Star Trek - Sarek Read online

  SAREK [066-118-4.7]

  By A.C. CRISPIN

  Synopsis

  Sunset on Vulcan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  reveal her ravaged visage.

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

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

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

  inhospitable continent-sized plateau seven kilometers higher than the

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

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

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

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

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

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

  overlooking the eastern gardens. The ambassador was attempting to reach

  a decision.

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

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

  right, in order to accomplish what was necessary?

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

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

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

  entirely coincidental.

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  Americas, New York, NY 10020

  Copyright 1994 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.

  / STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures.

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  ISBN 0-67179562-7

  First Pocket Books paperback printing February 1995

  10987654321

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  Printed in the U.S.A.

  To Michael Capobianco, with love

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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

  are assuredly my own, I wish to thank

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

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

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

  For technical information

  Michael Capobianco, fellow author and amateur astronomer, for

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

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

  dinner and providing much-needed shoulder rubs and encouragement during

  tough times.)

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

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS For STAR TREK brainstorming, viewpoint and lore

  John Jobeck and Ellen Marie Konicki, my favorite Klingons

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

  Vulcan.

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

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

  Klingon!

  For editorial advice and assistance

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

  And, for just Being There when I needed them

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

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

  Kathleen O'Malley, who provided valuable editorial insight and

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

  have made it into print.

  PROLOGUE

  Sunset on Vulcan.

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

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

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

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

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

  kilometers from her companion worldmand filled thirty degrees of sky.

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

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

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

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

  reveal her ravaged visage.

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

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

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

  inhospitable continent-sized plateau seven kilometers higher than the

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

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

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

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

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

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

  overlooking t
he eastern gardens. The ambassador was attemptins to reach

  a decision.

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

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

  right, in order to accomplish what was necessary?

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

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

  they were in his place?

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Night deepened around Sarek as he watched T'Rukh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  on the planet's sulfuric countenance.

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

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

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

  T'Rukhemai (literally,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  lost. Perhaps billions.

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

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

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

  considered. Could he risk the impending threat of war?

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

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

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

  slopes below.

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

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

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

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

  would be cool even by human standards.

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

  his mind would not be still.

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

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

  must outweigh ethical considerations.

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

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

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

  would leave as soon as possible.

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

  toward the house, his strides quick and sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  more.

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

  clear. He would not turn back.

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

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

  typical Vulcan fashion, austere, with only the most essential

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

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

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

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

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

  faint susurration within the protective field that prevented evaporation

  of the precious liquid.

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

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

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

  of an icy world beneath a swollen red sun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  and the rocky spires of her garden.

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

  lines that had not been there a month ago.

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

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

  flowing garment now clearly outlined the angles of her shoulders and

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

  she had clearly lost weight from her already small frame.

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

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

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

  smile that he reserved for her alone.

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

&n
bsp; gesture, so simple on a physical level, was, between a bonded couple,

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

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

  nearly as passionate as anything experienced in the throes ofponfarr.

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

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

  way.

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

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

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

  as desert plants from a dozen Federation worlds.

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

  replied.

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

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

  your presence next door."

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

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

  these days ...

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

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

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