“I hear what you ask,” T’Vora said. In the time since Spock’s request had been handed down to the Akrelt Refuge, she had begun her evaluation of him by researching his personal history. In so doing, a number of issues had arisen that called his fitness for the Kolinahr into question. As part of her responsibility as a master, she would have to probe for answers that would satisfy her concerns before she could sanction the petition.
“Spock, child of Sarek,” she said, “you are also the child of Amanda Grayson of Earth, are you not?”
“I am,” Spock said. His impassive expression did not change in the slightest degree, nor did T’Vora discern any shame in the admission.
“And you consider yourself Vulcan, not human?” she said.
“To deny my human heritage would be illogical,” Spock said. “My mother is human and therefore I am half human. But I have lived my life as a Vulcan, believing in Vulcan ideals and striving to fulfill them.”
“And yet two decades ago, you failed to reach such an ideal,” T’Vora said.
“That is true,” Spock said, and T’Vora perceived his outward forthrightness as genuine. “I was admitted to the Kolinahr and studied for more than two years under the aegis of Master T’sai. I had completed all of the training and had passed all of the tests, needing only to conclude the final ritual in order to achieve my goal. That did not happen.”
“Why?” T’Vora wanted to know. Here, Spock’s privacy had not been breached. Master T’sai, since deceased, had noted only Spock’s failure, but not the reason for it.
“During the final rite, a powerful consciousness called to me from space,” he said. T’Vora allowed her eyebrow to rise, signifying what she considered to be the improbability and unusual nature of that which Spock described. “It was an entity with thought patterns of exactingly perfect order. It seemed a kindred spirit, one who had achieved what I had not, what I could not, even with the Kolinahr. The experience caused my emotional control to falter.”
“What was this consciousness?” T’Vora asked, intrigued.
“It called itself V’Ger,” Spock said, and T’Vora remembered the incident of the human machine that had, through unintended and unpredictable circumstances, amassed so much knowledge that it had gained sentience. “After failing the Kolinahr, I sought out V’Ger and communicated with it directly. I learned that, while it had come to a state of perfect logic, it was not satisfied. It wanted more. In effect, it was searching for that which many beings have, and which I had: illogic, the capacity to leap beyond the bounds of reason to find meaning and fulfillment.”
“And this caused you not to return to the Kolinahr?” T’Vora asked.
Spock hesitated, the candlelight throwing inconstant orange light across his features. T’Vora anticipated some flicker of emotion, but detected none. Spock’s uncertainty appeared to originate elsewhere, in his attempt to put into words what had driven him during the time he described. “I did not know how long it would be before I would be permitted—or if I would be permitted—to reenter the Kolinahr. But I wanted to move forward in my life and so I opted to return to Starfleet, to a life I had previously lived and that had gratified me. In making that choice, I also committed to attempting to accept my emotions, rather than to deny them.”
“You selected the path of the V’tosh ka’tur,” T’Vora said, the revelation unexpected. Spock could not still be one of the “Vulcans without logic,” or surely she would have become aware of the feelings roiling within him. But then Spock rejected her characterization.
“No,” he said. “The V’tosh ka’tur do not wish control of their emotions. I did, and I endeavored to integrate mine with my intellect. I wanted balance, as do the V’tosh ka’tur, but I wanted my logic to control that balance, to continue to be the overriding force in my being. I lived as a Vulcan.”
“But among humans,” T’Vora noted.
“Largely, yes,” Spock said.
“And through the separation of your katra from your body and the fal-tor-pan,” T’Vora said, “this remained the way of your life.” Even before she had looked into Spock’s past, she had been aware of his “death” and “rebirth.”
“It did,” Spock said.
“Why then do you seek to purge yourself of your emotion?” she asked. “You failed the Kolinahr, then declined to even attempt to resume your studies. Why now have you decided otherwise?”
“It has taken me this long to truly understand how detrimental emotions are, and that I lack the control I thought I possessed,” Spock replied. “And also to realize that my place is in Vulcan society.”
T’Vora observed an awkwardness in the aspirant’s response, and she knew that she had come to the heart of his petition—of the reasons for it. “And what place have you taken in Vulcan society since your return here?” she asked.
“I have taken no place yet,” Spock said, “other than that of candidate for the Kolinahr.”
The response seemed incomplete to T’Vora. “What about as son to your parents?” she asked.
“I have resided in visitor lodging since arriving on Vulcan,” Spock said. “I have not seen my parents.” T’Vora did not need telepathic abilities to hear the self-reproach in Spock’s answer.
“You have spoken to them though,” she said. “They are aware of your presence here, of your petition for the Kolinahr.”
“No,” Spock admitted. His expression did not change, but T’Vora could see his shame unmasked.
She considered this. “In recent days,” she asked, “what emotions have you not controlled?”
“Loss,” Spock said, but he needn’t have. T’Vora could suddenly feel the weight of the bereavement he carried within him, as well as his struggle to contain it.
“Caused by the death of your commanding officer for so many years,” she said.
“The death of my friend,” Spock said, and T’Vora almost reeled at what followed. The feeling flowed from the aspirant as surely as if an emotional dam had given way within him. Beyond the remorse at not having visited his parents, beyond even the grief for his friend, a terrible guilt permeated Spock’s being, though its source seemed elusive.
T’Vora closed herself to the rush of emotion, reasserting her control over her own mind. She paused to settle her thoughts before continuing. “Spock, the Kolinahr is more than a way of life,” she said. “It is a type of existence that, once achieved, cannot easily be undone. One must therefore enter into it for the proper reasons. You are not doing so.”
“I can assure you—” Spock started, but T’Vora interrupted him.
“Do not assure me,” she said. “It may be that within you lie the seeds of that which you speak: the need for control and the pursuit of life as a full Vulcan. But the Kolinahr is not a haven from what you feel with regard to your parents, or from the pain and sadness the death of your friend has brought, or from any of the other feelings churning within you. The purging of emotion is a serious matter, to be chosen on its own merits, for the proper, logical reasons.” T’Vora reached forward, beside the rod she had earlier utilized to light the candle, and picked up a long silver implement with a bell at its end.
“Master T’Vora—” Spock began, but again she stopped him from speaking.
“No,” T’Vora said. She reached forward and set the bell down atop the candle, extinguishing its flame. “Spock, child of Sarek, child of Skon,” she said, “your petition for the Kolinahr is denied.”
The house stood across the plaza in the heart of Shi’Kahr’s residential district, as it had for seventy years, since before Spock had been born and brought home to this place. The entry gate, an open amalgam of straight lines and curving arcs that had been shaped from metal bars, captured in itself the geometric flow of the overall structure. The front wall swept in a semicircle around a courtyard, and at the rear of the house, a second story rose not unlike the great hemisphere of an observatory.
Spock regarded his childhood home from across the plaza, trying to recall when las
t he had been here. Eight years ago, he thought. After the fal-tor-pan, he had lived here in seclusion during his reeducation and reintegration sessions. Due to the trauma of having his katra disconnected from his body and then the subsequent shock of the re-fusion, he had spent most of that time here as though it had been the first time, as though he had not grown from infancy to his teens here.
Now, though, he remembered the house and his childhood and more. It had taken some time and a great deal of effort, but eventually he had recaptured all of his experiences and all of his memories from prior to the death of his body during the Enterprise’s escape from the Genesis Wave. He owed much to McCoy, he thought, and he suddenly regretted not contacting the doctor before he’d left Earth. McCoy had proven for many years to be a good friend, and Spock should have at least informed him of his departure, particularly given the problems with troubled sleep that the doctor had recently been having. He resolved now to get in touch with McCoy before too much more time passed.
A sleek airpod hovered through the plaza, pulling Spock’s attention from his thoughts and back to his surroundings. He gazed again at the house in which he’d grown up, wondering if he would find his parents there. When last he’d heard from them, on the day prior to the memorial service for Jim, they had managed to send a message from the Tholian homeworld. There, in his role as Vulcan ambassador, Sarek had been nearing the completion of exceedingly delicate talks with several high-ranking members of the Assembly. Both he and Amanda had offered their condolences on the death of Captain Kirk, as well as their regrets that they would not be able to attend the commemoration. Sarek had also reiterated his estimation that the captain had been a person of good character, an assessment with which Amanda had wholeheartedly agreed.
That had been a month and a half ago, likely time enough for Spock’s father to have finished his mission in Tholian space. If so, he would likely be home now, as he’d mentioned returning here with Amanda before beginning his next diplomatic assignment. Through the years, Sarek had typically interspersed his ambassadorial travel with trips back to Vulcan.
Spock bent and lifted his duffel, slinging it across his shoulder. As he started across the plaza, he felt a sudden sense of disquietude. He had resided on Vulcan for the past month without having visited his parents’ home, without even having attempted to let them know of his presence on the planet. He had rationalized not doing so because of his need to prepare for his Kolinahr petition and because he hadn’t been sure if Sarek and Amanda had even come back to Vulcan. If they had been here during that time, though, then when his mother learned that he hadn’t contacted them when he so easily could have—and she would learn of it, for he would not lie to her—she would unquestionably be hurt. Sarek would accept and understand the logical reasons Spock would profess for his actions, but his mother would not. And she would be right.
Just as Master T’Vora was right to reject my petition for the Kolinahr, Spock thought as his boots thumped along the plaza. His emotions had never in his adult life been in such a state of disarray for such an extended period, nor had his ability to manage his feelings ever failed so consistently. Perhaps T’Vora had been correct that he had seen the Kolinahr as a means of escaping the need to deal with recent events in his life—he would have to consider that possibility—but even short of that, he had certainly viewed the ritual purging of his emotion as a means of ending the turbulence within him.
At the front gate, Spock reached up and touched a signal pad set into the sky-red wall. If either of his parents were home, they would see his image on a display inside the house and invite him in by opening the gate. If not, then Spock’s retina print would allow him access.
He had to wait for only a few seconds before the gates parted and swung inward. Spock entered the courtyard, the plants within in full bloom at this time of year. Bounded by tiny white blossoms, a winding slate path led up to the house through a lush expanse of grass. Other flowers of many varieties and colors decorated the outer edges of the courtyard, with several pairs of trees rising upward at either end of the space.
As Spock approached the house, he saw the front doors open. Sarek stepped out onto the path, clad in dark slacks and a brown tunic. His gray hair had grown longer than he normally wore it. “My son,” he said.
“Father,” Spock said, stopping before him, raising his right hand and offering the traditional Vulcan greeting. Sarek returned the gesture, then stepped aside.
“Enter and be welcome,” he said.
Spock walked into the house, into the great room where Sarek and Amanda entertained when they hosted large gatherings. A complex fountain composed of many curves stood in the center of the area, set into a square pool. At the moment, water trickled from the numerous bowls in a leisurely flow, providing the setting a gentle susurrus of background noise. Low gray-blue plants ringed the periphery of the room, a subtle transition from the polished black floor to the azure walls. Simple cuboid seats sat scattered at irregular intervals, as did a series of abstract sculptures. Above, the usually transparent ceiling had been moderately polarized, obviously to temper the bright light of the sun as midday neared.
“May I provide you with a meal?” Sarek asked as he closed the front doors. “Or a beverage to slake your thirst?”
“Thank you, no,” Spock said. He peered around, and neither seeing nor hearing his mother, he asked if she was at home.
“Not at the moment,” Sarek said. “She has gone to the market for some fresh fruit.” He motioned with one hand toward a cluster of seating cubes. “Would you like to sit?”
“Thank you,” Spock said. He walked over and pulled his duffel from his shoulder, setting it down on the floor. He and his father then sat across from each other.
“It is acceptable to see you, my son,” Sarek said. “Your mother and I have been concerned for your welfare.”
The statement surprised Spock. “For what reason?” he asked.
“Not long after the death of Captain Kirk, we learned of your resignation from your ambassadorship,” Sarek explained. “When we attempted to contact you on Earth, we found that you had relocated out of your apartment. The significant and unexpected nature of those changes in your life gave us pause, particularly when we did not hear from you.”
“Of course,” Spock said, realizing that he should have known that his father, in his position, would find out sooner rather than later that he’d quit his work for the Bureau of Interplanetary Affairs. “My apologies. I did not intend to cause you or my mother any concern.”
“May I inquire as to why you stepped down from your diplomatic post?” Sarek asked.
“For a number of reasons,” Spock said, not wanting to go into detail about the troubles he’d been having. “Primarily, though, I have decided on pursuing a different course for my life at this time.”
“I am curious to hear about this ‘different course,’” Sarek told his father.
“I came back to Vulcan to undertake the Kolinahr,” Spock told his father.
Sarek cocked his head to one side, a clear indication of surprise. “That is also unexpected,” he said. “When do you plan to present your petition?”
“I have already done so,” Spock said. “I arrived on Vulcan a month ago and immediately requested a meeting with a master. I spent the time until then meditating, preparing.”
“The Kolinahr demands much,” Sarek said.
“I made my petition yesterday,” Spock said. “It was rejected.”
Sarek nodded, displaying no visible sign of disappointment. Despite that, Spock assumed that the news of his failure did dissatisfy him. Since Spock had been a young boy, his father had made it clear that he envisioned a Vulcan way of life for him. Sarek had ostensibly permitted him a choice to pursue either Vulcan or human philosophy, but at the same time he had made it plain which he considered superior. Though Spock had chosen to follow the path of logic, he had made other decisions for his life of which his father had strongly disapproved. After he had o
pted for a career in Starfleet rather than at the Vulcan Science Academy, the two hadn’t spoken to each other as father and son for eighteen years. Even after they had mended the rift between them, it had only been much later, after Spock’s fal-tor-pan, that Sarek had allowed that his opposition to his son’s enlistment in Starfleet had been in error.
“Do you intend to reapply for the Kolinahr?” he asked now.
“I do not know,” Spock said. “I may consider it.”
“What are your plans then?” Sarek wanted to know.
“I have none,” Spock said. “But I am not functioning at peak efficiency. I am unfit to resume my duties with Starfleet or with the Bureau of Interplanetary Affairs, or to conduct myself in any other endeavor at this time. I require rest and an extended period of meditation.”
“You are of course welcome here for as long as you wish to stay,” Sarek said. “Your mother and I will be departing in three weeks for a summit I am attending on Andor, but perhaps that will provide you with an environment even more conducive to the rest and meditation you seek.”
“Thank you, Father,” Spock said. “I am—”
“Spock!” said a voice from the front door. He turned to see his mother standing there, a canvas sack depending from one hand. She wore a simple emerald shift that provided a dramatic contrast with her white hair.
“Mother,” Spock said as he and Sarek stood. Amanda set the sack on the floor and walked hurriedly over to him.
“We’ve been so worried about you,” she said. Normally not demonstrative in deference to Spock’s own Vulcan predilections, his mother revealed her concern by uncharacteristically stepping forward and embracing him. Spock awkwardly raised his arms around her back. In the midst of his emotional crisis, Spock found joy in the act.
“I’m all right, Mother,” he said. After just a moment, she stepped back and looked at him.
“I’m so glad,” she said. “When did you get here?”
“I arrived at the house just a few minutes ago,” Spock said. There would be time enough later to relate the entire story of his arrival on Vulcan, as well as the reason he had come.
The Fire and the Rose Page 17
