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 his
kahs-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."
"Human chaos, you mean," she snapped. "Why not just say it?" Her mouth
tightened. "But you do 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. But I 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, Sarekmeven 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 archetypal force--the personification of ma ternal
protectiveness. A le-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 sows childhood had
been far from over.
Following the successful completion of Spock's kahs-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. How had 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 chosen her? Sarek ... no!" They were sitting in her
garden in Shikahr, watching Nevasa set, when he'd me ntioned 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 p
ostpone 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 that
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--including The Complete Works of William Shakespeare in, as Valdyr
put it, "the original Klingon't 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 to
almost smile was a challenge.
He didn't try to kid himself--Stockholm Syndrome was setting in badly,
at least on his side. He wasn't sure about Valdyr.
Between the Klingon books and his conversations with Valdyr, he ended up
not needing her help in translating the odd term he'd heard her uncle
speak. He'd found it easily enough in Shakespeare. The Merchant of
Venice. Shylock used it. Joy' meant torture, and, as Peter already knew,
Be' meant woman, or female. Torture by females was the rough
translation.
Bejoy' referred to a specific, ritualistic torture performed on
prisoners of war ... by Klingon women.
Another subject they might never be able to discuss. So, tell me,
Valdyr, when you perform the bejoy', what do you think you'll use first?
The hot irons, the electronic stunner, or will you begin by flaying
royflesh?Anyone taking any bets on how long I'll last? And to think he'd
once been worried about the Kobayashi Maru.t He folded his hand in
defeat and slipped it through the food slot. "Are you sure you've taught
me all the rules of this game?" Peter grinned ruefully as her serious
expression assured him that anything less would be dishonorable.
"Well, in that case, you'll have to send me to Rura Penthe to dig those
crystals."
Valdyr's dark eyes sparkled indignantly. "Never! That is a place where
only the worst criminals go."
"Like my Uncle Jim and Dr. McCoy?" he asked dryly.
"They're really desperate characters, both of them." He was sorry the
minute he'd said it. They had a truce going, and now he'd thrown out a
volley.
The Klingon woman's eyes dropped. "I know they were innocent of
assassinating Chancellor Gorkon," she said, carefully shuffling the
deck, then dealing cards through the food slot beneath the observation
panel. "But that does not mean that your uncle never murdered a
Klingon."
"He killed Kruge, yes, but he didn't murder him," the cadet insisted.
"Kruge beamed down to kill Kirk because he wanted revenge for his lost
crew. They were fighting on the edge of a precipice, as the Genesis
planet was breaking up beneath their feet. A big chunk of rock gave way
beneath Kruge, and he went over the cliff. Jim caught his hand to save
him, but Kruge tried to yank him over, too. My uncle got mad and let him
drop."
"Let him?" Valdyr said, skeptically.
Peter grimaced. "It was self-defense! Kruge would have killed both of
them, otherwise!"
"Kamarag says that Kirk lured Kruge down to that world just as it was
breaking up, then abandoned him to die," Valdyr said.
Young Kirk shook his head. "James T. Kirk doesn't operate that way. If
you knew him, you'd believe me." They continued the game in silence for
a few moments before Peter spoke again. "There's one thing I still don't
understand, Valdyr."
"What is that?"
"It's been three years since Kruge died. Why did your uncle wait so
long? Why decide to take revenge now?"
The young woman stared at her cards, but Peter knew well enough that
she'd already planned out her moves. Finally, she said, "At first he
thought the government would support him in his quest for vengeance. But
when Praxis exploded, moderate voices in the councils realized that we
would need the help of the Federation to survive." Valdyr examined her
hand. "After that, he did not speak of Kirk for a long time.
My uncle ... has always been loyal to his government. But suddenly, a
few weeks ago ..." She sighed and moved a card." ... he changed. One
day, revenge was all Kamarag could think of, speak of ... plan for.
Vengeance, and Kirk's death. He said that if the government would not
support him, he would act on his own."
"Which is why I'm here," Peter said, and she nodded.
"What caused him to change so suddenly?" he wondered aloud.
"I do not know," Valdyr said. "I only know that he is my uncle, the head
of my family, and I must be loyal to him." She looked up at him. "Are
you going to place a bet, Pityr?"
They placed their bets, then upped the ante several times.
Peter studied Valdyr, then finally said, "Your loyalty to your uncle
includes torturing me, doesn't it?" That was more than a volley, he
realized. He'd just dropped a matter/ antimatter bomb into their
conversation.
Her eyes met his unflinchingly. "If the choice were mine ... none of
this would be happening. I am sorry, Pityr."
They said nothing for a few minutes, then continued the game, but his
heart wasn't in it. He was not surprised when she beat him again. "I
quit!" the human groused, struggling to keep the bitterness out of his
voice. He tossed his cards back into the slot. "Life isn't fair. I've
been kidnapped, held prisoner, and now my jailer turns out to be a
beautiful woman who's a card shark to boot." He'd used the current
English idiom, as he knew of no Klingon one that was appropriate.
Valdyr glanced up at him, obviously startled. "You called me ... what
did you call me?"
"Beautiful and a card shark," Peter said levelly. "Which term didn't you
understand?"
"What is this ... card shark?"
"A shark is an Earth animal, a huge fish ... you know, fish?" He racked
his brain for the Klingon word. "An animal that swims in the sea, a
dangerous predator, you know?"
"Ohl" she cried. "You mean, norgh?"
"Yeah, norgh. You're like that when you play cards.
Understand?"
She thought it over, then gave a soft snort of derisive laughter. "What
you mean is that, since I am a woman and I beat you always, I must be
ruthless. I thought Earth males treated their females equally!"
"We do," Peter protested. Valdyr just looked at him, her expression
clearly distrustful. "Really, we do," he insisted, holding up his hand
as if under oath. "Aren't Klingon
women treated equally?" He felt guilty for asking, since he already knew
the truth.
"No," Valdyr admitted. "The men have always held the ... outward power.
If women want power, they must find a m an to work through, advise him,
push him, make him the ... the ..." She groped, at a loss for a
suitable term.
"A figurehead?" suggested Peter in English.
Star Trek - Sarek Page 28
