Spock stood stiffly, staring at his mother, knowing Sarek watched coldly at his viewscreen. Something in him whispered that he did not want to obey, and something else held that whisper in check. Finally, he glanced toward the observer camera and nodded. “I understand. But it should also be understood that it is impossible for me to marry immediately. I am due to report aboard the Enterprise in a matter of days, and that order cannot be overridden. I do not know how long my first mission aboard her will take—perhaps [33] years. The arrangements will have to be made for ... the next time I return to Vulcan.”
Amanda paused, listening, then smiled wistfully. “That will be acceptable. You will have to see T’Pring as soon as possible to discuss the arrangements.”
“Tomorrow, then. Good night, Mother.” Spock half bowed toward Amanda and left the room.
She stood a moment, fumbling the communication bead from her ear. Sarek appeared quietly beside her, waiting there silently until she turned to him.
“I realize that was not pleasant for you, my wife,” he said quietly.
“I am not the one whose life is being dealt with here. I was lucky, I know. The traditions that bind Spock didn’t bind you, and we were possible. We created him. Have you no feeling for the human side of him, Sarek? You chose me, and therefore you are also responsible for that facet of your son.”
His dark eyes shadowed. Possibly there were doubts there, but Sarek would never admit them. “He has chosen the Vulcan way. For him, then, there is only the one path. His companion is T’Pring, chosen in the honorable Vulcan manner to be his wife and life partner.”
“Whether he wants her or not?”
“How can he not want her? Spock admitted T’Pring is a beautiful Vulcan woman of a noble house.”
Amanda shook her head, staring up at her tall husband. “If that’s all that mattered, what am I doing here?”
For once, Sarek of Vulcan had no answer.
* * *
[34] The U.S.S. Enterprise floated in Bay 14 of the San Francisco fleet spacedock like a spider caught in a web. Maintenance shuttles hovered around her, feeding the cluster of dockers on her hull with tools and power for the work being done on the big ship. She was only two years out of the launchways, but technology bounded ahead so rapidly that she would have been carrying outdated equipment if she weren’t undergoing upgrade now.
Number One piloted the small one-person shuttle smoothly around and over the huge disk of the saucer, her eyes expertly and critically flicking over the work in progress. She mentally assessed and catalogued every operation, its status, automatically logging projected completion time. As soon as she completed her circuit of the entire ship, she rolled the little craft over and goosed it toward the closed shuttle-bay doors on the upper saucer hull.
“Number One to Shuttle Bay Chief,” she snapped into the ship’s communicator link.
The answer came back instantly. “Shuttle bay.”
“Heads up. I’m coming home.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The doors ahead of her slowly began to part. She cut in her braking thrusters, the gentlest touch, and the little shuttle slowed, allowing her enough time to slip through the opening doors with two inches to spare on port and starboard. She hovered the craft over the landing marker at center deck and eased it down. Because she had chosen not to wear a pressure suit while in the shuttle, she had to wait for the chief to close the outer doors and cycle the bay back to [35] normal. She spent the time composing her report to the captain. The chief finally signaled the all clear. She clambered out of the shuttle, the report clear in her mind and ready for dictation into the computer.
She had no sooner stepped into the main corridor when the intership went on with the characteristic high warbling notes of the bosun’s whistle. “Number One, please report to Captain Pike in the briefing room. “The executive officer glanced at a chronometer and frowned. Her tour around the hull had taken longer than she planned; she was late for her meeting with the captain. She stepped to a nearby wall communicator and punched the button.
“This is Number One. On my way.”
Captain Christopher Pike waited in the briefing room, knowing exactly how Number One would enter. He was not disappointed. The door slid aside for the exec, and the tall woman strode in briskly, information comp chips in her hand. “Reporting as ordered, sir. I’m sorry I’m late ...”
“No apologies needed,” Pike said amiably. “I would like to have gone on that outside tour of the ship myself. How’s she coming along?”
“All the new equipment should be installed by eleven hundred tomorrow. We can set up a series of test runs to cover the next two days. No problem on meeting our departure date.” She held out the comp chips. “I have the new personnel records ready for your examination.”
“Let’s see them, Number One.”
Her long black hair swung forward over her shoulders as she sat at the table across from him, swiftly [36] dropping a chip into the base of the viewscreen control console. Pike watched her, admiring again the high, slanting cheekbones and the startlingly deep blue eyes that made the woman’s face so striking. She had a natural attraction that drew men’s interest. He hid a smile, remembering two fleet officers who had blatantly followed her around Starbase 13, hoping to get a welcoming look from those eyes. No joy for them. Number One did not encourage advances. As far as Pike knew, she socialized with her fellow officers, but never on an intimate basis. In the four years she had served him as first officer, first on the old Yorktown and then on the new Enterprise, she had carried out her duties with a precision and perfection he had never seen in anyone else. In fact, perfect was exactly the adjective he applied to her at all times. He often felt he would like to know Number One better, to be closer to her in friendship; but her naturally correct, crisp attitude toward him threw up to him the same barriers he had seen her raise against the two officers on Starbase 13. Pike had resigned himself simply to having the best first officer in the fleet.
“Second Officer Lieutenant Spock, serial number S179-276SP, Reporting from the U.S.S. Artemis.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to like a Vulcan on the bridge, Number One.” Pike shifted a little uncomfortably as the exec’s eyes fastened on him. “I’ve never worked closely with one before.” She continued to stare at him, waiting for him to go on.
When he didn’t, she asked neutrally, “Do you foresee some difficulty, sir?”
“It’s—well, they’re logical to a fault. And maybe [37] that’s the problem. I believe there are times when command personnel have to ‘gut out’ decisions, go on their best instincts. Cold, calculating efficiency isn’t always the best reaction in a tight situation.”
“Efficiency on the bridge has never troubled you before,” she remarked dryly.
Pike winced inwardly. She was as cool and efficient as a Vulcan herself, and he knew he had never had a quarrel with any of her responses in any situation. “Besides,” she went on, “Lieutenant Spock is only half-Vulcan.” She tabbed the viewscreen control console, and the screen promptly displayed a personal background file on the young officer. “Father: Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan. Mother: the former Amanda Grayson of Colorado Springs, Colorado. Home base: the city of ShiKahr on Vulcan. Standard Vulcan education. Entered Starfleet Academy at the age of sixteen—interesting that he applied for entry himself. Qualified with the most outstanding grades of any cadet candidate of that class as well as the usual superlative Vulcan physical capabilities ...”
“No ‘weaknesses’ because of his human heritage?” Pike’s question was only half serious. Number One took it at face value.
“None revealed. His record at the Academy is brilliant, majoring in the sciences and computer technology. Graduation at the age of nineteen.” Number One glanced at Pike and tapped the viewscreen. “He did the two years in the accelerated Vulcan course and one year in the required cadet working cruises aboard various ships. Once commissioned, he served for three years as assistant science o
fficer on a space cutter [38] in Sol system. Two years ago, he was promoted to lieutenant (j.g.) and has been serving as third officer and science officer on the Artemis—long-range cruises. On several occasions he has received commendations for heroic action in planetary exploration difficulties and has distinguished himself twice in scientific research. Despite deep-space service, he has continued to upgrade his computer specialist rating. He is currently an A-5.”
Pike looked up in surprise. “The best rating most officers ever make is an A-3.”
“Precisely, sir.” Her dark blue eyes were amused as she stared at him. Pike dropped his own gaze, a little uncomfortable. “Yes, I see,” he said quietly. He cleared his throat. “Personal ratings, relationships with officers and crew?”
“Generally good. His commanders’ remarks are attached to the end of the service jacket, if you care to go over them. The lieutenant is reserved by nature but has no trouble working with crew or superior officers. Captain Daniels notes that Spock has also been known to play a Vulcan lute on occasion. Not a paragon, probably not perfect, either. He is half-human, after all.” Number One smiled at Pike slightly. “But pretty damned good on the face of this record.”
“My record looks good on the face of it, Number One. But I have to tell you there are some whopping mistakes recorded in it that I made when I was a young lieutenant.”
“You survived them, sir.”
“And I suppose we’ll survive having a very young [39] Vulcan science officer as second on the Enterprise. Very well. Who’s next?”
The exec punched up another record on the viewscreen. “Lieutenant (j.g.) Montgomery Scott, engineering officer, serial number SE-197-514 ...”
Chapter Three
T’PRING LIVED ON her father’s estate of In-Yar, which lay sixty kilometers outside the city perimeter. Spock’s ground car had been speeding along a road that knifed through the estate grounds for ten kilometers. The final approach was lined with trees; the metal gates to the estate stood open. He was expected.
Spock drove through and parked beside a graceful fountain that spilled sparkling blue water into a free-form basin and then recycled it through the fountain system. Butter-yellow water flowers floated serenely on the surface of the basin, and a small darter fly flickered down to rest on one of the broad petals, ignoring the soft whisper as Spock cut the ground car’s engine. Spock emerged slowly from the vehicle and paused to stare thoughtfully into the fountain for a moment, admiring the fragile beauty of the water flowers.
The house that rose behind him was two-storied, [41] constructed of dark stone quarried from the Llangon Hills. Its walls might have seemed forbidding, were they not softened by a drapery of climbing vines that sported bright red-orange blossoms. The second-story balconies were festooned with the flowers, and the vines reached even farther up the high walls, almost to the roof. Silvery curtains reflected the already intense morning sun back at the sky, shining in Spock’s eyes as he looked at the house.
He didn’t see the slight movement of one of the drapes in a second-story window as he walked toward the entrance door.
T’Pring turned away from the window as her father said, “It is he?”
“Yes, of course. On time.”
Solen grunted. “If you can call six years late ‘on time.’ You should have been married at eighteen.”
T’Pring shrugged as if this was of little importance. “He has been off-world since he was sixteen. We all know how the Academy and Starfleet service have demanded his attention since then.”
“It seems to me, daughter, that you are remarkably patient in regard to your marriage. Your betrothal has gone on far beyond what any respectable clan would judge reasonable—”
“Because of my betrothed’s commitments, which no respectable clan would, in honor, expect him to break,” T’Pring interrupted coolly. It was a response Solen had heard from her many times when he raised the subject of her marriage. The sweet chime of the entry bell rang downstairs, and she gestured slightly to indicate it. “Now Spock is here to discuss the matter, it will be settled.”
[42] “I will greet him downstairs. Will you wish to see him in the garden?”
“It will be more private that way, Father. You will agree our discussion should be private?”
Solen snorted again, but if he disagreed with T’Pring, he chose not to voice it. T’Pring knew she was a special concern to her father, the only daughter in a family of five children, her mother dead for ten years. Solen had chosen not to remarry, and no tutor had been able to strongly influence the girl’s behavior in her teenage years. She had proceeded through her adolescence solemnly, steering her own course, keeping her own counsel. When Solen raised the subject of her long overdue marriage, T’Pring either ignored it or overrode his comments with strong remarks of her own about Spock’s obligations to Starfleet and the honor with which he must remain responsible to them. Solen finally had become resigned to the fact that T’Pring would deal with the problem of her marriage in her own way and that any opinions he had in regard to it would not be taken into account by his daughter.
A murmur of voices from downstairs indicated the door had been opened and Spock ushered in. “I will send him to you,” Solen muttered, and he hurried downstairs.
He found Senak, his youngest son, engaging Spock with questions about Starfleet and the ships on which he had served. The boy admired Spock, and Solen knew he was considering applying to the Academy himself. But, Solen told himself, Senak is the youngest of my sons and has more freedom. The three older [43] heirs were already married and had produced sons of their own, choosing to follow traditional careers on Vulcan which placed them in service to their house and to the planet. Senak could be spared to a profession that would see him traveling light-years from his home. Spock’s involvement with Starfleet was of more concern. This was the first time he had returned to Vulcan since leaving for the Academy. Still, he was the only male heir of Sarek, and their house was a noble one. Spock was rumored to conduct himself in a manner “more Vulcan than most Vulcans” because of his human blood, and Solen believed he would prove to be a worthy husband to T’Pring. Eventually.
Spock pulled his attention away from the boy’s eager questions and raised his right hand in the Vulcan greeting gesture. “Live long and prosper, Solen of In-Yar.”
“Peace and long life, Spock. It is Lieutenant Spock now?”
“It is.”
“You have done well in so short a time. You are a credit to your house.”
“As I hope to be to yours,” Spock replied.
“My daughter waits for you in the garden. If you will follow me, I will take you to her and then send refreshments.” Solen held out his hand to indicate the rear of the large foyer which cut through the center of the house. A shady expanse could be seen outside the double doors there. Spock nodded, and Solen started to walk ahead of him.
“Father, may I not ask one more question?” Senak said quickly.
[44] “Later perhaps. Lieutenant Spock has business with your sister now.”
The boy subsided, carefully hiding any disappointment he felt. He half bowed to Spock and disappeared into a side room, leaving the two older men alone. Solen moved toward the rear foyer doors and pushed them open. “She will be by the pool. It is one of her favorite places at this time of day.” Solen gestured across the garden, where a path of flat black stones wandered under the trees. Then he stepped back into the house and closed the doors, leaving Spock alone.
Spock followed the path, moving slowly. Part of his dawdling was explained by the fact that he truly admired the beautiful planning in the garden that allowed native growth to combine with hybrids and off-world plants in the same manner as in the city parklands. There was an abundance of flowers to add bright color to the softer greens, blues, and yellows of the trees and decorative shrubs. But the greater part of his hesitation was based on a reluctance to face the young woman to whom he was expected to commit the rest of his personal life. She wa
s, and always had been, too much of a stranger to him.
He reached the pool, a quiet spot overhung with tall trees and carpeted with thick grasses that softened his step. T’Pring sat on an elegantly carved stone bench beside the water, her head turned away as she watched the light wind stir a patch of purple Earth irises. The last time he had seen her, she had been a thin, big-eyed adolescent, showing the promise of the great beauty to come but not yet realized. He paused to study her as she appeared now and had to admit she [45] was exquisite. She was not much taller than she had been eight years ago, but maturity had given her figure womanliness. The dark, almond-shaped eyes still dominated her face, but they were supported by high cheekbones and a genuinely sensual mouth. Her long black hair was simply dressed in a braid through which a silver-blue ribbon was woven. The ribbon matched the color of the softly clinging gown she wore. She sensed his presence and turned toward him, rising as he moved around the side of the pool to her.
“Spock.”
“Live long and prosper, T’Pring,” Spock responded ritually.
“Yes. A long time since we have met.” Not the ritual response.
Spock studied her carefully as she gestured for him to join her on the bench. He decided to remain standing. She arched an eyebrow as she looked back at him, but she seated herself, choosing to ignore what might have been a rejection.
The man she saw before her had changed almost as much as she had. He had grown taller; his chest and shoulders had filled out and broadened. He was no longer the stripling he had been, lanky as a reed, almost gawky. His thick black hair was neatly cut, sideburns trimmed in the triangle shape unique to Starfleet officers. She wondered briefly at the quiet solemnity in his eyes. She remembered him as more lively, more rebellious.
“My responsibilities to Starfleet have kept me away.”
She nodded curtly. “As I have had to explain [46] frequently to my family and friends. I have grown tired of that answer, Spock. I was given to understand that home leave was possible, even in Starfleet.”
STAR TREK: TOS #44 - Vulcan's Glory Page 3