• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

A light of recognition went on in David’s eyes. “You’re Sarek’s eldest son?” He suddenly felt embarrassed 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 relationship. 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 shimmered and shifted 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 subspace 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 shied away from the pressures and responsibilities of command.