father was actually present.
As he struggled to establish contact, time seemed to stretch, as though
some uncanny relativistic space-time pocket had taken over the
room--even though Spock's inner chrono told him that less than a minute
had passed.
He was failing ... the spark that was her life, her consciousness, was
falling away in the dark, fading like a burnt-out cinder. Spock tried,
but he could not touch her mind, could not capture that dying spark.
Beneath his fingers, Amanda twitched, then gasped reflexively, once,
twice--
Spock summoned all his mental strength for one last attempt, sending his
mind hurtling after that fading life-spark ... My mind to yours ...
our minds are one ...
But it was no good. She eluded him, fading out, falling away, going too
deep for him to catch and still live. Mother.t Spock whispered silently,
and knew she did not hear him ... was not aware of him ...
Amanda was aware, faintly, of the presence trying to touch her mind, but
she had gone too far to turn back ... From where?
She had no idea where she was, where she was going. All around her was
darkness, shot with strange colors, hues that even Vulcans had no names
for ... She regarded the colors with passing interest, but continued
to move. Was she walking? Floating? She did not know. All she knew was
that she was moving.
Spock ... she realized, recognizing the presence that was questing
after the tiny spark that remained of Amanda Grayson. She felt a rush of
love and warmth for her son, but she could not halt and let him catch up
to her ... she knew only that she must keep moving, that she had no
choice.
For a moment she wondered where she was going, but rational thought did
not seem important to her anymore.
Only the need to quest, to seek ... to move ... Seek? she wondered,
vaguely. Yes, she was seeking something ... or was it someone. And that
someone was ...
Sarek. She wanted Sarek. He was here, somewhere, he had to be. Her
husband had been part of her mind, part of her universe for so long ...
he must be here, somewhere.
Was she m6ving toward Sarek?
She must be, Amanda thought. Spock's presence was far behind her now,
and she did not let him distract her any more. She could not turn back,
she knew that instinctively.
Sarek? she thought.
Amanda had a vague impression that she was moving faster. For a fleeting
moment, it occurred to her to wonder just where she was going, but that
did not seem important, either. Only one thing still linked her to her
Self, the essence of Amanda Grayson ... and that was Sarek. He had to
be here, somewhere ...
Sarek?
Something was near her. What? She had no fear of it, whatever it was. It
loomed closer, closer ... Suddenly, as she sped along, another presence
was with
her, enveloping her with its essence. Joyfully, Amanda recognized it.
Sarek!
He was with her, beside her, around her, within her ... he surrounded
and pervaded her with the sense of his presence. Sarek ... she thought,
happy that they were together. My husband ...
But she was still moving ... Sarek was not the destination.
He could accompany her only partway, for a short while. With a faint
pang of regret, Amanda felt him drop behind her. She was moving too fast
for him ...
Moving ... rushing, now. Hurtling. Where did not matter.
There was no fear, no pain, no weariness. There was ... peace. Peace
and movement ...
Peace ... and nothingness ...
The last spark of individual identity that had been Amanda Grayson Sarek
surrendered to the peace, losing herself, expanding beyond Self, beyond
... everything ...
"Sarek?"
Spock's eyes snapped open in amazement at his mother's whisper. She
sounded suddenly younger, almost girlish. As he watched, her cracked
lips parted in a loving smile, as though she saw something he could not.
"My husband ..." The words were barely discernible ... a final, soft
exhalation.
Amanda gasped sharply ... then her chest did not rise again.
I failed, Spock thought desolately, as his eyes automatically went to
the monitors; there he read what he already knew.
It was difficult to believe that his mother was dead. He let his fingers
slide down her temples to her throat ... nothing.
No pulse.
Spock stood there for a long moment, trying to assimilate what had
happened. It seemed inconceivable that Amanda would never open her eyes
again, never smile, or speak.
Never ... the word had an awful sound. Something struggled inside him
to break loose, to achieve expression, but he repressed it sternly. He
was a Vulcan.
Gently, Spock placed her limp hands on her breast atop the coverlet. His
mother's eyes were half-open, and, automatically, he reached out and
closed them. His hand lingered for a moment on Amanda's cheek; then,
resolutely, he stood up. Healer T'Mal, he thought, would be here any
moment, having seen Amanda's readings from the monitoring station in the
med center.
The Vulcan debated whether he should draw the sheet up over his mother's
face, but decided not to ... she appeared very peaceful the way she
was. Her face even bore traces of that last, faint smile.
Spock turned and walked to the door, hesitated, glanced back. There
seemed no reason to stay any longer, but he could not decide what he
should do. Healers, aides, and patients passed him in the corridor, and
it seemed incredible and somehow unconscionable that everyone and
everything should go on so normally, when there had been such a loss ...
Spock realized with one part of his mind that he was not reacting
logically, but, for once, that did not seem important.
T'Mal came toward him, halted. She was a small, graying Vulcan, who wore
a blue-green medical tunic and trousers.
"Captain Spock," she said, in the most ancient and formal of Vulcan
dialects, "I grieve with thee on the death of try mother."
Spock nodded, wondering whether his expression betrayed any of his inner
turmoil, but apparently it did not, for T'Mal's face did not alter as
she gazed at him. The Vulcan nodded, then said, matching her formality,
"We grieve together, Healer T'Mal. I thank thee for thy care of my
mother these many days."
T'Mal gazed up at him, and some of her formality vanished. "Go home,
Captain Spock. Rest. We will place her in stasis, until your father
returns, so he may see her if he wishes. Tomorrow will be soon enough to
arrange for the memorial service."
Spock nodded. "Thank you, T'Mal. I will contact you ... later." Turning
away, he headed for the med center's transporter unit.
Alone in the small room on Deneb IV, Sarek of Vulcan struggled, sending
his mind out, striving to reach his wife, never knowing whether he had
succeeded. And then ... he felt Amanda die.
One moment her presence was there, a warm spark in the back of his mind,
a tenuous lin
k stretching between them--and then the link snapped ...
the warmth was gone, leaving an aching void.
Sarek leaned his head in his hands, feeling grief engulf him past any
ability of his to control it. Amanda ... Amanda ... he thought, as
though her name were some kind of litany or spell that could call her
back. But no ... she was gone, truly gone, and he would be forever
poorer for her loss. Amanda ...
Alone, in the dark, Sarek of Vulcan silently mourned. His world seemed
to have tilted out of alignment, losing its focus and color. Amanda,
dead? For the first time, the Vulcan realized how much of his strength,
his legendary calm and wisdom had come from his wife's presence in his
mind. And now ... gone ...
Forever.
The word was too large, too all-encompassing for even a Vulcan mind to
grasp. Sarek rejected the idea. Logic might dictate that his time with
Amanda was ended, but ... one's logic was uncertain at times, when
family was concerned.
Someday, somehow, he would touch the essence of his wife again. Sarek
knew it.
But ... what was he to do until then?
The answer to his question returned him swiftly. He would do his job ...
his duty. He would gain freedom for the people of Kadura. He would
complete these negotiations.
And then, he would do what h e must about the Freelan threat. He would do
his duty, as he had always done.
Amanda would expect that of him, as he expected it of himself.
Rising from the table, the ambassador straightened his formal robes, and
his shoulders. Then, his expression calm, remote, he walked slowly back
to join the others around the conference table.
Spock materialized inside the mountain villa. He could have gone to the
house in Shikahr, which was within walking distance of the med center,
but there he would have had to take calls, talk to people, accept
expressions of condolence and inquiries about the time of the memorial
service. Here, his solitude, should he wish it, could be complete.
Spock wandered through the empty house, noting that someone had made his
parents' bed. The Healer's aide, probably. The Vulcan's fingers trailed
across one of Amanda's woven hangings, and he pictured her weaving it,
as he'd seen her at her loom as a child.
Remembering something, he took out his communicator.
"Spock to Enterprise sickbay," he said.
"Sickbay," replied Leonard McCoy's voice. "McCoy here."
"Doctor ... she is gone," the Vulcan said steadily.
"Spock, I'm sorry," McCoy's voice came back.
"Please inform the captain of my mother's ..." He searched for a human
euphemism." ... passing, and tell him that I will speak with him soon.
There will be a brief memorial service when ... when my father returns.
I will inform you as soon as a time is determined."
McCoy hesitated, then said, "I understand, Spock. Do you want me or Jim
to beam down?"
"No, Doctor. At the moment, I would prefer to be alone."
"I understand," McCoy said. "Spock ... I grieve with thee."
McCoy's High Vulcan was very weak, but Spock appreciated the gesture.
"Thank you, Doctor," the Vulcan replied.
"Spock out."
Some random impulse drove him out of the house. It was the middle of the
night here, on this side of the planet, and Amanda's garden was quiet
and serene. Spock sat on the
bench, facing The Watcher, gazing around him at the beauty Amanda had
created. The well-ordered paths, the graceful desert trees and shrubs
from a dozen worlds, all complemented the natural stone formations that
had been there when the villa had first been built. She had done this,
much of it with her own hands ...
Spock remembered working in this garden with her as a small child,
carrying colored rocks that she would arrange in swirling designs,
remembered helping her rake sand into graceful patterns ...
Something inside the Vulcan loosened, relaxed, and this time he allowed
it to surface for a brief moment. Spock leaned forward on the bench,
arms crossed over his belly, as the pain of her passing filled him,
engulfed him. Hot tears welled in his eyes as he sat there, but only one
broke free ... and fell, to splash the soil in his mother's garden.
Journal in hand, Sarek seated himself at the desk in his cabin aboard
the transport vessel. The negotiations had been completed yesterday;
Kadura was, at last, free, and he was headed home for Vulcan.
Alone in his cabin, he placed the journal on the desk and, opening it,
located the place where he had left off the night before. His wife's
handwriting, symmetrical, flowing, and refined--a schoolteacher's
elegant cursive--traveled over the white pages, bringing back memories,
almost as though she were here, speaking directly to him. Yesterday he'd
read her account of their first meeting and their courtship, up until
the point where they had left Earth together. Now, seeing the date at
the top of the next page, the ambassador braced himself for another
onslaught of bittersweet memory.
September 16,2229
Within the hour we will be in orbit around Vulcan--my new home. It
hardly seems possible that so much has happened in such a short time!
I am alone in my cabin, as I have been throughout the trip ... even
though I am a married woman, by every law on Earth. But my husband
follows traditional Vulcan ways, and insists that we wait until after
the
Vulcan ceremony before consummating our marriage.
In the four months since that first walk on the beach, the first time he
kissed me, Sarek has allowed me to see deeper into his mind and heart
than I could ever have imagined. Not that he has been exactly ...
forthcoming.
But I have learned to read even the tiniest change of expression on his
face, learned to recognize every faint alteration of tone and inflection
... learned to interpret meaning from what he doesn't say as much as
from what he actually says.
And today, in anticipation of the Vulcan ceremony this evening, there
was the Bonding.
How can mere human words describe what no one on my homeworld has ever
experienced? Physically, it was simple, undramatic. Sarek gravely
invited me into his cabin (for the first time in our week-long journey),
and solemnly poured a glass of some dark, heady-smelling brew into a cup
carved from a single crimson stone veined with dull gold. He added
several pinches of herbs, then gestured me to a seat, all without
speaking a single word ... Sarek watched his betrothed sit down on the
low couch in his cabin, arranging her long, pale turquoise skirts
carefully.
When they had taken ship for Vulcan, Amanda had adopted the traditional
garb of his homeworld for the first time, commenting that they would
take some getting used to after the short skirts and trousers she was
accustomed to.
With a grave, formal gesture, the diplomat passed her the cup. "Here,
Amanda. Drink."
Gazing up at him over the ornate rim, she took a hesitant sip. "Oh ..."
she br
eathed, staring mystified at the contents.
"That feels like liquid fire ... but it's not liquor, is it?"
"No, it is not ethanol," Sarek said. "The drink does have a relaxing
effect, but not an intoxicating one." He paused, watching her sip again,
then continued. "Amanda, you know that, on my world, husbands and wives
are bound by more than law and custom."
"Yes, Sarek," she replied. "They are linked telepathically."
"We call it 'bonding,'" Sarek said. "No marriage would be complete
without it. This evening my world, my people, will witness the ceremony
that will make us, as your people express it, 'one flesh." By tonight we
shall be married, under the laws and customs of both our worlds. But
first ... first there must come the bonding. That is something done in
private, between the betrothed pair--either when they are children, or
before the marriage ceremony."
Amanda hesitated in her turn, then said, "Is it difficult?
Can we do it now?"
Sarek gazed at her, intent, profoundly serious. "It is not difficult for
Vulcans," he said finally. "But it has never been attempted with a
human."
"I am not telepathic," she reminded him. "You know that."
Star Trek - Sarek Page 20