset on Vulcan.

In the west, 40 Eridani A--Nevasa--was setting, staining the magenta sky

with swaths of deep amethyst, gold, and coral. But the tall figure

silhouetted against the sunset was blind to the glory behind him; Sarek

of Vulcan faced east, watching his world's sister world, T'Rukh, at full

phase. The giant planet orbited a mere 149,895.3579 Federation Standard

kilometers from her companion world--and filled thirty degrees of sky.

Because the two worlds were tidally locked, Vulcan's sister planet,

T'Rukh, was only visible from this side of Vulcan. Looming perpetually

against the high, jagged horizon, the giant world went through a full

set of phases each day. Only at sunset did the bloated sphere fully

reveal her ravaged visage.

Sarek had chosen this remote location for his mountain villa in part

because of its view of T'Rukh. Here at the edge of the civilized world,

the ambassador never tired of watching T'Rukh poised atop the Forge, an

inhospitable continent-sized plateau seven kilometers higher than the

rest of the planet. Few indeed were the individuals who saw the sister

world's whole face on a regular basis; only the ancient retreat and

shrine of Gol lay farther east than Sarek's villa.

The wind, cooling now that Nevasa had set, plucked at Sarek's

light-colored tunic and loose trousers. As he watched T'Rukh intently,

his lean, long-fingered hands tightened on the balustrade of the terrace

overlooking the eastern gardens. The ambassador was attempting to reach

a decision.

Logic versus ethics... Should the needs of the many outweigh the

conscience and honor of the one? Could he compromise what he knew to be

right, in order to accomplish what was necessary?

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POCKET BOOKS

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The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you

purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was

reported to the publisher as "unsold and destroyed." Neither the author

nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this "stripped

book."

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents

are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is

entirely coincidental.

-- POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the

Americas, New York, NY 10020

/ STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of

Simon & Schuster Inc., under exclusive license from

Paramount Pictures.

portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket

Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN 0-67179562-7

First Pocket Books paperback printing February 1995

10987654321

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

Printed in the U.S.A.

To Michael Capobianco, with love

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many people helped me produce this book. With the caveat that any errors

are assuredly my own, I wish to thank

Mark Lenard, whose evocative portrayal of the character inspired Sarek.

Mark is a fine actor who is also a gracious and warm human being. He

took a personal interest in this novel from its earliest inception.

For technical information

Michael Capobianco, fellow author and amateur astronomer, for

information on planetary orbits, rings and the like. (Not to mention

driving me to the Fed Ex depot, faxing hunks of the manuscript, fixing

dinner and providing much-needed shoulder rubs and encouragement during

tough times.)

Irene Kress and Judy May, for information on the effects of stroke. ix

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS For STAR TREK brainstorming, viewpoint and lore

John Jobeck and Ellen Marie Konicki, my favorite Klingons

Margaret Wander Bonanno, my favorite Vulcan... well, my favorite female

Vulcan.

Marc Okrand, for inventing words and phrases in Klingonese when I needed

them. Thanks, Marc. Now I know what to say if I ever make love to a

Klingon!

For editorial advice and assistance

Kevin Ryan and John Ordover, the STAR TREK editors at Pocket Books.

And, for just Being There when I needed them

Vonda, Nancy, Merrilee, Liza, Deb and Teresa.

And last, but foremost, I have to thank my longtime friend and co-author

Kathleen O'Malley, who provided valuable editorial insight and

criticism... and much, much more. Without Kathy, I doubt this book would

have made it into print.

PROLOGUE

Sunset on Vulcan.

In the west, 40 Eridani A--Nevasa--was setting, staining the magenta sky

with swaths of deep amethyst, gold, and coral. But the tall figure

silhouetted against the sunset was blind to the glory behind him; Sarek

of Vulcan faced east, watching his world's sister world, T'Rukh, at full

phase. The giant planet orbited a mere 149,895.3579 Federation Standard

kilometers from her companion worldmand filled thirty degrees of sky.

Because the two worlds were tidally locked, Vulcan's sister planet,

T'Rukh, was only visible from this side of Vulcan. Looming perpetually

against the high, jagged horizon, the giant world went through a full

set of phases each day. Only at sunset did the bloated sphere fully

reveal her ravaged visage.

Sarek had chosen this remote location for his mountain villa in part

because of its view of T'Rulda. Here at the edge of the civilized world,

the ambassador never tired of watching T'Rukh poised atop the Forge, an

inhospitable continent-sized plateau seven kilometers higher than the

rest of the planet. Few indeed were the individuals who saw the sister

world's whole face on a regular basis; only the ancient retreat and

shrine of Gol lay farther east than Sarek's villa.

The wind, cooling now that Nevasa had set, plucked at Sarek's

light-colored tunic and loose trousers. As he watched T'Rukh intently,

his lean, long-fingered hands tightened on the balustrade of the terrace

overlooking the eastern gardens. The ambassador was attemptins to reach

a decision.

Logic versus ethics ... Should the needs of the many outweigh the

conscience and honor of the one? Could he compromise what he knew to be

right, in order to accomplish what was necessary?

Sarek gazed across the Plains of Gol, considering. Long ago, he had

studied with several of the Masters there. What would his teachers do if

they were in his place?

The ambassador drew a deep breath of the evening air, then let it out

slowly as he regarded the surrounding mountains. He had chosen this site

for his private retreat decades ago, when he and his second wife had

first been married. These remote hills were cooler, even during the

daylight hours, and thus easier for humans--in particular, one special

human--to endure than the scorching heat of the rest of his world.

Night deepened around Sarek as he watched T'Rukh.

Evening on this hemisphere of Vulcan did not bring darkness, though.

T'Rukh, the huge world humans called Charis, provided forty times the

light of Earth's full moon. At full phase, T'Rukh was a swollen

yellowish half-sphere, a dissipated eye that never blinked, even when

spumes and geysers of fire from her volcano-wracked surface penetrated

her cloud cover. Sarek noted absently that a new volcano had erupted

since yesterday; the large, fire-red dot resembled an inflamed abscess

on the planet's sulfuric countenance.

T'Rukh was only one of The Warchef's names; her name varied according to

the time of the Vulcan year. More than twice as large as Vulcan, T'Rukh

boasted a moon of her own in a low, fast-moving orbit. Tonight

T'Rukhemai (literally,

"Eye of The Watcher") was visible as a dark reddish sphere almost in the

center of the planet--a pupil in a giant eye.

The little worldlet, slightly larger than Earth's moon, or bited The

Watcher so quickly that its motion was almost perceptible to the naked

eye. Sarek watched The Watcher, and she stared back at him balefully.

It was his habit to stand here and watch The Watcher whenever he faced a

difficult decision. And the one he faced now was proving to be one of

the most difficult choices of his career. Logic chains ran through his

mind, presenting pros and cons relentlessly, over and over. Should he

act? The action he was contemplating went against all the rules of

diplomacy and interstellar law. How could he abandon those rules, he who

had devoted his life to upholding the tenets of civilized society?

But ... if he did not act, did not gain proof of the insidious threat

that faced the Federation, millions of innocent lives could well be

lost. Perhaps billions.

Sarek's mouth tightened. Proving his theory would require that he break

the law. How could he himself flout what he had helped engineer? And yet

... this was definitely a case where the needs of the many must be

considered. Could he risk the impending threat of war?

Sarek stared fixedly at The Watcher as he thought. Somewhere in the

distance, a lanka-gar called. The ambassador turned his head, catching

the wheeling shape of the night flier as it swooped after prey on the

slopes below.

Glancing over his shoulder, Sarek noted absently that the garish colors

of sunse t were muted now. In a few minutes they would be entirely gone,

and T'Rukh, though no longer full, would rule the night.

The breeze touched him again, chill against his cheek. By midnight it

would be cool even by human standards.

Even though the ambassador's aquiline features were composed, as usual,

his mind would not be still.

The logic chains flowed, slowed--and the equation crystallized in his

mind. The decision lay before him. In this case, logic and necessity

must outweigh ethical considerations.

Sarek nodded slightly at T'Rukh, bidding the giant planet farewell,

knowing that his decision would require that he journey off-world. The

Watcher would wax and wane without his presence for many nights. He

would leave as soon as possible.

Turning away from the vista before him, the ambassador headed back

toward the house, his strides quick and sure.

For a moment he envisioned Spock's reaction if he were to discover what

his father was planning, and experienced a flicker of amusement. His son

would be surprised, possibly shocked, if he knew that his sire was

logically and rationally planning to commit a crime. The ambassador had

little doubt that, in his place, Spock would choose the same course. But

his son was half-human--he'd long ago learned to dissemble, to

equivocate ... even to lie. Yes, Spock would condone his

decision--which, in a way, made his father's conscience trouble him even

more.

But there was no help for it--his logic was faultless. His course was

clear. He would not turn back.

Reaching the villa, a low, sprawling structure with thick, protective

walls, Sarek entered. The house was decorated for the most part in

typical Vulcan fashion, austere, with only the most essential

furnishings, but its very bareness lent a feeling of spacious comfort.

In the living room, presence of the villa's human occupant was reflected

in the antique desk with its faded petit-point chair, in the matching

coffee table, and in the handwoven hangings that lent soft touches of

rose, turquoise, and sea green to the walls. A water sculpture made a

faint susurration within the protective field that prevented evaporation

of the precious liquid.

Sarek paused in his office and contacted his young aide, Soran,

instructing him to make arrangements for them to travel off-world. The

Ambassador's office was devoid of ornamentation, except for the painting

of an icy world beneath a swollen red sun.

Next door to his office was the bedroom, and through that lay his wife's

sitting room, with its view of the eastern gardens. Sarek already knew

from the bond they shared that Amanda awaited him there. He hesitated

for a moment before the caryen portal leading into their room.

Knowing that his wife had sensed his presence through their bond, Sarek

opened the door and passed through the bedroom to the sitting room.

Amanda occupied her favorite chair as she sat gazing out at The Watcher

and the rocky spires of her garden.

The light from Vulcan's sister world shone on her face, revealing new

lines that had not been there a month ago.

Her bones seemed more prominent, the lines of cheekbones and nose

showing through flesh. He studied her for a moment, noting that Amanda's

flowing garment now clearly outlined the angles of her shoulders and

collarbone; she had never been a large woman, but during the past month

she had clearly lost weight from her already small frame.

"Sarek," she greeted her husband, her mental and audible voice filled

with warmth and welcome as she held out her hand to him.

"Greetings, my wife," the ambassador said, permitting himself the small

smile that he reserved for her alone.

Extending two fingers, he ceremoniously touched them to hers. The

gesture, so simple on a physical level, was, between a bonded couple,

capable of nearly infinite shades of meaning--at times merely a casual

acknowledgment, the mental equivalent of a peck on the cheek, at times

nearly as passionate as anything experienced in the throes ofponfarr.

Sarek's touch conveyed a depth of feeling that the ambassador had never

voiced, for speaking of such things in words, aloud, was not the Vulcan

way.

"Is it cool out tonight?" Amanda asked, gazing out at her garden. She

had planted it shortly after Spock's birth, using unusually shaped and

colored stones to complement the native Vulcan cactuslike trees, as well

as desert plants from a dozen Federation worlds.

"The temperature is normal for the season and time of day," Sarek

replied.

"I thought of joining you on the terrace," Amanda said, glancing out at

the garden, "but I must have fallen asleep. I only awoke when I felt

your presence next door."

Sarek sat down next to her, his gaze traveling over her features, noting

with disquiet how drawn and pale she appeared. And she tired so easily

these days ...

Concerned, the Vulcan raised the light level in the room, then studied

his wife's face intently. Even without The Watcher's eerie illumination,

Amanda appeared drawn and pale. No trace of pink remained in her cheeks,

once so rounded and healthy.

As she grew aware of his fixed regard, her blue eyes, once so direct,

refused to meet his own. She busied herself capping her old-fashioned

pen, then closing her journal and placing it back in the drawer of her

desk.

Sarek leaned closer to her, his eyes never leaving her countenance.

"Amanda," he said quietly, "I noted the other day that you appear to

have lost weight ... have you been feeling unwell, my wife?"

The thin shoulders lifted in a small shrug. "I expect I may have picked

up a cold, Sarek. Please don't worry about me. I will be fine."

The ambassador shook his head. "I want you to contact T'Mal, and arrange

for her to conduct a thorough evaluation of your physical condition."

Amanda glanced at him; then her eyes shifted quickly away. "All I need

is a few days' rest, Sarek. There is no need to visit my physician."

"Please allow the Healer to make such a judgment," Sarek said. "Promise

me that you will arrange to see her as soon as possible, Amanda."

She took a deep breath, and Sarek sensed through their bond that she was

struggling to keep some strong emotion from him. "I have a great deal to

accomplish this week," she demurred. "My editor wants to move up the

publication date for the new book. She told me today that there is a

tremendous amount of interest in having the writings of Surak's

followers translated."

"Indeed?"

"Yes," Amanda said, clearly warming to her subject, "and when I told her

about--"

"Amanda," Sarek interrupted, raising one hand, "you are changing the

subject deliberately. Do not think that I did not notice."

His wife opened her mouth to protest, then closed it abruptly and stared

fixedly at her hands. Sarek's concern sharpened. Amanda seemed to have

aged a decade in a matter of a few weeks.

"I regret that I must leave you, tomorrow morning," Sarek said. "I must

go to Earth to consult with the Vulcan consulate and arrange to meet

with the Federation president.

It will aid me in concentrating on my work if I know that T'Mal will be

monitoring your health while I must be away."

"You have to leave?" Amanda repeated, and something darkened her eyes.

Sarek tried to catch her emotion, but she had been studying Vulcan

mental disciplines as well as the Vulcan language for decades, and he

was unsuccessful.

"How ... how long will you be gone?"

"A week, possibly two," the ambassador said. "If I could postpone this,

I would, given your apparent ill health, but I cannot. The situation on

Earth regarding the KEHL has worsened considerably in the past weeks."

"I know," Amanda admitted. "It makes me ashamed of my whole planet--the

Keep Earth Human League used to be just a haven for ineffectual

crackpots and ignorant fools.

But today's news said there had been demonstrations in Paris in front of

the Vulcan consulate! It makes me furious!" For a moment her eyes

flashed sapphire with indignation, and she almost appeared her old self.

"Those idiots are trying to convince the entire planet that Vulcan is

responsible for every disaster from the Probe's devastation to the

Klingon raids along the Neutral Zone!"

"The KEHL does appear to be set on fomenting discord between my people

and yours," Sarek said. "I have not heard any reports of incidents at

the Andorian or Tellarite consulates."

"Do you believe that the KEHL's sudden renaissance is due to Valeris's

involvement with that secret cabal?" Amanda asked.

"The Terran news agencies certainly highlighted the Vulcan, Klingon, and

Romulan conspirators far more than they did the activities of Admiral

Cartwright or Colonel West when Chancellor Gorkon was assassinated and

the Khitomer Conference disrupted," Sarek conceded. "Which, under the

circumstances, is unfortunate, but not surprising."

His wife gazed at him intently. "Sarek ... does this resurgence of the

Keep Earth Human League have any connection with your current project?"

Sarek sat back in his seat and glanced out the window at T'Rukh, its

upper limb now shadowed. The ambassador was silent for nearly a minute

before he spoke. "I have reached a number of conclusions of late,

Amanda," he said. "I have a number of suspicions. However, I have no

evidence to support my theory that is not statistical, circumstantial,

or purely inferential. I need concrete proof before I can bring my

findings before the Federation officials and the president."

"And that's why you are going to Earth? To get some kind of proof?."

"Yes." After a moment, the ambassador amended, "If possible."

"I see." Amanda's mouth tightened, but she did not pursue her line of

questioning--which, almost more than the physical changes he had noted,

alarmed the ambassador.

If his wife had been feeling like herself, she would never have given up

so e asily. She would have kept after him until she'd satisfied her

curiosity. But now she leaned her head back against her chair, gazing

out at The Watcher in silence, her eyes half-closed with weariness.

Sarek's breath caught in his throat as he regarded her, and he

identified the feeling that had been growing within him ever since he

had entered the room.

Fear.

"Amanda," he said, keeping his voice from betraying any shade of

emotion, "I insist that you call the Healer and arrange to see her. If

you will not promise, I will postpone my trip a day and do so myself."

She gazed at him, and he sensed deep emotion through their bond.

Sorrow--but not for herself. Amanda's grief was for him. "Very well,

Sarek," she agreed, at long last.

"You have my word that I will make an appointment this week."

"You will call tomorrow?"

"Yes."

The ambassador drew a deep breath, somewhat relieved, but still

disquieted. "Perhaps I should call someone to stay with you while I am

gone," he said. "One of your friends, perhaps ..." Swiftly, he reviewed

options, and realized that most of his wife's human contemporaries had

died within the past several years. "Another possibility is our son.

Perhaps he could take leave, return home for a visit if I contacted--"

"No!" Amanda's voice was sharp and final. "I don't want you worrying our

son. There have been Klingon renegades raiding all along the Neutral

Zone, and I'm sure the Enterprise is one of the ships patrolling out

there."

"If Spock knew that you were feeling unwell--"

"Absolutely not," she said, in a quieter but even more positive tone. "I

expect you to respect my wishes in this, my husband," she added,

sternly.

Sarek hesitated. Amanda fixed him with a look. "My promise for yours,

Sarek. Do we have a bargain?"

The ambassador nodded. "Very well, Amanda. You will contact the Healer,

and I will not contact our son."

She nodded at him, her blue eyes softening until they were the color of

her homeworld's skies. "I wish you a safe journey, Sarek," she said, and

then added, with a faint, tender smile, "Whatever you're planning ... be

careful.

Never forget that I love you ... illogically and madly.

Remember that ... always."

The Vulcan gazed back at her, his eyes never leaving hers.

Slowly, formally, he held out two fingers. "I will be careful, my wife."

In response to his gesture, his wife's fingers brushed, then settled

against his own. The warmth of their bond enfolded them, eliminating the

need for spoken words.

Sarek of Vulcan stood at the window of the Vulcan consulate in San

Francisco, gazing out with growing disquiet. Today's demonstration by

the Keep Earth Human League had begun with only a few picketers, some

carrying homemade placards, others more sophisticated holosigns, but,

even in the short time he'd been standing there, the crowd had grown

STAR TREK - TOS - Sarek

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