stables. "You know nothing of what excites a male ..." he said
caressingly, obviously enjoying her humiliation. "But have no fear ...
innocence excites me greatly. Do not worry, my targhoy. There is beauty
in you. With the flowering of your womanhood, it will come, Valdyr-oy.
When you are my wife, your beauty will blossom like chal flowers in
spring."
His endearments and the love suffix attached to her name made the young
woman long to shriek with fury. Her mind filled with images of her
plunging the dagger she wore strapped to her forearm into his heart.
As his fingers touched her cheek, Valdyr could not repress a shudder of
disgust. "Look, Kamarag, she trembles for me already? Karg chortled;
then he seized her in a bruising embrace and pressed his face into her
neck, his teeth fastening on her throat so hard that the woman gasped
from the pain.
"Enough, Karg!" Kamarag ordered, and the captain released her. Raising
her hand, Valdyr touched her throat, then stared unbelievingly at the
smear of blood on her fingers. "I know you are hot to take a bride, but
the wedding will not take place until after our triumph. The taste of
victory will add extra savor to your wedding night, Karg."
The captain was breathing hard as his eyes ran over Valdyr's body, and
his voice, when he spoke, was thick.
"Very well, Kamarag. But she is sweet enough to tempt any male ... "He
addressed the young woman then. "Do not concern yourself about your
fitness to be my wife, Valdyr-oy.
Just as the beauty will come, you will learn the intricacies of society,
until you are ready to take your place with me, to help my advancement.
Your uncle assures me that you possess high intelligence, for a female."
Valdyr wanted to flay him alive for his words, but she held herself
back. She must be clever, use all of her wits to escape this fate that
loomed before her. Allowing Karg to see her true feelings would only
make them watch her closely until the day of the wedding.
Perhaps she could run away. Or, if she could not refuse Karg, perhaps
she could postpone the marriage for a while.
Karg was a warrior. Perhaps he would be killed. The thought made her
smile.
So, steeling herself, Valdyr forced herself to say, "At the moment,
school occupies all my time. Perhaps when I finish this term, I will
find myself more ... prepared for marriage, Uncle."
Kamarag frowned. "You will not need further schooling now that I have
arranged such a successful match for you, aldyr. Better you should turn
your attention to the management of households. That in itself is a
demanding life."
"Your uncle is right, Valdyr-oy. I have a large house, but it has
suffered from the lack of a woman to care for it," Karg added.
"No further schooling?" Valdyr struggled to control her temper. If she
made her uncle angry, it would bode ill for her brothers, as well as for
her. She must not allow them to know what was in her mind. "But, Uncle
..."
Perhaps sensing her distress, her uncle said, "You may finish out this
term, as long as it does not interfere with your duties here, and with
your spending more time in the kitchens, learning the duties of a wife."
He gave Karg a smug glance. "I will not have Karg say that you did not
come to him properly trained for your new role."
"In addition to the kitchens," Karg said, his gaze roving over her body
again, "do not forget that you must learn the ways of the nursery,
Valdyr-oy." With a toothy grin, he slapped her uncle on the back and
left the chamber.
Once they were alone, Kamarag regarded his niece with a touch of
impatience. "Well, girl?" he barked, finally. "Have you nothing to say?"
The young woman exerted rigid control as she forced herself to reply
quietly, "Uncle, I will do as you say."
"See that you do," he grumbled. "You do not want to appear ungrateful,
do you, niece?"
"No, sir." Relaxing visibly, her uncle rocked back on his heels, and
smiled as he changed the subject. "The meeting went well today, did it
not?"
"They all seemed to share your point of view," Valdyr said, treading a
careful verbal path. "All except Keraz." Her uncle dismissed the
commander with a wave of one blunt-fingered hand. "Hundreds of years
from now, our names will be remembered as the ones who saved the Empire
and the Klingon way of life," he said, earnestly, his deep-set eyes
gleaming.
"But ... current policy of our government is to make peace with the
Federation," Valdyr reminded him. "Peace with the Federation, friendship
with our old enemies--even peace with James Kirk, who saved the
chancellor's--"
"Kirk!" roared Kamarag so loudly that Valdyr started.
"Niece, I cannot hear that name without anger--do not think to provoke
me by letting it fall from your lips so casually! May Kirk be devoured
by ten thousand demons on his way to oblivion! Kirk lives still, and I
have no peace!" Furious, the ambassador strode back and forth in the
small chamber, his boots resounding on the floor like ancient war drums.
"Kirk! Kirk is the enemy, and I will never regain my honor until he is
dead, until I can dip my hands in his warm blood and dye them scarlet--I
will never rest until Kirk and all his line are wiped out!"
"But, Uncle." Valdyr was taken aback. Kamarag's temper was legendary,
but she'd never seen her uncle in such a rage.
"Kirk saved Azetbur's life. She will never agree to having him killed."
"I care nothing for her!" Kamarag was livid. "She is the spineless
daughter of a spineless coward. She will not stop me, niece."
"Stop you in what, Uncle?" Valdyr asked, curious and repelled at the
same moment.
"Stop me from carrying out my plan," the ambassador said, and smiled.
The sight of that smile chilled her, even though her chamber was warm.
"What plan?" she asked.
His smile broadened, revealing a mouthful of teeth. A cunning, predatory
expression replaced the anger that had been there. "You will see,
Valdyr," he promised softly. "Just wait, and you will see ... "
Journal of Amanda Grayson Sarek September 16,2293 What is it like to
die?
Vulcan& of course, have their katras ... a word no one has ever been
able to translate with any degree of precision. Not quite a soul, not
exactly a personality, more than a memory, less than a living being ...
I suppose one has to be born Vulcan to have any hope of understanding
Vulcan mysticism.
Spock and Sarek will live on, after their deaths. Will I?
Many of Earth religions hold that I will ... but there is no certainty.
And if there is an afterlife, would individuals from different worlds
mingle there?
Now I am getting metaphysical--and silly. Speculating about such things
is fruitless ... illogical. Life after death will either happen, or it
won't, and there is nothing I can do about it either way ... except
bephilosophical.
I dread Sarek return from Freelan, even as I long for it. I suspect
T'Mal conta
cted him, and that she was as blunt with him as she was
evasive with me. No doubt she was concerned that the truth would be too
much for a human to bear.
Little does she know this particular human. I have known what is
happening to me for months, now. I can't remember when I first realized
that my body was
running down, sputtering to its inevitable halt ... the knowledge just
grew in me, day by day.
It seems that I have Reyerson's disease. It isn't always fatal,
especially to those in the prime of life--but I am ninety-three.
Luckily, itg not an illness that causes a great deal of pain. Its main
symptom is continuous exhaustion, which, at my age, is fairly common
anyway.
I've spent time these past few days reading over my old journals. The
moments come back so clearly, it almost seems as though the past is the
reality, and this present, with its exhaustion and inevitable ending, is
merely a bad dream.
When I read about them, the memories revive, as fresh as if they
happened only yesterday. I cannot believe I have lived this long--it all
seems to have gone by at great speed. Every time I look in a mirror
these days, I am shocked to see a woman who is, beyond a doubt ... old.
I don't FEEL old.t--not inside. The aches and pains remind me of my true
age, but my mind and my heart feel as young as ever. Young Amanda is in
here with me, in my head, and Old Amanda has trapped us within this
shell of aged bone and flesh.
Curious, isn't it? I wonder if every human feels this way ... or am I
unusual? l,'ulcans, of course, feel exactly as om as their chronological
age. Anything else would be illogical ... Can I really be ... dying?
At times I have to fight off panic, but those episodes are growing less
and less frequent. They are simply too tiring, I suppose, for a body
that is ... shutting down.
Of course, I would not want to live forever ... but I don't want to
die, either. I want to live--there are still so many things to do, so
many places to go, so many things to see-- I want to live ... yet Iam
coming to realize that I will not, at least, not for much longer. By
this time next year, probably much sooner, the universe will be going on
without me. Amanda Grayson, Madam Sarek, the Lady Amanda ... I will be
gone, will be no more.
I am dying.
There, I've admitted it. Writing it out in black and white like that has
actually been a relief. Facing the worst the future has to offer is
better than mincing around, shying away from an all-too-possible
reality.
Of course, the Healers are treating me, trying to arrest the disease.
But I know without asking that my progno-sis is dismal. And, even if a
miracle happened, and I were cured of this particular illness, at my
age, the inevitable can only be staved off for a short time.
There is one journal entry that I've been saving as a treat, for when I
feel particularly low. I believe that tonight is the night to read it
...
June 14,2229 ... a few minutes past midnight My hand trembles as I
write this ... I can scarcely believe what happened tonight!After all
these months of seeing him, trying to make myself believe that his
interest was not solely that of a diplomat befriending a student of his
culture ... trying, but never quite succeeding--I can hardly believe
what I am about to write--tonight Sarek kissed me/ It was not really a
kiss as a human knows it--but it happened. Just the softest brush of his
fingertips against my lips, but I trembled as we turned and walked home
in silence. Even now, as I sit here writing, I feel as though I have
caught some exotic fever.
Is it possible that we have known each other for only four months? It
seems incredible that my life could have changed so radically, so
irrevocably, in such a short time. Four months, almost to the day.
My work was everything to me ... teaching was my only passion. Being
able to convey to my students the wonder and richness of alien cultures
was my fondest dream, a goal to be striven for, my heart's greatest
desire. The day I won the T'Relan Award for Excellence in Teaching was,
I thought then, the pinnacle of my life.
All this time, these past months, wondering, trying to fathom why such a
distinguished diplomat wanted to spend time with a teacher who happened
to win an award for teaching and thus was invited to an embassy
reception ...
Once or twice I thought, "Perhaps he's attracted to me," only to back
awayjkom the thought at warp speed.
Vulcans do not form romantic attachments, after all.
Either they bond at a very young age, or they make a reasoned, logical
decision later in life. Romance? Don't be ridiculous, Amanda.t But
tonight ... was romantic. I believe that even Sarek felt it, was
affected by the spell of the night ...
The three-quarter moon was setting over the Pacific as the couple walked
along the beach. Amanda Grayson picked her way over the wet sand,
smiling as the white-tipped waves curled ever closer to her feet. Dinner
had been excellent; Sarek had taken her to one of the finest restaurants
in town.
As they'd eaten, she'd caught curious glances from their fellow diners.
It was unusual, she knew, for a human woman and a Vulcan male to be seen
together. And her escort was a noted diplomat at the Vulcan Embassy--a
well-known public figure.
Thankfully, after they'd left the restaurant, none of the curious had
followed them. Now, watching the moon slip down toward the waves, they
were completely alone. The tide was coming in, lapping ever higher.
Amanda watched her escort coverfly as he gazed at the ocean, his
expression quiet and serene.
She was so intent on watching Sarek that an importunate wave caught her
unawares. Amanda jumped and gasped as cold water sloshed over her feet,
and she bumped hard against the Vulcan. Automatically, he caught her arm
and steadii her. It was the first time he had touched her in the four
months since she'd met him.
"Oh, thank you!" she exclaimed. "If I'd fallen in, I'd have gotten
soaked." Glancing up at him diffidently, she caught her breath in
surprise as she realized that he was ... smiling. There could be no
doubt about it. Sarek's austere,
aquiline features had softened, and his normally stern mouth curved
upward on both ends. The Vulcan's dark eyes held an amused spark.
Sarek is smiling. At me, she thought, amazed and touched.
I didn't know he could smile.t
She smiled back at him, feeling a rush of happiness so pure and strong
that it was like some euphoria-inducing drug. As they stared at each
other, their eyes locked, the next wave caught both of them in its wash.
This time they both jumped. Amanda, glancing down, saw that the
ambassador's boots were soaked. "Oh, dear.
Your boots."
"They will dry," Sarek said, ignoring his footwear.
"Amanda ... tell me something."
"What?"
"Is there anyone ... special in your life?"
He can'
t possibly know what that question means on Earth, she thought,
blankly. "Of course there is," she said, struggling not to blush. "I
have my parents, and my students, my family and my friends. They're all
very special to me ... Sarek."
It had been hard for her to call him by only his name without his
title--he was such a formal person, so reserved.
It was growing easier each time she did it. "And of course, back East I
have several friends that I only see a few times a year, because
they're--"
"Amanda ..." She couldn't believe that he'd interrupted her. He'd never
done that before. The Vulcan stepped closer to her, so close she could
feel the heat of his body against her face and throat.
"Yes, Sarek?"
"I wanted to know whether there is a special male in your life."
She stared at him unbelievingly, but managed to compose herself. "No,
Sarek. There is no special ... male." Her heart was pounding harder
than the surf.
"So you are free to choose a ... mate?" he asked.
"Yes," she whispered, but hardly any sound emerged from her throat. The
Vulcan leaned closer, indicating that even his acute hearing had not
picked up her answer. "Yes," she repeated. "Yes, I am."
"That is good to hear, Amanda," he said quietly; then he leaned forward,
slowly and deliberately, and kissed her mouth with his fingertips.
Star Trek - Sarek Page 8