Star Trek - TOS - 30 - DEMONS

by J. M. Dillard

  used to the new, relaxed regulations on hairstyle. Tomson was regular

  navy, and still had palpitations when a crewman's hair touched the

  collar. She made a mental note to talk to Nguyen afterwards. For

  routine security work,

  okay--but for show, pomp and circumstance, the hair should be pinned

  up. Nguyen might not like it, of course; if she decided to be bold,

  she could point out to Tomson that this was a backwater planet in a

  dead sector and the Vulcans they were picking up were scientists, not

  diplomats.. .. She could point it out, and find herself transferred.

  Tomson was not there to be liked. She was there to see to it that her

  people did their job.

  Nguyen smiled up uncertainly at her, and Tomson's pale face shifted

  into the barest ghost of a smile. It was often an effort for her to be

  friendly, especially with overeager types like Nguyen. She'd once

  overheard a crewman saying that it must be the altitude--it wasn't the

  first such comment she'd heard. A cold, six-and-a-half-foot female

  security chief was an easy target for jokes. Tomson told herself she

  did not care, as long as it didn't interfere with her job.

  "They were staying behind to finish up an archaeological dig, and one

  of them was injured," Tomson answered, looking straight ahead and not

  at Nguyen. "All of their doctors had already left, and he needed

  immediate medical attention. The Enterprise was the closest ship out.

  Apparently, his family came with him."

  "Extended family," al-Baslama said. He was swarthy, congenial, and

  almost as tall as Tomson. Save for his intelligence, he perfectly fit

  the stereotype of the beefy security guard.

  Nguyen nodded; they had picked up twelve passengers. "Do they always

  travel in families like that?"

  "It was convenient in this instance," Tomson said. "They'd been out

  close to forty years."

  "Forty years .. ." Nguyen faltered.

  Tomson shrugged. "The wink of an eye, to a Vulcan." She stopped

  abruptly as they approached the turbolift and turned to al-Baslama. "I

  wonder if I could talk to you for a minute, al-B?"

  "Of course, sir."

  Nguyen got on the turbolift and shot a glance in alBaslama's direction,

  which he studiously ignored. From the looks of things, Nguyen had

  already joined the ranks of al-B's ardent admirers; no doubt, she had

  hoped to ditch Tomson and consult al-B about his off duty plans. Tomson

  watched the doors close over her with a sense of smugness.

  Al-Baslama stood politely at attention, and Tomson looked at him

  admiringly. Next to Tomson, he held the highest rank of anyone else in

  security lieutenant, junior grade. Not, Tomson thought, that he

  hadn't earned it. Now that Nguyen was gone, she permitted herself to

  smile at him. Al-B relaxed; he had not been able to tell from the

  lieutenant's voice whether to expect praise or a reprimand.

  Tomson never wasted words. "I've recommended you be put up for

  promotion. I want you to know that my evaluation of you was extremely

  flattering."

  "Sir?" al-Baslama said. He wasn't due for a promotion for another six

  months. He was silent for a moment and then seemed to remember that

  more of a response was called for, "Thank you, sir. That's very

  kind."

  Tomson leaned forward conspiratorially and lowered her voice. "I'll

  tell you another secret, al-B. I'm almost sure you're going to get

  it."

  He hesitated. "Sir .. . that would mean a transfer."

  "I suppose it would," Tomson said, falsely casual. It was not

  something she liked to think about, but someone like al-B deserved any

  help he got from his superiors. "You deserve a command of your own.

  We both know that."

  "But I've enjoyed working with you, sir," al-B protested. "You're the

  best."

  Tomson lowered her eyes, uncharacteristically embarrassed. "I

  appreciate the compliment, Lieutenant, but you've got a career to think

  of. You shouldn't let anything get in its way."

  "Yes, sir," he said, clearly unconvinced. "Again, thank you, sir."

  Tomson stepped into the turbolift, and al-B followed. He stood,

  silent, not looking at her, as they moved toward C deck.

  When she could no longer stand the silence, she said, slightly

  exasperated, "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"

  Al-B squared his shoulders. "Is there any way, sir, that I could get

  the promotion and still be assigned to the Enterprise?"

  Nguyen, Tomson thought bitterly. She almost stamped her foot. "Dammit,

  al-B, I stuck my neck out on this one! What's the matter with you?

  There's no one on this ship worth wasting your career for!"

  "I had thought..." he said softly, then broke off. "I guess I was

  wrong."

  Tomson was about to continue her invective until she caught his eye.

  She had only seen such looks directed at others, never at herself--and

  she became

  suddenly conscious of her heart beating faster. "Moh ." she said

  gently. "I'm your immediate superior. It wouldn't be proper."

  "I know, sir. But a transfer .. ." He looked hard at her. "I guess I

  read everything wrong. Is that what you really want?"

  "Yes--for your career," Tomson insisted. Then, in a much lower voice,

  she said, "Personally? No. You're the best person, male or female,

  I've ever had on this team .. . and the nicest."

  He smiled sadly. "Maybe it won't go through, Lieutenant."

  The doors to the turbolift opened. "Don't be a damn fool," she said

  shortly, and walked away too quickly for him to catch up.

  Amanda had finished planting and was just watering the last rosebush

  when Sarek brought Silek back into the garden. She straightened

  suddenly, smiled, and then grimaced.

  "Are reunions always painful for you, my wife?" Sarek asked calmly.

  "It's nothing," she said, smiling once again. "A thorn. Silek, how

  wonderful to see you!" Her impulse was to hold out her hand in the

  Vulcan embrace, two fingers extended, but a strange shyness held her

  back. "You've hardly changed."

  It was true, of course; other than a broad streak of gray in the front

  of his hair, Silek looked exactly the same. Being human and aging much

  faster, Amanda knew that he could not truthfully say the same for her;

  after living with a Vulcan for many years, she did not expect him to.

  Curious, though, how much he looked

  like Spock.. .. She had never forgotten his face, but had somehow

  failed to realize over the years that by some capricious combination of

  genes, her son had grown to look more like his uncle than his own

  father.

  "How long has it been?" she asked.

  "Thirty-eight-point-four years, or so your husband tells me." Silek

  did not smile, but the effect was the same as if he had. Amanda

  wondered how he did it.

  Sarek held out his hand to her in the ritual embrace; automatically,

  she walked over to the two men and touched her fingertips to her

  husband's. Sarek looked down at her hand and permitted himself the

  small, exasperated tug at one corner of his mouth that usually appeared

  only when he teased her
in private. "Your hands are dirty, my wife. I

  see that you have forgotten your gloves again."

  "I'm not afraid of a little dirt," Amanda replied, pretending defiance,

  but she wiped her hands again on her coveralls. "Ouch!"

  "The thorn?" Sarek asked. "Let me see."

  Amanda held up her thumb and did not flinch as Sarek removed the thorn

  with expert detachment. "So you see," Sarek said under his breath to

  Silek, "what marrying an Earther has brought me." A small rill of

  blood followed the thorn, and she instinctively pulled her dirty thumb

  away from Sarek and put it in her mouth.

  "Barbaric." Silek turned to Sarek. "Is it typical to find her

  thus--covered with dirt?"

  Sarek nodded. "She has always been fond of gardening; indeed, she

  knows more now about Vulcan gardening than I. But it has always been

  her private sorrow that roses could not survive the climate here.

  She tells me now that a genus of rose has been developed which can

  withstand life on Vulcan."

  "For her sake, I hope it survives," said Silek, remembering that roses

  had always been her favorite flower.

  Amanda smiled. "This time I am determined. Neither hot Vulcan breezes

  nor infernal pests are going to destroy my flowers this time. But

  here, let me clean up." She brushed the dark, loamy soil from her

  coveralls. "I wasn't expecting you back so soon; this isn't exactly my

  hostess gown."

  "Finish your gardening," Silek said. "If we were on Earth, I'd say I

  am family, not company. And it is quite nice in the garden."

  "On Vulcan the best kind of company is family," Amanda retorted.

  "Besides, I'm finished. I'll be only a few minutes." She turned and

  went into the house.

  "I have never seen such black soil," said Silek.

  "Earth dirt," Sarek replied. "For Earth flowers. Imported all the way

  from Minnesota, knowing my wife."

  Silek walked carefully through the fresh mounds of earth and leaned

  over the nearest bush to inspect it. There were no buds. "These would

  be yellow roses," he said suddenly.

  Sarek studied him curiously. "I was unaware you were such a

  horticulture expert, Silek. These are a yellow variety known as Desert

  Peace."

  Silek straightened. "I cannot claim such expertise, Sarek, merely a

  simple deduction. I was recalling a conversation when Amanda mentioned

  her favorite flower."

  "You have an excellent memory, brother." * * *

  Thirty-nine years ago, Georgetown. It was Silek's first protracted

  stay on Terra, and the weather there had been abominable--freezing cold

  in the winter, cool but humid in the summer. It was Amanda who made it

  all infinitely more tolerable. As an exchange student in the doctoral

  program, he taught linguistics to undergraduates; Amanda, in the same

  program, shared the office with him.

  There was something of the rebel in Silek. The fact that he was at

  Georgetown attested to it he had gone despite his father's savage

  protests. It was a matter of personal pride for him; he had explained

  patiently to his father that he had no interest in politics and

  diplomacy, and that his talents lay elsewhere. But Skon would not hear

  of any divergence from the family tradition; Silek would attend the

  academy, as his elder brother had, and would follow in the path of his

  father, and his father's father.. ..

  Silek chose instead to be ktorr skann, without a family. It had not

  been an easy decision--the formal cutting of ties, forbidding him ever

  to return to the house of his father--but it was the only one he could

  have made. It was no small irony to Silek that following his own path

  led him to Washington, where his ultra-conformist brother worked at the

  embassy. The relationship between the two was not without its strains;

  although Silek told himself he was incapable of feelings of jealousy or

  competition, he experienced them nonetheless. And anger, perhaps, at

  his brother, for always doing the correct thing, for never questioning

  the old ways. After the formal declaration of Silek's apostasy from

  the family, he doubted whether Sarek would even acknowledge his

  presence there

  Sarek, pride of his father, pride of the entire family, no doubt soon

  to be appointed ambassador to Terra. Silek was quite shocked when

  Sarek risked their father's wrath by receiving his younger brother with

  his usual reserve. Perhaps Sarek was changing; perhaps he, too, was

  learning to question.

  Amanda made Silek question himself more than any other being he had

  known. Many times he had asked himself what it was about her, what it

  could possibly be, that made her so unlike any other female he had

  met.

  Yet it was he who had introduced her to Sarek after hearing of the need

  for an English tutor who was willing to teach at the embassy. Because

  of Silek's glowing recommendations, Sarek interviewed her himself. And

  out of family loyalty, it was Silek who convinced her to marry Sarek,

  after he had already realized the extent of her feelings for his

  brother and had condemned himself to forget his own.

  Thirty-nine years ago, Silek walked into his small, windowless office

  and found Amanda sitting, looking at the cascade of roses which covered

  her desk. He had asked her the significance of the flowers.

  "I wish I knew," she said and looked up at last with her clear blue

  eyes. "I wonder if the person who sent them knows."

  "Sarek." He stated it flatly, like a fact. "What do you mean, if he

  knows?"

  Amanda looked down at her desk again and didn't speak for a moment.

  Silek went over to the door and closed it softly behind him.

  "Red roses signify love," she said, still not looking at him. "I'm

  sure that he doesn't realize that. I think he's just following what he

  thinks is a polite custom. He knows I'm fond of roses."

  "He is, at least, attempting to please you." Silek's desk was

  perpendicular to hers; he turned his chair sideways to face her. "Isn't

  that significant?"

  Amanda didn't seem to hear the question; she looked up at him with a

  sudden intensity. "Do you know of any marriages between Vulcans and

  humans, Silek?"

  The question caught him off guard. "No ... I have not been informed of

  any. However, I wouldn't be surprised--"

  "Not surprised?" Amanda seemed to be. "Most people would be shocked

  at the idea."

  "Only those who have not met you, Amanda." Silek leaned back in his

  chair, not quite able to believe that he had actually said it.

  She was too agitated to understand what he was saying. "I need your

  help, Silek. I need to be ... logical about this.. .."

  Is it logic you want, Amanda, he thought; but he said, "You are in love

  with Sarek?"

  Amanda nodded, miserable. "But I mustn't expect anything in return

  from him. I know how pathetically emotional I must appear.. .. But if

  you could just explain it to me--if you could tell me what his motives

  are--I can't understand them."

  "Sarek doesn't tell you how he feels," Silek said quietly. Again, it

  was a statement of
fact, not a question.

  "Yes."

  Silek almost smiled, then turned his face away and spoke in a voice

  that Amanda found almost inaudible. "How you underestimate yourself,

  my lady." He looked back at her. "You are aware, of course, of the

  origin of your own name?"

  "I hadn't thought about it." Amanda, the linguist, was embarrassed.

  "Old Earth Latin. It means 'lovable." Your parents named you well."

  Silek watched with interest as Amanda's face flushed red, but she

  continued to struggle toward her objective. "Do you think--is it

  possible--Sarek loves me?"

  "Roses do not symbolize logic, Amanda. And I know my brother is well

  versed in any human custom he practices. He is, after all, chief aide

  to the Terran ambassador."

  Amanda raised a hand to her red cheek and looked at her roses.

  Silek continued. "But he cannot be pressed to use the same words and

  gestures you use, Amanda. Let his actions express his feelings; we

  Vulcans are unaccustomed to the use of words when it comes to such

  matters."

  "I think he is going to ask me to marry him," she said with great

  ef fort. "And I don't know what to say, because I didn't know if he

  could care for me."

  "At the risk of betraying my race, the Vulcan who says he has no