“Yes,” said Tully, “but Vulcans who work for the Federation in any capacity are second-class in T’Ryth’s eyes.”
“Then her views have not changed,” said Spock.
“Not surprising. She’s always talking about the past, about how the Institute has held these lands for centuries, and how she’s doing us a favor by letting us dig here. But I’m not stupid. There’s something about those caves she doesn’t want us ‘outworlders’ to know, and she’s doing her best to keep us contained. For someone who says she wants us to leave, she works hard to make sure we stay.” She rapped her knuckles on the computer case. “This new toy is the perfect example.” Tully looked around the site in disdain. “I don’t know what the Vulture’s game is, but I do know I don’t want to play.”
“At the risk of keeping a game going,” said Walters, “my job is to get your new toy up and running.”
“How about lunch first?” asked Tully. “A big bowl of chilled plomeek soup? Captain Spock?”
[58] “No thank you. I have an appointment to keep at the Institute,”
Tully frowned. “Give the Vulture my best.”
The Institute’s lobby still impressed Spock. It bore silent witness to his homeworld’s rich, ambiguous heritage. There, just where he remembered it, was an ancient lirpa, green bloodstains still visible on the blade. A large gong, intricate glyphs carved on its face, stood in one corner. Beneath Spock’s feet, an elaborate mosaic covered the floor: precious stones from all areas of Vulcan joined together in an exquisite rendering of the IDIC symbol. If any room embodied that philosophy, surely this one did.
When Matron T’Ryth entered the room, however, its air of harmony was shattered. Flowing black robes trailed behind her, accentuating her height and severe face. “Live long and prosper, Spock,” she greeted him. “You are welcome.”
He could tell she did not mean her words. “Peace and long life, Matron.”
“So many years gone by, and you address me so formally? You are no longer a boy; you are a Starfleet captain.” She glanced at the insignia on Spock’s shoulder strap with obvious contempt.
Spock bowed his head slightly, as much to hide whatever irritation his eyes might betray as to show deference. “You are no longer my instructor, but you are still worthy of respect.”
T’Ryth raised her chin and pursed her lips. She neither accepted nor declined the compliment, but beckoned Spock to follow her through an arch down a long, stone hallway. “I am told that you became a teacher yourself, after a fashion.”
[59] “For the past sixteen years I have served Starfleet as a teaching captain.”
“And what have you taught your pupils?” She sounded condescending. “The military tactics of the late Captain Kirk?”
“I need not justify my vocation, Matron,” Spock said, each word firm. “I and many others have shown the compatibility of our way with Starfleet. Your continued prejudice is illogical.”
T’Ryth turned to face him. “You challenge my logic?”
She acts as though we are still in the classroom, Spock thought. She, the tutor with mind and nerves fashioned of steel; I, her cowering and uncertain “half-breed” student. But those days are past. “I challenge anyone who would characterize James Kirk’s service as strictly military. Even my father deemed him a man of high character.”
T’Ryth’s icy, gray eyes never wavered. “I watched the reports of Kirk’s memorial service. I heard the ambassador’s eulogy. Remarks on such occasions are often tainted by unchecked emotion.”
Spock knew she was attempting to bait him, but he had grown beyond that game, even if she had not. “As you wish.” He changed the subject. “Doctor Tully says you have expressed great interest in the dig for ShiGral.”
“My only interest,” said T’Ryth, “is in seeing the outworlders leave. But the Federation keeps sending more supplies with which to desecrate our world. While I cannot deny that ShiGral would be the greatest archaeological find in our planet’s history, neither can I condone the presence of outworlders who seek it. How can they appreciate what ShiGral is? It is the very essence of the Vulcan way.”
[60] “Then you believe ShiGral can be found?”
The matron faced him, her eyes wide with indignation. “Of course.”
“You used to refer to stories of its existence as mere myths.”
T’Ryth turned away again, and her pace increased. “I know the majority of Vulcans would prefer to keep the tales domesticated. But logic dictates that the majority is not necessarily correct.” T’Ryth quickly changed the subject. “The lieutenant has proven a competent instructor. I am forced to admit that your service as her mentor has been valuable. Perhaps my pedagogy influenced you more than you realized.”
“She would prove an effective teacher no matter who was her mentor. She is a remarkable young woman.”
They stopped outside an open door bearing Saavik’s name. T’Ryth looked at Spock and asked, “How long has it been since you have seen her?”
Six years, eleven months, twenty-three days, Spock thought “Too long,” he said.
“Then I leave you to your reunion,” T’Ryth said. As she walked away, she added, “Be careful. Reunions are also occasions often tainted by unchecked emotion.”
Ignoring the comment, Spock looked into the room and saw Saavik and a young girl staring intently at a three-dimensional chess set. Saavik sat poised and calm, hands folded in her lap, the gaze of her emerald-green eyes following every move of her opponent’s hand as it hovered indecisively above the various pieces. Saavik looked just as Spock remembered: her noble face with its strong but delicate cheekbones, the locks of her black hair falling gently over [61] her forehead and upswept ears. Unbidden, a couplet from an ancient human poem entered his mind: “For we, which now behold these present days, have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.”
Startled by this thought, he focused his attention on Saavik’s opponent. The girl was chewing her lower lip, tugging occasionally at the tresses of her long, ebony hair. She took a deep breath as she picked up her remaining rook—gingerly, as if handling a hot coal. She raised the piece two levels and set it down, exhaling. “Check,” she announced. Saavik lowered her own queen one level, placing it between her king and the girl’s rook. “I didn’t see that,” the girl said slowly.
“Only because you weren’t concentrating,” said Saavik. “I’ll take your rook in my next move unless you see how to save it.”
The girl’s gaze ranged over the handful of pieces left, but kept wandering back to the threatened rook. “There is no way.”
“There is,” said Saavik. “Look again, Sanara.”
“There is no way!” Sanara repeated, raising her voice slightly. She shoved a knight forward, not even looking as she did.
Saavik captured the girl’s rook with her queen, then dropped the queen another level. “Checkmate.”
“I don’t like this game!” Sanara folded her arms. “Can’t we play kal-toh?”
“You’re already an advanced kal-toh player,” said Saavik. “Chess is your challenge ... as it was mine.” She happened to look up—perhaps, thought Spock, remembering long-ago matches with him—and her eyes widened as she saw him. [62] She quickly rose to her feet. “Captain!” Spock thought he saw a single tear threatening to escape one of her eyes. “Thank you for coming.”
Slowly, Spock entered the room. “I should have returned long ago. It would have been the logical thing to do.”
“But you are here now.” She gestured for Sanara to stand up; with obvious reluctance, Sanara did so. “Sanara,” said Saavik, “this is Captain Spock. He will be your than’tha tonight.”
Then this girl was the one. “Hello, Sanara,” said Spock. The words did not sound right to his ears, but he knew no others to say. Irrational though it was, he felt as if he were back in the desert, under the sun’s severe light.
Sanara did not meet his gaze. “Why would you guide a viltah like me through First Meld?”
&
nbsp; Viltah! Involuntarily, Spock flinched. He had first heard that taunt when five years old, and he had taken years to recover from its sting.
“Sanara,” said Saavik in a stern voice, “that word isn’t allowed. Your other heritage benefits you as much as your Vulcan one.”
“The matron doesn’t think so.” Sanara sounded bitter.
Spock said, “Then we will prove her wrong.”
Sanara eyed Spock with skepticism, then muttered, “May I go, Lieutenant?”
“Yes,” said Saavik, “but Captain Spock will visit you tonight at Second Watch to conduct your meld.”
“I have other plans,” Sanara said. She refused to look at Spock.
Saavik looked back and forth between Sanara and Spock, frustration on her face. “Sanara,” she said, “tomorrow is [63] your seventh birthday. Captain Spock will be your than’tha.”
Sanara’s eyes were cold. “If he must.” She brushed past him as she left.
Saavik sighed. “Your meeting didn’t go as I’d wished.” Spock thought he saw a smile as she added, “But our meeting pleases me.”
“It pleases me also. I do regret not having contacted you.”
“Regrets are not logical. You had commitments to Starfleet, as did I.”
Spock was thankful for her gracious words. “Then your assignment to the Institute has been well spent?”
“Preparing children for First Meld has been a fascinating experience.” She gazed after Sanara. “But part of me thinks that girl will be the true test of whether or not my time here has been valuable.”
So many questions clamored for answers in Spock’s mind; he chose to begin with the simplest one. “What is the rest of her heritage?”
“Human.”
Spock’s throat was dry, and he knew it was not because of the sandstorm. “Fascinating,” he finally said. “Sanara and I have much in common.”
“Which is why I’m thankful you’ve come.”
“You’re fond of her.”
Saavik nodded. “But Ï don’t know if she is fond of me. Our lessons have always been a struggle.”
“She is obviously an exceptional student.”
“Yes, in many ways. She has the highest IQ of any student here. She’s already earned a B-9 computer rating on the Daystrom scale. And her mental abilities are astounding; her telepathic capacity grows exponentially.” Saavik allowed [64] herself a small smile. “Even T’Ryth admits that Sanara is ‘highly talented.’ ” She sighed. “But Sanara’s spirit is restless. She insists that she doesn’t need this training.” Saavik furrowed her brow. “And she often mentions another teacher, though she has never lived anywhere else.” A note of barely suppressed anger crept into Saavik’s voice. “The matron was opposed to taking her in, but I convinced her that it wasn’t logical to waste potential brilliance in any form.”
Spock was puzzled. The Institute’s program was designed for the sixth year of life only; for Sanara to have spent her entire life at the Institute with Saavik was most unusual. Again, a multitude of questions demanded attention, but he asked only one. “Do you know who her parents are?” He found himself holding his breath as he waited for Saavik’s reply.
“Captain ...” Saavik began. She opened, then shut, her mouth. “I’ve already said too much. My role as instructor mandates that I respect Sanara’s privacy.”
“Of course.” Spock concealed his disappointment. He marveled that his emotions troubled him so. Was he losing control as he aged, or was the possibility before him so palpable that even a full-blooded Vulcan in his situation could be forgiven such feelings?
“I will tell you this,” Saavik said. “I did not ask you to be Sanara’s than’tha lightly. I know of no one better suited for the task.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Spock was having trouble finding words. “I ... trust you will not have occasion to regret your choice.”
“I know I won’t.”
* * *
[65] Later that night, Spock stood outside Sanara’s door, hesitant to press its chime. He was wearing the traditional gold robes of a than’tha, and they made him feel uneasy. His father was the last person he had seen wearing such robes, at Spock’s own First Meld. It had not been a pleasant experience; Sarek had been careless. During the meld his thoughts had drifted back to Spock’s birth, to Sarek’s initial sight of his “so human” son. He tried to raise a mental screen to shield Spock from the vision, but the scene burned itself into Spock’s consciousness. The father’s memory became the son’s. Spock had always wanted the chance to serve as a than’tha, to compensate for his father’s failing, but now that such a chance had arrived, a completely illogical but nonetheless powerful part of himself feared it: not for himself, but for Sanara. Would the question that preoccupied his mind damage the girl’s?
He rang the chime and heard Sanara’s indifferent reply: “Enter.”
She sat cross-legged on her bed, bent over a thick, dusty volume, engrossed in a page full of ancient calligraphy. Spock was impressed. Even after years of studying the High Tongue, he made no pretense of fluency in it and had never read samples as complex as what Sanara was reading. “Greetings, Sanara,” he said. She did not respond. Spock looked over the room’s stark walls. Only one item identified the occupant as Vulcan: a gem-encrusted, circle-and-triangle pendant dangling from a hook. “Your IDIC medallion is beautiful,” said Spock.
Sanara’s head snapped up. “Don’t touch that! That was a present from my other teacher!”
“Who was your other teacher, Sanara?”
[66] Sanara shook her head fiercely. “That’s none of your business!” She made a tiny huffing sound. “My other teacher’s better than any here. The matron speaks of IDIC every day at morning assembly, but doesn’t appreciate how diversity has combined in me.”
“I understand.”
Sanara looked directly at Spock, her gaze intense. “Do you?”
“Didn’t the lieutenant tell you? I am part human, like you.”
Sanara’s stare softened. “When you were my age, did others call you viltah?”
“That insult is not new. I came home from school in tears many times.”
“Tears?” Sanara sounded intrigued. “The matron says that tears are not part of the Vulcan way.”
“The matron has her own understanding of the Vulcan way. I have forged my own way, whether Vulcan, human, or, as has most often been the case, a diverse combination of both. You will forge your own way as well.”
A stony glaze returned to cover Sanara’s eyes. “If I must.”
“You are overly fond of that word,” said Spock. “The life that lies before you is not an obligation, but a gift.”
“A gift?” Sanara sounded scoffing, even challenging. “From whom?”
“From whatever powers hold the cosmos together and bring its life to fruition. I have seen too much in my travels to be persuaded that we live in a random universe. That each of our lives has purpose is something I accept on faith.”
“Faith?” Again, that doubtful tone. “My parents must not have your faith. If they did, they’d have claimed me by now. [67] My mother or father would be my than’tha, and not a stranger.”
Spock was stung by her words, but said, “We are not strangers, Sanara. You and I share a bond. We know what it is to be outcast.”
Sanara looked at Spock with skepticism in her eyes. Then she deliberately turned her attention back to the book. “I want to read.”
Spock was determined to reach this girl somehow. He moved closer to her. “What are you reading?” She shifted her body to try to block Spock’s view, but he had already recognized one of the ancient characters, intricately illuminated and occurring repeatedly on the page. “ShiGral,” he said, his voice barely concealing his astonishment. “Fascinating.”
“I can read whatever I wish!” said Sanara. “Aren’t I supposed to be studying Vulcan culture?” She added, her voice cracking, “Maybe then a viltah like me can be accepted.”
“ShiGral is
a legend,” said Spock, “worthy of study, but not here. It will not help you prepare for First Meld.” A suspicion began to form in his mind. “Who gave you that book?”
“I found it in the library.”
“No. Legends of ShiGral are not part of the Institute’s curriculum. Are you lying, Sanara?”
Sanara slammed the book shut. “My other teacher gave it to me! Why do you care?”
“Because if any ‘must’ applies to you, it is that you must not continue to let others define you as viltah. I want to show you another way of life is possible.” Spock moved to a glass door that opened onto a small patio. “Let me try, Sanara.”
[68] Sanara stared adamantly at the floor for a moment, then pushed herself off the bed and walked out onto the patio. Spock followed her. He had always appreciated the desert at night. Vulcan’s sister planet hovered high in the sky; the light it reflected from their shared sun starkly lit up the rocky soil and the craggy peaks of the Llangon range.
“So,” said Sanara, a little too loudly, “what do we do?”
“By this point in your training,” Spock said, “you should be able to discern the logic that underlies nature.” He took in the landscape around them with a sweep of his arm. “Choose something, and tell me about its place in that order.”
Sighing, Sanara scanned the ground in front of the patio, and finally jabbed a finger at a thin, limping aylak, scraping against a boulder. The palm-sized, mud-colored scavenger was digging around the rock with six scaly claws; its twin whiplike tails twitched violently. “The aylakim,” Sanara said, intoning the words as though she were weary of them, “exist in futility.”
“Yes,” said Spock, trying to encourage her despite her evident lack of interest. “How so?”
“They look for water where none exists.”
“And?”
Sanara breathed another heavy sigh. “And they are like our ancestors before the Time of Awakening. As the aylakim search hopelessly for water in the desert, so our forebears followed hopeless paths before the dawn of logic. Those who forsake logic are as the aylakim, fated for destruction ...” Abruptly, she stopped her singsong recitation and told Spock, “I can give that aylak water.”
STAR TREK: Strange New Worlds II Page 6
