Star Trek - NF - 10 - Excalibur 2 - Renaissance

by Renaissance(Lit)

  "Ancient Vulcan traditions hi general," replied the curator. "I do not know specifics." The vagueness was frustrating to Selar, but there wasn't really much more she could do about it. She wasn't about to start trying to duplicate

  Burgoyne's research and investigate which stores of information s/he had accessed. After all, just how obsessive was she going to be about this, anyway?

  She continued to be impressed by Xyon's development. He seemed an exceedingly happy child. She found herself glancing at other small children as she encountered them in her daily activities, mentally assessing them and comparing them to her own. She couldn't help but notice that the Vulcan children seemed almost uniformly dour. The reason for this quickly became evident. When she was walking around with Xyon outside and he would be clucking or cooing, other

  Vulcans would glance at him, and her, with what could only be termed disapproval. She knew, intellectually, that they had every right to scowl. She knew what the Vulcan way entailed. Indeed, wasn't part of the entire point of her willingness to straggle with Burgoyne over custody precisely because of her dedication to that tradition? She knew that she should be as quick to discourage

  Xyon's burbling as other Vulcans were to make clear their own dissatisfaction with her. There were, after all, ways in which these things were done.

  No Vulcan child learned overnight the discipline of logic and control. It took many, many years of teaching and reinforcement. But it was never too late to start. Yet, even though she knew that, Selar still had difficulty with the concept of silencing her child. How could she teach him what to be... if all she tried to do was stifle who he was? If nothing else, she did feel some degree of (inappropriate) smugness that, for all the "acceptable" dourness of their mien, the Vulcan infants seemed to be lagging behind Xyon in terms of dexterity and awareness. It enabled her to chalk off some of the clear sentiments expressed by others as a form of (equally inappropriate) envy.

  Then, one day, she received word from the Judgment Council. It surprised her in a way; when nothing had happened after so much time, she had almost felt as if nothing was going to happen. It was certainly an illogical way to assess the situation, and upon receiving word from the Council, the folly of that illogic became clear.

  An adjudicator had been assigned to the case. This came as a bit of a surprise to Selar, who had truly hoped that Burgoyne's claims would be rejected out of hand. But she quickly adapted to the situation. If this was going to be the way of it, then she would simply deal with it.

  There would be no attorneys present; Vulcan law did not require it, and Vulcans traditionally disdained such options that were so prevalent in other cultures.

  The reasoning was that any capable Vulcan should be perfectly able to express his or her own case in the view of his or her peers. The humans had a saying about someone acting as their own lawyer typically having a fool for a client.

  That, however, stemmed from the notion that someone representing his or her self would be unable to view his or her own case or predicament in a dispassionate way. Obviously, that thinking did not apply to Vulcans, the most thoroughly dispassionate of individuals.

  Burgoyne, being an offworlder, would be far more likely to make certain that s/he had an attorney present to state hir position for hir. That, however, was not the case; according to the information she'd received from the Judgment

  Council, Burgoyne had waived the opportunity for representation. It would just be Burgoyne against Selar, each putting forward their case to the best of their abilities.

  Tradition, however, did dictate that participants in disputes could, and should, bring a companion along to provide counsel, support, and guidance. Selar intended to do just that. In a way, she felt a bit sorry for Burgoyne. S/he would have no one to be by hir side. A bit sorry... but not very much.

  The Vulcan sun was unconscionably hot that day, even taking into account the world's general tendency toward an arid climate. As Selar walked toward the center of the judgment grounds, she took a deep breath of the burning air and wondered briefly how she could ever have left Vulcan in the first place. This was her home, first and foremost. It had made her who she was, was a part of her no matter how far she might wander. She almost felt ashamed for having abandoned it in the first place.

  Standing next to her in the judgment grounds' center was Giniv, her close friend. Giniv, with a saturnine face and slightly stocky build, had always been there for her and, frankly, Selar had never quite understood why. When they were quite young, Giniv had just attached herself to Selar, and Selar had never felt strongly enough about it to tell her to go away. So Selar had tolerated her presence, and that tolerance had actually developed into a form of friendship.

  Or at least as close to friendship as Selar ever let anything become.

  "Will your parents be in attendance?" asked Giniv. They had not spoken for some time, merely stood there in the silence, waiting for others to arrive.

  "They very likely would, had I informed them of the occasion," replied Selar.

  "You did not tell them?"

  Selar looked at Giniv with raised eyebrow. "I believe I just said that."

  "Why did you not tell them?"

  "To what end? To disrupt their lives for no reason? Certainly nothing will come of this. Burgoyne has made an appeal to the Vulcan Judgment Council. It is true that the Council is sending an adjudicator here to the judgment grounds to hear the case. But my conclusion-indeed, the only logical one-is that it is being done merely as a matter of form, and largely out of deference to Burgoyne's status as a Starfleet officer. The Council prefers to maintain solid relations with Starfleet at all times. Otherwise, they would likely have dismissed hir claims expeditiously."

  Giniv considered the matter a moment. "What if you are wrong? What if matters are not as perfunctory as you believe they will be?"

  "That will not matter. The fact remains that involving my parents would be a needless hardship for them."

  Giniv made a noncommittal noise that caught Selar's attention. "You disagree?"

  "I simply speculate as to whether you have not informed your parents because you do not wish them to meet Burgoyne. That you may be embarrassed in some measure because of your choice of mate."

  "Burgoyne is not my mate," Selar informed her.

  "S/he is the father of your child."

  "That does not make hir my mate."

  "What does it make hir, then?"

  "An overly familiar acquaintance."

  Clearly Giniv did not agree, but before she could pursue the matter, they were startled to hear a voice say, "Good morning, ladies. Hot day, isn't it?"

  Burgoyne was standing a short distance away. Hir arms were folded, and s/he was studying Selar with an open and frank stare. The uninhibited nature of the scrutiny made Selar feel uncomfortable, but she was not about to admit that.

  In the meantime, Burgoyne turned hir gaze to Giniv. "I am Burgoyne 172."

  "Giniv," said Giniv. "I did not hear you arrive. That is surprising; my hearing is rather acute."

  "That's because'a your ears'a are so'a cute."

  Giniv stared at hir blankly, and then looked to Selar. Selar gave a very slight shrug.

  "All right," said Giniv uncertainly.

  "Burgoyne," Selar said, "it is not too late to withdraw your claim and avoid embarrassment."

  The two of them, rather unconsciously, were circling one another like two stars.

  "Are you concerned that you will be embarrassed?" Burgoyne sounded rather interested in the notion.

  "I have no such concerns for myself. Allowing oneself to be embarrassed is an emotion. It is of no consequence to me. You, however, might feel differently."

  "I feel that I'm doing what I have to do."

  "As do we all, Burgoyne."

  "How did you get here without my hearing you?' said Giniv, who apparently had not quite managed to work her way past that.

  Before Burgoyne could respond, Selar said, "Burgoyne can move very quie
tly if s/he chooses."

  "Thank you," said Burgoyne.

  "It was not a compliment. Simply an observation." She inclined her head toward

  Giniv. "In case you are wondering, Giniv is here as tradition dictates. A trusted friend may be in attendance to witness the events when there is a dispute brought to the judgment grounds. I regret that you have no one of whom to avail yourself."

  "Do you? I didn't know you cared."

  "I do not wish hardship upon you, Burgoyne. You may or may not believe that, but it is true."

  "Well, I appreciate that. But, you know, Selar... it is illogical to assume things."

  "What do you mean by-?"

  Then she saw someone else approaching. Her eyes narrowed. "Slon... ?"

  Slon nodded slightly, walked over to Burgoyne, nodded once again and then stood by hir side. Selar looked from one to the other, her face visibly darkening. Her voice was so icy that, considering the heat in the air, it was surprising there wasn't mist coming from her mouth. "What," she said slowly, "is this about?"

  "We made each others' acquaintance," Slon told her.

  "In... deed." The temperature dropped another ten degrees.

  In a low voice, Giniv said, "Did they-?"

  "I neither know nor care," replied Selar, making absolutely no effort to keep her voice down. She was even more annoyed to see that Burgoyne was actually smiling. Presumably s/he thought she was annoyed by hir little "alliance" with her brother. Well, that was just another mistake on Burgoyne's part. One of many.

  "You seem annoyed, Selar," Slon observed.

  "You know better than that," she corrected him archly. "I find it curious that you would cast your alliance with... hir."

  "I have cast no alliance with anyone," said Slon. "However, Burgoyne had no one to accompany hir through this experience. I saw no harm in volunteering my services in that regard."

  "Your overwhelming compassion is duly noted, Slon," Selar said.

  Giniv heard it first, but Selar and Slon both detected it moments later.

  Burgoyne took a few seconds longer, but in short order the sound had reached hir as well. It was the faint jingling of bells, as if a procession of some sort was heading their way. "The Judgment Council?" s/he asked. Slon nodded curtly.

  "Who do you think has been assigned to it?" Giniv asked.

  "There is no purpose to speculation," Selar said. In point of fact, she was wondering as well, but she was not about to admit to any sort of curiosity... or to anything. She was determined to play every aspect of the coming confrontation as coolly and sanguinely as possible. She was Vulcan. She wanted to bring her child up in the Vulcan way. Therefore, it was absolutely imperative that she remember, at all times, her own upbringing and training. Granted, no one could possibly think that a Vulcan child should be raised in anything approximating the situation Burgoyne would have to offer, but Selar was going to make absolutely certain that no one thought her anything but the ideal mother.

  Burgoyne's nostrils were flaring. "Someone old," s/he said, sniffing the air.

  "Someone very old."

  "How can you tell?" asked Slon, intrigued.

  "The years surround her like a fine wine."

  "Silver-tongued, isn't s/he?" Giniv murmured to Selar. Selar said nothing.

  The group was approaching slowly in the distance, the tinkling of the bells getting louder. The judgment place itself was nothing impressive: A wide, flat area, paved with stone polished to a gleaming, pale blue. There were stone seats carved into surrounding rock from which spectators could observe what transpired. Dead center of the area was a pedestal upon which the person who stood in judgment would look down upon those who were being judged.

  They drew closer still. There were a goodly number of retainers, escorts, and guards, but it was clear just who was the center of attention. It was a wizened woman, walking in the exact center of the group.

  Selar, Giniv, and Slon recognized her instantly, and Giniv let out a most uncharacteristic gasp. Selar fired her a look that silently scolded her for the breach of etiquette, but she understood exactly why Giniv had reacted in that way. Truth to tell, it was all that Selar herself could do to restrain her surprise.

  "Who is she?" asked Burgoyne.

  "That is not simply a she, Burgoyne," Slon said. "That is living history."

  The Vulcan woman known as T'Pau made her slow way to the center of the judgment place. Everyone stood in respectful silence, and even the bells began to diminish in their jingling until all was quiet.

  Selar was reasonably certain that she had never seen such an elderly Vulcan in her life. Her skin looked drier than the driest deserts of the world, and she moved with the air of someone who was concentrating every moment on not inadvertently falling and snapping a bone like a rotted twig. And yet, for all her apparent frailty, the woman seemed to radiate power. When she spoke, there was nothing the least bit feeble in her voice. It was deep and quite strong, with the occasional over-enunciation of Vulcans schooled in the planet's ancient dialects.

  "We have the two people in question?" she inquired. But there was something in her voice that did not sound very much like a question, but rather an order. As if to say that, if the people of the hour were not present, then there were going to be some rather serious consequences.

  "I am Selar," she said formally. "I am summoned. I am here."

  "I am Burgoyne 172. I am summoned. I am here." They had both walked forward so that they were now a short distance from T'Pau. Even with the elevation, she was barely an inch higher than either of them. Nevertheless, she seemed to be looking down upon them from an almost dizzying height.

  For a time, nothing was said. T'Pau simply stared at the two of them, her gaze swiveling from one to the other and back again. She was heavily robed, and the day was dry, even sweltering, but she did not appear to show any signs of the heat.

  "Thee has... a dispute." she stated finally. "There is a child. A half-breed.

  Yours... and yours," and she nodded to both of them.

  "I can present medical documentation, T'Pau, indicating a preponderance of the child's genetic structure is Vulcan," Selar started to say.

  -However, she only got as far as "I can present-" before T'Pau silenced her with nothing more than a look. "I did not ask you... did I?" T'Pau said.

  "No, T'Pau."

  "The offworlder knows to wait. Why does thee not?"

  Selar felt herself beginning to color slightly in her cheeks. But, with long practice at hiding such things, she took control of her chagrin. She said nothing in response. The absence of a reply appeared to be exactly what T'Pau desired. She waited a time more before continuing. "There is more to a Vulcan

  ... to any living being... than the body," she said. "There is... the katra... the soul. Does he have the body of his mother... but the soul of his father?

  That... we cannot determine. Even a mind-meld will not determine such a thing, for we speak of matters... beyond the mind. Beyond our ability... to know.

  "Where... then... does that leave us?" T'Pau paused a moment and regarded each of them in turn. "Speak to me," she said to Selar.

  "The child was bom of my need," said Selar. "The child is Vulcan. Whatever contributions his father may have made... a way must be chosen hi which the child can be raised. That must be the Vulcan way. Whatever instincts come from his Hermat 'heritage,' they are ways that lead to impulsive behavior and lack of self-control. Xyon's best interests can only be served by maintaining him fully in an environment that is conducive to those teachings and that development

  Burgoyne desires to have him half the time. That is unacceptable. A choice must be made for Xyon here... now... as to what his life's path will be. He cannot be exposed equally to two cultures and told that both apply equally to him. As his Vulcan parent, I must choose die method in which he will be shaped. And that way... is the Vulcan way. Here. On this world."

  She continued to speak, laying out her case point by point for many minutes. S
he kept waiting for T'Pau to interrupt, to ask her a question or challenge something that she was saying. But T'Pau did nothing except listen. Her face was utterly inscrutable, her eyes like two dark stones set in her face, showing about as much compassion as a rock might feel. Then again, she was T'Pau. Her mind could have been a roiling fury of tumult, and one would not have known it to look at her.

  When she had concluded, T'Pau then turned to look at Burgoyne. "And thee... ?" was all she said.

  Burgoyne took a deep breath, and then coughed slightly. Talcing a deep breath on