by Diane Duane
The wing commander sighed as he slumped back against the hard bolster.How much does Sarek know? he wondered, for the hundredth time. Sarek, he was sure, was the only one who could alert the Federation to their plans, the only one who suspected the true nature of Freelan and its inhabitants.
He suspects, but he has no proof,he reassured himself. And things were moving so fast now, that within a few weeks—perhaps sooner, if the fleet was ready ahead of schedule, as the praetor had promised yesterday it would be—the war would begin. At that point, keeping the identity of the Freelans secret would no longer be necessary.
Taryn’s mouth curved upward slightly as he thought of what it would be like to be present when Sarek realized his defeat. The Vulcan had beaten him again during their last chess game. He usually won because he baited Taryn into recklessness…but soon, Sarek’s days of winning would be over. Soon…
Pleasant anticipation relaxed him; the officer lay down again, reminding himself that the dream had never come twice in one night. But it was still a long, long time before he slept….
Sarek also was dreaming. Full-blooded Vulcans did not dream often, but it did happen from time to time.
The Vulcan dreamed that he was on the surface of Freelan. All around him were glaciers, jagged buttresses of ice, sharp-fanged and glittering in the sunlight. He was walking toward a house…Taryn’s house, he knew—though the Freelan had never described anything about his home, of course. Still, this house fit in with what little was known about Freelan architectural styles. It was a black, dome-shaped dwelling, everything about it designed to maximize the capture and retention of heat, as well as keeping snowfall from crushing the building.
Sarek walked, experiencing the icy wind off the glaciers, yet not chilled by it.
Beneath his feet the snow crunched and he continued his journey.
As he neared the front of the house, the door opened and a Freelan stepped out, his muffling robes stirring in the icy breeze. “Sarek,” the Freelan said, and the Vulcan recognized Taryn’s voice. “Why are you here?”
“I was searching for you, Taryn,” Sarek said. “My wife is dead.”
“What is that to me?” the Freelan asked haughtily.
“If it were not for you, I could have been at her deathbed,” Sarek said, knowing he spoke truth. “My son would not now despise me.”
“What is any of this to me?” Taryn was almost sneering. “Your domestic problems are your own concern, Vulcan.”
“And your deceitful world is mine!” Sarek raised his voice, and, darting forward, he savagely ripped the concealing mask from the Freelan’s head and stared in shock as he saw—
Amanda’s face beneath the muffling cowl and mask.
“Amanda!” Sarek said, stepping forward to touch her, to embrace her, but even as he did so, his treacherous, logical mind insisted,Amanda is dead….
And he awoke.
He was lying in his bunk in the VIP cabin aboard theEnterprise… Freelan’s icy surface and Amanda’s face had been a dream, he realized. Sarek experienced once again the desolation of knowing his wife was dead. Her absence in his mind was an aching void, one that he could not imagine ever being filled.
Knowing he would not be able to sleep again, he arose from the bed, then padded barefoot across the sleeping compartment to the small lounge, a slim red-covered volume in his hand. Seating himself on the low divan, the ambassador opened the book and began to read….
December 7, 2237—the Twentieth Day of Tasmeen
I have paced until I am exhausted—my legs are trembling so that I must sit…but I cannot rest. I see that this entry is nearly illegible, and that is because my hands are also shaking.
Spock is missing. He apparently left soon after sunset, and we have no idea where he has gone. He is only seven years old!
Sarek is in his office. I glanced at him as I went past, and he appears to be working! How can he?
If I were to ask him how he can work while our son is missing, he would gaze at me with infuriating Vulcan calm and say, “Amanda, I have reported Spock’s disappearance to the authorities. They are far more fitted than I to search for him. Pacing back and forth and indulging in emotional outbursts will accomplish nothing. Simply because I am working does not mean I am not concerned about our son.”
I must try to calm myself. Getting furious at my husband will not help bring my son back, and I suppose that he is right—but it is maddening when he remains so calm when I am upset.
Spock is missing—my child is out there in the desert, with all its dangers. And my husband is working!
If only he had been more understanding of Spock, made some effort to see things from a child’s viewpoint—but no, the son of Sarek must be perfect, must be better than all the other children—I overheard him tell Spock that himself today. He told him that if he does not pass hiskahs-wanordeal next month, the first time he attempts it, that he, Sarek, will be disgraced. He didn’t use that exact word, but the implication was clear.
This admonishment followed on the heels of Spock’s fight with those schoolboys, the ones who torment him every day with taunts of “Earther!” and “Half-blood!” and “Emotional Terran—can’t control himself!”
There have been times that I’ve had to dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from rushing out there and giving them all a slap. But of course that would only make things worse. This has been going on ever since Spock started school, at age four….
It is torture to watch him try and fit in with the others. My son, so tall, so slender, with his black hair and this thin, somber little face…it breaks my heart to see him so abused. I’ve begged Sarek to talk to their parents, but he refuses. He’s pointed out (logically and correctly, I’m afraid) that such intervention on his part would only make the other boys torment our son more….
I cry when I see him trying to endure it, knowing how such teasing hurts. Why can’t Vulcan children be as civilized as their parents?
The boys tormented him once again today, and his father was totally unsupportive, let alone sympathetic. So he has run away. Where?
After several minutes’ reflection, I think I know. I believe he has set off into the wilderness in order to deliberately expose himself to danger. Spock is setting himself up for his own private survival ordeal, because he would rather die out there in the desert than disgrace his father next month.
If our son dies out there—I will blame Sarek. I know it is not just, but I also know that I will do it anyway. I will blame my husband, and I will be unable to bear the sight of him.
At least I-Chaya appears to have gone with his young master. The oldsehlatwouldn’t be much use as defense, I suppose, but at least the big furry creature will keep Spock warm. Nights in the desert are chilly, even by human standards.
Someone else may also have accompanied Spock, but I am less sanguine about Sarek’s young cousin, Selek. Although the young man was perfectly poised and polite, I gained an impression of duplicity from him. His eyes never quite met mine when he introduced himself and explained who he was. And later…I caught him gazing at me when he didn’t realize that I saw him doing so. There is something about Cousin Selek…something false. I am certain that he was lying about the purpose of his impromptu visit here. Perhaps he was lying about being related to my husband.
No, that cannot be it. There was a definite family resemblance between them. But still, there was something…something I cannot put my finger on….
I have never heard of any Vulcan adult abusing a child. Surely Selek only went after Spock because he saw the child running away and realized Spock could be in danger! Surely Selek intends my son no harm….
He seemed like a very nice young man, despite everything. There was a warmth in his eyes when he gazed at me that I found touching, despite my reservations when I realized he was not being fully truthful with us….
I long to take the aircar myself and go looking for Spock. Writing in my journal usually helps to calm me when I’m upset,
but not this time. I cannot sit still an instant longer—perhaps Sarek and I should take the aircar and go looking for Spock ourselves in the Llangon Mountains. It will soon be dawn….
Sarek glanced up from the pages of the journal and sighed, remembering….
“I cannot stand this for one more instant,” Amanda burst out, pausing in her jerky pacing to glare at him. Sarek, reluctantly, had abandoned his work to join her in the living room of their residence in ShiKahr. “I don’t care what you think—I’m taking the aircar and going to the Llangon Mountains to look for him myself.” Turning on her heel, she headed for the door. Her husband stepped in front of her, barring her way.
“Amanda, there is no reason to—”
“Don’t youdare use that infuriating calm voice on me!” she cried. At the moment, Amanda Grayson was a portrait in fury. “This is your fault, Sarek!” she flared, cheeks red, blue eyes blazing. “If you had tried to understand Spock, rather than demand perfection from him, just because he’s your son, then this never would have happened! Now either come with me, or stay here! I don’t care which!”
“Amanda.” Sarek heard the steel underlying the calm tones of his own voice, did not trouble to repress it. “I will not allow you to take the aircar into the Llangon Mountains. The air currents there are treacherous, especially just after sunrise, and you are too upset to concentrate on piloting. We will wait here for the report from the authorities.”
Her small hands curled into fists, and for an instant Sarek wondered if she would strike him, but she whirled and strode away. The doorway he barred was the only exit from the room, so, after a few paces she halted with a jerk, then stood stiffly, her back to him. After a moment, Sarek said, in a milder tone, “I have trained Spock in anticipation of hiskahs-wan. He is familiar with the Vulcan plant life and the survival methods of our ancestors. Logic dictates that he will come back to us relatively unharmed, Amanda.”
She stared at him wildly, then laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that had nothing of humor about it. “And I’m supposed to be comforted by that, Sarek? By logic?”
“Logic is not meant to comfort, Amanda. It simply exists. It is a way of viewing the universe that offers reason and order, instead of chaos.”
“Humanchaos, you mean,” she snapped. “Why not just say it?” Her mouth tightened. “But youdo say it…only not in words. But it’s there, in your face, whenever Spock smiles or forgets himself in the slightest degree! Disapproval radiates from you—I see it, and so does Spock. The poor child will never be good enough for you, and he knows it—no wonder he’s willing to risk dying out there!”
Sarek was taken aback by the accusation. Surely his wife was wrong, was simply giving vent to her illogical human emotions….
“Oh, I know you won’t believe me,” she said, more calmly. “You excel at not seeing what’s right in front of your nose, Sarek. ButI see it. It’s obvious. Spock is trying to please you, but you’ve set him an impossible task—perfection! Even Vulcans aren’t perfect—as you ought to know!”
Her husband stared at her, wordlessly. Amanda’s eyes filled with angry tears. “I won’t let you ruin his life, Sarek—even if it means going home to Earth and taking him with me. Maybe he’d be better off there, among people who have some compassion, some tolerance!”
“Leave?” Sarek’s breath caught in his throat. “Surely you cannot be serious, Amanda. The situation has upset you, understandably—however, there is no need to consider such drastic action.”
She faced him, her hot anger dying away to something cold and, the ambassador sensed, far more formidable. “Don’t underestimate me, Sarek. I love you, nothing can ever change that, but you are an adult, perfectly capable of defending and caring for yourself. Spock is my child, and I will care for and protect him in the face of every threat to his being—even if that threat is his own father.”
Facing her, the Vulcan felt as though he were confronting some eternal arche-typal force—the personification of maternal protectiveness. Ale-matya with cubs could not have been more deadly in defense of her young, he realized, experiencing a mixture of shock and unwilling admiration. “I see,” he said, after a moment, “I do not want you to leave, Amanda,” he said, slowly and carefully.
She took a deep breath, but her expression remained hard and closed. Yet her voice betrayed just the faintest quaver. “I do not wish to leave either, my husband,” she replied formally. “Yet I will do so, if I decide that action is the best thing for our son.”
“I will—”
Sarek turned suddenly as his Vulcan hearing picked up a familiar sound. “An aircar,” he said, starting for the door.
“Spock?” she cried, catching up with him in a long stride, then bursting through the front door ahead of him. An aircar was just settling down onto the landing pad in the large courtyard.
The aircar’s side door opened, and two figures emerged, one large, one small. “Spock!” Amanda called, holding out both hands.
It was indeed their son, followed by Cousin Selek. Both turned and raised a hand in grave salute as the aircar took off, swooping back toward the center of ShiKahr.
“Spock…” Sarek said. He stood in the courtyard and basked in the realization that his son was safely home….
On that day, Sarek recalled, his son had informed his father gravely that he had chosen Vulcan. Amanda had never again threatened to leave him…though the strife between them during their son’s childhood had been far from over.
Following the successful completion of Spock’skahs-wan ordeal, Sarek had turned to the next major milestone in a seven-year-old’s life—that of his bonding. Amanda had protested the whole notion—and especially Sarek’s choice for his son’s betrothed.
Sarek recalled his conversation with Spock. Howhad his wife known that T’Pring was dishonest and faithless? There was no logical way to explain her knowledge…. Sarek recalled the conversation they’d had when he’d announced his choice of Spock’s bondmate to be his wife….
“T’Pring?You’ve chosenher? Sarek…no!” They were sitting in her garden in ShiKahr, watching Nevasa set, when he’d mentioned that he’d chosen Spock’s bondmate. Amanda leaped to her feet and regarded him with dismay.
The ambassador stared at his wife in mild surprise. “Amanda, why such disapproval? The girl’s lineage is impeccable. Her family is as highly placed in Vulcan society as my own. She will have property of her own, to match what our son will inherit. Why do you not approve?”
“Because,” Amanda said, flatly, fixing him with a level stare, “I don’t like her. That child is…I don’t know. She’s too polite, too…calculating. There’s something…cold…about her. I don’t approve of this whole business of betrothing children—it’s barbaric.”
“Amanda, you are not being logical. T’Pring will prove an excellent consort for our son. She is intelligent and she will have all the advantages that a well-placed family can give her…she will—”
“Make Spock’s life miserable, Sarek,” Amanda broke in, her eyes darkening with emotion. “I can tell that she’s not the right girl for Spock. T’Pring reminds me of one of those beautiful little snakes we have back on Earth—the ones with the lovely, jewel-like colors, that are so delicate, so beautiful…and so deadly that if they bite you, you live for less than a minute.”
“Such prejudice on your part is specious, Amanda,” Sarek said, experiencing a moment of impatience with his wife. “You have no reason for any of these allegations.”
She paused for nearly a minute before replying. “I know,” she said, finally. “I know that what I’m saying isn’t fair. But all my instincts tell me that T’Pring is totally wrong for Spock. Sarek…” She swung back to face her husband. “I want you to cancel the bonding. Or at least postpone it, until they’re…out of school, say.”
Sarek shook his head. “No, Amanda. This is my world, and we agreed long ago that Spock would be brought up according to Vulcan custom and tradition. You heard him choose Vulcan himself, after t
hat time when he ran away to the Llangon Mountains. I have made my choice, and T’Pring is the consort I choose.”
Amanda drew a deep breath, and shook her head sadly, in turn. “You’re making a mistake,” she said. “But you’re right. I did agree, and you are following Vulcan tradition.”
The slender shoulders beneath her soft green gown sagged, suddenly, and she sighed deeply. The ambassador knew that she was giving in, but his victory did not please him. “Very well, my husband,” she said, tonelessly. “But I am not sanguine about this decision.”
“Logic dictates that the two will be well suited to one another, Amanda.”
She flashed him a contemptuous glance. “Logic? You can’t use logic to predict marital harmony, Sarek. I’m sure your father was being eminently logical when he betrothed you to T’Rea…but we both know how well that worked out. Don’t we?”
Before Sarek could arrive at a rejoinder, she turned and walked away, back into the house.
Peter Kirk laid the ornate Klingon cards down with a disgusted air. “I fold. You beat me again!”
Sitting on a stool outside the observation panel, Valdyr looked smug as she made a notation on a pad with a stylus. “You now owe me…five thousand, six hundred and seventy-three kilos of prime-grade dilithium crystals,” she said in Klingonese.
In the two days since Peter had come to Qo’noS, Valdyr’s twice-daily visits had become the high points of his days. She had treated him respectfully, and even, at times, with a rough kindness. She’d located several old Klingon books for him to read—includingThe Complete Works of William Shakespeare in, as Valdyr put it, “the original Klingon”—and had struggled to teach him an arcane Klingon card game that he was having some difficulty mastering. He insisted they speak Klingonese, so that he could become even more articulate in the difficult language.
He’d discovered that Klingons did possess a sense of humor…even if Valdyr’s was somewhat restrained. Just getting her to relax enough toalmost smile was a challenge.
