Sarek stood in the lobby of the Vulcan consulate, arms folded behind his back, watching Terran news on the room's central holographic projector. His mind was busy assembling information into logical streams but he had long ago determined he lacked sufficient information to draw many relevant conclusions. He had another 20 minutes before he was due to contact the Vulcan High Council again, but a breaking news story had piqued his interest.
A human woman named Maria Polyakova had been found dead in a lake in a place called Gary, Indiana. While it was logical to note that humans died every day, Ms. Polyakova had the unique distinction to be the wife and supposed widow of Igor Polyakova, the Comstock's first officer. If the civilian news reports were to be believed, there was no obvious, benign reason that her body would have turned up in a lake.
The story of Ms. Polyakova's mysterious death had overshadowed the news of the disappearance of a young man named Michael Castaneda three days prior. He was the adult son of Anthony Castaneda, the Comstock's navigator. It was unclear exactly how long he had been missing, since friends last saw him on Thursday evening leaving a tavern in Hoboken, New Jersey and his disappearance wasn't reported to the police until he failed to show up for work the following day.
The media was dubbing it "the Comstock Curse." Sarek found this interpretation of this series of coincidences tiresome, yet even he was ready to admit the rate of misfortune among the immediate surviving family members of the Comstock was statistically significant.
He had called the local police on Amanda's behalf and waited with her outside her apartment until they arrived. He had answered their general questions and Amanda confirmed her PADD had indeed been taken and not simply misplaced. Since she had turned it off, there was no way to triangulate a signal from the device and a child would be capable of retrieving the data stored on it without turning it on. The only other thing missing from her apartment was her cat, which he surmised slipped through cracked door.
Their walk had taken them a total of 122 minutes, which was a narrow window for such a deliberate burglary. He considered the possibility that someone was watching her activities but he did not wish to alarm her needlessly – she had looked frightened enough when he left. He would have asked her to return with him to the consulate but the police had not finished their investigation. She'd also made it plainly clear that she didn't return his affections and he had not wanted to draw out her discomfort.
Now the news regarding Ms. Polyakova and Mr. Castaneda was causing him to reconsider his decision to leave her alone. He was concerned for her safety, whether or not she had a romantic interest in him. The police were with her but he had no way of determining how long they would stay. Since her PADD was the singular item missing from her apartment, he also had no way of contacting her.
He left the lobby for his office, sat down at his secure console, and dialed in a communication link with the Vulcan High Council. He again spoke with Councilwoman T'Lona, as well as Torin, Vulcan's lead investigator into the Comstock incident.
He related the information Amanda had told him, beginning with the possible discovery of helium-3 near a celestial object that may colloquially be referred to as an approximation of the name "Zetar." He hesitated in explaining the details of the safety deposit box, believing she may have intended to tell him that in confidence, but decided to include it in the end. He also included that she had never heard her father speak of Ivor but explained that they did not often speak about his profession.
When he concluded briefing the information he had obtained from Amanda, he explained the developing investigations into Ms. Polyakova's death and Mr. Castaneda's disappearance, as well as the theft of Amanda's PADD. He watched T'Lona and Torin exchange glances.
"The testimony is uncorroborated, fragmentary, and circumstantial," Torin said.
"I quite agree," Sarek responded. "Nevertheless, it was what I was tasked with collecting."
Torin and T'Lona conferred among themselves and terminated their transmission, agreeing to call him back within the hour.
Sarek disliked the idea that Vulcan was meddling in the affairs of Earth as they had done a century earlier. Vulcan's patronizing attitude toward humanity and Earth's childlike willfulness to reject help from Vulcans had been the source of considerable friction between the two planets for decades. He had spent much of his early diplomatic career on Earth striving to overcome that inconsequential quarreling, mistrust, and condescension and now the relationship between Vulcan and Earth was on the brink of reverting back to its former state.
He held the opinion that Vulcan's treatment of Earth in Earth's formative space exploration era was relatively unfair. Yet 80 years later, Earth had absorbed a lot of power. It largely controlled Starfleet and Starfleet controlled the Federation's main space program and intelligence agencies, and thus Vulcan and the rest of the Federation were poised to pay a high price for Earth's actions if Earth decided to secede from the Federation in the coming week.
It was curious that the majority of Terrans opposed secession, but political analysts were suggesting it was a real possibility. Organizations like the Earth Autonomy Movement and Earth First Party had been regarded as fringe movements for a long time and though they would never have majority support, even minority support for their platforms created strife.
He made another attempt to logically assemble the evidence in his head, beginning with Ambassador Sulak's death, the digital attack on the embassy complex, the death of Admiral Winters, the elections and subsequent riots, the Klingon message, the loss of the Comstock and the occurrences involving the Comstock crew's surviving relations. Still, he could find no apparent connection between any of the events.
The incidents befalling the families of the Comstock personnel were the most troublesome. There was a chance they were coincidental, but the frequency at which they were occurring suggested some connection. He could not determine who would wish them harm and without that, he could not ascertain a motive. If the Comstock's family members were being targeted, the only logical reason was for information, but what information?
Unfortunately the matter was left in the hands of the Terran authorities and he had neither the authority nor clearance to obtain information about their ongoing investigations. While he had no authority to intervene into Earth's affairs, he had considerable connections on Vulcan, which led him to a resolution he decided to discuss with Councilwoman T'Lona.
Approximately ten minutes later, she resumed their call without Investigator Torin. They discussed the emergency secession meeting planned for tomorrow and Starfleet's continued inability to decrypt the Klingon message. Lastly, they coordinated the plan to evacuate Vulcan citizens and personnel from Earth in the coming weeks.
There were approximately 3,000 Vulcans residing on Earth – most served in education and research fields. Even prior to the consulate's advisory that Vulcan citizens should consider returning to their home planet, his office had received 321 requests for relocation. He had issued the official advisory seven hours ago, and in that time the office received 981 further requests. Various shuttles routinely moved between the two planets, but they would be insufficient to meet the increased demand.
"The Transportation Ministry is sending two supplementary Sh'Ran class ships tomorrow to accommodate the additional requests," Councilwoman T'Lona explained. "They are scheduled to return the following day for late departures. Additional customs personnel will be ready in Shi'Kahr to minimize delay. Send changes and additions to the passenger manifest directly to the Transportation Ministry."
"I shall comply," he said. "I have one additional topic for your consideration. I wish to evacuate Amanda Grayson to Vulcan as well."
"For what purpose?" asked T'Lona.
"I believe she may be in danger and she has undertaken personal risk in divulging information to the High Council."
"The evacuation was only intended for Vulcan citizens and their resident families," argued T'Lona.
"I am aware. I am asking the High Council to make an exception."
"Under what conditions? Is she applying for asylum?"
"She is not directly making the application – I am seeking it on her behalf. As you know, she is Terran and Earth is still a member of the Federation. She could freely seek entry under a number of statutes, but would take several days through normal channels."
"You can invite her as a diplomatic guest," said T'Lona.
"But is it not customary for the High Council to grant approval for diplomatic guests who intend to remain on Vulcan for an indeterminate stay?"
"It is," agreed T'Lona. "Where will she stay?"
"I shall grant her access to my house in Shi'Kahr and personally provide for her needs."
"That is your choice," consented T'Lona. "Include her in the manifest, and I will approve your request. Ambassador Sarek, the High Council thanks you for your continued service."
"I come to serve," he replied.
"Live long and prosper," she said.
"Peace and long life."
The transmission was terminated. Sarek collected his cloak and relayed the instructions from the High Council to the handful of staff members present. He dispatched a car to meet him at the street level in front of the Vulcan Consulate, and departed to Miss Grayson's house for the third time in one day.
Amanda returned to her apartment feeling broken hearted on numerous fronts. She'd spent the last hour looking for Euclid to no avail. His loss seemed like just one more piece of her life slipping away.
She was beginning to think more had happened to her in the last two weeks than had happened to her in her entire life. She'd survived a riot, lost her father, taken a bumbling shot at an unconventional romance, been robbed, and had her cat run away. Now Earth was facing serious political instability, her father was still probably dead, her romantic interest was almost certainly packing up and moving 16 light years away, and now her cat was alone on the streets and her PADD was gone.
Admittedly the PADD itself was probably the least of her worries, but she never realized how difficult life was without being digitally connected to everyone else. It felt like an extension of her and the one time she had chosen to go somewhere without it, it had been stolen. She didn't worry too much about it though because her mind was otherwise occupied, rotating furiously between terrified, confused, and depressed.
The police didn't stay long after Sarek had departed for the Vulcan embassy. They hadn't seemed very interested in investigating her case and kept heavily insinuating that she must have left her door unlocked because there was no sign of forced entry. They begrudgingly agreed to check with her landlord about who might have access to another access card, but she got the distinct feeling they probably just told her that to get her to shut her up.
They didn't even bother checking with any of the neighbors to ask if they had seen anything. Their parting words were something to the effect of "don't call us, we'll call you" and "these things happen, that's why you should lock your doors." But as far as she knew, "these things" really didn't happen much anymore. When she asked how they proposed to call her since she no longer had a PADD, the lead investigator shrugged and said he figured she'd eventually replace it.
Being alone in her apartment made her jittery to the point that even small noises were making her jump. She lost track of how many times she'd checked the locks on the doors and windows. Someone had entered her apartment with ease, and she wondered if they were coming back. She went up to Vera's, both to recruit her help in looking for Euclid and to ask if she saw anything, but unfortunately her friend wasn't there.
She put on a pot of tea and moved over to the pub table where she'd translated the first part of the Teachings of Surak the night before. She looked down at the book and felt such overwhelming feelings.
She had wanted to say goodbye in a more meaningful way, and now she was unsure if or when she would ever see him again. She should have told him how she felt. He had told her. Though on closer examination, maybe that wasn't exactly true. All he had said was, "I care for you." What did that mean? She cared for all kinds of things in all kinds of ways.
"Ugh, don't cry again," she told herself out loud, her voice straining from emotion.
She picked up the pile of books and translation materials and stowed them away on her shelf. He hand lingered on the collection of Tellarite star charts her father had given her when she was a child. She touched the binding and her sadness shifted from Sarek back to her father. She pulled the charts from the shelf and hugged them.
She breathed as deeply as she could to stave off tears and went back to her couch and opened the old pages. She had opened to an inlay of the Saurian sector that was embossed with some kind of shiny red and silver foil. She smiled weakly, wondering if her father had ever visited this part of space and wondered what it must be like, living the nomadic life that he did.
She turned the page to find another chart of a different region of the Saurian sector. The words were in the Tellarite language and that's what made them so appealing. It had been the first one she'd ever tried to master, which had prompted him to give her this book. The names of the places never meant much to her, but she had read them all the same. Her eyes scanned the page. She yelped.
There, clearly as she'd ever seen it, was the name "Zetar." Her heart was pounding in her chest and she read the word several times, trying to be certain she had the letters correctly. Zetar, yes, it was Zetar. She checked the name again and again and found it cross-referenced on at least two other nearby charts.
She had to call someone. It immediately occurred to her that she didn't know whom to call even if she could. With no PADD she was virtually helpless, but no single Terran authority or anyone from Starfleet had bothered to ask her any questions or really tell her much of anything. Sarek had asked. He had left her apartment to go to the embassy, and she wondered if she should try to find him. Was that appropriate?
She tried to slow her mind down and think rationally about what it meant. She looked up from the pages and closed her eyes. Maybe it meant nothing. She retraced the conversation she'd had earlier with Sarek in her mind.
She stared at her mantel and tried to put it together when she was hit by a second realization. Her heart nearly stopped. The picture frames that had spent nearly two months wildly askew on her mantel were now perfectly aligned, including the one of her and John in Big Sur that she'd put facedown. She dared herself to look over at her bookshelf at the array of knick-knacks, and they too had resumed their perfect formations.
There was a knock at the door and she screamed.
"Miss Grayson?" a muffled voice shouted.
She continued to look back and forth between her mantel and her bookshelf. John had been in her apartment. Obsessive-compulsive John.
"Miss Grayson?" the Sarek's voice shouted more loudly through insistent knocking. "Miss Grayson!"
She stood and pulled the door open, visibly shaking with the book of star charts in her hand.
"He was here. It's in the Saurian sector. In my apartment. The Tellarites. I know because the picture frames and he was reading my messages. But Zetar, it's there."
She was mildly aware she was yelling and probably not making much sense. He walked into her apartment and shut the door. His composed demeanor was starting to calm her down on the outside, but her thoughts were still jumbled.
"Who was here?" he asked patiently.
"John. John Molineaux."
"When?"
"While we were at the beach."
"How can you be certain?"
She explained her ex-boyfriend's penchant for obsessive order and parallel rows, recounting how she had set them awry in irrational anger and remembered looking at them earlier in the day when they were still in a state of disorder. He raised his eyebrows in what she took to be skepticism.
"Look, I know I you're going to tell me that I'm off my rocker, but I'm not making this up," she snapped.
"I am uncertain what it means to be 'off your rocker,' but I do not think you are making this up," he replied. "Though I wonder why you think Congressman Molineaux would break into your apartment, steal your device, and then straighten the picture frames. If such a thing were habitual for him, his actions would only implicate him in the crime. I have met Congressman Molineaux and though I dislike many things about him, it does not seem that he would be so foolish."
"But you don't know what it's like to be neurotic, do you? You're Vulcan. You're logical. Lots of humans have weird quirks: they can't help it. They probably don't even realize they're doing it."
"I must admit I have observed a curious collection of compulsive eccentricities among humans over the years," he admitted. "But your evidence is still highly circumstantial. Did you mention your concerns to the police?"
"No, because I only just noticed it. And I don't think the police will care. They completely dismissed everything I told them but then again, he's friends with the San Francisco police chief. And I think he was reading my messages. And we dated for more than four months – he could have made a copy of the access card to my apartment. Ugh! I sound so paranoid…"
She took a few steps back and slumped into her armchair and swept her hands across her face as she tried to piece it all together.
"Why do you believe he was reading your messages?" Sarek asked.
She told him about her suspicion that someone was snooping through her messages when she realized she hadn't gotten Giles' birth announcement. Then her blood ran cold as the events of the conference trickled back into her consciousness.
"Miss Grayson? Are you ill? Your complexion appears abnormal."
"He was talking to Admiral Bentham," she squeaked, her voice shaking. She tried to remember the vague details of the conversation she'd heard through the hotel room door. "I didn't think anything of it at the time. But I had the weirdest conversation with Bentham over breakfast that morning and then right before the banquet they were in his room talking. They said something about the timeline being moved up? And Klingons."
"Klingons?"
"I don't remember…" she breathed in frustration. "No, this is crazy. I'm being paranoid and turning this into something it probably isn't."
"I do not think you are being paranoid," he said. "But it would be helpful if you could recall the details more accurately."
"What? No! You're supposed to be logical and tell me I'm being crazy!"
"But I do not think that," he argued. "You are overly excited, but certainly not insane. Try to calm down."
She took a few deep breaths and closed her eyes. When she opened them she found herself looking at the star charts in her lap. She stood suddenly and shoved the book of star charts in his hands, surprising him.
"There's more. Look, Zetar, it's right there, in the Saurian sector. These charts are really old and these are the Tellarite names, but that's it."
"I do not read the Tellarite language," he explained, looking at her with a mild interest.
She haphazardly tried to explain the Tellarite alphabet and why the text he was looking at clearly spelled out "Zetar" in Federation Standard English, but he simply said, "Linguistics is your area of expertise. I trust your opinion."
"Then why has Starfleet never heard of it? Wouldn't it be on their star charts?"
"Before the Federation, there was no standard way of naming or classifying objects in space. Stellar cartographers are still assembling the collective knowledge of various Federation planets. Many objects have been renamed, reclassified, erroneously duplicated, or removed from charts. These inconsistencies are among the primary reasons that Starfleet has pushed for extended deep space missions."
"So what does all of this mean?" she asked.
"I do not know."
"So what do I do? What are you going to do?" Amanda groaned.
"I would advise against remaining here," he said.
"But I don't really have anywhere else to go," she quickly countered. "I mean, I guess I could stay with my mom but-"
"Allow me to finish," he said. "It is apparent that you do not feel secure here, and it is logical to conclude your fears have a reasonable basis. For that reason I would encourage you to temporarily leave Earth. I have made arrangements for you to travel to Vulcan tomorrow afternoon if you wish."
Amanda blinked in disbelief before asking, "Are you leaving tomorrow then too?"
"No, my duties will keep me here unless the Vulcan High Council recalls me."
"But I don't know anyone on Vulcan. I seriously meant it when I told you that you're the first Vulcan I've ever really met. Honestly, I don't even know that many people on Earth."
"I understand your concerns, but might I suggest we discuss them elsewhere?"
"But you want me to go to Vulcan… How long would I have to stay? Where would I stay? I can't just run away from my home forever."
"I am not asking you to," he declared. "What I am asking you to do is pack some necessary belongings and return to my accommodations with me. I hope you do not think I am being forward – my intentions are only for your safety. You may stay with me tonight and tomorrow I shall dispatch a shuttle to take you to the transport bound for Vulcan."
"But I'd need to tell my job. My mom. My landlord. I can't just run off without telling anyone."
"I think you fail to understand the necessity of both the urgency and secrecy involved."
She gulped and scanned his face, wondering what to say.
"You seem concerned and you have ample cause to be," he added.
"What am I supposed to say when the most rational person I've ever met is asking me to do something that sounds crazy? You're saying I should just pack some things and what…? Hide somewhere? Until… this all blows over? We don't even know what 'this' is!"
"I assure you, I have given it careful consideration and-"
"You don't get it!" she snapped, before softening her tone. "That's what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid you're right."
"It is your choice, Miss Grayson."
He was really serious. Of course he was always serious, but there was an added level of earnestness in his expression. It terrified her.
"Yeah, ok," she mumbled.
"I recommend you pack only what you need for several days. Should you require anything further, you can obtain it on Vulcan."
She pulled her black duffel bag from the top of her closet and immediately felt overwhelmed. She didn't know of any recommended packing list for fleeing one's home on short notice, nor did she have any idea what she should wear on Vulcan. Every Vulcan she'd ever seen was dressed more modestly than a monk, and she didn't exactly have a lot of tunics that stretched from her chin to the floor.
In the end she reasoned that if Vulcan was renowned for its hot and dry climate, she could probably skip winter clothing and a bathing suit. In the end she collected mostly professional business attire, a pair of dress and casual shoes, a pair of jeans, a few t-shirts, and the necessary assortment of sleepwear and undergarments. She tossed her hairbrush and other toiletries in the side pouch and looked around in confusion. Like most people, she always forgot something when she traveled, and that was even when she had more time to consider what she needed.
He was standing at the end of her hallway when she exited the bedroom.
"May I bring this?" he asked, holding up her collection of Tellarite star charts.
"Yeah, I guess," she replied, looking around her apartment for what else she might need and grabbed her shoulder bag from the floor by the door.
"Are you ready to depart?"
"No," she answered honestly. "But let's go anyway."
The shuttle from the embassy complex waited just outside the building and he ushered her into the back and climbed in next to her. She looked across him to her home and questioned when and if she'd see it again. She noticed the lights were still off in Vera's apartment, and wondered what would happen if Euclid came back and she wasn't there. She worried what her mother would think when someone reported her missing and felt horrible guilt.
She noticed Sarek watching her stare out of his window at what she was leaving behind and she considered whether or not she was making the right choice in going with him. She didn't really know much about Ambassador Sarek, and wondered if she was being naïve to trust him. Almost as if he sensed her thoughts, he held out his hand to her and she took it. He clasped his other hand over hers and held it delicately. She allowed herself to look directly at him and then swallowed and thought to herself, "Well, I have to trust someone."
The tall man doubled back onto 23rd Avenue and checked the address again on his handheld device against the faded numbers on the building. There was no way to be certain. He walked the length of the street again for four blocks, up and down, and clicked his device over to the aerial map.
The afternoon was fading fast. Normally he didn't like working in broad daylight, but they said it couldn't be helped. His boss had said time of was the essence and he was being paid double. He had been told in no uncertain terms that messing this up would be a mistake he wouldn't come back from. They sent someone else earlier and all they'd gotten was the woman's PADD.
He checked the address a sixth time and cursed the artsy people who fought so hard to preserve these "historic" neighborhoods with their crumbling architecture and ridiculous numbering conventions. The more he paced back and forth, the more likely he was to be noticed.
The odd numbers were on the other side, and the red brick building one block up was the only choice left after everything else had been eliminated. He began to cross the street but was stopped in his tracks by a long, black shuttle that looked like what the government types would cruise around in. After the shuttle passed, he crossed the street and got into his nondescript blue personal shuttle and slowly turned it South on 23rd Avenue, parking just beyond the red brick building. Then he waited.
The description he had been given was vague. He was looking for a petite, pale Caucasian woman on the short side of average with medium length (whatever that meant) dark brown hair and brown eyes. He'd easily seen a dozen women fitting that description in the last hour. He had asked for a picture and they promised to send him one, but he hadn't gotten anything yet.
The only thing he worried about was botching it. He had a reputation for being discreet so he didn't want to just snatch her off the sidewalk or from her bed in the middle of the night where she might scream. It would be easier if they didn't need her alive, but he didn't get to choose the conditions of the grab.
Given she'd been robbed earlier in the day, she'd also probably be skittish and wary of strangers knocking on her door, which just made his job harder. He flipped through the box of identification cards in his back seat and pulled out one from the embassy. Apparently the woman worked there and he figured she might get into the car with a man that worked there also without too much fuss.
He watched a black and white cat chase something through the overgrown bushes and took a sip of his coffee. It had gone cold. His handheld device pinged and he pulled up her picture. He reclined his seat slightly and studied the image and glanced in his mirror and did a double take. There she was. Probably. She wasn't bad looking: her tight red pants showed off a pair of really nice legs.
She was about five meters from his vehicle and closing fast. He sat up slowly and could just make out her speech over the light traffic and other city noise.
"Euclid, you naughty boy! What are you doing outside? Let's get you home!"
He couldn't believe his luck. He watched her crouch down right next to his shuttle and try to catch the cat in the thick bushes. He looked up and down the street: there was no other pedestrian traffic and the angle was perfect. He ditched the ID and pulled his miniature hand phaser from his console instead. This was going to be easy.
He exited his vehicle calmly and moved around the front. She was still on her hands and knees trying to coax the cat out of the shrubs.
"Amanda Grayson?" he asked.
"Huh?" she murmured, pulling her head out from the bushes with a smile.
He hit her fast in the ribs at point blank range with the phaser and she fell into his hands like a rag doll.