Fellowship & Fairydust

The search for Spock continued. Many of the old tunnels had collapsed during the earthquake, but miles of them still snaked deep into the mountain. Bearing torches, Sparn and Sorel walked well beyond the last door in each tunnel and called out Spock’s name before leaving. They came to the tunnel where Yanash had been buried. All the rubble had been cleared away. The stone walls were being reinforced and prepared for a sheathing of finest Vulcan marble.

The tunnel turned. In the distance Sparn saw light from the lamp that burned day and night by the tomb. A man in a pale-colored robe stood near the lamp.

Greatly relieved, Sparn called out, “Spock! We have been looking everywhere for you!”

He broke into a run, slowed, and then stopped in disappointment at the tomb. The man was not Spock. Sparn searched the kind, authoritative face without recognition.

Beside him Sorel said, “Stranger, who are you? What are you doing here?”

The stranger said, “The one whom you seek is not on Seleya. But have no fear. Remain in prayer and he will be returned to you unharmed.”

“How do you know that?” Sorel asked. And he repeated, “Who are you?”

Wordlessly the man turned and headed deep into the tunnel.

“He will not get far,” Sparn said in a low voice. “He has no torch, and further on the tunnel is completely blocked.”

They waited in silence. When the man failed to return, they carried their torches all the way to the cave-in. Sparn’s skin prickled with a chill when they found no sign of the stranger.

***

Spock lay on a medical treatment table, his wrists and ankles secured by padded metal straps. His breathing was still heavy from his struggle with the Vulcan orderlies. There had been too many of them and they were skilled in handling uncooperative patients.

A final strap settled over his neck and was snugged into place by a young Vulcan who avoided Spock’s eyes. Then the last of the orderlies left the room.

Alone, Spock took stock of his surroundings—sterile white ceiling and walls, utilitarian cabinets, a scattering of unupholstered chairs. In the corner of his vision he saw a tray holding various medical implements, including a hypo. He pulled against the restraints, but they held firm.

Closing his eyes, he worked to calm himself. Precisely fifteen minutes dragged by.

The door opened. Dalek and Rokar came to him.

Perhaps Spock could resist a forced probing by Dalek, but even at his mental best, he would be unable to resist the highly trained mind of a kolinahr master. Drugs would only hasten the collapse of his mental barriers.

Dalek met his eyes. “Your clanswoman T’Lar has asked us to help you regain your equanimity. But admit that you were wrong about Yanash, and there may be no need for all this.”

Knowing that it would seal his fate, Spock drew in a breath and said, “I have only spoken the truth.”

Rokar stepped closer. “You said that Yanash has returned to life. Have you actually seen him?”

“Yes,” Spock replied. “I have seen him, I have touched him, I have spoken to him.”

“Then if you are not lying,” Dalek said, “you are mentally unbalanced. It is our duty to heal your mind. Do you understand?”

Spock fought down a surge of fear. “I understand that you do not want to believe me, but I am speaking the truth.”
Dalek looked at him coldly. “The truth as you perceive it. An unbalanced mind cannot discern truth. Your behavior disgraces your father.”

“Sarek?” Spock asked. “What has my father to do with this?”

Dalek gave no answer, but said, “We go now to prepare for the procedure.” And once more Spock was left by himself.
It was becoming more difficult to remain calm. His wrists were sore from pulling at the restraints. At last he stopped struggling and focused on a tiny insect on the ceiling. More minutes passed in complete silence.

His taut nerves jumped at the sound of the door opening. Dalek and Rokar reappeared.

Dalek’s dark eyes settled on Spock. “When you said that you have seen Yanash and have touched him and spoken to him, you were referring only to his remains. Were you not? You have seen them in the tomb at Mount Seleya.”

“There are no remains,” Spock said. “The tomb at Mount Seleya is empty because the Shiav’s life has been restored.”
Dalek seemed annoyed. “If the tomb is empty, it is because someone has removed the bones. You and your fellow Yanashites are conspiring to perpetrate a hoax. All Yanashites are liars. You, Spock, are lying.”

“I am telling the truth,” Spock insisted with his own measure of annoyance.

Rokar said, “If you believe that, you leave us no choice but to enter your mind and make adjustments.”

Dalek bent over him, so near that Spock felt the High Priest’s breath on his face. “Think. It is not too late. Perhaps you are lying. You are half human—from a race of accomplished liars.”

Spock felt his hands clenching and forced them to relax. He must not let them see his anger. He must not appear out of control. Closing his eyes, he said nothing, and at last they walked out the door.

This time Spock suspected that their games were at an end. When they came back, they would force their minds deeply into his and find an unacceptable truth. What might they then do to destroy it? Thinking of his wife and children, a wave of panic took hold. But as he strained against the straps holding him, his thoughts turned toward Yanash, arrested on Spock’s advice, impaled hand and foot upon the stone that became his deathbed.

The panicky feeling subsided. His tension began to ease.

With this new viewpoint it was as if he were lying on that stone, at one with Yanash, joining in the Shiav’s sacrifice. How fitting it seemed—to offer this ordeal as reparation for the evil he had done. He could willingly surrender to the One who forgave him and promised to be with him always.

Once more the door opened. Someone came into the room. Expecting Dalek and Rokar, Spock turned his head and looked into the face of Sparn’s estranged wife, T’Prinka. He remembered that she was a healer’s assistant. Did she work here? Was it her job to prepare him for the coming procedure?

As he opened his mouth to speak, his aunt-by-bonding touched a finger to her lips and rapidly released him from the restraints. He stood up and she helped him into the robe that had been slung over her arm. Then she arranged his hood, cracked open a rear door, and beckoned him to follow. Fortunately it was a short walk to the parking area and no one took notice of his bare feet. They hurried to a groundcar and T’Prinka took off driving.

Only then did Spock realize that he was in his hometown, ShiKahr. T’Prinka seemed to be driving straight to his father’s house.

Uneasy with the situation, he asked, “Where are you taking me?”

She was driving manually and kept her attention on the lane. “I have been a guest of Sarek since your mother’s memorial service. Do not worry, it will be safe. Today he is at his office in ShanaiKahr.”

“They will be searching for me,” Spock warned.

“Not here,” T’Prinka said as she settled the car onto the estate’s parking area.

Spock followed her into the house. He had little choice but to follow her. Though all was still as he entered the living room, it seemed alive with painful memories of his mother’s presence. Distracting himself from it, he asked another question. “How did you know where to find me?”

“That is not important,” she replied. “Stay here. I will not be long.”

T’Prinka brought him an old pair of his father’s sandals. Although they fit well enough, they made Spock uncomfortable in other ways.

She handed him a pouch that contained food and a credit pass in her name.

“I will see that you get on an aircab,” she said. “Use my credits for the transportation or any other need that arises. That way they will be unable to trace you.”

“I am in your debt,” he said with gratitude.

She raised a hand as if to fend off any further speech. “Just stay away from the Yanashites. Go home to your wife and children.”

“But I, too, have become a Yanashite,” Spock confessed, “and for now I am needed at Mount Seleya.”

T’Prinka’s greying eyebrows drew together in disapproval. “Sparn has done this! He lured you away from your family, into that fanatical cult!”

Spock drew himself up. “My aunt, with all due respect, I must say that you are mistaken. It was Yanash himself who took hold of me. The Shiav transforms every life that he touches.”

“You speak as if this ‘Savior’ of yours is still alive.”

“He is,” Spock told her. “Come with me to Seleya. See for yourself how Sparn has been changed by him. Your husband speaks of you with fondness and regret. He wants you there at his side.”

“Fondness and regret?” she repeated with open sarcasm. “If Yanash can crack that heart of stone, I will follow him barefoot through the Devil’s Anvil.”

***

Rokar, Master of Gol, entered Sarek’s office and solemnly greeted the ambassador.

Sarek appeared haggard as he stepped forward and returned the greeting. A bit too anxiously he asked, “Has Spock turned from the Way?”

Rokar maintained the perfect composure of a kolinahru. “Ambassador, I regret to inform you that your son has escaped. His treatment was not yet begun, but there was opportunity to question him.”

Sarek sighed and said nothing.

Rokar continued. “Spock’s statements were both lucid and consistent. Though threatened with the prospect of mental probing, he refused to change any aspect of his primary assertion.”

“Which is?” Sarek prompted.

“T’rel N’hor Yanash has risen from the dead.”

“But that is absurd,” Sarek declared.

Rokar was unmoved. “Although I was unable to confirm it through direct mental contact, it is my opinion that your son believes what he is saying. In his mind, Yanash lives.”

Sarek’s face went gray and he closed his eyes. As if to himself, he said, “Madness lays like a blight upon my family…”

“If it is a madness,” Rokar said, “it is infecting a great many more than your son and brother. The number of Yanashites grows daily.”

Sarek looked at him with weary eyes and asked, “What is becoming of our world?”

Rokar received the query as a rhetorical question and gave no answer. Instead he said, “If you wish, we will intervene again. Spock was arrested on a civil charge. Technically, he is now an escaped prisoner.”

“Not anymore,” Sarek revealed. “The charges have been dropped. The complainant has withdrawn even his demand for reimbursement of the skimmer repairs.”

“I was not aware of that development.” Rokar pondered for a moment, then said, “It may yet be possible to break the Yanashite’s hold on your relatives and on Mount Seleya. The High Council asked for criminal evidence. If, as I suspect, some form of mental control is being practiced among the Yanashites, the council will not hesitate to intervene.”

“T’Gora said that Marek’s mind is not being controlled,” Sarek noted.

“There is no mind on Vulcan as powerful as his,” Rokar said. “It may be that he is capable of manipulating test results. We need to see for ourselves what is happening on Mount Seleya. When I return to Gol, I will prepare two of my student-adepts for an investigative mission.”

At that, the Master of God bowed his head and took leave of the ambassador. Once more Sarek stood alone in the shadows of his office.

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