Chapter 12: September, 2229

Better Tactics

Following the less-than-stellar Candy Jones interview, Stein adjusted masterfully. In addition to being a talented operative, he was a skilled political observer. Correctly discerning the ties between the tensions underlying the Centauri Accord controversy and the hostility toward Sarek and Amanda's engagement, he recommended they make the case for both with the public. "It's all about why integration is good," he kept repeating.

Amanda's sincerity and warmth made her an immediate success in the interviews Stein arranged for her. She went from one interview to another, from scholarly journals where she talked as much about her work as a linguist as she did of her engagement, to more popular fare, where she offered hints of what her wedding gown would look like and earnestly conveyed her love for her fiancé, all while skillfully avoiding the disclosure of truly private details.

When it was her turn to sit across from Candy Jones, Amanda shined. T'Vey had watched the interview when it occurred and now studied a transcript in detail, teasing out the direct and indirect messages conveyed by Amanda. The dynamics of communication on Terra were so different than on Vulcan; it was quite intriguing.

CJ: "Ladies and Gentlemen, this morning we have as our guest Dr. Amanda Grayson, who is going to tell us all about what it's like to be marrying the Vulcan Ambassador."

AG: "Please, Candy, call me Amanda. As long as you don't ask me to 'kiss and tell,' I'll tell you everything I can."

CJ: "Do Vulcans kiss?"

AG: "That would be kissing and telling! [Laughter] What else would you like to know?"

CJ: "Have you always been interested in aliens, that is, non-Humans? Were you looking to establish a relationship with a non-Human?"

AG: "If you mean, was I looking to marry a non-Human, it's not something that crossed my mind. I have friends and colleagues from many other Federation planets, and my field of study concerns the languages of different species, Humans included. But I think Sarek and I found each other the way a lot of people find their spouses. We got to know each other, realized we had a lot of common interests, became friends. And from there, you know, it's just a certain spark that happens."

CJ: "How does the ambassador feel?"

AG: "It wouldn't be right for me to try to put words in his mouth, Candy. But I love him very much, and I know he's heard me tell him so." [Points to ears; laughter from CJ]

CJ: "Do Vulcans even have feelings, emotions? How can you be close to someone who doesn't feel like we do?"

AG: "That's a great question, Candy, because it's a source of understandable confusion for a lot of people. Vulcans do experience emotion – as a linguist I can tell you that every sentient species we've encountered uses emotion in some form as a tool for survival. Vulcans choose to control the expression of those emotions, however. It's a vital part of their culture and history, just as expressing our emotions is such a vital part of Human culture."

CJ: "There are those who say you've been indoctrinated…"

AG: [Laughs out loud] "Me? Brainwashed? Hah! I'm hardly the unexpressive type, as you can see. And I love my Humanity. It's too much fun to give it up." [Winks at holocam]

CJ: "Why do you think Ambassador Sarek wants you to be his wife?"

AG: "That's a great question to ask any husband and wife – there'll be as many answers as there are couples! As for my fiancé, I know he has his reasons. It's not for my cooking, though, I can tell you that."

CJ: [Double-take] What? Oh, you're funny… Well, is there anything else you'd like to tell us, Amanda?"

AG: "Just that I think everyone deserves to find happiness. Don't you think so, Candy?"

CJ: "I couldn't agree more. Thanks for coming today, Amanda."

T'Vey concluded that the interview had been a success by the way Stein had rocked back on his heels in the studio and pronounced, "Sweet and stellar!" in a satisfied tone to no one in particular. And indeed, the commentary following the interview was 88% positive, 10% neutral and only 2% negative, validating Stein's opinion. Further study was merited.

With some better-targeted venues, Sarek also quite effectively utilized the interview forum, where he could indeed be quite charming. He had to acknowledge that there was some merit to positively engaging the Terran press. In a piece on the Centauri Accord for the Federation Times, the ambassador spoke eloquently of the needs the accord addressed and the opportunities it afforded.

"There is much need, and much opportunity, for Human ingenuity and enterprise throughout the Federation. Each of the worlds of the Federation possess relative strengths, and we strengthen each other by sharing them. The people of Earth possess a creativity and drive I have seen no where else in the galaxy, and I am certain they and their trading partners will only benefit from stronger ties."

When the reporter posed a personal question, he was equally well armed.

"How do you feel about your upcoming nuptials?"

"Vulcans and Humans both value family and marriage. However, on my world, announcements of betrothals and weddings are not made outside of the family. I have done so on Earth in deference to the planet to which I am an envoy and out of respect for the customs of my fiancée's people. I hope you can appreciate that to go beyond this would constitute a breach of my own cultural boundaries."

Sarek's answer having successfully diverted the reporter to better topics, Stein nodded at T'Vey and commented, "And it even has the benefit of being the truth!"

"Please explain your meaning," she asked, confounded.

The Human laughed and obliged.

ooo

The next three weeks passed quickly. It seemed as though one or the other of them was constantly in front of a holocam. It was time-consuming but appeared to be gradually paying off as the statistics in T'Vey's media analysis reports slowly but steadily improved. As unproductive as this activity had initially appeared, Sarek understood it was important for the ratification of the Centauri Accord and for the safety and emotional wellbeing of his bondmate. It was logical.

There was an unexpected benefit to the effort as well. T'Pau contacted Sarek to inform him that the High Council had elected to withhold judgment, for the time being, on his appointment. It seemed the council members were curious about the events unfolding on Earth and wished to learn their outcome.

Challenge

On a separate front in the media war, events played out largely outside of the public view. Vid commentator Wayne Floran, owning the dubious distinction of coining the "Vulcan Menace" label, attempted to further stir up his followers by bellicosely announcing, "We are mounting a legal challenge to this so-called engagement, in order to protect the women of Earth!"

Amanda snorted in dismissive indignation at the statement, and Stein recommended not giving "such a blowhard" any credence by engaging with him.

Sarek agreed with the tactical, if emotional, assessments. Familiar with Earth's judicial system by virtue of his position, he knew that such a legal action had virtually no chance of succeeding. It was not logical to respond to a groundless provocation. Nonetheless he found himself hard-pressed to ignore an explicit challenge. In the back of his mind he searched for a logical way to deal with this one. His opportunity presented itself when he was scheduled for an interview at a studio co-located with the one where Floran recorded his commentaries.

Floran erred grievously by showing up unannounced during Sarek's session. Chatting with one of the studio hands, he did not notice when the interview concluded, and looked up, startled, to find the Vulcan staring down at him.

The commentator covered his surprise quickly. "Well, look who's here. I thought I'd only see you in court," he smirked.

"Unlikely, Mr. Floran," Sarek responded. "I am quite familiar with the Terran legal system and can tell you that the probability of achieving standing for your claim is less than one point eight percent." He paused. "However, should you insist on pursuing a challenge I could accommodate your doing so under Vulcan jurisdiction."

At Floran's confounded look, Sarek's voice dropped into a deeper register. "Among my people, a challenge in the context of a marriage is handled in a specific, traditional manner, directly between the rival parties. If it is indeed your intent to challenge, I would be gratified to acquaint you with the particulars."

The commentator noticed the darkness in Sarek's voice and was taken aback. Vulcans are pacifists, right? "Heh, yeah well, we'll see," he responded noncommittally, suddenly unsure of what he might be getting himself into. He sought to make his exit. "See you around," he said and stuck out his right hand.

Whether the Human's gesture was made out of ignorance or a deliberate attempt to be offensive, Sarek did not know. It did not matter. He reached out and firmly gripped the Human's hand, not exerting enough pressure to cause injury but nevertheless leaving a clear impression of the strength —and unbendable determination— held in reserve.

Floran's eyes widened noticeably as he nearly tripped over himself trying to back away from the unexpectedly formidable alien. Perhaps he could not provoke the ambassador with impunity after all.

Impassive as ever, Sarek silently watched the man leave.

The next week, Floran changed the subject of his commentary.

Appointment

In the midst of their frenetic schedules they did manage to find time to plan a wedding. Most of it had been turned over to Gerard, to his unconcealed satisfaction. The vows, however, Amanda wanted to discuss with Sarek. This was not his world; she wanted to be sure he was comfortable with the words he was going to be expected to say.

Taking a break from research for her paper and preparation for more interviews, she spent some time researching this much more personal and meaningful topic. Presenting her compilation to Sarek later, Amanda told him, "The words are mostly traditional, edited for brevity and," her lips quirked, "excess emotionalism. You can change anything you'd rather not say."

He looked over what she had given him, the words a mixture of the ancient and the modern, and returned his gaze solemnly to her. "I cannot see a thing that I would change."

Amanda understood his double meaning. "I am honored," she whispered.

"It is I who am honored," he said softly, holding her gaze.

She could have spent the rest of the afternoon gazing back at him, she thought, but then she started, realizing the time. "Oh no — I'm late! The dress appointment starts in fifteen minutes. I'm sorry, Sarek, I have to go."

"My intended, I regret that our lunch time is to be curtailed, but I believe I understand the purpose. I also regret that I cannot accompany you; I have meetings for the rest of the afternoon."

Amanda smiled. "I know, Sarek. I'll miss you. And you're not supposed to see me in my wedding dress beforehand!" she teased.

"Most illogical… but I will observe the tradition." He rose with her, extending his fingers in the oz'hesta. "Until you return," he said simply.

Amanda touched his fingers with a tender smile, and then dashed away.

Sporn and T'Lina were already in the hovercar, and they made good time across the city to the dress designer's boutique. Alain Gichot was an up-and-coming fashion designer with a growing reputation for beautiful and elegant wedding dresses. Also a shrewd marketeer, Gichot had offered Amanda one of his dresses. When the three stepped inside the boutique Alain himself enthusiastically greeted them.

"Bon jour, Mademoiselle Grayson et votre amis!" the short, wiry man exclaimed.

Knowing that it was unlikely that T'Lina nor Sporn spoke French, Amanda introduced them and guided the conversation back into Standard. Alain's accent was heavy but understandable.

Sporn surveyed the interior of the boutique, filled wall-to-wall with gauzy fabric, ephemeral dresses and undergarments for the same, and promptly notified the two women, "I shall station myself outside the entrance."

Amanda stifled an amused snort.

Their work began in earnest as Alain wheeled out a large cart loaded with dresses and presented each one to Amanda, along with an array of undergarments and accessories to go with each.

T'Lina's curiosity was thoroughly piqued; Human wedding dresses were far more complex than Vulcan wedding garments. Some of these, she thought, might be hazardous to remove with any sort of haste. Surely they could be designed more efficiently? Perhaps this is not the intent, she considered, and wondered at the Human males who were apparently unconcerned about how long it would take to undress their wives.

Outside, Sporn stood watch, convinced that remaining outdoors and observing those in the vicinity was a better use of his skills than trying to do so in the midst of all those strange Terran garments.

He suddenly became aware of a child's strident cry, his ears telling him it was coming from somewhere around the corner. He took no immediate action; logically, the child's caregiver would attend. But as the seconds went by and the child's cries became more and more anguished, Sporn grew concerned. He could not leave his post, yet it was not acceptable to leave a helpless being in harm's way if he could assist.

The street was deserted. Sporn quickly comm'd T'Lina, "Checking disturbance." At her confirmation, he verified his phaser's stun setting, and then stepped around the corner into a dim alley. Seeing a small, prone bundle, he ran toward it. An almost imperceptible whistle alerted him and he spun, but not in time to avoid the neurotoxin-loaded dart that hit him from above.

Amanda had tried on several dresses, asking T'Lina for her opinion and engaging Alain in a spirited discussion, often in French, about the merits of each. The next one she put on, however, made her catch her breath. It was pearly white, with enough pinkish undertones to highlight her pale skin. The gown had simple, elegant lines, just a touch of pearl and lace trim in the right places, and a long but narrow train.

Coming out of the dressing room, she simply said, "Alain, this is beautiful. I think this is the one." She noted that T'Lina was on her comm and didn't interrupt the guard. After a brief discussion with Alain, she turned back to the dressing room wearing a satisfied smile.

She was halfway out of the dress when she heard T'Lina. "T'Sai Amanda?"

"Yes, T'Lina?"

"I cannot reach Sporn on the comm. I am concerned –"

At that moment there was a deafening explosion and everything went dark.

Abduction

The force of the explosion slammed Amanda against the wall of the dressing room. Sore, and sure she would be bruised tomorrow, she was otherwise unharmed. The power seemed to be off in the boutique, and there was an acrid smell of smoke. Her ears were ringing and she realized it must have been a sonic bomb.

"T'Lina?" Amanda shouted.

T'Lina started to answer "T'Sai—" and then, to her horror, she heard the unmistakable whine of a phaser burst. A heavy thud on the floor, and then nothing.

"T'Lina!"

Then Alain's voice raised in alarm, "Mon Dieu! What are you doing? You cannot—" He was cut off with the sound of something dense forcibly impacting flesh and bone.

Still in pitch black, Amanda frantically pulled herself out of the dress and yanked open the dressing room door, preparing to make an escape. She pulled up short, though, when confronted by three Humanoids wearing blinding headlamps.

"Don't move, Amanda Grayson," a strange voice demanded. "As you probably already know, we are armed and very willing to use our weapons."

"Who are you?" Amanda demanded angrily. "What have you done to them?" Damn, my comm is in the dressing room…

"Not your concern," the voice replied. "The man will have a nasty headache in a few hours. The alien is not our problem."

"Let me see her!"

"As we suspected, you are far too concerned with these aliens than your own kind. Let's go!"

At that two pairs of hands grabbed Amanda's arms and began to wrestle her toward a door in the back. She screamed "T'Lina!" and struggled violently, kicking one of her assailants hard enough to make him or her fall away. She turned with a vengeance on the remaining one holding her, but before she could free herself she felt a painful slam on the back of her head and the inside of her skull exploded in stars. Then everything really went black.

Trauma

Over at the Earth Parliament building, Sarek was briefing Soran on the outcome of a meeting as they walked out toward Stell and the waiting hovercar. Growing accustomed to the pleasant thrum of the bond with Amanda in the back of his mind, he was startled when, without warning, he was jolted with an abrupt surge of concern, a spike of anger, and then fear. And then he stumbled into the wall.

Intense pain and nausea washed over him in an instant. It felt as though he'd been slammed on the back of the head – and he could not sense Amanda. He was vaguely aware of Soran's hands on his shoulders, shouting "Sarek!" as he frantically tried to focus on the bond. A painful, terrifying moment later he sensed it. There!… Very weak. She lives, but she is impaired. What has happened?

He dragged his eyes open to focus on Soran's concerned face. "Contact Stanek—" he began.

Soran was already handing him a comm. "Stell wishes to speak to you urgently, S'haile."

Stell looked awful, and his voice shook even as he tried to control it. "S'haile, something of concern has happened. I cannot sense T'Lina…"

"Understood, Stell. We will be there at once." Sarek pulled himself upright and gestured toward the front entrance. Ignoring the curious stares of the Humans they passed, both Vulcans raced to the waiting hovercar.

The pungent odor of vomit hit them as soon as they entered the vehicle. "I ask forgiveness," Stell apologized, still looking unsteady.

"The cause was sufficient," Sarek said quickly, working to control his own gag

reflex.

Soran quickly assessed the situation. Disrupted bonds were a serious thing, suggesting grave injury or worse for the victim's bondmate. And in any case neither of his compatriots were in appropriate condition to operate the hovercar. Ordering Stell to the back he hopped into the driver's seat and handed Sarek the comm. "Stanek for you, S'haile. To the embassy?"

Sarek nodded, grateful for his aide's efficiency. "Stanek, status report," he demanded.

"S'haile, T'Lina sent off an exception report from her comm three point seven five lirt'k ago. We are unable to raise her or Sporn, although both of their comms are operative."

"Amanda?" Sarek tried but did not fully succeed at keeping the edge out of his voice.

"The same, S'haile," Stanek replied gravely. "Her comm is operational, but we are unable to make contact."

Sarek's mouth set into a grim line. "Have you scanned their location?"

"Yes. There appears to have been some disturbance to the building, although there does not seem to be any outward damage. T'Lina and Sporn are there." The security chief hesitated for an instant. "I cannot ascertain Dr. Grayson's location, S'haile. She does not have a subdermal locator."

Inwardly Sarek groaned. He knew she didn't. Given her aversion to security in the first place, he had not forced the issue of the locator. Now was not the time to chastise himself, however. He needed to be completely focused on finding Amanda.

What to do next was an easy decision. "Send the building coordinates here. We will meet you there. Contact Federation Security on the way."

"S'haile, I do not believe it wise for you to—" Stanek began, but Sarek had cut the connection.

Soran was already changing course to head for the boutique. They were close enough that they would be there by the time Stanek and his team beamed over.

Stell, having heard the conversation with Stanek, asked, "T'Sai Amanda is not in the same location?"

"Unknown," Sarek replied, his voice grim. He felt nothing through the bond. Amanda had not died, for he would have experienced that, but she was not capable of responding to him in any way.

"We will find her, S'haile," the guard asserted.

Sarek nodded in acknowledgement of his words, then turned toward the younger man. "Can you sense your bondmate?" he asked quietly.

Stell closed his eyes. "Yes, very dimly. She is not well."

"We will recover T'Lina also, Stell."

Captive

Amanda awakened to an intensely painful throbbing in the back of her head. It hurt to move, she felt sick, and in the darkness she couldn't tell if she could see clearly. I must have a concussion… It took her a moment to realize that the rocking motion she felt surrounding her was not her own dizziness but the motion of waves – she was on a boat. She closed her eyes again and listened. Sure enough, the sounds of boat and hover traffic in the distance and the occasional cry of a gull – perhaps I'm on the bay? she thought hopefully.

It was almost completely dark where she was, presumably below deck somewhere, but from what she could tell she was on some type of small pleasure craft. Unfortunately, she couldn't find out much more; her hands were cuffed behind her and around something that prevented her from sitting up.

Then she heard the sound of voices, including one she recognized as the lead abductor from the boutique. "We'll be safe for awhile; those sand dwellers won't think to look for us here," said the one, followed by chuckles from two others. It sounded like they were above her on deck.

"Yeah, and won't everyone be surprised when she calls it off," added a second voice. "I bet his Satanic head explodes!"

Amanda froze in the darkness below, straining to hear every word.

"Are you sure you know how to work that thing?" came the first voice again. "Our backers will be pretty pissed off if your 'surprise' doesn't turn out as planned."

"I know enough. It's just an old electroconvulsive therapy machine, retooled a bit to promote suggestion – you know, like hypnosis. So zap – she gets de-programmed from alien's-bride-to-be back to straight-thinking Human. Or at least enough to truly screw things up for them."

"That's sick," a third voice chimed in, "as in excellent."

"I don't know," First Voice said dubiously. "Stanoff will have your head if this doesn't go right. I thought the original plan of keeping her hostage long enough to cause a diplomatic meltdown with the Vulcans was good enough. Centauri will go down the tubes."

"But not that damnable wedding, once she's let go," Second Voice insisted. "And that will just encourage more of the weak-minded to go and do the same thing. In no time all that'll be left of Humanity will be half-breed alien mongrels. Disgusting! Besides, I made it through almost a year of med-aide school, and the guy who sold this to me owes me, big-time. It'll work."

"And even if it don't, it'll show those elitist know-it-alls what not to do with their alien friends!" Third Voice added viciously.

"That's all well and good, but don't forget, the Stanoffs care the most about protecting their interests. They may sympathize with your Human purity philosophy, but they mostly want Centauri to fail. Be careful not to mess with who's bankrolling us." First Voice continued, "Don't get me wrong. I agree with you. Like should stick with like. It's revolting what some people think is okay these days."

Third Voice piped up again. "Like with like, you got it. And while we're at it, no more aliens taking our jobs – or our women!" Laughter all around.

A cold fear crept through Amanda as she listened. What were they thinking? She had thought people with attitudes like this no longer existed on Earth. Obviously she was wrong. Whoever had abducted her sounded personally threatened by her bond with Sarek, and they had financial interests at stake to boot. And that device they were talking about: as if she thought her head had been knocked around enough, what they were discussing was truly frightening. Even if it didn't work it would likely do serious damage.

More than anything else, though, what scared and angered her the most were the threats to Sarek and, by implication, any other non-Human on Earth. I have to get away from here, so no one can try to use me to hurt him.

Resolute on her goal, she needed to figure out how to accomplish it. She was below-decks on a boat somewhere, probably with a concussion, handcuffed so she couldn't get up. And oh, great, I'm wearing nothing but a bustier and a slip. Trying not to focus on the possible implications of that, she thought some more. I have to figure out where I am, get off this boat, and avoid getting re-captured. If she were somewhere in San Francisco Bay, or any other familiar waterway, the first was easy. She could even think of a number of plausible ways to get off the boat. But as long as the boat was under power, she had little chance of remaining free. If I could somehow disable it, though…

Amanda was a strong swimmer, always had been. And she had recently upped her fitness routine. She could kiss T'Alen, she thought, for the healer had given her a set of fitness guidelines designed to make visiting – or living on – Vulcan tolerable with its higher gravity. If it comes down to a chase in the water, I can probably out-swim any of them. Assuming they don't shoot me first.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by the sound of footsteps on a ladder. She put her head down and deliberately groaned. Act stupid, Amanda, she thought, and definitely don't act like you know your way around a boat.

Third Voice called back upstairs. "Hey, I think she's coming to!"

A moment later, Second Voice joined him. "Hello, Dear," he greeted her. Both men were scruffy-looking, with a day's growth of beard and clothing that suggested they were not used to the cool temperatures on the bay.

Amanda decided to ignore the way Second Voice greeted her even though she didn't like his tone at all. "Oh my, what – what happened?" she asked, trying to sound groggy.

Third Voice spoke up. "You had a fight with your alien boyfriend. We gentle-Humans agreed to bring you out here with us so you could think things over." Second Voice chuckled.

"Oh…?" Amanda wondered if she sounded at all confused like she was hoping to, for she seethed with anger. Bastards! She forged ahead. "Is there a, a … ladies' room down here, by any chance? I'm sorry, I really need one." She bit her lip, staring at the two men, whom she noticed were staring at her bustier. Bastards and creeps, she amended to herself.

After what seemed an eternity, Second Voice grunted and fished in his pocket before stepping toward her. She heard the jingle of keys and a click, and her hands were free. Pain shot through her arms as she moved them for the first time in hours. "Oh, thank you so much!" she gushed shamelessly. "Can you show me—?"

Third Voice, who was frankly leering at her, stepped forward. "This way, Doll," he grinned, taking her arm and guiding her toward the front of the vessel. She managed to make it there without shaking him off in disgust.

Once inside, Amanda latched the door to the marine head and tried to think some more. How to get off the boat either unnoticed or in a way that I can't be followed? She looked around the tiny room distractedly – and then her eyes fell on a roll of marine line sitting in one corner. Miraculous. If this boat were propelled by a low-tech rudder and propeller assembly – and it didn't look like this was a fancier craft than that – then that rope could be very useful.

As quickly as she could, Amanda began wrapping a length of rope around one thigh. She could conceal it under her slip. Then all she would need to do was get overboard… hopefully. She had hidden several yards of the thin but wiry rope when Third Voice banged on the door.

"Hey Sweetheart! I don't have all day!"

"I'm sorry," Amanda quavered. "I'm so dizzy. I'm almost finished…"

"Well, hurry it up," he groused.

The rope would be excellent for her purpose, if she could cut if off the roll. She tried cutting the many-stranded twine on a sharp metal edge by the sink, but only made slow progress. Desperate, and terrified she'd be caught, Amanda sawed the rope frantically with her teeth, finally ripping through it as she felt a sharp pain in her gums and tasted her own sticky-sweet blood. She hastily tied off the rope under her slip and rinsed her mouth in the filthy sink. Disgusting. Then she stuffed as much toilet paper as she could into the head and flushed.

She opened the door to the brooding Third Voice. "I'm sorry to make you wait," she said. "I, I think I need some fresh air, though…"

Third Voice rolled his eyes. "Come on. Dolf wants to talk to you anyway." He indicated the ladder to the deck.

Amanda climbed the ladder, holding her slip tightly around her, and spied a blonde-haired man who looked somewhat more put-together than the other two. This must be Dolf.

"Oh, it's you," the man said. "It's about time. You gave us quite a bit of trouble back there at the bridal shop," he added, suspicious eyes evaluating her.

Amanda lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"If you want to remain in one piece, you won't do it again," he said gruffly.

Amanda looked up at him and nodded, using the opportunity to glance behind him for landmarks. Sure enough, in the fading light she saw Alcatraz Island, and behind that, the old Bay Bridge. That meant the city had to be behind her and to her right, and possibly not too far away to swim…

"Can I sit down somewhere?" she asked, swallowing visibly. "I'm feeling seasick,"

Behind her, she heard Third Voice mutter, "Ah, for chrissake…!"

Dolf hastily motioned toward the rail. "Lean over there. And don't throw up on the deck!"

Just then, Second Voice swore from down below, causing the other two to look down the ladder. "The head is clogged! That dumb—"

This was her moment. In that instant of distraction, Amanda took the deepest breath she could and propelled herself over the rail where she had been leaning and into the cold water. The shock of it made her head throb, but she knew she had only seconds before her assailants would be after her again.

She immediately swam under the boat and toward the stern. Sure enough, it had a simple propeller and rudder. Hastily unwrapping the rope from her leg, she heard shouting up above. Any moment now they could start the engine and her plan would be for naught. She could also be dead if she wasn't careful to stay away from the lethal propeller blades.

Lungs straining as her air ran low, Amanda twined the rope first around the rudder, pushing it to the side, and then around the propeller several times. Aware of the increasing danger of the propeller starting she kicked away as fast as she could while still unwinding the length of rope behind her. Finally she freed herself. She had to surface for air.

When she gasped at the surface she heard another shout. "There!"

She was only about thirty feet from the boat. Its engine roared to life. She dove back under, in case they decided to use their weapons, and swam for shore.

Her ears straining, Amanda listened to the engine noise, but thankfully it did not grow louder. When she had to surface again, she hazarded a look back and saw that she had, indeed, succeeded. The craft's propeller was fouled by the rope, and with its rudder jammed to one side, it now could only drift in an ineffectual circle. She heard shouts and curses, but did not stop to hear anything else. She turned back toward shore using the fastest stroke she had.

Although free of her captors, at least for the moment, what she was doing was still incredibly dangerous. The choppy water was probably about fifteen degrees Celsius, cold enough to bring on hypothermia-induced muscle failure within fifteen to twenty minutes. She estimated the beach was between one and two kilometers away; not too far to reach in that time for a fit, rested swimmer in a warmsuit. Amanda was essentially naked by comparison and injured as well. And there was a reasonable chance her attackers could repair the propeller and come after her again. I have no alternative, she thought, and knew she would keep swimming on willpower alone if she had to, until she either reached shore or drowned trying. As evening began to fall, it wasn't clear which outcome was the more likely.

Pursuit

Soran piloted the hovercar to a stop in front of the boutique just as emergency vehicles were pulling up. Police, paramedics and disaster relief techs piled out and ran to the building to secure it, followed by the three Vulcans. Moments later Stanek, T'Alen and an assistant, and a team of embassy security personnel beamed in from the embassy.

A police sergeant brandished a weapon at the entrance, fearing that the arriving Vulcans were perpetrators. Seeing embassy IDs, she then began waving them away from the building for safety's sake, when Sarek stepped forward authoritatively.

"Madam, your concern is noted, but there are Vulcan nationals on these premises at this moment who are likely injured. Do not cause a diplomatic incident."

The sergeant stepped aside.

Moments later security teams found Sporn and T'Lina. T'Alen quickly examined Sporn and informed Soran, "He has been heavily dosed with a neurotoxin specific to Vulcans. He must be taken to the embassy at once for treatment." Some rapid words with her assistant, and he quickly beamed back to the embassy with Sporn in one of the hovercars.

The healer then turned her attention to T'Lina. "T'Lina has multiple injuries," she said. "She has been hit with near-lethal phaser fire at close range and has a head wound, apparently from a fall." Security personnel began to prepare T'Lina's stretcher for beam-out when T'Alen's eyes fell on Stell. "Stell. Accompany your bondmate back to the embassy."

Stell looked torn. I must stay with Osu Sarek—" he began when Stanek cut him off.

"I have a full detail here to attend the kevet-dutar," he said. "Go attend to your bondmate."

A grateful Stell hurried to beam out with his mate.

A dazed Alain Gichot, head bloodied from being clubbed, was being tended by paramedics while he railed in French. Sarek stopped for an instant to listen – explosion, power out, T'Lina and Gichot attacked, multiple assailants. He picked up his pace, rapidly searching the premises for Amanda, until he reached the blown-out back door. It was obviously the source of entry and egress for the perpetrators. Close by was the dressing room that still held Amanda's belongings, but she was nowhere to be found. She has been abducted.

Sarek knew he must not react to the emotions within that threatened to boil out of control into blinding fury. I must control, most of all for her. Turning deep within himself, he struggled and finally managed to impose harsh discipline on his anguished self so that he could continue to function.

As he forcibly composed himself, his expression turned deadly calm. He was aware that he was all too capable of committing unspeakable violence in her defense but knew he must not let that happen. Still, as a part of his mind reflexively reviewed the Vulcan martial art formsof 'a'sum'i, he had to consciously re-focus away from the deadly ones.

T'Alen, coming to see if Amanda had been found, saw his struggle. "S'haile —?" she began, but Sarek's steely gaze silenced even her.

"Return to the embassy, T'Alen, and tend to the wounded there." Sarek turned toward Soran. "Amanda has been taken. We must track the assailants."

The police sergeant, now flanked by a Federation Security detective, overheard and objected. "Ambassador, this matter is under Earth and Federation jurisdiction–"

"Not when it concerns my wife." Sarek did not deign to explain the subtleties of bondmate versus wife; he simply needed to make the gravity of the situation undeniably clear.

Both police officers' eyes widened at Sarek's tone and eyes that brooked no argument whatsoever. Vulcans were a peaceful people, they understood, but instinct was urging them not to cross this one here. If there were a jurisdictional dispute, they'd let someone else deal with it later.

Sarek turned from the Human officers, for they were inconsequential, searching anew for clues as to where Amanda had been taken. As he paused over her discarded street clothes in the dressing room, a bizarre sensation suddenly overcame him: he was swimming – swimming in very, very cold water. And he was so tired, but fearful: he dare not stop. Confusion reigned for a moment. I do not know how to swim…

His eyes flew wide. Amanda is swimming! And she is exhausted. Where? Immediately he summoned Soran and Stanek, then turned to confront the two Human officers who had backed away from him a moment ago and were now eyeing him with caution. "Where is the nearest large body of water?" he demanded.

"Uh, the bay, I guess, about eight blocks from here," one responded, baffled.

"My wife is there. She is in danger of drowning," Sarek asserted. "We must assemble a rescue team at once."

The sergeant and detective looked at one another as if the Vulcan had surely lost his mind. What is he talking about?

Sarek's expression remained impassive but his words revealed his impatience. "We require rescue personnel at once. I will tolerate no delay!"

Seeing the doubt on the Humans' faces, Soran interceded. "Officers, Ambassador Sarek has a valid basis for his request. It would be advisable if you acceded to it."

The detective did a quick calculation. They as yet had no leads here, and if while they continued to search the ambassador's spouse actually did drown… "I'll take you," he said. "Sergeant, you can manage things here."

Sarek and Soran promptly climbed into the detective's vehicle, which was followed by a paramedics' van. Stanek and two security guards took the embassy flitter. As he turned toward the bay, the detective turned to Sarek. "I'm Detective Sanchez, sir. Do you know where on the bay?" He was dismayed to see Sarek's eyes close for a long moment. This could turn out to be a fool's errand, Sanchez thought grimly.

Sarek opened his eyes, but they were still focused on something distant. "Is there a location with… large rocks on a north-facing beach? There are tall trees above the water… a violent surf."

Sanchez stared back at the Vulcan. "That would be the beach at the base of the Golden Gate Bridge," he declared, mystified.

"Take us there at once."

Rescue

Amanda figured she'd reached the point where she was swimming on willpower alone. The tide was pulling her out toward the entrance to the bay, almost under the Golden Gate Bridge. She couldn't feel her fingers or her toes anymore, and her numb limbs were starting to flail clumsily. She was chilled deep in her core; hypothermia was setting in. She refused to give in, though; her only chance was to reach the shore. The choppy whitecaps were giving way to breaking waves; she must be getting close to the beach.

Sure enough, she was right about the breaking waves. In minutes they were breaking over her almost continuously, but she still seemed a long way out. She could see the beach, but it was rocky and pounded by the surf. She was being pummeled, and she knew she would not fare well against those rocks. I'm so tired, and so cold…

ooo

The hovercar pulled up to the edge of the beach nearest the Golden Gate. Sanchez could see nothing in the water; it was almost dark, anyway. The Vulcans exited the flitter immediately, however, so Sanchez followed the stone-faced aliens as they swiftly approached the water. Sarek reached the surf first. Stanek was directing the two guards, while Soran took his place next to Sarek, looking out into the churning waves. He saw nothing. "S'haile—?" he began.

Before Soran could say another word Sarek exclaimed, "There!" pointing to something in the breakers that his keen vision was able to pick out in the fading light, about a hundred yards offshore. He threw off his cloak and boots and without hesitation sprinted into the water.

Soran shouted after him in alarm, but uselessly, "Sarek! You do not swim!"

Sanchez caught up to the beach-bound Vulcans and gaped in disbelief. "What the hell?"

Sarek had glimpsed something, and a tremor in the bond told him he was correct. Gambling that the water at that distance was not deeper than he could stand, he plunged into the surf. The water was frigid. He could tell that Amanda was fading fast. K'diwa, I am here, he thought urgently as he fought his way outward through the waves.

ooo

After being swamped for the third time in a row by a huge wave, Amanda tried treading water for a moment as she coughed out the salt water she'd swallowed. So tired… Maybe I can just float here for a minute… There was numbness in her core and she felt the weight of the ocean pulling her down…

Then she felt his thought. /K'diwa…/ Sarek is here! Here? Suddenly alert, she frantically splashed in an effort to stay afloat while she scanned the shore. She saw movement in the water. Oh my God, he's going to drown! The shock and fear giving her one last boost of adrenaline, she frantically kicked and pulled toward land.

Thankfully, mercifully, the waves propelled Amanda toward her target. Within a minute, she washed into him, almost knocking him over. He could barely stand at that depth, and she still could not. Grabbing at his tunic and too tired to speak, she pulled at him as she kicked toward shore. Sarek understood her intent. Grabbing her around her middle, he helped push her toward the beach. He stumbled, almost fell as breakers clobbered them, but her never let her go.

Finally, they reached the beach. By this time, he was holding her head up out of the waves so she could breathe. When he stepped out of the water cradling her, Sarek looked down at his bondmate and was shocked to see how pale her skin appeared and how blue her lips were. She was essentially naked, by now wearing only a single sort of undergarment twisted haphazardly around her waist. Her breath was coming fast and shallow, and Sarek realized she was probably going into shock. He also realized that he himself was deeply chilled, and that holding her close to his body wasn't going to warm her.

By now there was a throng of press as well as paramedics and the Vulcan team gathered near the water's edge. Oblivious to them all, Sarek sank to his knees in front of his discarded clothes and wrapped Amanda in his cloak. He pressed his forehead to hers for a brief moment. /I will see you well, K'diwa./ Then he arose, and, searching out the Human paramedics, brought her to them. "Please, tend to her," was all he said.

Oblivious to the bedlam that exploded all around them, Sarek's eyes remained fixed on Amanda as paramedics rushed to and fro. The police, who had by now caught up with them on the beach, were engaged in a spirited discussion with Sanchez and Stanek, every few moments looking and pointing out to the bay. The gaggle of reporters chattered loudly into recording devices while holo-cameras captured the scene in detail. At least this once they had the good sense not to assail Sarek with questions.

The aftermath was a blur. Sarek refused to leave Amanda's side. He may have heard some of the Human paramedics speaking to his aides in hushed tones behind him, but he gave no indication. After a short while, Soran approached the dripping ambassador with several emergency blankets and spoke quietly to his friend. Another short while and Sarek nodded numbly, acceding to the logic of getting out of his soaked garments to reduce the risk of illness. A blanket draped over his body, he shrugged out of his water-logged clothing, only for the briefest moment taking his attention from Amanda. Soran called the embassy for a new set of robes for the ambassador and a healer to attend him.

Meanwhile, inferring that Amanda's abductors might still be out on the bay, Sanchez called for marine back-up. Minutes later, a group of law enforcement personnel, accompanied by Stanek, set off across the bay. The kidnappers were quickly found, traversing back and forth looking for their erstwhile captive. At their apprehension, the trio fell upon themselves with angry recriminations. They also willingly named the Stanoffs as the instigators of the failed plot, providing UFP Security with plenty of usable information to make arrests and to foil other such machinations. The couple of reporters who had been allowed to ride on the police hover collected enough material that the resulting coverage would likely shut down the rest of the group from the adverse publicity alone.

Back on the beach, now warmed and rehydrated, Amanda regained consciousness. Sensing her, Sarek was immediately at her side, leaning close. Looking up at him, exhausted but relieved, she murmured, "Remind me… to teach you how to swim."

"Are you well, K'diwa?" he asked, his voice husky with emotion he could not contain.

"Mmm-hmm," was all Amanda responded; she was already almost asleep. Still concerned, Sarek knelt down next to his bondmate, preparing for a brief meld to verify her well-being.

Soran saw his friend splay his fingers and reach for her katra points in this most intimate touch. Just as the reporters and holographers still on the beach noticed what looked like an odd embrace between the ambassador and his fiancée, Soran stepped in front of the pair, effectively blocking any image capture. "Enough," he called out authoritatively. "Allow them privacy."

Just descending into the meld, Sarek heard and was again grateful for his friend. As he touched Amanda's thoughts, she told him again and he sensed to his own satisfaction that she would be all right. /I cherish thee, Amanda,/ his mind voice murmured to his beloved as he allowed sleep to overcome her again.

For their part, the press contingent scored again, even without a holo of the couple's last, somewhat strange interaction on the beach. Quickly blanketing the newsfeeds were vids and holograms of a dripping Ambassador Sarek carrying Amanda Grayson away from the water, she wrapped in his cloak and bedlam all around them. The news feeds were unable to resist publishing a holo of the notoriously stone-faced and mysterious Vulcan ambassador in such an uncharacteristic pose, giving it the tongue-in-cheek caption "Elven Lord Rescues Damsel in Distress."

The Vulcan embassy's statement accompanying the story, of course, focused on how the ambassador had noticed a Human in danger and had logically acted quickly to rectify the situation. Nevertheless, those who had been there knew the caption was a truer characterization of what had really happened — even though anyone who knew Amanda or what had transpired also knew she was far, far from a helpless 'damsel'.