Star Trek - Sarek

by A. C. Crispin

  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