it."
"For heaven's sake, Sarek," Amanda said, her eyes flashing with
indignation, "I've lived here most of my adult life! I know it's hot
outside! But I have been cooped up in this house for nearly a week, and
I am tired of seeing nothing but these four walls, tired of resting. I
want to sit in my garden, damn it!" Her voice gained strength and volume
as she spoke, but faltered and cracked on the last line.
Sarek was taken aback at her vehemence--he knew Amanda had a temper, had
known that since before their marriage, but he could have numbered on
one hand the occasions when his wife had resorted to profanity.
"Amanda ..." he began softly, then stopped.
"Besides," she added, her eyes filled with weary resignation,
"what difference will it make, really?" The ambassador gazed down at
her. Under the circumstances, he could not find it in himself to deny
her wish. It was such a small request ...
"Very well," he agreed. "Do you have your respirator with you?" Smiling,
Amanda patted the pocket of her robe, indicating that she did. "What
about the logic of following the Healer's orders?" she asked him.
"Logic tells me that you will expend far more energy arguing about this
than you will in a brief interlude outside," Sarek retorted as he bent
over and scooped her up as he would have a child. She was hardly heavier
than one.
Perhaps, Sarek thought, a brief excursion outside would bolster her
flagging appetite.
When Sarek reached the garden, he carefully lowered his wife's slight
form onto a stone bench, then seated himself beside her. Amanda's eyes
shone as her gaze took in the beauty of the night, the garden, and the
hovering planet that dominated the sky. "It is lovely," she breathed. "I
knew it would be."
"It is good to see you here again," Sarek said. "The garden's appearance
is not aesthetically complete without its creator." Amanda, recognizing
the compliment despite its subtlety, smiled roguishly at her husband.
"Sarek, I do believe you are getting sentimental," she teased.
Her husband's lips curved upward as he permitted himself the faint,
answering smile that few besides his wife had ever seen. "Nonsense, my
wife. My comment was entirely logical. This is your garden; you designed
it, planted it, and nurtured its growth. It is a reflection of your
creative instincts, so, logically, it appears at its most attractive
when you are present to complement and complete it. There is nothing
'sentimental' about that--I was merely stating a fact." Amanda chuckled,
and to Sarek's ears the sound was more welcome than any strain of music.
"Now you're rationalizing, my dear--as well as teasing me. It is a good
thing our son isn't here to hear you. Spock would be shocked." Despite
Sarek's control, the muscles in his jaw tightened fractionally at the
mention of his son's name. Amanda was watching him intently, and her
husband realized that she had not missed that tiny betrayal. Her smile
faded. "Have you heard from Spock?" she asked anxiously. "You didn't--"
She broke off at her husband's nod, and her eyes flashed again, this
time with anger. "You didn't!" she exclaimed. It was an accusation, not
a question.
Sarek gazed up at T'Rukh fixedly. "I sent a subspace message to Spock
before I left the Freelan system," he admitted quietly.
"How could you?" Amanda was furious--as he'd known she would be. "We had
a bargain! You gave me your word! I did not want him told, you knew
that! I--" She sputtered indignantly for a moment, then subsided, too
angry to speak. Finally, her chin lifted and she glared at him, her eyes
now cold. "Your action was entirely illogical, my husband," she said in
slow, careful Vulcan, using one of the ancient, formal dialects. Then
she turned away, staring fixedly at The Watcher. It was no longer full;
its upper limb was now shadowed.
Sarek was taken aback by her accusation--in ancient days, it would have
constituted an insult. "Amanda--" he began, then waited patiently for
two point six minutes until she finally looked at him. "My wife," he
said softly, hearing the tension in his own voice, "Spock had to be
informed. If anything happened to you, and I had not told him, he would
never speak to me again--and I could not fault him for his decision."
Amanda sighed, and Sarek immediately knew that her anger had turned to
resignation. "You're probably right," she said quietly.
"Amanda," Sarek said slowly, "I regret going against your wishes, but
logic and duty demanded that I make my own decision."
"But our son has been through so much in the past couple of years!" she
murmured, twisting her wasted hands in her lap. "He lost his ship,
Valeris betrayed him, my god, he lost his very life--he needs to finish
putting the pieces back together, not have other concerns added!"
"Would you deny him the chance to see his mother again?" Sarek said, and
the phrase "for the last time" seemed to fill the quiet garden.
It was a long time before Amanda replied. "No, I suppose not. I suppose
you did the right thing, as well as the logical thing. But I wanted
Spock to--" She broke off on a ragged breath.
"You wanted him to what?" Sarek asked, quietly.
"I don't want him to see me," she admitted, dully. "I thought it would
be better if he remembered me the way I used to be ... "
"That' never occurred to me," Sarek said, slowly. "Your attitude is
illogical, Amanda ... and vain. Human vanity, I believe, is as foreign
to my son as it is to me."
"I know that," she said softly. "I've lived here for decades, and never
yet managed to figure out how Vulcans can be so arrogant without being
at all vain."
"You have learned much about my people," Sarek conceded, quietly. "It is
possible that no human understands us better."
Sarek crossed her fingers with his, but, in addition, he gently traced
the contours of her face with two fingers of his other hand. The
intimacy of the caress, outside of their bedroom, made Amanda's eyes
widen; then she closed them, concentrating on their bond, and the
closeness it gave them.
Finally both stirred, and Sarek dropped his hand. "We should go in, my
wife," he said gently. "I sense your fatigue.
You must rest."
Amanda nodded, but, when he would have risen, put out a hand to
forestall him. "Just five more minutes," she pleaded. "Who knows ...
when ... or ..." She hesitated, but did not say "if" aloud. "Anyway,
there is no way to know how long it will be before I'll be able to be
with you in the garden again. Five minutes more, Sarek ... please?"
Sarek gazed down at her, then nodded. "Very well," he said. "But you
must agree to put on your respirator, Amanda."
She frowned, but then her features smoothed into serenity once more, and
she obediently slipped the little mask over her mouth and nose.
Together, fingers once more touching, they gazed at The Watcher, while
the night breeze caressed their faces.
Spock felt the surrounding heat even before his body was completely
rematerialized. Nevasa was almost directly overhead, blazing furiously.
The transporter chief had beamed him down into the gardens behind his
parents' mountain villa. It had been nearly five years since his last
visit here, and Spock noted absently that Amanda had expanded the cactus
garden to include species from the deserts on Andor, Tellar, and Rigel
VI. The plants were brilliant shades of lime green, amethyst, and
turquoise, doubly arresting next to the dusty greens and reds of the
Terran and native Vulcan plants.
He walked slowly up the crushed stone path, feeling the heat envelop him
like a blanket. He welcomed the hot caress. Vulcan. No matter that he
had spent more of his life with deck plates beneath his boots than he
had treading the sandy soil of his homeworld--when he was back on
Vulcan, he knew he was home.
The mountain villa was a low, redstone building with solar panels set
into its flat roofs. Its design was deceptively simple and austere; from
outside it appeared smaller and more rustic than it actually was. The
surrounding foothills and the paths leading up to the mountain crests
were as familiar to Spock as the corridors of his starship.
Just as he reached the kala-thorn hedge that enclosed the garden, a door
opened onto the rearmost of the roofs and Sarek emerged. At his father's
signal, Spock halted and waited for him. Sarek took the side ramp down
to the ground, then skirted the edge of Amanda's garden until he stood
before his son.
The Vulcan officer held up his hand in the salute of his people.
"Greetings, Father," he said in their native tongue.
"I trust you are well?"
Sarek nodded. "Greetings, my son. Yes, I am well. It is good to have you
here."
Despite his father's reassurance, Spock was concerned about the
ambassador's health. The lines in Sarek's face had deepened, and his
hair was grayer than it had been a month before. His shoulders seemed
smaller, and the flesh of his hand, as he returned his son's salute, was
tightly drawn over the bones of his fingers.
"How is Mother?" Spock asked.
"Sleeping," his father replied. "The monitoring devices will indicate
when she awakes. The Healer has stressed her need for rest." The
ambassador glanced around. "We should go in."
Spock nodded. "Nevasa is ... formidable today. One forgets, after years
away."
Together they went into the villa, then sat down in the living room
Amanda had decorated with handwoven wall hangings. Spock sipped
appreciatively at a cup of relen tea, covertly watching Sarek as his
father paced restlessly around the room, gazing at the bone-white walls
and the desert-hued hangings as though he'd never seen them before.
Finally, Sarek turned to face his son. "Your mother ..." he began, then
he fell silent.
"She ... is dying?" Spock asked, feeling his throat contract over the
words.
"Yes," Sarek said, seeming relieved that his son had spared him having
to say it aloud. "The Healer holds out little hope of recovery, even
though she is being treated for Reyerson's disease. The illness, in one
of her age, is too debilitating."
Spock nodded silent understanding.
Father and son occupied their time while waiting for Amanda to awaken by
sharing a simple lunch. It had been years since he and his father had
been alone together long enough to share a meal, Spock realized, and he
found himself enjoying Sarek's company. They spoke of the Klingons and
the Khitomer Conference, of the current political situation in the
Federation, and a host of other diplomatic concerns.
Spock rose from his seat and wandered over to examine the water
sculpture in the corner of the room. Every time he came home, its design
and flow were slightly altered--Amanda changed it periodically. This
time, there was something different about it--the flowing lines were
sharper, more angular than before. The water ran in clear perfection,
instead of taking on colors from the underlying crystal and stone.
"It is different," he said to his father, indicating the sculpture.
Sarek nodded. "I programmed it this time. Your mother did not have the
energy to do the work herself, but she was tired of the old design."
Studying the piece of art, Spock finally nodded. "Yes, I can see that.
This design is far more ... logical." He hesitated, trying to frame the
rest of his thought in a way that would not offend.
"But not as aesthetically pleasing," Sarek finished for him. Taking in
Spock's surprised glance, he nodded. "I saved the old designs, every one
of them. As soon as Amanda grows tired of the current design, I will
reactivate one of her programs."
Sarek hesitated for a long moment, then continued.
"There is something that has been concerning me for some time now. I
need your advice on a problem I am facing."
Spock's gaze sharpened with curiosity. "A problem?" he prompted. Never
before had Sarek asked him--or anyone else, insofar as he knew--for
advice.
"Recent events have convinced me that a serious problem
is facing the Federation from an unsuspected quarter," Sarek said,
steepling his fingers on the table before him.
"What do you know of the Keep Earth Human League?"
Just as Spock opened his mouth to reply, the monitor in the corner
beeped softly. The ambassador quickly rose to his feet. "Your mother is
awake."
Soft-looted, Spock followed his father down the hall to his parents'
bedroom. Even though he had thought himself prepared for his mother's
illness, he was shocked by her extreme pallor and thinness, as she lay
in the middle of the huge bed.
"Mother ..." Spock said gently, leaning over her to take one of her
hands in his own. The bones beneath her papery skin seemed no more
substantial than those of a songbird.
"Spock ..." she whispered, even before her eyes opened.
Her familiar, loving smile shone out of her face, transforming it,
making it suddenly familiar again. "Oh, Spock, it is so good to see you
... "
The first officer stayed with his mother for nearly an hour, talking
quietly to her. When Amanda's eyes began to close, he squeezed her hand,
then left.
Sarek was sitting at the table when his son reentered the dining room.
Spock sank into a chair, and took a deep breath. "I did not want to
believe it," he said, dully.
"I know. I experienced the same reaction," Sarek said quietly.
Father and son gazed at each other in silent accord.
Laser torch in hand, s'kara straightened up slowly from her crouch
beside the massive combination planter-harvester.
Overhead, Kadura's small orange sun, Rana Delta Eridani), was trying to
break through the winter cloud cover ... and almost succeeding. s'kara
turned her face up, enjoying the brush of warmth against her dark green
Orion skin. Her short, curly black hair, liberally shot with the gold
threads of age, stirred in the chill breeze that cooled the sweat on her
forehead.
Looking off across the fie
lds, rusty brown instead of summer blue-green,
s'kara let her gaze wander to her village of Melkai. There were snug
little homes, painted in shades of blue, yellow, green, and mauve, their
rooftops black and studded with solar collecting cells.
The Orion woman grimaced a little as she rubbed her back with one hand.
Squatting beneath the combine all morning while she tried to weld its
sequencer into position again was a sure guarantee of a backache to
come. Still, the combine would have to be used soon for planting, for
spring, despite the cold grayness of the sky, was only a few weeks away.
With a heartfelt groan, s'kara bent her knees and prepared to squat
beneath the machine again, laser torch poised.
Just as she ducked to crawl beneath the combine, a dark shadow loomed
overhead. s'kara caught it out of the corner of her eye and
involuntarily looked up.
What was that? she wondered. It almost looked like a ship going by.
s'kara's heart pounded as she slid back out into the open and stood up.
Her eyes widened with fear.
A ship was swooping in for a landing not half a tern away--a Klingon
ship. Klingons! Great Mother of us all, help your children! Klingons.t
Heart slamming so hard she could scarcely breathe, s'kara fought the
impulse to crawl back beneath the combine and hide.
Stories of rape, murder, and stomach-churning atrocities ran through
Star Trek - Sarek Page 11