“Upon completion of that sentence,” Moratino continued, “you will be dismissed from Starfleet with forfeiture of all allowances or benefits. Transfer to Earth is to commence at the earliest available opportunity, and you will be permitted confinement to your quarters until that time. Mr. Reyes, do you understand the sentence I have just imposed?”
His mouth having suddenly gone dry, it took an extra moment for Reyes to summon the spit necessary to offer even the simplest reply. “Yes, Your Honor.”
Perhaps not in approval or satisfaction as much as simple acceptance, Moratino nodded. “Very well. Guards, you will secure the prisoner to his quarters, where he will remain until further notice. This court stands adjourned.” She reached forward and took up the wooden striker ringing the bell one final time before laying it to rest.
Reyes stood motionless, waiting as Lieutenant T’Nir deactivated the computer unit and the board members turned and filed out of the room. He turned to see Desai regarding him, tears threatening in the corners of her eyes. Over her shoulder, Captain Sereb made an effort to avoid eye contact as he replaced his belongings in his briefcase. Finished with that, the Tellarite rose to his full height and turned to face Reyes, his deep-set eyes studying him for several moments before the lawyer turned and exited the room without uttering a single word.
A Tellarite who’s a good sport?Reyes could not help the wayward thought. Now I’ve seen it all.
“Diego,” Desai said, her right hand moving as though to reach for him, but she brought it back to her side as the pair of security officers moved to flank him. “I…I don’t know what to…”
Drawing a deep breath, Reyes made a show of looking about the empty courtroom before his eyes returned to her. Neither he nor Desai spoke.
There was nothing to say.
43
T’Prynn buckled as Sten slammed into her, the weight of his body carrying them both to the sand. She kicked and bucked beneath him, twisting as they tumbled down the slope, sand stinging her eyes and getting into her nose and mouth. Sten’s hands reached for her throat, and she struck out, knocking away his arms. Releasing a cry of rage, she punched him in the face. He grunted in pain, and she felt his grip loosen. She kicked at him, her foot catching the inside of his knee. His leg collapsed, and he rolled off her.
T’Prynn came up on one knee, her stance unsteady as she gulped air into her burning lungs. All around her, the wind howled, blowing sand across her body and stinging her exposed skin. Holding up a hand to shield her eyes, she saw him lying on the sand beside her on his stomach, already scrambling to his feet, and with a single awkward movement, she lunged forward with the knife in her right hand, driving the blade into Sten’s thigh. He screamed in agony, twisting away from her and allowing himself to tumble down the side of the dune.
The attacks were coming more frequently now, offering her almost no respite. With each successive engagement, she grew weaker, with no means of replenishing her flagging strength. Conversely, Sten appeared for each new clash bearing no injuries or signs of their previous encounters. His strength and determination continued unabated, fueled by the rage of being denied that which he believed was rightfully his.
Looking about, T’Prynn saw nothing but endless rolling sand dunes, offering no paths of retreat or sanctuaries in which to hide. Her only recourse was to stand and fight, again. Submission was not an option, not so long as breath entered her body. She heard footsteps churning through the sand and turned to see Sten running toward her, once more brandishing a lirpa,which had—like Sten himself—seemingly appeared from the very air.
“T’Prynn!” he yelled, his face contorting into a mask of rage.
T’Prynn scrambled to her feet and backpedaled, looking for the weapon she was certain she had dropped during the fight. Nothing but windswept sand surrounded her. Sten was scrambling up the dune now, holding the lirpaover his head as he charged. Then he stumbled as a yawning pit seemed to appear in the sand at his feet, spiraling open like a massive iris. T’Prynn watched the sand within the circle fall, disappearing into blackness. Shouting in alarm, Sten tried to lunge to one side, but even his remarkable reflexes were not enough to keep him from dropping into the pit. As he disappeared from sight, T’Prynn still heard him calling her name, the echo of his voice fading into the darkness that had claimed him.
Standing next to M’Benga near the door to the bedchamber, Pennington watched as Sobon’s eyes snapped open and he pulled his withered hands from the katrapoints on T’Prynn’s face, breaking the meld. His breathing was accelerated, and perspiration had broken out on the Vulcan healer’s forehead.
“There is not much time,” Sobon said, his voice low and weak. “We must begin the Dashaya-Ni’Var.”
From where she stood at the foot of the bed, which had been turned so that its left side no longer rested against the wall but allowed for a person to access that side, T’Nel moved without prompting to the small table in the corner of the room, retrieving what Pennington recognized as a vre-katra.Perhaps it was one from Sobon’s study, the oversized crystalline vessel appearing to weigh quite heavily in the Vulcan woman’s hands. “It is ready, Healer.”
Leaning closer to M’Benga, Pennington asked, “They’re doing it? Now?” He regarded Sobon again. “He doesn’t look as if he’s up to this.”
“We’re out of time,” the doctor replied. “If he thinks they need to go in now, then he’s worried that T’Prynn won’t last much longer. Besides, T’Nel will be with him.”
Pennington nodded, recalling what Sobon had explained to them over dinner one evening more than a week earlier, though he did not pretend to understand any of it. T’Nel would participate in the meld, following Sobon’s lead into the depths of T’Prynn’s tortured mind. Her task would be to guide T’Prynn—or her katra,at least—to a place of relative safety. Meanwhile, Sobon would attempt to engage Sten’s essence directly, forcing a joining of their two katras.Unlike T’Prynn, whose mental powers had been far outmatched by Sten’s during the meld he had initiated in the midst of their ritual combat five decades earlier, Sobon was counting on his own much greater experience to give him the advantage over Sten’s unrequited lust and unwavering rage.
The two humans said nothing more as T’Nel positioned the vre-katranext to Sobon’s left hand, while his right hand remained on the bed, next to T’Prynn’s head. Then T’Nel moved to the opposite side of the bed, her movements rapid but not hurried. As expected, neither Vulcan’s face revealed any outward sign of emotion.
“Let us begin,” Sobon said, his voice barely a whisper as the wrinkled fingers of his right hand reached once more for T’Prynn’s face, seeking the contact points. On the opposite side of the bed, T’Nel touched her fingers to her sister’s head in similar fashion, and Pennington watched as Sobon and T’Nel closed their eyes at the same moment.
“Terau-kashkau-Veh-shetau,”Sobon said, his features tightening as he recited the ancient Vulcan invocation, the basic translation of which Pennington now understood to mean “Our minds are merging, becoming one.” The words were offered in a dialect that, according to Sobon, had not even been spoken aloud with any regularity for more than two thousand years. Despite himself, the reporter felt his pulse quickening as he listened to the Vulcan master continue to recite a litany of incantations in the obscure dialect, now joined by T’Nel, who also was invoking the ritualistic text in synchronicity with Sobon.
Something flickered in the corner of Pennington’s left eye, and when he turned his head toward the source, he could not help the gasp of surprise that escaped his lips.