Anyone who's been on list for a while knows I lost my
long-time best friend, Dusty Jones to cancer last fall. Dusty had spent almost
30 years working on her stories of Sarek and Amanda, but as a perfectionist,
only 3 ever made it into light under her pen name, L.L. MacLeod. She left a
huge pile of pieces that I hope in the future to sort through and put at much
as I can into cohesive stories. But here is part 1 of MacLeod's 1st
published story, long out of print. Keep in mind that Dusty believed the only canon
was what one saw on TOS. She made no attempt to alter her universe for
the movies or subsequent series. This sucker is 70 pages, so it'll take a
while to go up, with thanks to Caz for reminding me I had a scanner that could
take this and translate it into text from a type-written page!
I hope you enjoy!
Mary
A VULCAN TEA PARTY by L. L. MacLeod
Chapter 1
This had to be the worst day in his life. Absolutely. Worse
than the day I-chaya had died. Worse than the day they'd taken him up to Daicun
to be pledged to T'Pring and he'd known her thoughts. Just when things had been
starting to get a little better for him at school, this had to happen. Why did
she have to go and do this to him?
******************************************************
"Here, let me help you."
His wife's hands were trembling so much that she couldn't get her shoulder tab
fastened.
"You are entirely too nervous, Amanda. You will do fine and I shall be
inordinately proud of you." He tightened the collar buckle. "As
always."
"I'm not nervous, Sarek."
"Indeed?" The pleats were crooked. Her Terran contours did not quite
fit into a Vulcan robe. "If I had half the energy that you waste in
emotional displays, I would be clan chief by now."
"I seem to recall a certain Vulcan gentleman who had a case of nerves that
would have put mine to shame."
He pretended to ignore her sly little look. "The cause was more than
sufficient, I believe. I had never been a father before."
"And I've never been a teacher."
Ambassador Sarek tugged the errant pleat into place and stood back to admire.
"Indeed?"
She was off, his Amanda, off into the world and out from under his sheltering
wing. She was a grown woman of high intellect, but her emotions made her
vulnerable and easy to bruise. He was pleased that she had made this decision,
had become interested in building a career for herself. But he was concerned
for her tender Terran feelings. If others should speak unfairly to her ...
Perhaps he was overly protective. But she had never complained about his
hovering about. A Vulcan woman would have ordered him to mind his own business,
but Amanda was a Terran and saw his interference as the expression of devotion
that it was meant to be. Before they had met, Sarek had never believed that a
woman could be his intellectual equal and not be repelled by what his peers
would term his unmanly assertiveness where women were concerned.
Even so, he must let her go now just as, if things had been different, he would
someday have had to let their own daughter go.
*********************************************
This teaching thing was going to be very good for her—for them. She'd been
hopelessly bored around the house; she spoke Vulcan fluently now, although with
an accent, and she read it well enough to have exhausted the pertinent
literature concerning Vulcan developmental psychology, as well as anything
dealing with the practices of any culture. Spock would be nine years old in
only a few months, and certainly needed no constant supervision to give her the
excuse to be home. And she was tired of hearing the same old insults about her
living on Sarek's money and raising Sarek's child; she knew Sarek was. He'd
never said anything to her about it, but he was not that kind.
But what could she do? The career prospects were pretty grim when you took a
moment to consider that it was against Vulcan law for an outworlder to own
Vulcan real estate or have any interest at all in a Vulcan business. Until
Sarek had been named t'yetma, she had had to have a special document drawn
up each and every time she left the capital city of ShiKar. The government
didn't want unsupervised aliens wandering around the planet. Sarek's first
official act as a high level diplomat had been to arrange for a special pass to
provide his wife with freedom of movement. To do this, he'd had to hire her on
as a member of his diplomatic staff. Oh, the gossip had flown on that one!
No, I don't mind being my husband's employee. No, I don't mind him having a
title when I have none. No, I don't care if my husband supports me. No, I don't
mind his leaving me to care for his baby. And no, she would not allow anyone to
ruin her joy at Sarek's accomplishment.
It was better now between them since he had been named. When the subject had
first come up in council about Sarek's rank, Amanda had been as pleased as he
was, but as the months rolled by and as they waited for a decision, life had
become miserable. Sarek wanted that title more than he would admit, and he grew
more and more concerned that his wife and child would do something to
jeopardize it, to reflect badly upon him by association. He'd grown sterner
with Spock, colder and distant toward her until finally one evening after their
son was in bed, she had been unable to hold back the tears and had told him how
lonely it was to be kept out of his thoughts, and how she felt that he had been
pushing her away from him, shutting her off in a backroom of his life like some
poor relation who might commit some horrendous faux pas to embarrass
him. This rank was becoming more important to him than she was, she'd said, and
he had been appalled at her words. Later, in meditation, he had been able to be
honest with himself and had been ashamed of the shabby way that he had been
treating her.
But that was yesterday—yesterdays and yesterdays ago. Spock had passed his kas-wan
uneventfully, Sarek had his title, and now he had his eye on a Vulcan degree
for her and a brilliant research career to follow without delay. Sometimes
Sarek behaved toward her as if she were his beloved child: he had already begun
to diagram a course of study for her and had made a call to the Mental Research
Institute in Mirhansa to make inquiries.
************************************
Amanda looked down at their son. His hair was a deep, deep
brown, not black like his father's.
"You're very quiet this morning, Spock. What are you thinking
about?"
He had been staring out of the window. They had taken a limousine. Everyone
would stare. He turned and looked at his mother briefly because it was discourteous
not to. "I was contemplating my
lessons for school," he said, gripping the tape case on his lap.
"I see."
The limousine had been Sarek's idea. The service came with his title and,
frankly, Amanda thought that he was enjoying this toy very much.
The limo pulled up alongside the exercise yard. Children aged seven through
thirteen were milling about until drills were called, and they stopped to stare
at the state limousine as it hovered to a stop to discharge a passenger.
Before the driver could disembark, Spock had opened the door on the street side
and was climbing out.
"Where are you going, dear?"
"I have to stand with my team," he explained in a hurry.
"Oh, well ... all right, then. I'll see you in class."
Her son gave a little nod and closed the door behind him. The driver opened the
door on the yard side for Amanda and when the car had moved on, she could see
Spock nowhere in sight.
*****************************************
Spock hurried away from the limousine and waited near the water sculpture until
he could fall in step with a group of children approaching from the avenue side
and could walk with them to the exercise area. Sepek T'Ardikan was already
there. Now that he was eleven, he was no longer in Spock's division and wore a
bright blue harness with trim of the same color along the edges of his robe and
at the top of his briefs. His older cousin was thirteen and in the white
division. She had just given him grief about something at home, so he was
looking for a victim.
Spock stayed out of his way and tried to blend. They were all gazing across the
schoolyard.
"What's that limo doing here?"
"Looks like a Terran woman getting out."
"What is she doing wearing a ser's uniform?"
Spock faded to the back of the crowd. They were talking about his mother. He
did not fade fast enough.
"Oh, look," said Sepek, "it's Spock Amandaikan." He stressed the matronym as if it left a
bitter taste in his mouth. "That's
his mother. She's coming here to teach us all to speak English..." He drew out the last word so that it sounded
like the hissing of a snake.
Once the headmaster had left, Amanda got down to business. She reminded herself
to take it easy; this was a Vulcan secondary class. There must be order and
serenity at all times, but she would not be stern with them unless she had to.
"Now that I know all of your names, I'd like to know if any of you have
heard any English words. You may speak out without bowing your heads if no one
abuses the privilege."
They were silent, all looking at her with brown eyes. Certainly, one of them
had heard some English before. Proper names and certain concepts did not have
Vulcan equivalents—and this was the capital city where the interstellar
interface occurred.
Amanda drew her eyes across the faces and tried to remember names. They all had
the same dark hair and eyes, the same spindly little bodies.
Sarek had once tried to explain the physical differences that existed between
the tribal consolidations, but she had not been able to perceive the subtle
distinctions. Sarek had teased her then about not being able to distinguish him
from other handsome Vulcan males. Very little chance of that.
"Hasn't anyone heard any English? Down at Space Central Port or at the
Import Store?"
Spock's eyes were averted. She could always call on him, but it wouldn't be
fair. His spoken English was as competent as his Vulcan, but she didn't want to
call undue attention to him since he was her son. It would be hard for any
child. Surely, of these twelve, one had heard a hello or good-bye...
A boy stood at his desk to be recognized.
"Yes?"
"I know an English word, but I don't know what it means."
"Well, then—Sepek, isn't it?—why don't you tell us so that I can explain
to the entire class?"
The boy paused, shooting a quick glance at Spock.
"Well, Sepek, what is the word?"
The eleven-year-old looked his instructor straight in the eye and said,
"Shithead."
Spock was staring at his desktop. The other children waited patiently. Sepek
was watching the teacher expectantly. He knew. That rotten little brat knew!
Amanda glared back at him. "Shithead," she repeated in instructive
tones, "a compound word made up of two smaller separate ones. The second
word, head," she pointed to that portion of her anatomy, "the
uppermost part of the body, reputed to house the brain. And shit, a slang term,
used to describe animal waste products. When these two words are combined, they
form the word shithead, a term applied to those persons whose brain matter
appears to have taken on the quality and characteristics of feces." Amanda reached into her case for a tape.
"You may take your seat, Sepek."
************************
When Amanda walked in the front door after that first day at
school, she found her husband's carrybag on the entryway table. "Sarek?"
He emerged from the kitchen wearing a work apron.
"Sarek, what are you doing home?"
"I thought that I should be here to greet you. How did you fare at
school?"
"All right." She looked once
at Sarek and knew that he expected a more detailed report. "They don't trust me yet—but they will.
I'm new and alien; they'll have to get used to me first."
Sarek nodded, gazing beyond her into the entryway. "Where is our
son?"
"Oh, he had to stay for drills." Amanda fingered her husband's apron.
"What are you doing?"
"I thought I would be a man of tradition and prepare a meal for my
wife."
"Oh, good. I'm kinda tired tonight, dear."
Sarek's eyebrows lifted. "Well, it will not be good, but it will be
nourishing."
She'd spoiled him. But she didn't care. She loved to cook. He didn't. It also
gave him ample opportunity to tease her about "playing servant" to
him. It was one socially acceptable way for a Vulcan woman to show affection
for a man and—what was more important—to declare him to be of equal status with
her.
Sarek was gazing at her expectantly.
"You must be quite fatigued, my wife," he said quietly, then
looked away demurely.
She felt a smile growing, stretched up and let it blossom in the hollow behind
his ear. He was dependent upon that; it let him know that all was well between
them. She eyed him with a grin.
"Terran women are never that fatigued."
"So I have observed."
*******************************
He hadn't lied to his mother. He had stayed to practice drills, but he did them
alone behind the equipment shed where he would not be seen.
He didn't really need the extra practice. He was very good at physical drills,
even weaponry. When the new seresa had announced that boys could be
included in weapons classes even though other schools wouldn't allow it until
they'd reached their fourteenth birthdays, Spock had been afraid that his
father would not give his permission—that he would think it unseemly behavior
for a male, or a waste of time to learn a skill that he would never have to
use, or entirely too martial a pastime for the son of Sarek of Vulcan. But he
had been permitted to take the whole course: an'wun, lirpa, and
throwing stick. And he was good, even at an'wun which was a quick weapon
and dominated entirely by girls by the time they had reached academy.
The new seresa was also the one who had decided to start an English
class for the children whose families were in the diplomatic corps or
interstellar trade. And who had hired his mother.
Spock picked up his tape case and strode out from the shelter of the equipment
shed, looking to neither side until he was on Abrogn Walk. He would not be
teased. No matter what, he would not be teased.
The children continued to be uncooperative. Oh, they
completed their lessons satisfactorily, were flawlessly obedient, but that was
all. Nothing Amanda did seemed to arouse any enthusiasm in them. It was as if
they had stretched a huge, damp, smothering blanket between her and them and,
every time she pressed against it, it was worse than standing at a distance.
The teacher across the hall was another thorn. Nosy, critical, self-absorbed,
he controlled the students entrusted to him by ridiculing some and doting on
others. The children avoided his negative attention by not misbehaving in his
class. They didn't excel either. Silly old fart.
Amanda had made a few pleasant acquaintances, though, among the other
teachers—all male. Vulcan women didn't trust their Terran counterparts or, at
least, thought very little of them. If Sarek weren't so confident in her
devotion to him, she'd have no friends at all because nearly all of her Vulcan
associates were men.
Vulcans were always first to make mention, although the Terrans professed equal
status of its sexes, that there had never been a female Terran Ambassador to
the Federation while men had attained every pinnacle of power on Vulcan at
least once. But behind closed doors, away from alien eyes, their instability
kept Vulcan males from attaining high level posts in any numbers before they
were nearly too old to enjoy the privileges.
A series of windfalls and good timings had gotten Sarek his foot in the door
before anyone could see just how important the role of Ambassador to the
Federation could be. After all, it was an exo-Vulcan matter and was safe enough
for a man still in his siring years, not like a resident ambassador who had
to set up base on an alien world. It would be a simple enough matter to plan
ahead to relieve a male Federation representative of duty when the "years
were against him." And Amanda could just bet that there was somebody,
somewhere—like T'Pau—just waiting and counting the days.
Sarek was working at his desk when she entered his office. They always tried to
respect the other's privacy, but the door was open so she just walked in.
"Amanda--"
He held out his right hand when he saw her, continuing his jotting on the
lightslate before him. "I was
going to search for you presently. I have some matters to discuss with
you." He checked his reading
screen, touching her hand briefly then gesturing to the extra chair. "As you know, I have been making
inquiries—discreetly, of course, about degree programs at the Mental Research
Institute. Now, we are both aware that no outworlder has ever been admitted for
study there. You will be the first. The Academic Council will argue that a
Terran is unable to learn even the basic techniques of Vulcan mind control.
Good. It will render them that much more impressed with your competence when
you arrive for your audience. Now, as to the matter of your course of
study..."
He went on for quite awhile with Amanda only half listening. He had it all
planned out: what courses she would take, how long her involvement would be,
when would be the most advantageous time to begin—
She hadn't done a thing with her students—none of the tests and evaluations
she'd talked to her husband about. She'd wanted to do a study on color perception to start with, based upon some
observations she had made of Sarek when they'd first met, then move on to tests
of comparative intelligence—would that be controversial? Sarek seemed to think
that she needed to be armed with Vulcan-based data when she applied to MRI; he
was most probably right. You didn't walk onto a battlefield with your arms wide
open and a smile on your face, at least not without something up your sleeve.
Her written observations would be her weapons; her unpublicized capability in
mind meld, her ace-in-the-hole.
"...and have you any reports or records that I may read?"
Amanda's mind snapped back into the room. She'd always had the uncanny ability
to pop out of daydreams just when a question had been posed to her.
"Uh ... not yet, Sarek," she answered.
"And why not?" For a moment, his tone was almost disciplinary, then a
familiar sternness darkened it. "Have there been any rescissions made by
the administration at the school concerning their agreement with you?"
She had to defuse him fast. If he thought anyone was giving her a hard time,
there'd be Hell to pay and at Sarek's price. His hand was already reaching for
the
visicom panel.
"Oh no, dear," she said lightly, "nothing like that."
His arm remained extended. "Why the delay, then, my wife?"
He didn't completely trust her to faithfully report personal slights to him. In
his opinion, she was much too forgiving of insults.
"The time just isn't right yet, Sarek," she told him. "I have to
feel my way with this."
"Feel? "
"Well, yes. I'm studying people's minds, Sarek. I have to consider
intellectual and emotional states. It's not like theoretical physics where
there is a one-to-one relationship and the results are the combination of a set
of variables. In psychology, if people are in the wrong mental set, it can
throw the results and you're left holding weeks' worth of worthless, invalid
data."
The ambassador considered for a moment. He was certainly no authority on the
mechanics of emotion although he had become quite familiar with their
expression. Amanda, however, was remarkably sensitive to the needs of others.
Entirely too sensitive, he thought.
"I see," he said in deference to her knowledge. He would have
to be patient. "You will keep me informed of your progress?"
"Of course, dear."
She touched her fingers to the back of his hand and he took them in his. He
didn't seem to be terribly disappointed, and she hoped that he couldn't pick up
any anxiety from her. According to Sarek, there would come a time when a touch
could reveal much, and to that end he had been teaching her the proper
shielding for protection from others. She didn't particularly enjoy the
instruction. Anything that kept her out of Sarek's mind was unwelcome to her.
One thing for certain, she was going to have to obtain some data from
somewhere.
"Sarek," she said, "I've been thinking. Maybe you could get some
subjective data for me—anecdotal material—by touching minds with some other
Earth people. The Rosenbergs, maybe. You could give me an idea of the degree of
similarity,"
Sarek had dropped her hand. Amanda received a distinct and well-defined
projection of distaste.
"I will not."
"Why?"
"Ask anything else of me, Amanda, but that one thing I will not do."
"I don't understand. I just want to compare—"
"Excuse me, Amanda." He rarely interrupted her when she was speaking,
yet he had done so twice in the last few moments. "You obviously do not
realize that of which you speak." He waited a moment, lowering his voice
and speaking in the tone he used for explaining intimate matters. "Asking
this thing of me would be tantamount to my requesting that you take other
Vulcan men as mates so that I could compare your reports of their performance
to my own."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"
Amanda felt her husband's hand on hers.
"Your request was made in all innocence, my wife. I am not offended."
She conjured up a smile for him and felt it reflected back. "Would you excuse me, Sarek?" she
said, getting to her feet. "I have some things to do."
He released her hand after a brief pause.
"Certainly, my wife. I did not mean to keep you so long from your
readings. If you should encounter Spock, would you send him to me for his
mental training?" He glanced at his screen after making some adjustments.
"And we are overdue for certain contact practices ourselves. May I
schedule it for Hublas?" He was
already beginning to make the notation.
"That's fine, dear."
He had a natural tendency to take charge, to run everybody's lives for them. He
worked too hard, tried to do too much. But Amanda couldn't tell him to slow
down. He needed to have somebody to take care of even more than she needed his
all-encompassing concern. She was spoiled—she knew it—to know that Sarek would
come running whenever things went wrong. She could admit that to herself and
the knowledge that she didn't mind it—in fact, she adored his hovering
devotion—but whether it was healthy for him...?
*************************
"Spock, dear, your father's looking for you."
"Yes, Mother."
He scampered away like a little desert creature. Sarek was on that child like a
hawk, monitoring everything he did, seeing to every little detail of their
son's life.
It's not right for him to pour so much into our son. The child needs some
breathing space. Another child would spread Sarek's attention somewhat—most
Vulcan men of his age had several children to care for, leaving them much less
time to misfire their paternal instincts on other younger relatives. They said
"it goes easier for a man when he has one in the cradle." And he had
been nearly "twice the age" when Spock had been born. It almost
seemed that…he had been saving his parental feelings for this one child and
would be a successful father with a vengeance. It wasn't good for Spock. And
it's not good for me, Amanda told herself. Another baby ...
Even if it were possible, she had mixed feelings about bringing another
hybrid child into this or any world. To have it tormented and pushed out of
things and left to feel rejected and torn. But she would never have to face
that. Once he had said to her, "We have a fine son, my wife. Any
further issue would merely be redundant." But he so needed to be needed...
"Yes, Noiard?"
The child got to her feet and stood by her desk and said something in her soft,
whispering voice.
"What was that?" asked Amanda.
"Will you direct me to the Vulcan Consulate?"
"That's excellent, Noiard," said Amanda. "You should speak up
more clearly."
"She always talks like that," said Sepek in a loud voice. "AlI
of the teachers have to remind her not to whisper."
Noiard sat down, looking shyly away. This was obviously not the first time that
Sepek had embarrassed her.
Amanda regarded the timid child gently. "I think that you have a very nice
voice, Noiard. And might I suggest that a loud voice is the instrument of a
weak mind."
After the first class, Amanda went down the hall for a few minutes and when she
returned, she found a man waiting for her in her classroom.
"Pardons, Ser," he said, "but are you the teacher of
English?"
"I am. "
Now what?
"The seresa said that I could wait for you here. I am Noiard's
father."
He was quite young and he had a baby nodding on his shoulder. Noiard must have
been his first child. Amanda stepped
into the room and closed the door behind her.
"My name is Ser Amanda," she said.
"Yes, I know. My daughter speaks of you often." When he had
introduced himself, he reached for something leaning against the legs of the
chair on which he had been sitting. "I have brought something." He tried to juggle the package and the baby
at the same time. He did not do very well.
"Here, let me help." Amanda
took the baby from him and cradled it in her arms.
Wide, moist eyes. That's right. Forest Tribe children were supposed to have
large and beautiful, dark eyes.
The young man looked questioningly at Amanda.
"That's odd," said the father. "He usually screams like a
lematya at the very sight of strangers."
"He's beautiful," said Amanda, and he was, not quite as beautiful as
Spock had been, but a good second place.
"His mother is very pleased with him," said the young man. "I
was sent to ShiKar as husband to her only last year, which is why I have
brought you this."
Amanda traded parcels with him and found herself in the possession of a rather
hefty container of brewers.
"It is our best blend, Ser. I hope that I have not been too
presumptuous and that you will enjoy it."
She would. The mixture of leaves and roots had the familiar smell of that brew
that she had forbidden Sarek to buy when their finances had been low. Amanda
regarded the man with curiosity.
"My gratitude, h'daarin. But I don't understand."
The young man bowed his head for a moment. "As I mentioned, my Noiard and
I are very new to your city and, aside from one other household on the far side
of the Center, we have no kinspeople. It is fine for me; I have a wife and
baby. But Noiard is alone. You have been kind to my daughter and encouraged her
studies. I hope to see her on the Interstellar Exchange someday. For this, I
express my gratitude to you and your household."
Amanda's nostrils were so full of the aroma of the brewers she nearly felt
dizzy. "I was kind to your daughter
because she is a good student and because she is considerate herself. I wasn't
expecting any reward."
"'A gift unsolicited is doubly earned,'" he quoted. "Please, you
will accept it?"
Amanda fastened the cover down over the container. She could almost taste the
stuff now. "Of course. And let me
thank you for your thoughtfulness."
The man nodded. He understood thank you, too. Amanda was still puzzled about
one thing and decided that right now she had the nerve to ask about it. "Might I ask you one question, as your
daughter's teacher?"
"Of course."
"She's such an intelligent child, and she always knows the right answer.
Why does she speak so softly that no one can hear?" If she had thought it a structural problem,
Amanda would not have asked. She waited for a reply.
"You may have noticed," said the man, "that I speak with the
inflection of the Forest tribes. Noiard learned as I did, but it seems
unacceptable here. The other children grieve her about it."
It was Sepek. That damned Sepek. Penon, and sometimes Rasni, were the real
adversaries, but Sepek seemed to find a perverse enjoyment in discovering just
what it was that annoyed or hurt the other children and then proceeded to dig
in hard. What was wrong with that boy? He came from a good home, a prominent
family—
"You may tell Noiard for me," said Amanda, "that she is by far
my best student, and if she continues to progress in her English lessons and is
tutored in the family business at home, she will not only be on the
Interstellar Exchange, she will be in charge of it one day."
"You truly believe it so?"
"She has the ability. She is one of the brightest children I have ever
known."
Noiard's father was very pleased. And it was the truth. She was, even including
Spock, the best child in Amanda's English class.
Spock didn't bother with a leafroll. He wasn't hungry.
There was no place to sit. The javelin team was pulling equipment from the shed
so that his usual place was out of the question. The history master sat in the
middle of the courtyard with his favorites surrounding him, taking up the
coolest spot outside the classrooms. He had a lot of favorites; if he asked you
to join him, you didn't dare refuse. Except Penon. He invited her to take break
with his group nearly every day, but she always had something to do at some
other location. Spock had never been asked.
Penon and Sepek were walking across the courtyard, arguing. Spock didn't
understand them. If he had a cousin—or a sister—in his household, he would
never let bad words come between them. Once he had made the mistake of asking
his father if there might be a little sister for him. The answer had been
negative.
"And that is all I will say concerning the matter," Sarek had said,
"and under no circumstances is this subject to be discussed in the
presence of your mother."
There were a lot of subjects that had been forbidden him to speak with his
mother.
Spock hefted his tape case and headed for the drilling yard. It was hot out
there, but it was peaceful.
"Spock!
He had to wait for them. Penon and Sepek were of Sarek's tribe. He had to be
civil to them.
"Spock Amandaikan," said Sepek in false amiability, "how are you
this fine day?"
"I am satisfactory, Sepek T'Ardikan."
"And your mother, the Terran master?"
"The same." Why did he have to put up with this? Why couldn't people
just leave him alone?
Sepek leaned toward him, his long face grimacing. "I am so pleased to hear
it."
Spock reined himself; he was losing patience fast. He almost longed for their
younger days when Sepek's insults had been more simple and obvious and not
couched in amenities that had to be returned.
"If you have nothing further to say to me, Sepek, I have some matters to
attend to."
"What?" inquired the other boy. "Laughing lessons?"
"Leave him alone."
The last comment had come from Penon.
"But he's—"
"I said leave him alone, Sepek."
He'd better shut his mouth. If he knew what was good for him, he'd better shut
his mouth.
"Good day to you, Spock."
The girl took her cousin by the arm and propelled him away. She reprimanded him
in undertones, but Spock heard anyway.
"Why can't you leave that boy alone? He's younger than you. Besides, he
can't help it that he's half Terran—no more than his mother can change what she
is."
Spock threw his juice in the receptacle near the arch and sought sanctuary in
the blistering heat of the drilling yard. No. There was nothing he could do
about it. Absolutely nothing.
Sarek had to go out of town overnight on business and Amanda though it would
give her a chance to spend some time alone with Spock and discover why he had
been so quiet the last few weeks.
They cooked dinner together, something he always enjoyed doing, and while he
carefully stirred the sauce for the chaktai, Amanda dug out the waved
steak from behind the caveberries from last season and looked for something to
cook it in. She was going to pan fry it and let the aroma fill the kitchen and
tease her nostrils even before she could taste it—something she couldn't do
when Sarek was home.
"Well, what's happening in your life?" she asked her son. "Even
though I see you all the time at school, I hardly get to talk with you
anymore."
He seemed to brighten.
"Maybe if you didn't teach anymore..."
She laughed. "Don't you worry about that, dear. I'll always find time for
you!"
Spock was quiet all through dinner. Amanda felt his neck once but he didn't
feel feverish. Every subject seemed to fall flat, even the suggestion of making
cookies after they'd finished eating. Sarek always said "you are the
diplomat, Amanda, not I" referring to her way of finding something
gracious to say to anyone she met. To fail to carry on a conversation with her
own son distressed her.
"How 'bout a game of chess, dear?"
"No, thank you, Mother. I have some studying to do."
The visicom signalled. Amanda switched it to standby.
"Would you like me to tell you a story before you go to sleep?"
"No thank you." He assumed
the attitude of respect and bowed.
"Borsh-a doiam."
When her son had left, Amanda turned to take her call. "Shor kirpa doiam."
"Shor kirpa," said Sarek, using the intimate form of address.
"How is everything at home? How are you?"
Amanda smiled for him, tuning his long-view face into focus.
"I'm fine, dear. But I miss you."
Thank God! The children packed up their tapes and waited to
be dismissed.
"Rise."
They all stood to the left of their desks, waiting.
"Dismissed,"
When they had gone, Amanda sat down behind her terminal, folding her arms along
its low back and resting her chin on her wrists. Beyond the twelve orderly
little desks, her pictures of breezy ocean scenes and crystalline snowfalls
seemed odd and out of place, a mockery of every fond memory she had of home.
Sarek understood. But he had shared with her the sights and sensations of Earth;
they had met and grown close under its heavy blue skies and among its green,
rain-kissed hills. She could say, "Remember the time we...?" and he
could nod in fond remembrance of a day on an expanse of ocean-lapped sand, or
at his first encounter with the wind-whipped snowdrifts of a Boston winter.
But none of these children had any first-hand knowledge. Even Spock had been to
Earth only once, and he had been too little and the stay too brief to make
anything but the most surface of impressions. It was the first time he'd been
separated from her for any amount of time and when he and Sarek had arrived, he
had come running down the ramp to her right under the customs barricade. He'd
been such a pretty, happy little boy in those days with a ready smile for
anyone who was kind to him. When she looked at her son today, it was he who
seemed alien, not his full-Vulcan father.
Someone was watching her. Amanda's eyes darted to the classroom door and caught
the last glimpse of a retreating face. Why, that old fart—
He was at his own door when Amanda reached the hallway, pretending to be trying
the latch.
"Did you find anything that interested you, Ser."
The old man regarded her with that familiar expression of Vulcan superiority
which she had come to despise. He was from the Mountain Clan, she knew, by his
name, and had probably been somewhat attractive when he was young, but not
enough for it to have been easy for him to manipulate his way in a woman's
world.
"I am of the opinion, Ser," he said, "that a teacher
should spend her out-class time in study and meditation, not dreaming into the
air."
How anyone could manage to speak with their nose held that high?
Amanda replied by making a show of surveying the walls, the floors, and the
ceiling of the corridor -- and even under the soles of her sandals.
"What are you doing?"
Amanda took one last glimpse behind the classroom door, then turned her blue
Terran eyes on the other teacher.
"I'm just looking for the dim-bulb who asked for your opinion in
the first place."
The man was mortified. Good. Amanda was pleased with herself for being able to
get an emotional rise out of him, but her righteous anger was shot through with
the trembling fear that she had been opposing Vulcan custom too much. These
people were not Sarek. They wouldn't listen with an open mind.
"I will have you know that I have been closely observing the games, songs,
and the like irrational manner in which you present your lessons. We'll see
what the seresa has to say about this."
"Good," Amanda called after him, "you just do that."
She felt her shoulders stoop suddenly as if someone had tied a string to the
base of her skull and attached a paving stone to the end of it. She hadn't mean
to antagonize him, but he was a silly old fart and she was sick and tired of
his interference, his accusations, and his thinly-disguised insults and
threats. She didn't want trouble, but she didn't want to lose her self-respect
either.
She knew the seresa would be calling for her. Instead of staying and
facing the music like a woman, she hustled out of her classroom and scuttled
through the halls and out onto the street where she hopped a lift heading for
the park district. She sat at a table in a brew and pastry shop for nearly half
a besa, letting the natives stare as she tossed down half a dozen glazed
leafrolls and four bowls of the thickest, sweetest brew on the menu while she
pretended to be studying a media report on the overhead screen. She hadn't been
there long when a group of schoolchildren in red-shaded uniforms passed by.
It'll be all over the school. 'The seresa came looking for her and she
fled in well-deserved shame.' There was no reason why a teacher had to remain
at the school building when she had no lessons or duties to keep her. But the
fact that another ser had complained of her to the seresa and
that she had left shortly after would make her out a coward.
And aren't I? Oh, I'm brave enough to stand up to a man, but to a woman? Amanda
didn't hold fertile men in condescending tolerance—but that was exactly what
everyone would say. Well, who cares? Her husband would care, and her son. They
had reputations to keep intact and what a woman did reflected upon her family.
Amanda drank the last drop of her brew. She wondered if there was anything stronger
at home. That's right, Amanda Jaquith Grayson, drown it all, hide it all in a
bottle. Typical Earther. Earther. They used to call Spock that. Did they still?
Probably nothing in the house, anyway. How often did she drink, really? When
the Rosenbergs came over or when they invited her and Sarek to dinner at the
Earth Embassy? Or on a starliner on the way to Federation Council meetings,
maybe? Besides, alcohol made Sarek nauseous.
Amanda got up from the table. She had to get home and fix dinner before Sarek
got in and dutifully went about preparing a meal. His idea of cooking was
dumping water over something dehydrated and watching it expand. But as soon as
she had them taken care of, she was going to bed, pull the blanket up over her
head, and sleep for a hundred years.
******************************************************
"Where's Spock?"
"I have sent him to his grandfather's for the night."
An apparent non sequitur.
"Have you forgotten the VCIU reception this evening?"
Oh, God. The new ambassador from Cygnet XIV. They'd known about this for weeks.
"I'll get dressed, Sarek, and you—"
She stopped halfway out of the room.
"Oh, no! "
"What troubles you, my wife?"
"I don't have anything to wear!"
He couldn't believe her.
"I sent my good robes out to be cleaned this morning."
"All of them?"
"They're probably hanging in the back of Wat-fafa's shop right now. Every
last one of them."
Sarek considered. "What else have
you?"
"Besides my day robes? My school uniform and my desert suit, and some
things from Earth."
"Perhaps Fafa-sim would be willing—"
"When does the reception start?"
Sarek checked the clock. "We are
expected to arrive at the embassy in less than a quarter besa."
Wat-fafa and his daughters had been making Sarek's clothes since he was a boy
and had taken care of her ever since she'd come to Vulcan. The shop did all
their own designing, construction, tailoring, and cleaning—of everything from
day wear to ceremonials. The family would think nothing of doing this favor.
"We'll never make it, Sarek. You'd better go without me."
Sarek shook his head. "I would rather not."
"Don't be silly, Sarek. You don't need me. It's the Vulcan Ambassador to
the Federation they'll expect to see. They won't know me from Adam."
Sarek hesitated before he spoke. "I would prefer an escort, my wife. It is
a formal affair."
"Oh, you'll just look wonderful being carted around all night by an Earth
woman in a pair of jeans with a red patch on the bum and a sweater with 'MIT'
knitted into it."
"What about that gown you had Fafa-sim design for you to wear at
receptions during Federation Council meetings?"
"You mean the thing with no back? You want me to be seen in Vulcan company
wearing a Terran evening gown?"
"It is formal," her husband said simply.
He'd made up his mind already. He knew it was clean because she'd sent it out
after the last council meeting and hadn't worn it since. "You had better dress, my wife, or we
will be embarrassingly late."
A clear case of subconscious avoidance, that's what it is. Still, she couldn't
win. Amanda gave in. "You know,
I'd probably look better if I just wore sandals and wrapped a sheet around my
body."
She saw Sarek's look.
"Don't even suggest it..."
*****************************
She tried to make light of the matter, but there was no humour involved that
night. To begin with, they arrived late which had embarrassing connotations for
Sarek, and then the door attendant at the Katullan Embassy which was hosting
the reception got things turned around and introduced Sarek first using his
rank which, to a room full of matriarchs from both Vulcan and Cygnet XIV, was
entirely inappropriate. As the night wore on, she tried to lessen the first
impression by not going through her usual routine of deferring to Sarek because
of his superior rank, but he was so used to her attending him that they kept
running into each other every time they tried to move.
Aside from the fact that the Vulcans were not in floor-length but full-length
formals, her evening gown was duly appraised by both Vulcan and Cygnetian
alike. Although the ambassador herself wore a short tunic and a ceremonial
dagger, Amanda knew that the cut of her gown combined with the fact that she
was from a traditionally patriarchal planet like Earth made for conversations
of disgust among most of the other women there. I might as well chain myself to
Sarek's wrist... Amanda felt a nervous
laugh coming on and tried to leave the hall.
At once, Sarek was at her side. "Where are you going, my wife?"
It was funny, but he never let her out of his sight at parties. Too many
memories to keep them all covered.
"I need to go to the euphemism."
"Shall I accompany you?"
"No, dear, I'm a big girl."
Then she almost wished she had let him because his presence would have prevented
her from overhearing the conversation.
"Who is she, anyway?"
"His wife. She attends to him, though, as if he were hers."
"I heard that he outranks her by many degrees...
"That is truth, Ambassador, but if thine own husband were to manage such a
position, would thee trot behind him like a pet?"
"Certainly not. Look, I'm as liberated as the next woman. I let my
husbands have their little careers—it keeps them out of my hair when I'm not in
the mood—if you know what I mean. But I'll tell you one thing: when they're at
home in my house, they know their place and how to keep it and who's in
charge."
"Exactly. I see that thee and I are one in thought, Ambassador. Our worlds
may have much to say to each other."
Amanda waited out of sight until they had left. Much to say to each other? What
could anyone possibly learn when everybody was saying the same thing? The
Cygnetian ambassador and T'Pron, the tribal council representative from
Taimun,of all places! A summit meeting in the women's room. Jesus Christ! She
supposed she should be flattered that her name would come up in so lofty a
conversation, but it could only reflect badly on Sarek. Suddenly she was sick.
"You were absent a long time, my wife. Is everything all right?"
"I don't feel too well, Sarek. Could we leave without causing a
disturbance?"
She knew they couldn't, that their early departure would only reinforce their
late arrival, but there was nothing Amanda could do about it. She would have
tried to stick it out, but she suddenly felt incredibly nauseous and knew she'd
be a worse embarrassment to Sarek if she were to become sick all over the
ballroom.
"You look very pale, my wife," he told her in the back of the
limousine on the way home. He pressed his hand to her neck. "Your skin is
clammy."
"Something, or a combination of somethings, mustn't have agreed with me.
I'll be all right when I can lie down."
He checked to see that the screen to the driver's compartment was off then
patted his lap. She rested her head against his legs.
"I saw T'Pron re-enter the ballroom shortly before you did, my wife. Had
she anything to say to you?"
"I didn't see her, dear." It was the truth. She hadn't seen the
council member. "Sarek ... I hope you didn't mind leaving the reception so
early..."
His hand floated down to her stomach to ease her distress.
"Not at all, Amanda. The odor of cooking flesh was beginning to unsettle
me."
She felt his eyes although she could not see them in the dark limousine.
"You looked very attractive tonight, my wife."
Amanda patted the back of his hand. "I should have worn the sheet."
[Note: T'yetma (Chate-mah) is the Vulcan term for
ambassador]
There was still a bitter taste in Amanda's mouth the next morning. Sarek had
made her drink a foul-tasting concoction that he had devised years ago when she
had tasted authentic Desert Tribe cooking for the first time. She'd told him
both times she'd rather vomit, but he was always insistent and nagging until
she gave in.
Conversational English was first. It could have been a fun class, but it
wasn't. The children were supposed to learn how to communicate orally with each
other and to that end Amanda had created games and activities and even songs to
make the task more interesting than the usual Vulcan procedure of rote learning
and constant drill. She'd explain what she wanted them to do, get them started,
and see that first faint glimmer of enthusiasm fire up in their eyes. Then,
with a cold-water glance from Penon, or sometimes Sepek, the fire would go out
and they'd go through the lesson dutifully, capably—but that was all.
Sarek had warned her about the girls. "They will challenge your authority,
try to make you show your weaknesses, then cut you sharp as with a blade."
That seemed a bit catty for females in a matriarchal society. Or maybe she
applied that term from her own patriarchal bias. Still, Amanda reasoned, their
undeveloped emotional responses had to go somewhere, just as their males
involuntarily vented their emotional impotence in a vastly different but
infinitely more dangerous manner.
Penon's grandmother was Ib'at'ye T'Uvri whose gilded watchtower blinded
you at certain angles when the sun was low. That woman had a real dislike for
Terrans, males especially, yet the class roster for English had shown Penon and
Sepek's names as first to be registered after Spock's. Figure that. Might as
well figure why the girl herself was such an adversary in the classroom.
Amanda's instincts made her suspect that the child actually liked her.
******************************************
"If you wait for me, T'yetma, I will walk with you."
"Ib'at'ye T'Uvri," the Federation Ambassador said, stopping in
the Grand Gallery of the Council Building, "when did you return to
ShiKar?"
The woman paused, breathless, under the archway. She had a recurring illness
that came and went mysteriously and was obviously, at present, suffering from
its effects. Sarek waited for her to speak.
"I arrived last night after the children were in bed. I wanted to ask them
of their English lessons. I hope my Penon has not been too much a trial to your
wife, Sarek, but that girl is woman through."
The ambassador moved not a hair of his eyebrows. "So, T'Uvri, is my wife."
**************************************
The equipment shed was dark. Amanda was searching for the light switch when she
heard voices.
"…I saw her in the hall. She's very short, isn't she?"
"She's very odd-looking, don't you think?"
"She's an Earther."
"And she's Spock's mother."
"Really? "
Amanda could almost see the other child turn to stare at her son.
"But you're so good at lessons, Spock. She couldn't be your real mother.
She's just your father's wife, isn't that right?"
What? So Spock couldn't be intelligent and be half Terran, too?
Amanda waited for his reply.
"Penon! Penon!"
Another child joined the group at a run.
"Penon. Your cousin Sepek is looking for you."
"What does he want?"
Amanda strained in vain to discern her son's voice in the hub-bub.
"He says you have his leafroll."
"I do not."
Spock, answer the question.
"He says you do, and he's telling everyone that you took it from him when
he wasn't looking."
"You can tell Sepek for me that I don't have anything of his and if he
wants to make accusations, you tell him to come and make them to my face."
Tell them, Spock. TELL THEM.
"I have some studying to do." Spock's voice was crisp and rapid.
"Good day."
The retreating footsteps on the gravel were hurried, and Amanda could hear them
over those of the other departing children's.
She couldn't cry. She had to find the old style viewer that was supposed to be
compatible with her phototapes from Earth. She had a class to teach. She
couldn't cry.
"Sarek, I need to speak with you."
"I am occupied," he said, never taking his gaze from the reading
screen. "Might it wait until later?"
A long silence.
"All right."
*******************************************
He almost had it working. If only he had a 2A—but Father said it could be done
with the components he had. But with a 2A you wouldn't have to run so many
bypasses. Why did Father always have to do things the hard way?
The chronometre on the shelf tonged. Evensong had gone awhile ago and he should
be in bed. He turned off the power and tossed a cloth over the whole thing and
went back to his bedroom. He'd learned long ago not to protest bedtime;
besides, his mother would be in at any minute to check on him and say
goodnight.
He climbed into bed and waited for her. He waited and waited until the besa
chimed, but his mother never came.
**********************************
The ambassador stood and stretched, feeling each and every vertebra in his
spine snap roughly into place. The back of his neck thrummed. If it were not so
late, he would ask Amanda to rub it for him. She had yet to master nerve
transduction, but her fingers gave a pleasure all their own.
Spock had thrown his blanket. So like his mother. Such energy of body that she
released it in her sleep.
Sarek recovered his child. He managed career and fatherhood rather well, he
thought, keeping his son equal to or surpassing the standard schedule in logic
training and maintaining a high-level position for himself as well. There were
those who criticized him for it, who accused him of neglect of his primary duty
as father, who warned what a high-pressure career in the diplomatic corps would
do to a male's delicate balance.
Amanda did not agree. She felt that a man needed outlets just as a woman did
despite the tangent nature of his reproductive role. She had always been
supportive of his work and proud of his accomplishments and had more than once
proven an asset to him by being a remarkably astute observer and interpreter of
alien behavior. Still, she was young and inexperienced and in need of his
guidance in some matters, but such was a temporary situation and certainly not
unremediable.
His wife had gone to bed earlier. It occurred to Sarek that she had had
something to discuss with him. No matter. It could be voiced at some other
time. If it had been important, she would have said as much.
In entering the bedroom, Sarek disturbed his wife's sleep and she rolled over
into her own pillows. She preferred him to sleep with her in her bed. It was an
Earth custom that she expected of him and that he had grown pleased to fulfill,
although it had first impressed him as an unseemly interchange that his people
would have found a depraved form of contact in the very least. Most Vulcan men
preferred their wives to leave them alone when it was done with them, but
Amanda did not make him feel embarrassed. With her, all was right and
honorable, although this was not a subject that he would discuss with anyone
else. And it seemed that to refuse this co-sleeping to an Earth woman was an
affront to her female dignity. A Vulcan man would never display disrespect of
his wife. It just was not done.
Amanda curled herself into a sphere, facing the opposite wall. Reaching only
slightly, Sarek could sense no mental activity in her. She had learned to
shield long ago but most often left them down by choice when the two of them
were together. Sometimes, she even came to him in dreams which, if she were a
Vulcan, would have greatly embarrassed her. It pleased him now to learn that
she had begun the involuntary practice of shielding in her sleep.
"Sarek..."
He was surprised to find her still awake.
"I've been thinking..."
"Yes?"
"I've been thinking of moving away—living somewhere else."
"Indeed?" She had caught him off his guard. "I had thought you
fond of this house."
He had purchased and furnished it especially for her comfort and convenience so
that they could begin their own household away from curious and judgemental
eyes. This was the first time that he had been aware of any dissatisfaction on
her part.
"It's not the house, Sarek. I love this house."
He understood now. The climate was difficult for her. It had seemed easier for
her after their son had been born, but apparently she still found the heat in
ShiKar unpleasant.
"If we were to move south, below the sea, it would be possible to commute,
but…"
"No, Sarek." She got out of bed and walked to the idol stand. "I
have to leave here, get away from the school, the Council..."
The air between them stood empty for a moment. Sarek began to notice a slight
sensation of uneasiness in his chest. When his wife did not speak again, the
sensation increased.
"You mean to leave Vulcan altogether?" Sarek elbowed his way into a
sitting position. "This is rather sudden, my wife."
He was her husband. He should follow her without question. There were
certain...needs... of his; she was his wife and had the responsibility of
taking charge of him. But he had pride. And she, of all women, would have no
respect for him if he blindly submitted to her out of this necessary male
dependency.
"Am I correct in assuming that you intend me to leave Council?" he
inquired. "I do not wish to seem disrespectful, my wife, but you have
spoken many times of the equality of all manner of our desires, that the wants
of one of us should not take precedence over the wants of the other. And I
would be untruthful if I said that I were willing to sacrifice my career
without some manner of thought or discussion."
From the rear, she presented a firm, unyielding visage. "You don't understand, Sarek. I'll go.
You and Spock can stay here. You won't have to give up anything." She
paced agitatedly. "We can see each other from time to time."
"We will not."
He stared at the back of her head and hoped that she could feel what was in his
mind just now. He did not know what had brought this idea to her, but he would
not stand for it.
"Sarek..."
"I said no, Amanda."
She turned then, but he would not look at her. He was a wall, a rock, and there
was no getting through. The uneasiness that he had felt was now an ache, and he
knew enough about himself from her teachings to know that he was sorely hurt by
this.
"You took me as husband, Amanda-married me lawfully in the manner of your
people. A man is with his wife, for her, of her. I will raise the heir you took
of me because that is my duty and will see to his training, but my mother did
not raise me to be a mere consort, and I do not intend to be used as little
more than an object of your desire. I will not submit to occasional visits from
my wife when her blood is up as if I were a 'favored gentleman'. If you leave
the household that we have made together, do not expect me to be cooperative if
you return."
She stopped her pacing for a moment. "Sarek, don't make me…"
"It is your choice, Amanda."
"Do you think I want to leave?"
It was then that Sarek saw her face. It spoke to him what his shields had
prevented him from sensing.
"Amanda..."
He started to go to her and the panic slammed into him like a wave of cold
ocean water. His stomach turned. Amanda backed away. He had to get to her.
In a second, she had thrown the door open and was out of the room. By the time
he reached the hallway, she was out of sight. He listened for a moment and
heard her footsteps. He knew that she wanted to lock herself away somewhere
where he could not be affected by her distress, but she had gone in the wrong
direction. She would have to double back. He was not dressed for running, but
it was imperative that he catch her before she found a room in which to lock
herself. It would be easy enough to force a door, but it was always
embarrassing when workers came to make repairs.
Amanda rounded the bend in the hallway and when she saw her husband, she spun
and darted back the way she had come. In four long strides, Sarek had overtaken
and cornered her near their son's bedroom door. He reached for her.
Without any prior warning, his arm sprang back and his wrist struck the wall
with a bone-shattering force. He steeled himself against her shields and seized
her with his good hand.
"Let go of me!"
That first burst of energy had strangely depleted her. He was able to hold her
with physical force only.
"Quiet. You will wake Spock."
He tried to lead her away but she would not come. She could be quite stubborn
when it came to protecting him from the intensity of her Earth emotions.
"Forgive me, my wife," he said, and swung her into his arms and
carried her back to their bedroom. She really did not want him to leave her to
herself. She knew enough about Vulcanian methods of self defense to have had
him writhing on the floor if she had wanted to. Something was badly troubling
her if she would make insulting suggestions and then run from him when he tried
to right what had come between them.
He carried her to their bed and lowered her to the mattress. She was going to
be hysterical.
The nausea, the terror—
"Amanda," he said carefully, "are you pregnant?"
She shook her head no, straining against her feelings.
"Then tell me what pains you so, my wife."
"I don't want to leave you, Sarek!"
She had blurted it out almost as if against her will. Sarek leaned closer.
"Who said you must? Did T'Pron say something the other night?" Now he
saw that this anxiety had been building in her since the day of the reception.
He had misread her projection as fatigue. First he would calm his wife. Then he
would make a call. He truly hoped that it was an ungodly hour in Taimun.
Amanda shook her head again. She was endeavoring to pull herself together. She
was more than capable of controlling her emotions in the presence of others.
Sarek surmised that the hurt must be extreme to tear her from herself in this
way. He realized then that it was his accusatory words that had opened her up.
He had had no right. Even if she had given him cause to doubt her fidelity,
Vulcan tradition would have dictated his acceptance of the situation. If she
wished to have other companions when he was off, there was nothing he could do
about it.
But this was not the source of her pain.
"Amanda?" Her eyes were shut, her face contorted. "Please tell
me, what is the matter?"
Her tears came silently; he brushed them with the back of his hand.
"Do not do this. Please."
Weeping unsettled him. He could deal better with her anger. Sorrow left her
open and unprotected, and it shook him to the very core. He remembered then
that earlier his wife had wanted to speak with him in the study. "I did not mean to ignore you earlier
this evening, Amanda. If my inattentiveness is cause for your tears, please
accept my sincerest apologies. Here, let me come to you in your mind and you
will know that I meant no disrespect."
He thought to crowd close, to embrace her, for this was always a comfort to
her, and the backwash of her emotions was pleasant to him. But she pulled back,
barring him with her arms.
"No! Please, Sarek! You'll only make me worse!"
But he was insistent. "Perhaps release is necessary," he said. This
was what she was forever saying to him.
She wept loudly and for a long time. He made his arms tight to secure her, but
not enough to obscure her breathing. When she finally began to quiet, Sarek
loosened his embrace.
"I never meant to hurt you so, my wife. But you should remember my Vulcan
ways—you must be more aggressive with me when you wish my attentiveness, demand
of me, or I shall overshadow you. I am forever overstepping," he said,
"forever usurping your place."
"No! "
She glared at him fiercely.
"You are a t'yetma. In our home as well as in council. I walk
behind you because you are entitled to it—even from your wife."
"Yes, of course, my wife. We have our own arrangement. And someday," he said gently,
"when you have been titled—perhaps as an ilisor of high degree I
shall attend you instead."
She began to cry again.
"Please stop, Amanda. I cannot bear to see how deeply I have wounded you
with my insensitivity."
She cared too much for him, left herself too open to his Vulcanian lack of
demonstrativeness. How could he have allowed himself to become so careless with
her feelings? Had she not been hurt enough in her short life? He deserved the
bruising his mind was getting for the pain he had caused. He had ordered people
from their home for much less.
Then suddenly, her arms tightened around him and the warm vacuum of her
thoughts opening to him drew him in before he could consider. He was all at
once bathed in her feelings and knew that his role in her despair was an
insignificant little pinch, forgiven and forgotten almost before it had
occurred.
Her arms drew back from him to wipe her eyes.
"Please, Sarek," she said, sniffing, "don't blame yourself. I'm
just... well, things haven't been going as well as I expected at school. You
know how emotional I get sometimes. It's not your fault."
Sarek searched for a tissue. Crying often congested the sinus cavities. Amanda
took the tissue and blew her nose.
"My wife," he said, "you must not allow your work to affect you
so deeply. You must not leave yourself open to personal injury like this."
She had changed. Had it been so suddenly, or had it been happening slowly,
imperceptibly, and he had just noticed it now?
She had been so spirited once; she could command a thing of him and he was
joyfully helpless to deny her. There had been a time when he had thought
himself too proud to submit to a woman's demands, but with Amanda, there was no
submission, no diminishing of himself. It was not, "I bother to care for
you in your weakness, thus, you owe me these domestic duties as my
husband." It was never his surrender, her taking. With Amanda, it was
sharing, or nothing at all.
But what had happened? Had the tight yoke of Vulcan society squeezed the spirit
out of her?
Perhaps he had protected her too much so that she was unable or unwilling to
protect herself. Perhaps he treated her more like his daughter in some ways
than his wife and companion. Perhaps it was the difference in their ages;
perhaps the intensity of her emotions made her seem even younger to him. But
she never made him desist, to leave her alone. Indeed, she seemed to thrive on
the attention.
Sarek wiped the damp, wavy hair from her forehead. "Amanda..."
"It's all no good, Sarek. No one cooperates. The children, the headmaster,
that old fart from across the hall—"
Sarek stroked her cheek, shaking his head, too. "Well, if I were you,
Amanda, I would certainly not let any old fart dissuade me from my
mission."
He had meant it in humour, to make her laugh and realize how she was
overreacting to the situation. Instead, it brought forth another sob, heavy and
sharp. He was open to her now and felt the emotion pinch him sorely.
"I am not helping you, am I?"
He felt helpless when she was like this. Most of the time, her energy and
enthusiasm were a joy to him; her imagination and humour—things he was trying
desperately to understand. He realized now how much he depended upon her to
lighten his spirit when it was low, to provide support and encouragement for
his projects. She understood him so well that she anticipated his needs, while
her feelings left him utterly confused. It occurred to him that it had been
advantageous of him to vow his alliance to her for the duration of their lives;
it would take him that long just to comprehend the simplest of emotions.
"You must be stronger than they, Amanda," he told her. "You must
assert your will over theirs. There is not a person in that school who could
match you in intellect if you would only—"
She shook her head and would not look at him.
"I've embarrassed you, Sarek," she said, grimly, "and
disappointed you."
"I am neither embarrassed nor disappointed, my wife."
"But you are," she said with no energy left to cry. "I know what
you're thinking. You had such hopes for me. You wanted the other men to say to
you 'what a fine and accomplished wife you have, Sarek'."
"And you will be." He refused to accept her protests. "And I am
not disappointed in you for you have not failed—you just have yet to
succeed."
Positive criticism. She'd spent years drilling that into his head, but now it
seemed so trite and hollow.
"And I will be more supportive of you—"
"You always are."
"—actively supportive. I will make myself more readily available for
discussion and advice."
"Sarek..." Her look was
stricken, beaten. "...I love you,
Sarek..." He started to speak but
she shook her head. "...I love you
very much, and I love our son. But I really think it would be better if I lived
somewhere else."
"Amanda—"
"Please, let me finish. Please..."
The front of her sleeping robe was pulled askew. He wanted to straighten it but
did not dare.
"If I went away, it would be easier for the two of you. You'd miss me for
awhile," she explained, "but after a time, people would forget that
you had ever married an Earth woman or that Spock had Earth blood."
At that moment, Sarek was reminded of other, earlier times when his wife had
been saddened by some slight from his family or from former associates, but
this time confused him more than ever before.
"Amanda," he said carefully, "why do you think that you should
go from me? Why would I wish you to be other than what you are or for our son
to deny his origins?"
A sensation like the insertion of the finest, sharpest blade penetrated Sarek's
thoughts, the cut so fine as to be invisible even to the strongest lens. It was
only a pale reflection of the original hurt, but he knew now, finally knew, how
his wife had come to be so deeply and completely wounded.
Spock awakened suddenly nearly a sixth of a besa
before it was time for him to get up. Listening though fuzzy ears, he perceived
the sound of knuckles rapping firmly on his bedroom door.
"Yes...?"
The sound of his father's voice, stern and unbendable, brought him fully awake
in a second.
"I will speak to you when you are dressed."
He found his father in the garden, facing the stand of vento trees near
the side wall. He assumed the attitude of respect and stood waiting in the cool
morning air. Spock had been watching his father's unmoving profile for some
time before he realized that the eyes had never blinked once. Perhaps he did
not know that Spock was there.
"I am here, Father," said Spock in a small voice.
Several moments passed before Sarek spoke in leaden tones. "I am aware of your presence," he
said without turning to the left or right. Not a muscle moved. Another minute
went by. Spock had an itch, but he did not dare scratch.
What had he done?
"Spock," said Sarek finally, "tell me of your English
lessons."
Spock felt a lump forming out of nowhere at the back of his throat. He was
afraid to swallow. "I have been
keeping up with my assignments," he told his father.
"Good," said Sarek.
That surprised Spock. He'd expected the boom to be lowered at any second.
"And how have you helped your mother?"
"Pardon?"
"Have you assisted her in preparation before your lesson?"
Spock shook his head. "No, Father."
"Have you taken your break with your mother?"
"No, Father."
Sarek turned his head and stared down at his son.
"Have you set a proper example for the other students in class?"
"No, Father."
Sarek turned on him, his voice beating against Spock's stomach like a
lawgiver's drum.
"Have you stood at her side? Lent your support to her endeavors? Have you
done anything at all to show your respect?"
Spock stared at the ground, searching desperately for a tiny crack that he
could crawl into. The god of landquakes was not cooperative. "No,
Father."
"And will you be so kind as to favor us with your rationale?"
Us? He was invoking the spirit of the entire Tribe. Spock was silent. His father said, "I have asked you a
question."
Spock replied in a very small voice.
"I didn't ask her to go there."
"What was that?"
"I never asked her to go to school!" he blurted out. "Everyone was being friendly with me
before she came. Now they're all calling me 'Spock the Earther' again."
"You shame me."
Spock took a step back. The strength of his father's projection was that
forceful.
"I had relied upon you to make your mother's way easier. Now I find that,
not only have you not rendered your assistance, you have displayed a
disgraceful disloyalty to the person who gave you life, to whom you owe a debt
that can never be repaid. You should be always at her side as the heir to her
name and estate. Her esteem and well-being should be uppermost in your mind at
all times."
"And what of mine?" Spock knew that he was only making things worse,
but he didn't care.
"Your feelings are unimportant here," said Sarek. "Amanda is not Vulcan. She is an
emotionally delicate creature. She can be hurt easily, deeply. She is alone
here on our world with no family save us to be kin to and to stand at her side.
It is our duty to protect her." He turned away. "And that is all the
explanation I intend to make. And today, you will walk to school with your
mother and assist her in any way that may show itself."
"Do I have to?"
"I will not repeat myself."
Spock looked away this time. It wasn't fair. He wanted to run away somewhere to
where he was a Vulcan and grown up and everybody admired him. He almost did
leave when it was silent for a time, but he could feel Sarek's eyes on him.
"Why is it that you do not wish to walk with your mother?"
Spock said nothing, but he could not keep Sarek from reading him plainly now.
"You are ashamed?" said his father in wonderment. "You do not
wish the other children to know that Amanda is your mother?"
The disgust in Sarek's voice came at Spock like an ill, smothering wind.
"I see. Well, if Amanda is not your mother," he said, "then I am
not your father."
And with that, the t'yetma strode from the garden and left Spock
standing there alone.
**********************
He found his wife dressing in her running clothes.
"It is too hot for you to run now, my wife. It is too late."
She twisted her upper body without moving her legs like a tiny k'len,
poised in all its apparent fragility over a forest stream, craning her neck for
a glimpse of the clock. "Why did
you let me sleep so late? I never sleep this late."
Sarek walked further into the room, taking care not to reveal how swollen his
left wrist was.
"You seemed so peaceful. I thought it a shame to wake you."
She intended to scold him, he could see it by the carriage of her body. Then,
without warning, he saw that tenseness fade for another kind. She had
remembered.
"About last night..."
"We will not speak of it again."
He had hoped to smooth the episode from her thoughts, to prevent her
embarrassment, but it had bled through. More and more, her mind was developing
an enviable resiliency that he could only admire, but it made protection of her
that much more difficult.
Amanda walked toward her wardrobe, crossing her arms and griping the hem of her
tunic with her hands.
"I was overreacting," she said, peeling the running suit top up over
her head, "and hysterical. You shouldn't pay any attention to me when I'm
hysterical." She opened the
wardrobe and thrust her head in.
Sarek observed for a moment. "You have stood by me when I have been in conditions far
worse, my wife." And had afforded
him some measure of dignity in doing so. Sarek waited while his wife hung the
tunic in the wardrobe. "Breakfast
will be waiting for you, Amanda, when you are ready."
He left quietly and went about his morning duties.
************************
"Spock, come to breakfast."
"No thank you, Father. I'm not hungry."
Amanda looked at her husband with concern, but he gestured to her food and
remarked, almost playfully, "Really, my wife. It cannot be all that
bad..." Then he scooped up some marksh
and examined it more fully. "...
and then, on the other hand..."
Spock waited by the gate to the public court until his mother appeared, then
fell in step beside her. They exchanged subdued good mornings and were silent
for the remainder of the journey.
He'd heard them last night—his parents—arguing in the hallway outside his door.
He'd sat bolt upright at the slamming on his wall, reaching for I-chaya who
wasn't there anymore, waiting, petrified, until long after the footsteps had
retreated and his mother's cries had completely died away. In the morning, when
they'd been in the garden, Spock had noticed how carefully Sarek had held one
of his arms. Then, this morning, he'd heard his mother laughing at breakfast,
and every once in awhile his father would say something too softly for Spock to
understand and his mother would laugh again. It made him feel confused. When
they reached the schoolyard, Spock escorted his mother to the main entrance,
flicking his eyes from side to side, daring anyone to comment. No one did.
*****************************
"It's not broken."
Sarek gazed doubtfully at his wrist. The skin was tight where the fluids had
poured into the tissues and had pushed it out. It hurt for him to write.
"I can deal with the pain."
"This is to render the joint mobile," said the surgeon, administering
the hypo, "and to bring the swelling down."
The injection felt like ice.
"What I don't understand, Sarek, is why you didn't take this to a healer.
She could have told you as much and treated you without benefit of all this
equipment."
"I came to you because you are my sister."
"That's no logical reason."
"And because you would not ask questions."
She waved him to the door and began putting her instruments away. "I have serious patients to see. And
heart surgery in less than half a besa. Out."
Sarek rolled down the long sleeves he had worn that day and prepared to leave.
As he shouldered his carrybag, his sister hustled back to him and lifted his
injured wrist, turning it over in her hands and glaring at it.
"If the swelling hasn't gone down in a besa, call me." She let
go of his arm. "Now go, Sarek, and stop wasting my time."
"Borsh-a, Dor-mi."
"Yes, yes..."
Sarek left the examining room and closed the door behind him. One would think
that she was the eldest.
**************************************************
"Permission to stand by my uncle."
"Granted."
The gods smiled that morning. When the climate-control system sprayed coolant
into the classrooms, the school had to be evacuated and the children were
compelled to spend the interval of the first English lesson standing in the
drilling yard. They were so elated at having an unscheduled holiday that they
paid no attention to the alien teacher.
"Permission to stand by my mother."
"Granted."
Another child ran off to stand by a relative who was a teacher. Before school,
before logic, before Vulcan—family. Amanda was standing at the perimetre of the
group of specialty teachers. She would not look for her son.
The old fart from across the hall stood scowling with his class. And he was
scowling. Amanda had come to be able to recognize that Vulcans had a variety of
subtle facial expressions--contentment, pain, displeasure, humor, mortification—except
for that old fart from across the hall. He had only one expression—dried up.
Amanda felt a laugh coming on and covered it with a cough. Half of ShiKar
already presumed that she was the victim of some bronchial disease. She kept
her hand to her mouth until her face smoothed out, bringing to bear some of the
mental techniques that Sarek had taught her.
If it weren't for him, she'd quit this job. But he was so taken by the idea of
her going on to the Mental Research Institute here on Vulcan for further study.
She could hear him declaring that teaching was a noble profession and a good
and logical background for one interested in the study of the learning
processes. Of course, he would say, instruction of the young child was truly
the province of men as an extension of their childrearing duties, but one
needed to begin somewhere...
Sarek, dear Sarek...you expect the world of the people you love.
"Is there anything I can help you with?"
Spock stood before her, poised in the attitude of respect, his uniform robe
tied back from his chest the way some of the older children wore theirs. Amanda
was surprised.
"Spock, shouldn't you be with your team?"
"I came to stand by you... Mother."
Amanda wanted nothing more than to sweep her little boy into her arms; instead,
she touched his hand then brought her palm to rest upon his shoulder. Yani
bri min, standing together. No one would criticize that.
By the time the climate control system had been completely flushed and the
buildings were safe to re-enter, it was time to break for the meal. If this had
happened at a Terran elementary school, the cheers would have rattled the wind
chimes. Instead, each team marched inside—orderly, quiet lines of Vulcan youth.
They're not so different. They were really no more alien than Sarek was. They
had different orientations, of course, but different in needs, desires, visions
of comfort? Nonsense. The theorists would not agree with her, but she knew. The
scientists had said that Spock was impossible, too, but she'd proven them all
wrong on that score. She'd taken this job with the idea of running tests on her
students to prove her theories on personality development as well, but there
was no chance of that now. But with Spock standing by her, nothing else
mattered.
"I'm ready, Mother."
Spock had laid out their meal and was pouring the juice. He could be a small
version of his father at times; at some angles, thought Amanda, she could
envision the future, mature contours of his face blooming from his soft child's
features and see him looking very much like his father one day. If he had only
half his father's heart, she would feel she'd been successful with him.
Amanda sat across from her son. He seemed uneasy. "You don't have to stay here, Spock, if you don't want to. If
you'd like to eat with someone else—"
"No." He shook his head, peering up at her through his bangs.
"I'll stay."
Sarek had spoken to him. That was it. That was why he was here and why he was
so nervous.
As many times as she had spoken to him, Sarek never seemed to understand how
easily he could frighten their son. He was and could be an inordinately
demanding individual and could—and would—run roughshod over those he felt
responsible for if he decided that they were not functioning at near capacity.
He'd found it difficult to keep diplomatic aides until he'd hired men. They
found it less diminishing to listen to his criticism than women did. Sias and
Ru-tar had been with Sarek now for several years and they understood what a
fair and thoughtful employer he was, if with high expectations. Besides, men
weren't often hired for positions that required a consistent level of
stability, and working close to the upper echelons of planet-wide government
was good experience for them.
Spock watched his mother's face while she was thinking. It moved a lot, he
noticed, especially around her mouth and eyes. Rasni and Sepek had noticed,
too, because they rolled their eyes and grimaced whenever they imitated their
English teacher. Penon had caught them at it the other day and threatened the
both of them if they didn't quit it.
"You want to live to be T'Rasni? Then show some
respect."
Spock didn't understand. Whose side was she on? His father had told him once
that he was not to pry into female affairs.
"They have women's secrets that we are not privy to. We are their husbands
and sons and fathers. That is all. We should not concern ourselves with matters
from which we have been excluded."
This he supposed, must be one of those secrets.
Spock looked at his mother and tried to reach her the way Father had been
instructing him. He didn't have to wait for the tremor of contact because he
felt her feelings like a pinch at his mind. Was she sad? He remembered what his
father had said and wondered if this was so.
"Mother," he asked carefully, "are you lonely for
Earth?"
She looked down at him. He had startled her. He was going to withdraw the
question, but she had already begun to answer.
"Sometimes. It makes me feel sad."
"Why did you leave there, then?"
Her eyes looked very wet to Spock, like pebbles in a stream.
"Well, I met this very nice man and we became very good friends. We went
everywhere together and shared everything."
"Father?"
His mother nodded. "After awhile, he had a wonderful opportunity for a
whole new career that meant him going back to Vulcan. I didn't like being
without him and so I followed him here."
"But weren't you lonely then?"
"Yes. Yes, I was. But being lonely for my own people was far better than
being on Earth and being lonely for him."
Spock set down his cup and wiped his upper lip. The air seemed to settle down
around him. "Mother," he said
carefully, "was Father... lonely... for you?"
Amanda did not know what Sarek had told their son during the customary
discussion at the completion of his kas-wan, but she was certain that it
contained very little, if anything, about personal feelings and
relationships. "If I hadn't joined
him here," she told him honestly, "he would've returned to me."
She could explain no further. Sarek was too private a man to wish his feelings
to be discussed with anyone other than his wife—even with his son—no matter how
confusing Amanda knew the difference in his parents' approaches must be to
their child.
Instead, she said, "It's very nice having you here for break, Spock."
"I'll come every day and set for you," he declared importantly, and
then added, looking at his mother with less certainty, "...if you want me
to."
She smiled and patted his hand. "There's nothing I'd like better than to
eat with my heir every day."
The door of the classroom swung open.
"Pardons, Ser. I will go."
"No." The teacher beckoned the child in. "No, Noiard. Please, come in and join us."
The little girl crept into the room with leafrolls clutched to her chest. She
paused for a moment at the table before taking a seat. She was bright; it was a
shame her shyness held her back.
*******************************************************************
Twice, Sarek had resisted the thought to call his wife. She must not think that
he was checking up on her.
She had been badly injured. Sarek was certain that he had never experienced
such a deep and abiding hurt in her before. Even if his lack of understanding
at times gave her a distressful frame of mind, they could talk, or apologize; a
tenderness shared, and all things were put right. But when the hurt came from
the outside...
What had ever possessed their son to behave so to his mother? Hadn't he always
tried to maintain a proper model of respect in the boy's presence,
demonstrating the deference paid to a woman of the household?
Yes. Yes, I have. It is that group of children he associates with.
If Amanda had not explained to him the wisdom of sending their son to school,
Sarek would have hired a tutor for those subjects with which he and his wife
were unfamiliar. It was better, though, he saw now, that the boy learn to deal
with his peers, an opportunity that Sarek had not been afforded until his days
at the Academy.
She has changed. There had been a time when Amanda had been magnificently
bossy—'Let's go here, Sarek,' 'Let's do this,' 'Let's move the sofa to the
other side of the room.' Such energy that she made him short of breath. Where
had it gone? Where had that gentle but vivacious spirit flown?
The unyielding hardness of his people could not kill it. Wound it, perhaps—shun
it—but Amanda was a woman who believed. And woe be unto any who tried to stop
her was his thinking.
But she would be in a better mood this evening. Spock would behave respectfully
toward her today. She would be in a better mood or he would know the reason
why.
"Take your seats, please."
She spoke in English, her voice Vulcan-level and firm. Perhaps she had been too
easy and free with them; they expected teachers to be stoic and
didactic—perhaps her casual style confused them.
"Prepare your tapes."
She wasn't going to try anymore. Sarek would be disappointed, but she just
couldn't do it anymore. She felt better after dumping it on him—getting it out
in the open, but it didn't change how she felt. She'd do her job—roll in, roll
out—but she wouldn't leave herself open to injury by hoping to win the hearts
of her students. The feeling of exhilaration she'd had earlier was beginning to
wear off no matter how careful Sarek had tried to keep his intervention a
secret.
"Begin translation."
Light stylii began to move. Amanda noticed little Noiard glance up at her for a
moment, then begin her work. The child expected more—games, pictures, a turn at
pretending that you were really in an alien place where nobody understood
Vulcan and you had to speak English—
I'm dried out, Noiard, just like that old fart from across the hall. I've
nothing more to give.
The white rose seemed to be recovering nicely in the flask Spock had borrowed
from school laboratory. The poor thing had gotten so bedraggled outside in the
sun all morning that she wondered that it hadn't just shrivelled up and died.
When she'd found it next to her plate at breakfast, she'd tried to protest to
Sarek, but he had only said, "pain is pain," and made her drink her
tea. It reminded her of when money had been tight and he had said, in all
honesty and seriousness, "I shall have to be extremely conscientious in
the matter of your feelings until I can once again afford imported apologies."
Spock was signalling her. She almost went to him, then checked his work through her master terminal. What a totally
impersonal way to teach anyone anything. Sarek's English would be atrocious if
he'd had to learn this way. What was she saying? It had been atrocious when
she'd met him.
Spock was questioning a phrase he already knew. The computer could check any
literal, word-by-word translation, but idiomatic expressions were more than it
could handle. Even so, Spock should have known this one. He wanted her to feel
useful.
After helping Spock, Amanda scanned through the other student's work and found
Sepek and his cousin's screens being written on in Vulcan. They were writing
notes to each other. Amanda had had it.
"Penon and Sepek." She spoke
out loud to them and drew the attention of the other children. "Would you mind explaining what it is
that the two of you are writing on your lightslates?"
Penon looked up with an expression of honest innocence on her face. "It has to do with our lesson, Ser."
"Oh? Well if it is so world-shaking an event that it couldn't wait until
after lessons, I think you'd better enlighten the entire class and without
another moment's delay."
She had their full attention. They had never seen their English teacher in a
foul mood. It frightened them.
Sepek froze, waiting for his cousin to come to the rescue. The ser's
eyes were crackling like the blue blazes in a ritual firepot when it was
stirred for worship, and he could not take his eyes off her. She had
transformed herself into a chief displeased right before their very eyes.
She was angry. She had let them get away with murder in trying to win their
favor. She didn't want their favor now, she wanted their obedience and respect.
"I will not speak my request again."
The other students were staring at Penon and Sepek. Their solidarity as a class
was gone; the champions had suddenly become miscreants. Penon finally spoke.
"If I may address the ser, my cousin and I—and some of the
others—have just come from history lesson, and we are at odds over the
political decisions made by the early Mountain Clanners when the city of ShiKar
was besieged by our ancestors."
"Your ancestors, you mean," said Haf-risa.
Amanda knew the story. Mention it in the same room with Desert and Mountain Clanners
and you had an instant argument on your hands. That old fart knew he had Desert
children in his class as well as those from households with mixed names. To
attempt to force the children to take sides against friends and family for his
own sadistic pleasure.
What a sick, warped old man.
"Some matters are better left to rest," she said in Vulcan, breaking
her own rule. "I see no logical reason to rehash the subject. The Clans
are at peace with each other. The families have sealed the bond with blood. In
our own class we have Ran-lu and Srandin, brother and sister of differing
alliances as example."
The two children she had spoken of were looking at her. Srandin would be robed
near the end of the term, and Ran-lu had yet to pass her kas-tor. They
were spaced just far enough apart to keep eyebrows from going up. Amanda looked
at her son. The counting of years meant a lot here.
"I still say that the people of ShiKar should have fought," Sepek
said boldly, now that the ser's tone had calmed to a less threatening
tone. "They wouldn't have won, but at least there would have been
honor."
Penon stared at him. "Where is the honor in fighting a losing battle that
will decimate your tribe and kill scores of helpless children and leave the men
unprotected?"
"Wait a minute," said Haf-risa, turning in her seat, "who is to
say that we would have lost?"
"Be reasonable," said Sepek. "The Desert tribes have always been
the strongest, most powerful—"
"You mean the most uncontrolled and emotional."
"Let us not become uncontrolled and emotional ourselves," Amanda
interjected. Thank you very much, you old fart.
Penon looked to her teacher. "The basic motif is, Ser, that there
were only two possible alternatives open to the ancient people of ShiKar:
resist and be destroyed, or surrender and survive."
"Now that is ridiculous," said Amanda. "There is always a third
alternative."
"Would you elucidate?" Penon looked at her challengingly. She
couldn't believe that any planet as irrational as Earth could possibly deal
with its problems both logically and peacefully. Sarek had been right. The most
difficult student in the class was a girl, even if she were the perfect
diplomat and watched carefully from the sidelines before moving in for the
kill.
Amanda looked calmly and carefully about the class, turning slowly—one of
Sarek's old tricks to buy time. Spock and Noiard sat forward attentively. Spock
knew that she had backed herself into a corner and sat there willing her to
find a way out. Noiard's posture was one of total confidence in what her
teacher was saying. Amanda remembered telling the girl's father when he'd given
her the brewers.
"All right, Penon." Amanda folded her hands in front of her.
"I'll give you an example from my own homeland on Earth. Several hundred
years ago, my ancestors had travelled from their homeland to a new place and
built homes and a new life for themselves, just like the Mountain tribes. As
the years went by, they began to think of themselves as a new people—a tribe
unto themselves. But the rulers of their old lands—it was called England—still
considered the new settlement under its jurisdiction, and they tried many
things to keep it in subjugation, including the levying of what the settlers
considered to be unfair taxes.
"Now on Earth, seventy percent of the surface is—"
"—covered by undrinkable ocean water, we know," said Sepek.
Penon turned a hard focus on her cousin. "Will you keep quiet and let the ser
tell the story?"
The girl nodded to her teacher and shot another warning look at Sepek.
"Well," said Amanda, "this took place during pre-flight days
and, since there was so much water, people travelled about the planet on big,
slow sailing ships with huge fabric panels that caught the wind to use it as a
propelling force. The ships brought all sorts of supplies from the Old World,
including a very popular beverage called tea...which was obtained by brewing
the leaves of certain plants."
"Like yakobspru?" asked another student.
"Yes," said Amanda, nodding. "Quite similar, as a matter of fact.
And you know how people like yakobspru."
The children all nodded in agreement.
"Well, the colonists were just as fond of tea. They drank it for breakfast
and lunch and dinner and every time in between."
One girl sat forward in her desk. "My father gives me yakobspru whenever
I have a fever. He doesn't brew it long when he makes it for me, and he makes
it real sweet."
They were with her. Just barely, but they were willing to go along.
**************************************************
After the conference, Ambassador Sarek retreated into his private office,
closing the door behind him. He went to his desk and sat squarely in his chair,
holding his hands in front of him, touching the fingertips of one hand to the
fingertips of the other. He affected a clearing of his mind and then proceeded
to reach out with his thoughts, hoping to brush those of his wife.
She was a Terran and so her thoughts were able to escape the boundaries of her
primary energy field. If he could only learn to recognize and touch the
projection of her thoughts at a distance in non-critical situations. It was not
a simple task between Vulcans, but the two of them had an uncommon closeness
working for them and a willingness on both sides.
Sarek could sense nothing. He reached for his carrybag. He should be there when
his wife reached home.
*************************************************
"So, what were the colonists' alternatives?"
"The same as before," said Penon. "They could either rebel which
would bring the wrath of the stronger upon them, or they could acquiesce and
pay the tax on the tea."
"Exactly what the colonists' thought at first. But then, they thought of
another idea."
Amanda paused, waiting for a response. The children tolerated a full four
seconds of silence before reacting.
"Then what, Ser?"
"What did they do?"
She had them. Suddenly and inexplicably, they were sitting there in the palm of
her hand.
"Well, at first, they began to boycott the tea. Do any of you know what a
boycott is?"
"No, Ser."
"I do," offered Penon. "That's what ruined the Outer Spiral
trade last year. My grandmother told me that the Havamarl system was boycotted
and that the Federation wouldn't buy their mineral exports because of the
illegal drug trafficking going on in that sector."
"That's exactly it, Penon. And just like that, no one in all of Boston
would drink tea. And so, no one needed to buy it. And since no one would buy
it, the shopkeepers wouldn't stock it. So the ships sat in the harbour, loaded
down with tea that nobody wanted."
"And the shipping company lost money," offered Penon. Her tribe, and Sarek's, might be in
politics, but its roots in early interstellar trade were not too far behind.
Penon nodded, companions in spirit with her teacher, assisting in the
instruction. The other children noted it.
Noiard had something to say.
"My aunt took me to the receiving docks when they had a ban on because of
a botanical plague. There was a whole shipment of brewers—leaves and roots and
the like—but the inspectors wouldn't let them move it in until they got the
whole warehouse cleared. Everything stood outside for days until most of it
rotted. My family lost a lot of money. They gave us masks to wear but I still
held my nose."
Something stirred the air: silent, Vulcan laughter.
One of the boys grimaced at the thought. "So what did they do?"
'"What do you think?" Amanda asked them.
"The logical thing would be to get rid of the tea."
Penon shook her head. "But that leaves two alternatives again: steal the
tea and bring down wrath. Leave it and remain safe."
"Please, Ser," pleaded Haf-risa, "what did they do?"
"They stole the tea, all right, but someone came up with the idea of
disguising themselves as the people who were native to the new land to do it.
These were a proud people who dressed in feathers and animal skins and painted
their faces, and were known for their odd, alien ways and were generally
uncontrollable from the colonists' point of view."
"Can you imagine it?" she said. "A third alternative that
neither bows to tyranny nor sheds a drop of blood?"
"But did it work, Ser? Did it accomplish its purpose?"
"Yes." She turned to Penon with an animated expression. "Since
the colonists had been dressed like the natives of the land, they couldn't be
blamed for the raid and, since the natives didn't come under the jurisdiction
of the old land in any way, nobody could be rightfully held responsible. And
the colonists went on to form their own country. I was born there."
"Oh, I don't believe that." Heads turned. "Well, I don't."
Amanda was too surprised to reply but Spock wasn't.
"Sepek T'Ardikan," he said in his father's tone of deadly earnest,
"you had better not be calling my mother a liar."
"I'm not," protested Sepek, "it's just that I can't believe it
really happened, that's all. And besides," he turned to his teacher,
" you weren't actually there to see it, were you, Ser?"
"No," replied Amanda in a matter-of-fact tone, "no more than you
were there when Surak calmed the tribes."
None of them were convinced. One look and Amanda could tell that.
"Here," she said, "I need a volunteer."
"Make Penon," said the class. "She started it."
"No," said the teacher. "Since Sepek doesn't believe me, I
believe I'll use him."
She gestured for him to leave his seat. If this had been an Earth classroom,
the jeers would have blasted the windows. Instead, dubious eyes followed him to
the teacher's desk.
"All right, Sepek," she said, placing her hands on his shoulders and
turning him to face the class. "This might be difficult for you to do, but
you'll have to use your imagination. You, too," she said to the smug
leers. She didn't want the child held up to ridicule. "We'll need
everyone's imagination if this is going to work."
Amanda lowered her voice as if she were not in a classroom on Vulcan, but
hiding near the docks in Boston harbour, peering into a moonlit sky on a frosty
Terran night of centuries
"Now, Sepek, I want you to imagine, and everyone else, too, that it is not
ShiKar in the Vulcan year 8878, but the sixteenth day of the twelfth month of
the Earth year 1773. The place is Boston Harbour where great sailing ships dock
after long journeys across a sea as wide as the whole Arlangan Range and as
deep as the highest peak of the Llangon Mountains are tall. It's cold that time
of year and sometimes there's snow on the ground; some of animals have burrowed
underground to sleep until the warm weather comes, several months away. Leave a
bowl of water outside, and it will freeze solid in half a besa."
Sepek's skin crawled under Amanda's hands.
"It's dark now, Sepek. The sun has gone down."
He squinted at the blazing sunlight coming from the high-up windows.
"You paint greasy streaks of color across your cheeks and down your nose,
and stick feathers in your hair. And you're wearing clothes made of animal
skin."
The boy squirmed, keeping his eyes to the ceiling.
"There are no streetlights, but the Earth's moon is as bright as Ibat'ye
T'Uvri's watchtower in the sun—only silver—and it lights your way as you slip
out of your house and hurry through the streets to the docks, trying to keep
under the cover of shadows."
Amanda left Sepek's side, pacing intently as she always did when she had
something interesting to say, leaning into the story. The children sat forward
in their seats.
"The night watch stands on the decks of the sailing ship Dartmouth and on
the other two vessels carrying a cargo of tea. You, all of you, hide under the
wharf—some of you behind the thick, supporting pillars, and some of you in the
chill, dark ocean water itself, all waiting for the signal."
Amanda stole a glance at the children. Rasni and Haf-risa were kneeling in
their seats to draw closer; Ran-su and Noiard weren't far behind to join them.
"Some of you creep forward to get a better view," she said, going
into a half-crouch. "You have to wait there for a long time—so long that
your legs and shoulders ache with the cold, and tiny spasms cut your muscles
from being held so taut for so long."
The children rubbed muscles that were neither cold nor wet with sea water,
straining to hear what their teacher was saying. Her voice was no more than the
fuzziest of whispers, yet every child heard each word. Sepek's eyes dropped
from the ceiling he gazed longingly at his robe where it lie draped over his
chair.
"And then, in the chill, soggy darkness there comes the cry of a
nightbird."
Krttr-rttr-rt! Krttr-rt-trt!
Amanda looked up and noticed Noiard holding a cupped hand over her mouth. The
other children saw and they, too, used their hands to serve as a sounding board
for the cry of a yasn gliding low over a darkened Vulcan landscape.
Except Penon. She stared intently at her teacher and said, "and that's the
signal, is it?"
Why not? Amanda nodded and the air was crisp with the chattering call from
eleven little mouths. Penon stood by her chair.
"And do we attack, Ser Amanda?"
"We do," admitted the teacher, "only it must be carried out with
restraint and control so that nobody is injured." Nods. "Now, at the
signal—"
More yasn cries.
"We leap aboard the ships, drag the heavy chests of tea out on deck,
batter the chests open with hatchets—think of a one-sided lirpa blade
with a short handle and throw the tea right over the side!"
"Over the side!"
"Right over the side!"
A tape case clattered to the floor followed shortly by another and then two
more in rapid succession.
"Over the side!"
Their eyes were lit, their bodies half on top of their desks in trying to be
closer to the excitement. Haf-risa made a dive for her fallen tape case where
it had landed on the floor.
"Over the side!"
"Right over the side!"
Then suddenly, the children froze, eyes on the door to the hallway.
"Do you see? Is it as I said?"
The ser from across the hall stood in the doorway with the headmaster,
pointing triumphantly. "Disgraceful."
"Ser Amanda," said the woman whom Amanda had seen only twice
since she'd been hired, "I trust that you have some explanation for
this."
She didn't care anymore. If she was going to go, she might as well go out in a
blaze of glory.
"You get out of my classroom."
She said it with cold, deadly emotion and aimed directly at that wrinkled old
fart. He backed up a step, his perennially-pursed lips actually parting in
astonishment.
"Well, I never..."
"I'm not the least surprised."
"No one has ever spoken to me in such a manner—"
"It's about time someone did, you nosy, gossipy, old fart!"
In Vulcan, the word for flatulence was onomatopeic and not generally used as a
slang term to describe a person. The effect was all that more effective. The
Vulcan teacher turned to the headmaster in supplication.
"Do you see the way she speaks to a ser, and in the presence of the
students? The emotions—"
Amanda kept after him.
"At least I'm honest about mine. I don't take out my frustrations on the
little people to whom I have been entrusted to teach. I also do not spy on my fellow teachers, even if I have to deal
with the broken little spirits and the backlash of unfairness that he sends to
me." She turned to the seresa. "Children need kindness. And Vulcan demands
so much from its children. It's imperative that they have support, knowing that
if they fail, there will be waiting behind them a strong and caring person who
will understand their failings and help them to get back on their feet. Not
someone who is supportive only when they're successful and batters them when
they're down."
"It is not the proper time to speak of this. There can be discussion
later."
The headmaster held the door for the other teacher and they left without
another word. For a long minute, Amanda glared after them, clenching her fists
so tightly that implosion became a not-so-distant possibility. Finally, she had
the control to face her class.
They had all frozen in the spots they had been in when the seresa had
first entered the room--some kneeling on furniture, some crouching on the
floor—and only now did they scurry back into their seats, folding their hands
on their desktops, eyes straight ahead. Only not straight ahead. They were on
her. Every last haunted Vulcan one of them was staring straight at her.
Amanda felt her anger slipping away, and with it, her confidence. She had lost
it—the teaching, the experiments, her degree all of it blown away in one
flaring of temper. What would Sarek say? Oh, God. Sarek ...
The children were waiting. She should say something to them. What? That their
teacher was an uncontrollably emotional Earth woman who had just talked her way
out of her career plans and her husband's expectations? They could see that.
Any stories that they had been told about the irrationality of Terrans had just
now been proven to them and right before their very eyes. What had happened
here today would go with them and color their views of Earth people for the
rest of their lives.
The soft signal tong burst the air patterns with a roar. It was time for the
children to go.
Nobody moved.
"Prepare to leave, please."
Please. Not that they'd need to follow those rules anymore.
After a moment's pause, the children gathered their tapes and robes and sat
waiting.
"You are dismissed."
They stood with a stillness that ached Amanda's heart. Why? With the exception of a very few, they
weren't particularly fond of her. Even her own son was embarrassed by her. She
wanted to rush home to Sarek and feel his heavy arms around her and cry just
like a baby. But Sarek wanted her to be strong and in charge like a Vulcan
woman. He would be disappointed in her and she would feel it through his skin.
As the children filed into the hallway, a child with a messenger's ribbon tied
to her harness inched between the doorjamb and the other students. She handed a
note to the ser. "Good day, Ser,"
"Good day, Noiard."
Amanda read the note. She had been expecting this.
"Mother?"
The other children had gone. They were alone in the room.
"Shall I wait for you in the yard after closing?"
"No," she said. "I have to meet with the seresa. You go
on home. I don't know how long this will take."
*********************************
She would be home soon now, his wife, and she would wish her usual cup of tea.
Someday, he would have to purchase a solar brewer—not the ugly, styleless
contraptions that were made now, but an elegant, crystal-domed affair that had
chambers for several varieties to brew at once. If it worked for Vulcan herbs
and fruit, it should certainly work for English Breakfast and Earl Grey.
Sarek finished arranging the tray. When they had first come to Vulcan, Amanda
had offered to sell this tea service for the value of the silver. The Tribe
could cut him off from tribal funds, but he would not allow his Terran wife to
sell her earthly heritage for any reason. If he were a religious man, he would
be praying at this very moment that all had gone well with his wife today. But
he would not put his trust in any unseen deity. By the sheer force of his
thought, he would will events in her favor.
First, she took the pictures down from the walls. Next, she
packed away the few personal items she'd been keeping in her classroom. It
didn't take long. She realized now that she'd never felt at home here—never
really moved in. Not like on Earth; Sarek had pretended to be annoyed at
finding "parts of her" all over his apartment.
************************************
Spock turned the corner near the fountain and felt hands pulling him into the
alcove.
"What did the note say?"
"Was it from the seresa?"
Most of the class was there. He didn't like the intensity of focus he was
getting. "I don't want to speak to
any of you." He tried to pull away
but Penon held fast. He tried to mindforce her but she was nearly fourteen and
too well shielded. "Let go of
me."
"Not until you tell us what the note said."
"She didn't show it to me," Spock told them. He wouldn't undignify
himself by struggling when he could not escape but he remained firm. "And
even if she did, I wouldn't tell you."
They were all listening intently to him but not with the usual condescending
attitude. They wanted to hear what he had to say.
"You listen to me, all of you," he said. "The ser Amanda
didn't have to come here. She wanted to do scientific research only no one on
Vulcan would let her except our seresa. And still she didn't have to
except she wanted all of us who might have to deal with outworlders when we're
grown up to be able to know what they're saying about us. Now she's going to be
fired and all because of you." He
gave each and every one of them a cold, hard projection. "You were all shamefully cruel to my
mother, and I want nothing more to do with you."
Penon released him and stepped back. He rubbed his left arm and then his right,
shifting his tape case back and forth. He gave the entire group one final
projection of displeasure and walked away. The class had been cruel, and he the
cruelest of all.
***************************************
The seresa gestured to a straight-backed chair, regarding her with a
deceptively casual look. Amanda stood firm with hard eyes. Sarek had taught her
that a diplomat's greatest weapon was never to show weakness nor indecision—nor
to admit to any wrongdoing whether personal or political. Don't back down.
The seresa finally spoke. "The history master demands an apology of
you."
Enraged, Amanda held her temper and tongue as well as she could manage.
"You can tell the ser," she said with tight jaws, "that
he can take his 'demand' and 'bury it in wet sand and walk ten thousand jas
into the setting sun'."
"You read Surak?"
"Doesn't everyone?"
They were always so surprised to discover that a mere Earth woman had read of
Vulcan philosophy. What did they think she had been doing here for the past ten
years? Never mind. She knew what they thought she had been doing here for the
past ten years. "I'm to blame for
the irrational behavior you witnessed in my classroom today," Amanda said.
"The children had nothing to do with it. They were only following my
orders."
"Oh?" The headmaster regarded the Earth woman with nothing less than
a dubious stare. "That is not how the children tell it."
The children?
"According to them, you were trying to teach a perfectly normal lesson
when all twelve of them, simultaneously and without warning, lost themselves
and refused to obey your orders to cease and take their seats."
Amanda felt her mouth drop open.
"And they had a variety of explanations to account for this sudden lapse
of control."
The seresa examined her reading screen.
"'A Mountain fever' caused two students to lose themselves. Six
were moved to disobey by the sudden onset of 'ear infections'. Other assorted
excuses included the 'ingestion of bad leafrolls', 'too much running in the
sun', the 'will of the gods', and one ten-year-old who has evidently been
listening to adult conversation claimed, with obvious ignorance to the
implications, that he was seven-up and so was not himself."
Amanda was startled. The last—and only—person to mention pon farr in her
presence had been Sarek's mother, and it had taken some time before the other
woman had spoken in anything but clinical terms. It was true, then. Sarek's
mother could be excused for her reticence on the subject; she was talking about
her own son. But the women didn't really seem much concerned about pon farr.
It was nothing more than a nuisance to them; to a man, it was a matter of
embarrassment, shame, and the fear of death.
"They came in groups of twos and threes," explained the seresa,
"but each and every one of them gave me their word that the ser
Amanda was in no way responsible for what I viewed in your classroom today. I
don't know what you intended, Ser, but whatever it was, I would like to
know what makes children so loyal that they would risk being caught in
falsehoods to protect you."
***********************************
Spock entered the house without making a sound. Instead of dropping his tape case on the vronsin table, he
kept it close to his chest and hugged the wall until he reached the back
hallway where his bedroom was. He was almost there.
" Spock—"
His legs locked into a petrified condition when all the rest of him was saying
run, run— "Yes, Father," he
said without turning.
"I will speak with you in the study."
Spock listened for retreating footsteps and only then dared to breathe.
************************************************
"If I were to forget the display I witnessed in your classroom
today," said the seresa, "would you adopt a more traditional
Vulcan instructional style?"
Why should she? The children had shown more enthusiasm in that one class period
than they had for the past few weeks and were likely to have had in the future
had she continued teaching the way she had been. I've been holding back, she
realized. Instead of doing what her feelings had told her was right, she had
been trying to superimpose Earth ideas over a Vulcan framework. If an idea was
sound, it was sound, and would stand on its own merit without leaning heavily
on any culture. "I would
not," she told the headmaster.
The seresa nodded. "I see. And you do not intend to back down an
angstrom even if I and this entire school declared you to be wrong?"
"Your speaking it doesn't make it so."
It was staredown time. Amanda tried to make her eyes go cold. Sarek refused to
come near her when her "eyes were flaming ice." It had been a long
time since he had made that analogy.
The seresa spoke, never averting her eyes. "Are Terrans naturally this arrogant, or is it that your
years with a well-bred Vulcan husband have rendered you so?"
Amanda had had enough. "My husband
got where he is today on his own ability and hard work and with no help from
his family. And if he is assertive, I am one woman who does not find herself
threatened by her husband's accomplishments."
She did not leave for fear of doing violence to the door on the way out. She
didn't want to cower in Sarek's arms now. She wanted to lead an army in a holy
war to defend his honor—or throw breakables in a water plant during a drought.
Then, seemingly without reason, the headmaster averted her eyes, giving up the
challenge and turning to switch off her reading screen. "Unswerving loyalty to one's husband,
also? And they say that Terran females have no spirit."
*****************************
"...and then to add to the disgrace with a lie..."
"But what could I do, Father?"
Spock felt so ill that he wanted to vomit. He had been affecting the attitude
of respect for so long now that he was afraid his knees would disjoint from
this thighs and he would collapse in shame upon his mother's blue-and-gold
Oriental rug.
"If I took the blame," he tried to explain, "I surmised that the
seresa would let Mother stay at the school."
"And what of your reputation?"
"But..." His voice gave out
and he was ashamed. If he were emotional, he was a disgrace; if he behaved
unemotionally to his mother, he was wrong as well. He felt as if he were
standing in a hallway of doors and still had no way to turn. Just before his
legs gave way, he knew a sensation not unlike a pillow of air rising to cushion
and prevent his imminent fall from grace.
"Your heart and spirit were in the right place, Spock," Sarek said
finally, almost gently. "I hear the chimes. Would you see who is at the
door?"
**********************************************************
"... and ShiKar is, after all, the capital city of Vulcan where the
interface with the Federation occurs, and if its people are to be members of
this interstellar society, they had better be prepared for its influence."
"I see." The seresa leaned back in her chair, tapping a stylus
on the arm. "And you believe that this research of yours will accomplish
this purpose?"
"Exactly," replied Amanda. "I've wanted to concentrate my
efforts toward determining the degree heredity influences Vulcan thought for
several years now. If any of it is learned behavior, then this world had better
prepare itself for the cultural changes that its interstellar contact will
bring it."
The seresa said nothing for a while. Amanda sat trying to read the
woman. Her first impression of the headmaster had been one of a
forward-thinking individual with an open mind who went her own way. She'd
inherited the mastership of the school from a relative, and certain members of
the faculty declared that she spent too much time sand-sledding on the
Sas-a-shar. But Amanda had
instinctively liked her. Were
the instincts so touted by Sarek still intact?
"I would know something, Ser," said the Vulcan finally.
"If I were to forbid you your intentions?"
Amanda blinked once: a Vulcan shrug.
"I would leave this school and find another."
"And if another was not to be found?"
"I would take students into my home—a traditional Vulcan practice, I
believe. Maybe I'd start out with only my son and one other student but, sooner
or later, there'd be more."
"You truly believe that you could manage this?" asked the seresa.
Oh, yes. Yes, she would. "As has
been mentioned many times, I have my husband to support me while I do research.
And inquiries have been made of MRI."
"Oh?"
The seresa moved things on her desk. She was buying time to make a
decision, Amanda perceived. Why did she have the feeling that— "… My husband was a Master at the
Mental Research Institute," the seresa said finally. "Perhaps
he could be of some assistance to you."
What?
"And you are not to concern yourself with the history master who is
situated on the opposite side of your corridor. He is an old unsired
gentleman—at least, he has no daughters to carry his name. If he should cause
you any further difficulty, you should refer him directly to me." The seresa got up from her
chair. "If you could make me a
descriptive list of any tests you would wish to administer to the students, I
would know how to respond to any parents who might complain. And next term,
maybe we should make English lessons mandatory for the White Division—if,"
she added amiably, "this is all acceptable to you, Ser."
Amanda rose from her chair also. She felt the corners of her mouth tugging
upward. "I believe that we can reach
an understanding, Seresa."
"Excellent. "
The woman switched off her reading screen. "We should have had this
discussion before, I see, but I had other concerns before the mastership of
this school fell to me. I tried to speak with you the other day but you had
gone, and the old gentleman had come to regale me with one of his many matters
of inconsequence."
The headmaster began to gather her belongings into a new-looking attaché.
"Perhaps, Ser," she said, not looking up, "you will teach
me to speak English as they do on Earth—not like a computer, but with all of
the proper idiotic expressions."
"Idiomatic."
The seresa nodded, and when she gestured to the door, she caught a
glimpse of the ser's glowing face.
"Is that a smile?"
Amanda's hand rose halfway to her lips, then fluttered away. "Yes. It is."
After a moment's evaluation, the seresa nodded pleasantly and reached for the door handle. "Shall we?"
Chapter 9
The driver hovered into place at the pad. A pick-up at a
secondary school? Must be some old family.
A half-grown girl shoved open the door and scrambled into the back. She had an
armful of tapes crushed against her chest and was wearing a full-length
robe. "If you would hurry..."
She was not a girl, but a very short woman, even shorter than Clan Chief T'Pau.
The driver hovered up and slid sideways onto the roadway. She was proud of the
way she could make good time through the city without exceeding cruising speeds
simply by out-maneuvering the other vehicles on the airpath. They were less
than five hundred jas away from their destination when they had to stop
for a groundcar stalled in the underpass. They would have gone over the tie-up,
but it was illegal for anything but emergency and police vehicles to jump an
overpass during peak hours.
The young woman was climbing out of the limousine.
"Wait, h'daar. It will only be a few minutes."
"I'm in a hurry," called the passenger, only a blue streak in the
rear viewer. "I've got to get home to my husband."
The driver sealed the doors. Hmm. Must be his time.
**********************
Sarek heard a sound at the garden door. Not another one. He walked to the front
of the house and found his wife throwing her tapes onto the table that was
meant for calling cards but seemed to function as a depository for belongings
when a member of the household returned home. His wife was breathing heavily as
from a sprint. "Amanda Grayson,
you have not been running in this heat..."
"I had to get home to tell you.'"
"Nevertheless, you will sit down first. You are going to wear your heart
out at this rate." Not to mention making a spectacle of herself in mad
dashes in public at her age.
So she told him what she had said and what the seresa had said--all of
it and the plans she had made. "I
couldn't believe it, Sarek!" she said tugging on his hands like an excited
child. "You know how I've wanted to do a study on comparative
intelligence? Well, I told the headmaster she'd either have to let me do my
testing and make my observations or I'd quit. Now, she's practically given me carte
blanche!" She spun away from
her husband, waving her arms in the way she always did to describe and express
her most intense of thoughts. "I
know what's in the literature," she said with a quieter intensity.
"I've read it all. Nobody, and I mean nobody has done a thing with Vulcans
except in theory. The field's wide open. And if I do this right, Sarek, and if
I get any data at all—"
Sarek touched his forehead as if deep in thought. "Let me see, now...'Ilisor
Amanda and T'yetma Sarek,' or perhaps 'Dr. Grayson and Ambassador
Sarek..."
"I'm going to do it, Sarek. You just see if I don't."
The ambassador walked to his wife and took her hands again, projecting. "It was not I who doubted,
Amanda."
He felt her receive the essence of his thoughts and knew that she was warmed by
it. They had reached without conscious design. Here was another level of
accomplishment of which she was supposedly incapable. She was entirely capable
of anything she set her mind to, he thought—within the laws of physics, of
course. And sometimes, he wondered about that. Less than nine years ago she had
shaken the scientific foundations of more than a few individuals to the very
core from which he himself had never really recovered.
"But we can speak later, my wife." He was impatient and let go of her
hands. "I want to show you something." He took her to the transparent doors that looked out into the
courtyard. "Your public
awaits."
Sitting there at the stone bench, gathered around Spock, were the children from
her English class and a couple that Amanda didn't know. It occurred to her that
this was the first time that Spock had ever brought other children home from
school.
"They have been in private consultation ever since school dismissed,"
Sarek continued. "I have not been confided in. It seems my duty is to keep
them satisfied with juice. But if you will not go out to them soon, I am afraid
that we shall be depleted of our supply."
Amanda stood there, unbelieving. She felt Sarek's hand reach for hers again and
give it a squeeze. He opened the doors for her.
"...but I was just a baby and I don't remember it very well," Spock
was saying.
"I'd like to see snow."
"But the way she stood up to the history master—she mustn't be afraid of
anything..."
"But does your mother know any other stories?"
"Of course," said Spock, "she knows hundreds—maybe even
thousands."
Sarek stepped forward and, in his most practiced council voice said,
"Children..."
They all looked up.
"...I give you Ser Amanda."
The entire group scrambled to its feet and stood there without speaking. Of
course! They didn't know!
"You may all be interested to know that I had a long talk with the seresa
this afternoon about my future with the school." She paused for effect.
"Well, I'm afraid you won't be getting out of your English lessons so
easily. I'll expect to find today's translations sitting on my terminal first
thing tomorrow."
Nods of relief.
"And..." she added, "...we're going to begin some intensive
dialoguing during our first lesson so I suggest that you all hurry home and
start practicing."
She felt Sarek at her side although he never touched her, nor did she look up
at him for fear of destroying the illusion she had of seeing a smile on his
face. The children made no moves to leave. There was a flurry of discussion
among them and a series of 'go on' before they turned back to their teacher in
a body and said, in unison, in English, "First, Ser Amanda, tell us
a story."
"Please," Spock whispered, prompting.
"Please."
Sarek leaned down to his wife and spoke so that the children could not hear.
"If I only had such attentiveness in Council..."
She gave him a grin, then turned to the children. They were sorry for what had
happened between them these last few weeks. They would not say so in words, but
their presence here and their actions earlier in the seresa's office had
spoken plainly enough. "All right,
but just one..."
The ambassador watched as his wife descended into the sunken courtyard. She had
touched so many lives in the short time she had been here and for the little
she had been in direct contact with his people. After his wife had died, his
stepfather, in silent despondency, had declined all social invitations from
both family and friends until Amanda had tricked him into teaching her all of
the popular Vulcan folk dances and then into trying them out with her at the
Botanical Gardens. He was a better man now, with no want for companionship, for
anyone who opened himself to Amanda Grayson came away the richer for it.
She was radiantly happy. Sarek could feel it spreading out in an unseen glow,
knew that the children sensed it, too, albeit unconsciously, and were like a
dozen odd shiny mirrors reflecting her warmth back into the world.
"What stories do you know, Ser?"
"Earth stories," said Spock. He made a space for her to sit on the
bench. "Please, Mother, tell my favorite."
"All right." She bent a little, leaning into the world from whence
all stories came. "Well, there was a family of rock chickens that lived
above the beach near LlanPer, and one of the hatchlings was so ugly and clumsy
that he made the others look almost as graceful as k'lens. And one
day..."
"May I interrupt the ser for one moment?"
The eyes turned to Sarek.
"I shall leave you, my wife, in the capable hands of your son and heir,
but before I go, is there anything further I might bring for you?"
Sepek nudged Spock. "Go on, ask her."
"No, YOU."
"But I don't know the words."
"I do." Little Noiard stepped forward boldly and said, in English,
"Please, Ser Amanda, may we have some tea?"
Sarek nodded. "I will see to it."
One of the boys blanched. "It won't stink like in the story..."
"Of course not," said Spock, "and even if it does, we can just
throw it over the side."
FINIS