KIN OF THE SAME WOMB BORN by Rosalie Blazej

PART THREE

See Part One for Disclaimer

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CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Captain Tartarian, commander of Starbase Sixteen, paced nervously back and forth between his desk and the far wall.

"I don't like it, Kirk," he said, the filigree design incised at his gum line flashing silver as he spoke. "I tell you I don't like it. We're primarily a maintenance base. We're not set up to handle all these diplomats. I don't see why this couldn't wait for a regular Council session."

Captain Kirk took a deep breath and settled back in his chair. They'd been over this before, right after McCoy and Chapel and he had arrived, thirty-six hours ago. "Because the Romulans aren't going to wait, Andrew. We know that they plan to come to a vote on war within the next twenty-two hours. We have to be able to present a unified position by then. We didn't destroy that base, and I don't think they did either."

Tartarian stopped pacing. He stood in front of Captain Kirk flexing his hands, first one, then the other. "Your phantom suicide ship? You think that's going to convince anyone?"

"It's not a phantom ship; we have a verified scan of the area showing an emission trail that could not have been made by any other type of engine."

For a moment Tartarian stood still as he considered his counterpart's words. Then he shook his head sharply. "Well, it won't work," he said. "Ships are already massing on both sides. The Romulans aren't going to listen to us, even if you could somehow convince a majority of our esteemed delegates. No, I tell you, there's going to be war, and this base is going to be the first casualty."

Tartarian resumed his repetitive march. James Kirk watched his movements, the quick little flicks of his hands, the distracted plodding of his feet. Like a mouse, thought Kirk, too scared to move in anything but a circle.

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Spock turned as J'Mir entered the room. The gesture was one of courtesy; he did not need visual confirmation to know that it was she. He could tell by the sound of her footsteps, and by her odor, which preceded her in a wave.

She stopped close in front of him and crossed her arms, placing fingertips to her shoulders. Layers of incandescent fabric floated down her forearms and collected at her elbows.

"Your will?" she asked bowing her head.

The material of her garment was so light, so wispy, that it seemed more illusion than matter. It caressed more than covered her body, and at her breasts it was completely transparent.

Spock clasped his hands behind his back and set his gaze directly at eye level. "We have yet to discuss the manner in which I shall dispatch my obligation to you."

J'Mir raised her head and shrugged slightly, letting her hands slide to her side. A shimmer of light undulated down the length of her dress. "I am your woman. You owe me nothing other than what you choose to give."

"If I am to choose, first I must know what you desire."

"What I desire is of no consequence to you. You have already made that plain."

J'Mir turned and walked slowly toward the window. She stopped when she felt Spock's hand on her arm.

"You are mistaken," he said. "Our situation is unique, yet surely we can come to some compromise that will be of mutual benefit."

"There can be no compromise." J'Mir turned around slowly. "What I desire you can not freely give me, and I will accept no less."

Spock dropped his hand. The gossamer fabric of her sleeve slipped through his fingers like pollen from a startip blossom.

"And what is it that you so desire?" he asked.

J'Mir smiled. With one finger she traced the outline of his face. He was so like S'Halt. Even if the features had not been S'Halt's or the body his, they would still have been alike. There was the same need to understand, the same genuine desire to go beyond the boundaries of their own experience. For a moment J'Mir felt herself wavering. She brushed the feeling aside quickly and dropped her hand.

"Freedom," she said. "The chance to take responsibility for my own life, to be owing to no one. To see that others have that same chance. To live in a society where being Romulan and female does not mean living in fear of my life."

Spock frowned. "But when there is peace," he began, "then there can be change, a new order."

J'Mir laughed, a short strangled sound. She held up her arm and watched the dance of color as her sleeve settled in the crook of her elbow. "Yes, S'Halt believed that also." She looked up. "In how many generations? And then what change? Only what you choose to give. A small concession here, a tiny alteration there. Enough to appease your conscience. But the need will always be there for one to lead and the other to follow. And who will lead and who will follow? Look at even the esteemed Vulcan culture. A nominal matriarchy, but we all know where the true power lies, who walks in front. No, if there is to be a change, it must be from a new beginning."

"And that is what you want, a new beginning where the evils of the old are simply reversed?"

J'Mir laughed again. She slipped her hands under his robe and ran them down his chest, pausing where her fingers found knotted muscles. "It is only a fantasy. A play that runs only in my mind. It is not important." She dug the tips of her fingers firmly into his flesh, massaging until she felt the tightness ease. "What is important is what I am now. And what I can do for you. There is much you still do not know about Romulans, and Romulan women in particular. It would be a foolish waste if you did not allow me to show you what can mean to you."

Spock said nothing, but neither did he move. As he stood there silently, feeling the heat of J'Mir's hands against his skin, smelling the scent of her body, he knew that he had lost, that what he had thought himself to be no longer existed. What he was now he did not know.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Christine turned her face up to the shower and let the hot water soak into her hair and wash down her neck. The stall chime had already sounded, informing her that she had exhausted her allotment of the precious liquid. This time Christine did not hasten to cut the flow. Soon the water would turn off by itself. Until then she would let the steam swirl up and around her, letting the warmth of it fade the memories of the day's proceedings.

They had been at the base two full days now, and in that time she had been made to live and relive the events on Alpha Pleiades. She had answered all the questions put to her, responding with truths, half truths and almost lies, saying nothing about the transfer. What had happened to Spock was not important. What was important was what S'Halt had told them about the attempts made on his life and his conviction that there was a greater plot to destroy peace. That's what she repeated to herself over and over, so many times that she had begun to believe it.

Christine shook her hair forward, letting it cascade in front of her face in a tangle of gleaming strands. Earlier, during a rare break, she had sat quietly and tried to find that echo of a link with Spock that had been so much in evidence after their meld on Alpha Pleiades. It wasn't there. And that worried her a great deal, because what she had with Spock might well be lost, and more, because she didn't know what that indicated about Spock's well-being. He might be dead and they wouldn't even know it.

The shower stopped suddenly, letting in a blast of cold air that chilled her. Christine reached for the towel and was wrapping it around her when the door chime sounded. "Damn." She looked up at the door. A fresh uniform was laid out on the bed. Christine ignored it as she went to release the lock.

"Jim. What..."

Kirk stepped into the room. "There's a ship approaching. It's using the same old type 'C' engine that we found evidence of near Pax. It's transmitting a distress signal."

"Spock!!"

"I don't know. The signal's very weak."

Christine nodded. Kirk held out his hand to keep her from turning. "There are no visuals but the life readings indicate one Vulcanoid -- and they're very low."

Christine nodded again and disengaged her arm. "Give me a minute to dress. Have you told Leonard?"

"No. I came here first."

"Then I'll meet you at his quarters."

"Christine This may be anything. It may be a trap."

"I know. I'll be there in a minute."

* * *

Dr. McCoy secured the last fastening on his tunic as he raced down the hall beside the captain and Christine.

"What does Tartarian say?" he asked Kirk.

"What he always says: 'I don't like it.' He's sending out a shuttle to investigate and board her. I've convinced him to let us come along."

"What if it isn't Spock?" asked Christine. "The Romulans must know about these meetings. If someone wanted to start a war, another suicide ship to blow up this base would certainly do it."

Kirk shook his head. "The ship's unarmed and too far away to do any harm, even if it did explode."

The three of them rounded a corner and came to a stop in front of the shuttle bay airlock. Captain Tartarian was already there with the shuttle pilot. With them was Ambassador Hernandez. The ambassador came toward the three Enterprise officers as the base commander entered the sequence which would pressurize the hanger bay.

"What I want to know, Kirk," he said, "is what do you know about that ship out there?"

The airlock signaled green, and Captain Kirk jabbed the releasing toggle. "Only what you know, Ambassador," he said as he eased through the still opening doors. "That ship's powered by the same type engine we found evidence of at the destroyed peace site. It's unarmed and piloted by a single person who appears to be Romulan and injured."

"No, Kirk, there's more." Hernandez' hand lashed out and caught the captain's arm. "There are a lot of things going on that I don't know about, and I don't like that."

Captain Kirk turned slowly. "What you like or dislike is of little importance to me, Ambassador."

Hernandez straightened and dropped his hand. "I realize that, Captain, but that ship out there, how or why it's there, is important to all of us. Cordova is arriving here tomorrow at your request. I'm assuming you have something to tell him that you won't trust with any of the rest of us. There may not be time for that now."

Kirk looked steadily at the man with whom he seemed constantly at odds. "I'm sorry, Ambassador, there's no time for that discussion now either." Surprisingly, Kirk found that he was sincere in his regret.

Tartarian scurried past them toward the shuttle, waving at the craft. "Gentlemen, please. That ship is getting closer by the second. Soon it will be close enough to do damage to this base. Captain Kirk, if you want to be a part of the shuttle team, I must insist that you board now!"

"Jim," prompted McCoy gently, "those life readings were barely registering."

The captain nodded. "Let's go."

* * *

Captain Kirk crouched in the cramped forecompartment of the alien ship and made a final tricorder sweep of the area before backing out to let the two doctors in. The ship was a museum piece from another era. The only concession to modern technology was a cloaking device, which had not been engaged when they boarded the vessel.

McCoy eased around and came to stand, bending low, next to him. "We've got to get that man back to the base right away, Jim," he said. "His life signs are so low we don't dare try to transport him."

"Any idea what happened?"

"Won't be able to tell you anything till we get him to more sophisticated equipment. What I'm getting now is too low to be reliable."

Kirk nodded in dismissal, and McCoy returned to Dr. Chapel and their patient. The captain crooked his neck to get a better view as they prepared the unconscious man to be moved. There was nothing distinguishing about the standard Romulan uniform the man wore, or in anything else that might identify him. All he knew was that this was not Spock. Looking now at the limp figure being gently positioned, Kirk found that he was not sure whether to be glad or sorry for that.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Bakor dipped his brush carefully into one of the lacquered paint pots, letting the excess green liquid flow smoothly off the tapered bristles. He worked slowly and deliberately, exhibiting the correct reverence required of his task. If S'Halt were to receive the full strength of the el'korva, then it was necessary that its image be applied without mistake.

A line of red and another of blue to the dorsal fin, and both heads of the sea serpent stood out in sharp contrast to the white zinc background of S'Halt's bare chest.

"You have done well, Bakor." The younger man pushed back and appeared ready to stand up.

"But, Master, I am not yet finished."

"Yes, of course." Spock settled uncomfortably back in the chair.

Bakor eyed him with concern. S'Halt knew the importance of following the rituals exactly and what might happen if they didn't. Never before had he seemed so impatient, it must have to do with the strange egg-object S'Halt had given him, Bakor decided. At least now it was safe, in a place where no one would find it. Bakor steadied one hand with the other as he applied the final outline in silver and then stepped back to admire his work. Yes, he had done well.

A light flashed on the desk console, indicating an incoming call. Bakor replaced his brush and gingerly nudged the tray of paints to the center of the desk.

"A moment, Master. I will return." He left, moving quickly to answer the call.

Spock watched the old man's movements, noting the efficiency with which he was able to maneuver his twisted body. Then he turned his attention to his own form in the mirror.

The image of the sea serpent seemed to leap from the living canvas of his chest. With the mouths of both heads open to roar against the wind and its body coiled for strength, the el'korva did indeed present a formidable figure. It would be comforting to believe that he could be the recipient of such fortitude.

Spock took a deep breath and experimentally rotated his left shoulder. There still was pain from the knife wound, but it was easing and the ragged edge of knitting flesh was almost completely hidden by Bakor's artistry. He ran his fingertips down the swollen ridge, probing gently. Suddenly he stopped and dropped his hand.

His body. As though it had always been so. When had he made the final transition, the final abdication? He knew the answer -- last night, with a woman whose smell still enveloped him and whose taste still lingered sour-sweet on his tongue.

"Master. It is Councilman Sitel. He insists on speaking with you." Bakor shuffled quickly into the room. His words spilled out in a hurried stream. Then he paused to catch his breath. "He says it is very important."

Spock closed his eyes briefly and ordered his thoughts.

Sitel. The same person had attempted to speak with him on the Rao. Then he had refused to speak to him. Now he knew more of the Councilman. It would be wiser if he did not refuse again.

"My cloak, Bakor," he commanded, calling for the gold ceremonial cape he would wear draped over one shoulder to the council meeting.

* * *

"May the glory of the Empire be reflected in your House, Sitel."

"And nurtured in your sons, S'Halt."

Formal greetings exchanged, Spock waited for his caller to explain the urgency of his message.

The image on the screen scrutinized S'Halt closely. Incongruous green eyes peered from beneath the deep folds of a full, dark face. "You are well?" he asked.

"I am well."

"There have been rumors. It is said that D'Gar..."

"I am well. You called on a matter of importance."

"Yes." Sitel continued his examination a moment longer, then settled back, apparently satisfied. A great scarlet cape concealed most of his ample frame. Where his chest was exposed, it revealed the snarling mouth of a thick necked carnivore. "The Federation claims to have proof of another vessel in the area of Pax before its destruction."

Spock leaned forward. Had Captain Kirk...? He clamped down an the surging emotion he recognized as hope. "What kind of vessel?"

"An outmoded 'C' class engine. We have, of course, refused to acknowledge such evidence. However, since the reports of unauthorized craft within our sphere of influence have increased during your absence, I thought you might find the information of interest and use."

"Yes. I am grateful." Spock looked down a moment, last in thought. Then he returned his attention to the councilman. "How does the vote on war stand?" he asked.

Sitel shrugged, a massive, shifting movement. "Each will vote as he must, I have no gift of casting."

"And you, Sitel. Will you vote for peace or war?"

"I must also do as I believe will serve Romulus best."

"Romulus, Sitel, or your own fortune?"

"I have given you information others would not. Do with it as you may." Councilman Sitel leaned forward to break communications.

"I will remember your support, Sitel. In this you have served the Empire."

The councilman completed his motion. "Perhaps," he said before the screen turned blank.

* * *

D'Gar walked quickly down the narrow path, the thin soles of his boots padding quietly against the crushed white stone. To either side stretched fields of razorgrass which waved silver and black in the strong wind. Interspersed at regular intervals were more white paths, all running like spokes of a wheel into the center hub of twenty-three low buildings.

The Council of Holding, the Central Enclave. D'Gar had been here once before, when he was commissioned commander of the Rao. At that time he had entered through the gate of the House to whom his father was pledged. He had worn the colors of that House and had been a credit to his father. Now...now he walked S'Halt's path and the jumpsuit he wore was the gold of the banners that flew from S'Halt's House. Now...

D'Gar lengthened his stride.

When the document had first arrived, D'Gar's impulse was to tear it into a hundred pieces and offer it to the wind. But this was an official decree, written in longhand in the ancient manner and inscribed on material which would defy mutilation. So D'Gar had simply folded the paper and shoved it into a pocket where it now lay along with his uniform and weapon at the watchtower.

Required to answer charges of cowardice brought by his weapons officer, the proclamation read. Relieved of duty pending the outcome of his hearing.

D'Gar pressed his lips into a hard line. L'Trol. He took a deep breath. No, it was not her fault. She had only seen an opportunity to advance and had seized her chance. The fault was his for being weak and soft.

Now his fate was entwined with S'Halt's. If S'Halt could prove his case to the Council, then his own position and actions would be clarified. But if S'Halt were not successful...

A blade of razorgrass whipped against D'Gar's leg and neatly sliced into his jumpsuit, quickly redirecting his footsteps to the center of the path.

Before him rose a monolithic stone structure, painted at its base with a frieze of stylized sea creatures and similarly rendered at the top with pictures of winged animals. Between the two hung banners which were patterned gold against a lighter wheat background.

Twenty-three such structures formed a ring, the hub to which all the paths led. Each was different in color and decoration, but each symbolized the same thing -- the land holdings of one ruling family, one of the twenty-three subcontinents created by the floods of High Daem. Inside the ring was an amphitheater, neutral ground from which all of the Romulan Empire was governed.

D'Gar smiled wryly as he stepped quickly through the scanning field and into S'Halt's holding. Yesterday he had held S'Halt's fate, and now it was S'Halt who held his. His life depended on the ability of one man to sway an Empire. And that man was not even fit to command a starship.

* * *

"Your words rattle like dry pods in the wind, S'Halt. And echo in the valley. We have heard them all before."

"My words are true. There is no call for war. Our enemies are among us."

The Small One had not yet set and the Great One was climbing toward its zenith. The heat of both suns beat down without relief on the open amphitheater and on Romulus' primary advocate of peace.

Spock held onto the dais with both hands. He had used every argument at his disposal to convince the council that the Federation was not responsible for the destruction of Pax and that an internal conspiracy against peace existed. He had cited the repeated attacks on his life, the Federation's evidence of a second ship at the site and the reports of unauthorized vessels within the Romulan sphere. He had called on D'Gar to identify his last attacker and to describe that person's zealous quest for war.

Yet now, looking at the semi-circle of councilmen in front of him, Spock knew that he had lost, that when the time came to vote, more bare than cloaked shoulders would turn toward him.

He looked from one councilman to the next. They were young men mostly who sat in the first row, in the places reserved for the heads of the ruling houses. S'Halt had said that most of the original advocates of peace had died, that those who ruled had grown up during a period of truce. Many of them had tired of that truce.

Behind some of the councilmen sat aides and advisors. Behind others, especially the older ones, were chosen sons, distinguished by their capes, which were the same as their father's, only worn over both shoulders in mute testimony that they could not vote.

Each House wore a different color or shade to separate it from the rest. The visual effect was that of a living, moving tapestry.

A hot wind whipped across the tiers of open rows and lashed at him. Spock knew he could delay the vote no longer.

His detractors had claimed that the attacks on his life were only a vendetta against him. Such feuds were not uncommon on Romulus. They were personal affairs, certainly not worthy of Council intervention. The Federation had been responsible for the destruction of Pax. Any evidence of another ship, or speculation of subversive activities operating out of Kriis, were only fabrications created by those too weak and afraid to seek the revenge rightfully due Romulus.

It was now time to see how many would vote with him to reopen negotiations with the Federation, to delay a vote of war until after a full investigation of a possible conspiracy was completed.

With one hand Spock undid the clasp of his cloak. The double silver serpents of the House of Fator parted and the gold cape fell from his shoulders.

Slowly, one by one, the twenty-two councilmen turned. Some votes were predictable. Others came as a surprise. Sitel moved without hesitation to present a bared, negative side. The councilman from Z'Itor, Ktotar, took longer to decide. When he did it was with the positive, cloaked side. The fact that it was under his House that Kriis was governed seemed to influence several still undecided votes. Still, when the final total was announced, there were only ten affirmative to thirteen negative votes.

Spock swept his gaze around the amphitheater, making his own count. He saw several members who had cast their lot with the losing side shift uneasily in their seats. Ktotar's son said something to his father and then hurriedly left. D'Gar refused to meet his gaze, but instead sat straight with his eyes focused forward.

They had all lost, even those who claimed victory. Spock bent down and picked up his cloak. Then, in acknowledgment of defeat, he left the arena with his cape draped over his forearm, his shoulders bare. D'Gar followed close behind him.

"S'Halt! A moment."

Spock turned to see the councilman from Z'Itor approach. "I am grateful for your vote, Ktotar," he said. "I will not forget actions on my behalf."

"Perhaps I can do even more for you, S'Halt," said Ktotar when he had stopped close in front of Spock and D'Gar.

"In what way?"

The councilman looked up the curved passageway that encircled the amphitheater and, seeing it clear, settled his gaze on D'Gar.

"You may speak freely," said Spock.

Ktotar nodded. "Your case rested on proof of the existence of old 'C' craft. You failed because you lacked that proof."

"And you have such evidence?"

"Let us just say that the mountains of Kriis are very rugged. Between them are many desolate canyons and ravines. If someone wished to hide such craft, those mountains would be the ideal location."

Spock frowned. "The prohibition against allowing any colony the use of spacecraft is most specific, and the penalties severe. Have you allowed such vessels to exist on a colony governed by your House?"

Ktotar straightened. He was an old man. His face was lined and his hair white. Yet when he drew back his shoulders, some of the strength that must have been his in youth seemed to return.

"I am saying nothing other than that I offer you the protection of my House. You may take one of my vessels to Kriis. No one will harm you. What you find may help in a cause I believe we hold in common."

"You are generous."

Ktotar turned to leave. He stopped at Spock's touch.

"Why are you doing this?" asked Spock. "If I find what I am looking for, it will have grave repercussions on your House."

Ktotar did not turn; instead he continued to look at the blank corridor that swept in front of him. "Your father and I were friends from childhood," he said. "The difference between us was that while his House was wealthy, mine was not. Kriis was rich in certain valuable resources, yet it had so hostile an environment that few would attempt to colonize it. I was forced to make certain -- concessions -- to see that it was developed." He turned to face Spock directly. "If you find what you are looking for, it will go better for me than if someone else discovers the same thing. Certainly, if I offer you protection to go to Kriis, then I must not know of any spacecraft there. To allow through negligence is one thing, to actively support is another. I am an old man. I do not wish to see my House destroyed before I die. It is also a debt I owe your father, Kareel."

Spock dropped his hand. "It is a debt repaid, Ktotar," he said. Then he watched as the councilman disappeared around the curve of the hall.

"Will you come with me?" he asked D'Gar shortly.

"I cannot. I must answer charges against me."

Spock drew his brows together. "What charges?" he asked.

"Cowardice. Brought by my weapons officer. The hearing is tomorrow."

Spock thought back to what J'Mir had said about the possible results of D'Gar not issuing a challenge, and how quick Romulans were to find guilt. He didn't want to be responsible for D'Gar's death. He had grown to like the younger man and respected him for his ability to make and stand by difficult decisions. And there was something else -- a feeling of kinship which was not easily defined. Yet there seemed little Spock could offer him. "If we are successful, the charges against you will be meaningless," he said finally.

D'Gar shook his head. "No. I can no longer be influenced by what might be. Our paths will part here."

Spock nodded. "You have done all that I have asked. I no longer have command over you, but I believe you are wrong if you think you can so easily discard a goal which is obviously meaningful to you."

"My position, my life, are what are meaningful to me. Nothing more."

Then D'Gar walked past S'Halt to the white path that led out of the complex.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

"There's no way that man's going to respond to questions, Jim," Dr. McCoy told the captain as they stood outside the wardroom of the base infirmary. "He won't even know you're there."

Captain Kirk looked past McCoy and the guard who stood by the door, to the unconscious Romulan. Dr. Chapel was supervising installation of a life support field. "Somehow that Romulan is a link to what Spock was trying to find. Right now he's our only link."

McCoy shook his head. "You're not going to find out much from him. That field Christine's installing is the only thing keeping him alive. And don't ask what's wrong with him either; I don't know yet."

Kirk continued to look beyond the doctor. "Would it hurt him if I tried?" he asked.

McCoy turned to follow Kirk's gaze "No," he said after a minute, "I suppose not." He juggled a small file disk in one hand. "I'll be in the next room going over these scans. Would you ask Christine to join me when she's done?"

The captain nodded. Then he stepped forward and waited for the guard to deactivate the force field so that he could enter. Peripherally he noted that the young man's weapon was not the common phaser, but a newer method of destruction, a neurarc. Most security personnel simply called them "short-circuiters" for what they did to a living being's neural system. It was standard equipment now, he understood, when guarding an important prisoner. That way at least you'd have a body around in the event of an attempted escape. Somehow the efficiency of it all left a bad taste in Kirk's mouth.

* * *

Christine ran the scan through the medical terminal. Then she did it again. Little definite knowledge was available on Romulan physiology. Most of what was known was drawn from Vulcan similarities, and there were many of those. Probably she and McCoy had the most extensive, first-hand knowledge from their experiences on Alpha Pleiades. What she was seeing didn't correlate well with that.

"Leonard, come look at this," she called as she settled on one particularly peculiar segment.

McCoy came and looked over her shoulder. "I know, I've noticed it myself," he said as he brought up the magnification.

Christine frowned. "They're too low to be that regular. There aren't any fluctuations. It's almost as though what we're reading has been simulated."

McCoy studied the screen. Then he slowly straightened. "They are," he said in a low voice.

"What?"

McCoy didn't seem to hear her. He shot a look toward the ward, then bounded for the door.

"Leonard!" Christine called.

Dr. McCoy was already gone.

* * *

The base security guard assigned to the infirmary looked away, turning his back on the Romulan and Captain Kirk. Somehow it seemed he had to.

Kirk bent down low. Did the Romulan say something? He couldn't quite hear.

"Jim!"

Even as he screamed his friend's name, Dr. McCoy saw he was too late. The captain lay sprawled, semi-conscious, across the diagnostic bed. Standing next to the bed was the doctor's former "patient." In his hand he held the controlling rod from the transfer mechanism.

At McCoy's cry the guard turned into the room, deactivating the force field as he entered. He held his weapon out and ready, but he seemed confused, unsure of where to aim or what to do. McCoy leapt for the guard and his weapon, but the other man was closer and faster. He grabbed the gun and with one blast dispatched the guard. Then he turned his attention and aim at McCoy.

"You come with me," he said as he edged back toward the bed. He spoke in Standard, but his diction was harsh and strained.

McCoy still crouched on the floor. He didn't move.

"Come!"

The command was punctuated by a bolt of energy which zipped past his ear. Christine was in the next room The rooms were soundproof, but she would come to investigate his sudden exit. McCoy waited for the door to the outer office to open. Another blast of energy, this one closer. Then the door opened. McCoy timed his leap for the precise moment when his adversary's attention was divided.

Somehow he miscalculated.

A wave of reversed polarity slammed into him, setting each nerve fiber on fire, distorting and uprooting the normal channels of communication between his mind and body. For a moment there was nothing but chaos, searing, mind-rending distortion. Then there was nothing at all.

Christine heard the sound through the opening door before she saw anything. A high pitched, wavering whine that made her want to clamp her teeth and cringe. The door opened full, and she saw McCoy enclosed in an envelope of crackling violet light. The light dimmed and McCoy slowly fell to the floor.

It seemed as though everything was happening in slow motion. She saw the Romulan swing toward her and aim the neurarc at her. In his other hand was the glowing control rod. She wondered how he could have gotten it. Across the vacated bed lay the captain, breathing but not moving. On the floor she saw Leonard, dead. Dead.

Everything snapped into focus.

Christine dove sideways, out of the Romulan's way and toward the door lock. He was incredibly fast, there before she could even make it out of the door. He grabbed her with the gun still in his hand and brutally pulled her into the room. She felt ligaments rip in her shoulder as she was tossed to the floor. The door closed behind them.

"You will come with me!"

There was a medical cart filled with supplies just beyond her reach. Christine rolled for it and kicked it toward the Romulan. When he jumped back in surprise she seized her chance. She leaped at him and kneed him hard in the groin. It wasn't enough. She felt the crack of metal across her cheek and she fell, dazed, to the floor.

By the time he had prodded her awake and upright, the Romulan had Kirk up and was supporting him with one arm. The other hand held the gun. It was aimed at Kirk's midsection.

"Now! Move!" He gestured with his elbow while still keeping his aim level. "And be quiet!"

* * *

Pascal Hernandez edged flat against the corridor wall, allowing the Crian ambassador sufficient room to pass.

"Bounty and fullness, Ambassador," he said.

"And richness beyond measure to you," responded the Crian as she glided past on a cushion of air.

In contrast to earlier in the day, the corridors were almost deserted. So far the Crian was the only being Hernandez had met on his way to the infirmary. The Terran ambassador, however, had little doubt that Captain Kirk would be awake. He knew that the captain would not sleep until he found out everything there was to know about the captured vessel and its pilot. And Ambassador Hernandez would not sleep until he knew everything the captain did.

When Hernandez came to the infirmary he stopped, waiting for the doors to sense his presence and open. They remained closed. Frowning, he pressed the admit signal, and when he received no answer, he used the emergency lock override to enter. The outer office was empty. When he came into the ward he stopped, shocked by what he saw.

The room was in shambles. The lone bed was empty, and on the floor, unconscious, lay the guard and Dr. McCoy. The guard's weapon was missing.

He rushed to the guard, who was closer, then to McCoy, feeling at the neck for a pulse. There was none in either case. The ambassador looked toward the door in the direction he imagined the Romulan must have taken, then to the guard and McCoy.

Slapping the emergency signal on, he raced back to McCoy and positioned his hands, heels down, over the doctor's chest. Then he rhythmically pressed and released, forcing blood through the still heart.

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

J'Mir was waiting for him when he returned. She was sitting at the head of the long ironwood table in the main hall, deftly pulling thin strips of flesh from a ninbad fruit. With each morsel she wiped her lip with one finger and then licked off the sticky juice. In front of her was a sealed holographic disk.

Bakor was standing at the far end of the hall. He was feeding the prool drops of nectar and scolding it as it hopped fitfully from his finger to its perch and then back again.

When Spock walked in J'Mir looked up. "Leave us, Bakor," she said, not turning to face the servant.

Bakor put down his hand but remained where he was. Spock nodded and the old man left, carrying the bird and its cage with him.

"I thought you would find this of interest," J'Mir said after the door had closed behind Bakor. She inclined her head, indicating the disk.

Spock watched J'Mir quietly stripping fruit and eating it. He looked at the silver disk, then slowly bent over and picked it up. In the heat of his cupped hands the seal dissolved and the holographic image sprang into three dimensions.

In his palm he saw J'Mir wearing a long white robe and holding in her hand the controlling rod from the transfer mechanism. He continued to look at the image a moment longer, fascinated by the way the rod glowed, how its light radiated out from her. Then he closed his hand into a tight fist, crushing the fragile disk to dust.

J'Mir put aside the black kernel of the fruit and delicately licked the tips of her fingers. "Captain Kirk is alive," she said. "I'm afraid, though, that the doctor is not." She smiled, searching his face for signs of emotion. Not finding any, she shrugged. "Dr. McCoy, that is. Christine Chapel seems to be well."

"What do you want?" he asked.

J'Mir started to get up, then reconsidered and settled back into the somewhat greater safety of the chair. "Your half of the device, in exchange for your friends' safety."

"You know that I cannot do that."

"Do not be so hasty. There is more. Do as I ask and you will have all the proof of a conspiracy that you need."

Spock studied the Romulan female before him. It would be easy to say that she had seduced him into trusting her, into making love to her. Spock had no intention of being so lenient on himself.

"What proof?"

Seeing her entrance, J'Mir relaxed slightly. "Those who have your friends believe you are a double agent. They have no idea what the rod is. I have told them that it is a token, a method by which you will recognize your federation counterpart. I told them that they were foolish to want you dead, that you would only become a martyr. For their promise of continued financial support, I promised to expose you. You would be disgraced, and they would have what they want -- Romulus turned forever against peace."

"That is not my proof."

"No, not if I had fulfilled my agreement with them. Obviously I have not. But they will be waiting for you, at a time and place know of. You can turn their own trap against them, expose them as the kidnappers. They will be found, waiting with the captain and Dr. Chapel. No one will listen to their protests that they had been tricked or that you are really a Federation agent. All that will be apparent is that it is they who have been responsible for trying to incite war."

"And the price for knowing this time and place is my half of the mechanism?"

"Yes."

Spock said nothing. J'Mir pushed back the massive curved chair and stood up. "Consider to what you would contribute," she said as she curled her fingers through the open scrollwork at the top of the seatback. "As you yourself have said, others will pay dearly for use of this device. I would use that power wisely, to maintain the society that I have always dreamed of, the one that I told you of. Perhaps--" She untwined her fingers and walked toward Spock. "--I would let you stay, as my consort. It is the least I can do, a debt I owe. Of course I would expect you to be grateful, just as I was expected to be grateful."

Spock watched her slide slowly toward him. As always, her odor preceded her, but he no longer found the scent enticing. It was the smell of death, of rotting flesh left uncovered in the sun. If he went along with her, perhaps he could buy time. To defy her would mean Jim's death. And Christine's. He drew his shoulders back, forcing down that image and its accompanying emotional surge. He knew he could not take the chance. J'Mir must never have possession of the complete mechanism.

"If I do not give you the missing piece, and I do not appear as expected, they will come for you."

J'Mir stopped. She spread her fingers and studied them momentarily before looking up. "I have gambled," she said. "Gambled that it was Kirk that you gave the rod to. Gambled that he carried it with him. And I've taken the chance that you will go along with me. Gambling was easy. I have little to lose. I can no longer exist subservient to your will, or to anyone's."

The door opened. Spock turned, expecting it to be Bakor. It was not. Four men entered whom Spock did not know. Three of them wore uniforms of Romulan warriors, but he could not identify the insignia. The fourth man was dressed in an unremarkable civilian outfit. He was tall and thin with facial features that seemed to have been applied with a tentative hand: small eyes and mouth, brows that ended before they ever really gave direction to their slant. The three soldiers held weapons, leveled at J'Mir and him. The civilian also held something which he cradled carefully in one hand. He strode into the room, leaving the other three by the door.

"It is a gamble you have unfortunately lost, J'Mir," he said.

J'Mir whirled suddenly. "What...?!"

The man ignored her and focused his attention on Spock. "It seems that we are in time to save you from having to make a difficult decision, S'Halt. We no longer need to expose you as a Federation spy. Now that we have this." He opened his hand, exposing both halves of the transfer mechanism. They were not together. He bounced the pieces in his hand. When they hit they made a soft, dull dunking noise. "Though exactly what 'this' is, you'll have to tell us." He slipped both pieces into a hip pocket. "I'm afraid the captain has been less than completely helpful." Finally he faced J'Mir. "You were not nearly so clever in your choice of a hiding place as you thought, J'Mir. Or very careful."

He turned to his subordinates and began issuing orders. Spock, who had been watching their movements carefully, waiting for his moment to strike, now froze, unable to do anything.

The words that were being spoken were not Romulan; they were Vulcan. Ancient Vulcan. PreReform Vulcan. Vulcan that had not been spoken on that planet for five millennia except among those small bands of outcasts who had never accepted the peace of Surak.

Spock knew now what it was that D'Gar had called S'Anib: not "brother" in Romulan, but "kin of the same womb born" in the ancient tongue. He now recognized the significance of the position of S'Anib's raised hands as he closed in for the final attack.

And he knew what they must have done to get the information they had.

Spock's body tensed. Like a phaser, slowly, inexorably building up an overload, he stood waiting for the forces within him to reach their maximum, lethal charge. To lash out, to destroy, finally to be consumed by that destruction, would free him of the knowledge that he should have known sooner, that it was through his negligence and stupidity that these people had been able to accomplish what they had.

But even in this, Spock of Vulcan, or whomever he had become, could not find easy refuge. They did not know who he really was, or how much he knew about them. They did not know the use of the device they now held. He would use their ignorance and his own knowledge to defeat them.

Spock shot a look at J'Mir, warning her that no matter what he might do, his wrath could easily turn an her.

"I see that you understand the futility of your situation," said the Vulcan with a curt nod in the direction of the door. "It will go easier for you that way."

Two of those who held guns positioned themselves on either side of Spock and J'Mir, and the third took the rear position. The six walked out of the room.

In the corridor outside they passed Bakor whose body lay on the floor. The old man must have been surprised by his attackers, for he still held the bird cage in his hand. Inside the forcefield generated globe, the small bird hopped fretfully. Trapped within its prison, the prool would also soon be dead.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Christine sat back on her heels and glared at the shimmering forcefield that defined the outer limit of their cell. Then she looked back at the captain who lay on one of the fiber mats at her knees. She leaned forward and placed her hand at his throat, feeling for the feeble pulse. Taking his pulse, testing for signs of life had become rote, a mindless exercise that did nothing to ease her feeling of helplessness. There was nothing she could do other than try to make him comfortable, and in the suffocating heat of the small room even that was impossible.

Twelve paces one way and fifteen the other, three white walls that met the floor in a curve, a stack of thin mats, a covered hole sunk in the floor for obvious purposes, those were the features that defined their cell. Those and the ubiquitous "spy eye" in the ceiling that followed their every movement.

Christine rocked back and stood up, keeping her left arm tucked close to her body. Her shoulder hurt badly, though she was almost sure there was no fracture, only rather extensive soft tissue damage. She looked down at the captain. What afflicted him she could not nearly so easily diagnose.

How long had it been since they were taken from the starbase? A full standard day at least. Longer? Christine closed her eyes trying to remember. She knew she hadn't slept in that time at all.

When she had first seen the captain in the infirmary, he was semi-conscious, unable to move but aware. Even during their journey in the 'C' ship, and then overland in the sweltering sand crawler, he had had moments of lucidity. Now there was nothing of that awareness or sanity.

Their captors had concentrated on the captain, almost ignoring her. It was true that Kirk was carrying the rod when they were captured, but how they hoped to get any information from him, she didn't know. All she knew was that they had taken him time after time. Each time they had returned him in an even deeper coma.

Christine took a deep breath, seeing again the look of sheer terror in his eyes when they'd brought him back the last time. She had closed his eyes, but she knew the terror was still there. She saw it in the small spasmodic jerks of his long muscles, in the constant darting of his eyes under their lids. Whatever they had done to his mind was far worse than any physical torture.

And what had they found out!

Christine wrapped her good arm around her shoulder and stared up at the "eye". What was it that Leonard had discovered before he had gone barreling through the door to his death? She wanted to take something and hurl it at the shining orb in the ceiling, to blind it and those responsible for Leonard's death and for what had become of Jim. But they hadn't left her anything to throw, so she sank down quietly beside the captain.

When she awoke it was to the sound of footsteps coming toward the cell and words spoken in clipped commands. Christine pushed herself up with her right arm and tucked her legs under, leaning forward so she could see who approached.

At first she didn't recognize him. All she could focus on was the elaborate body decoration, thinking how she'd never seen anything quite like it and how out of place it looked. Then it struck her who this person was.

Christine untwisted and came to a lurching stand.

//STAY AWAY!//

Spock's command slapped at her with a physical force. It was not so much that she understood the words, but rather that their meaning vibrated throughout her. She stumbled backwards under their onslaught.

The guard said something again which she couldn't understand, except for one word -- S'Halt.

Christine looked from Spock to the guard and then to J'Mir who was nudged into the cell after Spock. They don't know, she thought. But what is it that they think?

She waited for him to give her some clue, but he didn't even meet her eyes. Spock settled down with his back against the wall, his hands clasped between his knees. He stared forward, seemingly oblivious to her or the captain's presence. J'Mir positioned herself against the far wall, at a distance which was equally as far from her as it was from Spock. She also looked ahead of her, sealing herself in a protective aura of aloofness.

Minutes passed, and the four prisoners did not move or speak. Christine grew more and more unnerved. She needed to know what their situation was but did not know how to get that information. Finally she also sat back and closed her eyes. Obviously she couldn't simply question Spock. The all-recording eye would pick up their conversation and she might unwittingly disclose valuable information. In addition, Spock was giving every indication that he would not respond in any case. But she had to know.

A thought began to take shape in her mind.

She had "heard" Spock just moments before. On Alpha Pleiades they had spoken without words, even after he had dissolved the meld. And just before she had transported to the Enterprise from that acid drenched planet, it was the l'timar flower that had again bloomed in her mind, as fresh and as real as it was on Athetis.

"A place prepared," he had said. "Only an echo not yet occupied." The warm feeling of "presence" that she had felt then, and even afterward on the Enterprise, was gone. Even now, being physically close to him, she was aware of none of that sensation.

But she had heard him. Perhaps he could hear her.

Christine concentrated, forming each word carefully in her mind.

//Who are these people?// she asked. //What do they know? Why are we here? What have they done to the captain?//

She tried to project each thought, tried to direct it toward him with an intensity that made her head ache. The exercise reminded her of the "wishing" she had done as a child. Or the "willing" she still did as an adult.

But Spock sat completely still, giving no sign that he had heard her, or even that he knew she was in the same room.

Christine gave up. For now there was nothing more that she could do. She leaned forward, letting her fingers fall lightly at the pressure point of the captain's neck. She hadn't noticed any improvement. His decline came as a dull surprise. He'll die, she thought. Just like Leonard, he'll die and there won't be anything I can do.

Without moving she looked away. The captain's face was a mirror reflecting her own helplessness. She didn't want to confront that now.

Then she saw something at the edge of her vision. Spock turned to the captain with an expression of both deep concern and guilt. It was only there for a second, and as soon as she moved he snapped his head back and refused to meet her gaze. But for that second, it was there. He had understood what she had said only in her mind.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

The wind whipped across his cheek then shifted, slamming him full in the face. D'Gar compensated for the change by slightly lifting his right arm. The energy pack on his back sensed the neural command and fed increased power to his right wing. Like one of the tmbrea that soared around him, D'Gar sliced across the turbulent airflow and caught the uplift of a more moderate thermal where he glided peacefully until another unexpected shift almost upended him

D'Gar was good and his glider was one of the best made, but he was a land creature and would never develop the instincts of a winged animal. To soar in the wildly fluctuating winds that characterized pre-daem was foolish at best. Often it was a fatal dare. D'Gar found the danger exhilarating. To challenge the wind, to ride the unseen columns of air until they fractured, produced a feeling of freedom he found nowhere else. The constant assault on his senses and the need to be continually alert were almost enough to drive out all other thoughts.

Still those thoughts kept intruding: What would happen tomorrow? How would he answer the charges against him? What of S'Halt and the war for which preparations were even now being made?

A flurry of color caught his eye. The banners of Fator-a-Kira snapped in the wind far below him. By now S'Halt would probably have left for Z'Itor-a-Lor and the promised safe passage to Kriis. At least that decision would no longer concern him. S'Halt would go to Kriis alone. D'Gar's action had been correct, the only choice possible.

Then why did he find himself spiraling down toward flashes of color which flicked like tongues from the carved rock?

It had always been like this, he realized as he banked back and forth across the valley. At the center of his unrest was always the same conflict the desire to be what he was always taught he should be and the need to be something more. S'Halt had been right; he could not so easily abandon a cause which was obviously important to him

The uppermost balconies were now in clear view. He could see the patterns carved in the black stone and the inlay on the railings. The banners were no longer tongues; they were great colorful sails. He could hear them crack the air as they slapped against their riggings.

Fator-a-Kira looked deserted. D'Gar had heard that S'Halt kept only one servant. But solitude was one personal preference allowed by Romulan society. With built-in robotics, S'Halt's home could operate as efficiently with one servant or even with none, as it could with a legion.

D'Gar pulled his wings close and prepared for the impact of solid ground against his outstretched heels. Cushion boots absorbed most of the force, allowing him to come to a graceful halt. Then letting go of the wing straps, D'Gar slipped the power pack from his back. He pulled off his boots and rolled the glider in on itself, moving it to a sheltered corner of the balcony. He turned toward the building. Soaring in by glider was not the usual means of arriving at someone's home, especially not a person of S'Halt's standing. He was surprised that his presence had not already been sensed, or an alarm activated; yet when he touched the door it yielded easily.

D'Gar strode through the long hall. By now he should have met someone. The fact that he had not was both surprising and disturbing.

The next room was also empty, but in the corridor beyond he heard something. It was a soft, thumping sound, like sea swells lapping the bottom of a skitter.

D'Gar followed the sound until he came to the prool who was slamming its body against the confines of its cage, and to Bakor who was lying dead beside it. He stared down at the old man. D'Gar didn't do anything immediately, just looked at Bakor. Then he bent down and picked up the cage.

The tiny bird was a mass of mangled feathers. Its leg and wing on one side were broken. Like a faulty servo, it kept ramming mindlessly into the forcefield. D'Gar released the field and held the bird gently. He cupped both hands tightly over the creature and held them there until the prool was still. He stooped and placed it on the floor beside Bakor.

The old man had been dead for some time. What had caused his death, however, D'Gar had no idea. There was no visible sign of struggle or injury. His death might have been natural. Something told D'Gar that that was not the case. If he found that S'Halt had not gone to Ktotar, he would know he was right.

D'Gar straightened. Even if his suspicions were confirmed, he held little hope that he could convince civil authorities that S'Halt's disappearance was linked to earlier attempts an his life. In the Council, D'Gar had no voice at all. Even if he did, they had made it clear that they considered the attempts nothing more than a vendetta. Without proof of the 'C' engines on Kriis, there was no evidence of a conspiracy at all. No, he would need that proof if he expected any aid.

First he had to find the comm room. He turned to leave, then looked back it might well be a long time before anyone came here and found the old man. He didn't know Bakor, although he had heard stories of his relationship to the House of Fator. Ritual demanded a Recaller; he could not stand in that place. He didn't even know the old servant's chosen spirit. But if he did not release it now, it might never be done. D'Gar bent again, touching the tips of his fingers to his lips as he knelt. The tmbrea held special meaning to him. Perhaps they would accept this spirit. D'Gar blew across Bakor's closed eyes, then rose to find the communications room.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

//I know that you can hear me, Spock. I don't know why you refuse to reply, but Jim will be dead in a very short while unless I do something. Do you know what is wrong with him, what they did to him?//

There was no answer. Christine strained to hear, but there was nothing.

//Damn it! Don't you understand? Jim will die!//

Still nothing. Christine sat quietly, meticulously schooling her face to impassivity. She was shouting at a person she was afraid to even face. If she could only blind that damned spying eye, throw something at it.

//There is nothing that you can do. There is nothing that any human can do.//

Christine drew in a breath and let it out slowly. So, she had been right.

//Then who can?//

//A Vulcan healer. Perhaps.//

//There's no Vulcan healer here.//

//Then he will die.//

She did look at him then. Her head snapped in his direction and her eyes blazed. To ignore her was one thing. This was something much more serious.

//How can you say that? Don't tell me you don't care. Jim has been closer to you than a brother. You can't shrug off his death as if it meant nothing to you.//

//You know nothing of me. What I have become.//

The words echoed hollowly in her mind. There was no anger, no expression at all. He was different. She could feel it. Still, he was Spock. He would always be Spock. She had to believe that. But she wouldn't argue with him now. The link was too tenuous. She was afraid it would snap at any moment and there was so much she still had to find out. She looked away from him again, past J'Mir who sat unmoving against the wall, toward the invisible barrier and the empty corridor that shimmered beyond it.

He had said that it was a Vulcan healer that Jim needed. Christine thought back to the base and her "patient," to the anomalies in his medical scan and to what McCoy had seen. Of course. Christine locked her hands together and brought them to her lips. She had been stupid not to see it herself. Romulan and Vulcan readings were very similar, and at depressed levels, the difference was even more difficult to detect. But they were different. She should have noticed. McCoy had.

//Do not chastise yourself. The fault was not yours. I did not know myself until it was too late.//

This time she resisted the temptation to look at him. Christine lowered her hands slowly and stared straight ahead.

//I don't understand. Why would any Vulcan want war? What would they gain?//

//What they have always advocated: violence, destruction, an unleashing of the basest emotions.//

//Vulcans?//

//Not everyone accepted the peace of Surak. Small bands, outcasts, continue to preach a return to the old ways. They are rarely spoken of outside of Vulcan. To acknowledge them would be to admit a flaw in the great, unified front of logic and nonemotion that Vulcan has presented for over five thousand years.//

//That still doesn't make sense. How did they get here? If Jim is right about the 'C' engines, it means that they arrived at least a hundred and fifty years ago. The Federation didn't even know about Romulans until a hundred years ago.//

//I do not know. There is much I also do not understand. //

For the first time since easing himself down against the wall, Spock rose. He stood up and walked casually across the cell, stopping momentarily to glance at the captain before resuming his place.

//And what they did to Jim has something to do with their being Vulcan?//

For a long time he didn't answer. Christine was afraid that she had lost her link to him, that whatever reason had made him decide to communicate had once again turned and she would not be able to break his silence. Then he answered, but unlike before, his words were filled with emotion. There was more loathing in what he thought than in anything she had ever heard him speak aloud.

//Ancient Vulcans did not find sufficient pleasure in simply mutilating the flesh of their enemies. They sought their minds also. To rip the thoughts and memories, the innermost secrets, from a fallen foe, that was the greatest satisfaction.//

//That's what they ve done to Jim?//

//Yes, and to Bakor.//

//Bakor?//

//An old servant. My brother. The captain has a very strong mind. He was able to keep the use of the transfer mechanism secret. Now he's locked in whatever nightmare they have planted. Bakor did not survive.//

Christine sat quietly; then she shifted, pulling her legs back under her. Everything was coming so quickly. She was having a hard time assimilating it all. Throwback Vulcans with hideous mindripping techniques; a link she wasn't even sure existed coming into full play; Jim caught in a nightmare that was killing him. And this person who was and was not Spock with a brother who had been killed.

Christine got up. Her arm was hurting more than before, and she didn't know what to do about that either. She walked past J'Mir who hadn't moved at all. How did she figure into all this? She was probably responsible for everything, Christine decided. She turned away. She needed facts. She couldn't afford to have her thoughts colored by her animosity toward J'Mir. Christine's most immediate concern was Jim. She stooped and felt for a pulse. Weak and racing. Soon it wouldn't be there at all.

Vulcan healer. What could a Vulcan healer do? She straightened and looked directly at Spock. If their hosts suspected anything, so be it.

//What would a healer do?//

The answer came after another period of silence. //She would enter his mind and bring order to the chaos she found. She would make him understand that what he believes is real is only an illusion.//

Christine looked down at Kirk. She wondered what madness held the still figure. //Could you do it?// she asked Spock.

//I do not have the training. What is required is a literal reconstruction of a mind. To err in any way would only serve to lock him in his madness forever.//

//If you don't try, he will die.//

//I cannot. Our captors are not aware of my -- unique identity. If I were to enter into a mindmeld with the captain, they would be aware of what I was doing and, perhaps, what I was. I cannot take that chance.

//I lost the vote in the Council. Romulus is already preparing for war. It is only a matter of time before the destruction begins. You must return before then and tell them what we have found, who the inhabitants of Kriis really are.//

Christine reached back and absently massaged her injured shoulder. This shadow play was ludicrous, pretending to be casual while the world was exploding around her. //How can I possibly do that?//

//The challenge is as an important part of ancient Vulcan culture as it is of Romulan. If these people follow the ways of their ancient ancestors, and I believe they do, their leader must accept any challenge to his authority. I will have the element of surprise on my side, and I will stop at nothing to defeat him. I do not know how much control I will be able to maintain over the colony after I have gained leadership, but I will see that you are released. The House of Z'Itor has pledged me safe passage. Once at the spaceport, you will use that pledge to reach Romulus.//

Christine glanced at the other woman in the cell. //What about J'Mir?//

//J'Mir cannot be trusted. She will remain with me.//

So, she had been right again. Somehow that fact didn't give her a great deal of satisfaction.

//How can you be sure that you will win?//

//I will win.//

Yes, she thought, he would win. He would stop at nothing. He would use their own techniques against them. She remembered the loathing that had reverberated through his explanation of what had happened to the captain. Suddenly she understood.

//It's not just a matter of modern Vulcans not employing the same methods as their ancestors, is it? There are real social prohibitions against their use.//

//No crime is more heinous. Even the name has been erased from our collective memory. No sane Vulcan would do what I must.//

Then before she could respond, Spock rose and spoke in Romulan, addressing whatever unseen jailer was monitoring their movements. J'Mir must have understood him, but Christine didn't. A moment later a guard came and Spock was gone.

Christine slumped down to the floor beside Kirk. She didn't know whether she'd ever see Spock again. She laid her hand against the side of the captain's face. His skin was much too warm, but he was still alive. Christine took refuge in that thought, and in the closeness the thought brought. She left her hand where it was.

CHAPTER FIFTY

D'Gar ran his fingers quickly across the control board of the shuttle, pausing on the ornate instrument panel only as long as was necessary. A flying machine, any flying machine should be functional. D'Gar found such ostentatious display of wealth distasteful and inappropriate. Still, this ship from the House of Z'Itor would get him to Kriis, and that was what he wanted.

Strange, how after making his initial decision everything fell into place. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he did not have to agonize over crucial questions. He knew what had to be done, and he followed his convictions without hesitation. When it became clear that S'Halt had not gone to Ktotar to claim the safe passage the councilman had offered, D'Gar had resolutely seized on that pledge. When Ktotar's son had questioned his father's actions, D'Gar had carefully defended his position.

And so now he found himself following an oblique descent over Kriis, one which would swing him within several hundred meters of the surface before catapulting back out of the atmosphere. He only hoped that he would find the evidence he had come for, and that he could return with it in time. The possibility that S'Halt was already dead was very real.

The mountains took form now, appearing as sharp-edged silhouettes against a purple sky. In those ranges were the minerals which brought such wealth to the House of Z'Itor. In those ravines might be hidden secret vessels.

D'Gar plunged his craft into steeper descent. He could see the ridges and canyons clearly now. Beyond them was the spaceport, nestled safely within the crook of two ridge spurs. Small silver dots rose slowly from it at regular intervals -- cargo carriers bringing the mined wealth back to Romulus. Beyond the space port was the desert. At its center was Kes, the sole city of Kriis. In that at least Ktotar had followed the dictates for governing a colony. Surrounded as it was by a seemingly endless waste of blasted rock and sand, Kes was as barricaded and secure as any forcefield guarded compound.

Twice more D'Gar swept across the mountain range. It appeared that Ktotar had been wrong. D'Gar could see no ships, and his sensors detected nothing out of the ordinary. To stay much longer could be dangerous. He held Ktotar's pledge, and the ship was programmed to respond with the appropriate code if he was challenged, but this was Kriis. Somehow these colonists had been able to infiltrate highly sensitive projects. They had attacked S'Halt more than once and probably held him now, and D'Gar knew from S'Anib the lengths to which they would go to provoke violence.

He pulled up, ready to make one last pass, when he saw them -- three, six ships sheltered in the shadows of a steep canyon. They looked like larvae, he thought, squat and black, stuck to the underside of a leaf. He made a visual recording of his sighting, then took an additional spectographic reading.

D'Gar banked his craft sharply left. For all its excess trappings, he had to admit that the shuttle handled beautifully. Whether or not he would be as masterful in presenting his evidence was another thing. D'Gar snapped in the commands to return him to Romulus.

Suddenly two ships appeared on his screen. The craft came at him quickly. These weren't the ponderous freighters he might expect, nor were they any of the old ships he had just discovered. These were sleek fighters, stripped of any markings and coming at him very fast.

D'Gar opened a comm channel, advising his pursuers of the protection under which he traveled. The message and accompanying code should have made him inviolate, but he put little faith in that now. He slapped wide the feeder lines, forcing a massive burst of energy into the engines. The shuttle shuddered, then veered off at ninety degrees. His attackers followed, gaining on him. If he engaged the cloaking device he would have that protection, but the device demanded a great deal of energy. Here, so close to the surface of the planet, a slight miscalculation would plunge him into a descent from which he would not recover. With one final look at the vessels growing larger on his screen and then a silent acknowledgment to the spirits who would take his soul if he failed, D'Gar overrode the warnings on his instrument panel and activated the cloaking device.

Nothing happened. The surface of the planet remained clear, free of the distortion that should accompany his shift into invisibility. The two pursuing craft continued to close in on him without difficulty. D'Gar felt the floor buckle then flatten again as he was caught in cross tractor beams. He ran his fingers over the instruments, but he knew he couldn't break free. He was trapped. All he could do was watch as he was dragged like a krim caught in a net, back to the spaceport.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

J'Mir hadn't moved once since she came in. Christine wondered what physical and mental disciplines were necessary to achieve such complete and sustained immobility. Soon she would have to confront the woman. Even with the surveillance in the cell, she would have to find out what J'Mir knew, especially if Spock did not return shortly. Speaking to J'Mir would take its own kind of discipline.

Christine looked toward the corridor almost seeing Spock again as he walked away with the guard. Since then, she realized, she hadn't moved either. She still sat hunched against the wall; her hand still rested on Jim's forehead

As Christine turned her attention once more to J'Mir, something strange began to happen. The outline around the Romulan began to waver. It was as though J'Mir and the wall were no longer substantial, that they were instead waves of energy flowing together with no clear distinction. It was odd, and frightening, but compelling. Christine watched as the air around J'Mir changed into something solid, enclosing her completely like a sarcophagus. With a gentle tinkling sound the hardened air cracked and split apart. Out of the mold where J'Mir had been ran a river of green and black. Bits of dark braid floated on the stream. Suddenly the braid became alive, leaping like coiled snakes at Christine's face. Christine flung her arm in front of her face and scrambled back against the wall.

When she put her arm down everything looked just as it had moments before.

Christine took a deep breath and clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling. It had all seemed so real, yet nothing had changed. J'Mir sat where she had always sat, living and solid. The room was unchanged. Jim still lay comatose on the floor. Jim. Christine unfolded her hands and looked at them. The only thing different was her position: she was no longer resting her hand on the captain's forehead.

Christine inched forward and gingerly placed her hand once more on Kirk's forehead.

Nothing happened immediately. Then slowly reality once more began to turn in on itself, twisting like a mobius strip. Colors and sounds blended and ran like liquid. Smells became solid with edges honed so sharp that they sliced the air into a thousand deadly shards.

Christine removed her hand. As before, everything snapped again into its familiar form. She looked down at the captain. The idea was absurd. On psi testing she had scored only minimally above average. There was no way that she could be picking up the captain's thoughts. And yet...

This time the madness came more quickly. Christine let herself flow with it, discarding all sane parameters of existence.

//This is a nightmare. Jim. Only a nightmare. Come away from it.//

There was no answer. She let herself slip further into the twisting labyrinth. It was only a nightmare, a fabrication of a tormented mind. Only a...

Suddenly it was real. Things that couldn't be were, and Christine found she was incapable of denying their existence. She ran from the chaos and found that she only ran deeper. She fell, tumbling in an abyss that had no bottom. She...

//STOP!//

Reality returned. Christine removed her hand and looked up at Spock.

Blood oozed from the edges of what must have been an old wound on his chest. She hadn't noticed it before. It made it look as though one of the serpent's heads had been decapitated.

//You can reach Jim through me.// That thought banished all others, even her relief at being alive and sane, or of seeing Spock again. //You knew you could all along.//

//No. I knew that you were sensitized. I had no idea to what degree.//

Christine looked past him toward the corridor. The shimmer of an operating forcefield was still there. They were still all prisoners. If he had issued his challenge and it had been accepted, the contest had not yet taken place.

//But you can do it. There's no reason not to try now. You won't have to touch Jim. Nobody will notice anything.//

Spock walked slowly away and lowered himself carefully against the wall.

//I cannot. My original reasoning remains unaltered. You must be free to return with whatever information we acquire here.//

//Me? I am the reason you won't help Jim?//

There was no answer. Christine got up and went to Spock. There was something in the way he walked which particularly disturbed her.

"Do not touch him."

Christine whirled around. J'Mir had been silent so long that Christine had begun to believe she would never speak.

"He's injured. I can help."

J'Mir grabbed her arm as she turned back to Spock. Pain shot across Christine's shoulder and radiated down to her fingertips. What was this? An attempt to protect what the Romulan still perceived as hers, or an act to cover Spock's true identity? Or was J'Mir simply being combative for lack of any more constructive activity?

Pictures of J'Mir lying bloodied on the floor began to form in Christine's mind. They cleared quickly under the combined assault of reason and the fire in her shoulder, which told her she didn't stand a chance. "We have a common enemy," Christine hissed. "Our quarrels can wait."

"I am in no need of assistance," said Spock in Standard. Then in Romulan he added something intended for J'Mir. J'Mir dropped her arm and retreated. Christine stood for a moment in the center of the small cell, then similarly resumed her place against the wall.

//Spock, I don't understand. What's going on? Isn't there enough time?//

//The contest will not be for several hours.//

//Then you have no reason at all not to try to help Jim!//

//I have told you. I am not the person you believe me to be. I have forfeited my claim on that past identity. What I must yet do will further divorce me from the heritage I once held.//

Christine stared at him, at the person who looked not at all like the being she once knew as Spock, at the Romulan whose fierce bodypainting separated him from anything she recognized as civilized. //Then for what you once were,// she said finally, //for a debt that you owe to that past, you can't let Jim die. You can reach him through me. You know that you can.//

Spock turned to her. //The procedure is difficult and possibly dangerous. It will leave you fatigued beyond anything you can imagine. Your ability to function will be impaired for many hours.//

Christine leaned forward and, as she had so many times since they were brought there, placed her hand against the captain's face.

//You've devised a plan that requires my cooperation. I will do nothing until I know that I've done everything I can to save Jim. I watched Leonard die: I watched him light up like a glowrod and fall dead to the floor. Nothing you can do could compare to the way I felt then. You can help Jim. You owe him that.//

Nothing. No answer. Then finally, with a softness that had not been there before. //Again you force from me what I do not even wish to acknowledge. You are correct. It is a debt I owe to the past. Prepare yourself. It is a battle you may wish you had lost.//

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

D'Gar had expected to be treated like a captive. This considerate, almost deferential treatment puzzled him. Even the guards posted on either side of him kept their distance, as though they were there more to protect him than to keep him from escaping.

The room where he now stood was sparse but not without relief. A firepot smoldered in a niche of the formed sandstone walls. Several statues, possibly spirit idols, occupied carefully placed positions on the same wall. Against the opposite wall hung a deep red drapery, similar to the one hanging in his own quarters aboard the Rao. These were his mother's people. In some ways he felt more at home here than he had on Romulus.

At the sound of footsteps, he turned. A large man, wearing a soft desert caftan edged with a thin band of gold, entered. There was an ease to his walk, to the set of his shoulders and directness of his gaze, that left little doubt that this was the person responsible for D'Gar's capture. At his nod the two guards left.

"Sit down," he said, motioning to a straight backed chair as he lowered himself into a more comfortably appointed one.

"I prefer to stand."

"Defiance? Good. As you wish." He smiled tightly, scrutinizing D'Gar closely. "Yes, there is much about you which is similar to your mother."

D'Gar drew back his shoulders, pulling himself straight "There is no need to speak of her who bore me."

The other man smiled again, broadly this time. "Come, D'Gar, by now you must realize we do not share all the ways of our Romulan brothers. There is no disrespect here when one speaks of female lineage. Your mother was a person of great importance." His smile faded and his eyes lost their focus. "If a very willful one."

He looked back at D'Gar, again carefully examining him. "But I see that you do not know that." The large figure in the tan robe rose and held up one hand, palm forward. "I am K'Leef. I am your..." He paused, searching for the word. "I'm afraid the term does not translate. I am your uncle, through blood, on your mother's line. Your mother's brother. Nearly two hundred of us left Vulcan to escape the yoke of pacifism. Today there are several times that number on Kriis."

K'Leef dropped his hand and resumed his seat. This time D'Gar also sat down. K'Leef nodded approvingly. "And you are practical I see. Even better. Yes, I believe that S'Anib's unfortunate death may prove to be to our mutual benefit after all."

At the mention of his brother's name D'Gar tensed. K'Leef didn't seem to notice. He spoke into an intercom and one of the guards reappeared carrying two tall glasses of a light purple liquid. K'Leef took a sip from one and held out the other to D'Gar. When D'Gar refused to accept it, K'Leef shrugged and took a sip of that one also.

"Simply water, spiced and flavored with berry juice. The story I have to tell is long, and I want you to be comfortable."

D'Gar accepted the drink and sipped cautiously. The flavor was strong but strangely refreshing. He settled back, cradling the glass in both hands, and waited for K'Leef to begin.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

He ran through the Enterprise, one arm held bent in front of his face. Each step was an effort, as though the decks had turned to mud or quicksand. Nothing was as it should be. Never had his ship and his crew been in worse danger, and never before had he felt more helpless.

Captain Kirk stopped, struggling for breath. He had to get down to engineering and wrest control of his ship away from whatever beings controlled her, but he couldn't find the way. He wrapped his arms around his chest and bent low, trying to master his ragged breathing. The floor buckled beneath him, and the walls flowed away like water. Kirk closed his eyes against the images he kept telling himself could not be real. It was some sort of temporal distortion. some -- weapon -- that could turn reality upside down. If he could only keep fighting it, they'd have a chance. But he didn't know how long his strength would hold out. He had to get down to engineering, and he needed to find Spock.

A wall of flame leaped up in front of him. He heard the roar and felt the blast of heat even before he opened his eyes. Kirk turned and raced back down the hall. Spock. Somehow all this had to do with something Spock had given him. But he couldn't remember what. Now they wanted to take it from him, make him tell them how to use it... He wouldn't tell them and now they'd turned the Enterprise into this insane distortion of reality.

Spock wasn't at his station. A fish-eyed creature with a face that always smiled now occupied the science officer's place on the bridge. And Spock wasn't in his quarters either. Kirk knew the Vulcan had to be somewhere on the ship. Spock wouldn't desert him, or his duty.

The deck turned to ice, and Kirk slid across the slick surface, crashing hard into the bulkhead. He cried out in pain and surprise as the air was crushed from his lungs.

"Jim!"

Kirk pushed away from the wall, his mouth working to return the call. Spock had found him. Only it wasn't Spock. Somehow he knew that the person who came toward him was not even a Vulcan. Kirk rammed the flat of one hand against the wall and propelled himself, stumbling and sliding, down the corridor. To go back the way he'd come meant running into the curtain of fire. That was preferable to facing whatever apparition stalked him.

The wall in front of him turned to glass, shimmering, reflecting glass. He was in a hall of mirrors, a maze of glass. His image shot back at him, doubled and redoubled a hundred times. Only it wasn't him; it was Janice Lester. He spun around, and the image of Janice Lester pirouetted in place. He ran and she followed, mocking his every movement. He had to get away. He careened down the hall, crashing into mirror after mirror. He screamed, and his reflection laughed.

"Jim, stop! Wait!"

He whirled around at this other who came after him. The mirrors melted around him. He held up his hand. It was a hand of a woman.

"NO!" His cry tittered out in soprano tones, then slipped away like the mirrors.

"Jim, this is not real. We can leave it behind."

He had to get away. But which way could he run! The fire was behind him; he could feel its heat and hear its hungry crackling. In front of him was this stranger who kept coming toward him.

"Jim, please. You must trust me."

He ran toward the fire, his too short legs tripping him as he fell toward the inferno. Arms grabbed him and pulled him back.

"Jim! Listen. You must trust me. None of this is real!"

Kirk fought against the iron grip. "Who are you?" he shouted.

"A friend. Jim, at another time like this you had faith in me. The Melkotians believed they could kill us with their illusions. I turned your mind to their tricks. Believe me now."

The captain stopped struggling. He looked up at the Romulan face, then down to his own woman's figure. A memory began to form in his mind. No! It was all part of the same nightmare. He pushed away.

"Jim! Please. Try to remember."

Kirk stood still. He did remember. He remembered standing by the stasis unit running his finger over and over the tag. Spock was dead. But he wasn't. "Oh my God." He slumped forward and felt Spock's hands tighten in support.

"Come, we must act quickly."

Kirk shook his head. "I don't understand. There's so much..."

"Soon you will remember everything."

Kirk hesitated. He'd gradually become aware of another presence. "Are you alone?" he asked. "Is someone else here?"

"What passes between us will be known only to us."

Kirk drew in a deep breath. This wasn't his body, but it was real. He could feel his breasts press against the bodice of his dress as he breathed. A momentary panic threatened to overtake him. Maybe his memory of what happened on Alpha Pleiades was false. Maybe this person was no more than a spectre sent to steal what he had struggled so hard to protect. He fought down the panic, shoving it aside forcefully. No, this was Spock, just as he was James Kirk. He nodded. "You have my cooperation."

Spock pulled Kirk's mind into his, soothing the pain, laying the balm of reason and solidity on a world where reality shifted like storm blown sand. Bit by bit he turned aside the fear and horror, uprooting the malignant thoughts planted by the captain's tormentors. The process was slow and difficult, but Kirk's mind was strong and willing. Finally, together, they broke free of the madness.

Kirk slid down against the cool, solid corridor wall, exhausted. They were alone in the hall. Even at night, there should be other crewmembers about. "This isn't real either, is it?" he asked.

"No, but we can afford the luxury for a short while. You need the rest."

Kirk smiled and looked up at his companion who remained standing. "What about you? Or do you prefer to stand?"

"No, I am also fatigued."

Kirk watched his friend gracefully fold into a seated position next to him. "I remembered, just as you said I would," he said. "And I think learned something more."

"Yes, it was inevitable. Our minds were one. My experiences became yours."

Kirk shook his head. "I don't know what to call you anymore."

A soft smile eased the Vulcanoid features. "Interesting. I had not considered the question. Spock, for now. It will be easier that way."

"And friend?"

"Yes, always that, Jim."

Spock reached across to Kirk's face. "Sleep now, Jim."

Kirk held out his hands to block Spock's movement. "Wait, there's still a lot you haven't told me. We have to plan what we are going to do."

"There is no time. When you awake Christine will explain."

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

D'Gar juggled the main portion of the object gently in one hand, judging its weight. In the other hand he held the glowing rod. A Federation weapon, and S'Halt a spy. It was hard to believe, but the evidence K'Leef had presented seemed irrefutable. He'd been a fool. Again. D'Gar resisted the temptation to throw the things in his hand across the room and instead replaced them on K'Leef's desk.

"You have no idea what the purpose of this weapon is, or how it can be activated?"

K'Leef drained the last of his glass and leaned forward. "I'm afraid our methods are somewhat crude. They tend to leave the victim either dead or insane. In either case, they become useless to us. We learn what we can and then..." K'Leef lifted one hand from the desk then let it fall back casually. "We have time. Our aim has been accomplished. Romulus will soon be at war. We have saved our brothers from the lingering death which Surak imposed on Vulcan."

D'Gar looked beyond K'Leef to the deep red tapestry. There was little he remembered about his mother. After his passage rite, he hadn't seen her again. What he recalled about her from before that time was fragmentary, more feeling than concrete images. He remembered the deep caring and pride, and something else also, perhaps fear, that washed over him whenever they were close. The sensation had been particularly strong when they touched. At the time he'd thought nothing of it, but now he wondered. There were things Vulcans could do with their minds that Romulans could not. D'Gar turned his gaze sharply to K'Leef.

"The old man, S'Halt's servant, was dead when I arrived at Fator a-Kira, yet there were no physical markings on him. What are these methods that you are talking about? How do you obtain your information?"

K'Leef said nothing. Instead he studied his nephew. Suddenly, without any warning, he struck out his hand and clamped his fingers on D'Gar's forehead.

Light, pain and heat exploded together in a blinding flash. D'Gar fought the intrusion, striking back with both his body and his mind. In the last instant, before he freed himself, D'Gar became K'Leef. He saw and thought and felt as K'Leef. Then he was once more in his own body. He sank back in his chair, trembling.

K'Leef waited for D'Gar to recover. "It is as we suspected," he said when D'Gar looked up. "Telepathy appears to be a dominant trait. Our research has been hampered by lack of outside contact, but from what we have been able to gather, this is true." K'Leef rose and waited toward D'Gar, absently rubbing the bridge of his nose with one finger. "Certainly it is in your case. You will be of great benefit to our cause. A link, so to speak, between us and our brothers."

D'Gar watched K'Leef's approach, steeling himself against another, more prolonged contact, but this time his uncle did not touch him. D'Gar had his answer. He knew what had happened to the old man.

D'Gar considered his options. He had been manipulated by S'Halt, used as a throwaway piece in a game where high ideals were no more than empty words. Perhaps, as K'Leef said, their destiny was to conquer, to derive sustenance from constant battle. Maybe it was true that their race would wither without it. He knew that he felt the power of rage within him, the almost uncontrollable need to lash out, at S'Halt and at this other who would also use him. Whatever happened, of one thing D'Gar was certain: he would not be used again.

"Why should I cooperate with you?" he asked, looking up at K'Leef.

K'Leef shrugged then clasped his hands behind his back. "For one thing, the obvious reason: you cannot leave. Even the sandskitter which brought you here has returned. To reach the spaceport you would have to walk across almost forty kilometers of desert. During the day that would be impossible because of the heat. And at night..." K'Leef smiled. He brought one hand forward, spreading his thumb and forefinger apart about ten centimeters. He looked down at his hand, as though visualizing something there. "At night the morphants come out. During the day they stay deep under the sand, but as the temperature cools, they come out to feed. Usually they must content themselves with small reptiles and other low forms of life, but a being like yourself, so full of moisture..." K'Leef dropped his hand. He shrugged again. "Actually, I understand it's quite painless. Before they suck out your blood, morphants inject a narcotic. Makes their victims rather sleepy."

"And even if I were to make it to the spaceport I would still not escape, would I?" D'Gar asked. "Ktotar's pledge is useless. The ships that brought me down were his fighters. They were expecting me."

K'Leef laughed derisively. "Ktotar is an old and sentimental fool; he knows nothing. His son, however, understands the advantages of working with us. The minerals we mine are necessary in the purification of dilithium. A war would make his House rich, and alliance with us will make it powerful." K'Leef walked behind D'Gar and casually placed his hand an the back of his nephew's chair. "But we speak of force. I'd much rather you stay of your own accord. With S'Anib dead, you are my only blood kin. I invested a great deal of time and effort in S'Anib's education. By right I should be vindictive, but I'm not. I believe you will prove to be a more worthy successor than your brother. Until then, we shall rule together. These will be glorious times.

"Come," he continued, motioning to the door, "there is something I think you would like to observe. I understand that you chose not to challenge S'Halt. Now you will have the opportunity to see how well he does against me."

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Christine opened her eyes cautiously. The cell was dimly lit, but even that light was too harsh. Her head pounded, and everything was subtly out of phase, as though she'd just returned to gravity after a week of free fall. Other than that she felt all right, if very tired. And that, she realized, should not have been. Christine snapped awake. The pain in her shoulder was gone, as though there had never been an injury.

//Neurological pain inhibitors only. The original damage remains. I could do nothing to repair it, nor could I completely alleviate your headache.//

Christine shifted, moving her arm carefully. The stiffness was still there. //Thank you. It's a big help.// She looked at Spock. He appeared exhausted, and deeply troubled. Had Jim... Alarmed she reached for the pressure point at the captain's neck. Strong and steady. Jim was sleeping. She recalled nothing of the meld, but obviously Spock had been successful. Then what...? Suddenly she saw. J'Mir was gone!

//How long?// she asked.

//I do not know. She was not here when I came out of the meld.//

//When was that?//

//Perhaps forty-five minutes ago.//

Perhaps? The vagueness of his reply concerned her. //Spock...//

//They will come for me shortly. I do not know under what circumstances J'Mir left, or what she might have told them. If she returns, gain what information you can. Whatever the outcome of my challenge, Jim and you must escape.//

//If J'Mir told them the truth about the transfer, if they realize your abilities, you won't stand a chance. Jim's not unconscious any longer, only sleeping. Together the three of us can try to make it out of here now.//

//No, I must go through with the contest. If I lose, your position will not be any worse than it is now. If I succeed, the chances for your escape improve greatly. There are still too many unanswered questions. What I learn from K'Leef will help to answer them.//

Christine pressed her lips into a hard line. Spock was obviously exhausted. If he had lost the element of surprise, he didn't stand a chance against a fresh opponent. She looked down at the captain. If she let Spock go now, knowing what she did, Jim would never forgive her. She looked up.

//The same surveillance will still be in effect. Getting information from J'Mir will be difficult.//

//There is a great deal of interest in the outcome of this contest. Once it is underway, I think that our captors will become somewhat less than completely vigilant. In any event, you must get as much information as you can. What you learn will help you decide your next course of action.//

Christine suppressed the urge to nod. She knew she didn't trust herself to think in any cohesive, directed way. If only... If only she had recognized their captive as a Vulcan. If only she hadn't insisted on the transfer in the first place. If only she had discovered the cause of the madness on Alpha Pleiades before it claimed Spock. If only...

Christine got up and turned to face the wall. She clenched her hands into fists until her nails bit into flesh. Such reasoning was stupid and counterproductive. What could or should have been was no longer important. They were going to get out of here. They were going to stop a war that had already claimed too much. A hand touched her shoulder, and she spun around.

Spock dropped his arm but remained where he was. //You have the strength to survive and to do whatever is necessary. Remember that. Remember also that the transfer was my desire -- first. We could not know its true effects. It is done. I am what I am. There is no fault.//

Christine closed her eyes. They still had to maintain the charade that they were ignoring each other. They'd probably compromised too much already. Christine stepped back until her hands met the wall and slowly eased herself down. Spock moved to where he had been sitting. He didn't even look at the captain.

//I wish I believed in a deity,// Christine said softly in her mind. //Then I could invoke a blessing. Wishing you luck seems pretty hollow, and there isn't anything else I can do.//

//You have done a great deal. Whatever happens I shall remember that. And as for deities... Bakor took special care to render the el'korva in exact detail. He believed that by doing so the strength of the serpent would be imparted to me. The serpent was S'Halt's spirit. Perhaps it has also become mine.//

There was comfort in what he said, but Christine could not quite believe it, and she wasn't sure whether or not Spock did either. In the end it didn't matter. They would each do what was required.

They waited in silence until the guard came and took Spock away.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

D'Gar sat in the front row of the small arena. Around him the stone steps were crammed with people, all shouting and slapping their hands together or on noise making implements that they had brought with them. D'Gar found the din unnerving and the physical closeness of the crowd stifling, as frenzied emotions spilled from one person to the next, intensifying with each contact.

It was early afternoon. The Small One blazed hot and white in the violet sky while the Great One glared down in dimmer shades of orange. The spectator seats were in shade, but the center of the arena was not. Even in the shade, the heat was fierce.

D'Gar watched as the two combatants emerged from opposite sides and climbed onto the raised platform on which the contest would take place. K'Leef walked swiftly with sure strides. He was the older of the two, but clearly in better physical condition. D'Gar remembered the blinding pain that he felt at K'Leef's touch. There was good reason for his uncle to be so confident.

For a while the two parried, circling each other slowly, feigning a jab then falling back. Except for a breechcloth, each was naked and without weapons, though S'Halt retained the official body decoration he had worn to the Council of Holding. Even from where he sat, D'Gar could see the nostrils of both fighters flaring and their chests heaving as they sucked in gulps of the thin air. In the stands the heat and air were suffocating. In the arena, under the full blast of the sun, the combination must have been almost unbearable.

S'Halt jumped back just in time to avoid blow directed to his midsection. K'Leef straightened, gracefully assuming an offensive stance. Twice more S'Halt retreated under K'Leef's assault. Then the younger man attacked, striking out with his elbow and the side of his hand. But K'Leef fended off the blows and turned them to his own advantage. S'Halt fell hard to the floor, crashing with a force that temporarily stunned him. The crowd roared. D' Gar felt himself drowning in their exhilaration, being washed away in the glee of a sure victory.

Suddenly S'Halt rolled to one side and came to his feet before K'Leef was able to connect with a kick. K'Leef staggered from the misdirected shot, then recovered, crouching. The crowd quieted. S'Halt and K'Leef squared off again, fighting as beings have fought since before time was counted, not for greater good or lofty aims, but simply to see who was stronger, who could kill the other.

* * *

An hour? Two hours? Christine had no idea how long it had been since Spock was taken away and J'Mir returned. All she knew was that in that time she hadn't been able to learn anything from the Romulan. J'Mir just sat there, refusing to say anything, not moving at all. Christine stopped pacing and pressed the palms of her hands together. She looked at the captain. She'd tried to wake him once, but he hadn't responded. She was worried about him. She was more worried about Spock.

Christine turned abruptly and strode over to J'Mir. She stood a moment composing herself before kneeling in front of the other woman.

"You must know," Christine began slowly, "that S'Halt has issued a challenge. What happens to us will be determined by its outcome."

J'Mir smiled wryly. "S'Halt?" she asked, acknowledging Christine's presence for the first time. "Is that what you call him?"

Christine drew back her shoulders. "Yes, S'Halt," she said deliberately. "If that pleases you."

J'Mir smiled again. "It does." She shifted her gaze, looking past Christine. "Your options may be limited to the outcome of S'Halt's challenge. Mine are greater."

The captain stirred, mumbling softly. Christine shot a look in his direction, but he quieted immediately. She turned back to J'Mir. If she didn't press now, she might not have another chance. Christine thought about the spy eye and hoped Spock was right about reduced surveillance.

"What did you tell them?" she asked, fixing J'Mir with her eyes, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice.

J'Mir returned Christine's gaze. "When the guards came for S'Halt, you were both asleep. I saw the opportunity to strike my own bargain. I began to explain to K'Leef the workings of the instrument we found on Alpha Pleiades, but time was too short. K'Leef went to meet S'Halt. He believes he will win and then we will resume our discussions."

"And do you believe he will win?" Christine asked cautiously.

J'Mir shrugged. "S'Halt is still weak. K'Leef is much stronger. And he is a Vulcan."

"You know then?"

"What? That these people are Vulcans, or the reason why you chose to -- sleep -- when you did?"

"Both."

"I am a linguist. I know ancient Vulcan when I hear it. And I know something of what Vulcans can do with their minds to destroy and to heal." J'Mir tilted her head slightly to one side. "You underestimate me. That is a mistake."

Christine shook her head. "No, I don't underestimate you. But I don't understand you either. Why would you want to betray S'Halt?"

J'Mir brought her knees together and clasped her arms around them. "Betray is an interesting word," she said. "Its meaning is entirely dependent upon the context in which it is used. The same person who is a traitor to one cause is the hero to another."

"And what is your cause?" asked Christine

J'Mir looked away, then back to Christine. "The same as yours -- freedom. On Romulus I was only one of a very few women to have been awarded a degree of higher education. And that was only because of S'Halt's generosity and influence. It is only with his permission that I am allowed to practice my profession."

"But there are Romulan female commanders," Christine said. "We encountered one several years ago."

J'Mir smiled. "She was not a woman; she was a man. A man in a woman's body. By law. By decree. She gave up her womanhood for a chance to reach her position. And that also I am not willing to do, even if I were able."

"And so you sell out to whoever is willing to buy?"

"To the highest bidder. Morality is also subjective concept."

"Why should these people trust you? You used them. You -- betrayed -- them. I don't think they're going to want to engage in semantic discussions."

"There is no need for trust. I am the only person alive who knows how to make use of the object Dr. Durant found. Because of that I am valuable. When K'Leef understands its true nature, he will understand just how valuable that is."

"But you could have told him everything already. There was plenty of time. You were gone for a long while. You'd rather leave with S'Halt, wouldn't you? You protected him when you didn't have to."

J'Mir's gaze darted away, uncomfortably it seemed to Christine.

"I did what was necessary to insure my greatest advantage. Nothing more."

Now Christine was sure. "When I wanted to treat S'Halt's injury, you didn't want me to touch him. Was that also to insure your best advantage?"

There was no hesitation in J'Mir's answer, only a sharp-edged coldness which would admit to nothing. "I once had a dream," she said. "Most likely that will never come to pass. I will now do the next best thing; I will look to my own self-interest in any way that I can. I need no one. I don't need S'Halt. I certainly don't need you."

Christine met J'Mir's gaze without flinching, but all she saw in the Romulan's eyes was unassailable determination. Christine had her answers. She had learned all that she was able from J'Mir, though she wasn't sure how that information was going to help them. The captain stirred again. Soon the contest between Spock and K'Leef would have to be over. She had to make sure that Jim was awake for whatever happened after that. Christine glanced down at her hands, which she flexed absently. She looked up again at J'Mir. "I see," was all she said before rising and going to the captain.

Suddenly Kirk twisted, as though in a convulsion. As he thrust his arm out, Christine sprang to his side, reaching to grab his hand in midair. A blinding light flared behind her eyes, sending fire searing through her mind. She screamed, forgetting about Jim, forgetting about anything but the destruction going on within her. With her hands pressed to her head, Christine sank to the floor. Light gave way to darkness as unconsciousness claimed her.

* * *

Spock dug his fingers into K'Leef's face, dragging the Vulcan down with him. Stripped of the vestiges of civilization, he was an animal, seeking out the soft underbelly of his prey, delighting in the warm, sweet smell of its blood. With his mind, Spock ripped through K'Leef's consciousness, shattering the other's hastily constructed shields, laying open all its secrets. Nothing would remain hidden from him now. Spock laughed at K'Leef's surprise.

//So, K'Leef, the fatworm turns out to have a razorfang. You were overconfident. That was not wise.//

K'Leef retreated further, scrambling and falling under the continued assault. //Who are you? What are you?// he asked in desperation.

Spock did not slacken the attack. //I am you, K'Leef, and everything that you profess. I am rage unleashed, the power of unbridled anger. I am Vulcan without logic or peace, the culmination of a legacy of destruction and death.//

//No!//

Fear radiated from K'Leef, threatening to overwhelm them both. Spock ignored it as he continued his relentless assault. He became aware of an unexpected backlash ripping along his link to Christine, and he ignored that also, leaving her to her own defenses. Only one thing drove him now: to empty K'Leef of everything he ever was or thought, to leave him nothing but a dried outshell.

The spectators in the stands shifted uneasily. Low murmurs of disbelief swelled and eddied through the crowd. D'Gar leaned forward, gripping the railing with both hands. The contest had been progressing along predictable lines, with K'Leef delivering the most damaging blows. Both contestants were staggering under the intense heat of the center arena when K'Leef drove in for the final kill. The crowd screamed in anticipation. Then S'Halt suddenly turned on K'Leef, intercepting the attack and clamping his own hands on K'Leef's face. The expected victor now lay quivering beneath his intended victim. Only a spasmodic jerk of one limb or another betrayed the fact that he was alive at all. When even that stopped, S'Halt finally loosened his hold on K'Leef.

Spock rolled off K'Leef and lay for several minutes with his face to the sky, trying to regain control of his mind and body. He had violated everything he had once held sacred, and he had taken pleasure in it. His stomach heaved in disgust. He probed gently along his link to Christine. She had survived. That he had not anticipated the backlash and had not severed the link in preparation, testified to his deteriorating capabilities and concern only for his own welfare. Jim was also awake, as he had intended. Spock dissolved any remaining telepathic connection he retained with the captain and prepared to complete the last ritual required of him.

S'Halt gained his feet slowly but without falling. He raised his hands above his head and addressed the assembly.

"I am victor," he said, his voice rising above, then silencing all other sound. "As is my right, I now claim leadership. K'Leef is no more. Let his body be flung into the desert to be devoured by the scavengers of the night. No more shall his name be spoken or his deeds recounted. I, S'Halt, now lead."

Only one thing remained for him to do -- leave the arena alone, unassisted. Spock concentrated all his strength on that task, reviewing as he walked painfully to the exit all that he had learned from K'Leef. With the information he had gained, more than one civilization would be saved. Whatever had been required of him, certainly it had not been too much. As the door loomed mere meters away from him, Spock tried to convince himself he was right.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

"It was not your decision to make, Doctor!"

"Damn it, Jim. It was the only thing I could do!"

Kirk spun to glare at her and Christine rephrased her reply.

"In my medical opinion, Captain, you were incapacitated. I felt that trying to revive you at that time was counter-indicated." Christine pinched the bridge of her nose distractedly as she slumped against the wall. "I did try to wake you later, but I couldn't. To all indications you were simply asleep, but..." She gestured vaguely then let her hand fall. She looked up. "He's alive, Jim," she said. "I can feel it."

Kirk's expression eased into something less stern, but he continued to scrutinize her closely. Finally he nodded curtly and turned his attention once more to the forcefield. Sparks danced between his outstretched fingers as he tested the barrier. If Spock had been successful, as Christine indicated, he had done nothing yet to release them.

"I know how to get to K'Leef's office," said J'Mir coming up behind him. "All passages leading out of the city are controlled from there. If the opportunity arises, I can show you the way."

Jim turned. Seeing the obvious signs of distaste, J'Mir shrugged fractionally. "Payment could be arranged later," she said before resuming her place against the far wall.

"Jim!" Christine pointed toward the corridor. The telltale shimmer of a forcefield in operation was gone.

A guard appeared "You will follow me," he said.

No one moved.

"It is S'Halt's command," he explained. "He said if you were reluctant to accompany me, that I should tell you 'Even the stranger's face may hide a friend.'"

"Yes," said Kirk softly. The captain gestured toward the hall. "We'll follow."

* * *

Christine stifled an unprofessional gasp as she, Kirk, and J'Mir entered the room. Spock sat behind the large desk. It was obvious that he had not received any medical attention. Blood matted his hair and oozed from many small wounds. The gash on his chest was bright green and raw. Both Christine and Kirk sprang to his side. Kirk got there first.

"Spock..."

Spock waved off their concern with a quick flick of his hand. "There is little time. For now I command. Soon the shock of my victory will wear off." Spock reached into his desk and withdrew small record disk. He handed it to Kirk. "On here are the names of agents still working within the Romulan government, and their assignments. This is information which I gained from K'Leef. It is accurate and easily verifiable. No one will be able to dispute it. And there is something more." Spock looked up at Christine. "I also discovered how these people came to know of Romulus even before the War. We were correct in postulating a race of Vulcan forbears who had established an extensive network of colonies before their decay. K'Leef's father found fragmentary records to this effect on Vulcan. Romulus was on the list. There were others."

Christine frowned. "Athetis?"

Spock nodded slowly. "The proof we could not find before."

Spock suddenly clenched his teeth and bent forward.

Kirk's eyes flew to the doctor. "Christine!"

Christine had already eased Spock back in the chair and was probing his chest and abdomen gently for signs of distension. She shook her head as she met Kirk's gaze. "Internal injuries, I'm sure. But without proper equipment, I can't judge the extent."

Spock straightened carefully. "It is unimportant. I have arranged a supply of water for you. Also desert suits and boots. The passage will be difficult, and once you reach the spaceport, you will have to use extreme caution. Ktotar's word is true, but his son seeks to undermine him. I could not learn from K'Leef the extent to which Ktotar's son has been successful."

"We can't leave you!" protested Christine.

"You must. We have discussed this before. I will cover your escape. In any event, I would not survive the journey."

Once more Kirk's eyes sought Christine. She shook her head almost imperceptibly. "I don't know," she said quietly.

The captain turned his attention once more to Spock. "What about the device?"

Spock looked past Kirk and Chapel to J'Mir who had remained at the rear of the room. "I have destroyed it," he said.

"What!"

Spock ignored the captain's outburst as he spoke quietly into the intercom. He looked up. "S'Halt believed the destruction of the civilization on Alpha Pleiades was brought about by a revolt of those who did not have access to the devices. He understood the inscriptions on the chamber walls to be a history of a society in which those who were transferred considered themselves gods. I think he was mistaken. I believe they came to think of themselves not as gods but as slaves, forever shackled to what they had become, forever battling the contradictions and obligations of their multiple existence. I believe that they eventually destroyed themselves and their civilization in an attempt to see that the instruments were never used again. Am I correct, J'Mir?"

The Romulan woman squared her shoulders and walked slowly toward them.

"The writings are fragmentary," she said. "And references almost nonexistent. More than one interpretation is possible."

"But my interpretation is the most likely," persisted Spock. "And not the one that you told S'Halt."

J'Mir's eyes held Spock's without flinching. "I gave you life," she said, "and only after it was asked of me. I shielded you and put myself in danger for you. Without me you would be dead."

"Yes," he said softly. "I would be dead." Then he faced the captain. "Jim, for the first time we have a chance for real peace. If I had not destroyed the device it would always remain a wedge between the Romulans and the Federation. The lure would always be there -- immortality, power, the prospect of sole possession. And this over something that is not at all what you think it is. The destruction was meant to be complete. It now is."

Kirk considered what Spock had said. The captain's own emotions and experiences were too tightly wound up in the whole concept of identity transfer for him to form a dispassionate opinion;

Still, he couldn't help but feel that some workable arrangement could have been reached, that the discovery could have been put go constructive use. Perhaps it was an indication of just how much Spock had changed that the scientist would even consider such a destruction.

"I think you were wrong," he said. "I don t think you had the right to make that choice."

"And if not I, Jim, then who? One civilization was destroyed. Surely that is enough."

Kirk had no answer to give. Maybe Spock was right. And if he wasn't, there was no use arguing about a deed which already had been accomplished.

"One other person knows the truth," Spock said. "He will be leaving with you." Spock touched a button on the desk and the door opened. D'Gar walked in.

"Is everything ready?" Spock asked.

D'Gar nodded. "Yes. However, I will remain." Spock's face darkened. "It was agreed..."

"I agreed only that I if were convinced of what you said, I would not stay and fight you for my uncle's position."

Kirk stepped from behind the desk, interposing himself between Spock and D'Gar. "Spock, who is this?"

"D'Gar," Spock answered. "Also a friend. It was his ship, the Rao, that veered off without firing on the Enterprise. D'Gar put his own life in jeopardy to save mine. It was his brother who tried to kill me. K'Leef was his uncle."

D'Gar acknowledged Kirk with a short nod, then addressed Spock. "You underestimate the extent of influence Ktotar's son has," he said. "You will not stand a chance if you attempt to leave on one of Ktotar's ships." D'Gar turned to Kirk. "Captain, there is a cache of 'C' ships hidden in the mountains, to the east of the spaceport, in a steep ravine. The trip there is longer than to the spaceport, but you're more likely to succeed in getting one of those ships."

Kirk frowned. "How do you know these things? I'm afraid don't understand. What are you doing here in the first place?"

D'Gar raised one hand, fingers splayed in impatience. He dropped it in a fist by his side. "S'Halt's argument failed in the Council because he lacked proof of a phantom ship. I came to find that proof under protection of the House of Z'Itor. My arrival was anticipated and I was brought here. Please, Captain, night is approaching. You must make the crossing while you still can."

D'Gar strode past Kirk to the desk. "S'Halt," he said, leaning forward on the heels of his hands, "if you remain you will be forced to defend your position almost immediately. And you will not be able to. Your identity and everything you learned from K'Leef will be exposed. There is a better way. If you leave, leadership will fall to me by default. The chances of the information you carry reaching the outside will be greater and you will risk less."

Spock regarded the younger man carefully. "If you stay now, you may never leave. Do you realize that?" he said.

D'Gar straightened. "These are my people," he said. "With war avoided, there will be changes. To many those changes will be very difficult. They will need someone to lead them who has considered both ways before choosing peace."

"And you are certain you are that person?"

D'Gar smiled. "It has been foretold. An old man read the castings many years ago."

Kirk stepped forward. "Is what he's saying right, Spock? If he stays, will he be able to turn these people around?"

Spock considered, looking all the while at D'Gar. Finally he nodded. "Yes, Captain, I believe he can." Spock turned back to Kirk. "That still does not mean that I should leave with you. I would not be able to make the journey."

"Then we'll carry you," Christine said at his side.

Spock raised one brow and looked up at her. "Indeed. A very impractical solution, Doctor."

"One we plan to implement, though," Kirk said, taking a position on the other side of Spock. "Now, if necessary."

Spock looked from one to the other. "No," he said, rising slowly, but unaided, "that will not be necessary. However, I want to make this clear. If I should delay you, you will leave me behind."

Kirk took a deep breath as he reached for Spock's arm. "I think we all know what our priorities are," he said. "We've all worked too hard and given up too much to endanger this chance for peace. Whatever happens, we will get the information out."

"Very well. The passages are clear. If we act quickly, we will not be noticed."

Spock paused and spoke to D'Gar. "I told you once," he said, "that we are each only one person. Long ago another undertook a task very similar to yours. For the most part he was successful. I believe now his vision will finally be completed. You will accomplish that in your own way." Spock raised his hand in Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, D'Gar."

D'Gar nodded but did not attempt to return the salute. He watched as they walked toward the door, Kirk on one side, supporting Spock, Christine on the other, and J'Mir a few steps behind.

"One thing," aid D'Gar as they passed. They stopped. "With the information you present, I will be exonerated of the charge of cowardice. The officer who brought the charges will then be subject to the punishment I would have received. Please inform the review board that I wish to assume responsibility for L'Trol's sentence. She is to be set free with no marks against her record. Tell them also that I wish to speak to her personally."

"I will see that it is done," said Spock.

Then they left and D'Gar took the seat vacated by S'Halt.

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

The walls of Kes were only a small, white crescent on the northern horizon when Kirk reluctantly called a halt, and only then because he knew the rock outcropping afforded more protection than they were likely to find for a long time. It was vital that they reach the mountains before nightfall, before the desert awoke. Their thermal suits had kept them alive so far but not comfortably. He could feel sweat trickling down his side, sticking cloth to skin as it wound its way to his toes. His throat was dry and his lips parched. Kirk glanced quickly at J'Mir who sat next to the water rations in the shade of one of the rocks and then to Spock who rested, eyes closed, a few meters away. He tore his eyes away, forcing himself to resume his scrutiny of the southern horizon and the jagged mountains that D'Gar had said hid the ships. Christine walked up silently behind him.

"How much farther is it?" she asked.

Kirk squinted, looking out across the shimmering plain of sand. "We're about halfway there. A little more maybe."

"That's not good enough, is it?"

"We'll make it."

Christine pulled off her hood and shook out the tangle of damp hair. It dried almost instantly into a caked, hard, mass that only made her feel hotter. She tugged the hood back up and stood by silently as the captain continued his survey. Finally Kirk gave up his search and turned to her.

"How's he doing?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "He won't let me near him." After a minute she bent down and scooped up a handful of sand. The grains felt hot in her ungloved hand. She spread her fingers and watched the pulverized rock slip away. "Don't be fooled by his progress so far. I think he's operating on sheer will power." There was no calcium in this sand, she thought, watching the trickle form a mound at her feet. No oceans ever covered these wastes, no creatures ever deposited their shells here. Christine flung the last of the sand away. "Damn, this is all so stupid. Two weeks ago, who would have thought..." She shook her head again. "He really is different, you know."

Kirk nodded slowly "I know. McCoy tried to tell me. I didn't want to listen." Kirk's voice trailed off as he once more took up his scrutiny of the horizon. He couldn't quite think of McCoy as dead. He hadn't seen him die as Christine had. When they got back, that would be another task he'd have to perform -- a memorial service. Memorial services for his two best friends in less than two weeks. It was stupid. And an unconscionable waste. He forced his thoughts to another subject.

"There was something I've been meaning to ask you," he said. "When Spock went into my mind and broke the madness, I sensed someone else's presence. That was you, wasn't it?"

Christine stepped beside him and tried to follow the line of his sight. She located the spaceport by following the ascent of the silver disked freighters, but the mountains to the left looked flat, with no steep canyons to hide any renegade ships.

"Yes," she said after a minute. "But I was only a vehicle. I don't remember anything of what happened."

"Still, without you, I'd probably be dead now." He turned to face her. "Thank you."

Christine smiled. "You're welcome." Then she added, "You didn't ask me how it was possible."

"I think maybe it's none of my business."

Christine shook her head. "I'm not even sure what it is. A link, some kind of bond which was established on Athetis, then reborn on Alpha Pleiades." She gripped her forehead with one hand, pulling the skin tight. "Gods, even that's different. Even in my mind, he's different." She swayed, the heat and the events of the past hours and days catching up with her. Kirk grabbed her shoulders with both hands.

"Christine?"

She shook her head and attempted a smile. It refused to form. "I'm all right. Just tired."

"We have a few minutes. Sit in the shade till then."

"Only if you join me."

He smiled ruefully. "Agreed."

* * *

J'Mir got up and brushed sand from her suit. She looked south to where the mountains jabbed the sky. Both suns were beginning their descent behind the craggy outline. The Small One shall be great, and the Great One small. On Kriis, the Small One did indeed loom largest in the sky. But it didn't make any difference. J'Mir turned her back to the mountains in disgust. Her great plan had failed. She hadn't brought change, only death and suffering. She regretted that now. Christine had been right. She had protected S'Halt for no reason beyond not wanting to see him injured further.

Maybe they'd all been right, S'Halt and Spock also. Maybe the answer to a more just society lay in a moderate approach. The opportunity for change might never again be as great. Her approach had failed, but despite what she had told Christine, J'Mir was not willing to see her dream die. There was no way she could undo the pain she had caused, but perhaps she might be able to atone for it in part. If she worked with them, accepted her own limitations and their help, together they might still bring about a new order.

J'Mir smiled, pleased at her decision. She saw the captain and Christine walk toward the rocky shelter and went to join them. She accidentally bumped into the water containers. Two of the containers began to roll down the grade. As they did, the tops came loose. Water trickled slowly out, leaving a dark trail in the sand. J'Mir bounded after them, desperate to reach the containers before more of the precious liquid escaped. Her foot slipped in the sand and she fell.

* * *

Spock rested with his back against the rock, letting the heat reach into his body. Like Bakor's bath, he thought. The old man had been so sure that all ills could be cured by the correct application of heat and ash. Now Bakor was dead. Spock let the grief and anger he felt at his brother's death well up and subside within him. Then he probed with his mind, assessing his injuries. He was pleased to be once more capable of the task, that the functioning of his body was once more yielding to the control of his mind. But there was only so much he could do. He would not live to see the end of this journey.

A peace descended over him. His task was complete. He had gotten the information he had come to find. He knew that Jim would succeed in delivering it. All that remained was for him to convince them that he should be left behind -- not an easy task. That, and severing the link with Christine. He eased his shoulders back, savoring for just a while longer the special closeness that link afforded him. She was a fighter, irrationally stubborn as only a human could be. She had a passion for life that he marveled at and a deep honesty that he respected. Was that what humans called "love"? He wasn't sure. It seemed they often ascribed the term with far less provocation. Spock pulled in the threads of his consciousness one by one, gathering the strength he'd need for these last tasks. A muffled sound caught his attention. He decided to investigate before confronting Jim and Christine.

* * *

Kirk leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. It was going to be close. He didn't want to consider the possibility of leaving Spock, but they would have to make better time than they had if they wanted to reach the mountains before complete darkness fell.

"Cordova will have reached the starbase by now. What will he do, Jim?"

It took a second for the question to register.

The captain lowered his hands. "Probably coordinate efforts to rescue us. Ahmid's pretty persuasive. It would be interesting to see how he operates against a solid wall of Romulan diplomatic resistance."

"Do you think there is a chance of our being rescued?"

Kirk picked up several coarser pieces of sand and rubbed them between his fingers. "Well, I wouldn't discount anything, but as far as everyone's concerned, we could be anywhere. That ship was equipped with a cloaking device, and an ion trail is easy to disguise if you try. The Federation would accuse the Romulans of kidnapping us, but since they really didn't..." He tossed the sand away and got up. "We're going to have to get going. You get J'Mir. I want..."

"Jim!"

At the call both Kirk and Chapel spun around. They saw Spock disappear over the rise where J'Mir had been standing and ran toward him.

"Oh, my God." Kirk raced down the hill and grabbed J'Mir's other arm, helping Spock drag her up the slope. Things the color of sand and the length of a man's finger covered her legs. They grew fat on her blood, then fell off, sinking back into the sand. At the bottom of the incline were the two water containers J'Mir had gone to get. Mounds of the creatures swarmed over them, undulating like a single mass.

By the time they got J'Mir away from the colony, most of the morphants had fallen off. Those that didn't they crushed, leaving dark patches of green in the sand.

"Can you do anything for her?" asked Kirk as Christine worked over the softly moaning woman.

Somehow the creatures had dissolved the protective fabric of J'Mir's suit. Everywhere on her pants legs were holes, all perfectly round, about a half centimeter in diameter. Beneath the holes, J'Mir's flesh was mottled, slowly oozing blood from a hundred different wounds. Christine didn't dare remove the Romulan's suit to examine the puncture sites. J'Mir had already lost too much blood and would almost surely go into shock. She needed all the protection against the environment she could get. Christine pulled back J'Mir's eyelid, testing tor pupil contraction.

"She's lost a lot of blood. Liquids will help, but unless she receives an infusion of blood soon she will go into shock and die."

The captain looked toward the hills, toward the end of their journey and safety.

"How long?"

"Minutes perhaps. Maybe hours."

The captain turned toward the group again. "All right. We'll have to carry her."

Kirk stooped to pick up J'Mir. He was stopped by Spock's hand an his arm.

"Jim -- friend -- be reasonable. Surely your endurance must also be at an end. How do you expect to carry another person for almost twenty kilometers? You will never reach your destination."

Kirk straightened. Spock was right. There was only so much a body could take before it refused to take any more. And he was very near that limit.

"We just can't leave her to die out here by herself, to be sucked dry by those things. And we can't afford to wait with her for hours."

"She will not be alone. I will stay with her."

Spock saw Kirk tense. "We've been through this before, Spock. We're not leaving you."

Spock nodded. "Yes, we have been through it. It was only under those conditions that I left. You agreed to leave me if endangered your success. Had J'Mir not been injured, I would have insisted you leave me in any case. I cannot make it to the mountains."

"I said that we all understood our priorities. That the information we were carrying would get out safely. We'll still do that, together. Now let's go."

Christine moved between the two men. She faced the captain. "Jim, there are only two containers of water. You'll need one for yourself. J'Mir will need the other. The sooner you leave, the more likely you'll find someone alive here when you return."

Spock stepped forward. "I said that I would stay, not that you would. You will leave with Jim. Now."

Christine spun around. "I'm not asking for your consent! I can't leave J'Mir; surely you understand that. Besides, I won't be able to keep up with Jim either. With only one container of water between us, we'll both die or he'll have to leave me. If you and I stay here together, at least we stand a chance against the morphants. And we're the only hope J'Mir has of surviving until help arrives."

The captain stepped in front of her, demanding her attention.

"You may not need Spock's consent, but you do need mine. If one of you must stay--" The captain looked at Spock, "--logically, it should be Mr. Spock." He turned back to Christine. "You yourself said that there was little you could do for J'Mir other than to see she gets some water. Spock can do that. You're coming with me."

"And what will you do," Christine shot back, "put me on report when we're both dead? Jim, please. I won't be able to keep up with you, and I won't endanger your chance of escaping. I'll leave you the first chance get." Christine lowered her head into her hands. It wasn't a ploy. She was tired. So tired she could sleep for a week, forever, she thought morosely. Spock had said that she would be drained after being a bridge between him and Jim. It hadn't hit her until now. She looked up at Spock. She wouldn't tell the captain the source of her fatigue. But she would stay.

Spock returned her scrutiny. He nodded fractionally, then addressed Kirk. "I believe Dr. Chapel is correct. Our best chance of survival is for you to continue alone."

Kirk looked from one to the other. "How will you survive? I don't know what will happen after I reach the ships, or even if I will be able to return immediately. You may have to spend the night."

"Our suits will protect us against the worst of the cold," answered Spock. "We have our weapons against the morphants and water to share. We will be safest on the rocky ledges, away from the sand."

Kirk glanced at the rocky outcropping. It was hardly safe, as they were all well aware. So many things might happen. He might not even make it to the ships. The captain shook his head once, as if to clear the negative thoughts. Then he took a hand of each friend in his. There was nothing appropriate that he could say, so he said nothing. He pressed their hands in his, then started for the mountains.

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Jim Kirk forced one foot up and then the other, making them beat out a straight path to the mountains ahead. It was almost totally dark now, and the face of the ridge appeared nearly without definition, but before it had receded into flatness, Kirk had seen D'Gar's ravine. It wasn't far now, he kept telling himself.

One foot and then the other. God, he was tired. And thirsty. At least now he was no longer hot. Now he was very cold. The bands of his suit cut into his wrists and ankles. Where the sand had gotten underneath, his skin was rubbed raw. Several times he thought he had seen the sand buckle, but no morphants had broken the surface. Maybe he would be lucky. He figured he deserved a few breaks.

A sudden gust sent a whirlwind of sand twisting around his feet and up into his face. "Damn!" Kirk scrubbed at his eyes as the finer grains worked their way up his nostrils. He didn't see the rock shelf jutting out of the ground. When he fell it was with a sharp smack.

Kirk rolled upright and sat nursing his head while trying to catch his breath. Of all the half-assed things... It wasn't until he tried to stand that he felt the sting of scraped skin or noticed the fine rivers of red that seeped from his leg into the sand. By then it was too late.

The earth pitched and heaved around him. Kirk sprang to his feet. Several morphants had already attached themselves at the site of the wound. He brushed them off with the back of his hand and blasted the surrounding sand. More creatures came, cannibalizing those that were dead and injured. Some crawled up his leg. He got two, but pricks of sharp pain told him that others had stung. With the heel of his other boot, he ripped them away. Morphants, already swollen to three times their normal size, splattered to the ground and burst open. Where they had dug into his flesh, the skin was red and bleeding. Already numbness was beginning to spread down into his toes and up his leg.

Kirk fired an arc of destruction into the sand. The weapon was odd, and too large for his hand. Spock had given it to him from the supplies at Kes, explaining that it killed by disruption in a manner similar to Klingon weapons. He would have preferred a phaser, which disintegrated its victims as it killed.

When it appeared that he had eradicated most of the creatures, Kirk pulled away, dragging his deadened leg as he ran. He was several meters from the rock ledge when he finally stopped. He ripped one of his sleeves into bandages and wrapped the injured leg, pulling the material tight to make sure no blood escaped. Then he started again for the mountains.

As he ran and fell doggedly forward, Kirk kept his exposed arm close, trying to keep in as much heat as possible. It was ironic, he thought. During the day, the desert was so hot that it could kill you and at night the opposite could do the same. He couldn't feel his arm or leg. Sometimes he wondered whether or not they were really there at all, or whether everything that was happening might not be just part of the same nightmare.

Then he saw them, just as D'Gar had described, squat, black bugs, stuck to the sides of the canyon. To Kirk they were beautiful. A flurry of lights indicated that the ships were not unguarded. The captain crouched low, assessing the situation, trying to determine the best plan of attack.

CHAPTER SIXTY

"Spock!" Christine called over her shoulder as she knelt beside J'Mir in the shelter of the rock. The Romulan feebly brushed aside the water container.

"Do not waste your water on me," she said weakly.

Christine carefully lowered the flask. J'Mir had hovered at the brink of coma since Kirk had left. Christine had made her take some liquid when she was lucid, letting the water trickle slowly down her throat. This was the first time J'Mir had resisted, or seemed aware at all of her surroundings.

Spock knelt down silently beside the two women. J'Mir looked up at him, searching his face. It was dark now. In the thin atmosphere the stars shone with particular brightness, but Kriis had no moon and they had no artificial light. J'Mir seemed to see what she wanted anyway. She smiled.

"S'Halt lives through you," she said. "I am not sorry I agreed to the transfer."

"Nor am I," Spock said.

Christine glanced quickly at him, surprised by the quiet acceptance in his voice. Then she turned back to J'Mir who had begun to shiver uncontrollably. The only protection they had against the cold, other than their suits, came from rocks they warmed with their weapons. But each time they expended energy that way, they reduced their ammunition against the morphants. Christine took careful aim at the near ledge, heating it to glowing red.

J'Mir lay still in the warm incandescence of the rock, her face appeared soft and peaceful. Christine slipped her arm under J'Mir's head, lifting it once more toward the flask. "You must drink as much as you can," Dr. Chapel said.

J'Mir turned her head aside. "I want nothing, except to sleep."

"That's the venom," Christine said. "Captain Kirk has gone for help. We'll all be rescued soon."

J'Mir laughed, a small muffled sound. "They will not find me alive." Her eyes sought out Spock who came closer. "S'Halt would be pleased that his struggle for peace continues through you."

"It is a cause that is important to me also."

J'Mir reached her fingers to Spock's face, then let her hand fall again. "Yes, but without me you will not succeed as S'Halt. You do not know who his friends are -- or his enemies. You don't know who he is, how he holds the harp or wields the palister. And you don't know the secret ways of Romulans. Without that knowledge, you cannot succeed."

"I will continue as long as I can, or I will leave Romulus and create a new life."

"And all S'Halt worked for will leave with you. No. I cannot tell you what to do with your life, but I can give you the means to live as S'Halt, if you choose to. No one knew S'Halt better than I. And no one knows more about Romulan culture. That knowledge is yours; take it."

Spock shook his head slowly. "I might kill you."

"I am dead already."

Spock hesitated. "Why would you want to aid me now?"

"After I have betrayed you? Perhaps I wish to die nobly. Or maybe I have really seen the error of my ways. What does it matter? I offer you something freely. Do not consider too long. It is not my nature to be generous."

Christine put aside the water flask and felt at the base of J'Mir's skull for a pulse. With even the most rudimentary medical facilities, J'Mir's condition could be stabilized within minutes. Here, there was nothing they could do for her. Christine turned to Spock and shook her head.

Spock acknowledged Christine's pronouncement with a slight nod, then addressed J'Mir. "I accept your offer. S'Halt's dream of peace will not die." He glanced at Christine who lowered J'Mir's head and stepped back.

The meld lasted many minutes. Christine watched the two figures intently, looking for signs of distress from either. J'Mir was clearly at the brink of death, but Spock also was not well. She knew this was important to him, but she wouldn't let it take his life also. Christine shivered, as much from the aloneness as from the cold. She wondered what information J'Mir could give Spock. After knowing someone for ten years, how do you describe him to someone else? If their positions were reversed, how would she describe Spock?

J'Mir's death hit Christine like the impact of an unexpected fall. There had been no change in Spock's or J'Mir's position, except now, as Spock slowly removed his hands. Christine took several deep breaths to regain her balance, then walked toward them. She stopped before she got there, as she saw Spock touch his moistened fingertips to J'Mir's eyelids and blow across them.

He looked up, but didn't rise. "You felt J'Mir die." It was a statement, but Christine answered it anyway.

"Yes. I'm all right. I just didn't expect it."

Spock nodded, but didn't say anything. He looked back at J'Mir.

Christine watched him a moment, considering. I grieve with thee. The formal Vulcan statement of condolence. She wasn't sure if Spock grieved or not. She certainly didn't know whether she did. In the abstract, she mourned the passing of any life, and what J'Mir had just done was certainly a sacrifice. But Christine remembered the way Leonard had looked when he was hit with the neurarc charge, and the terror she had seen in Jim's eyes. She paused a bit longer, then touched Spock gently on the arm and retreated to where she had been standing.

* * *

Christine sat in the center of the rock ledge, her knees pulled close to her body. They had brushed the ledge clean of sand for several meters in each direction. If the morphants approached, it would have to be across that cleared area.

After the meld, Spock had seemed at the point of collapse, and she had insisted that he rest. When he didn't resist, Christine knew she had been right about his physical condition. Now she kept watch alone. Christine looked over at his sleeping form. With what he had learned from J'Mir, she supposed that now he really was S'Halt. And how did she feel about that? Glad for him, she finally decided. Now he had a direction to take if he chose it. She wished him peace in his new life. And for herself? She had a lot to go back to, a career, friends. Suddenly those things were very important to her.

Christine looked up at the stars, rolling her head back and forth against her shoulders to relieve the stiffness. She didn't dare relax.

The familiar constellations stood out like beacons in the alien sky. The Pleiades were visible in Taurus, just as they were from Earth, but from here only five of the sisters could be seen. They were spread almost equidistant from each other and, with a little imagination, it could almost be said that they formed a star. Christine turned away suddenly. She knew where her thoughts were leading her and she didn't like it. The l'timar flower -- the five petaled blossom so highly regarded on Vulcan because of its ability to change as it grew. They were wrong; there was no intrinsic beauty in change. She had seen it rob and destroy. When she got back to the Enterprise, she was going to steep herself in routine. She was going to get up the same time every day, eat, sleep, work, all in a comfortable, predictable rhythm. She was going to make it out of here, out of this waste that sucked blood and dreams. And when she did, she'd...

Movement, like a wave of sand coming toward her, made her crouch, instinctively taking a defensive stance. She held her weapon out with both hands, pointing it at the encroaching menace. When the sand began to roll from two more directions, she swung her arms in an arc, covering all three assaults.

"Spock!"

The sand came faster now, rearing like a bucking animal. She didn't wait for Spock. She blasted. Once. Twice. She kept the trigger depressed, and bolts of energy pulsed out in an almost steady stream. The sand kept advancing. It was an avalanche ready to break over them. She held her gun straight up and fired. Blood rained down on her. She was covered with it, sticky and smelling sweet. Her hands slipped, but she kept firing.

"Christine!"

She didn't hear him. All she heard was the patter of blood rain filling her ears.

"Christine! Stop!"

Spock came up behind her and grabbed her arms. She wrestled with him.

"There is nothing out there, Christine!"

"There's a whole..." Christine stared out at the desert. It was flat and still as the sky. "Oh, gods." Her hands went limp. Spock caught the gun before it reached rock. Christine sank to her knees. "I swear they were there, a whole colony of morphants crashing over us." She looked up at Spock. "How did it happen?"

Spock sat down beside her on the cleared stone. "You have been through a great deal lately for which you were not prepared or trained. The psychic stress has taken its toll."

Christine shook her head slowly. It felt like a great weight. "I've never had psychic abilities before. I don't understand how any of this is possible -- the link with you, getting through to Jim, feeling J'Mir's death -- any of it."

"You are mistaken in the assessment of your abilities. It is simply that until now they were not obvious. Leonard once remarked that he found you very intuitive. In many ways intuition and telepathy are similar."

"I don't know." Christine shifted to one side, leaning on her right hand and pulling her legs under her. "It just seems..." She shook her head, letting the thought die. "I'm sorry," she said finally.

"For what?"

"For going off the deep end. For waking you, I guess."

"You have done neither."

Christine looked over at him. The stars gave an extraordinary amount of light, but still it was very dark. It was hard to make out his features, but she was a doctor; she was trained to pick up indications of health from voice and body movement.

"You're better."

"I am, at least, no worse. That is an accomplishment."

"It certainly is. You were bleeding internally. I would have sworn to that." She paused. "Is your improvement connected with what you learned from J'Mir?"

Spock shook his head. "I think not. Most probably the period of integration after the transfer lasts longer than we thought. I have regained a certain degree of control over my autonomic functions."

For a while Christine said nothing. Then she smiled. The smile cascaded into a laugh. She shut her eyes tight and swept her head back and forth.

"You find that amusing?"

"I find it ironic." The laughter slipped into something very close to tears. "Jim's carrying information that will prevent a war, and he'll probably never live to deliver it. You're alive when you shouldn't be, but if Jim doesn't make it, we'll die anyway. I can't begin to understand the horror you've been going through, and now, just when it seems you might be coming to some internal understanding, it doesn't matter any longer. It just doesn't..." She shook her head again, quick, little shrugs of negation. Her tears flowed freely. Christine swiped at her eyes angrily. "Gods, this is stupid."

Spock moved as close to her as he dared. "Christine, I can help. Let me."

"No. Please."

"Very well." Spock resumed his original position, remaining close, but being careful not to touch her. "You should know, however, that I believe Captain Kirk will deliver the information and that we will be rescued."

Christine drew her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. It was getting colder, and the rocks seemed to be drawing heat from her body straight through the suit. "I think I believe that also. Logically, intellectually. I suppose if I'm going to remain sane I'm going to have to believe it."

Spock decided to pursue this positive turn. There was something he wanted to discuss with her. "After the Federation is made aware of the true history of Athetis, they will undoubtedly grant the planet protected status. Social and technical teams will be sent to draw up programs to help the Athetians. Romulus will most probably also send a representative."

"I guess you're right. At least that's one good thing that's come out of this." She looked over to him, suddenly understanding. "You plan to go there, don't you? As the Romulan coordinator."

Spock nodded. "It would be the ideal situation to prove the value of a Romulan/Federation alliance. The Romulans will be particularly interested in tracing their ancestral roots."

"Will you be able to do it? S'Halt was an archaeologist. Even with what you've gained from J'Mir, you don't have his years of training."

"An extensive knowledge of archaeology will not be necessary. S'Halt holds a position of power within the Romulan government. I now know how to use that power to take what we learn on Athetis and forge a lasting band between the Federation, Vulcan in particular, and Romulus. Any slip or failure on my part can easily be attributed to my recent series of illness and injuries."

Christine smiled, genuinely. "And there have been those. I do believe you'll pull it off."

"Indeed," said Spock with the inflection that was accompanied by the wry raising of one brow.

"As long as you watch that."

A softening of his features, which in the starlight might have been a smile, came and went. "Come with me, Christine," he said. "The Federation will also nominate a director. There is no one more qualified than you. And I would like you with me."

She stared at him a long time. Then she stared out across the desert and shivered. "I can't. I can't stand any more change in my life right now. I need order and familiar things."

"I understand." The answer was soft, not angry at all.

Christine turned to him. "You're not reminding me that I promised never to run from you again."

"That pledge was made to someone else."

"Yes," Christine said quietly. "It was."

The night wore on and grew colder. Once a line of morphants dared the barren rock. Spock eliminated them with his weapon and heated a circle of rock around them to discourage any further attacks. Christine slept fitfully. Spock was tempted to ease her mind while she slept, or simply hold her close against the night. He did neither. He watched and waited in the cold, alone.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

From the noise and the smell, it seemed the party had been going on a long time.

Two men, holding long poles, staggered in the center of the ring, each trying to down the other while keeping his own balance. About the circle, observers hurled epithets and coins at the contestants while bottles of foul smelling liquid were passed around. Guards were posted by the six ships, but their attention was focused on the game.

Kirk crouched in the shadows, watching the celebrants. His whole body was numb now and the radiant heaters from the ramp made him even more drowsy. He bit down hard on his lip until he tasted blood, trying to clear his mind.

The ship at the end of the ravine was least guarded, but also most difficult to reach. He decided to try for the closest one. He could cause a diversion, then slip in during the confusion. It was an old trick, one that had worked many times before.

Kirk picked up a large rock and flung it at the back of one of the guards. The man turned around ponderously and snarled something at his neighbor who proceeded to respond in kind. Soon the rest of the camp was circling the fighters, taking bets. Kirk began shooting out lights and heaters. Bodies started stumbling into the night, several of them in his direction. He darted to the other side, away from his pursuers and toward the ship.

He had almost made it to the hatch when he was spotted. Bolts of energy whizzed past his head. One slammed into his arm, driving pain through his fingers and shoulder. Kirk clenched back a scream and pulled the injured limb close to his body. Ten more steps and he had the hatch secured behind him.

Once inside, Kirk quickly scanned the cabin. On the way back to the space station, he had studied the tricorder readings of the captured 'C' ship. With only minor differences, this ship appeared to be an exact duplicate. He lurched into the command chair and pushed the correct sequence of buttons to initiate thrust. Chemical fuel ignited, propelling the craft up and out.

No ships followed him. Kirk wasn't sure if he had damaged the remaining ships when he took off, or whether their pilots were simply too drunk to follow. Or whether an ambush still awaited him.

The captain shook his head. He couldn't even see straight any longer. The only thing keeping him awake was the fire that was consuming his right arm. He reached for the scanners. First he'd have to locate Spock, Christine and J'Mir. The instruments in front of him wavered, split and reluctantly came together again. Would he even be able to land the strange ship? Or would he drive it nose first into the ground?

He couldn't leave them alone in the desert, but dead he would be no good to them and everything they'd worked for would be wasted. Kirk knew that he wouldn't make it back to Federation space, but could he go to Romulus either? He had no idea what the political/military situation was like between the Federation and the Romulans. They had been at the brink of war when he was kidnapped. Spock had said he had lost the vote in the council. What would the Romulans do to him, a Starfleet officer and possible spy?

His choices narrowed dramatically with the appearance of an imperial warship on his starboard bow.

Words that were unmistakable in any language for anything but orders spewed from the comm set. Unfortunately, his command of Romulan was not up to the speed at which they were issued. Kirk tried to reply, using what little he knew of the language. Then in frustration, he resorted to Standard. The words stopped and Kirk resigned himself to whatever fate awaited Romulans who didn't do what they were told. The words started again. Hearing them and the voice, Jim literally jumped to his feet, forgetting the pain in his arm and his weariness.

"Captain Kirk, is that you?"

Jim laughed "Yes, by God, Hernandez, it's me."

CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

Kirk had been cleaned, dosed, and mended before Hernandez was allowed to see him. The ambassador now stood at his bedside, hands behind his back, looking very diplomatic. Kirk found the stance amusing, but his usual annoyance with Hernandez was gone.

"They've located lifeforms in the desert," Hernandez said. "One human female and one Romulan male and in pretty good shape. There's also a reading for a body."

Kirk nodded slowly. "J'Mir. She was injured before I left. Dr. Chapel didn't think she had long to live."

"And the other Romulan is S'Halt?"

"Yes."

Kirk sank deeper into the pillows. Spock and Christine were alive, and that was more than he had dared hope for. But J'Mir was dead and for that he felt an odd regret. Despite everything she had done, if it had not been for her, Spock would still be locked in his destroyed body. The captain could not help but feel that under a different set of circumstances, J'Mir might not have felt driven to such drastic actions to retrieve the transfer rod.

He turned to face Hernandez. "Saying I was surprised to hear your voice over the comm unit would be quite an understatement. How did you manage to be on this ship?"

Hernandez took a deep breath. Kirk could see the small changes in facial expression and body stance, the subtle shifts that indicated the career diplomat was settling in for the enjoyable task of telling a long story.

"I stumbled onto the fact of your kidnapping shortly after it occurred," Hernandez began. "Dr. McCoy and the guard were lying on the floor of the infirmary, apparently dead. I revived the doctor's heart, then..."

"McCoy's alive?"

"Yes. Didn't...? No, I suppose you couldn't. The doctor was placed on full life support while the neural pathways of his autonomic system regenerated. It was touch and go for a while. He'd been wounded badly, and there was more damage because I didn't reach him right away. He was in a coma until only a few hours ago, but I understand there won't be any permanent ill effects.

"By that time Cordova had arrived and we reviewed what we knew, which included your claim of a phantom ship and the evidence we had of the 'C' ship. I tried to contact the Romulans to present our case. They refused to even acknowledge our messages."

"Then how did you get here?"

Hernandez pulled back his shoulders and looked decidedly uncomfortable. "I commandeered a shuttle, took your tricorder tapes of the ship and headed for Romulan space."

Kirk smiled in spite of himself. He could get to like the man. "You took an awfully big chance. You were lucky you weren't blasted out of space."

"Yes, I know. At the time, it seemed the only way I could get through to them."

"And when you presented the evidence the Romulans believed you?"

"No, not right away. They still claimed it might be a Federation trick -- forged tapes, that sort of thing -- although I think they believed me more than they let on. S'Halt had just finished presenting almost the same argument, and suddenly he wasn't around anymore. Cordova and I hoped that when McCoy revived he would be able to give us some information. I still believed that you had asked for Cordova because you had something to tell him that you didn't trust with the rest of us. We thought McCoy might know what it was."

Hernandez fell silent, waiting for Kirk to pick up the conversation. When he didn't, the ambassador continued.

"Word came from Cordova a few hours ago that the Romulan pilot was really a Vulcan. I confronted the Romulans and they agreed to question the councilman responsible for the operation of Kriis, since it was from there that S'Halt had said subversive activities were being led. He confessed to certain irregularities but nothing more. We were on our way there when we spotted your ship."

"It was a critical situation. The Romulans were at the end of their patience. If we didn't find any evidence of Vulcans, there was going to be war. No question about it. All the way here I worried how I was going to prove their existence, even if they were on Kriis."

"You have that evidence now," Kirk said. "It's all contained in the disk I gave you."

Hernandez nodded. "It would seem that everything is in order now. All except one thing, Captain." He paused to fix Kirk with a penetrating stare. "Dr. McCoy knew about the Vulcan from his medical log and the discrepancies that made him question his patient's race. That was a nice piece of deductive reasoning, and important for the final outcome of our mystery. That, however, is not what you called Cordova for. McCoy didn't know about the Vulcan until after you arrived on Starbase Sixteen. You called Cordova while you were still on the Enterprise. I still want to know, Captain Kirk, what it is that you intended to tell the commodore."

Kirk rolled his head against the pillow, trying to rub out the knots in his neck. "What I wanted or didn't want to tell Cordova is no longer important. We have what we want -- peace instead of war." He looked at Hernandez. "Can you accept that?"

The ambassador drew a deep breath and shook his head. "I don't..."

The door of the infirmary room swung open and Christine strode in. She was still wearing her desert suit, hood flung hack to reveal a mass of tangled hair. She saw the ambassador, paused to nod a greeting, then continued to Kirk.

"I'm afraid Romulan surgeons are not used to dealing with women on a professional level," she said. "But I finally convinced this one I was a doctor and got to see your scans." She smiled. "With a little rest, you're going to be fine."

Kirk moaned dramatically. "You'll never get me to believe it. After all that poking and prodding..." He shook his head. "I don't know who's worse -- that Romulan out there or Bones."

Christine looked at him with concern and confusion. She knew he felt Leonard's death deeply. "Jim..."

Kirk smiled. "He's alive, Christine. McCoy's alive."

"What?!" She followed his gaze to Hernandez.

"The ambassador got to him right after we were kidnapped. Saved his life."

"Oh, gods." Christine pressed her eyes tight. Tears of joy slid down her cheek. Kirk touched her arm gently. She opened her eyes and turned to him.

"I'm glad you're safe. How's S'Halt?"

"He'll be fine also. He's better than when you left." She took his hand "I'll explain later." She looked at Hernandez. "Thank you, for everything. I understand you're the reason we were rescued, and that you kept the Romulans from going to war."

The ambassador inclined his head. "It is what I was trained to do. This time I think I was also very lucky."

Christine smiled. "I think we all were." She raked her fingers through her hair. They came away gritty with sand.

"Go on," said Kirk. "Get out of here. Your report can wait till after you've rested."

Christine nodded wearily. Now she could sleep, long and peacefully. "Yes, Captain."

After she'd left, Kirk returned his attention to Hernandez. There was still the matter of their interrupted conversation.

Neither said anything, each waiting for the other to continue. The ambassador finally nodded slowly. "All right, Captain," he said. "I'll accept your answer. For now."

CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

Peace delegates were exchanged, diplomatic documents drawn up and signed. Negotiations that had dragged on for years were settled in a matter of days. Captain Kirk had remained on Romulus as an observer and occasional behind the scenes facilitator. Now it was time to leave.

In the short time he had been there, Fator-a-Kira had come to feel like home to Kirk. Spock had seen to it that his friend had wanted for nothing. They had spent a lot of time together reviewing the progress of the negotiations and formulating future Romulan/Federation cooperative ventures. They had, however, not broached the subject of this final parting.

Kirk stopped halfway into the room. Spock was stretched out on a lounge under a bank of violet lights. The captain laughed softly, then walked forward.

"I know those lamps are therapeutic," he said gesturing with one arm, "but you look for all the world like a Terran on vacation."

"Really, Captain," answered Spock in the old manner. "I see no reason for you to insult me." He pulled his dignity and his robe around him and smoothly sat up. The lamps faded into blankness.

Kirk took the offered chair and was silent. "S'Halt," he said after a minute -- softly, almost to himself, his eyes on Spock. "I don't think I'll ever get used to it."

"Between us it will always be Spock, I have told you that."

"Yes." Again silence. "You're sure then? Cordova knows. McCoy told him."

"Yes. I've spoken with the commodore. It was his decision not to tell Hernandez. He agrees that I will accomplish the most by remaining where I am."

"But what if you're discovered?"

"Discovered as what, my friend? Eventually the whole truth may be told. But there's no need now. I am S'Halt. I plan to devote most of my efforts to investigating the roots of common Romulan/Vulcan ancestry. K'Leef's records will prove invaluable in that research. What is uncovered, I believe, will cement the bond between Vulcans and Romulans."

"That will involve working with Vulcans," Kirk said. "Do you think you'll be comfortable doing that? Your father is still ambassador. It's very likely you'll meet. What will you do then?"

"If Sarek and I meet, it is possible, even likely, that he will sense the truth. But he will keep his counsel, because he will respect my choice."

"And your mother? She believes you're dead."

Spock got up and walked to the window. "Jim," he said as he watched the tmbrea swoop and soar on rising columns of air, "there are no simple answers. Whatever I do is likely to hurt someone. I must choose what I believe is the least destructive path."

"I know." Kirk joined him at the window. "I just want to make sure that you've considered all the implications of your choice." He shrugged. "I guess that's pretty patronizing. How would I know the implications?"

Spock turned to the captain. "You more than anyone would know, Jim. There will be many times when I will seek your advice. Your friendship will always be precious to me."

"As yours will be to me." Kirk laid his hand lightly on Spock's arm. Then, before the mood became unbearable, he nodded toward the expansive view. "You know, I never thought that Romulus would be so beautiful. Or so boisterous. I came through the city this morning, and the place was in an uproar."

"High Daem." Spock looked out across the valley. Far below in the thick forest lived the firebird that legend claimed never died but was instead reincarnated as the ever shifting wind. It was to this spirit that Spock had released J'Mir's soul, as was her desire. Even in this she had defied tradition, discarding the spirit S'Halt had given her at her Naming. "Tonight," he said, "the Small One will light the night. There will be celebrations and games throughout Romulus. It has been known in the past as the Time of Chaos. Many feel it is rather the Time of Change. Appropriate is it not? Truly, the time of change."

Kirk glanced over his shoulder at the sky. During his stay the periods of darkness had gotten increasingly shorter. He wished that he could stay for the celebration. "Yes, the Time of Change. And Light." He resumed his seat opposite Spock who also sat down. "I understand that Kriis has been deeded to you and that you have granted it independence."

Spock nodded. "Ktotar knew nothing of his son's activities. Still, he surrendered the colony to the Council and it was given to me. My releasing it to its own rule has set a precedent, one which I believe will be shortly followed by other councilmen. The actual workings of how these former colonies will be integrated into the Romulan Empire have yet to be established. In the interim, D'Gar has been granted observer status in the Council. He will play an integral role in formulating a new constitution."

Kirk smiled. "The Surak of Romulus?"

"No. D'Gar will never be anyone but himself. L'Trol has joined him. Together they will be a formidable team."

Kirk nodded but didn't say anything. There was something else they had avoided speaking of. But if he didn't say it now, there might not be another chance. He wanted to make sure that Spock understood. He leaned forward and began. "The Federation has formally recognized Athetis as having had prior contact with more advanced civilizations. The door is now wide open to begin detailed studies as to how best to help the people. The post of coordinator was offered to Christine and she refused. I'd already given my permission for her to take a leave from her post."

Spock looked away. "Yes, I know. We discussed the possibility of returning together. Christine felt the need to resume her duties with as little disruption in routine as possible."

"But that..." Kirk shook his head "I'm sorry. That makes no sense to me."

"It makes a great deal of sense, Jim. I would not force her, even if I could." He fell silent, considering. "There is one thing you can do for me. Perhaps for both of us."

Kirk waved vaguely with one hand. "Whatever I can do."

Spock nodded. "In my cabin aboard the Enterprise." He frowned. "Are my personal effects still intact?"

"They've been crated, but haven't been sent to Vulcan yet."

Spock nodded again. "Among them you will find a small blue box. I had meant to give it to Christine but never found the opportunity."

"And you'd like me to give it to her now?"

"Yes. I believe she will understand the significance."

'I'll see that she gets it."

Kirk looked at his wrist. The Enterprise was due to leave in a few hours, and he had to get back. "One thing I thought you'd like to know before I leave. I was able to push through that field commission for Shinitsu. Her promotion to lieutenant-commander came through yesterday."

"I am pleased. Does that then mean she will retain her assignment as my replacement as science officer?"

"Temporarily at least. She's still pretty inexperienced."

"And you will see to it that her 'temporary' assignment lasts until she has sufficient experience?"

Kirk smiled. "She's very good at her post. You should be proud of yourself for being such a good teacher." He got up. "I don't expect this to be the last I see of you, Spock."

"It shall not be." Spock stepped forward and grasped Kirk's forearm in the Romulan manner of greeting and parting among peers.

Kirk returned the grasp, then extended it to include a human handshake. "Peace and long life, Spock."

"May you live long and prosper, Jim."

CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

Dr. McCoy muttered under his breath as he left the hydroponics lab.

"Trouble, Bones?"

The doctor stopped short. He had just avoided running full speed into the captain. He shook his head and glared at the closed lab doors.

"Do you realize you have an extortionist on your staff, Captain? Do you have any idea what Peterson wants for those pulpy, little..."

Kirk followed the doctor's irritated gaze. "What?"

McCoy looked back and waved his hand. "Never mind. What have you got there!" He pointed with his chin to the package Kirk was carrying.

The captain lifted the box. "It's for Christine," he said softly.

"From...?"

"Yes, he had it in his cabin all along. Asked me to give it to her."

McCoy considered the present. There was nothing remarkable about the container, a simple blue square edged in darker blue. Something dignified and refined. Just what a Vulcan would give his lady love. "Well, I'm on my way to see her now. Promised Christine dinner when all of this was over. I guess it's over. You might as well come with me."

As they rounded the hall to Christine's cabin, they saw her step out.

"Jim. Leonard," she greeted. She turned to the doctor. "I wasn't sure whether or not I was supposed to meet you."

"Sorry. I know I'm late. Ran into the captain here on my way over."

Christine saw the box Kirk was carrying. She looked at him questioningly.

"May we step inside, Christine?"

Christine nodded and stood aside for Kirk and McCoy to enter.

"I've just left Spock," Kirk said after they were all in the room.

Christine moved away from the two men to a bookshelf where she absently picked up and replaced a fancifully carved figurine. By her choice she hadn't seen Spock since he'd returned to Romulus and she to the Enterprise. She turned around.

"How is he?"

The captain shrugged casually and walked toward her. "Fine. Almost completely recovered." He stopped a few steps from her. "Spock is leaving for Athetis tomorrow. The Federation is going to be sending someone also. Hernandez says they're still holding the post open for you, but after tomorrow they'll have to offer it to someone else."

Christine looked away. In the past weeks she'd thought often about that night in the desert and her conversation with Spock. At times she was almost tempted to accept the Federation's nomination. But in the end she had always come to the same conclusion: it was better this way. Spock deserved a chance to make his own life, unencumbered by the past, and she needed time and a secure place in which to heal. Someone else would have to take her place on Athetis. She shook her head slowly, "I can't."

Kirk nodded reluctantly, then handed Christine the box. "At least take this. I promised Spock that I'd make sure you got it. He said he wanted to give it to you before, but..."

Christine pressed her lips into a tight smile. "Thank you."

She held the box gently in one hand, then carefully opened it up. McCoy came toward them so that he could also see.

Resting on a blue cushion was the pendant Spock had worn on Athetis. A five pointed flower had been intricately etched into the blue quartz. Christine took the translucent stone out of the box and held it to the light. As the pendant moved, the design on the petals seemed to change.

"It's beautiful," Kirk said.

McCoy reached out and cupped his hand behind the blue crystal. Even with the light cut off from behind, the design seemed to dance and move. "What is it?" he asked almost reverently.

"The l'timar flower," Christine answered quietly, watching the play of color and light, remembering the last time she had watched the display.

The person she had gone to Athetis with no longer existed. But neither, she realized now, did the person she knew then as Christine. Months of living on a world the contact team had chosen to dub "Blauesvelt" and that she would always remember as hell, had reshaped what she now understood was the very pliable fabric of her mind and soul. And not only hers. Spock had also been changed by his experiences on that world as surely as he had been changed by the transfer.

She had craved security, but nothing was ever sure. She could not run from change; she was foolish to think she could. It was the essence of life. In great or small ways it would always be with her.

Christine lowered the pendant. Ki'iva: So it has been; so it must be. How she had decried Athetian fatalism. And how close she had come to succumbing to it herself. There had been nothing they could do for the Athetians then. There was now.

"On Vulcan," she said finally, after what must have seemed an interminable pause, "the l'timar is viewed as a symbol of change. I remember Spock telling me that it grows best under the harshest conditions. That is one reason it is so highly valued." She looked at the captain. "And you're right, Jim. It is beautiful." She put the pendant carefully away and set the box on the shelf, then straightened.

"Captain," she said. "I'd like to submit a request for leave, if you're still willing to consider it."

Kirk grinned. "I would most certainly be willing, Doctor."

"Thank you." She cast around the room, seeing all the things that would have to be done before she could leave. The Enterprise was due to break orbit in a few hours.

Kirk realized her concern. "Don't worry. We'll get you out of here in time."

Christine smiled, then became serious. "Leonard, I'm sorry. I know all the trouble you've gone through for tonight."

McCoy bowed deeply. "Think nothing of it, madame. I still lay claim to the pleasure of your company -- when all of this is over."

"What makes you think I'll wait that long, Doctor?"

Christine held out her hands as she walked toward him, but before she got there her pretense of a sedate farewell evaporated. She buried her head in his chest and wrapped her arms around him. McCoy returned the embrace with equal fervor. Then they stepped apart, McCoy swiped at his eyes as he edged to the door.

"Take good care of him, that stubborn Vulcan. Or Romulan." McCoy threw up his hands in mock despair. "Or whatever he is."

"I will."

McCoy nodded to Kirk. "Jim, I have to go. See that my best assistant gets properly taken care of." The doctor wagged his finger in their direction. "And see to it that her replacement is at least half as good."

Kirk cocked his head in amusement. "Orders, Doctor? I wasn't aware that I'd been relieved."

McCoy opened his mouth to reply, thought better of it and instead barreled out into the hallway, the cabin door closing behind him.

"Doctor!"

McCoy disengaged himself from the communications officer.

"Sorry, Uhura. This seems to be my day for running into people."

Uhura groaned appropriately at the pun, then gestured to the door. "Is Chris all right? I'm worried about her."

McCoy smiled. "Chris is fine. At least I think she will be now. She's taken the post on Athetis."

"With that Romulan director?"

"S'Halt? Yes."

"Oh," Uhura stared at the door as though she might see through it. McCoy took her arm and pulled her gently away.

"Come on. You can say goodbye in a little while. Right now I have a problem that you might be able to help me with."

Uhura glanced questioningly at him as they walked dawn the hall.

"Yes," he continued. "It seems I've been w stood up for dinner. And it would be a shame to waste all that food." He gestured expansively with his hand. "Everything's fresh. Not a single thing reconstituted."

"Fresh? Everything?"

"Everything. Even the tomatoes."

THE END