Star Trek - Sarek

by A. C. Crispin

  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."