are worried.”
“Worry is illogical,” he replied automatically.
His mother turned to face him, blocking his way and remaining out of the turbolift doors’ sensor range. She gave him a knowing smile. “Concerned, then. But with medical experts from all over the Federation, surely this plague will quickly be contained.”
“Mother,” he reminded her, “Nisus already has experts from all over the Federation—and some from outside it. Even Klingon and Orion scientists are part of the cooperative effort there, as well as researchers in every branch of science from every Federation culture.”
“I know,” Amanda replied. “Nisus has existed for three generations—I remember learning about it in school when I was a little girl on Earth. ‘The finest example in the galaxy of cooperation among intelli gent life forms.’ There was a time when I thought I would apply to do linguistic research on Nisus—the effects of all those varied languages spoken in one small area—but then I met your father … and decided to practice a different form of cooperation between intelligent life forms.”
He knew she wished to coax a smile from him —that her statement would easily have won one from Sarek. But Spock’s mind was on the connections Amanda refused to make: the scientists of Nisus could not stop the epidemic—for it was probably their own work that had caused it, their cooperation between species that spread it.
The concept at least of tolerance was universal among intelligent species that had reached a certain level of civilization, although some practiced it with greater diligence than others. Spock, grown up on Vulcan, knew the ideal as IDIC, Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combination.
IDIC was a sacred concept to Vulcans—yet logic required recognition of fact. It appeared that just as nature had attacked Spock’s mother for daring to live where humans were never meant to, now the scientists of Nisus were suffering for living the ideal of IDIC.
Insufficient data to form a hypothesis, Spock told himself. Surely, as had happened with his mother, the combined medical wisdom of many worlds would unite to preserve Nisus.
Chapter Four
The healer Sorel returned from surgery to his office at the Vulcan Academy of Sciences. He had two more patients scheduled that day: T’Kar and her daughter T’Pina, for routine examinations before leaving Vul can to return to the science colony on Nisus.
Just as he reached the door to the reception area, his paging signal sounded. He continued inside, asking T’Sel, “Why are you paging me?”
“Vulcan Space Central is calling.”
Space Central? “I’ll take it in my office.”
All Vulcans practiced emotional control, but Sorel now knew from long experience what he had been told when he began his training many years ago: “A healer,” his master teacher Svan had explained, “is a paradox. While he must keep the strictest emotional control of any Vulcan, for the sake of his patients’ health and his own sanity, he has also chosen a profession which, above all, provokes the universal Vulcan failing: curiosity.”
Indeed, by the time he reached the console in his inner office, Sorel was nearly consumed with curiosi ty. His daughter was safely home now; there was no member of his family off-planet. So his curiosity was unmixed with concern as he wondered what Space Central could possibly want with him.
The moment he pressed the switch, his screen was filled with the image of a Human male in the uniform of a Starfleet commodore. “Greetings, Healer. I am Vincent Bright, director of Starfleet activities in this sector. Vulcan Space Central is patching this message through to you. Starfleet Command requests the aid of you and your associate, Dr. Daniel Corrigan.”
Long years of training automatically suppressed Sorel’s concern that the Enterprise, which had left Vulcan only two days previously, had a medical emergency. If Dr. Leonard McCoy, whose skills he had
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