TOS - Vulcan's Heart (c) by Star Trek

Author:Star Trek [Star Trek]
Language: deu
Format: epub
Tags: \Star Trek
Publisher: POCKET BOOKS
Published: 2011-01-02T07:58:59.251000+00:00

TWENTY-ONE

KI BARATAN

Dralath’s guards, predictably, were still patrolling outside the Imperial Palace. And, predictably, they tried to block the way. Spock merely . . . looked at them, the aristocratic scholar who had every right to be where he was, and showed them the glittering, seemingly authentic, imperial medallion. Ruanek, playing along in the role of bodyguard, snapped:

“This is the Academician Symakhos of Bardat, honored by His Imperial Majesty!”

“Academician,” the guards’ centurion muttered, and gave Spock what might almost have been a salute.

“Precisely,” Spock said in his most pedantic tone. “Now, kindly step aside. You would not wish the emperor to learn that I had been detained.”

Logically, the guards will now believe that we have an appointment.

Of course, the effect would be spoiled if the emperor refused them admittance.

He did not. The massive gates swung open with a suddenness that clearly surprised Ruanek all over again. “But then,” the Romulan murmured, “Emperor Shiarkiek is renowned as a scholar. New things fascinate him.”

Not quite certain how that was meant, Spock entered through a gate cut through the massive walls—as thick as those of any fortress of Vulcan’s warrior past—and found himself confronted by a maze of paths that wound through a network of streams and ponds too regular in shape to be natural. The water sparkled in the sunlight, and fish glinted here and there below the surface like so many living green and yellow jewels.

“Fish,” Ruanek said, “are said to be the emperor’s special study.” He straightened. “That—there—that is the emperor himself.”

Spock heard the softest gasp of awe from Ruanek as the tall, lean figure approached, long brownish-gray hair flowing unbound about his thin, refined face. Emperor Shiarkiek wore what had once been an elegant blue and gold robe, but the gold threads had faded to dull brass, and the silky blue fabric was close to threadbare, just short of downright shabby. “Comfortable,” Spock suspected, was the word Shiarkiek would have chosen.

Interesting. The emperor was clearly no young man, but there seemed to be nothing of the decrepit figurehead who had collapsed during the meeting of the Central Court.

He has been playing a role, Spock realized, fighting for survival. Like Narviat. And Charvanek. And, presumably, most of the Romulan nobility.

“How interesting,” the emperor said. “I have never given a medallion to you. Who are you?”

Ruanek, with a second gasp, fell to one knee, head bent, clenched fist over his chest.

“Akhh, stand,” Shiarkiek told him. “You make me uncomfortable.” As Ruanek straightened, awe shining in his eyes, the emperor frowned. “But you are injured!”

Ruanek clearly was too exhausted—and too overwhelmed—to Josepha Sherman & Susan Shwartz speak. Spock said for him, “Subcommander Ruanek has been in a duel of honor. And won.”

But Ruanek had just won the battle over his own awe. This time his salute was less melodramatic, more properly military. “Your Majesty, if I may be more precise?”

“Please.”

“I am indeed Subcommander Ruanek, sworn to Commander Avrak, sister-son to Senator Pardek. And . . . the one I slew was also sworn to Commander Avrak, Centurion Kharik.

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