Myriad Universes_ Echoes And Refractions Part 12

6.

Five Years Later Saavik rose from the bed she had shared with David the night before as the Vulcan sun pounded its hot morning rays through the window. Tossing her long hair away from the front of her face, she looked about the room for her clothing and personal effects and gathered them together, taking them with her as she walked toward the door to the adjacent bathroom.

From under heavy eyelids that struggled to remain open, David watched her from the bed, admiring as always her shapely curves and graceful movements. Her visits had grown more infrequent-in fact, this was only the third time they had spent the night together since her appointment as the Federation amba.s.sador to Romulus about a year earlier, and, sadly, this particular liaison would be all too brief. She was due to return to the emba.s.sy on Romulus later that day.

After a few minutes she emerged, fully dressed and smartly primped. In the past, David had often wondered why, given the absence of any logical explanation, Vulcan women always seemed to invest a lot of time and energy into their physical appearance. But now knowing Saavik so intimately, he was beginning to believe that beauty just came very naturally to them, without their having to expend much effort.

"Good morning," he said with a smile, his voice deep and throaty from the effects of sleep.

"Good morning," she replied warmly. She had long since learned to embrace human greeting customs and to stop questioning the logic of them. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not nearly enough," he said, rubbing his eyes. He looked over at the chronometer on the stand next to the bed. "Geez, is it really that early?"

"My shuttle is due to depart in the early afternoon." She sat down next to him on his side of the bed and they clasped their hands together. By now, David was accustomed enough to his artificial hand that he didn't have to worry about accidentally crus.h.i.+ng hers.

David looked deep into her eyes. "Don't go," he said.

Saavik raised an eyebrow. "I have my responsibilities, David. But I'm not leaving just yet. I thought we might share breakfast together."

"I'd like that," he replied. "We haven't had much time to talk."

Saavik gave him a sidelong glance with a mischievous grin as she stood up. "You didn't seem to be in the mood to talk last night."

"Yeah, I know," David said as he tossed aside the bedsheets and swung his legs over the edge. "Sorry, that was my human lack of emotional control."

"Indeed," she agreed, as she picked up a tote bag from the floor and set it upon a small table near the door.

David dressed while Saavik packed a few scattered items in the bag. "So tell me," he inquired, "what inside information have you heard about the war effort lately?"

She briefly gave him a puzzled look. "Why do you presume I would know anything more than you?"

"Oh, c'mon!" David laughed. "You're in the employ of the Federation diplomatic service. I'm just a disgraced scientist turned social worker."

"You underrate your value to the cause, especially given your level of dedication." She zipped the bag shut and turned to face him, leaning against the table. "I do know that Admiral th'Valra.s.s has just returned from a very successful series of campaigns in the Archanis sector. Several Klingon military bases were completely destroyed."

"Well, good for him. Thelin and I go way back, you know. Nice to see that he's becoming quite a leader out there."

"Agreed," she said, though she was unable to conceal her lack of enthusiasm about the news.

David c.o.c.ked his head. "Are the other efforts not going so well?"

She sighed. "That is difficult to a.s.sess. Most fronts in the war are effectively stalemated at this point. The Romulan Empire, though sympathetic to our cause, is still officially neutral in the conflict. And though I cannot give any specific evidence, there seems to be a level of...desperation in the Federation's attempts to court Romulan support as of late, particularly by the Vulcan High Command. Some have even broached the subject of reunification."

David's still-tired eyes flew wide open. "Really? I had no idea that was even plausible."

Saavik shrugged. "Then you will be surprised to know that the V'Shar has discovered significant support for such an idea among the Romulan underground."

"The Vulcan intelligence agency? Wow...I guess they must be serious, then." David stepped forward and put his arms around Saavik's waist. "Wouldn't that be something...if the two worlds you've claimed could actually become one...and make you whole?"

Saavik smiled and bowed her head. "Romulus is truly a remarkable world. You should visit sometime."

"You're right," he said. "I should. After living here on Vulcan for the last five years, anything would be better than this infernal heat and high gravity."

"You would like it there. Four distinct seasons through multiple climate zones, lush vegetation, and awe-inspiring landscapes. It reminds me of..."

She paused and dropped her gaze, and David patiently waited for her to finish her thought. "Reminds you of what?"

She looked up again and met his eyes. "It reminds me of Earth."

David had no reply, so he did not attempt to craft one. Instead, he reached up and cradled the back of her neck, gently pulling her toward him while embracing her with his other arm, and tenderly pressed his lips against hers. David closed his eyes and allowed the warm intimacy of Saavik's telepathic consciousness to wash over him.

He wasn't certain how many minutes had pa.s.sed when they each finally opened their eyes and gazed lovingly at each other.

"Shall we go eat?" Saavik asked.

"I'm famished," David replied.

The last in a long line of families finally stepped off the exit ramp of the transport into the warm Vulcan breeze. A single woman, her pretty face marred by the c.u.mulative effects of grief and stress, led the way with her two preteen children in tow. The young ones, less conscious of the circ.u.mstances that had brought them from a besieged colony world to a Federation refugee camp, looked about with innocent wonder at the strange alien landscape, dotted by hastily a.s.sembled compact shelters, one of which would become their temporary home.

In the midst of the outdoor setting, David sat behind a portable computer on a table near the landing pad, a.s.sisted by a middle-aged Vulcan man with piercing eyes and an unusual amount of facial hair. The family ambled slowly up to the table.

"h.e.l.lo," David said, making eye contact with each of them in turn. "Could I have your names, please?"

"I'm Jennifer Kilmer," the woman said. "These are my children, Daniel and Sarah."

David quickly entered the names into his database on the computer screen while his Vulcan a.s.sistant handed each of the new arrivals a blanket and a package of various human toiletries and other necessities.

"Welcome to the Le'Tenya Camp. I know that this is a very difficult and trying time for you and your family, but we will work very hard to keep you safe and comfortable while arrangements are made for more permanent housing. Does anyone in your party require medical attention?"

"No." The woman shook her head.

"Well, should you need anything, the advocate in the nearby watch station can a.s.sist you. Meals are served three times daily at the mess hall, and communications are available at the administration center about a kilometer up the road. You'll be staying in...shelter 67G." David handed her a small data padd. "You'll find all of the information here."

"Thank you," she said numbly, then gathered her children and slowly walked toward her new home. David watched her go, wondering as he often did what the future would hold for her and her family.

"It never gets easier, does it?" asked the Vulcan next to him.

"No, it sure doesn't," David replied, "Mister, um...I'm sorry, what was your name?" David was fairly certain he hadn't worked with this particular individual before-the man had enough unique qualities about him that he would have left a definite impression.

"My name is Sybok," the Vulcan said, smiling broadly.

"Right," David said. For the first time, he had begun to notice how oddly emotive this particular Vulcan was. Perhaps, given all the time he had spent around Saavik, David didn't find the man's quirks nearly as jarring as others might have. "Well, at least things aren't as bad as they were this time last year. Back then we'd get four of these refugee transports every day."

"Yes, I remember," the Vulcan somberly recalled. "It seemed for a while that the Klingons were determined to strike every colony world in the quadrant."

"Yeah...the bad news is, there probably aren't many left for them to attack." He paused, then tried to brighten his affect a little. "But the good news is, we're seeing more shuttles full of families who have escaped the tyranny of Klingon rule over the Earth."

The Vulcan nodded. "I hear the underground railroad is doing a tremendous job there." Then the conversation lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

"Well," David said, looking about, "it looks like that's all of them for now." He ejected the data card from the terminal he had been using to record the names of the refugees and stood up from the table. "I'd better get this to the office."

Sybok rose to his feet with him. "I'll walk with you, if you don't mind."

"Sure," David agreed, and together they made their way along the service road that ran alongside the camp from the landing pad to the administration center, where the permanent employees of the operation were stationed.

They walked in silence for a minute or so, surrounded by the sounds of the displaced escapees as they struggled to settle into their new surroundings. Most of the voices were calm, but the relative peace was often punctuated with shouts of frustration or the troubled cries of children. David did not react to the distressing sounds of grief, but not because he had become desensitized to the suffering; his mind was simply focused elsewhere.

Sybok watched the young human with interest. "Forgive me," he eventually said, his face marked with a mixture of compa.s.sion and concern. "I couldn't help but notice your pain."

David looked at him with bewilderment. "My pain? What are you talking about?"

"The pain of loss," Sybok replied. "It haunts you."

"Of course I've suffered loss," David said with mild annoyance. He swept his arm across the sea of makes.h.i.+ft housing spread out before them. "Look around you. If you haven't noticed, there's a war going on."

"Yes, I know," the Vulcan affirmed, nodding. "But for you, it's something more personal-a sacrifice, made by someone close to you."

David's eyebrows drew close together. "Do you do this with everyone you meet for the first time?"

Sybok shrugged. "Some would call it a gift."

David rolled his eyes with a laugh, then threw up his right hand with exasperation. "All right, what the h.e.l.l...It was my father, James Kirk. He was a Starfleet admiral. Five years ago he sacrificed his life saving me from Klingon captivity. Now I suppose you're gonna tell me that you can talk to his spirit, right?"

"Ah!" the Vulcan replied, raising his index finger. "I know who you are! You're David Marcus. It all makes sense now. You've actually done quite well for yourself-recovered from your trauma, a.s.suaged your guilt, conquered your fear...very good! All that remains is the pain."

David stared at him and slowly shook his head. "Who are you???"

"Interesting you should ask. We have much in common, you and I. We each lost our fathers five years ago. My father was Sarek, the Federation amba.s.sador."

A light of recognition went on in David's eyes. "You're Sarek's eldest son?" He suddenly felt embarra.s.sed by the lack of respect he had shown. "Gosh, I'm sorry, you're just...well, you're not exactly like I'd envisioned."

"I get that a lot," Sybok said with a gentle smile. "Truth be told, I was never what you'd call a model citizen. Since I was very young, I've possessed certain empathic abilities that were, shall we say, incompatible with Vulcan customs regarding emotion."

David immediately thought of Saavik, and her struggles to maintain emotional control. "Yes...I'm sure I know exactly what you mean."

"But even though my father and I had been estranged, one day, about sixteen years ago-just following a visit to Andoria, as I recall-he sought me out, wanting to repair our relations.h.i.+p. And he truly helped to straighten things out for me. Got my life back on track."

"You're lucky you had a few years to get to know him," David mused.

"Lucky?" Sybok said with surprise. "Oh, at the time, perhaps. But now you're the lucky one, my friend."

"Oh?" David replied. "How so?"

"Because, Doctor Marcus, you can let go of your pain at any time. Your father's death had meaning and purpose. You know this. And the perpetrators...well, of course they're dead, but nonetheless you worked to understand their motivations and to forgive them. You don't even need my help, friend...You're free!"

David continued to walk for a few moments, staring ahead in pensive silence. "I guess I hadn't really thought about it that way." He turned his head toward Sybok. "And what about you?"

"Me?" Sybok smiled, but it was a cheerless, wistful smile. "My father was taken from me by an incomprehensible, faceless enemy. His death was senseless...empty." He stopped, facing David with a solemn expression. "Even with all my gifts...that, my friend, is a pain that never entirely goes away."

David had no reply.

"I must leave you now, but I am very glad that we met today." He held up his hand in the Vulcan salute. "Live long, and prosper."

David returned the gesture. "Peace, and long life," he replied.

As Sybok walked away, weaving a path through the crowd, a courier approached David with a padd in his hand. "Oh, hi, Robert," David said. "I was just on my way to drop this off," and handed him the data card.

"Thank you, Doctor Marcus," the man said. "This priority transmission just came in from the office of the president."

David gave him a puzzled look as he took the device from him. "You mean the president of the refugee commission?"

"No, Doctor," Robert said, shaking his head. "The president of the Federation."

The starfield that spread out before them s.h.i.+mmered and s.h.i.+fted in and out of focus, displaying all of the familiar visual distortions one saw when gazing through the interior of a Klingon cloaking field.

Admiral Thelin stood quietly before the viewscreen at the front of the bridge, his hands clasped behind his back, forming an austere silhouette for the officers seated at their various stations behind him. In recent years, these stars had become oddly familiar to him-perhaps too familiar, as these were constellations never seen from the skies of any Federation world. These were the skies behind enemy lines.

The Andorian turned to face his crew on the bridge of the Katai. The sight of so many familiar faces was comforting: Sulu, sporting his captain's insignia but ready and willing to sign on for such a critical mission, sat at the helm next to Chekov. Uhura sat at the communications station on the starboard side of the bridge, actively monitoring the subs.p.a.ce channels for any warning that their presence here might be suspected by the Klingons.

In fact, the only thing oddly disquieting about the scene was the empty captain's chair in the center of the bridge. Certainly the seat belonged to Thelin; after all, this mission had been planned and carried out almost entirely under his direction. Never in his career had Thelin s.h.i.+ed away from the pressures and responsibilities of command. Nonetheless, despite the pa.s.sage of years, the loss of James Tiberius Kirk was perhaps never more poignantly felt than at this moment-possibly the most critical juncture in the history of the Federation.

The Andorian walked back to the platform in the center of the bridge and, stepping up to the chair, paused, perhaps as a subconscious act of deference to Kirk's memory. Then he turned and seated himself. "Status report?" he inquired, pensively studying the viewscreen.

"We are now fifteen point two pa.r.s.ecs inside the borders of Klingon s.p.a.ce," Chekov announced from the navigator station. "Arrival at the Qo'noS system in twenty-two minutes, current speed."

"All readings nominal at the helm, Admiral," announced Sulu.

"Communication channels are quiet, Admiral," Uhura said. "No indications that our presence is known."

"Mr. Scott?" Thelin called into the s.h.i.+p's intercom.

"Aye, sir," Scott's voice was heard over the speakers. "Cloaking device is operatin' within normal parameters. Warp engines are at optimal efficiency...at least, optimal fer this Klingon junk heap."

Thelin smiled at the observation. Indeed, the environment was cramped, dimly lit, and certainly showed little concern for aesthetics or ergonomics, but the crew had adapted well, especially since it was less than two weeks ago that they had received their orders to take the captured bird-of-prey into Klingon s.p.a.ce.

The meeting itself had been something of a surprise. Certainly Starfleet's top bra.s.s had been gathering more often as a major incursion into Klingon s.p.a.ce was being planned, but that operation was still months away...and most unexpectedly, this particular meeting had been called by Federation President Ra-ghoratreii himself.

Thelin had arrived on Vulcan just as the sun had reached its noon zenith, and although Andorians didn't mind the heat, and in fact preferred a warmer climate than that on their mostly icy homeworld, he nonetheless felt as if he had stepped off the transporter pad into a blast furnace. Luckily, it was a short walk from the outdoor transport station to the security checkpoint at the front entrance to the s.h.i.+Kahr High Council Chambers, where the Federation president had temporarily established the seat of the government.

As the guards pored over his credentials, Thelin stared up at the palatial, ancient stone architecture of the Vulcan Council building, with its smoothly rounded abutments, sweeping skyward to meet at the tops of gently pointed towers. Nothing similar existed on Andor; but then, Andorian architecture tended to be more practical, built in piecemeal fas.h.i.+on as needs demanded.

The Federation Council was not currently in session, so the corridors of the building were relatively deserted as Thelin made his way to the designated council chamber. Within minutes he stepped off the lift and through an ornate set of doors into a s.p.a.cious room, where two uniformed Starfleet admirals were already seated around a symmetrical but irregularly shaped conference table. At the head of the table sat Federation President Ra-ghoratreii, a look of severe consternation not quite hidden behind the Efrosian's long white facial hair.