Star Trek - TOS 38 Idic Epidemic (10 page)

“Has Starfleet sent any new information, Leon
ard?” Sorel asked.

“Yes—but I don’t think it’ll do us much good, and I
don’t want to discuss it here. Kinda touchy.”

“Touchy?” asked the Vulcan healer.

“Likely to create controversy,” his Human partner
interpreted. “In which case,” he added, “we’d best
not create questions by all going off together. May we
join you in your office when the reception’s over?”

“By all means,” McCoy replied.

“When healers confer in whispers,” a male voice
spoke behind T’Pina, “patients must beware.”

T’Pina turned, horribly embarrassed to be caught
trying to overhear a private conversation.
Two days
away from Vulcan, and I have forgotten all my control.

Even worse, when she caught sight of the man who
had accosted her, her throat tightened so she could
not reply.

Vulcans were not supposed to react to physical appearance, and T’Pina could not recall ever in her life before feeling as she did now. The man was
Vulcan, tall, only a few years older than she was …
and beautiful.

“Handsome” was not a powerful enough word to
describe his face, although it was completely masculine. It was as if the greatest artist who ever lived had
set out to portray the ideal of Vulcan male beauty
—thick, straight, shining dark hair falling in a perfect
cap about a skull of ideal proportions; oval face, straight nose, strong jaw, high cheekbones; and his eyes—eyes of brilliant brown touched with amber,
wide and thickly lashed, set under winging brows.

Only the mouth escaped classic perfection—and
that only because its neatly sculpted lines were set in an expression of disapproval.

T’Pina grasped hold of her emotions, determined to
give this man no further reason to disapprove of her.

And only then realizing that he had no right to
approve or disapprove, unless she gave it to him.

He was not old enough to have the right by seniori
ty; he was not her teacher, her healer, or her superior.
Nor was he a member of her family—not that that
would give him such a right, since they were of the
same generation.

Armed with that realization, T’Pina found control
easier to maintain. “My name is T’Pina,” she said. “I
am a biotechnician.”

The man looked her over almost clinically, but his
mouth softened from disapproval almost to the hint
of a smile. It set her pulse to racing. “My name is Sendet,” he told her, “of the clan T’Deata. I am a
neurophysicist.”

“A neurophysicist?” T’Pina deliberately focused on
what they were saying lest her unwelcome physical
reactions become apparent to Sendet.

He offered his clan name upon first acquaintance!
What could that mean? Both of them were unbonded.
It was not possible to have this kind of reaction to a
bonded male.

“I know little of the plague on Nisus,” she continued, “but I thought it was a virus. Does it then attack
the nervous system?”

Sendet blinked, glanced over at the healers deep in
conversation, then back at T’Pina. “You are going to
Nisus? Surely they have enough biotechnicians. Forgive me, but you do not seem old enough to be called
as an expert.”

“I’m not,” T’Pina replied. “Nisus is my home. I
have just completed my training at the Vulcan Acad
emy.”

“Ah—I am also a graduate of the Academy, and have spent the past few years on the staff of the hospital there. T’Pina
…
I have heard your name.
Did you not graduate first in your class?”

“I had that honor,” she replied, irrationally pleased
that he had noticed and remembered.

“Daughter.”

T’Pina had not heard her mother come up behind her. With careful control, she turned to T’Kar. “Mother, this is Sendet, a neurophysicist from the
Academy. Sendet, this is T’Kar, my mother.”

“I am honored,” said Sendet with impeccable politeness. T’Pina saw his eyes light on T’Kar’s clan badge worked in gold and silver, which she wore in honor of the formal occasion. “Your daughter does you great credit, T’Kar.”

“She has never disappointed me,” T’Kar replied.
Wondering if that were a warning not to disappoint
her now, T’Pina glanced at her mother’s face. But
T’Kar was studying Sendet’s clan badge of gold with
red and green stones. T’Pina had never studied clan
heraldry; she would not have recognized the symbols
if Sendet had not spoken his ancestral name. His emblem apparently meant nothing to T’Kar, either
—except that the right to wear one meant the ability
to trace his ancestry to one of the ancient warrior
clans.

She glanced around, curious. Sorel wore his clan
badge, but neither Sarek nor Spock wore theirs. Sarek
wore only ambassadorial ribbons; he was neutral of
all personal or factional claims when he acted for all
of Vulcan. Starfleet regulations, though, could not
preclude an officer from wearing such a token with his
dress uniform—otherwise Mr. Scott, the
Enterprise
chief engineer, could not be dressed in tartans.

Spock, however, instead of a family emblem wore
an IDIC. Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combination—more than merely the union of opposites, the
Vulcan symbol of triangle piercing circle to release a
brilliant jewel represented the ideal blending of diver
sity. The triangle was offset on the circle to represent
motion and change; nothing alive remained static. Vulcans respected life—and that meant respecting
change.

T’Pina’s gaze returned to Sendet. She wondered
whether T’Deata were one of the Ancient Families.
Since she would never know whether she belonged to
one of them, she had never bothered to study them
beyond the standard information in her history les
sons. T’Deata was a matriarchal lineage designation,
but it did not tell whether that clan had become converted to Surak’s philosophy during the great
leader’s own lifetime, or in later generations.

Sendet was asking, “T’Kar, T’Pina, have you seen
the stars from the observation deck? Motion is dis
cernible at this warp—it is a unique experience.”

T’Kar looked from Sendet to T’Pina. “Indeed, one
that I have appreciated often. The observation deck
will not be crowded at this time. It is something you
should see, my daughter. Will you escort her,
Sendet?”

“I am honored,” the young man repeated, and T’Pina struggled to control her joy. Her mother
approved! She lowered her eyes, lest either her mother
or Sendet see her undisciplined delight, and started to
leave with Sendet.

“T’Kar!” It was Sorel. He left the group of other
healers. T’Pina hid her concern. Obviously the healer
did not want her mother to leave.

“Come, T’Pina,” said Sendet. She followed him, wondering what the healer could have to say so urgently to T’Kar. Perhaps something to do with her
nursing skills.

T’Pina and Sendet were not alone on the observa
tion deck—but when they stared out at the hurtling
stars, they might as well have been. Only by biting her
lower lip did T’Pina suppress a gasp at the sensation
of falling into eternity. Out there, before her, was
utter coldness, absolute zero. Despite the layers of her
clothing, she had to control a shiver

And then she felt, at her back, Sendet’s warmth, a
shelter from the cold, the night. He did not touch her.

But one day, she thought, when the time was
appropriate, they would touch.

Staring into the reflectionless glass that separated her from the depths of space, T’Pina allowed herself
to smile.

The slidewalks stopped at the cluster of government buildings at the foot of the dam, so Korsal took a two-wheeled power cycle and rode up the steep, winding trail to the dam entrance. He ran inside,
grabbing up a utility belt and communicator from the
toolroom.

“Torrence, I’m at the dam. Where are you?”

“Turbine three,” her voice answered tightly.
“Hurry!”

Every sound at the dam was dominated by the noise of rushing water, but as Korsal followed the orange lines that would take him to the turbines he
heard another sound—a muffled clunking that shifted
the ground beneath his feet, as if some giant machine
were shaking itself apart.

Outside the entrance to the turbine chamber, the
status lights showed turbine three off-line. That did
nothing to account for the deafening clangor. Korsal
pushed the door open and was assaulted anew by the
noise.

Emily Torrence was a member of one of the dark
races of Humans, skin as deep brown as coffee beans,
hair black and springily curled—frizzed up tight against her skull now from the flying spray in the
turbine chamber.

With a pair of waldos, she was maneuvering one of
the gigantic cranes in an attempt to capture some
thing spinning in the whirling water—something that showed a bit of itself above the water every so often,
even though it shouldn’t.

Korsal recognized the underwater turbine blades —the wheel had shifted partly off its axle and was
undulating wildly off-center.

“How did this happen?” he shouted as he fitted his
hands into a second pair of waldos, putting another
crane into operation.

“Ice!” Torrence replied.

Ice?

It was impossible to converse amid the deafening
combination of rushing water and clanging, clanking
runaway water wheel, so Korsal simply added his
efforts to Torrence’s.

They clamped two cranes onto the recalcitrant wheel to stop its gyrations. Then, while Korsal
watched both sets of waldos lest the raging water tear
it loose again, Torrence released the turbine wheel from its axle, rejoined Korsal, and together they
maneuvered the gigantic, dripping wheel over onto
the concrete at the side.

Once they had captured the water wheel, the infer
nal banging and clattering stopped, but the rushing
water was loud enough in itself to prevent conversa
tion while they recalculated the control functions.

Two other wheels were off-true, hit by pieces of the
same ice that had torn number three apart, but they
could keep those turbines on-line until each could be repaired, by manually rebalancing the system. Tem
porarily, the power system could work with one
turbine missing.

Toggling the control unit shut, Korsal and Torrence
walked over to the useless water wheel. It wasn’t
wheel-shaped any longer. Several blades were twisted
outward, others shorn off. How could ice have done
that much damage?