Sarpeidon Chronicles Part 5:
The Way to Dusty Death
Chapter 3
Spock returned from the Embassy late that afternoon to find Zarabeth in a state of apprehension.
"I don't suppose you saw Jarrod in the city today?" she asked.
"I did not."
"He left early this morning and hasn't been back since. The two of you quarreled again, didn't you?"
"We discussed a few matters. It did not amount to a quarrel."
"Was Leila one of those matters?"
"You may be relieved to know that Leila is a subject both of us prefer to avoid at present."
"Well, he didn't pack up his things, so he hasn't gone back to Gamma Aurelius. I suppose he must be around somewhere. Maybe he decided to look up an old friend. Though I can't recall that he had too many of those."
"No doubt you are correct." Spock's mouth became a grim line. "Most likely he has gone to pay a call."
"Maybe I should question Lidia. She went directly to her room after school to do some research. Now I wonder if she just didn't want to be asked."
He held up a hand. "I will speak to Lidia. You need trouble yourself no further in the matter."
Though Zarabeth looked far from convinced, Spock went upstairs alone and buzzed for entry into Lidia's room. Through the door, he could hear the muffled sound of his daughter's voice, clearly betraying some anxiety, and a burst of distinctly male laughter. Had Jarrod secretly returned to the house after all?
Without waiting to be formally admitted, Spock keyed in the door's override code and entered.
Inside, he found Lidia scrambling off her bed in a panic. In the spot she had just vacated, sprawled lazily against a heap of pillows, lay the source of the masculine voice he'd heard-not Jarrod at all, but Selyk. To Spock's unutterable relief, both of them were fully clothed, though the top button of Lidia's tunic was undone, exposing a flush of embarrassment that seemed to encompass most of her upper body.
Her father's single raised brow and patient tone mortified Lidia more effectively than any direct accusation.
"I came to inquire whether you had spoken to your older brother today. He is not in the house, and your mother has become concerned."
"Ah - no, Father, I have not."
"Very well. In that case, you may go and tell her so yourself. Selyk, please accompany me to the study."
"Certainly, Ambassador." Selyk swung his legs off the bed as casually as if he were climbing out of a garden hammock. "My pleasure."
The boy's mouth twitched at the corners as he moved down the hall beside Spock. When they were behind closed doors again, Spock cast a less benign eye over his guest.
"You may explain yourself now," he said.
"I doubt you require any explanation from me. I confess that I was indulging in sensual experimentation. At times, as you may know, the baser emotions can provide a most agreeable distraction. If you do not know it, I am sorry for you-and perhaps sorrier for Lidia's mother."
"Perhaps you believe that your insolence will distract my attention from what I have seen. I assure you that you are mistaken."
"I have no interest in distracting you, since I really don't see any problem. Lidia and I will be married within a few years. Surely you see the logic in sampling the goods before making a long-term investment. Incidentally, how long were you and Lidia's mother wed before she conceived your older son?"
"I need hardly remind you that there has been no agreement with respect to a betrothal between you and Lidia, whatever your father may choose to believe."
"What does that matter? Lidia will be 18 soon-I am already of age. My father believes the same thing I do: that it is only a matter of time before she accepts me. Then you will have nothing to say about it."
"Is this part of his strategy, then - compromising my daughter in order to make my cooperation inevitable?"
Selyk shrugged. "If this is what you choose to believe, I cannot stop you. But as I said...it matters little, if at all."
Spock waited until Selyk's expression had grown more self-satisfied than he had ever seen it before. Then he addressed the younger man with what appeared to be genuine curiosity.
"Selyk - is marriage to Lidia the future you truly desire? Or is it what your father desires on your behalf?"
"Both. Or, should I say, in this case I fail to see any difference. My father has gone to great pains to ensure my future, and Lidia is a part of that. You know that our status as Federation citizens is far from secure; it is my father's dearest wish that I help him remedy that."
"Then were it not for the prospect of disappointing him, you would have no genuine interest in this scheme?"
Frowning, Selyk twisted his fingers together and scanned the bookshelf that spanned the wall behind him.
"If you want to know the truth, if my future were entirely in my own hands, I would choose something entirely different. If you were to repeat this to my father, I would deny every word - but the fact is that I despise Amphitrite almost as much as I despise this safe but insufferably dull existence he has carved out for us here. If it were up to me, I would do as your son did and leave this pitiful pile of rocks under cover of night. I would travel until I found a way of life that is more to my liking-one that doesn't remind me every day that I live as I do because my father is a traitor. However, my leaving him, or the sanctuary he has arranged for us, is something he would never permit. So here I continue-with Lidia as an admittedly pleasant distraction. Do I shock you?"
"Not at all. For the first time, in fact, you have engaged my interest. Selyk, what would you say if I arranged passage off this world for you? You would travel anonymously-as my son once did-and your final destination would be your decision alone."
Selyk turned from the bookcase, his eyes bright with astonishment -and another emotion that looked remarkably like greed, Spock thought.
"You would do that for me?"
Spock nodded. "Unlike your father, I see a great many advantages to your leaving Amphitrite. Come to the Embassy tomorrow afternoon. By then I will have compiled a list of the freighters scheduled to pass through our orbit within the next month. Many of them maintain nothing more than trade agreements with the Federation; your Romulan ancestry will concern them far less than your ability to pay your expenses. I might be persuaded to assist you with those as well."
"I am not without means of my own." Selyk pulled his lips back in a defensive smile. "After all, my father has been encouraging me to save up for my wedding. I will see you tomorrow afternoon, Ambassador."
There was no need to caution Selyk to tell no one of their conversation; Spock could see that he understood.
Alone again, with one problem solved for the moment, Spock returned his attention to more pressing matters. There was no point in contacting Octavius via telescreen; if he accepted the page at all, he was unlikely to be forthcoming at a distance. A direct audience was his best, and probably only, option. If Jarrod did not present himself within the hour, he decided to return to the city.
What Zarabeth had said was unfortunately all too accurate; like him, Jarrod was not a man with friends he could, or would, call upon at whim. It was possible, of course, that he had struck up new acquaintances over the course of his two-week visit.
Spock only hoped that, if so, they did not reside one hundred years in the past, on a planet the present world knew only as a phantom.
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Zor Khan's Chief Minister met his master in the sovereign's private dining chamber, where an ornate table lay heaped with sweetmeats and delicacies of every imaginable variety. He was closely followed by the guards with their bewildered captive, who had neither resisted nor spoken since her removal from her father's house nearly an hour before. As they approached the table, Zor Khan himself rose to inspect the entourage.
Though the sovereign's expression was less welcoming than he had hoped, Iyal pressed forward with his duty. "Your prisoner, my lord," he said, gesturing toward his soldiers. "The daughter of Jaryd, as requested."
To Iyal's dismay, the Tyrant's expression suddenly turned choleric. "Idiot," he growled, shoving his minister aside and moving to address Zarabeth directly. "Iyal, the fool, misunderstood my orders. You were to be brought here as a guest, not a prisoner." A single venomous look dismissed the guards that flanked her. With an expansive gesture he motioned her toward the table. "Be seated. The rest of you are dismissed."
"But, my lord, it would be prudent to retain at least one sentry while you are entertaining."
"And it would be even more prudent for you to learn to obey my commands, Iyal. Now go."
Blanching, Iyal and the soldiers withdrew. With a snort of satisfaction, Zor Khan seated himself directly opposite her and pressed a button that had been set into the table itself.
"Are you frightened of me?" he asked as a servant appeared and began to apportion the foodstuffs between them.
"I confess I was taken aback by the manner in which I was summoned."
He was pleased to hear some fire, however tentative, flare up in her reply. Nothing bored him more quickly than a timid or simpering woman, and in this case Zor Khan welcomed the impertinence he found so jarring in her male relatives.
"A mistake, as I said before. Name the brand of torture you prefer, and I will punish Iyal for his insubordination. You may observe, if you like."
That shocked her; he took pleasure in the way her eyes widened, the way her lips parted with a quick intake of breath.
"I would not like that at all, my lord." Dubiously she inspected the plate and wine goblet the servant had filled for her.
"Do you suspect that I have poisoned the food?" Simultaneously amused and offended, Zor Khan turned to his servant. "Reassure the lady at once."
"Yes, my lord." Without a moment's hesitation, the young man took up a spare goblet, tipped a sample of Zarabeth's wine into it, and drank deeply. He followed the same procedure with the food, cutting off tiny portions and swallowing each in turn. Finally he returned to his place at the end of the table and stood at silent attention.
Zor Khan pointed with his fork. "There. Do you observe any change in him? No? Then I expect you to conduct yourself as a proper guest. I regret that you have been so swayed by the opinions of my enemies, particularly that audacious pup who calls himself your brother. I can be a most benevolent master when I am given the chance."
"I will try to remember that, my lord." Cautious again, she poked at the meal but kept her eyes averted.
"See that you do." A long, tense silence passed, during which he studied her with unflagging interest. Briefly he wished he really had drugged her meal-she would have been more pliable then, more reactive to the effect she had on him. Then again, he had never been the kind of man to prefer watered-down charity to a genuine challenge. "Tell me, daughter of Jaryd-do you find my palace enticing?"
"I daresay it suits you very well. Just as my father's house suits me."
With a violent motion, Zor Khan pushed his plate aside and stood up. "Come with me," he demanded. With obvious relief, she left the table and followed him from the room, down one lengthy and finely decorated hall and then another. Finally they arrived at a massive pair of gilt-edged doors, which Zor Khan pushed open with a visible effort. Behind them lay a magnificent room, with art on the walls and furniture so fine it might have been considered art as well. "You may enter," he said. "Does it please you?"
Beyond the first room was another, equally spacious and exquisitely decorated, this time featuring a wardrobe large enough for someone to dwell in and a canopied bed draped with shimmering hand-stitched quilts and curtains alike.
"I've never seen anything quite like it," she said. "But I confess that I am at a loss, my lord, unless you are looking for a housekeeper, or a hired companion for one of your female relatives. These rooms were clearly designed for a woman."
"You are most observant. In fact, I would prefer that they be yours."
"Mine!"
"I would be most generous to you. These apartments would be yours exclusively, along with a servant of your choice. I will provide you with gowns, jewelry, musicians to entertain you and fools and trifles to amuse you. And, though I plan to keep you to myself most of the time, I see no advantage to keeping you in complete isolation. In fact, I will allow you to invite even your brother on special occasions."
While he spoke, he stroked the twin points of his beard and watched her expression change-from incomprehension to astonishment and, finally, to a sort of horrified repugnance.
"My lord-are you inviting me to be your mistress?"
"An unfortunately coarse word, though the precise terminology is unimportant. After all, I alone make the laws and determine the customs in this city now." His right hand moved along her shoulders, following the sweep of her loose hair. "As you may know, I am in need of an heir to secure both my lineage and my reign. If you give me a son-the one thing I have been denied-I will make you my Empress."
Wincing with revulsion, she pulled away. "Please, my lord-no."
"Would the life I offer be so intolerable?" Leaning closer, he tilted her face up to his. When she flinched, he too stepped back with a snarl. "Apparently so. Well, I will not force myself on you. Despite what you may have heard from my enemies, many of whom you number among your own relatives, I am a civilized man. I am, however, a sovereign who prefers to have his own way."
Both of them looked up when Iyal entered the room. "My lord, Jaryd is here. He demands that his daughter be released to him at once."
Zor Khan turned away from them both with such force that both Zarabeth and Iyal jumped back.
"You may return my guest to her father-not because he commands it, but because I am tired of her. On the way out, Iyal, you might suggest that she think carefully about what I have said to her. It is not an offer I make lightly. I will allow her time to formulate a suitable answer."
He didn't bother to watch them hurry from the room, satisfied that both had felt the power of his rage.
If that didn't inspire them to behave more decorously when the three of them next met, he would simply have to find a more persuasive method.
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"Octavius, I have come for my son."
Settling comfortably back in his chair, Octavius extended one long arm and swept the room with an expansive gesture. "Look around, Ambassador. You can see that he isn't here."
"You know very well that, if my suspicions are correct, searching the immediate area would be futile."
"And what do you suspect, exactly? Oh, never mind-I can imagine the convoluted movements of a mind such as yours. One of the drawbacks to belonging to a highly advanced race is that nearly everyone overestimates my capabilities in nearly every conceivable area. In this case, you are quite mistaken. You see, my own people banned me from timeslipping decades ago-the result of certain philosophical differences that have yet to be resolved."
"You also assured the Federation that you would refrain from such activities. However, neither agreement constitutes definitive evidence."
"That would be true enough, except for one thing. The Assembly that once held sway over my movements saw fit to raise certain physiological barriers that have prevented me from following such whims. What you suggest would be impossible, even if I were not in retirement. I am now as much a part of this time as you are, and to my chagrin there is nothing I can do to change that."
"Still, you cannot deny that he has been here to see you several times. After the last visit, he disappeared. A connection between the two events seems likely."
"I must confess that I am disappointed in Federation hospitality. I came to Amphitrite to rest, not to become involved in your household conflicts. Most likely your son is merely disporting himself as many other young men do in this city. He'll turn up when it suits him. Trust me, Spock. Over the past eight centuries, I have raised many children of my own. It might surprise you to learn what entertainments they are given to once they are out of our control."
"Then perhaps you will be good enough to recount your last conversation with him. It may at least suggest some alternative line of inquiry."
"In that case, you might redirect your attention back to your own family. Your son wished to inquire about Sarpeidon's history and culture. As I did not possess the information he desired, I suggested he consult with his mother instead. He then informed me that she had no wish to discuss that topic. You see? I am guilty of frustrating him, nothing more." Abruptly Octavius' expression turned sour. "Now leave me. This is tiresome, and I wish to begin my nightly meditation. It is a habit of eight hundred years' standing, and I insist that you respect it."
"Very well. I shall return if I require further information."
"And I shall again be forced to disappoint you. Now go and spend the evening with the family members you have managed to keep track of."
Though Spock replied with only a curt nod, Octavius took pleasure in the fact that his final barb had clearly stung. Alone again, he rose and keyed open the tall corner cabinet. Only one item, his most treasured possession, sat hidden inside.
For a long time, Octavius stood and gazed triumphantly down at the fist-sized cube. For years, the device had lain dormant, its crystalline surfaces cloudy and lifeless. Tonight, all four faces were alive with tiny, moving images. One reflection held his particular attention: the deep red banners of Zor Khan, floating high above the city by a balmy summer breeze. Octavius still fondly remembered the warmth of those long Sarpeid afternoons; little wonder, he mused, that the entire world had finally burned itself to cinders. Everything about that world had glowed too hot and flared too fast, though it had suited him well enough at the time.
Still, the time of ruin and devastation lay far ahead of the dignified scene he now viewed. For the present, Octavius felt nothing but elation. The main reason he had deactivated the cube was that he couldn't bear to watch the same painful events play out the same painful way, while he remained a powerless spectator. Now, for the first time in a century, he had hopes of seeing something different happen.
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While his father and two cousins looked on somberly, Argus paced the sitting room in a frenzy of rage.
"This is the most outrageous insult I've heard yet! My sister, the Tyrant's concubine? Father, I'm surprised you didn't strike the black-hearted cur down yourself!"
"That would not have been possible," Jaryd said, shaking his head. "Iyal did not grant me access to the Tyrant's person."
"In any case, Zarabeth was not harmed," Boroc, the son of Jaryd's younger brother Azir, offered hopefully. "He let her go when she refused him. We ought to remember that."
"No, Cousin," Milos said. "We ought to remember instead that Zor Khan is not the sort of man any woman can simply turn down. Having her is a matter of pride now. I have it on good authority that he will summon her again tomorrow evening. This time, she will not escape with her honor." He paused to stroke his beard in thought. "Truly, his audacity is beyond all contempt. And yet, in another way, this entire situation might be considered a gift from the Celestial Ones."
The others stared at him as though he'd gone mad.
"Why would you say that, Cousin?" Boroc asked.
"Think about it. When is Zor Khan most likely to be unarmed, and unprepared for an attack, than when he is about to disport himself with a woman? It is the perfect opportunity for us to strike."
Argus gaped in disbelief. "You would prostitute my sister, your own cousin, to pursue your vendetta against him?"
"This is more than a vendetta, Argus. The hatred we bear him is but a child's tantrum compared to what he feels for all of us. Mark my words: if we don't knock him down first, he will do far worse to us."
"Even if you're right," Jaryd said, rising from his chair, "there is a flaw in your plan. If an attempt is made on the Tyrant in her presence, Zarabeth will be arrested as an accomplice. A risk that grave I cannot permit, let alone any other damage to her innocence."
"Uncle, I promise that I can arrange for Zarabeth to appear completely blameless. I did not serve ten years in the Praetorian guard without making friends-not to mention connections I cannot presently name. A good many men, highly placed, have given me their trust in this matter. You must give me yours as well."
"That we will not," Argus shouted. "We have always been friends as well as cousins, Milos, but this time you are presuming too much."
"Am I? Perhaps you will not think so when I tell you what else the Tyrant plans to send for tomorrow evening. One of his house-servants gave me a written order for the wine he plans to serve while she is with him. Interestingly, the note was addressed not to the vintner, but to the apothecary. It is a special vintage he seeks, one that contains an additive that will make even a chaste woman accept his lewd advances without a murmur of protest." Thrusting his hand into his belt pouch, Milos produced a folded slip of paper and crushed it against his cousin's chest. "This is the man whose life you would spare, Argus?"
Milos waited while Jaryd and Argus smoothed out and examined the note. Their expressions reflected first disgust, then hopelessness.
"It would seem that your cousin is correct, Argus. We no longer have any choice," Jaryd sat down heavily, crumpling the note in his fist. "We must act at once. Milos, what do you propose?"
"I propose that, since our sovereign's order never reached its destination, we supply this special wine ourselves-and find the right man to deliver it with our compliments."
"If it is an assassin you seek," Boroc said, jumping to his feet, "I have both the strength and the courage."
Milos placed both hands on Boroc's muscle-strapped shoulders and gave him an affectionate shake. "Of your competence I have no doubt, Cousin. However, we cannot send anyone the Tyrant would recognize. I would like to propose another candidate. Uncle, I assume our trespasser is still safely confined?"
"He is."
"Then let him prove his claim that he hates the Tyrant as passionately as we do. If he refuses to go along with our plan, we must kill him. If he dies in the attempt, however, we will deny knowing him. No one will be the wiser, and no one will connect him with Zarabeth."
Jaryd sighed and rubbed his forehead. No one spoke for several minutes. "Are we agreed, then?" the old man finally asked. "Argus, bring your sister here. For her own protection, let us acquaint her only with enough detail to alleviate her fears."
"Agreed," said Argus, "though in my opinion she will have good reason to be afraid."
"No harm will come to her," Milos insisted. "I will personally see to that."
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Spock found her in Adonia's room, shaking out and refolding the clothes Jarrod had brought with him from Gamma Aurelius.
"I am glad to find you alone," he said. "Zarabeth, we must speak privately."
"Lidia told me what happened with Selyk," she said without looking around. "I hope you weren't too hard on them. That sort of behavior comes naturally to people their age. They don't do it simply to spite us."
"Selyk does not concern me at the moment. We have a more pressing matter to address." Gently he pried a green open-necked shirt from her hands and dropped it back onto the bed.
"I didn't want to ask you," she admitted. "You haven't found him, have you?"
"No."
"Well, we have to keep looking. None of his things are gone-I went through them to make sure, though I know he'd be angry about that. Why don't I go back to the city with you? Lidia can manage on her own."
"In light of recent events, I doubt that." He raised a brow. "In any case, I am convinced it would accomplish nothing. I believe he is much farther away."
Her shoulders sagged. "I feel that, too. Is there nothing we can do?"
"In fact, I have developed a theory. Testing it, however, will be problematic."
"Why?"
"Because it will undoubtedly cause you great pain. I regret that I can find no alternative. Zarabeth, you must tell me everything you can remember about Zor Khan's destruction of your family."
For several moments, she stared at him in utter astonishment. "First Jarrod, and now you. Why does everyone suddenly wish me to recount those things? For thirty years I have struggled not to think of them. You and I have never spoken of them since before we were married. I don't understand it."
"We had no cause to speak of them earlier. Tonight, we do. You know I would not ask you if I did not have sound reasons. "
"Which are?"
"I regret that I cannot share them at present."
"Please, Spock, don't make me. Besides, I couldn't possibly remember everything accurately. So much time has passed-and so many nightmares. I'm not even sure myself sometimes whether I'm recalling a dream or what really happened."
He nodded. "There is another way, one that will not require you to relive the experiences on a conscious level. Perhaps it will even provide you with an opportunity for healing."
"I know what you're asking," she said, still incredulous. "And allowing you into my mind has something to do with finding Jarrod?"
"At the moment, it is the only idea I have."
Her answer came slowly-and not easily, he could tell. "Very well, then. We should go to our own room. We won't be disturbed there."
"Agreed."
Moments later, Spock secured their door and settled himself beside her on the bed. As she chose a pillow and stretched out on top of the covers, he was taken aback by the genuine fear in her eyes.
"I haven't felt this nervous since our wedding night," she confessed in a shaky voice. "Actually, I wasn't anxious at all compared to this."
"I seem to remember things differently." He skimmed his fingers over her forehead, then rested them lightly above and beside her eyebrow.
Her smile flickered into a scowl. "Spock-would it be possible for you to remove some of my memories? The particularly dreadful ones, perhaps? Trust me, you'll know them when you see them."
"If that is your wish."
Her face clouded as she thought it over. "No," she decided after a moment. "As much as those images torture me, I can't give up my last tie to everyone I lost. As much as I cherish my life with you, I don't want to lose them."
"I understand. I will disturb nothing."
"Go ahead, then." She closed her eyes; the lashes were already damp with tears.
Leaning closer, he pressed his fingers harder to her forehead. "My mind to your mind...." he whispered....
The memories came in floods, the sheer weight of her emotion disorienting him at first. Then, gradually, the haze gave way to a more focused stream of images. He saw the faces of people he had only heard vaguely about, relived with startling immediacy the nightmares that still occasionally shook her from sleep. Buried more deeply were pleasant memories as well-the warmth of family gatherings, the excitement of civic festivals, the happy abandon of childhood games. All were eclipsed, though, by the cold, dark terror that came later-of long nights filled with icy tears, unbearable loneliness, and a longing for death so intense that it battered his own rational core.
Finally, he pushed his way to the details he sought. Pictures formed with surprising clarity, years of denial focusing them into razor-sharp detail. Her first glimpse of the Tyrant, a terrifying private audience, obscene demands that filled him with instinctive revulsion-then, finally, a murder plot gone horribly wrong. The assassin stepped forward from a web of shadows, a cloaked man whose face remained hidden.
To Spock, however, his identity was all too apparent.
Hastily he withdrew himself from her thoughts, disentangling and rearranging their fragmented identities. Soon, almost like an echo, he heard her calling to him.
"Did you find what you needed?"
He wasn't sure whether she had actually spoken the words or merely thought them. In any case, he responded out loud.
"Yes, Zarabeth, I have."
What, if anything, he could do with this knowledge was another question entirely.