Star Trek - Unification Part 17

So Spock's announcement had reached his home planet, and ships were rushing to prevent the Romulan force from invading their planet. Riker watched as Danut's visage grew dark and glowering. "We have no further business, Commander," he said, and the viewscreen returned to a starfield.

"Sir," said Worf, "the Romutan force is retreating toward the Neutral Zone."

"Oh, no," said Riker. "They're not taking those Vulcan ships home with them." He realized he felt downright proprietary about those Vulcan ships. Those were his Vulcan ships. He'd invested himself in them-well, one-and now he wasn't going to see some arrogant Romulan take them back across the Neutral Zone.

"Change course. Pursue the Vulcan ships."

"Sir, they have gone to warp eight. They will be within the Neutral Zone in minutes."

"Acknowledged, Mister Word Warp nine. Proceed."

Riker saw Worf and Geordi exchange looks, and knew they were thinking that he was playing it close to the edge. Well, so be it. He wasn't going to let go now, after all this. He was willing to risk an unauthorized entry into the Neutral Zone in order to apprehend the Romulan force and reclaim the ships that he was sure had been stolen from Federation depots. He had come too far to quit now.

Picard would have admitted that he was nervous about making this next maneuver work. But he had no better alternatives to offer, and so he agreed they had to take this chance if they were to get out of Sela's office and escape the Irnilt. The greatest source of his apprehension was that they could not carry disruptors. They would be un-armed, and consequently dependent on the cleverness of their scheme. There was no contingency plan; either this worked or they would be easily recaptured.

And so he stood with Spock and Data as two security guards entered the room and Sela rose to greet them. She gestured toward her prisoners disdainfully. "These fools are unwilling to talk. Take them to the underground tunnel in the east wing. Turn them over to Semeth. He may be more persuasive."

The guards nodded obediently and gestured Spock, Picard, and Data toward the door. Sela's men carried disruptors at their sides but did not draw them. Picard was sure they felt confident that there was little the prisoners could do within the well-guarded confines of the Irnilt.

And so the small band proceeded out of Sela's office and into the marble halls of the magnificent edifice. Remembering the oppressive streets at the ground level of Dartha, Picard was repulsed by the display of opulence here in the governmental building. The mateddals were lavish and costly, every detail exquisitely carrided out. This was a bipart.i.te world, the powerful existing almost literally above the substruc-ture of the weak and impoverished.

They entered a cubicle not unlike the turbolifts on the Enterprise and began a dizzying journey down, sideways, and up again. Picard tried to estimate the time that had pa.s.sed since they left the office. At some point, the real Sela would regain consciousness from the Vulcan pinch, and realize she had once again been the victim of Data's holographic expertise. She and her guards had lain unconscious behind that false wall, and could waken at any moment. If that happened before they were safely out of the building, they were doomed.

The cubicle finally came to a rest and doors slid open. The group exited to find themselves in a cavernous black corridor that reminded Picard of the caves he had recently visited with members of the unification movement. He had the sense that they were very deeply underground; all sound seemed m.u.f.fled, and kekogen lights provided the only illumination.

They walked for some minutes through a labyrinth of pa.s.sages, twisting and turning, until he had lost any sense of direction. He knew the maze had been planned for exactly that purpose; those who descended into these lonely depths were not intended to find their way out.

Picard stumbled slightly and paused briefly, unsure of his footing. "Keep walking," ordered one of the guards brusquely. Picard turned slightly toward him. "I'm having trouble breathing," he gasped. He bent over, drawing ragged breaths of air; a wheeze escaped him. He crumpled to the ground.

The guards were not fools. They did not rush to help him. They stood alertly at a distance as Spock and Data bent over Picard. Fillally Spock rose and announced, "He cannot get up." "Then carry him," came the terse reply. "I am old. I do not have the physical strength."

The guard jerked his head toward Data. "Then you do it."

Data bent to Picard and then, as the captain's lips began moving, put his ear close to Picard's mouth. Then he rose.

"The captain is losing consciousness. He greatly fears torture. He is willing to tell you what information he has, but he cannot speak above a whisper." "It's a ruse," cautioned one of the guards.

Data shrugged. "I would not want to face Commander Sela with the news that the prisoner has died without having revealed what he knowsmand all because you were afraid to listen to him."

The guards exchanged glances. One nodded to the other, and both drew their disruptors.

The first guard got to his knees and leaned in close to Picard. "There is a Federation spy among you," he whispered, "at the uppermost levels of the Romulan hierarchy."

Picard saw the guard look up toward his compatriot and nod. Then he leaned down again.

"His name," began Picard, "his name... his name is..." he began to wheeze again. The guard bent nearer still. "The name of the spy ism"

Had it not been for Data's speed, the rest could never have happened. Data was able to whirl and advance on the guard holding the disruptor so quickly that he literally had no idea what had happened.

At the same time, Spock pinched the neck of the guard listening to Picard.

A split second later, both guards lay unconscious from the pinch, and Picard and Data held their disruptors. There had been brief consideration of vaporizing the guards, rather than risk their recovering consciousness too soon, but none of the men could bring themselves to do it. Now, they looked back down the twisting maze of corridors through which they had been led. They needed the east-wing exit- but where was it?

"I think this way," said Picard, pointing to a pa.s.sageway branching off to his right.

"I would have said this direction," countered Spock, pointing to the left.

"Forgive me, Captain, Amba.s.sador," said Data mildly. "But if we are to get out of the Irnilt, you will have to rely on me."

And he began striding down the corridor straight ahead. Spock and Picard exchanged glances, and then, without a moment's hesitation, followed Data.

The Enterprise had penetrated well into the Neutral Zone before it overtook the three Vulcan/Romulan ships. The smaller vessels were no match for the Starfleet ship on any level-speed, sophistication, or firepower. Riker felt sure he could help the Romulans see reason; to do other than follow his directive was to risk dire consequences.

The Vulcan defense vessels, dispatched from the planet, had stopped at the Neutral Zone. Their only purpose was to prevent the Romulans from invading their system; if the encroaching force was in retreat, they had no reason to pursue.

And perhaps Riker should have followed the same logic. There was none to his present actions, a fact of which he was well aware.

But something drew him forward. He would listen to its urging now, and question it later.

"Visual range, Commander," said Worf, indicating that they had all but overtaken the fleeing Romulans.

"On screen," said Riker, preparing to engage Danut once more. He was wholly unprepared for what happened next.

Geordi saw it first, reacting from his sensors. "A Romulan warbird, Commander. Decloaking alongside the Vulcan ships."

And now the quartet of ships sprang into relief on the viewscreen-the three small Vulcan vessels and the looming, ominous warbird that shimmered into sight next to them.

"Red alert," said Riker, and the lights flashed scarlet on the bridge.

A warbird was a very diflkrent story from the Vulcan craft. The Romulan D'Deridex cla.s.s ship was as large and as powerful as the Enterprise, and as well armed. They would be at a standoff if it came to battle.

Rikcr's command was to Worf. "Advise the warbird to withdraw and leave the Vulcan ships where they are."

But Worf's response confirmed Riker's fears: "The warbird is powering up its forward disruptor array."

So it meant to attack. They were all violating treaty conditions by being within the Neutral Zone; here, there were no legal protections, no sanctions. It was unauthorized entry by all parties-and the devil take the hindmost. "Ready phasers," said Riker grimly.

The warbird emitted a fierce salvo of its disruptors. And another. And another.

But to Riker's astonishment, the weapons fire was directed right at tile Vulcan ships. One by one, they shuddered with the impact of the ma.s.sive disruptor barrage; they discharged small bursts of burning gases into s.p.a.ce; white fire crackled into an inferno that enveloped them. And then they exploded. The bridge crew of the Enterprise watched in awe as the Vulcan ships ruptured, spewing matter. It was the ultimate fireworks display, a colorful, o.r.g.a.s.mic array of burning metal and flesh, which catapulted flaming wreckage into the cold eternal night of s.p.a.ce. The warbird recloaked.

On the bridge of the Enterprise, the crew watched in stunned silence. Finally, Geordi spoke, and his voice sounded strangely harsh. "There were over two thousand Romulan troops on those ships," he said.

There was silence again.

"They destroyed their own invasion force," added Troi, as though trying to explain it to herself.

"Rather than let them be taken prisoner," offered Riker, seeking reason in an unreasonable act.

There was another quiet respite, then Riker spoke, quite softly. "Stand down red alert. Set a new course. Take us out of the Neutral Zone."

And the ship wheeled and turned away from the still burning carnage the Romulans had brought to bear upon their own people.

D'Tan had lain in wait for several hours in the rough wagi brush that provided camouflage and a clear view of the cave opening. He felt numb with shock and grief; the awful loss his people had suffered had not yet registered with him fully.

He still didn't know if his parents were alive or dead. Their rooms at the Taka were empty, and though he had searched through all the makeshift hospitals and shelters where the dazed survivors of Krocton segment were trying to care for their own, he had not found them.

They might have been killed in that first awful slaughter on the streets. Or they might have been taken prisoner. If so, D'Tan doubted that he would ever see them again. He hoped they had died on the streets; to lose them would be terrible, but it would be preferable to imagining what they might be going through at the hands of Neral's guards.

A few of their number had regrouped at the cavern, and then decided immediately that they must not meet there again; they could expect periodic raids, and the location of the cave was compromised.

D'Tan had been posted as a lookout, to waylay any of their number who might mistakenly seek sanctuary there, and to be alert for security guards who might want to pay a return visit close on the heels of the first sweep.

He peered down the long road leading to Dartha. It was rough country out here, craggy and barren, with only this th.o.r.n.y native bush as covering. In the distance, the towering structures of the city rose like a dark growth of sinister crystal spires. D'Tan looked toward the skies, usually gray with volcanic particulates, and actually saw patches of blue beyond the haze. He wondered if ever he would sail those heavens toward Vulcan, as he had longed all his life to do.

He thought he spotted movement on the road. Tensing, he crouched lower in the brush. Was it the guards? Or dazed survivors of the Krocton ma.s.sacre? He strained to make out the figures as they made their way up the road toward the caves.

When he realized who they were, D'Tan's heart leapt, and he could not contain himself. He burst out of the wagi brush, the thorns tearing at his clothes and skin, but he was oblivious. He went running, hard as he could, toward the advancing trio. Hope was pounding in his heart once more, and he felt the wind on his face and his feet pounding on the hard Romuian clay. It felt good to be running again.

Picard saw the lithe figure corning at them, waving and shouting. He could not restrain a smile as he saw the child D'Tan fling himself into Spock's arms, hugging him and crying with joy and relief. Spock looked faintly embarra.s.sed by this indulgent display of emotion, but he tolerated it patiently from the young boy.

Within half an hour, D'Tan had led them to a new range of rocky hills, and another subterranean cavern. They descended through a slippery pa.s.sageway of loose shale, unsure of footing, clutching for support against the damp walls. There were no kekogen lights here; D'Tan carried a palm beacon that provided the only source of light.

But soon they emerged into a chamber lit by portable lamps, and saw a group of Romulan citizens -the small core of survivors of the dreadful ma.s.sacre.

"Pardek never saw these caves," explained D'Tan. "It's safe, they won't find us here."

Picard's gaze swept over the people in the cavern. Some looked stunned and abstracted; all carded the grim look of those who have been witness to butchery. Many were wounded, and wore makeshift bandages on various parts of their body.

But there was an undeniable spirit that radiated from them, an unquenchable quality of endurance. These people had survived; more importantly, they had not lost hope. Their strength and determination hung in the air like a palpable presence.

"What will you do now?" Pieard asked simply.

A young woman spoke immediately. "What we've always done. Continue to teach. Pa.s.s on the ideals to a new generation. Work for the day when new thoughts may be spoken aloud."

Picard glanced toward Spock, saw him listening to the young woman with intent, saw him glance toward D'Tan, whose eager face shone from the crowd.

"The Federation will welcome that day," Picard a.s.sured the young woman.

"Captain," reminded Data, "we will need to reach our transport site within an hour."

Picard nodded and as they began to move away from the others, he felt Spock touch his arm. Picard turned and looked into the amba.s.sador's eyes, and suddenly he knew what Spook was about to say.

"I will not be coming with you."

Picard wanted to protest, wanted to show him how illogical such a decision would be. It was clear that Spock should come with them to the transport site, be beamed onto the Klingon ship, and return to Vulcan, where he would live out his years in safety and comfort, revered by his countrymen and all the people of the Federation.

It was clear that's what Picard should say. But he did not.

"The reason for my coming here has never been more clear, Captain," Spock continued. "The union of the Romulan and Vulcan peoples will not be achieved by politics. Or by diplomacy. But it will be achieved."

Spock moved away from him, pacing restlessly, formulating his thoughts. Picard's mind flashed back to their first meeting in the other caves, in what seemed a lifetime ago. The two men had been instantly in conflict, each of them stubbornly maintaining his position and a.s.suming the other would back down.

Had that been only a few days ago?

"The answer has been here in front of us all the time," Spock went on. "An inexorable evolution toward a Vulcan philosphy has already begun. Like the first Vulcans, these people are struggling to find a new enlightenment. It may take decades, even centuries, for them to reach it. But they will. And I must help."

Picard studied the grave face, the penetrating eyes. "I have learned," he said finally, "that it is useless to argue with you once your mind is set."

"Not at all, Captain," retorted Spock. "I have in fact found our arguments quite useful. Almost as useful as those I had with my father."

Picard paused only briefly before he suggested, "Would you be surprised to learn that he found them equally valuable?"

Another long moment, and Picard could only imagine what was going on inside Spock's mind, but when he spoke, it was in the voice of a man who has achieved resolution. "Ironically, Captain, you may have known Sarek better than his own son did. My father and I never chose to meld."

And in that simple statement there lay a lifetime's relationship, of love felt and not expressed, of hurt and anger and pride, of arguments, accusations, of good deeds and mishaps, a century of tangled experiences and emotions never acknowledged. Therein lay the tragedy of Spock and his father.

Picard did not hesitate. "I would offer you the chance to touch what he shared with me."

Spock nodded, and extended his hand toward Picard's face. The strong, supple fingers pressed on his cheek, and once again Picard felt the wondrous blending of two spirits. His mind whirled, emotions reeled in tumultuous cacophony; images of his father, of rain-swept vineyards and sunny fields, of Spock and Sarek through all the times of tortured love they felt for each other, the strife and agony-all tumbled within him, joining, blending, transforming one into the other. It was overpowering, it was unbearable, the heightened sensations too vivid, too intense .... Ancient planets... French meadows ripe in yellow sunlight... Amanda giving birth... bitter cold... mechanized violation of the body and mind... fury ... red mountains and withering deserts... the fa-tal bravery of a loyal pet... Perrin, Perrin, aching need... the aspiration to go forth .... What more is out there? What adventures yet remain?... Stars streaking, blurred... longing... sons and fathers ... fathers and sons...

He stared into Spock's eyes, and Spock into his. Anguish bled away, serenity prevailed. Unification.