The tall figure of her husband moved against the brightness of the skylit foyer, a dark silhouette until he stepped into the large, cool main room. He wore plain, somber clothes as always, a deep forest green suit today, the only highlight the heavy gold ring on the index finger of his left hand—the clan ring worn by the ranking male family member.
Sarek saw her moving toward him, and his brown eyes lit with warmth. “Amanda.”
His rich, vibrant voice stirred her as it always did, and her smile brightened her face. “You’re on time.”
“I would have notified you if I were to be delayed.”
“I know. I’m teasing.”
The light in his eyes grew warmer. “A human characteristic I have never been able to fathom, my wife.”
“Perhaps not, my husband,” Amanda said lightly. “But you do let me indulge in it.”
“Analyzing it is a fascinating hobby.” Sarek lifted her hand in his, sobering quickly. “I have received word that Spock is on his way. He has left the [20] Honolulu spaceport and will depart Armstrong Lunaport for Vulcan at five o’clock Earth time.”
“Then he’ll arrive in two days, just as you said.”
“Of course.”
Amanda turned away, pulling her hand from his. “Why are you forcing this now, Sarek? You know it doesn’t have to be now.”
“We have gone over the matter before, Amanda. Spock has obligations. It is his duty to fulfill them. The family, the bonds that are in place, the traditions he has sworn to uphold as a Vulcan—all demand he respond now in the accepted manner.”
Sometimes Amanda hated the traditions, hated the narrow line of action they forced Vulcans to follow. But she had accepted them herself when she accepted Sarek’s love and proposal of marriage, had accepted the Vulcan role of life partner, had birthed and raised a child whom she knew must also abide by the same traditions. She had made a promise to the man she loved and the house into which she married that she would do so. She kept her promises—her own human tradition—but that didn’t mean it was easy. This was another one of the times when it wasn’t going to be easy.
She turned back to her husband. “He has obligations to Starfleet, too, Sarek. Even you acknowledge that.”
“What he must do here is acceptable within Starfleet. It has no relation to his duties.”
“I think you are not seeing the two in relation to each other, Sarek,” Amanda said firmly. “They are two different things, and I do not believe Spock can [21] fulfill both duties simultaneously. We used to have an old Earth saying, ‘Something has to give.’ It is very possible that Spock will have to consider not meeting one obligation or the other.”
“Then that will be his decision. I am certain he will choose the correct one.”
“The correct one by whose lights?” Amanda asked. “Yours or his?”
Sarek stared at her, not answering for a moment. Then he turned and walked toward the corridor leading to the bedrooms. “I will be in meditation,” he said quietly. “I assume supper will be at the usual hour?”
“Of course, my husband,” she said formally. She watched him until he disappeared down the hall, then she turned away toward the formal sand garden again. She slid aside the door that led to the patio and stepped out.
Vulcan’s twilight heat pushed at her, not uncomfortable now in the winter of its year. There were times in the summer when she could not even look out at the glare from the surface of the sand garden, but now it lay soft and pleasantly shadowed in the last light. She sat down on the stone edge of the patio, pulled off the light sandals she wore, and burrowed her bare toes into the warm sand.
There. In her mind, she went back through the years to the Carmel beach where they had honeymooned. Typically, he had brought work with him, and after breakfast the first morning he settled himself at a computer console to tend to it. She had kissed the tip of his ear, laughing, and gone down to the beach. She [22] was on her knees at a tide pool, examining the microcosm of life assembled there, when she glanced up and saw him approaching along the beach. He was determinedly trudging along—wearing boots, of all things—stopping now and then, apparently to study the seaweed and kelp, the shells, and the stones tossed up on the tawny beach sand by the waves.
She realized suddenly that she was probably “a sight,” as her mother would have put it—dirty feet, disheveled hair, no makeup. He had never seen her like that, even in bed. Because of his innate formality, she had taken care always to look as perfectly groomed as possible. Later, he told her he thought he had never seen her look so lovely—slim as a gazelle, dark hair tossed by the wind, and beautiful blue eyes that looked at him with open candor and honesty—and love.
She had chided him lightly, teasingly, about the boots. A beach like this was half wasted if one walked on it in boots. She never did persuade him to remove them and wriggle his toes in the sand. Vulcan dignity simply did not descend that far. She began to realize then that the traditions observed by Sarek—by all Vulcans—were not subject to human influence, even in so light a thing as informality in leisure time. Certainly the greater traditions that governed their lives were untouched by contact with humans.
Her son was bound, and tied, by those traditions. Sometimes, not often but sometimes, she felt guilty about Spock’s half-human heritage. She knew it troubled him, gave him pain, caused him grief, all of which he buried behind a stoic Vulcan bearing. But would she have said no to Sarek’s wish for a child? She [23] shook her head and smiled ironically. Of course not. She had desired Spock’s birth as much as Sarek had. She wiggled her toes again in the warm sand of the garden’s edge and sighed. She had never persuaded Sarek to go barefoot. That would have been too human.
Chapter Two
THE CITY OF SHIKAHR glittered in the heat of midday as Spock’s ground car approached. Behind it, the black, forbidding range of the Llangon Hills thrust upward and formed a perfect and dramatic backdrop for the sparkling city. The banding strip of parkland around it softened the transition from harsh and arid desert to the attractive geometric shapes of the city buildings. Architecture was very carefully controlled so that no new structure was in disharmony with any of the established buildings. The streets were designed wide, with grass or trees running down a center strip and on the verges. There were no slidewalks—Vulcans preferred to walk—and pavement frequently gave way to paths that wound under the carefully planted nonnative trees that offered shade.
Spock left the ground car near the eastern gate, closest to his parents’ home, and entered the city. This area was entirely residential, and few of the buildings were more than one story in height. Most of the [25] homes were enclosed within walls of one kind or another. As a child, he had liked most the home of a neighbor whose garden “walls” were carefully trimmed climbing rose brambles. In summer, the high hedge bloomed with luscious blossoms in a pastel combination of pink and white and pale silvery lavender. As he approached it, he noticed that the wall of his parents’ garden had acquired a vinelike plant that grew over much of it. Here and there, a delicate trumpet-shaped blue flower peeked out of the dark green foliage that clung to the wall. He thought that would have been his mother’s doing. His father favored the symmetry of the sand garden, beautiful but severe.
The gate was unlatched, and Spock let himself in. Dutifully he had sent ahead a message that he was coming as ordered and giving his arrival time. The gate made no sound, and he knew he hadn’t, either, but the front door of the house instantly slid open, and his mother stepped out, smiling.
“Spock.” She held out her hands to him.
“Mother.” He strode to her quickly, dropping the valise. He took her hands in his, squeezing them tightly.
She freed a hand to touch his cheek, knowing it was a human gesture, knowing he would permit it only because it was she who did it. “Five years since I saw you at your graduation from the Academy. I’ve missed you, son.”
“I know. You say so when you write.”
She laughed light
ly. “Of course I do.” She studied him critically. “You look well.”
“And you, Mother.” She did look healthy and not [26] much changed from the way he remembered her. The softly clinging blue-gray gown she wore revealed that her figure was still slight, not gathering weight now that she was in her forties. He noticed a few more lines at the corners of her eyes and even several wisps of gray that had never been in her dark hair before. But the gentle beauty of her face was the same, as was the soft lilt of her voice.
A smile sparkled in her blue eyes. “And I see Starfleet has seen fit to promote you to full lieutenant. Ahead of time, I would guess.”
Spock looked back at her solemnly. “I had anticipated my promotion would occur at this time. My service record and tours of duty have been sufficient to—”
“Spock, do you plan everything in your life now? When you were a child, you had spontaneity, you loved surprises—”
He clasped his hands behind his back, unconsciously echoing his father’s move when he didn’t wish to discuss a subject. “I am not a child.”
“No.” Amanda sighed as she looked at him. “Long ago and far away now. Well.” She found another smile for him. “You’re home for a few days, anyway.”
“I am here because I was sent for, which you very well know. What is it he wants?”
“I can’t discuss that with you here. After dinner, Sarek wants a family council. A formal council.”
Spock’s eyebrows arched in surprise—it was controlled, but surprise nonetheless. “Then he will speak with me.”
Amanda shook her head. This was the part that was [27] going to be difficult to explain, and she didn’t want to do it now, not when Spock had just arrived home. “Not exactly. Come inside now. You’ll understand later.”
Spock picked up the valise and allowed her to precede him into the cool reaches of the house. His father would not exactly speak to him? What exactly did Sarek intend to do?
Spock and Amanda ate alone. It was understandable that Sarek had chosen not to join them. The family council would probably not be a pleasant social affair. Trying to lead up to it with a family meal at which two of the participants hadn’t conversed for eight years would be expecting far too much.
Amanda chatted quietly, asked questions, passing on any news that had occurred between her last letter to him and the present. She had always been someone who could tell a story, and Spock was amused by some of the incidents she described. Even the family news, incidents to be treated with some seriousness, was made interesting and diverting by her lively delivery of the facts. In return, he told her of his promotion and assignment to the U.S.S. Enterprise and of his brief relaxation trip.
“Ka’a? A lovely beach,” she said, smiling at him. “Did you walk there?”
“In fact, I sat there. Thinking.”
“A sea beach does have a conducive atmosphere for it.”
Spock sipped at a glass of water, slid a sideways look at her. “I did remove my boots, however.”
[28] “Ah. Very good, Spock.”
“It was instructive, as you always said.”
Amanda tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with humor. “I never said it was ‘instructive,’ dear. I said it was something you do to feel in touch with the earth, with nature. You must feel it. It can’t be taught.”
“I ...” Spock paused, cleared his throat, and started again. “I felt some of that.”
Amanda reached over and lightly touched his hand. “I’m glad.” The soft, mellow chime of the timepiece in the hall announced the hour. Amanda looked up, biting her lip slightly. “Time.”
The room chosen for the council was the library, adjacent to Sarek’s study. Bookshelves dominated three walls; the fourth wall contained a large window that looked out on the sand garden. The books on the shelves came from many worlds and covered a myriad of subjects, including nonfiction, poetry, and literature. Comfortable reading chairs were scattered around the room. Spock had spent hours here as a child, happily lost in worlds of information or imagination. This evening did not promise to be as happy or as satisfying.
Amanda settled herself in one of the chairs and gestured for him to take another. Spock shook his head and remained standing, waiting for Sarek. His mother picked up a tiny bead from a side table and placed it in her ear. “Sarek won’t be here, Spock.”
He swung around toward her, a frown suddenly creasing his forehead. “Then why has a family council been called? I do not understand.”
[29] “Your father will monitor from his study.” Amanda indicated the small observer camera that would carry the image to Sarek’s viewscreen. “And I will convey his words to you verbatim.” She gestured apologetically toward the communication bead in her ear. “It is his wish.”
So that was it. Sarek would have his say on whatever this matter was, but he would not speak directly to Spock. Their personal conflict from eight years before had not been resolved, and Sarek still refused to communicate with his son.
Spock had decided on a career in Starfleet and had applied to the Academy on his own, despite the fact that he had been just sixteen years old. His superior scholastic record had gotten him accepted instantly. He had been required to list his family background as a matter of course, and the superintendent of Starfleet Academy had routinely sent congratulations on his son’s acceptance to Ambassador Sarek.
Unfortunately, Sarek had wished Spock to follow a career in sciences and research and had planned his son’s attendance at the Vulcan Science Academy. The fact that Spock had not only decided on another course but had already engineered its beginning infuriated Sarek. Not that it showed; the anger was obvious only in the cold glitter in his eyes, the thin straight Une of his mouth.
Amanda had insisted that they discuss it. The “discussion” had consisted of each of them taking a hard position and holding it, not giving an inch to the other. It had ended in Sarek turning away from his son, saying, “Do as you wish. We will not speak of this [30] again.” After a month of cold silence, Spock finally realized Sarek meant he would never speak to Spock again.
Spock nodded to Amanda and lifted his hands in an acquiescent gesture. “As my father desires.”
“You may be seated.”
“I would prefer to stand,” Spock replied stiffly. “Please go ahead.”
“Sarek wishes you to realize that you have been remiss in carrying out your obligations to your hereditary estate.”
“I am afraid I do not understand such a statement from my father,” Spock said bluntly. “The estate of Keldeen is managed in my absence by Senak of Zayus. He came to me well recommended by T’Lan of Lan, who manages my father’s hereditary estate when he is off planet. Keldeen is not only producing a higher crop average than anticipated and making a profit, but new land has been cleared to include experimental crop planting. Therefore—”
“Unfortunately,” Amanda broke in, “all this proves is that my son has chosen well in his estate manager.” Her face was carefully controlled as she repeated her husband’s words. “You point out this is the case with my—with Sarek’s estate. True. But Sarek would point out to you that he periodically returns from his ambassadorial assignments to attend the estate himself. In eight years, you have not returned to Vulcan. You had to be summoned here at this time. Vulcan tradition requires that you personally attend to the affairs of your land as you are able. The fact that it has been managed well and made a profit is not in question. It is the matter of your involvement.”
[31] “Starfleet does not allow me that luxury. I have sworn an oath to carry out the duties I am assigned as an officer. I cannot violate that oath, and I will not resign. I can only swear to you that I will continue to retain an efficient estate manager, with whom I will remain in as close communication as possible. The benefits of our experimental crop research will naturally accrue to the family.”
Amanda listened, nodded slowly. “You are still required to return as often as you are able to carry out this obligation yoursel
f. That is, as often as your duty will allow. Sarek agrees you cannot break your oath to Starfleet.”
Spock felt some of the tension leave him. If this were all, this enforced visit home might not be as uncomfortable as he had anticipated.
“However,” Amanda went on, “the estate is not the only matter which requires your attention. There is something else.” She paused, her eyes flickering uncertainly over Spock’s face. “There is the matter of your betrothed. T’Pring.”
Spock’s expression did not change, but he felt a light jolt of apprehension at the mention of T’Pring. The maintenance and passage of hereditary land was an ancient tradition in many cultures. Spock could understand it and acknowledge its value in the heritage of a clan. But the betrothal of children with the obligation to marry upon maturity was something he found uncomfortable, even though it had been a Vulcan practice for thousands of generations. Was it only because he was obliged against his will? Or was it his human half, his rebellious half, that refused to accept as willingly as he accepted other traditions?
[32] “What of T’Pring?”
“It is time to end your betrothal and plan your marriage.”
“We barely know each other,” Spock said. “We have not seen each other for years. She seldom even communicates with me.”
“That does not negate your bonding. She is well chosen for you.”
“Yes, by all standards she is. She is beautiful, she comes from a sufficiently high-ranking house, and she is full Vulcan. But did it never occur to you that I might have preferred to make my own choice, as you did when you married Mother?”
Amanda pushed to her feet, speaking for herself, not for Sarek. “Spock, that’s unfair. Sarek was unbonded and free to choose.”
“His parents broke tradition by not having him bonded to a Vulcan female in childhood. Sarek broke tradition by choosing you, a human woman. Why am I not allowed to break tradition as well?”
“You are the first and only child of Sarek, heir to this house. You may not.”
STAR TREK: TOS #44 - Vulcan's Glory Page 2