Unification - Jeri Taylor [52]
“That is their loss,” replied Spock. He would not be disloyal to Pardek now, after all these years. ‘Tve always found Pardek to have a unique insight into many issues.” Neral didn’t respond, but waved him into a corn-fortable chair covered in some kind of softly tooled hide. “Let me tell you something, Spock,” he said without preamble. “We’re going to start something here, you and I, that will redraw the face of the quadrant.”
Spock was startled. He had been prepared to speak eloquently about his cause, had hoped to persuade— but had not expected to hear Neral already committed. Perhaps he was reading more into the proconsul’s statement than was intended. “You are prepared to support reunification?” he asked, wanting clarifica-tion.
“I believe it must eventually come. Our two worlds need each other.”
“Forgive me. But I did not expect to hear a Rornulan proconsul speak like a member of the underground.”
Neral smiled comfortably. “I want you to know exactly where I stand.”
Spock pondered this unusual turn for a long mo-ment. It was an unexpected gift that Neral seemed predisposed to unification. But then, he was part of a young, liberal generation of leaders; if he in fact represented the future, there was reason for hope. On the other hand, the proconsul’s views were not necessarily those of the rest of the leadership. “Do you believe you can gain the support of the full Senate?” asked Spock.
Neral leaned in to him, speaking not conspiratorial-ly, but with a quiet confidence. “Things are not what they once were in the Senate. The old leaders have lost the respect of the people.” He stood and began to pace. “Involvement in the Klingon civil war… endless confrontations with the Federation… The people are tired of it all. Times are changing. Leaders who refuse to change with them—will no longer be leaders.”
He turned back to Spock, enthusiasm apparent in every aspect. “Spock, I am prepared to publicly endorse the opening of talks between our peoples.” He smiled at Spock’s obvious astonishment. “How do you think the Vulcan people will respond to that?”
Spock did not hasten to reply. Things were moving quickly; he preferred to keep his own measured pace. He had found over a lifetime that haste was rarely an ally. Finally he said, “They will be cautious. There are generations of distrust to overcome.”
Neral was obviously perplexed by his cautious reply. “But surely,” he began, “with a man of your influence leading the way—”
Then a disembodied voice on the Romulan corem system interrupted. “Proconsul,” announced the associate from her outer chamber, “the Senate has been recalled into session.”
Neral frowned briefly, then replied, “Very well.” He turned to Spock. “Can we meet again tomorrow?”
“As you wish,” offered Spock phlegmatically.
“Good,” replied Neral. “Jolan tru, Spock.” Then,
remembering something, he added, “Oh—live long
and prosper.”
Spock bowed gravely and exited. He was left with a distinct feeling: the conversation was not logical.
D’Tan had been running for over an hour. He had at least another hour to go, but he knew he could keep his pace easily. In fact, he could probably go on indefinitely. There was something glorious about the feel of the wind on his face and the thud of his feet on the hot Romulan clay as he loped through the Valley of Chula. D’Tan never felt as good as he did when he was running.
Everyone was always telling him to slow down, but he never did. Why slow down? There was so much to do, to know, to learn. He was often afraid that he would die without having tasted all that life had to offer, and he didn’t want to waste precious minutes by strolling. So he ran.
Eventually those who had admonished him to slow down began to realize that his running was of value. The movement had begun using him as a messenger, for he was more trustworthy than any other means of communication; and to the followers of the move-merit, trust was a more important property than speed.
He was running now toward an outlying community, M’Narth,