Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [67]
Yet they were here now, and looking to him for a palliative that would relieve them of the pain they were in. And as their teacher, he would do his best to ease their passage.
“Surak tells us to find order in chaos,” he explained, “so that we may better understand the nature of all that is. When asked about the possibility of life after death—a realm most often left to less practical philosophers— Surak said, ‘It would be illogical for the universe to create complex, reasoning beings only to dispose of their minds when their bodies no longer functioned.’”
That principle was the basis of the Vulcan practice of preserving the Katra—the sentient soul of the dying—in the Hall of Thought. Unfortunately, none of his students would have their minds saved in such a way.
Few of them had mastered the required mental techniques for the transfer of the Katra to a living being. And even if all of them had the skills, there would be no one to whom they might transfer their Katras.
Still, Spock knew that the universe was logical, and trusted that the natural order was not wasteful. That granted him the ability to accept what would come.
Of course, as he had noted before, his students did not have the advantage of his experiences. He could see them mentally wrestling with the same questions in their minds.
As he pondered this, the Teacher could see his students turn to look past his shoulder at something behind him. Glancing in the same direction, he saw what they were looking at—a large body of soldiers entering the compound.
The appearance of the soldiers during the morning lesson was unforeseen, but not a surprise to the Vulcan. The failed escape attempt was clearly going to have consequences that affected all of them. He guessed that their fate was simply coming a day earlier than expected.
In some ways, Spock thought, it was best this way. Life was always preferable to death, but he had seen that some of his students preferred death to continued captivity.
The soldiers stopped a good twenty meters short of the Vulcan and his students. But not all of them. Spock saw a single soldier separate himself from the larger group and approach the prisoners alone.
“It’s him,” said one of the unificationists, hard-pressed not to show her anger.
“Where does he find the gall,” asked another, “after what he did to us?”
D’tan muttered a curse. “I should have known. He always had a stench about him.”
Like his students, the Vulcan recognized the soldier. After all, he had been one of their own, at least on the surface. Underneath, he had been Governor Tharrus’s informer.
Aside from the uniform, Skrasis looked no different from when Spock had seen him earlier that morning. His face was expressionless—more so, ironically, than when he posed as the Vulcan’s student.
Spock could hear the angry murmurs behind him building to a crescendo. Unchecked, his students might fling themselves on the infiltrator and extract their revenge. Or at least try to.
“Do not act,” the Teacher ordered without turning around. Though the murmurs did not cease, he was confident that his charges would not disobey him.
Skrasis had to maneuver through the small crowd of students to speak with the Vulcan. “May I have a word?” he asked. “In private?”
Spock shrugged. “If you wish.”
He walked in the direction of the prisoners’ quarters. Several of his students trailed them, fearing that Skrasis would inflict some harm on their mentor. D’tan was among them.
But once they were within the entrance to the cell area, the Vulcan waved them away. “It is all right,” he assured them. “Skrasis has no intention of harming me.”
D’tan started to protest, but was silenced by a look from Spock. Reluctantly he and the others waited there as the Vulcan and the infiltrator proceeded to Spock