(Standard Year 2251)
Return to Valjiir Stories
Spock meditated for several hours after Ruth returned to her work. The new problem with the Klingons was by far more important than concerns for Sorrm. It was therefore necessary to relegate those concerns to a place where they would not intrude on matters of greater urgency. That Ruth was apparently more vulnerable to Sorrm's twisted logic than he had hoped made that task more difficult.
Sorrm, how did you come to hate us so?
The stray thought was acknowledged and put aside. Time for such speculation after the mission was completed.
He sank deeper into his meditative trance, preparing to set his time sense to awaken him before orbital insertion at the Guardian. Before he could do so, the comm whistled. Pulling his awareness back, he got up from his chair and went to the desk.
"Spock here," he said, activating the unit.
"Message from Starfleet Command, sir," Lieutenant Holden's voice informed him.
"Transfer it here, Lieutenant."
The screen resolved into the face of Admiral Mendez. "Captain Spock, we have relayed your inquiry to the Vulcan Council. Their response is as follows: Inclusion of Sorrm Silanlrn verified as approved. Explanation as requested; the study of history in the areas agreed upon and necessary has found little affinity with qualified members of the Science Academy. Sorrm, while not a member of that body, does off-planet research for the Academy. As this research involves the study of history, Sorrm was contacted and agreed to the undertaking. As such research is of value, it was deemed the logical solution. End of response. And Spock," Mendez’ image smiled. "There was a tactfully worded rebuke for our questioning the Council's wisdom. I hope you appreciate the abuse we take for you. Mendez out."
Spock nodded. He was indeed appreciative, jesting though the Admiral's comment had been. There was little doubt the rebuke would have been somewhat less tactful if directed at him personally. How like strict Vulcan logic: let the madman volunteer if it will hide a distasteful emotional reality. We do fear to confront what we once were. With sudden clarity, Spock resolved that, should the situation prove no barrier to the intended research, he would travel with Sorrm; to ensure the uneventful completion of the journey - and to face Vulcan's past.
So resolved, he put it carefully aside and returned to his meditation.
Hours later, the Enterprise achieved orbit around the Guardian planet. Standard orders for approaching the Guardian included subspace silence until making orbit; then a series of quick identification exchanges. Spock was, of course, following procedure, but the Guardian outpost wasn't. They hadn't acknowledged the hailing codes from the Enterprise.
"The outpost itself seems intact," Lieutenant Bergmann said from the Science Station. "We're passing over it now. I can even pick up life form readings of the outpost personnel." He adjusted a few settings. "Most of them, anyway. But... sir, there's something wrong here. I'm not sure what." Spock rose soundlessly and strode to Sciences. "The personnel readings are... strange," Bergmann said, almost helplessly.
Spock made some adjustments of his own. His almost-scowl deepened. Definitely Terran, that one, And there, a Vulcan. But yes, there is something wrong. The energy levels are all too low. Almost as if they are all asleep. Or....
"It appears that our personnel are unconscious," he said, straightening from the scanner, returning it to Bergmann. "Make certain," he ordered, "there are no other anomalous readings, specifically any that could match a Klingon profile. Also, scan orbital space for any warp signature residue from starship engines. Lieutenant Holden," he turned his attention from Sciences, "assemble a security team with a medical officer." But he was already certain he knew what they would find.
"Mindsifted," McCoy said tersely. "And unless you want to interrupt Valjiir, there's not a damn thing I can do."
The outpost's four technicians were in Sickbay, in varying degrees of madness; except for the Vulcan, Sedan, who was catatonic. The security force, a minimal three officers, was dead. There was evidence of a struggle, but the Guardian portal seemed untouched. The sensors showed residual traces of ship activity, but even extreme range sensors detected no sign of a continued presence. Spock turned from McCoy to the comm unit. "Miss Valley, report," he said.
"Yes, Captain?" came the response seconds later.
"Has Valjiir completed its assigned task?"
"All but the testing. All the simulations check out and we've got a unit wired. We'll need to cannibalize a Chutzpah for a power supply if you want it working planetside now, but..."
"Very good, Lieutenant Commander. My commendations to you and Mrs. Majiir. We have a medical emergency. If you would, report to Sickbay immediately."
Ruth's voice was suddenly full of dread. "Spock...?"
"Quickly, Keheil. Spock out." He again faced McCoy. "Do what you can, Leonard. I will be on the Bridge."
McCoy watched Spock leave and sighed heavily, damning the Klingons.
"Damn Klingons got there first," Ruth snarled as she slammed the tools she'd been using back into their resting places. "Jilla, can you...?"
"I am sure Mr. Scott can help dismantle the shuttle."
"Get it working."
"My intention."
Ruth hurried to the turbolift, preparing herself for healing. It had been a while. The last time had been when Spock had deliberately injured himself so as to determine the extent of damage to her abilities the sauvrn may have caused. That had hurt, more than physically. She hadn't then known about Jim Kirk's disappearance and Spock’s devil's bargain with Fleet. It had hurt, too, to be unable to help Jim once Spock found him. Her empathy had still been too scarred from the sauvrn to attempt anything on that scale. But she was fully recovered now. Word had been sent to Jade Han on Jude, offering her aid if it were needed.
Which isn't preparing. Ruth stopped her errant flow of thoughts, turning her mind inward, bringing up the core of being that was keheil: wise, strong, patient healer, dedicated to life at all costs, ready to die to preserve another's life. She set her shields carefully in place. Spock would be insulated from her efforts and, if necessary, from her death. Please, Zehara, don't make it necessary yet, she prayed, even as she accepted the possibility.
She was ready when she reached Sickbay. "Bones?" she called.
"In here, Ruthie," McCoy answered from the isolation rooms. Ruth approached cautiously. McCoy looked as frustrated as his voice sounded. She stared at the madmen who were to be her patients, and gulped.
"Mindsifted. Damn," she swore softly.
"We need to know what happened," McCoy said. "Spock has to decide whether to cancel the research." He shook his head. "Try the Vulcan. He's likely to be the most resistant.”
Ruth nodded, closed her eyes, and Keheil ani Ramy went to work.
Sulu had a headache. He knew it was tension. It wasn't that the historians were grumbling about the delay and possibility of cancellation of their research. Everyone seemed to understand. Except, of course, for Sorrm, who was the reason for his headache in the first place. Jilla had told him about Sorrm's bizarre ideas and attempt at controlling her. It was more than difficult to be in the same room with him and not deck him – or at the least, confront the bastard. He and the civilians were in the briefing room near the transporter, waiting for an evaluation from the security team examining the Guardian station. Sorrm was pacing.
"Will you take it easy?" Dr. Ramirez said in exasperation as Sorrm passed her for the twentieth time.
"Anyway I can get it," Sorrm replied absently. Ramirez scowled.
"She means be calm," Lan'an put in. His soft voice still managed to convey his irritation.
"My research is important," Sorrm returned, then glanced at Sulu. "I don't like bureaucratic delays."
"Believe me, Doctor," Sulu began, "if it were up to me I'd be happy to beam you into a nest of..."
Peace, First Officer.
Sulu started at the thought in his mind, then remembered that Colar was a telepath.
His manner is deliberate. He intends to antagonize you.
Why? Sulu thought, uncertain if he'd be heard. He received a graphic picture, colored with Colar's repugnance, of Sorrm's intentions regarding Jilla: the sands of Koon ut Kal if Fee he recognized from his studies and Jilla's descriptions. And while he didn't understand the symbol that seemed to burn the air before her kneeling figure, his own lifeless body made the scenario clear.
You want me to challenge you, is that it? Make it my responsibility so you can beat me to a pulp? Sulu grinned fiercely. I may be only Human, but I've got more control than that.
Sorrm frowned at the Metring. "I can fight my own battles, Colar," he said pointedly.
"There are none here, Doctor," Sulu informed him.
Sorrm's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Didn't you just..."
"I said if it were up to me. It isn't. Captain Spock is rational."
"And you're not," Sorrm snorted.
"When protecting my mate, no. Do you expect me to be?"
Sorrm's reaction was completely unexpected. He laughed heartily and gave Sulu a quick bear hug. "Spoken like a true warrior! You'll do fine, my friend, just fine!" He strode amiably to the table and sat down, putting his feet up.
Sulu's puzzlement only made his headache worse.
"We've run a thorough search of the entire area. No indication of continued Klingon presence. From the sensor reports and the condition of the outpost, I'd say the nature of the attack was hit and run. They knew we were coming and tried for some fast information." Security Chief Tara Ryan stood to the left of the con, talking to the Captain. "Regardless of the report from Medical, Security recommends we go ahead with the research mission."
Spock glanced at the dark-skinned woman, having completed his perusal of the statboard she had given him. "Explain, Lieutenant."
"Sir, if the Klingons learned how to use the Guardian, we'll have to quarantine the planet. All research will be suspended. That makes this time valuable. If they didn't get what they wanted, a safe bet since we're still here, they'll be back, but with more firepower than a scout. That will take some time to arrange, and the Guardian will be safe until then. Since temporal research takes virtually no time, it would be - " She smiled. " - illogical to waste the opportunity we came here to pursue."
Spock nodded thoughtfully. "Agreed, Miss Ryan. Have your teams stand by. We will transport the researchers shortly."
"Aye, sir."
The comm signaled. Spock thumbed the switch as Tara took the initialed report. "Spock," he said.
"Medical report, Captain," Ruth's voice said. It sounded faint and subdued in addition to the hoarseness that always accompanied the aftermath of a healing. That in itself was enough of a report: Ruth's attempt had not been entirely successful .
"Yes, Keheil," Spock prompted gently.
“With enough therapy, Technicians Wolfson, Berkwitz and Yun Lee should recover. I'm afraid Sodan's condition is - " Her voice caught. " - irreversible. Maybe a Vulcan healer could... ease his..."
Do not berate your ability, beloved.
No, Spock. I meant ease his - death. For a Vulcan, madness is death.
They shared the grief for a timeless moment, then Spock said, "Was information vital to the safety of the Federation taken from them, Keheil?"
"I can't be sure, Captain. It seems they didn't know how to use the portal and were instructed to avoid finding out. Their area of study was theoretical, trying to discover what the Guardian is and how it formed. But they may have had suspicions, particularly Sodan."
"Yes," Spock agreed. Vulcan curiosity was notorious. "Security recommends we continue our mission as planned."
Keheil immediately switched to Science Officer. "If the area is secure and we can keep long range scanners on alert, I concur."
"Will Valjiir have the cloaking field prepared?"
"I can check on that now, sir."
"I will meet you in the transporter room."
"Yes, sir. Valley out."
Spock rose, giving the con to Uhura and went with Tara Ryan to the turbolift. Once inside, he spoke quietly. "Miss Ryan, are you aware of how you came to be on the Bridge earlier today?"
Tara frowned. "I wasn't, no, sir; but I think I've figured it out since then. Dr. Sorrm's a strong telepath, isn't he?"
"Yes, and an unscrupulous one. His action constitutes assault, and I would recommend you file formal charges against him."
"Pardon my directness, sir, but since Vulcan allows him off planet, it seems they aren't too concerned with his actions."
Spock quirked an eyebrow at her. "You suggest Vulcan keep him prisoner?"
"He's crazy, isn't he? He's a Vulcan citizen, isn't he? It's my understanding that every member system of the Federation is responsible for their own mentally ill, unless aid from the Federation is specifically requested."
"You have a point, Lieutenant. However, it is my assessment that any sane Vulcan would be unable to conceive that one of their race would behave in such a fashion. It is therefore our duty and responsibility to inform Vulcan that such a thing is, indeed, conceivable."
Tara smiled ruefully. "You have a point as well, Captain." She straightened her shoulders. "I'll be certain to file those charges, sir."
Spock nodded.
The decision to go ahead with the research was met with expressions of relief by the historians. Sorrm whooped for joy and exclaimed, "Let's go!" As the party made the short journey to the transporter room, Sulu spoke quietly to Spock.
"Any word from Vulcan on Sorrm?" he asked.
"It is approved," Spock replied.
"What? Are they nuts? Do they know how he thinks?"
"I am certain they do."
"And they're going to trust him in circumstances that could change history?"
"Apparently." Spock paused, then, at Sulu's incredulous stare, continued, "But I am not. I will travel with him." Spock saw the immediate temptation to argue the wisdom of such a thing war with respect for his Captain's decisions in Sulu's eyes.
"Does he know that?" Sulu questioned at last.
"Not yet. I thought it prudent to discuss it first with you."
Sulu smiled. "Thank you, Captain, but if you've already decided, and since it would be dangerous to let him go alone..."
"I would appreciate your accompanying me," Spock broke in.
Sulu stopped in his tracks. "Me?"
"I believe I mentioned the possibility of special attention, Mr. Sulu."
"Yes, sir," Sulu swallowed, "but...wouldn't I be - uh - conspicuous on Vulcan?"
"There should be no plans to contact any inhabitants. Your presence would tend to quell any such intentions Sorrm may have." Spock met his gaze. "And I may need your assistance in controlling him."
Again Sulu's reply was, "Me?" followed quickly by, "I wouldn't be much use in Vulcan air, heat and gravity, Captain."
A faint smile pulled at Spock's lips. "So Sorrm will think. The martial arts at which you excel do not require an advantage in physical size or strength."
"Thank you, Captain," Sulu grinned, then frowned. "Now how are you going to get Sorrm to agree?"
"As the commander of the Enterprise, I am in charge of this mission."
"Ah," Sulu nodded, then added a slight bow. "So. Wakarlmasu."
Spock's eyebrow rose. "Indeed, Mr. Sulu."
In the transporter room, Ruth, Jilla and Scotty had arranged bulky equipment on the platform.
"We're all prepared, Captain," Ruth said as Spock entered. "It should take us about ten or fifteen minutes to set up planetside."
"Excellent," Spock began. Sorrm interrupted.
"What in the names of the gods is all that?"
"Hardly your concern," Spock informed him with a measured gaze.
Sorrm clicked his tongue. "Right, Captain."
Sulu nodded impressively as Spock turned to the console.
"Energize, Mr. Scott." The equipment, Ruth and Jilla disappeared in shimmer. Moments later, the research party followed.
Sulu was a little nervous at the idea of time travel. To be going to Pre-Reform Vulcan added to his anxiety. The fact that Sorrm seemed delighted to have him along made it all worse. The Vulcan’s reaction to Spock's announcing that they would accompany him had been an almost fierce grin and an exuberant, "Of course, Spock, the more the merrier. I couldn't've asked for better."
The other historians had chosen their times and stepped into the portal. Sorrm hadn't liked being put last, but Spock insisted. Duty demanded he see the others safely off. Ruth and Jilla worked quietly, neither showing her own nervousness at the prospect of her husband going off into the past. Sulu knew he shouldn't interrupt their work. If the Klingons were to return unexpectedly, the Valjiir cloak had to be working. He didn't want to leave without saying goodbye to Jilla, but Spock was waiting. Then he remembered Jilla's call. Will it work both ways? he wondered. He concentrated all his energy, filling his mind with a wordless farewell and declaration of love. He watched Jilla for a reaction, and wasn't too surprised when he didn't get one. Shrugging, he joined Spock and Sorrm.
"Guardian, we wish to travel to the Vulcan of 5000 years ago, the first day of the month of Riltorr,” Sorrm said, "at the Canyon of Mah-nor-fen."
"The way is prepared," the Guardian intoned solemnly.
With a last, fleeting glance at Jilla, Sulu stepped through the portal with the Vulcans.
"Sulu says goodbye and he loves you," Ruth murmured. Jilla looked up, her shining eyes matching Ruth's smile.
"Yes, I know."
At last, at last! Sorrm’s mind raced jubilantly as the swirling grays of the Guardian portal became the solid red sands of home. The heat of the afternoon washed over him in welcome waves, and he quickly stripped off the modern shirt he wore. He noted Spock's reaction - eyebrows rising, then abruptly lowering in a frown - and laughed out loud.
"Perhaps you should have considered dressing the part, Spock."
Beneath the shirt was a close fitting halter of deep green tanned hide. A sash of copper-colored material was wound around his waist, a shade darker than the loose pants that were gathered at his ankles. Soft boots of the same tanned hide as the vest covered his feet. Wrapped around his left bicep was an ahn-woon.
"Going to a costume party?" Sulu asked dryly. Sorrm laughed again.
"Wouldn't you wear a samurai's traditional kimono if you were traveling to the Japan of 1500 years ago?"
He ignored Sulu's whispered questioning, and Spock's equally quiet answers. It no longer mattered what they said. He had everything planned, everything timed. He was home, and he would not fail.
"The hide is le-matya," Spock explained. "It is the best protection from the sands, yet is supple enough to allow complete freedom of movement. The sash is a mark of status, denoting a certain level of accomplishment as a warrior."
Sulu scowled. "Isn't that a little presumptuous?"
Spock hesitated. "Perhaps, but unlikely. He has no doubt passed those tests that would..."
"You mean they're still..."
"Yes, as other trials of strength and endurance remain. Our logic does not make us weak."
"I never thought that for a second, Spock," Sulu returned. Spock recognized the compliment in the serious tone, as well as in the usage of his name, not his rank. "Have you..." Sulu began again.
"I considered it unnecessary. My training as a Starfleet officer is sufficient." Spock paused. "As is yours, my friend."
Sulu grinned. "Really?"
"I do not doubt that you would meet the requirements for several levels of..."
"No," Sulu interrupted. "I meant am I really a friend?"
There was a pause as Spock carefully lowered the reserve that was his shield against the expression of emotion. He met the younger man's eyes with open honesty, his voice warm. "I would be honored to have it so, Sulu."
Some of the guarded respect in Sulu's own eyes softened, becoming more like the affection and understanding they often held for Ruth.
"So would I, Spock. Thank you."
Spock nodded and Sorrm's voice broke into their conversation. "This is Mah-nor-fen," he said. "This canyon is all that remains of the river system that once crossed these dunes. It is even in modern times a place of special meditation." His tone made his derision of that activity plain.
"Meditation orders the mind," Spock put in, "and calms the emotions, enabling decisions to be made..."
"Logically," Sorrm interrupted sarcastically. "You assume, Spock, that it's a superior way to make decisions."
"It is," Spock replied.
"Oh?" Sorrm turned to Sulu. "Do you agree with that stark, unassailable truth, Commander?"
"The Captain speaks for himself," Sulu replied.
"But do you agree?"
"For Spock, it's the truth."
"Very clever." Sorrm's voice held a note of disapproval despite his words. "What about for you?"
Sulu shrugged. "I'm not Vulcan."
"You claim a bonding. If you have no opinion on Vulcan matters..." Sorrm let the sentence drop, his inference clear.
Sulu cleared his throat. Spock could discern the tight rein he was keeping on his rising temper. "I don't consider the way in which one makes decisions a Vulcan matter."
"Ah, but there's the rub," Sorrm said, "Vulcans do. Things like intuition and quantum leaps are denied as valid tools..."
"Enough, Sorrm," Spock broke in. "I have spoken to you concerning respect for..."
"We're no longer on the Enterprise, Spock. I no longer accept your authority."
Their gazes locked, the hot, dry air nearly crackling with the tension. At last Sorrm laughed.
"Still formidable, aren't we?" he said, then gestured around at the landscape. "Or is it simply our ancient blood at last stirring with the freedom here? Come, Spock; do you deny it? The very air pulses with the Warrior's Call!"
Spock opened his mouth to debate the assertion, and a dull roaring sound filled his ears. Quickly he scanned the horizon.
From the west, a wall of red approached.
"The air pulses with a sandstorm," he asserted, "and we are miles from shelter."
Sorrm glanced up toward the storm. "So it seems," he replied. It was a much too calm response, but Spock had no time to dwell on it.
"Captain," Sulu said, his voice rising as the wind began to pick up, "the ravine..."
"You'll be scoured against the walls," Sorrm put in, "or buried alive."
"True, Commander," Spock said. "These storms can drop tons of sand in moments." The roaring came closer.
Sulu frowned, evaluating the terrain. Then he pointed at almost the same moment Sorrm did. "That small outcropping of rock..."
"It will have to do," Spock rejoined. The wind was beginning to raise the sand around their feet as they started toward the formation.
Sorrm stayed where he was.
Spock stopped, turning back. "Sorrm, you cannot..."
"I can't study history from behind rocks!" Sorrm called over the sound of the wind.
"You want to be history?!" Sulu exclaimed in disbelief. His voice barely carried above the roar.
"I'll be fine!"
"Sorrm, this is madness!" Spock shouted.
"Call it intuition, Spock!" came the bellowed reply.
The storm hit full force. Spock felt Sulu pulling on his arm, dragging him to the relative safety of crouching behind the outcropping of rock. Sorrm’s figure disappeared behind a curtain of swirling rust.
It seemed hours before the roaring of the wind faded into the distance. Sulu had nearly choked on the sand that had filled the air, and what skin was exposed felt like it had been washed with sandpaper. He and Spock were buried nearly waist high in the red particles. He wiped sand from gritty eyes, shook sand from hair that could now pass for Indiian burgundy, spat sand from an already too-dry mouth.
"You are undamaged, Sulu?" Spock’s somewhat harsher than usual voice asked.
"Skin's a bit upbraided, but I'll live," he responded, aware of the roughness of his own voice. "And you, Captain?"
"Much the same," Spock replied, then, after a moment added, "The tricorder seems undamaged as well." Sulu nodded, remembering that Spock had pushed the delicate instrument under the fabric of his shirt as they had settled against the rocks.
Together they dug out of the drift piled around the outcropping and made their way to the edge of the canyon. As Spock had warned, it was half filled with sand.
Sulu took a deep breath, still tasting sand. "Sorrm..." he began.
"Lives," Spock returned. “I sense no death trauma."
"But how...?"
"I do not know. But we must find him."
Silently he began to walk along the canyon's rim. After a moment's hesitation that was filled with sudden unease, Sulu followed.
He had known, of course, of the protected gully that lay 100 meters down the west side of the canyon. It wasn't visible from the rim, but by leaping to the floor of the canyon, one could discern the narrow opening. The sand made it impossible to find by sight, but he'd felt confidently along the wall, slipping into the gully just as the ravine began to fill with sand.
And farther in, around a sharp curve about ten meters away, just as his exhaustive study had promised, was Surak.
It was a momentous occasion; so momentous he'd been truly surprised Spock hadn't been alarmed by his choice. Exactly 5000 years ago, on the first day of Riltorr, was when Surak, after deep meditation, had decided to break Vulcan.
But then, he added to himself, how many modern Vulcans know it took place in a well-hidden gully of the Mah-nor-fen Canyon?
He silently checked the concealed, inside pocket of his vest and the meticulously produced scroll of hide, then smiled.
For the Soul of the Warrior.
Spock and Sulu found what appeared to be a protected gully off of the main canyon. There was no entrance from above and they set to work trying to dig through the shallowest deposit of sand. Though there was no answer to Spock’s call, it was possible the nature of the canyon and gully muffled sound. Or Sorrm could be unconscious. Fortunately the storm had cooled the sands enough so that digging didn't blister their hands.
After nearly half an hour, Sulu sat back on his heels. "Spock, this is hopeless. The sand pours in as fast as we can dig it out."
"Agreed," Spock said. "With the proper equipment we would prevail, but without it, the task does seem to be impossible."
"What task, Spock?"
Sulu leapt to his feet, turning. Spock looked swiftly up behind him. Sorrm stood grinning, casually brushing sand from his hair.
"How the... when did..." Sulu sputtered.
"There's a gully there," Sorrm replied.
"We are aware of that," Spock rejoined, getting to his feet, "and had assumed you were sheltered there. We were attempting to fashion an exit."
"Good of you, but as you see, unnecessary."
"How the hell did you get out?" Sulu managed.
"The other end of this gully had a small overhang. It protected me and was fairly easy to break in order to climb out once the storm had passed."
"Fortunate," Spock observed. "Perhaps the Terran cliché is correct."
"You refer to the gods watching over fools and drunkards," Sorrm mused. "Perhaps, Spock." He smiled as if at some private joke, then turned. "Shall we return to our own time, gentlemen?"
"What?" Sulu burst out.
"Sorrm, you have researched nothing," Spock pointed out.
"The storm seems to have banked my fires of curiosity." Sorrm grinned again. "But we'll go on if you insist."
Spock's features hardened. "This is a scientific mission considered of some importance," he said. "You feel no obligation to complete it, but I do... and will." Ignoring Sorrm, he consulted the tricorder. "There is an encampment approximately two kilometers to the north. I will venture close enough for readings. Mr. Sulu, you will see to it that Dr. Sorrm's banked fires and fear of the weather do not cause him to panic in an ill-advised manner."
Sorrm's eyebrows rose, but he chuckled. Sulu only muttered, "Yes, sir."
The research parties had only been gone for a few moments when Jilla wired the final connection. "Power source integrated," she said.
Ruth adjusted the field controls. "Test sequence ready," she replied, then moved away from the cloaking device. "Valley to Enterprise," she said into her communicator.
"Aye, lass," Scott's voice answered.
"We're ready to test, Scotty: We'll expand the cloak to 500 meters, 10 kilometers, 1000 kilometers, then the whole planet. Check after each step."
"The transmitters are in place and we've got sensors scannin' now," Scott said.
"Jilla, power on."
Jilla completed the circuit and for five seconds, nothing happened. Then Scott's voice announced, "500 meters, test successful. Our sensors couldna detect the field or the transmitters in it."
Ruth grinned. "Acknowledged."
Another five seconds of nothing.
"Ten kilometers successful."
"Go, Scotty."
After another five seconds, the communicator remained silent.
"Interrupt!" Ruth called and Jilla broke the power connection. "Scotty?" Ruth said. "Valley to Enterprise, come in."
There was no answer, not even static.
Jilla opened her communicator. "Enterprise, this is Lieutenant Majiir. Acknowledge please."
Still only silence.
Ruth walked over to Jilla's side. "Power's off?" she asked.
Jilla checked the circuit. "Yes. The field is inoperative."
"Could it have knocked out both...?"
"...not previously noted any effect on..."
"...with the higher density..."
"...will see the field is cancelled and a landing party..."
"God, I hope so!"
Jilla studied the worry in Ruth's tia. "What other explanation..." she began.
Ten meters to their right, the air began to shimmer. Momentary relief became renewed dread as the shimmer changed not to familiar sparkle but to reddish lines of interference patterns. But that, also, did not become the unwelcome but equally familiar Klingon transporter beam. A cross-hatch effect formed, then slowly solidified into five beings.
They were dressed in body armor of a deep green color that moved with them like a second skin. Helms of the same color covered their heads. Each wore a brightly colored sash of copper that seemed somehow incongruous with the rest of the uniform: it was an obvious place for someone to grab. There was a long strip of leather coiled about each figures' left forearm, and each carried a long pole weapon with a curving, crescent blade on one end, and a heavy cudgel on the other. Wide, metallic-looking cuffs, like ancient Terran Medieval bracers, covered their forearms, and carried a device that could be weapon, communicator, recorder or something else entirely. They stood, surveying the landscape for only a moment, then one, the obvious leader, signaled and the helms were drawn back. They hung from the collars of the armor like hoods. Hair that was below shoulder-length, braided, and black as night was revealed - as well as upswept eyebrows, olive skin and curving, pointed ears.
Both Ruth and Jilla stared. "What the...?" Ruth began. The leader stepped forward, his black eyes raking over them with a harsh curiosity. He spoke, his voice, too, harsh and emotion-laden. Ruth didn't understand the words, but she recognized the language: Vulcan. And at that moment, her empathic awareness was seared with the strength of his telepathy. She swallowed and glanced at Jilla, only to see the Indiian dropping to her knees. Then Jilla grabbed her uniform, tugging her with swift strength to kneel beside her. Before Ruth could react, Jilla spoke in rapid Vulcan and bowed her head. Not being an idiot, Ruth followed suit, lowering her head as well.
"What's going on?" she whispered.
"I do not know," Jilla murmured. "He is a Clan Warrior and has never seen beings like us."
"What did you say?"
"I begged pardon for speaking..."
"You what?!"
"Hush! And said we were not worthy of his notice."
"Why?!"
"There have not been Clan Warriors for 5000 years, Ruth."
After a pause, Ruth whispered, "Oh my god."