Night of the Eagle

Chapter Eight

The Vulcan first officer cleared his throat, still a little sore and bruised where the Klingon's arm had pressed. "A sonic grenade. I took it from one of the bodies."

Keetah stiffened, her fingers outstretched, then slowly relaxed. "To touch the dead or their possessions is to be defiled. It is an old belief, but all my life I have heard Apache say this. As a scientist I automatically think of decomposition, infection, but as a daughter of the Apache I am not quite so sure that is the only explanation."

"There are many things we still do not understand," Spock said calmly, recognizing the effort she made. "Often there is a core of truth in the traditions handed down from generation to generation. It was once mooted, I believe, that inanimate objects could record what had taken place – at least for a time." He looked at his hands. "Sometimes it is difficult to put aside all we have learned or been told and find a new way."

The inference was clear: the ways of her ancestors did not belong in the Federation. Keetah shrugged inwardly. For one whose knowledge of Mistai'ai was vast, he seemed strangely ignorant of how they really lived. It was truth they followed the herds, living as nomads in the ancient fashion; also truth that during the season of great heat they lived in their cliff Rancherias – cities that could rival any Federation city, old or new. A wish to live as one with nature, using modern technology only when essential, did not automatically preclude the possibility or understanding of such technology, its by-products.

"To follow a way not one's own is never easy, but it is possible to accept or reject without denying truth in both cultures. Tsoay was hurt for my longing for knowledge not of the Apache, but Cuchillo understood. The same thirst is in him, though it took a different form from my own. He is Shaman, healer of minds and bodies, and commands great respect. It is in my mind he spoke for me in Council, and Tsoay listened and did not forbid me to go in search of a different truth."

Spock's eyebrows climbed into his hairline, "Tsoay?"

"Among the Apache it is Elder Brother who commands, not he who was sire or she who was dam. My mother is also Shaman, but she has great lover for me in her heart, did not wish me to go, and therefore sided with Tsoay."

"You have never returned?"

"It is so – from choice, Mr. Spock. Always will there be a welcome in the Rancheria for me, but I have no wish to hurt Tsoay again. Elder Brother is a good man, a kind man, but he is Apache. He could not understand my hunger for things I could learn only from the Federation. There was much pain and grief in his heart when he bade me farewell, and there is no one who takes more pride in my modest achievements."

"Perhaps you underestimated his ability to understand."

"Perhaps. And what of you, Mr. Spock? It is unusual to find a Vulcan aboard a Federation vessel…"

Spock let the silence lengthen until Keetah began to wonder if he would answer at all. At last, he brought his gaze to rest on her patiently waiting face. "I, too, made a choice…"

Keetah waited.

At last he went on, "My mother is from Earth. I am only half Vulcan."

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Keetah stared at him in wordless shock, unable to frame the words to apologize for her tactless question. She had not meant to embarrass or imply any aversion to his ethics. She saw that she had again been unjust as he waited in tranquil silence for her reaction. "And naturally you preferred the Vulcan way?"

"At the time it was the only logical thing to do."

"I, too, prefer it. Have you ever regretted your decision?"

Again, he was silent for a time. "Regret would be illogical. I am accepted for what I am and there can be no going back. I have come to terms with my life as it is. Perhaps it would be as well if you were to endeavor to do the same."

Half human he might be – Keetah shook a rueful head – but his strategy was all Vulcan. She should have remembered that they never revealed details about their personal lives unless to serve some purpose of their own. She looked down at the sonic grenade she still held in her hand. "What do you intend to do with these?"

Aware that she had effectively turned the conversation from herself, Spock complied with the unspoken request to drop the subject. "In storming the garrison, the most logical point to remember is not how to get into it, but how to get out in a hurry should anything not go according to plan."

"The diversion you talked about?"

"Precisely. The loss of a sled will most certainly alert them to the possibility of danger from a new quarter. They know of my shuttle's arrival. They will be on their guard. However, we have proved from today's expedition that the garrison is vulnerable. Confusion at the beginning will certainly ensure or at least increase our chances of survival and simplify our mission."

He frowned, "It is unfortunate that we were unable to take one of them prisoner. He would have been most useful in supplying the coordinates of the transmitter. As it is, we may lose valuable time conducting a search."

"Capturing one when we are inside should not be difficult, and a little persuasion often achieves miraculous results."

"There will be no repetition of today's events, I hope." Spock said sternly. "You will not engage in indiscriminate slaughter."

Their eyes locked and Keetah nodded reluctant agreement. "No indiscriminate killing. I have said this."

Spock regarded her doubtfully. He had no practical experience of blood feuds as such but he realized such a situation existed there. Somehow, Keetah felt responsible for the deaths of her team and meant to avenge them at all costs. It mattered little to her, it seemed, that the Vulcans themselves would never have agreed to such drastic action. Equally apparent, she had some plan of her own. Until he knew what it was, he could do nothing. He must accept her promise at face value. "It seems I have little alternative but to accept your word."

"It is so," Keetah agreed. An Apache's word was sacred, never broken, and most certainly never questioned. "Now tell me your plan."

"The Enterprise should be arriving approximately one week from now and will be able to monitor a subspace radio communication well before then – and if random factors operate in our favor, long before the Klingon freighter arrives. Therefore, our attack must be timed to the minute, not too early, and not so late as to leave the ship open to any treachery the Klingons can devise."

"And these?" Keetah gestured at the sonic grenades.

"Strategically located, they should cause sufficient disturbance for us to reach the transmitter, send our warning, and in the general confusion escape. If we choose the right weather conditions, enter at night, there is little chance of the Klingons catching up with us."

Keetah stared down at the harmless looking grenades. As Spock so rightly suspected, she had another plan in mind. Not that she thought there was anything wrong with his, but she had been on the wolf-world longer than he had. The Klingons were one thing, Hiemal quite another. If they were to escape, they would need far more than darkness to aid them. She had promised not to kill gratuitously, but there were other ways…

Killing, always killing. Abruptly she felt exhausted by it all, sick of the blood staining her hands, poisoning mind and spirit. A torn and broken body filled her vision. E'dik'e – friend – she had named Senak and the others of her team. The names spun around in her mind. Senak, his bondmate, beautiful gentle T'Pila; Solem and T'Kaya; Sobra and T'Pa-an; not of her clan or Nation but kin all the same. Placing on her the same duties and obligations.

Unaware of Spock's inquiring glance, Keetah stumbled blindly to her feet. She had thought she could keep it properly within bounds until she was free to mourn. She had been wrong. That was why one never spoke the names of the unavenged dead aloud, never even though of them. The grief welled up uncontrollably. Think of something else, anything else. Recite the prayers of thanksgiving to the new day. Frantically she seized on that. Yes, recite the prayers , stop thinking, stop feeling…

"Keetah?" The voice finally penetrated and she turned to find Spock at her elbow, dark eyes concerned. Keetah held onto that. He was so much like Sirak. For a moment, her control faltered and someone else stood in his place. Sirak…Sirak, why must I mourn alone? Help me. I cannot bear this…

She felt rather than saw Spock reach out to support her. A gentle man, so very gentle – that was the strangeness she had sensed in him. There was a warm comfort in the hard body and selfishly, unthinkingly, Keetah leaned into him, blind to everything but the feverishly recited prayers.

He tried to withdraw but the world had already begun to slip, as she became one with Spock of Vulcan. They broke away from each other, Spock stammering in open, naked embarrassment. "That…should not have happened…"

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