Sand and Stars

by Diane Duane

  For the first time in a year, I allowed myself to sense Sarek’s mind through the bond. It was always there, of course, in the back of my mind—I’d have known if anything had happened to him. But I’ve been too angry to let myself touch his mind. And, of course, I’m not a telepath, so my ability is limited….

  But I sensed him. And what I sensed made tears stream down my face.

  She didn’t even avert her eyes from the sight of so much rampant emotionalism when I wept. When I managed to regain my control, she said, only, “Wilt thee come home, Amanda?”

  I nodded at her, and she gave me the date, location, and time of the service, then cut the connection.

  So now…I must pack, and board the transport. I have only a few hours to finish, so I can’t spend any more time on this journal until I’m bound for Vulcan.

  Sarek, I am coming back to you. I have learned a great deal this past year, and one of the things I have learned is that in punishing you, I was punishing myself just as much. It is no longer worth it.

  If I know you—and I do—you won’t ever bring up the subject of my self-imposed exile from you and Vulcan. You’ll simply want to go back to the way things were—except that our son will not be part of our family anymore, as far as you’re concerned.

  Can I live with that? Yes, I believe I can. You see, if I can forgive you, then I have to believe that you and Spock will, someday, forgive each other.

  I must hurry…time and that transport won’t wait….

  Sarek closed the volume and sighed. It was painful to read those words…to think of the time they had spent apart, and of how he would give up nearly everything he possessed to regain that lost year. Putting that volume aside, he picked up the next, then located the spot where he’d left off the night before. Noting the date on the next entry, the ambassador steeled himself to read what she had written.

  March 14, 2285

  No entry for three days…I can scarcely see to write this…I am so tired that I ache all over, but every time I lie down and close my eyes, the images I see are too awful to bear. So, after dozing for the first time in days, I am awake barely an hour later, writing…because doing nothing is even worse.

  Is there a God? If there is a Supreme Being, how could he, she, it, or they allow this to happen?

  My son is dead. Spock is…dead. Writing those words…I am trembling, shaking, and my heart feels as though some giant is squeezing it in an inexorable fist. Spock, dead? It seems impossible. I keep thinking there has been some mistake, that Starfleet will call us and tell us it isn’t true. How can it be true? Spock is—oh God,was—half-Vulcan! I expected him to outlive me for decades! Why did this have to happen, why? My child, dead? How could this happen?

  Of course I know how it happened. Even in the midst of my own anguish I could find it in my heart to pity poor Jim Kirk…he tried so hard to break it gently. Spock was his best friend, they were so close, serving together all these years. I could tell that the captain had been crying too….

  Sarek did not cry, of course. I found myself, for a moment, hating him for that. As though his lack of human tears meant that he did not care for Spock…when I know that he did care, that our son was the most important person in the galaxy to him…except, possibly, for me. I stared at him, the tears welling up and coursing down my face, sobs racking me until it seemed that my body could not hold them—and I came so close to lashing out at him. For a horrible instant I wanted to slap him, scream at him, and demand that he weep for our son….

  I am thankful that I did not. I would never have forgiven myself. That would have made an intolerable situation even worse.

  Sarek takes comfort in the fact that Spock died well, in the performance of his duty, sacrificing himself to save his shipmates. A hero, to use the human term…a word which does not translate into modern Vulcan.

  But there is no comfort for me. Last night I clutched myself, rocking back and forth, feeling as though I might explode with sorrow. Sarek came and sat beside me, trying to comfort me with his presence. He rested his hand on mine, silently, and when he finally spoke, it was only to say the traditional words…“My wife, I grieve with thee…. ”

  I know he does. But I feel that a mother’s love is stronger, and thus her grief is also greater. Illogical, perhaps…but true, I know it.

  Spock, my son…if only you had died on Vulcan! Then you would not be lost to us forever. At least your living spirit, yourkatra,could have been saved, could have been placed in the Hall of Ancient Thought. If only—

  Abruptly, the precise, elegant handwriting broke off. Sarek knew why. Vividly, he remembered the afternoon his wife had burst into his study, her reddened eyes wide and wild….

  “Sarek!” Amanda’s normally cultured, lovely voice shattered like fine crystal in the stillness. “What about Spock’skatra? It wouldn’t have died with his body, if he found someone to entrust it to…his living spirit could still be found!”

  Sarek turned from his computer terminal to see his wife standing in the doorway, clutching it with both hands, as though she might fall without the support. She was wearing a dressing gown pulled carelessly over her nightdress, and her hair was mussed, in contrast to her usual impeccable grooming.

  Amanda’s eyes flashed with incredulous hope as she continued, breathlessly, “From what James Kirk told us, our sonknew his actions would kill him—so he would certainly have established the mental link necessary to entrust hiskatra when he died! Spock was a good telepath—he could have done it very quickly.”

  “But Kirk did not mention—” Sarek began, reasonably.

  “Kirk’shuman!” Amanda burst out. “He may not even know what he holds in his mind! Most humans wouldn’t—oh, Sarek, if there’s even a chance—” She gazed at her husband pleadingly. “—even a small chance, we can’t afford to ignore it! We’re talking about our son’s living spirit—what humans would call a soul, I suppose. We can’t let him be lost forever!”

  Sarek stared at her, his mind turning over what she had said. “Your deduction is most unlikely, Amanda,” he said at last, his tones gentle. “From the scenario that Kirk described, the ship was in great peril, in imminent danger of destruction. Spock could hardly have found time to meld with Kirk before he went down to the engine room.”

  “It doesn’t take a full meld, and you know it, Sarek,” she insisted, her blue eyes flashing stubbornly. “Our son was a trained telepath, he’d melded with Kirk many times. He could have established the link that would make Kirk his Keeper in a bare instant!”

  Sarek experienced a flare of hope. Amanda was quick to notice the tiny change in his expression. “You must go to Earth and see Kirk, my husband,” she said formally. “You will be able to tell whether Kirk holds our son’s essence in his mind. Go, Sarek. Spockwould have found a way! I know it!”

  The ambassador stood up, crossed the room to stand beside his wife. Slowly, formally, he held out two fingers, and she returned the gesture. They stood together, their mutual grief flowing between them, both gaining strength from their closeness. Through their bond, Sarek shared some of Amanda’s hope that their child was not totally lost, and it slowly, gradually, became his own hope.

  Finally, Sarek nodded. “I will go to Earth, Amanda,” he promised. “I will speak with Kirk in person. If necessary, I will touch his mind, and discover whether he is unconsciously Keeping our son’s living spirit.”

  Amanda smiled at him gratefully. “Thank you, Sarek,” she said, softly. “Thank you, my husband. Spock would have found a way…I know it. My son is not completely gone…if he were, I think I would know. You must find him, Sarek…. ”

  “If he is to be found, I will do so,” Sarek said, his tone as grave and earnest as if he took a solemn oath. “I will bring his living spirit back to Vulcan…so he may be at peace.”

  Sarek looked up from the journal and sighed, remembering what had followed. His son was alive today because of Amanda’s unwavering faith that he was not truly—notcompletely —lost to th
em.

  I must give these journals to Spock, allow him to read them when I am finished,he thought.My son deserves to gain the insight into his mother’s mind that they have given me…. Despite the bond we shared for so many years, there are things about Amanda that I never knew until now….

  If only his wife were still alive. If only he could express aloud, for once, the emotions he had allowed only to surface in the silent privacy of their bond. It would have meant so much to her to have heard him say it out loud…just once.

  But she was dead. Amanda was dead.

  Dead…and nothing could change that. Amanda, unlike a Vulcan woman, had no future…at least, no future that was perceivable or verifiable. As a human, she had not possessed akatra… so nothing could be placed in the Hall of Ancient Thought, to linger until it was ready to go on to whatever lay next.

  If Amanda had been Vulcan…if Kadura had not been taken hostage…Sarek could have been the Keeper of herkatra… her living spirit could have resided within him until it was released into the energy nexus of the Hall of Ancient Thought.

  If Amanda had been Vulcan, her husband and son could have gone to that ancient citadel, stood within its confines and gained a sense of her presence. By the time his wife’skatra was ready to depart, Sarek would have been prepared, would have had ample time to bid her farewell. Had his wife been Vulcan, her death would not have meant such an abrupt and shocking end, a complete and utter severing of their bond. Even if he had been on Kadura, Spock could have been her Keeper….

  But Amandahad been human, and the ambassador had never, until a few weeks ago, wished it otherwise. But when he’d learned that she was ill, Sarek had been forcibly reminded of something he’d determinedly managed to forget…that his wife was almost certain to predecease him by years…probably decades.

  The ambassador sighed aloud, thinking that if Amanda had been Vulcan herkatra would probably now be residing within him—or within Spock. She would, in a sense, still be alive….

  But if Amanda had been Vulcan, she would not have been Amanda….

  Sarek sighed, and his eyes returned to the volume on his lap. He began reading again, finished that one, and, with a sense of deep regret, picked up the last of the red-bound books. Opening this one, he paged through it, saw that it was only a third filled. He took a deep, painful breath, and determinedly began to read.

  The last brief series of entries made him sit up straighter, his eyes moving quickly over the page. When he finished them, he went back and read them again, slowly. He could almost hear her voice….

  September 17, 2293

  Frankly, I am worried about Sarek. The days since I have been diagnosed have been a great strain, far worse for him than for me. After all, he bears the burden of not allowing me to glimpse his fear for me…of not letting me sense his pain. The only comfort I can offer is to let him think that I remain unaware of his inner turmoil, so that is what I do….

  September 18, 2293

  Sarek left today to negotiate for the release of Kadura, a planet taken by Klingon renegades. The president asked him personally to handle the negotiations, and he had to accept. It is his job, his duty to use his skills for the benefit of others, and I understand that. He is the best in the galaxy at what he does, and I know that. I am proud of him.

  Which doesn’t mean that I don’t miss him, and wish he had stayed here with me. I miss him more with each passing hour. You would think I would be used to his absences by now, but this time…I am not a saint…I am facing something that frightens me, and I wish he were here to help me face it. But I am strong. I can manage by myself…I always have, whenever it was necessary.

  Besides, there is still our bond. I miss his presence in the back of my mind, but there is still a small sense of him remaining. Since I am not telepathic, it is faint…but, in a sense, he is always with me.

  Will I ever see him again?

  I fear not.

  Something about the way I feel…Spock mentioned a sensation of “shutting down,” when we spoke about dying. Is that what I am feeling?

  Difficult to keep my thoughts organized enough to write. Hard to concentrate…so tired.

  LATER

  Spock…I am worried about him. His eyes are haunted, his mouth a knife-thin slash. Beyond his worry for me, his constant concern and grief, I can sense his anger….

  Anger at death, perhaps. Anger at age, at the cruel fate that is turning his mother into a shriveled, feeble stranger. Normal emotions—except that my son is a Vulcan. But I have sensed more barely masked emotion from Spock since his father left today than I have since he was a small child. They say everyone has a weak point—and apparently I am Spock’s.

  Spock’s main anger…is directed at his father.

  How can I help him learn to understand, and accept and forgive—as I have learned to do over the past decades? How can I help Spock, when I will not be here much longer?

  Tired now…

  September 19, 2293

  So glad that I made Sarek promise to read these journals. Comforting to know that he will understand, someday, what I was thinking, feeling, here at the end. Will I be here tomorrow? I sit here in my bedroom and gaze around me at my beloved things…and I am at peace, finally. If only Spock could share my acceptance.

  If only I had the strength to explain Sarek to my son. Spock cannot forgive his father for leaving me, but it’s not that he doesn’t love me, not that at all. Spock is half-Vulcan, raised to be Vulcan…why can’t he understand?

  What a reversal…usually it is Spock who has to explain Vulcan behavior to me. Never forget that time in his quarters aboardEnterprisewhen Sarek was dying. I slapped him, slapped my son. The crack of that blow still rings in my ears. Only time I ever struck him in his life. Oh, Spock…you understood then! Why can’t you understand now?

  Don’t hate your father.

  Love him, as I do. Understand him, as I do.

  Sarek…you are reading this, I know you are. Show Spock this entry, even if you don’t choose to let him see the others. Show him. Perhaps it will help…

  So much still to do, to say. Wish I could visit my garden again. My favorite place…

  Sarek, remember that, afterward. My garden. I want to be in my garden, afterward.

  More to write, but tired…so tired.

  Sarek…I can still sense you…in the back of my mind. If only I could touch you, see your face…just once more…

  Peter Kirk stood before the closed bridge doors and found himself clenching his fists.Relax, he ordered himself, but his body refused to listen.What’s the big deal? It’s only your first command! He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and moved forward just far enough to activate the doors. They opened with a familiar whoosh.

  The minute he stepped onto the bridge, the crew came to attention, but Peter barely noticed them as more than shadowy shapes, he was so keyed up. This was it. The moment of truth. He walked forward, trying to conceal his tension.

  The bridge seemed dimmer than he was used to. “As you were,” he ordered the crew, trying to sound normal, even cavalier as he approached the captain’s chair.The captain’s chair. Your chair. Even now he was still amazed that he was here. That he was finally in command of theEnterprise. He’d thought the commandant was joking when he’d told him. His first command. TheEnterprise. He eased himself in the command seat, and touched the armrest console almost reverently.

  “Present location, navigator?” he asked.

  “Sector 3414, approaching the Loop Nebula, Captain,” a familiar voice replied.

  Peter’s head snapped up. For the first time, he reallylooked at the crew. He’d known he’d be working with senior officers, of course, but…“Commander Chekov,” he said quietly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “Vell, sir,” Chekov replied with a saucy grin, “ve vere just in the neighborhood…. ”

  Peter blinked, and looked around him. Lieutenant s’Bysh sat at the helm, by Chekov’s side. A glance to his left showed
Commander Uhura fussing with her communications board. She nodded at him when she noticed him watching her.

  He stiffened in surprise when the seat before the Life Sciences and Support station revolved, revealing Dr. McCoy. The doctor’s expression was one of sheer delight, as he reported, “Life-support operating at peak efficiency, sir, and sickbay’s fully staffed andready for action.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Peter said blandly, in spite of the bead of sweat he suddenly felt tracking down his face. He didn’t want to look over at the science station, but he had to. “First Officer, anything to report?”

  “Not at this time, sir,” Spock’s familiar, placid baritone replied.

  So, it was old home week, huh?He shook his head. Either that or it was a dream he’d wake up from…but that wasn’t bloody likely.

  Most of the cadets “fortunate” enough to make it to theKobayashi Maru had to contend with a bridge crew of half cadets and half experienced officers. It wasn’t unusual for a well-known visiting ship’s crew to offer to man the simulator, but Peter had never heard of anyone taking the test with the entire bridge crew from aConstellation -class starship! Usually, there were other cadets being tested, not just the command officer, but Peter was so late taking his test, there were no longer any cadets left to be part of his crew. The experienced bridge crew’s job was to “push” the captain, see if he or she had the confidence to override their experience and advice. But to havethis crew…?

  Maybe he could lodge a protest with the exam board.Yeah. AfterI finish the test! There was no getting out of it. He glanced around the bridge once more. Uncle Jim was nowhere to be found—at least he could be thankful for that. He licked his lips.

  Hell, it’s just a test. It can’t be half as bad as flying through the ring around Qo’noS, or escaping from Kamarag’s prison!Then why was he so nervous? He could feel Spock’s unwavering gaze searing the back of his head.