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The
Romulan Threat Closes In...
Zar was
crouched, fingers digging at the rock, breathing in gasps, his upper lip
beaded with sweat. "I'm going to die," the whisper reached the
Vulcan like the rattle of ipanki leaves in the wind. "I'm
frightened...I hate them...I'm going to die."
Spock was
sickened, and at the same time, he felt an irrational impulse to comfort
his son. He reached out a hand, shook his shoulder, gently. "Stop
it, Zar."
"Shut
up," Zar gasped, then ignored him. He mumbled again, a litany,
"I'm scared. I hate them. I'm going to die...death..." His
gaze fastened on the guards, eyes wide, glazing. "Die..." His
body stiffened, then the hands clenched on the rock loosened, and he
tumbled over bonelessly.
Shocked,
Spock stared at him, then in reflex looked at the guards. They were
sprawled, not moving.
Nightmarish-slow,
he scrambled over the limp figure, touched the wrist. Nothing. He pulled
his son's head into his lap, felt his throat--a flutter, very slight...
His fingers went to the temples. Summoning his mind, he concentrated,
finally picking up the kar-selan mind-activity. Secondary--weak, very
weak. But there. He took a long breath.
Probing,
reaching, calling. The name, over and over, for as ancient magic would
have it, the name is the identity. Zar--Zar--Gateway faded, the rocks
were gone. The pain in his hands erased. Zar--Finally....he...touched! ZAR!
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