Chapter 2: A New Day
Enjoying his new status, Nayo watched Sola Thane rise from the bed they shared and disappear into the shower. Simply made of two bunks pushed together, it served their needs well enough…for now. They were awaiting instructions from Federation Headquarters before moving out of the blockhouse. The authorities had accepted Nayo's pledge of full cooperation. In exchange for immunity from prosecution and permanent asylum on Earth, he was divulging everything he knew about the Black League. Nayo fully realized that he had Sola to thank for his freedom. Her reputation as a Federation Agent had a way of opening doors, even the door of a prison cell. Yes, he was truly free…with Earth as his home! Each time the realization struck him, it seemed fresh and wonderful.
Energized, he leaped up, wrapped himself in a colorful robe, and headed down the hallway. He scarcely glanced at his old deactivated cell as he went by. It belonged to the past, just another unpleasant episode in a lifetime of bitter experiences. Reaching the outer door, he threw it open and stepped into the dirt with his bare feet. The cool morning air sent a delicious chill through him, and for a time he just stood there inhaling the good pine fragrance as he listened to a cacophony of birdsong. Moving only his eyes, he searched out each sound and tried to pinpoint its source. Branches stirred and there were bright darting motions as the little creatures foraged. Earth's staggering abundance of life contrasted sharply with the desolate Vulcan compound where he had passed most of his days underground, denied even a glimpse of the scorching barrens.
Turning from the dark memories, he went back inside. Sola had dressed and procured two cups of coffee from the food replicator. Nayo joined her at their small dining table and sipped the sweet, cream-colored beverage while considering his breakfast order. On Vulcan there had also been replicators, but not for his personal use. The masters had determined both the daily menu and whether or not you would be allowed to eat. Now and then they had given him vegetarian Earth food so that he would grow accustomed to it, like Spock. But soon after arriving at Denver, he had sampled meat and greatly enjoyed its flavor.
Reaching over to the tableside replicator, he keyed up a plate of fried chicken.
Sola laughed. "For breakfast?"
Nayo reacted with a stirring of anger. "Don't speak to me about the 'dictates of custom'. I will eat when and how I please."
"You're right," she amiably agreed, and ordered some chicken for herself.
They ate in companionable silence, stripping the meat from each bone like hungry carnivores, sharing themselves in the imperceptible manner of bondmates. When Nayo finished, he sat back and lit a cigarette from a pack on the table, exhaling the tobacco smoke so that it curled freely in the air. This he had also sampled in Colorado, a thoroughly illegal indulgence which his jailer had denied him. But now that Sola had become his bondmate, she tolerated the practice.
Watching him, she said, "Smoking suits you…and so does that gaudy robe."
He glanced down at the brilliantly striped wrap she had given him. Sola knew how he hungered for color; blue, orange, maroon—the brighter, the better. The robe helped him forget the decades of drab clothing in an equally drab environment. He wanted more garments like it.
He was finishing his cigarette when Sola's padd pinged. The call was from Federation Headquarters, and as Nayo listened in, his initial surprise at their orders gave way to excitement. To allay any Black League suspicions, he was to undertake his original mission…immediately.
Sola completed the call and studied him. "There's a wicked curl to your lip. You are going to enjoy this, aren't you? Impersonating your brother and making him seem like an utter hypocrite."
A hot spark of rage brought Nayo to his feet. The table turned on its side, scattering chicken bones and cigarettes. "You feel for him! What now—am I second best? Is it Spock you really want?"
Even as he uttered the accusation, he knew it was untrue, but he could not stop himself. The bitter jealousy was beyond his control. Thankfully Sola understood, and her love for him made allowances for such volatile behavior.
Calmly gazing up at him, she said, "My concern is for you, Nayo. It isn't good for a man to hate his brother."
oooo
Spock had been relieved when the blockhouse left Plum Creek, along with its troubling occupants. He had hoped for an end to the tension that dogged him from the first moment he set eyes on Nayo. But now that he knew the reason for their departure, his hope for peace vanished. He had only just been warned of the impending charade, and the thought of what it would mean for him personally…and for the entire Yanashite Community…made him go cold. However short a time Nayo acted, damage would be done, and damage to one's reputation was notoriously difficult to repair.
T'Naisa bristled as she paced the cabin floor. "I can't believe what the Federation is asking! And by your own brother's hand!"
"It cannot be helped," Spock said. Logic told him it was true, yet the situation still rankled. "We must stand aside, we must remain silent or Nayo's performance will lose its effectiveness. The Black League must believe that he is following their instructions. Only then will they be caught unawares."
"Yes, but…" She stopped, her eyes large with worry. "Your family and friends will think you've taken a left turn to hell."
"Tell them that my medication may need adjusting. They will assume it is the Bendii Syndrome."
Unconvinced, she shook her head. "But Sorel…"
With a sigh, Spock thought of the Yanashite's spiritual leader. Sorel had placed him in charge of Earth's first seminary, and he was also an envoy to the Vatican—both positions of great responsibility. Now Sorel might wonder if Spock was falling away from Shiav, as he did after the murder of his first wife, and daughter Teresa.
Reaching inward for the strength of Yanash, he repeated, "The situation cannot be helped. Therefore, I suggest that we receive it as an exercise in humility."
oooo
It was growing dark when Nayo entered the tavern. This would be a good place to start—close to Spock's home, and frequented by his own neighbors. Just inside the door he stopped, feeling the air-conditioning on his fresh haircut as he took in the lay of the business. Off to one side, several young adults hunched over a row of holographic gaming tables. There was an open area where couples were holding one another close, slowly dancing to music.
Nayo turned his attention toward the bar. Two women sat some distance from one another—both of them young and attractive. Choosing between them, he settled in beside the blonde. She glanced his way, then turned for a better look at him. Her blue eyes widened with surprise.
"Spock?" she said.
Nayo tamped down a stirring of panic. Did she know Spock personally? Well, he had been trained for this. His heart pounded as he met her gaze and waited for her to speak again.
"You are Spock," she said uncertainly, "aren't you? From Starfleet…and that Yanashite settlement up the hill?"
"Indeed," he replied.
The conversation progressed as he ordered Vulcan shayo for himself and the young lady. Then, a second round. It was a strong drink, and by the time she had drained a third shot, she was leaning his way and her hands were on him. Fortified with counternol, Nayo only feigned a descent into deep relaxation. It was vital to the mission that he maintain control, for he could not risk any behavior that might lead to arrest. A single retina scan would put an end to this masquerade, and now that he was firmly into his role, he found it exhilarating.
Under the observant eyes of the bartender, he began to flirt with the inebriated woman in the manner of Vulcans. Now that he was bonded to Sola Thane, he limited himself to hand-play, which decent Vulcans enjoyed only in strict privacy. Its stimulating effect brought her onto his lap, and then she was pressing her mouth to his. Nayo allowed the kiss to deepen before gently drawing back. They rose from the barstool together—the blonde hanging on him in a way that made her desire clear.
There in plain view, he kissed her goodbye, "Until a more opportune time."
Even before the door closed behind him, his sharp ears could hear the tongues wagging.
oooo
The shapely little blonde was only the first in an unsettling string of women who began to contact Spock, seeking romantic involvement. Those whom he could not ignore, he rejected kindly but firmly. Some wept, while others cursed him in colorful, crude language. One encounter introduced him to an archaic word: cad.
"It's Nayo who's the cad," fumed T'Naisa.
News of the philandering Yanashite had reached the gossip columns, in turn triggering awkward phone calls from Spock's children. All of them wanted to know what was going on. Of course, Spock denied any such activity on his part. It was all that he could do.
A week later, T'Beth was back on the phone, and this time she was furious. Sitting down to the screen, Spock braced himself.
"Father, what's the matter with you? I thought you'd settled this issue of faith. I won't fault you for having doubts, but why did you have to spew them during a public interview?"
Spock sat silently before her, utterly humiliated by Nayo's sacrilegious antics. Given a chance to speak, he could only reply, "I don't know what to tell you." And leaving the phone, he went off and sat by himself, struggling to contain his emotions.
Later, T'Naisa joined him. Taking his hand, she said, "I talked to her…about the medication."
Then the phone began chiming again and did not stop until they silenced it. The interview had hit the mainstream press, and new reports continued to pour in. Nayo seemed to be everywhere at once, denouncing Yanash as a fraud, issuing statements from studios and barstools while reporters hung on every deceptive word.
Sickened, Spock called the seminarians at their homes and issued a statement to them in a conference call. "I want to assure you that regardless of what you have seen and heard, my faith in Yanash remains unshaken. Ultimately you will understand what is happening, but in view of present circumstances, I have no choice but to keep the seminary closed. You will be notified when it is ready to reopen."
oooo
To Sola Thane, Nayo was a paradox. The secluded house where they lived had a garden surrounded by tall stone walls. It was from this rental in Colorado that he transported to his "worksites", slipping in and out, unseen. When not at his nefarious job, he spent hours fussing over each garden bloom, applying the horticultural techniques he was learning.
While each flower seemed precious to him, he did not care one bit about his brother. The daily assault of the press had become increasingly vicious. Now they were dredging up tawdry incidents in Spock's past to fuel the scandal: his behavior following the murder of his wife and daughter, and the infamous "Adrianna diary". Nayo clearly relished making trouble for Spock, and though it disturbed Sola, she understood the reason for his rancor. But D'Gar was another matter.
Sola stood in the garden sunshine watching Nayo trim a climbing rose. Its abundant pink blossoms contrasted sharply with his turquoise-patterned shirt. Quietly she moved close to him. She touched his muscular shoulder and he paused to look at her, clippers in hand.
"Nayo," she said, "I worry about your son. Don't you?"
His clean-shaven face hardened. "He has food and shelter."
"He has a name, too—D'Gar. You never mention him."
Nayo returned to his pruning—quick forceful snips that betrayed his irritation. Finally he said, "What purpose would it serve?"
"None," she admitted, "but you're his father. He deserves your love. At the very least, he deserves your attention."
His head swung around and his eyes were fierce. "No father gave me any love!"
So that was it. She did not remind him that his father had believed he was dead. But sometime soon when the truth came out, Sarek would likely reject Nayo, just as he had rejected Spock for lesser reasons.
Sola's heart went out to him. He could not love any child until he came to terms with his own wretched boyhood—and that would not be easy.
Softly she said, "I have nightmares about him. I wake up in the night and wonder what he's going through. If he's hurting…if he's hungry…if he's lonely and frightened."
The clippers snapped loudly in Nayo's strong hand, but he said nothing more.
oooo
Summer's heat declined, and autumn yellowed the plum trees along the creek. Aggressive reporters and hostile strangers regularly sneaked onto Spock's property. He had placed a security field around the gold at the crystal spring and mainly kept to the cabin, which had become a lonely place of exile. Simon no longer spoke to him, and relations with T'Beth were deeply strained. Only James made regular appearances, collecting gold for his Dreamcatcher boys' ranch out west, in a remnant of California. They mainly talked about that project, and James never stayed long.
One rainy day, Spock sat with a padd in his bedroom, reviewing the message that had arrived from Vulcan in August. Even before opening it, he had known what it meant, for the seal of Sorel was prominently displayed on the cover page. Since that day, he had been stripped of all duties affiliated with the Yanashite Community.
"In your place," Sorel wrote, "I am appointing Yosak as Vatican envoy, and the seminary will reconvene in Phoenix. I deeply regret the necessity for these actions. Whether your behavior is willful or out of your control, I cannot allow you to continue in any position of authority. As always, I pray for the health of your body and your soul."
"Spock!" T'Naisa's sudden outcry roused him. Setting his padd aside, he went into the living room, tense with the expectation of more trouble.
Tess sat close beside T'Naisa on the sofa, quietly playing with a doll. The viewscreen on the wall was broadcasting news.
T'Naisa jumped up and pointed at it. "Look! It's over!"
Spock turned his attention to the screen. Squads of special Federation forces were breaking down doors and seizing criminal Vulcans from an organization called the Black League. For the first time he saw the compound where Nayo was shaped into a lawless operative. A sterile nursery came into view, with frightened children scurrying like k'nurts into the shadows. Then downtown ShiKahr, where dark tendrils of the League reached into the upper levels of government. The reporter began telling the story of the disbanded Vulcan High Command, some elements of which had survived to create the Black League.
Suddenly a picture of Nayo appeared in one corner of the screen. Blameless victim of the League, "stillborn" son of Ambassador Sarek, courageous informer. Nayo's impersonation of Spock was now recounted in detail, amidst glowing praise.
The scene cut to a press conference at Federation Headquarters in Paris. Dressed in an expensive suit, Nayo stood with the officials and fielded a stream of questions, flagrantly promoting his new image as a hero.
Tess glanced up from her doll and noticed him. "Daddy! Look Daddy, it's you!"
"No," Spock said softly. And for the first time he told her, "That is your uncle."
T'Naisa rose from the sofa and putting her arms around him, sighed. "It's over."
Considering the mindset of his brother, Spock wondered.
oooo
Applause rang in Nayo's ears as he turned from the podium and headed out of the pressroom. Sola rushed forward and they shared a lingering kiss.
"Good job," she whispered, but he did not need her praise to convince him.
As they walked hand-in-hand, he smiled thinly and tipped his head at the many well-wishers, reveling in their attention. The glow of excitement lasted all that day, but with the coming of night it dissipated, leaving his heart almost as restless and unsatisfied as ever. The thought of Romak safe and comfortable in a Vulcan cell angered him. Romak deserved to suffer as he had made Nayo suffer—long hard years of pain and humiliation. At the very least, he deserved to die.
With the rising of the sun, Nayo knew that he must pay Romak a visit, if only to curse the Dark Master to his face. Sola had a covert assignment pending and it was just as well, for this was a matter that he preferred to handle alone.
After breakfast he lit a cigarette and told her, "I'm going to Vulcan."
She reacted with surprise and pleasure. "You're going after D'Gar! Yes, that's better than waiting around for the Vulcans to send him. The boy needs you."
Nayo did nothing to correct her misperception. While on Vulcan he would see to D'Gar, but he did not want the little snarth. He had no intention of bringing him back or of meeting his father the ambassador, who was sure to reject him. Let Sarek have the creature; after all, it was his grandson.
oooo
Word of Nayo's impending journey reached Spock by way of Sola Thane. Her phone call was brief and astonishing.
"Did I hear you correctly?" Spock replied. "You want me to follow Nayo around Vulcan? If you don't trust him, go yourself—after all, he is your husband."
Sola explained why she could not accompany Nayo, frankly admitting, "Although he has made progress, he can still be…unpredictable."
"'Unpredictable' seems rather a mild term," Spock said with some sarcasm. "He came close to killing me. What makes you think he won't try again?"
For that, she had no convincing reply. At first Spock refused her request, but an hour of serious reflection made him reconsider. Though T'Naisa was not entirely pleased, he called Sola back and informed her that he had his own reasons to keep an eye on his brother and would accompany him, after all. Come what may, he would see that Nayo had no chance to play masquerade on Vulcan.
oooo
Nayo emerged from his berth on the starliner, and choosing a seat on the observation deck, settled into it with a padd. Though he appeared to be engrossed in a bestselling thriller, his attention was mainly elsewhere. There was a sense of being watched that made his neck tingle. It was not the first time he had experienced the feeling since coming aboard ship. Perhaps its source was only a curious passenger. Spock was certainly well known, and Nayo's own face was still in the news. The trim goatee that he had regrown might not fool everyone.
It was a second possibility that made him tense and vigilant. He had studied the arrest sheet, and not every League operative had been caught. Some of those who remained free would like to see him dead.
Nayo used the decorative mirroring on the walls to monitor the activity all around him. The fact that he could see every passenger clearly did little to allay his worries. Even a human could be in the pay of the League—perhaps a bigoted member of CUE, happy to eliminate a Vulcan of his reputation. But the Federation knew he was a target for renegade operatives. They would have their own agents on this liner, keeping a close lookout, hoping to make an arrest. Even now, they would be watching over him. No wonder he felt so exposed.
Rising, he pocketed his padd and headed into the dining room. It was the dinner hour, and all but one of the tables were occupied. As he moved toward it, a person overtook him, and they arrived at the table together. Wordlessly the man slipped into the far chair and looked at him, grim-faced, his Vulcan eyes narrowed and challenging.
Here was a mirror of another kind, and it shocked Nayo with an abrupt seething fury that was difficult to control. Nonetheless he did contain it, for this was a public place, not suitable for the sort of greeting he would have liked to give his esteemed brother.
"Sit down," Spock's baritone voice ordered, "and hear what I have to say."
"Like hell," Nayo responded in an identical tone.
Spock slowly released a deep breath and said, "Please."
Relenting, Nayo lowered himself into a seat and growled, "Why are you following me?"
A waiter came, but Nayo waved him off.
Spock said, "Contrary to what you seem to think, I am not your enemy."
"I have never said that you are," Nayo replied.
"Yet you detest me."
"I suppose you would claim to love me?"
Neither of them denied their hard feelings. The air between them crackled with hostility.
At last Spock said, "I had no way of knowing that you existed. If you had come to my door like a civilized man…"
"Instead of ambushing you like a savage?" Nayo placed his hands palm-down on the tablecloth and leaned toward him. "You sicken me with your soft, hypocritical ways. Say it. Say the truth. These past months I've humiliated you, and you would like nothing better than to go for my throat and choke the life out of me."
Spock's eyes glinted dangerously. "Your behavior has been worse than humiliating—it has been blasphemous. If you are planning any such trouble on Vulcan, be forewarned: I intend to monitor your every step."
"Then follow closely," Nayo snarled, "so the assassins will target your back instead of mine."
Spock rose and left the room, but Nayo's appetite was spoiled.
oooo
On Vulcan, Spock kept Nayo in sight at all times. He dared not leave his brother for a visit to Seleya, but Sparn traveled from Tareel and they spent a day together, finishing at a restaurant while Nayo dined at a separate table. Nayo was clearly annoyed by Spock's persistence, and had placed his back to them.
"So like you," Sparn said. "I want to meet him."
"He is best viewed from a distance," Spock warned, but Sparn rose of his own accord and Spock felt obliged to accompany him.
Though Sparn was growing frail from age, he carried himself with dignity. As he reached Nayo's table, the bearded Vulcan looked up, his expression stony and unwelcoming.
Sparn inclined his gray head. "Greetings. My name is Sparn, and I am your uncle."
Nayo sneered. "Should that matter to me, old man?"
Anger made Spock stiffen. "My apologies, Uncle. Operatives of the Black League respect only the lash."
Nayo bolted from the table, his face contorted with a rage aimed directly at Spock. "Shut up! Another word—just one more—and I'll kick you and this doddering old fool half to death!"
Spock felt more than ready for the challenge until Sparn tugged at his arm. It was all the reminder that he needed. With a bitter taste in his mouth, he raised a hand in surrender and backed away, taking their uncle with him.
That evening, with Sparn safely back at Tareel, Spock kept vigil over the room where Nayo was resting. He dared not let down his guard, even for a moment. There would be little sleep for him until Nayo left Vulcan.
In the quiet of the night, he analyzed the explosive response his mention of beatings had provoked. He, too, was acquainted with the lash and its psychological scarring, but Nayo's trauma went far deeper. When Spock entered Nayo's mind at Plum Creek, he had glimpsed some of the horrors imbedded there. Every day the press carried new tales of abuse at the Black League compound where Nayo grew up. And now, not for the first time, Spock pondered how it might have been him at the compound, instead of Nayo. If as a newborn he had not breathed at once, if Nayo had emerged from the womb vigorous…
Spock's mind shrank from the thought and turned toward a less painful musing. What if they had both been born healthy and were raised as brothers in the same home? Yet even this thought held sorrow, for it was nothing more than a dream.
oooo
Nayo did his best to ignore Spock's shadowing presence as an escort led them deep into the high security cellblock at ShanaiKahr. They were underground at a depth Nayo estimated at twenty-five meters. Being back below the surface of Vulcan made him break into perspiration. There was a nagging fear that this was a trap and at any moment a door would lock shut, leaving him to languish here forever. Only the thought of Romak drove him onward, but as they reached the cell, all trace of fear left him. Oblivious to the guard, forgetting even Spock, Nayo moved in close to the transparent force field.
How small Romak seemed now. Stripped of his master's robe, he seemed shrunken—an inconsequential little man in bland prison coveralls.
Nayo glared at him, unaware of his own hands knotting into fists. Consumed by a poisonous hatred, he shouted, "Pekh! They have you now, don't they, you stinking child murderer!"
Romak rose from his seat and coolly confronted him. "Nayo—a spineless traitor with the face of an oluhk—an oluhk burrowing through the filth, waiting to be crushed under a heel. Best keep an eye over your shoulder, half-breed."
Though Nayo trembled with the desire to throttle him, he was reduced to trading insults. "An oluhk, you say? Well, given a chance, this oluhk would gnaw you to the bone!"
Romak laughed, and the cruel humorless sound made Nayo fling his body at the barrier. The stinging field jolted him backwards, but someone caught him as he fell. Shaking off the effects, he righted himself and wrenched free of the steadying hands, for they belonged to his brother. Turning away, he hurled himself down the passage. The black walls writhed with noxious memories that threatened to close in and suffocate him.
"Nayo!" Spock called from behind.
He ran even harder; not only to escape Spock and the Federation agents who awaited him outside, but in a futile effort to escape his past. Reaching the ground floor, he burst through an exit. There in the light of day he finally stopped to catch his breath.
Emerging from the building, Spock gave his brother some distance. Nayo needed time to recover, and for that matter, so did he. The scene at Romak's cell had moved him in unexpected ways. Today he had learned something important about Nayo and now he felt ready to learn more.
Nayo had entered a park where vine-covered trellises cast welcome shade over the public seating areas. Leaving a sandy path, he settled onto a bench and did not rise as Spock approached him, nor even when Spock sat at the end of the same bench.
Gathering himself, Spock said, "Now that you have seen Romak, will you also visit D'Gar?"
Nayo did not ask how Spock knew about the boy, for all the news services had carried the story. "No," he replied in a weary-sounding voice. "I want no part of him."
"But D'Gar is your son," Spock remarked.
Nayo shrugged. "A stirring of lust on a hot night."
"It matters not how the boy was conceived," Spock reasoned.
Nayo's dark gaze settled on him. "Could it be that you want him? It would make you most saintly in the eyes of Sola Thane."
"Her eyes are not my concern," Spock retorted. "You are."
"And D'Gar?"
"He is your son."
Nayo's lips thinned. "And so we have talked ourselves into a circle."
"But we have talked, Nayo—almost civilly—which in itself is remarkable."
Nayo stood and began to leave, then hesitated. With his eyes on the scarlet sky, he said, "You must think I am an evil man."
On the bench, Spock responded with a question of his own. "Does it matter to you what I think?"
Nayo turned and looked at Spock. Eridani lay behind him, and shadows made his bearded face appear downright satanic. "No," he said. "I don't give a bloody damn what you think."
He had lied. It came easy for Nayo, far easier than it would have been to admit the truth. Strange, that he should care what Spock thought about him—strange and aggravating. All his life he had resented the pampered half-breed, but this Spock was not quite the man Nayo had expected. Unknown to Spock, Nayo had discovered a surprising thing or two in their one mind meld. Spock's childhood had not been so pleasant, after all. Regularly beaten by a great-grandfather, taunted by bullies, treated coldly by his father, yet embarrassed by his mother's human affection. Spock had suffered as a boy, and even later, as a half-caste adult. Only religion had brought him lasting peace—a peace that Nayo did not understand, yet could envy.
He reminded himself that he had his freedom now, even if ropes of resentment still bound him to the past. His relationship with Sola Thane was an anchor he could cling to, even if it did not satisfy him as fully as the Shiav satisfied Spock. What need had he of a God and savior? Now that he was rid of the Dark Masters, he would never bow his head again.
After a restless night, he rose with the grim intention of consulting an attorney in order to relinquish all claim to his son. Outside his door, he found Spock waiting. Wordlessly his brother held out a sheet of paper.
"What is this?" Nayo said with suspicion.
Spock's eyebrow climbed. "Surely you are able to read."
Snatching the paper, Nayo scanned the neat columns of Vulcan script. It was an official document, and though he did not understand the legal language, pride kept him from admitting it. "Ka-roh-fee," he said, hoping Spock would add something to clarify the term. "This says I am granted the right of ka-roh-fee on Romak."
Spock quietly studied him. "I thought you would appreciate the opportunity. Combat was an integral part of your formation."
Combat! Now Nayo understood. The document stated that Romak had accepted the challenge put to him on Nayo's behalf. Living among outlaws, Nayo had received little training in Vulcan's legal system, but he correctly surmised that ka-roh-fee involved mortal combat.
His fingers tightened on the paper and his heart raced. "You arranged this," he said, stating the obvious, for Spock's name was clearly listed as the sponsor. Yet the situation was far from clear. Spock was a Yanashite who believed in a return to love, not warfare. Why would he orchestrate a deadly battle? To give Nayo a chance for revenge? Not damn likely.
Looking hard into his brother's eyes, Nayo said, "I see. You don't have the stomach to kill me yourself, so you are hoping that Romak will do the job for you."
Gripping the document tightly, he strode away. Once again, he would fool Spock. He would kill Romak and live…and then perhaps he would kill Spock, too.
oooo
The site was ancient, a circular arena surrounded by crumbling pillars. In a spot much like this, Spock had once engaged in a combat of his own when his betrothed rejected him. Now he could only stand by, knowing that this battle was his own doing.
The crimson sky flamed as Nayo took to the field where Romak waited. The two men had stripped down to traditional breech-wrap. Their muscles rippled as they circled one another, poised for combat, trading insults.
"For Kalen," Nayo told his opponent, "and for myself, you sadistic misconceived—"
"Snivelling cur!" Romak countered. "Son of a malformed, sewer-lapping—"
Romak lunged in an asumi kick, but Nayo stepped aside, deflecting the blow with an outthrust arm. Nayo whirled, landing a chop to the back of Romak's neck. As Romak stumbled, Nayo's leg swung out, dropping him to the ground. In an instant Nayo was upon him, but Romak had turned face-up and was ready for the attack. The two grappled, muscles corded, straining hard to gain an advantage.
Spock watched from between the pillars, his stomach knotted with the realization that Nayo might die at any moment, and knowing that it would lie heavily on his conscience. This was his brother, and though Nayo suspected otherwise, Spock had arranged this fight with Nayo's welfare in mind. The cathartic effect of Vulcan combat was scientifically documented.
Spock held his breath as Romak rolled Nayo beneath him and fought to grasp Nayo's throat. Suddenly Nayo threw him, and Romak scrambled out of reach. They both sprang to their feet. Sand clung to the perspiration on Nayo's body, but Romak's skin was dry. The difference was one of genetics, highlighting Nayo's human half, which should have made him the weaker of the two. But Spock knew that bitter fury would supply Nayo with all the strength he needed…as long as he used it wisely.
The combatants were circling again, striking out with fist and foot, a punishing flurry of swift asumi blows. Nayo was holding his own when a subtle movement among the spectators drew Spock's attention from the arena. There were only a handful of observers—few modern Vulcans would find this spectacle pleasant to look upon. Yet now a new figure joined the group, her face hidden in the hood of a cloak, despite the heat. As Spock watched from the corner of his eye, he saw one slender hand reach beneath her concealing garment. His gaze flicked to the Vulcan male he had identified as a Federation agent. An assortment of Vulcans had been secretly guarding Nayo since his arrival at the spaceport, but just now the agent's attention was on the arena.
There were little more than two meters between Spock the newcomer. He moved quickly and arrived just as her hand emerged from her cloak gripping a Vulcan phaser. He did not wait to see where she would aim. A swift downward chop made the weapon discharge harmlessly into the sand. Then he wrenched the weapon from her. Seeing her plan thwarted, she tried to run, but he was quicker. The woman's struggles dislodged her hood, revealing cold dark eyes and wavy tresses that stirred a memory from Spock's mind meld with Nayo. This would-be assassin was D'Gar's mother.
Officers of the court relieved Spock of his captive. As they dragged her away, she spewed curses at Nayo. The combat monitor had called a temporary halt to the match, but defying all honor, Romak struck Nayo a surprise fist-blow, opening a gash on the halfling's cheekbone. Green blood ran from the wound, and Nayo countered.
Spock focused on the action. Nayo's injury had not weakened him; if anything, he seemed more determined than ever. Suddenly he whirled and kicked out at Romak's right shoulder. There was a sickening snap of bone. The Vulcan gasped and his arm hung useless. Though Romak wielded the other arm well, it was a turning point. Nayo's persistent attacks began to tire him, and Romak slowed under a pounding that left his face bloodied and swollen. As he staggered in the sand, the light of life seemed to fade from his eyes. Nayo's foot struck him a crushing blow over his heart, and he fell flat on his back, arms outstretched. He attempted to rise but fell backward, gasping for air, and did not try again.
For a long moment Nayo stood over him. Then he dropped to his knees and clenched his fingers in Romak's disheveled hair.
"For Kalen," he said savagely. "For Kalen…and for me."
And reaching down, he caught the master in one last hold and snapped his neck.
Now that the battle was over, something inside Nayo eased. The feeling was immediate—a sense of liberation, as if a heavy burden had lifted from his shoulders. With his own hands he had exacted a fitting punishment for a lifetime of injustice, and for child murder. But as he sat to receive medical attention, he knew there was an additional reason for his lightened mood.
His cheek wound stung as a healer cleansed it and applied the protoplaster. There might be a scar, but Nayo would not need it to remind him of this day—the day he vanquished his Dark Master, the day Spock saved him from T'Pela's phaser, the day Nayo first felt a faint stirring of trust in his brother.
Spock stood at a short distance, waiting until the healer finished and Nayo put on his clothes—drab garments suitable for Vulcan travel. Spock would have been comfortable wearing them, but Nayo hungered for a good splash of color and a lively atmosphere in which to celebrate his victory.
Approaching his brother, he said, "I am going to the tourist district and I intend to get drunk."
Nayo expected condemnation, but Spock answered in a mild tone. "Most unwise. There may well be other assassins on your trail. There is a Vulcan agent nearby, but even Vulcans can be distracted, as we have just seen. And do not depend upon me to protect you, for I am going to Seleya."
So Spock was leaving him. But instead of relief, Nayo experienced a peculiar regret. "I see. The combat disgusted you. I disgust you. Nothing has changed."
Spock neither acknowledged nor denied it. "Change comes slowly, brother. My leaving is a positive sign. It means that I have found reason to return a measure of the trust I perceive in you."
The words warmed Nayo like fine liquor. Perhaps he would not get so very drunk, after all. Working past his pride, he said, "In some ways, I had misjudged you…and now I find myself in an awkward position, for I am doubly in your debt. Not only did you arrange ka-roh-fee, you also saved me from an assassin."
"…who is more than an assassin. She is the mother of your child."
Somehow, Spock's observation did not surprise Nayo. Spock's mind was sharp, and Nayo had briefly joined himself to it. He almost smiled now as he recalled the surprising toughness he had encountered. Strength of mind was something he could admire.
He felt no need to tell Spock how it had been for him and T'Pela on their sporadic occasions of intimacy. The child had been an accident of nature, brought to term only for the good of the League. Nayo had not participated in his birth, nor even named him. Like all Black League children, D'Gar had lived apart from both parents, in the common nursery. Nayo had never set eyes on the boy and had no desire to see him now.
Spock was cut from different cloth. Here was a man who had successfully raised three children to adulthood. Even the mentally deficient Tess was treated with patience and understanding. What more could Nayo want for his son?
Reaching a decision, he said, "You have spoken of D'Gar. If you want him, he is yours, for one thing is certain. I am not suited for fatherhood." Nayo saw an unwelcome stirring of sympathy in Spock's eyes, and it made him belligerent. "Well?" he snapped.
Levelly Spock said, "I am agreeable…but have you considered Sola Thane's wishes?"
"Have you considered T'Naisa's?" Nayo answered testily. "Sola is my wife and I will manage her. This decision is mine alone."
Spock looked as if he would have liked to comment on the challenge of managing a Zaran huntress, but thought better of it. He merely said, "Thane's career would make raising a child impractical. I know from experience how prolonged separations can harm the parental relationship. As for T'Naisa, she possesses a strong mothering instinct and has expressed concern for the boy."
Nayo waited, tense with anger…and something very much like hope. Suddenly it had become vitally important that Spock accept the child and raise him far from Vulcan, in the lush mountains of Idaho.
"So it is decided," Spock declared, "but I will make it clear to D'Gar that I am his uncle, not his father."
Nayo gave a terse nod and started to relax. "As you think best, but if you must speak of me, do not burden the boy with my past. It is enough for me to bear it."
"When he asks questions, I will answer him…as gently as I can. Any child has a right to the truth."
Nayo tilted his head. "A Yanashite philosophy?"
"Truth is at the root of every viable philosophy…yet Truth also transcends it."
With a grimace Nayo said, "I can see that D'Gar has his work cut out for him. I shall make the necessary legal arrangements tomorrow. Good day, then, and good luck…to the both of you."