The Fire and the Rose
Page 36
“I know who you are,” the ambassador said. She spoke not in a challenging way, but simply stated a fact, clearly to ease McCoy’s burden of identifying himself. He realized then that of course she would know him: when she and Spock had been together, they had shared intimacies that had taken them into each other’s minds. McCoy didn’t necessarily want to know that as well as he did, but the knowledge had come as a consequence of the lot-san-kol with Spock—and what McCoy had learned during their connections had been what had brought him here in the first place.
“Ambassador…” McCoy started to say, but then he peered over at the empty waiting area. “Can we sit for a few moments?” he asked.
They walked over and sat down next to each other on a sofa. “Ambassador,” McCoy began again, “what I came here to tell you is none of my business, really, but Spock is my friend, and so I wanted to do this for him. He might eventually have come to you himself, but I don’t know how long that would take. I’m painfully aware of what it’s like to waste time in my life and I wanted to spare him that if I could. And spare you too.”
“I suppose I should thank you for that,” Tremontaine said lightly, “but I’m not quite sure yet what you’re trying to tell me.”
“For one thing, Spock has changed,” McCoy said. “Well, not changed, but he’s finally become the person he is, without reservation.”
“A Vulcan in complete control of his emotions,” the ambassador said.
“No,” McCoy said. “He’s come to realize that the Kolinahr was not the way for him. He has rejected it in favor of living comfortably with his emotions.”
“All right,” Tremontaine said. “And what does this have to do with me?”
McCoy took a breath, aware that he would now break Spock’s confidence, but also knowing that, in the end, his friend would be pleased that he did. “Ambassador,” he said, and then emended himself. “Alexandra,” he said, “Spock still loves you.”
And then he told her everything.
In the shining tower in Pil Stornom that housed the Rigel IV headquarters of the Bureau of Interplanetary Affairs, Spock sat as his desk in his office, reviewing the information on his data slate. He saw that the Tzenkethi had recently redeployed some of their space forces in what could be considered a provocative way. He suspected that they might be on the verge of attempting a physical expansion of their territory. It didn’t appear that they would make any incursions into Federation space in the near term, but if the Tzenkethi succeeded in their efforts to grow, Spock knew that it would only be a matter of time before they looked toward the UFP with an avaricious eye.
He set the slate down and considered his return to the BIA. Since the lot-san-kol with Leonard, Spock had reevaluated many aspects of his life. Among them had been his work. He had been a researcher at the Vulcan Science Academy for a decade and a half, and while he had found his efforts in the field of temporal physics satisfying, he had also felt the need to move on to other challenges. His original service with the Bureau of Interplanetary Affairs had been short lived, but it had also been satisfying enough that-
The door to his office suddenly opened and a woman quickly entered.
“Alexandra,” Spock said. An array of feelings coursed through him, and he let them come: shock, curiosity, excitement. He maintained his outward calm, but rose to his feet. “I am… pleased… to see you,” he said, “but why are you here?”
“Your friend Leonard paid me a visit,” she said.
Spock immediately understood the implications of that. He gazed at Alexandra, and she at him, for a moment that seemed to extend for a very long time. At last, he stepped from behind his desk and raised his hand, holding two fingers out.
Alexandra went to him.
Epilogue
Vel'Sor
Out beyond the city of Shi’Kahr, the megaliths encircled the ancestral lands of Spock’s Vulcan forebears. Members of the extended family stood along the great ring and peered toward its center, to the low platform where Spock stood. There had been no Vulcan ritual for this, no ancient rite handed down through generations, but he had wanted to do this, and so had Alexandra. Even with his human heritage, Spock claimed the rights afforded to all Vulcans. He was both human and Vulcan, but the labels did not matter. He was who he was, and he would not allow his place within Vulcan society to be questioned. Nor would he allow Alexandra’s place beside him to be questioned either.
That had been the way it had been with Sarek and Amanda.
Spock and Alexandra had already spoken the words they had wanted to speak, that the two of them had written together. As she had then left the ring, he had lighted the coals in the pit at the center of this place. The last time he had been here, for his mother’s memorial rite, the burning embers had been extinguished in representation of her lost katra. Now, Spock had ignited them to symbolize new life.
He reached behind the shield that hung over the coals and took hold of the mallet there. He held it up, but then peered toward the square arch of the entry, to where Sarek stood beside it. Spock looked his father in the eyes, and Sarek nodded, his quiet, deliberate gesture an undisguised sign of his approval.
Spock struck the shield. It tolled a rich, echoing note that spread across the grounds. He dropped the mallet to the dirt and waited.
Within the arch, Alexandra appeared, a bundle cradled in her arms. She stepped down from the entry platform and across the land to the center of the ring. There, she held out to Spock the human infant that they had adopted.
Spock took his daughter in his arms. “On this day, at this hour,” he told all those assembled, “we welcome to our family its newest member.” He paused, and though he remained outwardly calm, within he felt a bittersweet joy.
And then he gave his daughter the name that he and Alexandra had chosen together: “T’Amanda.”
Acknowledgments
I began my acknowledgments in the first book of this trilogy with my editor, Marco Palmieri, and I have every reason to do so again here. For one thing, without Marco, Crucible would not have seen the light of day. Not only did he envision these books as a means of helping to celebrate the fortieth anniversary of Star Trek, but he gamely shepherded them through to publication. I always enjoy working with Marco because of the professionalism, skill, and creativity he constantly brings to his craft.
I would also like to thank Keith R.A. DeCandido for his timely and good-natured assistance. In this case, I wanted some details about the president of the Federation, and knowing that Keith had penned a deeply political Trek novel, Articles of the Federation, I suspected that he would be a good source for that information. Good call.
Thanks also to Mark and Bev Gemello, a lovely couple and great friends. Mark and I have shared much over the years, from playing baseball that first year at Tempe Diablo Stadium (and in so many other places thereafter), to the surprise party he threw for me in Sunnyvale, to our long and memorable trip through the National Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, to his standing beside me at my wedding, to the special trip he and Bev made last year for another very important surprise party. All this time later, if I’m managing a team, I know I can count on having the G-Man playing shortstop and batting third. I also know I can count on him and Bev for so much more than that.
Thanks also to Barb, Matty, and Faith Hahn for their wonderful friendship. They are an oasis in the desert, and I am so happy and privileged to have them in my life. Barb and Matty sang—beautifully!—at my wedding, and that’s only where the talent in their family begins. Pay attention to the name Faith Hahn because you’re going to hear it a lot in the coming years; she’s going to be a star.
Of course, I can never think about acknowledging the people who help me without including Anita Smith, Jennifer George, and Patricia Walenista. They are all unique and magnificent women, and I count on them often and for many things. They could not be more loving and supportive, and my life is vastly better for having them in it.
Finally, there is Karen A
nn Ragan-George. There are never enough words to adequately describe all that Karen means to me and all that she is, but I keep trying. Two of the words that work for me are those of her name. Karen descends from Greek and traditionally means “pure,” and Ann arises from Hebrew with the meaning “grace.” So Karen Ann is pure grace, a fine and apt description of a pure and graceful woman. (Incidentally, I believe Ragan-George is an old Deltan name that means “my sweet, sweet baby.”)
About the eBook (v1.0)
This eBook originated from a text file found on eMule, it was then converted into html & reformatted using a style sheet.
—Agent Orange, February 2007