Ice and Fire
Author: Karracaz
Series: Pre-TOS: Sarek and Amanda plus other Star
Trek and non-series characters.
Disclaimer: Star Trek is
the property of Paramount/Viacom. I
merely play with the characters for my pleasure and not for any profit.
PG13
Summary: Sarek and Amanda
meet – but is it for the first time?
O0o
Prologue: A Kind of Magic
One dream, one soul, one prize, one goal
One golden glance of what should be...
Is it a kind of magic
.
Amanda knew magic happened – though it was difficult to predict where or
how or when. At the age of twelve she
intuitively recognised that before any enchantment began there were certain
identifying signals - the air grew still, time froze while the Universe held
its breath - and in that glorious instant between one inhalation and the next -
things changed forever.
Travelling in the back of her father’s plush imported Bentley antigrav fastback on the way to a
piano lesson at the private and very prestigious Pacific Heights Music Academy,
she had looked up in surprise when Thomas, her father’s driver, and Amanda’s
closest friend, suddenly exclaimed, “Well look at that….”
Beneath the round brim of a blue school hat perched impudently on the
back of her head, wisps of curly auburn hair glowed where it escaped the silk
rope of her braid. The azure ribbon tied
up in a bow at the end of each plait exactly matched her eyes. Small for her age, but sturdy, the new
tailored uniform jacket sat awkwardly large across her wiry shoulders. As Thomas slowed the vehicle and the window
whirred down, Amanda obligingly leaned forward chin resting on the back of
white, lace-gloved fingers as she clasped the seat in front. Her interested gaze followed that of the
driver to the commotion ahead.
A substantial earthquake in 2025 had destroyed much of
“What is it, Thomas? What’s
happening?”
A cluster of people, mostly Terrans but with at least two Centaurans and
an Andorian quad, were gathered outside the open gates of an ornate Victorian
mansion. One of San Francisco’s ‘painted ladies’, a gaudy gingerbread
confection of russet walls and white stucco, the stately beauty surveyed all
before her with dignified indifference.
“The Vulcans are moving in by the looks of it.” He pulled up opposite
the Consulate and let the fastback settle.
On the other side of the street, a plain but official looking carrier
hunched with its rear doors flung wide.
Workers in drab brown one-piece coveralls were hurrying to and fro
unloading curiously shaped objects and pieces of strange furnishings.
Amanda leaned further out the window, gawping as her father would have
put it, through the Consulate’s gates
with wide-eyed curiosity. Through the grand entrance to the mansion she had a
magnificent view of the bay far below, the blue water glinting in the fickle
morning sunshine. Despite the changeable
weather, there clearly came the sound of parrots calling to one
another from the trees lining the road and further away the sweet, muted
clang-clang of a cable car in the next street.
As she watched, a gaggle of
small children, chaperoned by two adult females, decanted from another parked
transport and walked demurely up the drive, possibly on their way to school as
she was, Amanda decided. They were Vulcan children and Vulcan women - bundled
up in what seemed layers and layers of thick clothing, wide trousers and long
skirts – all beneath somber hooded robes, the material swirling about booted
ankles in the breeze off the bay.
Dressed in equally concealing attire, another Vulcan, taller than the
women by an inch or so, and broader at the shoulder, came out of the residence
apparently to greet them. He descended
the broad sweeping steps that led into the garden, posture elegantly erect and
his stride purposeful.
But the breeze wanted to play. It teased the garden foliage, dragged at
the high gate and the doors of the carrier, caught mischievously at the
newcomer’s generous sleeves and ample hood.
And that’s when it happened…
The breeze flipped the concealing material back from the Vulcan man’s
shoulders and revealed his profile. A wan shaft of sunshine struck his dark
hair. The light gleamed, emphasizing the short unruly locks that curled forward
onto his brow.
The noise of the city faded. The world stilled. Even in a crowd, he held a compelling
presence. An air of isolation shrouded
his tall figure more than the cloak he wore.
Amanda’s focus narrowed on his alien features, on the ears that tapered
gracefully at the tip. They were the
ears of a faerie prince, a warrior elf from perilous realms, exotic and
mysterious. He had sallow skin that
spoke of strange, much warmer climes and his taut lips were generous beneath an
aquiline nose. Not at all a kind face,
it demanded all her attention and she could not look away.
And evidently responsive to her surveillance, his head turned in her
direction. For one, long searching moment, his glance met hers, his look
intense but enigmatic. Strong black
brows like upswept raven’s wings knitted together in a sudden frown. Amanda saw his lips constrict, not in anger
she realised but in a shock that mirrored her own.
A dazzled fawn in the headlights
of a speeding automobile, Amanda remained mesmerized - until Thomas activated
the antigrav and shattered the rapture that held her spellbound. As the fastback manoeuvred into the on-coming
traffic, the Vulcan tugged his recalcitrant hood back over his head, concealing
his features once more. Amanda only
glimpsed that tantalizing face for a moment, but she never forgot it.
It was the first time she remembered seeing Sarek s’kahri, ansh’oine
t’skon kah T’Pra and the world changed forever, shaped by magic.
O0o
Chapter 2:
Amanda’s Vulcan
The second time Amanda
thought she saw him was at the San Francisco International Space Terminal. She paced the floor nervously beside the
rain-spattered windows of the departure lounge.
No matter how many times she left Sol III, the take off and departure
always remained exciting.
Although in recent years
she had travelled frequently to the moon, the Human settlements on Mars and
Alpha Centauri, even visited Talish,
an Andorian colony world, as the time to leave approached, she became aware of
a pleasurable tension, a nervous fluttering deep in the pit of her
stomach. Unable to relax, Amanda glanced
at her chrono, her attention half on the flight computer’s metallic voice, half
on the untidy cluster of other passengers gathered before the automated doors
that led out to the spaceport carrier.
Time was rapidly running out.
Professor Kulren had
vid-phoned her only moments ago to say that he would be at the Terminal to give
her a few last minute instructions and see her safely onto the shuttle. But if he did not hurry, the carrier would
leave before he got there.
Amanda recalled the
incredible moment, only two days before when the professor had called her into
his office. He had looked up from under
his bushy brows as she entered his inner sanctum, smiled perfunctorily, and
indicated the chair across from him with a wave of the hand. As she settled into the soft, tan fabric, he
said easily, “How would you like to take a trip to Vulcan, Amanda.”
At her shocked expression,
he allowed another rare smile to tease his thin lips. Then in the irascible way that was both famed
and feared by staff and students alike, he outlined the proposal made by the
Federation Cultural Institute to the Vulcan High Council, which allowed the
placement of a delegate on that planet.
“You have one of the finest
degrees in the Department,” he told her.
“And I’m not one of those professors who like to waste his best
intellects in simple administrative routines.
Here’s a challenge for you. I think
you are worthy of it.”
“You’re really giving the
assignment to me, sir?”
“Yes, really, I am! I know the interest you’ve always taken in
Vulcan culture. The University will pay all reasonable expenses for a period of
six months. Time is of the essence so,
if you’re in agreement, I’ve already taken the step of making preliminary
arrangements.” He handed her a data chip. “Here’s your itinerary, reservations, plus a
list of essential clothing and supplies.
You leave in two days and will be the houseguest of Sarek s’kahri
ansh’oine t’skon’s family, an upcoming young diplomat in the Vulcan
government.”
Amanda still breathless and
unbelieving nodded. “Sounds like fun.”
Kulren frowned. “Let’s get this straight, this is no pleasure
trip, Amanda. Vulcans aren’t known for
their affability. Once you get there
they may refuse to have anything to do with you.”
“I won’t let you down,
Professor.”
“Just give the sociologists
something to chew over. That’s all I
ask.”
It was later, as she walked
back to her small apartment, that it occurred to her how incredibly lucky she
was. The other research fellows, all
men, would give their eyeteeth for such a chance.
And now, in as little as
two days, she would have arrived in ShiKahr,
her destination on Vulcan. She breathed
the name exhilarated by the sound of it, rolling it on her tongue over and over
like some enigmatic mantra: ShiKahr, ShiKahr, ShiKahr!
The captivating name
conjured up visions of the unknown; the exotic; the mysterious. Her pulses
raced with anticipation.
That same indescribable
euphoria had buoyed her up through all the inoculations, health checks, and
security procedures and even carried her over the sticky point when she had
said her inevitable goodbyes to friends and family. The worst moment had come
when she had taken leave of her father.
Her mother, Sophia had died soon after Amanda’s fourth birthday and
since that time Charles Grayson had single-handedly, raised his only child. Amanda loved him fiercely, not only as a
father but also as a friend. A committed
outdoorsman, on their vacations, he had taken her camping, taught her to ride,
to ski and to sail. He wished her well
on hearing the news of her good fortune, raising only a single protest – that
he could not accompany her!
“Just use your head and you
can’t fail to hack it,” He hugged her tightly.
“You know how much I’ll miss you, six months is a long time to be apart,
but this is the opportunity of a lifetime, the break you need to get some
practical research under your belt. It’s
history in the making, as they say. Make
the most of it, my darling.”
Everyone on Sol III was
anxious to see what the Vulcans were really like, divorced from the
frustratingly emotionless exterior they presented continually to their
Federation allies. Amanda, who had never
forgotten that first chance meeting outside the Vulcan consulate, was not much
different from hundreds of others who itched to see behind the enigmatic
façade. So much about Vulcan and its
inhabitants was still unknown. Despite
various Institutional researches - customs, social mores, political
convictions, religions, even the structure of family life – all remained
off-limits due to T’Pau’s insistence on isolation. To know that she would be one of the first
to see the Vulcans as they really were, in their own home environment, stripped
of that inscrutable Noh mask they
wore when in the company of Humans was a terrible responsibility – and one she
took extremely seriously.
The Federation of course,
wanted to avoid any risk of offending their Vulcan associates. A lot was at stake. Professor Kulren had drummed into her that
she was not to exceed protocol by even a fraction of a millimeter. Fiercely insular as they were, Amanda’s
Vulcan hosts would not tolerate any breach of etiquette on the part of a
Human. The Cultural Institute had taken
an enormous gamble by including her in the party.
Did her host really want
her as a houseguest? Maybe there had not
been a choice for him. She repeated his name, silently, in her mind - Sarek s’kahri ansh’oine t’skon and felt
her pulses jump in response.
An image came to her from
that day so many years ago outside the Vulcan Consulate; the face of the
Warrior Elf revealed so abruptly to her sight as the playful wind swept back his
hood.
And as it had done then,
once again, the air grew still, the noise of her surroundings receded and
Amanda had that rare presentiment of enchantment about to happen…
She stopped in mid-pace,
Kulren forgotten and twirled on her heel.
The breath caught in her throat as across the lounge a sudden flurry of
departing passengers revealed a tall form dressed in dark robes. An air of calm
tranquility singled him out from the jostling multitudes. It was her
Vulcan, the one that had haunted her dreams - both awake and asleep - for the
last eight years.
O0o
Chapter 3:
Spellbound
He seemed to have changed little, or at all,
in the intervening years. The robes he
wore could not hide his lean, loose-limbed grace, or disguise his apparent
youth. Amanda guessed he was no more than thirty-something, though that judgment
could not entirely be relied on when it came to the Vulcan species. Rumour had it that they aged differently from
Humans. For all she knew he could be twice that, or more. Amanda shivered, abruptly off balance
embarrassed by the frisson of excitement that quivered up her spine.
Still unable to tear her
gaze away she continued to stare until finally, no doubt feeling her eyes upon
him, he looked straight at her from across the room, one brow lifted in
enquiry. At his enigmatic inspection, a
tumble of confused thoughts and feelings assailed Amanda. Yet, his closed expression showed no sign of
recognition.
He did not remember her. Mortified,
she looked away, the quick upswell of disappointment almost physical. Yet, why on Earth would he recall a Human
child he had seen only once and so long ago?
Amanda laughed inwardly at her own ingénue. And when she dared to peek again, he had
gone, swallowed up in the wave of passengers making for the exit. The next moment Professor Kulren appeared at
her elbow as if conjured from a puff of smoke.
He apologized for being so
late, and thrust a small package into her hands as he bustled her quickly over
to the passenger exit, talking every step of the way.
“Language tapes,” he
advised, indicating the package. “You’ll
need to know at least a few phrases just for the sake of politeness. Fortunately, your grasp of Standard is excellent
so there shouldn’t be any major language difficulties. If we’d had more time to prepare you would’ve
been more adequately grounded in the essentials. But there it is, beggars can’t be
choosers. When this chance offered
itself, we naturally took it. You’re a
resourceful girl, Amanda. I know you
won’t let the Institute down.”
Kulren hurried on,
stressing the need for a logical, cool-handed, unemotional approach when
dealing with her Vulcan hosts.
“I’ll do my best,” Amanda
murmured, just as the monotonous computer voice called her name over the
loudspeaker system. “Now I really must
go, Professor. Wish me luck--”
“There’s no such term in
Vulcan!” He flashed that rare smile
again. “Don’t forget I want a report as
soon as you’re settled.”
“She laughed, breathless
again. “It’s a deal.”
Together they stepped
through the sliding doors while Kulren exhorted her with an assortment of
clichéd good-wishes and admonitions.
Amanda, aware of the other passengers already seated in the carrier
waiting to depart, listened with only half an ear. She offered her hand in farewell but to her
surprise, he drew her into his arms and hugged her to him. Amanda accepted the fatherly embrace and
returned it warmly before finally pulling away.
The last to board she realized
far too late that the only vacant seat faced that of Her Vulcan! For the second
time that day, that dark, assessing gaze, reflective and sombre alighted fully
upon her face.
Mesmerized, somehow Amanda
mumbled an apology for keeping them all waiting and abruptly boneless, slid
into the seat upholstery. With a curt
nod of his head, and an almost imperceptible tightening of the lips, the young
Vulcan acknowledged her admission of guilt before returning to the padd he
held. Hastily Amanda pulled an old, leather bound storybook from her overcoat
pocket and buried her nose in the pages to hide the sudden rush of blood that
stained her cheeks.
Darn it, that friendly hug
she had shared with Professor Kulren had probably shocked the pants off him, an
impression she probably had no hope of remedying on the short journey to Luna
station. Then with an inward shrug,
wondered why she even wanted to try. He
is probably just the younger son of a younger son, with a fat contract for computer
logic systems in his pocket, journeying home after expanding the family
business on Earth, she scolded herself; not really the faerie prince of a
twelve-year-old girl’s imagination. But
one quick glance at those ears, the slanted brows and wayward hair, and there
was suddenly brilliance and shimmering colour and enchantment everywhere she
looked…
They transferred to the
shuttle that, due to her tardiness in boarding the carrier no doubt, left a few
minutes later than scheduled. After a
moments pause, the transport seemed to gather itself up before it surged forward
and rushed into the gloomy December skies.
The passenger terminal fell away and they roared through the atmosphere
until the shuttle thrust an airtight nose into space. From somewhere upfront the same computer
voice from the spaceport lobby softly intoned the history of Man and his voyage
out into the wide reaches of the galaxy.
Amanda, finally engrossed
in the novel, a parting gift from her father, only glanced up again as the
first stage of her journey ended.
Through the port beside her, she watched as the moon slowly but
majestically floated into view. The
orbiting space station basked in Luna’s pale radiance. The docking arm snaked slowly out towards the
shuttle and from outside came the sound of metal against metal, the slightest
of thuds as it made contact. Cool air
fanned Amanda’s cheek as she gathered her possessions and rose to her
feet. Shortly, she realized, as the air
pressure equalized, such procedures would be outdated once the new matter
transmitters – popularly named transporters – were on-line. Then shuttle and docking arm would be
obsolete. For the moment, she tagged on
the end of a line formed by her fellow passengers as the airlock door slowly
opened and an official, wearing a Starfleet uniform, came to escort them onto
the station.
Amanda’s silent travelling
companion, occupied in packing away the padd that had kept him busy since take
off, was soon lost among the last minute confusion. Again, Amanda experienced a
strange melancholy. Then she cheered up
with the thought that the Fates had thrown them together twice now. Surely if it were meant to be, they would
meet again. Through the tedious process
of getting her travelling pass and Vulcan permit checked, she put the
charismatic Vulcan purposely from her mind.
And once those formalities were done and she was free to glance about
the crowded lounge, she belatedly recognized someone dressed in the classic
dark green jumpsuit of a colleague from the Cultural Institute.
“Miss Grayson? Miss Amanda Carynese Grayson?”
She looked up into a pair
of faintly amused brown eyes, set above a mouth that settled easily into a
relaxed grin. The smile widened as she
nodded and he thrust out a welcoming hand.
“That’s a relief! The Institute didn’t give me much of a
description and I was expecting some scholarly old maid who’d need wet nursing
all the way to the 40 Eridani system.
I’m Mikhail Gorsky by the way, your escort, and principal xenobiologist
of the team on Vulcan.” He wrung her
outstretched hand vigorously.
“Good to meet you, Mister
Gorsky.”
“Make it Mike,” he insisted.
“We Humans have to stick together, and
Vulcans a hell of a long way to go on last names.”
Well built and tall, a stronger sun than Sol
III could boast had bleached his shock of fair hair almost white. Around her father’s age, that still did not
restrain him from flirting – and his good-natured charm made it difficult to
resent his easy familiarity.
“Okay, Mike it is,” she
agreed, matching his smile. “I’m
Amanda.”
Side by side, they headed
toward the bar, a requisite for all Human space stations no matter where in the
galaxy they were situated. Mike chose a
table placed inches away from the floor to ceiling panoramic view outside. Besides the dim, artificial lighting within
the room, the moon provided a startlingly lovely display.
“This is so
beautiful.” Amanda exclaimed
Shimmering light cascaded through the
invisible force screens and illuminated Amanda’s hair in a pale halo about her
head.
“Beautiful,” Mikhail
agreed, though he was no longer looking at the view. He continued to study her as she faced him
across the table. Amanda raised the tall
glass she held in a wry salute.
“I saw that you’d made the
acquaintance of our host. What do you
think of the Vulcans now you’ve actually met one?”
“Our host,” Amanda regarded him blankly. “You mean he’s here with you?”
“No, he’s here with
you!” Mike laughed softly. “Obviously from your reaction, he stayed
incognito – although how you could have missed the only Vulcan in that crowd of
Humanity…!”
Amanda recalled her
uncommunicative travelling companion with the darkly saturnine looks and the
enigmatic stare. She gulped. “That – was – Sarek?”
“Indeed, that was!” The dry undertone of Mike’s voice aroused
Amanda’s curiosity.
“You know him well?” She pried for information, her cheeks
reddening at his sudden amused glance.
“As well as any Human can
know a Vulcan, I suppose. Sarek is
easier than most. At least he’s tried to
appreciate what we’re all about.”
“He doesn’t hold us in very
high regard from what I saw.” Amanda
remarked bluntly remembering her companion’s silence and cool stare.
“The majority of Vulcans
consider us a little like undisciplined children, I guess, emotional … barbaric
even, without an ounce of logic to redeem us.
Women on his home planet head councils, the extended family unit, most everything - which makes them very
special characters. ”
“Really?” Amanda said quietly, wondering what she had
gotten into.
“They were already a great
civilization when we were still swinging in the trees.” Mike’s grin widened. “Have I shot all your pretty dreams down in
flames? Don’t worry, you’re not the
first, and you’ll probably not be the last to have romantic ideas where Vulcans
are concerned. But now is the time to
leave them behind. This trip isn’t going
to be any picnic.”
“So, I’m beginning to realize,”
she murmured ruefully. “You sound like
an expert.”
“I am. That’s no idle boast, either. My grandfather was part of the team that
finally managed to get a permit to allow Humans down on Vulcan for the first
time. In those days, of course, we
weren’t allowed even limited access to the cities. My father followed in the family footsteps,
and I was eventually born there. Not
that it gave me any special rights. I’m
still only an emotional Earther to most of them.”
“And Sarek?”
“He is quite attractive
isn’t he – in a brusque kind of way!” He
grinned at her blush, but relented quickly from his teasing. “We want the same things – a better
understanding on both sides of our separate species. Can you imagine what a fully combined
Human/Vulcan association could accomplish?”
Amanda smiled, recognizing fervor
when she saw it. “I can see how we might
benefit, certainly. But what do the
Vulcans hope to gain?”
“Good question – and one we
expect to be able to answer more fully once this mission is completed.” He changed the subject to one that he seemed
to find equally stimulating. “What about
you, Amanda? Why did you apply for this
particular job?”
“Oh, just my silly, romantic
dreams about Vulcan, I suppose – which hit the dust just minutes ago, thanks to
you.” Her lips twitched at his
expression. “I freely admit that’s part
of the reason I applied. We know so
little that imagination has to fill in the gaps. This position was too good an opportunity to
miss and how better to indulge my curiosity along with my wanderlust?”
“Aren’t you a teacher?”
“In training. I’m hoping to observe some Vulcan schools in
action. Their teaching methods must be
something special –” Again, Mike’s grin widened. “What?
What have I said? They do have
schools, I suppose.”
“Uh-huh, but I shouldn’t
try implementing their methods when you get back home. It would probably start a riot of protesting
parents.”
“They can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, no? When did you last throw a seven year old out
into the deep desert with the barest of survival equipment and tell him he had
to stay out there for ten days, come what may?”
“They do that?”
“Indeed they do.” His smile turned grim. “It’s called kahs-wan, a survival test for all males who reach the age of
seven. They believe in physical fitness
on Vulcan.”
“And initiative, I
hope!”
“When it doesn’t conflict
with logic,” White teeth flashed against his tanned skin once more and his eye
crinkled at the corners, making him appear ten years younger. “Ready to throw in the towel, yet?”
She grinned back at
him. “Not quite yet.”
His laugh was warm, rich,
and deep. “Good for you, Amanda. I think you might enjoy this trip after
all. You’ve got pioneer blood by the
sound of it.”
“I’m glad you
approve.” She inclined her head, her own
mouth quirked in a humorous smile.
“It’s not my approval you
need, unfortunately. Sarek can still
veto your inclusion in the team even at this late stage. He’s the Big Boss around here. When he says jump we jump - and some.”
“I’ll bear that in
mind.” Amanda murmured, blue eyes
artless and unruffled.
Chapter 4: A Gentleman Unknown.
When Amanda and Mike
eventually boarded the U.S.S Insala,
they learned that Sarek was already ensconced in his quarters. After making introductions to the Vulcan
captain and his senior officers, Mike took her down in the turbo lift. As they stood outside Sarek’s door, Amanda’s
heart hammered frantically, half in alarm, half in exhilaration at the thought
of again meeting the enigmatic Vulcan who would be her host for the next six
months. Standing there, she felt like
the little girl she had once been, obsessed by a stranger from the stars. Amused, she stifled an abrupt giggle, but her
hilarity swiftly died as a sonorous voice from within summoned them with a
single, brusque, ‘Sarlah.’
In bemused fascination, she
followed Mike’s lead and the next instant Sarek’s cool, impersonal gaze swept
over her as he rose from sitting seiza behind a low desk and came to greet
them.
She experienced definite
relief when his attention fixed on Mike who raised his hand in some kind of
formal, spread-fingered salute. “Vulcan honors us with your presence. We come to serve.”
Sarek inclined his head in
princely acknowledgement. “My friend,
Gorsky, your service honors us as always.”
“Thank you, sir.” Face carefully composed Mike bowed
precisely. He indicated Amanda. “May I introduce Miss Amanda Grayson from the
Federation Cultural Institute?”
A small, but unmistakable
pause followed. “Miss Grayson and I have
already met.”
Amanda’s heart jolted. He
had removed the outer robes that had given him such a commanding presence in
the crowded terminal, but still the breadth of shoulder, the lithely muscled
frame outlined beneath the simply tailored black tunic proved
intimidating. His patrician features,
the strong nose and broad cheekbones seemed carved from granite, imbued with a
grandeur more suited to windswept desert plains than this sparsely furnished
chamber aboard the Insala Definitely not handsome in the accepted
sense, his very austerity had a certain appeal.
Was he really just some
minor civil servant in the Vulcan Government? Certainly, there were no aides to
wait on him; he wore no visible badge to proclaim rank or station - not the
What she really needed to
do was retrieve her position with him by saying something really logical and
intelligent but, maddeningly, nothing but banal generalities came to mind. Darn! What made the situation infinitely worse was
the sudden realization that somehow he knew of her silly dilemma.
His compelling eyes riveted
her to the spot, held her there like a butterfly on a pin. “I am pleased to see that your time-keeping
has improved.”
A rush of pink stained
Amanda’s cheeks. She bit her lip, afraid that she had already antagonized Sarek
who had the power to proclaim her unsuitable and order her return to
Earth. She refrained from looking at
Mike as she struggled for an even, conciliatory tone. “I apologize, sir. The delay at the terminal was unavoid…”
He held up a peremptory
hand. “Your excuses are of no interest
to me, Miss Grayson. I trust it will not
happen in the future.”
Immediately he returned his
attention to Mike and said something rapidly in Vulcan that she found
impossible to follow. Together, Sarek
and Mike conversed in the formidably complex language, which so effectively
excluded her from the conversation.
Standing at Mike’s elbow, overawed and confused, the talk flowed over
her. However, when Sarek’s cool glance
flicked in her direction more than once, Amanda had the distinct impression that
she was the topic under discussion.
Irked by his aloof hauteur,
she still found it impossible to take her eyes off him. Amanda concealed a self-derisive smile, aware
she was acting like the girl in the antique 20th century novel her father had
given her, when faced by the imposing main character. His description from the book, read more than
once, seemed imprinted on her memory.
----He belonged to a walled city of the fifteenth
century, a city of narrow, cobbled streets, and thin spires, where the
inhabitants wore pointed shoes and worsted hose. His face was arresting, sensitive, medieval
in some strange inexplicable way, and (I was) reminded of a portrait seen in a
gallery (I had) forgotten where, of a certain Gentleman Unknown. Put him in black, with lace at his throat and
wrists, he would stare down at us in our new world from a long distant past – a
past where men walked cloaked at night, and stood in the shadow of old
doorways. A past of narrow stairways and
dim dungeons, a past of whispers in the dark, of shimmering rapier blades, of
silent, exquisite courtesy --
At last, with an
inclination of the head, Sarek indicated the meeting was at an end. Mike performed a strictly formal bow of his
own and escorted her from the room. As
the door swept back and Amanda stepped through it, she could sense those
penetrating dark eyes fixed on her back.
In what category, she wondered briefly had that logical mind placed her
now. It could only be third rate judging
from his frigid reception. For an
instant, she experienced a spurt of annoyance but almost as quickly reined it
in. Such emotion was now a luxury she
could no longer afford. Mike must have
known her state of mind for when the door slid shut, he grinned at her, his
eyes twinkling.
“How do your romantic
dreams of Vulcans rate now?”
Amanda managed a shaky grin
in return. “Dispelled forever. Are they all like that or is Sarek an
exception to the rule?”
Mike, with a hand under her
elbow, drew her away from the door before murmuring, “Oh, you’ve seen nothing
yet. But take my advice, and don’t judge
him from your experience so far. There’s
far more to Sarek than he lets show.”
“Like an iceberg, you
mean?” Merriment lit up her eyes. “Ten
per cent ice above the water and ninety percent beneath it. What were you talking about? Not me, by any chance?”
“Weren’t you following the
conversation? Oh, good Lord, I forgot
you haven’t had time to learn Vulcan yet.”
“Nope.” She held up the tapes. “But I’ve got these, and the two days it takes
to reach our destination.”
“Ah, that makes things just
a tad awkward.” Obviously embarrassed,
he ran a hand through his corn-coloured hair.
“Oh, why?”
Mike shrugged. “Sarek wants to give you a few lessons in
polite behavior before you meet his family.”
“Lessons in what?”
“Vulcan propriety – it’s
something of an obstacle to us all.
Sarek won’t have meant anything personal by his suggestion. He’s acting out of logic, nothing more.”
“That’s good of him. May I ask what Vulcan propriety makes of
Humans generally, if not me, specifically?”
“I guess it’s easily
offended,” his mouth twitched with amusement.
“– or, at least, T’Pau’s particular brand of it is.”
Wide-eyed Amanda gazed at
him, hardly able to believe what she had just heard. She was to meet the Vulcan head of
state. “Sarek belongs to T’Pau’s
family?”
“She’s his grandmother by
all accounts, though with their strict privacy codes we’re not too sure even of
that. In due course T’Pau personally
assesses all outworlders. I don’t want
to scare you unnecessarily, but she’s a tough old girl and the expedition
relies on her good opinion. Sarek’s
stake in the mission is equal or even higher than that of the Federation. It was his idea in the first place. He sold it to T’Pau and he stands to lose a
lot of professional prestige if she doesn’t approve of how we act.”
“Yes, I can imagine.” Amanda sighed softly; aware she had little
choice in the matter. “Okay, when are
these ‘lessons’ scheduled to begin?”
“Five minutes ago.” Mike shrugged at her abrupt pout and grinned. “Just joking.
On reflection, I think it was better that you didn’t understand what was
said in there. Sarek doesn’t pull many
punches.”
She sighed again. “So what did he say?”
“You won’t like it.” He took her arm and led her further down the
corridor.
“Maybe not, but I’d still
like to know.”
“His exact words were, ‘If
she is going to fill in some of the lamentable gaps in her knowledge, she
cannot start too soon…’ you have time to change into something more ‘appropriate’
before returning.”
“His words again?”
“’Fraid so.”
She shook her head. At least her lack of understanding had
prevented her from making an emotional retort that would certainly have damned
her in Sarek’s eyes. That was something
to be grateful for, she supposed. In
spite of herself, Amanda chuckled, azure eyes brilliant. “Where do I change?”
“Your quarters are
here.” He stopped before an anonymous
door. “I’m two doors down on the other
side. When you’re ready, just go along
to Sarek’s cabin. He’ll be expecting
you.”
Amanda heaved a mock
sigh. “Thanks.”
“Scared? Don’t be --- Sarek’s vegetarian. He won’t eat you.” After an infinitesimal hesitation, he bent
and brushed her cheek with his lips.
“I’ll see you later, okay? For
dinner.”
“That’s a date, Mr.
Gorsky.”
Mike glanced at his chrono. “Due to go aboard in five minutes. Better get moving. Vulcans are fanatics for punctuality – and
Sarek’s no exception.”
“Oh,” Amanda’s grin faded
as she rose from her chair, remembering those hurried last minutes at the
Spaceport terminal. “I wish I’d known
that two hours ago.”
Chapter 5:
Feeling Pretty
Mike waved at her briefly
before disappearing into his own quarters.
Amanda keyed in the
security code he had given her and the door whooshed silently open. The room appeared pleasant enough. Though small, the decor reminded her more
than a little of the Japanese ryokan she had stayed at with her father one
summer vacation. It had that vaguely
oriental flavor, with the platform bed along one wall, raised a few inches from
the floor and enclosed by long burgundy drapes.
Devoid of bedding now, and the drapes drawn back, the dais showed off
some oddly twisted white branches artfully arranged in a tall black vase. A collection of night quilts and other
bedding resided in a red lacquered, two-drawer chest that also doubled as a low
nightstand. A matching table supported a
streamlined computer monitor with a legless chair tucked efficiently beneath
similar to the one in Sarek’s quarters.
Further investigations
thankfully revealed a walk in closet where all her clothing had been neatly
arranged, sorted not only into the various categories of blouses, skirts,
slacks and underwear but also by colour, dark to light, and patterns, florals,
stripes, checks. Even her toiletries,
cosmetics, and jewelry were efficiently placed in the same neat way. Surely, that was taking order just a little
too far. Amanda shook her head in amazed
disbelief. How did Vulcans ever find the
time to do anything else, she wondered, as she continued to hunt for another
concealed entrance. With gratified
approval, she eventually found the hidden panel that slid back to reveal the
washing facilities she had so diligently sought.
With some speed, she kicked
off the high-heeled strap sandals and stripped free of the wrinkled cream
travelling suit that Sarek had found so objectionable. Had the shortness of the skirt offended him,
or maybe the colour? Could cream be
significant, like funereal black was in her own culture? Maybe or maybe not. She had no way of knowing
for sure. And what should she choose
from her limited wardrobe that he would find suitable? She stepped into the shower; turned the
sonics up high and let the frequencies blast the grime from her pores. Who would have thought that such small
details would prove a minefield?
Yet, the uncertainties,
although increasing her nervous tension also intensified her exhilaration. She had never felt so alive.
She was blithely singing an
old song that had gained in popularity in recent months when the door chime
sounded. Still singing, she grabbed up
her cotton robe and pulled it quickly over her scanty bra and pants before
releasing the door catch. Remembering
the word Sarek had used she called out “Sarlah.”
A woman entered, a stately
Vulcan woman of some beauty and indeterminate age, dressed in a Federation
uniform, who studiously refrained from looking Amanda straight in the eye – or
anywhere else for that matter. Stifling
her amusement, Amanda bowed as she had seen Mike do and uttered another of the
half dozen Vulcan words she had managed to learn. “T’sai?”
“My name is T’Shenra.” The woman inclined her head, so much more
poised than Amanda could ever hope to accomplish, and in perfect Standard continued
in a soft, cultured voice, “Kula’ at Sarek has bidden that this
apparel be brought for your use, Miss Grayson.
He has asked that you wear it when you attend him. I am at your disposal if you should require
assistance.”
The woman handed over a
stack of precisely folded garments with a pair of low-heeled satin slippers
balanced on top.
Amanda’s lips parted in
surprise as she took the clothing. “That
is … most kind. Please, thank him for
me. I … don’t think I’ll need your
assistance, however.
Another stately inclination
of the head. “Kula’ at Sarek has also directed that I wait and escort you to his
cabin. He is - eager - to begin your
instruction.”
Engaged in unfolding the
various garments, Amanda cleared her throat to disguise her startled
inhalation. She privately wondered what
kind of instruction Sarek had in mind that required her to dress to his
specific taste. Or was this a further
arcane Vulcan custom she had yet to learn about? Aloud, she said, “Indeed, as I am impatient
to learn.”
Her attention shifted to
the clothes. Yet again, made from soft,
silken fabrics, the ensemble had an oriental quality, along the lines of a
Chinese cheongsam or Vietnamese ao dai, elegant and yet demure.
“But these are beautiful,”
she murmured, sparing a glance at T’Shenra.
“Surely there must be some mistake.
I can’t accept these. They look
hand made.”
Apart from the delicate
full-length under-drawers and brief chemise in pale blue transparent linen,
there was a pair of long, azure-coloured, wide-legged trousers, with a
drawstring at the waist. A floor length,
long-sleeved sheathed gown, split up the sides past the waist, accompanied the
pants. The fitted bodice was tailored
with diagonal openings that ran from the high-necked collar to the underarms. Both sleeves and bodice were fastened along
the seams with a row of twenty or so tiny, knotted buttons, each one
exquisitely made out of folded ribbon.
To complete the outfit there was a wide, three quarter-sleeved over
tunic of midnight blue. Pleated at the
back, it reached to mid-thigh, and was kept closed by a wide fringed sash,
again in pale blue.
“There is no mistake, Miss
Grayson. Kula’ at Sarek’s instructions were quite explicit. The garments are for your use. If you will dress now, it is impolite to keep
him waiting.”
Apparently, there was nothing more to be
said. When in
Ready at last, she twirled
before a full-length mirror that T’Shenra revealed behind the red drapes. The clothing fit almost as if the ensemble
had been made especially for her. While
the body-hugging top accentuated her breasts and slim waist to advantage, the
side openings in the long gown and tunic made them both comfortable and easy to
move in. Swathed in soft, flowing
fabric, the splits also gave the odd, sensual glimpse of her bare midriff. To complete the look, T’Shenra swept up
Amanda’s hair entwining her short curls with a delicate braid of blue
ribbon. With the addition of a ch’ipau, an ornamental hairpin with
dangling, fringed tassels, the transformation was complete. The change astounded Amanda. The ingenuous young Human girl of only hours
before had disappeared. In her place,
now emerged the mysterious alluring creature she observed in the mirrored
glass. Elation, a silken cocoon of delight,
buoyed her up all the way to Sarek’s door.
Once again, his imperious voice
bid them enter but this time he was not inclined to notice them directly. Sitting cross-legged on the floor stool
behind his low desk, intent on the screen of his console, he did not even look
up as they approached.
T’Shenra bent her head and
shoulders in that strange, fluid way that appeared completely natural. She murmured in her quiet manner, low but
quite distinct. “Here is Miss Grayson, Kula’ at.”
Sarek, still without
looking at them, indicated a legless chair on the other side of the desk. “Let Miss Grayson be seated.”
With as much poise as she
could muster, Amanda sank down into the cushioned seat, infinitely grateful for
the wide-legged pants and graceful flow of the sheath she now wore instead of
her tight little mini skirt. She started
to cross her legs in imitation of Sarek but T’Shenra’s abrupt glance made her
pause. Instead, she turned her knees to
one side as she had seen the geisha
on that long ago holiday in
Chapter 6:
Silence is Golden
A minute passed, then a
second, which dawdled painfully to a third.
The low chair, that had started out quite comfortable, became decidedly
less so as Amanda waited silently for Sarek to notice her. Her right knee, wrenched a month before in a
‘friendly’ inter-departmental game of Velocity, bent into such an unfamiliar
position started to ache ferociously. As
she continued to sit there, the heat of the room impinged on her
consciousness. Beads of perspiration
gathered at her hairline, along her upper lip and between her breasts. Sarek, or perhaps T’Shenra, or even the both
of them, seemed to have on some tantalizing, unusual aftershave or perfume – or
maybe it was the air-conditioning system.
Wherever it came from, a heady scent of cinnamon saturated the stifling
air.
The ongoing silence
overawed her. All Amanda could hear was
her own breathing and the drub, drub, drub of blood through her temples. To her ears, the sound appeared unnaturally
loud. Could they hear it, she
wondered. She sneaked a look at
T’Shenra. With hands held behind her
back, the Vulcan woman gazed straight before her, cool, calm, and collected,
prepared it seemed to remain in that position until Sarek condescended to recognize
her once again. Amanda marveled at the
woman’s stillness, an object lesson in tranquil poise. Then a thought suggested itself: was T’Shenra there as an example? Surely, Sarek was above such games. Or perhaps he did not mean it as a game but a
practical illustration. Was he pointing
out that he expected such behavior from her?
Did his inattention test her fortitude and serenity? Or did he hope to goad her into losing her
temper so that she would commit some blatant act of emotionalism, proof
positive that she was unsuitable for the mission. If that were indeed the case, she vowed not
to give him that satisfaction even if she had to sit in that self same position
for the next two days.
Her left foot had gone to
sleep. Surreptitiously, she wiggled her
toes within the enclosing satin slipper but the sensation of deadened flesh did
not ease. The end of her nose itched. Amanda struggled not to move a single
muscle. A drop of perspiration strayed
from her hairline and trickled irritatingly down the side of her nose to the
corner of her mouth. If she licked the
salty droplet away with the tip of her tongue, would he notice? Currently he seemed engrossed in whatever was
upon his com-screen, an impression that could be quite false, the performance
fostered purely for her benefit. Most
definitely, he would notice, she decided and let the droplet remain.
To take her mind off her
increasing discomfort, Amanda allowed her mind to wander. Sarek’s hands drew her attention as he keyed
something into the database, beautiful, long-fingered, and strong. From there, her gaze drifted to the muscles
that rippled beneath the black jacket he wore.
Not his colour, she reflected. It
was too somber to do him any favors. He
should wear some shade of plum, the traditional colour of royalty on
Earth. He was certainly aristocratic
enough to carry off such a hue. Or
perhaps brown might suit him better, a shade that would accentuate the hazel of
his eyes. Now that she had the liberty
to study him fully she realized how striking his features really were. He had a strong profile, an aquiline nose and
generous mouth, with firm, positively sensual lips. His hair had a wayward curl and if he brushed
it back some, and tried out a smile, he might even turn out reasonably handsome
she concluded suppressing inward laughter.
Another minute passed. The heat turned oppressive. That and the scent of cinnamon were making
her light-headed. Her eyelids wanted
badly to close. She blinked and blinked
again. If Sarek delayed any longer, she
would fall asleep. She would also miss
her dinner date with Mike. Thoughts of
dinner reminded her how hungry she was and as if on cue, her stomach growled
plaintively. She flicked an apprehensive
glance from Sarek up at T’Shenra but neither of them acknowledged the telltale
sound. Maybe Vulcan hearing, despite the
size of their ears, had limitations after all.
Her bladder was also making itself felt – with increasing persistence -
as the minutes continued to slip away.
Dare she impose into that awful quiet and ask if he would excuse her for
a moment? Would he understand her need or ask her for an explanation? The very thought made her go hot with
embarrassment.
Chapter 7:
Tea and Cakes
“I thank you for your
patience, Ot-lan T’Shenra. If I may trouble you a little further, I
believe Miss Grayson might appreciate some krayla
and tsa’e before I begin her
instruction.” Sarek’s resonant voice broke the silence.
Although he addressed
T’Shenra, he used Federation Standard.
He also looked directly at Amanda. Hands steepled before him on the
desk, his right brow lifted significantly.
Was it a question? And what was kuraylaa and tusaye? Taken aback Amanda
rested her puzzled gaze on his questioning eyes.
She took a guess. “That --- would be pleasant. Thank you,
sir.”
T’Shenra came to life in an instant. She
bowed her head gracefully in acknowledgement, and turned toward the door. Sarek continued to hold Amanda’s cautious
gaze until the woman had gone.
Then he rose sinuously to
his feet, stalked with a panther’s grace across the chamber where another door
whooshed open at his command. “If your
bladder needs emptying it may have been more appropriate if you had taken the
time to do so in your own quarters.
However, I need you fully focused for the next hour, Miss Grayson. Are you familiar with the apparatus or should
I explain its use?”
Amanda’s jaw dropped. She stared at Sarek in disconcerted affront,
discomfort forgotten as the implications of what he said became clear. Blood
rushed to her cheeks in a crimson tide of mortification.
“So, it’s true what they
say,” She sublimated the sudden rush of anger, the emotion diverted into safer
channels, fingers clenched with the effort.
“Vulcans can read minds.”
His face remained
enigmatic. “You are mistaken. I assure you I have not trespassed on your
privacy.”
“How else could you know
--- what you know --- without reading my thoughts?”
His dark eyes were lethally
calm as he answered, his tone mellifluous and unmoved. “Vulcans have many skills, Miss Grayson. Reading Human body language has never been
particularly demanding to us. However,
in this instance I am not using any dexterity in Vhosh’anta.”
“Then how---?”
“Your mind is surprisingly
---- vibrant. Even with my mental shields in place, it is
proving somewhat difficult to disregard the emotional overspill you project.”
Amanda covered her face with both hands and
peeped through her fingers at him. “Oh,
no! But --- I’m not a telepath.”
Her eyes widened in
frightened wonder. “Am I?”
“Possibly a latent
ability. Many Humans have the aptitude
though they seem unaware of their potential.”
There was no reason for him
to lie. “I didn’t realise. Please … accept my apology.”
“There was no reason for
you to know.” He conceded. “It is a small matter, and one that may
possibly be remedied without too much disturbance.”
A brief smile lifted the
corners of his arrogant mouth and softened it slightly, but whether it was
genuine or a learned response, Amanda could not be sure. Certainly, his unexpected good humour did
not reach his penetrating eyes. “Now, if I may acquaint you with the amenities. When you return, we will begin.”
At last, having imparted
his unremitting instructions he left her alone once more. She needed time to recover her previous
aplomb but knew she could not afford to dally there long. Although she would have loved to investigate
the assorted toiletry articles, lidded pots and tubes that resided on the shelf
below the ample mirror, she resisted the temptation. Instead, she pushed the button that made the
retracted oval lavatory pan push out from the wall. Sarek had demonstrated the mechanism for
her. The pan, placed low to the floor,
was designed for straddling rather than sitting upon. Of course, it had no grab rails or handles.
Really quite ingenious, the apparatus pulled back in, the contents neatly
incinerated with just one phaser flash.
Good thing I have a sense
of balance, she reflected with wry amusement, as she loosened the drawstring on
her pants and pushed them down around her knees.
It was only when she was
hunkered down, a foot either side of the bowl, knees spread and her hands full
of cloth to keep it out of the way, that an astonishing notion suddenly
occurred to her. Vulcans were such
superior creatures. If there was any other
method available surely they would not deign to squat in such an ungainly
manner - which made her suspect they must be built differently in that
department. Amanda stifled an intrigued
giggle. Oh, my, what an idea!
Pushing the notion aside
until she had more time to consider it fully, she passed her hands through a
shimmering sterilizer field, tidied her hair, and within a few minutes returned
to the main room. Sarek had drawn her
chair up beside the desk near to his own.
He bade her sit and indicated what looked like thin, dry discs of
toasted bread arranged on a delicate blue crystal dish. What looked like a teapot and two small
bowls, made of the same crystal-ware, were placed next to the food.
“Please eat, Miss Grayson.
“ Sarek commanded as he proceeded to
fill the two bowls with some of the contents from the pot. “The sharing of food and drink is an
important ritual on Vulcan. Krayla and tsa’e are staples of nearly every household. I believe you have a similar ritual ‘coffee
and cake’, is that not so?”
“We do, yes,” She bit into
the offered krayla. Firm and crisp, it
was more like an unsweetened biscuit than the cake she ate at home. Amanda crunched on it hungrily, enjoying the
unusual taste and texture on her tongue.
However, when she took a quick gulp of the tsa’e, she gasped in
surprise. As soon as the tart,
almond-tasting liquid hit her stomach, a wave of heat surged through her
blood. She choked, blinked away tears,
as fresh perspiration again popped out all over her body.
Sarek reacted immediately
to her loss of composure. “Computer,
regulate cabin temperature to 76.4 degrees Fahrenheit.”
His incisive gaze regarded
her solemnly, “I should have warned
you, no doubt. Tsa’e is an acquired
taste. Perhaps you would be more comfortable
removing your jacket until you have cooled down.”
Once settled again, the
jacket placed neatly over the seat back, Sarek continued, “My homeworld is a
hard and inhospitable place to those who are unaccustomed to it, Miss
Grayson. Unlike your green and pleasant
land, if one disregards the rules there, even for a moment, it can mean ones
death. You have a great deal to learn,
and I suggest you pay strict attention to all that I tell you.”
Again, his mouth curved
upward in that peculiar almost-but-not-quite smile before he switched abruptly
from Federation Standard into his own Vulcan language.
The words, strange and
incomprehensible swirled around her like water about a rock. She took a further cautious swallow of the
tsa’e, rolled it on her tongue, and let it slip slowly down her throat. It burned a fiery trail all the way down her esophagus. Not only that, the ‘tea’ seemed to have
affected her senses in a very strange way.
Instead of trying to interpret the language, she found herself
considering Sarek’s features again, how mesmerizing his eyes were, how enticing
his mouth, with the bottom lip full, and soft and round, a contrast to the taut
upper----
“Well, Miss Grayson? Are you able to answer or have you been
struck dumb?”
Jerked out of her reverie,
it took a moment or two for her to focus.
“I’m --- sorry, sir. You were
saying?”
He held up the teapot. “Are you not acquainted with my
language? I asked if you would like more
tsa’e.”
Oddly disorientated, she
wanted to decline the offer but could not be certain he would also take her
refusal as a rejection of his hospitality.
She swiftly downed what was left in her bowl and with the delicate
crystal held between the fingers of both hands accepted a refill.
Another sip of the potent
brew bestowed a measure of Dutch courage and she heard her own voice declare
abruptly, “As it happens, Mr. Sarek, at the moment I don’t speak Vulcan
although I am proficient in Federation Standard---”
She watched his eyebrow
ascend upward, face otherwise immobile and hurried on; “There was so little
time, you see. But Professor Kulren has
supplied me with language tapes and I ----”
He held out an imperious
hand. “You have them in your
possession?”
“Of course.” A little giddy, all thumbs, she searched
hastily through her clothing then remembered she had stashed the recording in
the only garment that had a pocket – the jacket she had taken off. Clumsily, her knee protesting, she turned in
the seat, located the cassette, and passed it to him.
Without comment, he slipped
the recording into the receiver on his com-set, watched the introduction for a
moment, and then ejected the cassette once more, his face expressionless. “As I thought; this is merely a reproduction
of what we term pra’la nuhk’es, the
courtesy tongue, spoken for the most part by pre-pubescent children. It will not do at all, Miss Grayson.”
“I --- don’t
understand. This is the language given
to us when first contacted by your people, sir.
We don’t have any other. ”
“I am quite aware of
that.”
Amanda frowned, her fuddled
brain working through all the nuances.
Mike had told her that the Vulcans regarded their Human partners as
disruptive and willful, mere squabbling children. Had the authorities been passed the
appropriate lingua franca, a dialect used by children to their elders to
underline that assertion? It had to be a
joke, a huge, logical, Vulcan joke! She
blinked at him, not quite certain she actually saw the faint gleam of humor in
his eyes.
“That doesn’t seem --- too
--- polite, Mr. Sarek.” She murmured,
keeping her own feelings of mingled delight and annoyance in careful check.
“Does that not depend on
ones viewpoint?” Again, his eyes impaled
her, and if amusement had been there a moment before it was now gone. “It may not be generally known but there are
those among my people who believe that Terrans cannot behave in a civilized
manner, Miss Grayson.”
“And are you of that
opinion, sir?”
Chapter 8:
Language Lesson
A deathly hush ensued
during which Amanda held her breath, wondering if influenced by the tsa’e she
had gone too far. But he only said in a
tone that would tolerate no argument. “My
opinion is irrelevant.”
His eyes hooded for an
instant before his gaze returned to her face, brooding and incalculable. “Before we reach Vulcan, you must be
proficient in many things, our language among them.”
“But we only have two
days. How can I…”
“There is a technique known
on my world. It is called a
mind-touch. My knowledge of Vulcan
culture and language will be transferred directly from my brain to yours. If you agree, I will also establish a mental
screen to prevent your thoughts from leaking as they have been doing.” He sat back in his chair and regarded her,
waiting for her decision.
“And --- there is no other
way?”
“Of course there are other
methods but none as rapid or thorough.”
“You’ve done this before, I
take it?”
“It is a respected teaching
process.”
“Among Vulcans.” She commented sagely, brow furrowed in
consideration. “What about Humans, Mr.
Sarek. Have you ---- mind-touched a
Terran before?”
“No, Miss Grayson, I have
never linked my mind with a Human before,” He murmured dryly. “But do they not say on your Earth ‘there is
a first time for everything’?”
It was another test, she
decided. If she said ‘no’ to the
proposal, would he send her packing? Without
doubt, his opinion of her, whatever it was already, would most definitely
decrease. She swallowed the last of the tsa’e in her bowl and placed it
carefully down on the desk; aware she could jump only one way. A tremor of fear and excitement shivered
through. Quietly, she agreed, “All
right.”
“If you wish I will recall,
Ot-lan T’Shenra to act as chaperone.”
“That won’t be
necessary. I trust you know what you’re
doing,” she murmured, her grin nervous.
“What do I have to do? Must I
prepare in some way, shut my eyes, breathe deeply…. meditate? ”
That peculiar smile tipped
the corners of his mouth as he leaned toward her. Again, she smelled the rich fragrance of
cinnamon. After-shave, she wondered, or
hair gel. Did Vulcans go in for such
fripperies?
“Tsa’e is a medicinal herb.
Drinking it was the only preparation you needed. Just sit quietly, Miss Grayson, I will do all
that is required. You may shut your
eyes, or breathe deeply, whatever helps you relax.”
She did shut her eyes,
though she continued to peek through her lashes. He lifted those beautiful hands, fingers
spread. Hot breath fanned her
cheek. Skin touched skin. Amanda
shivered at the contact. Her mind
blurred. Then she was gazing at the darkness behind her eyelids.
His voice held her
spellbound, the words only half understood as he intoned softly, “Listen only
to me, Amanda. Hear only my voice. My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your
thoughts…”
In her college days, Amanda had taken a couple
of RNA messenger courses to boost her core knowledge of several languages,
including Standard. The chemical
induction had taken six weeks to complete but left her with a fluency that
would otherwise have taken years to achieve.
It had also made her wretchedly ill for days after each treatment. By the time the RNA had worn off, she had
augmented the chemical information with a genuine awareness of each native
tongue.
Along with most other
Terrans, Amanda had gleaned her experience of Vulcans from the numerous holo shows that had
increased in popularity ever since 2063, the date when the original Vulcan
envoy had landed in
In the moments after she
shut her eyes, she was acutely aware of the feverish heat that spread across
her face from Sarek’s fingertips. His
distinctive scent, the incongruous smell of cinnamon toast, enveloped her like
some delicious confection.
All she heard was the rich
certainty of his voice intoning the strange mantra that echoed through her
psyche. Hear only me. Listen only to
me. My mind to your mind my thoughts to
your thoughts----
As her breathing slowed
along with her heartbeat, she sank down into a gentle state where thoughts did
not trouble her at all. Yet, at the same
time, there lingered a feeling of expectation, a sweet yearning for deeper
contact. Linked by the continuous thread
of the mantra, seduced by the perceptive caress of his mind-touch, she opened
to him. Unresisting, she surrendered,
unusually passive and compliant; entranced by the hypnotic siren’s song he
created. She welcomed him in, her
natural defenses crumbling before his tender, dexterous advance, her thoughts
thrumming with pleasurable sensation as he primed her to receive the nucleic
acid stream that regulated the transfer of information from his brain to hers.
Mymindtoyourmindmythoughtstoyourthoughts-------
She floated in the darkness
behind her closed eyelids luxuriating in the mental embrace so much gentler
than his physical persona. The
pulsations of his mind resonated through her, then repeated, and reverberated
back and forth until the two of them were in exquisite rapport, a total
harmony…
It seemed only moments
later when Sarek’s deep, expressive, baritone woke her from the wondrous
dream. “Miss Grayson, can you hear
me?”
She sighed, a long soft
exhalation, and languorously opened her eyes.
Her whole body tingled from the kiss of his fingertips still pressed
lightly along her brow and jaw. The
hands of apparently someone who did not always sit behind a desk, the skin felt
slightly callused against her face.
Sarek’s hooded eyes beheld
her own, serene but watchful, a stranger who had entered her mind, a stranger
who had left his imprint on her thoughts.
At the idea, Amanda’s heart tripped against her ribs and - as if in
startled response to her leaping pulse - his hands immediately dropped away.
Fingers clasped together in his lap he sat
back in his chair and regarded her with guarded interest. “Are thee well, Miss Grayson. Can thee understand me now?”
She blinked. The words were not English, nor Federation
Standard, or any language she had learned previously. It was Vulcan and she understood him.
“Yes, I understand. Thank you, I … am well.” It was not exactly the whole truth. Her mind still reeled from the extraordinary
contact. She felt light-headed, almost drunkenly giddy. Hungry before, her body now craved food - and
she had an incredible thirst.
“Please, speak Ti-Valka’ain.” He handed her a bowl that thankfully
contained only water and not another measure of tsa’e.
Sarek’s mind-touch had conveyed the context
behind the word he used as well as the meaning and usage. Its inhabitants called the world recognized as
Vulcan by the Federation, Ti-Valka’ain,
named after the Old God of Fire, Ayen-Valkathi. It was also the term used for the language
and the Vulcan people.
Amanda inclined her head,
swallowed a sip of water to wet her scratchy throat, and repeated, “Tsa’mah nash-veh, fi’ahkr’hem oish-veh
Kula’at Sarek.”
Although not the courtesy
tongue of child to adult, she used the strictly formal structural configuration
that indicated his much higher social status, careful to include the obligatory
honorific. Like all the other languages
she had learned, Ti-Valka’ain
contained its own peculiarities. German
was throaty, Gaelic had glottal stops, and Vulcan was heavy on fricatives.
His nod was terse. “Thy pronunciation still needs refining, but
I believe that will come with practice.”
“Then … thee will take
me? I am suitable for the mission?”
“Of course.” His eyebrow flicked upwards as if in
surprise. “I would not have selected
thee otherwise, Miss Grayson.”
“I … do not understand, Kula’at.
Thee selected me?”
“Certainly.” He replied,
his tone coolly polite. “Professor
Kulren put forward thy name initially, of course, but the final choice of
candidate was mine. Thee were the most
logical applicant and as such, I have had thee under observation for some weeks. Now, if thee will repeat after me a stanza of
T’lala’s Way.”
And for such shattering
news, that was all the explanation she received. The lesson continued, and by some miracle,
she managed to do exactly what he required.
It brought her no praise, however.
After a further half an hour, he arranged another lesson for early the
next day and then almost casually dismissed her.
With a sigh of tired
relief, more bemused than ever, Amanda left him. On shaking legs, bones rubbery, she returned
to the quiet safety of her own quarters.
Chapter 9:
Signs and Portents
Mike met her outside her
cabin door, a smile of unmistakable pleasure and welcome brightening his face.
“So, he didn’t eat you,
after all!” He held out his hands, so
that it seemed perfectly natural to clasp both of them and smile back up at
him.
“Worse.” She declared, her knees still knocking from
the experience. “He offered me krayla and tsa’e – which, though Sarek compared the two, is nothing like cake
and coffee!”
“No, they’re not.” Mike laughed softly, “Then again, tsa’e does grow on you - after a while.”
“Maybe, I’ll have to take
your word for it.” She shook her head
and made a wry face at him. “I only had
two tiny bowls of the stuff but I think I’m going to have the hangover of all
hangovers tomorrow.”
“Uh-huh. That’s for sure.”
“Sarek’s scheduled another
lesson, but at least he confirmed my inclusion to the team.” She stopped to take a breath and found she
was still holding both of Mike’s hands.
“Now, I don’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.”
“If we’re still talking
about Sarek, maybe a little of both.”
His eyes twinkled. “He’s a Vulcan
after all. But he’s on our side, which
is a big plus for me. How about you?”
“I’m not sure.” She wrinkled her nose. “But however we regard him, I doubt Kula’at Sarek cares either way.”
His eyes widened in
appreciation at her use of Vulcan. “Hey,
not only do you look the part, but you parley
the language too – and with an accent, no less.
Those tapes the prof. gave you must be something special. But your hard work deserves a reward. Are you hungry?”
“Ravenous.” She confirmed with unreserved enthusiasm, her
stomach rumbling once more.
“Glad to hear it because
there is a sumptuous repast in my cabin just waiting to be consumed by two
hungry Humans.” He inclined his head in
an almost perfect imitation of their Vulcan hosts, and then grinned with ironic
good humor. “Come on, T’sai Grayson. We have to fatten you up so that Sarek has
something to bite into when he sees you again.”
Mike proved an affable and amusing
companion. They swapped stories of their
childhoods, people they had known, places they had been. He regaled her with tales of his boyhood
spent in the Terran enclave on Vulcan, she of her schooldays in
They marveled at each other’s taste in food,
music, and books, how both of them preferred the real, live paper variety
instead of the electronic kind. And, of
course, they talked about their mission, journeys end, and what it would mean
to stay with a Vulcan family.
They also talked about
Sarek! Mike questioned her more closely
about the Vulcan diplomat’s gift of clothing and sympathized over the way he
had kept her waiting. He complimented
the approach she had used and agreed that Sarek’s behavior had probably been a
test. Of course, she told him about the
revelation in respect of the Vulcan courtesy tongue, though for some reason she
could not explain even to herself, she kept the fact of the mind-touch
private. To her surprise, instead of the
anger she might have expected at the disclosure, he laughed uproariously.
“We suspected something of
the sort,” he explained. “Of course,
it’s only since Sarek became the cultural attaché that we’ve been allowed
access to Vulcan society at all, though it’s interesting that he came clean
about the language to you.”
“Why would he do
that?” She asked, “Why tell me and not
you?”
He shrugged. “You’ll be living with his family. Maybe that has something to do with it.”
“You mean the lessons are a
kind of insurance policy so that I won’t embarrass him in front of his mother,”
she murmured dryly.
“It’s a possibility. Rumour has it that T’Phra is T’Pau’s
daughter, and a chip off the old block.”
Mike’s eyes gleamed. “Whatever
the reason, I suppose we should be grateful. At least we now know there’s a
difference.”
They continued to sit over
the remains of the meal Mike had prepared far into the evening until with great
reluctance he took her back to her own cabin.
Again, he gently kissed her flushed cheek. With a contented smile, she left him, the
faint citrus smell of his aftershave a reminder as she finally undressed,
rolled out the bedding that was indeed hidden away in the lacquered chest, and
completely exhausted, crawled beneath the covers.
Despite her fatigue, Amanda slept poorly. She tossed and turned on the unfamiliar dais
while her mind grappled with the events of the day. When she finally managed to drop off into
slumber, her dreams fell into the same restless pattern, seemingly full of
strange portents and subconscious anxieties.
The Ti-Valka’ain language surged through her mind with its complexities
of expression and structure. The sound
of it resonated in her throat and rolled sonorously on her tongue, it droned in
her ears, a swarm of humming bees.
Bizarre fragments of previously unknown information, the strains of
outlandish music, alien scenes of black mountains and red sands came and went,
jostling for position. Sarek haunted her
thoughts. Heat stole through her as she
felt his fingertips caress her flesh once again, stretching in the katra vertex - as her new knowledge
insisted the position was called - to encompass her brow, cheek and jaw. The delicious aroma of cinnamon surrounded
her and with a soft moan of pure pleasure, she finally realized the scent
belonged wholly to his hot skin.
She woke twice; the first
time in need of something to ease tense throat muscles and quench a tsa’e-induced thirst increased further
by the dry heat of her quarters. The
need proved easily satisfied when she stumbled drowsily from the dais and
ordered - in Ti-Valka’ain - a flask
of water from the selector panel on the far wall. At least the computer understood her mangled
syllables. It arrived within seconds
ice-cold and pure, with a refreshingly, sweet taste that she found far
preferable to the tangy heat of the Vulcan ‘tea’.
The second disturbance came when her bladder
insisted on being emptied an hour or two later.
Not surprising, after she had imbibed both the first flask of water and
half of another before settling back into sleep. Again, she rose, fumbled with the controls of
the waste disposal unit, and finally got the recalcitrant contraption to
open. However, by the time she had navigated
the device, kept her balance, and seen to her physical comfort, any desire for
further sleep had disappeared.
It was still very early in
the ships diurnal cycle. A headache
thumped behind her eyes in time to her beating heart. Her stomach also roiled queasily. A result of the tsa’e or of Sarek’s mind-touch, or nervous tension at the thought
of meeting him again, remained uncertain.
Amanda had dated a few boys since she had learned there was more to them
than ‘snips, and snails, and puppy dog
tails’. Her father, Charles, had
encouraged her in the diversion, trusting her to use good judgment in her
encounters. She had liked most of her beaus, appreciated a couple, but had yet
to find one she could love. None of them
had measured up to the enduring image of Charles. Mike Gorsky resembled Charles not only in
looks, but also in personality. She had
felt ‘at home’ with him almost instantly.
Sarek, on the other hand,
was like no other male she had met before or could ever hope to meet in the
future. He was truly alien, an unknown entity.
She might not like to admit it, but while his natural authority and
dominance frightened her more than a little, it also proved a powerful
attraction. However much she might want
to, she could not hide from his darkly dangerous gaze. In the briefness of the mind touch, he had
witnessed her soul. His fire had ignited
her blood. With that one single
sizzling contact, intentional or not, she had become moth to his flame.
Still unable to sleep, she
decided to arm herself in readiness for her appointment with him. It would not do to be late a second time.
After a leisurely sonic
shower, she dressed carefully in another outfit she found concealed in her
wardrobe, amused at Sarek’s diligence.
In all things except the colour, a tranquil forest green, it resembled
the ensemble she had worn the day before.
Amanda tamed her short curls in a neat chignon and following T’Shenra’s
example arranged the tasseled ch’ipau
in exactly the same way. She used her
cosmetics with a subtle hand, accentuating her lips and the azure of her eyes,
camouflaging her pale cheeks. Thus
prepared she left her cabin and sauntered through Insala’s corridors towards Sarek’s door. Head high and back straight, despite the
nervous fluttering of her heart, she pressed his door buzzer and waited for him
to answer the summons.
Chapter 10:
A Little of What You Fancy
Until Sarek answered the
door, hair tousled, and clad only in what had to be a hurriedly donned night
robe, Amanda had not truly realized how early it really was. Made from pale amber cottony fabric, the robe
provocatively clung to his broad chest and lean hips. Intended to fasten up both sides with short
ties, in his obvious haste, he had missed a few of the chunky laces and the
gaps in-between revealed that he wore nothing underneath.
At the knowledge, Amanda’s
face flushed scarlet but he appeared far more interested in her presence than
his own state of undress. His gaze,
though fleeting was mesmeric. As she
stammered out a halting clarification for her premature arrival, he neatly
sidestepped so that she could precede him into the room.
As on her previous two
visits, his quarters were incredibly neat.
Unsullied by a lone sock, or an open book, or the latest tape of his
favourite recording, the russet carpet stretched to cream and salmon pink
walls. However, the curtained off
sleeping dais was still spread with night linen and further, a rumpled mat lay
on the floor before a black stone plinth that she had failed to notice before,
atop of which stood a statue of some strange winged, cat-like beast, a bowl
filled with glowing embers held between its outstretched front paws.
“I’m disturbing you.
Perhaps I should return later,” She tried to apologize but he would have none
of it.
“Indeed not, Miss
Grayson. The fault is mine. As you see, I seek Attunement, a process I
find better undertaken before breaking the night’s fast - but which can be
somewhat--- absorbing. Have you
eaten? Will you take tsa’e?”
Her newly implanted
knowledge informed Amanda that, as she had thought the day before, it would be
an insult to refuse. She dipped her head. “If it would please you, Kula’ at.”
Dark eyes observed her
shrewdly, and she felt the blood once again rise into her cheeks as he dryly
murmured, “Perhaps a weaker infusion would be preferable for your Q’uomi
tastes. Please, sit.”
With a clumsy grace, Amanda
sank onto the cushioned seat she had occupied previously. Her eyes followed him as he strode across to
the selector. Even his walk conveyed
authority. On most Terrans, the sleeping
gown would have appeared theatrical, or merely comical, but on Sarek, it
emphasized his natural male hauteur, a presence and power she found
spellbinding.
He came back with a plain
stone tray bearing the ubiquitous blue crystal teapot, drinking bowls, and a
plate of krayla, along with various
other utensils and small dishes from which arose a mingling of mouth-watering
steam. Sarek set the tray down between
them, took his seat opposite, and patiently regarded her. It took Amanda a moment to realize that it
was another lesson. She took a deep
breath, feeling rather faint. He sat
cross-legged. The posture pulled the ties of the sleeping gown even further
apart to reveal a leanly muscled thigh and a tantalizing stretch of bare hip
that drew her gaze.
Confused at the direction
her thoughts had suddenly taken, she hastily cast her eyes down at the tray,
while the disapproving voice of her conscience chided such impropriety. Swallowing hard, she wet dry lips with the
tip of her tongue, struggling to regain a measure of composure. Her mind flashed abruptly to a recollection
that she recognized was not her own. A
moment later, she knew what her reaction should be.
Lifting her head, she met
him eye to eye. “It is undignified for a
woman to play servant to a man that is not hers, Kula’ at Sarek.”
“Quite so,” He agreed, and
although his tone was peremptory, Amanda sensed approval. “As my guest, therefore, it is my honor to
serve you.”
Without a pause, he
indicated the contents of the tray. “An
ancient proverb on my world instructs that if you are privileged in eating
something original, your life will be lengthened by seventy-five years.”
“Meaning that variety is the spice of
life?” She ventured, looking at him with
amused wonder.
Did his eyes soften in
response or was it entirely her imagination?
“In recent years this small
truth has fallen from grace among my people.”
He passed her a bowl, offering it with both hands. As she held it out in
the same fashion, he poured a measure of tsa’e. “Have you eaten any of our foodstuffs before,
Miss Grayson?”
“Only the krayla and tsa’e yesterday---”
“Indeed.” His brow rose as if in awareness of her
reservations. “We are essentially still
a desert people. Resources for growing
produce are limited. However, there is a
misconception that we enjoy bland cuisine.
You may now appreciate that, as with many other details of our culture,
that belief is not entirely the case.”
Amanda studied him,
watching his eyes, trying to read what little expression he allowed. “There is much I do not know, Kula’ at Sarek. But I do wish to learn - if you are willing
to teach me.”
The moment she voiced the
desire, she knew how naïve it
sounded, how gauche, even couched in
the proper Ti-Valka’ain form. He must have thought so too, for a winged
brow arched. But all he said was, “A
further mind-touch will be necessary. Do
you have any objections to that, Miss Grayson?”
Her heart leaped in silent
answer, but she said only, “Indeed not, sir.”
“You did not find the
process debilitating? There were no
ill-affects?”
She decided on the truth. “A slight headache, but I assumed that was my
unfamiliarity with tsa’e.”
“Remarkable,” For a moment
he considered her from beneath hooded lids, before he bent gracefully at the
waist, and reached for a pair of tapered, chopstick-like, eating utensils from
the tray. “These are called?”
The name for them popped
unbidden into her head. “Jom’ir.”
“You recall the appropriate
phrase we speak before the start of a meal?”
“Ta’nara son-ghai sup ni da?”
Amanda supplied, pronouncing the syllables with some care.
He inclined his head. “And its purpose?”
She contemplated the
question, brow furrowed in concentration.
“At one time, food was scarce.
Meals were important. The literal
meaning is ‘I will eat well’.”
“That is so. Even now, we do not ask in your way ‘how are
you?’ but enquire ‘have you eaten?’ When
the meal is over, the appropriate phrase is?”
“Ta’nara
ut-ghai sup ni da. I have eaten
well.”
“Do not confuse them.”
“Indeed not, Kula’at Sarek.”
Again, he bent to the tray,
indicated the assortment of small bowls and their contents. “As with krayla
and tsa’e, another principal food on
Vulcan is kahf. It appears in many variations and is always
present on the table, whatever the meal.
You are able to translate the term?”
The interpretation came to
her as if she had known it all her life, along with the taste of subtle heat
and sourness on her tongue. The recollection
set her taste buds singing in anticipation.
“Because of the severity of the climate, it was essential for food to be
preserved for times of particular need.
Vegetables were ‘packed’ into layers with natural salts, peppers and
herbs until they fermented. Even now, kahf is made in exactly the same way it
was in Surak’s day.”
Sarek picked up another
bowl. He presented it with both hands as
before. “One of many customs we continue
to practice, although real hunger is now rare as we trade extensively with both
our colony worlds and other species.
Please, eat well, Miss
Grayson.”
The breakfast was the
strangest Amanda had ever consumed. For
the most part conducted in silence, she found her unexpected enjoyment of
Vulcan cuisine a complete surprise.
Though a ‘memory’ existed of eating such dishes for most of her life,
each mouthful was also a new experience.
She did not hesitate to hold out her drinking bowl when Sarek proffered
the teapot. Even while she shuddered
inwardly at each tiny sip of the distinctively flavored tsa’e, she also acknowledged her desire for the drink. The preference for the herbal infusion had
started to grow on her, just as Mike had told her it would.
Neither could she deny the
conviction at the back of her mind that she needed the tsa’e for another successful mind-touch. Just the remembrance of Sarek’s strong, yet
responsive, fingers pressed lightly against her skin caused her heart to lurch
and her pulses to quicken.
Wanton! Amanda thought with inward, ironic laughter. There had been nothing remotely intimate in
his touch the day before, yet, like an adolescent schoolgirl, she had already
concocted a whole host of silly romantic fantasies about him. Hopeless child, she told herself sternly,
employing a phrase her father used often.
He is Vulcan and Vulcans don’t have such sensibilities. Rummaging carefully through her new
knowledge, she realized that there seemed no concept in modern Ti-Valka’ain for the usual Human
emotional responses. When she tried to
translate ‘love’, her extensive
lexicon came up blank. The same appeared
true of jealously, anger, and grief.
Even ‘desire’ had no direct
translation and ‘lust’ only came back
with ‘appetite’ as the derivative, an
expression from much earlier in the history of the language. It was undoubtedly fascinating!
“Miss Grayson, you appear
distracted. Are our dishes not to your
taste?”
Startled, she looked up to
find Sarek’s enigmatic gaze fixed upon her, saturnine brows ominously drawn
together. Could she still be
broadcasting her thoughts to all and sundry? Her cheeks flamed again before his
stare. Then, his eyes dropped to the
almost empty bowl she held in silent explanation.
In her own Western culture,
good manners decreed that a morsel or two remained uneaten, an indication of
how well the host provided for his guests.
On Vulcan, the opposite held true.
At once, she chased the last small pieces of food around the bowl with
the jom’ir and popped them into her
mouth.
Replete she murmured, “ta’nara ut-ghai sup ni da,” and meant it
as she assiduously wiped her mouth and fingers, wrapped the used jom’ir in the moist napkin, and placed
the small roll along with the delicate crystal bowl beside the other empty
dishes.
“I am honored.” Sarek inclined his head, picked up the tray,
and deposited it back into the selector recess.
He returned but did not resume his seat.
Instead, he studied her, one eyebrow on the rise. “Does your bladder need emptying, Miss
Grayson?”
The question, uttered with
the utmost seriousness almost made her choke.
She hastily covered her mouth and masked her astonished laughter with a
quick cough. However, she fooled no one
with the subterfuge, it seemed.
“You find the enquiry
amusing for some reason,” He continued to regard her with unblinking
intensity. “Humor is alien to me,
particularly Q’uomi humor. Explain if you will.”
She was in no doubt about his bafflement or
the command in his voice. “Forgive me, Kula’ at Sarek, I did not mean…”
“To be undisciplined?”
“To offend you,” Blue eyes
flashed as she met his gaze.
“Indeed?”
The butterflies danced in
the pit of Amanda’s stomach at his tone.
He stood over her, boldly intimidating and yet she felt not fear exactly
but an odd, primitive excitement. Her
heart skittered as she tilted her head back to regard him. Their eyes locked for what seemed an
eternity. Beyond her control, the
muscles of her abdomen clenched, and heat rippled under her skin as a dizzying
current arced through her.
“I don’t mean to be
insolent, sir. On my world, such a
question is … demeaning. You might ask it of a child, though a decidedly young
one. From one adult to another,
particularly from a man to a woman, it is emphatically indiscreet.”
“I stand corrected, Miss
Grayson,” Cross-legged as before, he settled into his chair, “Apparently, I also have much to learn.”
Amanda swallowed tightly
unable to suppress her abrupt awareness of him, entirely caught up in her own
emotions. From somewhere deep within
came the urge to touch him, to reach out and spread her fingers across his face
as he had done to her the day before, to connect with him mind to mind. Disconcerted by the impulse she clasped her
fingers together in her lap but she still could not tear her gaze away from his
face.
Sarek regarded her
thoughtfully for a moment before continuing, his voice velvet-edged but
insistent. “The mind-touch is not a
one-way process. If you will permit it,
I would gain knowledge of your culture in the same way you learn of mine. What do you say, Miss Grayson? Will you instruct me in those things I cannot
learn in any other way?”
Chapter 11:
All Aboard for Kwil’inahr
Early the following day,
the Insala commenced a leisurely
orbit of Vulcan. Ot-lan T’Shenra accompanied Mike and Amanda to the shuttle deck
where a trim, sleekly designed courier-class vessel waited before the huge bay
doors.
Sarek, already positioned in a seat beside the
Vulcan pilot, turned and inclined his head in solemn greeting as T’Shenra and
the two Humans settled quietly into three of the four rear places. The Vulcan lieutenant spoke to them quietly. “Mr. Gorsky; Miss Grayson, if you will strap
yourselves in. The K’homi is cleared for docking and Space Central awaits our arrival
---”
On the forward view screen,
Amanda saw the enormous bay doors slowly roll back. The craft lifted and headed swiftly toward
the widening gap. She stiffened and held
her breath in alarm but the pilot, obviously well versed in such procedures and
with inches to spare on each side, cleared the breach without incident. When she sighed softly and relaxed into the
seat cushions in sudden relief, she earned a knowing wink from Mike.
Silence descended on the
cabin as the pilot brought the craft around and Vulcan appeared on the forward
display situated just above Sarek’s head.
Even from space, the planet had a certain wild beauty.
While still one of the more
forbidding landscapes imaginable, Amanda now saw that, the fictional landscape
she had devoured since childhood through the medium of holo-pix and vid-dramas
hardly did the planet justice.
The psychic contact with
Sarek had imparted a flood of definitely personal impressions. In her hour or two of ‘free’ time between his
tutoring, helped by the enigmatic T’Shenra, Amanda had also backed up some of
the essentials she had learned with less idiosyncratic research from the ships
library. Despite the extra studies, and
her own private belief that the popular idea of Vulcan as an arid desolation
was misleading, it was still something of a surprise to look down from space
onto wispy, cotton candy clouds - produced, she now knew, with moisture sucked
up from the two major bodies of open water.
The Thanar and Vorath seas were small by Earth
standards but still quite respectable for a desert world.
Also quite visible as they
swiftly soared over the saffron, vermilion and ochre surface were varied meteor
craters and pockmarks – most prominent among them a further dry seabed that
could only be the dehydrated remains of the great T’Kala Sea long ago
turned entirely to sand. In many places
the arched spines of ancient mountains, worn by millions of years of wind and
sand erosion pressed through the earth, for all the world like the backbone of
the mythical ak’weth, the underlier
that allegedly resided below the desert floor.
She could almost smell the
faint but distinctive cinnamon scent of the Sas-a-Shar
borne on the hot mid-day breeze, feel the grittiness of sand beneath her
sandaled feet; the soothing heat of Alam’ak,
Vulcan’s primary star, heavy on her shoulders and the crown of her head. Beautiful Ti’
Valka’ain, Vulkhaniru, home---
The warmth of Amanda’s
reaction startled her. Only after a moment did she realize that both the
telling images and the sensory impressions came from Sarek’s experience, not
her own; strange, how clear were the memories, how real the reminiscence. Did he recognize how much insight they gave
into his character? Whatever his outward
expression revealed, Sarek was more than pleased to be home; his tie to this
planet of his birth as great or greater than Amanda’s to Sol III.
Did he have access to those feelings that
influenced her in the same way? Would he now crave chocolate at certain times
of the month, or suddenly adore the smell of eucalyptus after a rain
shower. Would the velvet softness of a
sun-warmed rose petal, clasped in reverent fingertips, fill him with sensuous
delight? Until he finally grasped where
that particular inclination really derived?
Bemused, she darted a
glance in his direction. Unlike her, he
was no amateur at these mind skills; he had to know how much detail crossed
over - or did he? She was the first Human with whom he had shared a
mind-touch. He could be just as unsure
of the process as she was. The pressure points on her face tingled, those
psionic channels by which he gained better access to her mind, and once again
he turned in the seat webbing to look over his shoulder at her.
Tremulous, she wondered
what else he had gleaned from her mind.
He had blocked her thoughts from the Vulcan personnel on the ship but
she could not control the gift. He
had sole mastery over her thoughts. She
had no power to prevent the invasion of her privacy whether accidental or
intentional. Yet only his able fingers
could provide an unrestricted and intimate entry into his world, a world
normally off limits to Humans. His touch had become memory to her. Did he
understand that his presence in her mind was a drug, a growing addiction?
For a moment, his gaze
locked onto her questioning eyes, and communicated a private message – or so it
seemed to Amanda, aware of the sudden pulsing knot in her stomach.
In memory, his ‘voice’
ghosted familiarly through her psyche, the way it had done back in his cabin,
Amanda-----
Not an image, nor a sound,
but a perception formed by his thought - followed by a rush of assimilation, of
identification. The awareness of him
inside her skull had the same emotional impact as a sexual encounter. His dynamic presence surged through her
consciousness and permeated the darkness behind her eyes. Enthralled by the pure communion, unable to
resist, she had surrendered to his possession, exalting in his male strength,
astonished by the depth of sensation just the touch of his fingers on her skin
created. His face so close their breath
mingled, the scent of him filled her senses.
Her entire body prickled with an emotional charge so strong it felt like
a bolt from heaven.
Once again confronted with
his profile as he turned from her she decided the cart had definitely gone
before the horse. As her father might
phrase it, they had eaten dessert before the starters! They had indulged in
none of the usual Human foreplay. Not
once had Amanda run her fingers through his unruly hair. They had never linked
fingers or shared even a kiss. It made
no difference that her inner knowledge now warned her that Vulcans did not
indulge in such an illogical activity. During that long night alone in her
cabin, the thought of Sarek’s generous lips pressed against her own had filled
Amanda’s dreams. The attraction was completely irrational, exceptionally
illogical, a silly juvenile infatuation.
It could not have manifested at a more undesirable time, or with a more
unattainable person. It was assuredly
not mutual, as far as she could tell.
Nor could she allow it to get in the way of her assignment. The Institute relied on her. Professor Kulren relied on her. She could not fail either one.
Some unknown instrument on
the shuttle’s control panel chimed sweetly - and brought her abruptly back from
her daydream. She blinked, and glanced
up at the changed display. Instead of
Vulcan, the main viewscreen now showed an astonishingly sleek metal and Plexiglas
creation, a space station that was also a city size work of art its lustrous
opalescent surface shimmering in the radiance from Alam’ak. With consummate
grace, the K’homi’s pilot executed a sweeping turn that placed them in direct
line with one of the station’s ports.
They docked with hardly a sound.
Mike’s fingers lightly
brushed against the back of the hand she held in her lap as he leaned over to
whisper softly into her ear, “Welcome to Vulcan Space Central.”
She glanced at him seeing the laughter in his
eyes, the sunlit warmth of his smile, an exact opposite of Sarek’s saturnine
nature.
“It’s …stunning,” She
declared, genuinely awed by the extraordinary sight.
“You are surprised, Miss
Grayson?” Sarek’s mellifluous baritone
queried without warning, “Were you expecting something more utilitarian
perhaps? Sturdy and practical, no doubt
- or possibly feudal, the way your entertainment industry often portrays our
world and its artifacts. ”
“I really hadn’t known what
to expect, sir,” she admitted, a little taken aback by his terseness, the
brilliant smile she had bestowed a moment before on Mike quickly fading before
Sarek’s imperious stare. “I’m not a
mathematician, but I can see some geometrical influences …”
“Indeed,” he retorted
shortly, before his eyes switched to her Human companion, much to Amanda’s relief. “It is our way to combine art and science, to
unite efficiency with good design, is that not so, Gorsky?”
Mike, having already
withdrawn his hand, snapped solemnly to attention as he cheerfully agreed with
Sarek’s assessment. “Indeed it is, sir.”
Sarek’s eyes fastened on
Amanda again, held her gaze almost by the force of his will, twin searchlights,
incisive and penetrating as if he hoped to catch her out in some nameless
treachery. “Whatever non-Vulcans
believe, we appreciate beauty – in all its various forms. The last great work of Es’laran, an artist–architect from Surak’s time - Kwil’inahr - known to you as Vulcan
Space Central - lies in geosynchronous orbit above the city of
Amanda had received full
spectrum immunization before leaving Sol system. She queried tentatively, “Inoculations?
Purification?”
“Decontamination – to get
rid of any nasty Terran bugs you might be carrying.” Mike reassured her. “The inoculations will
help you deal with Vulcan’s environment.
It’s just a formality, nothing to worry about.”
“Undoubtedly,” Sarek
intoned dryly. “The station retains a
sickbay and campus of the
“Oh … yes, of course.”
She fumbled in the pocket
of the traditional Vulcan jacket she wore but he forestalled her with a quirk
of one eyebrow. “Gorsky will assist you
with the immigration process, Miss Grayson.
I have other … concerns to which I must attend. We will convene once more at the shuttle
transportation bay. Please ensure you
are in good time for the flight.”
T’Shenra had already
released the airlock control and without another word, they both swept out
leaving the two Humans staring after them.
Chapter 12:
Just One Kiss
“Great, I was hoping he’d
do that.” Mike grinned at Amanda’s
open-mouth before he lightly grasped her hand.
“Now the parents have left us alone we can have some fun.”
He turned to the Vulcan
pilot - waiting with patient grace for them to depart so that he could return
to the Insala - bowed perfunctorily,
uttered a brief farewell, and then shepherded her through the airlock.
“But … what about the
inoculations…and the decontamination,” Amanda stuttered, shuddering inwardly at
what that might actually mean as Mike whisked her down a deserted, orange-lit
corridor towards another intersection at the far end, “Shouldn’t we…?”
“Trust me. We will - but not just yet! This may be our only opportunity to explore
Kwil’inahr for another six months.” His
grin widened at the look she threw him.
“Once we’ve gone through decon, we won’t be allowed back. Come on, where’s your sense of
adventure? ”
“Gibbering in a corner,”
she advised him, only half jokingly.
“Sarek specifically told us not to be late…”
He stopped in mid-stride,
turned her to face him, hands on her shoulders, head on one side. A quirky smile lifted the corner of his mouth
as he asked softly, “And are you going to do everything Sarek tells you from
now on?”
“Of course not.” Hot blood
swept up her neck and into her cheeks.
“I … don’t want to antagonize him unnecessarily, that’s all.”
“He’s a Vulcan,” Mike
stated. “It’s not possible to antagonize
him.”
“Never?”
“Not that you’d
notice.” He shook his head in perplexed
wonder at her wide-eyed look, and groaned theatrically. “Please don’t tell me you’ve fallen for him,
Amanda?”
He silenced her quick
rebuttal with a finger on her lips. “It’s
happened before. You wouldn’t be the
first by any means. Human women fall at
his feet on a regular basis. Tell me, is
it the pointed ears, or maybe … all that supposedly repressed emotion?”
Irritated by his
observation, Amanda batted his finger away.
“I don’t intend to deny it…”
“Hah! I thought so…”
The blue of her eyes
intensified darkening with sudden anger as she regarded him. “Only because it’s not correct.”
No, she thought, I’m not
falling in love… I’ve already
fallen! The fiery glare she directed at
him masked her discomfort.
Mike drew away and raised
his hands as if in entreaty. “I hope
that’s true, Amanda, for all our sakes.
This is not the time to get involved – and with Sarek of all people.”
“You don’t have to remind
me of that,” she exclaimed. “I’m not a
child, Mike – and you aren’t my father.”
“No…no, I’m not.” He ran light fingers through his hair in
exasperation. Expression troubled, he continued to observe her. He leaned closer, his voice barely above a
whisper. Neither of them needed
reminding that they were on a Vulcan station.
“Perhaps that’s the problem…”
“You’d prefer to be my
father?” She murmured back in mock
innocence, mistaking his meaning on purpose.
But the ingenuousness of
the remark brought the twinkle back to his eyes and a slight upward tilt to his
lips.
“Not likely,” he
exclaimed. He took her hand, raised it
to his lips, and planted a soft kiss into her palm. “I’ve seen how you look at Sarek, that’s
all. How he looks at you, Amanda. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips and
swept over her breasts, soft as a caress.
By no means oblivious to his appeal, Amanda understood his unspoken
invitation. Her body, roused
inadvertently by Sarek’s tender incursion into her mind the day before, reacted
to the stimulus. Her heartbeat thudded in
her ears and her pulses raced. Unable to
prevent it, she swayed towards him.
Immediately his arms enveloped her, pulled her into an embrace. The next moment, Mike’s mouth covered hers in
hungry possession.
Chapter 13 Vulcan Eyes Aren’t Smiling
Amanda’s emotions whirled
as Mike’s mouth descended. Her senses
swam.
Light as a summer breeze,
his lips brushed hers in tender deliberation.
Sensation flowed through her veins, sweet molasses – luscious -- thick
and slow.
In turn, Amanda savored the
taste of him, the scent of citrus in her nostrils. She luxuriated in the warm clasp of his arms,
the subdued thunder of his heart against her breast. Yet, behind her closed lids, the face
conjured out of the darkness belonged to Sarek.
Even wrapped in Mike’s embrace she still could not excise the perception
of the Vulcan diplomat’s fingertips pressed against her katra points. The mere thought of his touch and a heated
tingle of arousal arrowed through her taut nerves.
Palms flat against Mike’s chest, the zesty
lemon tang of him still on her lips, Amanda broke the embrace. “Mike, I can’t do this. I’m sorry, really I am, but … I just can’t…”
His fair brows knit
together over concerned brown eyes.
“Amanda, not just Sarek’s ears and eyebrows are different. You have to realize that.”
“Mike, I told you Sarek has
nothing to do with … with my feelings …”The protest was half-hearted. It sounded terribly feeble even to her
ears. She desperately wanted to ask ‘how
does he look at me? What do you see that
I don’t’? But instead, she said, “It’s only been two days. I hardly know him.”
He exhaled through his
front teeth, a quiet, resigned sigh.
“Sarek chose you for this mission for a reason, Amanda – one, based
wholly on logic, you can bet your last credit on that.”
Which, certainly, excluded
love at first sight – or even second sight, she thought.
“Don’t you think I’ve
wondered why too? If he had a specific
purpose for choosing me over someone else from the Cultural Institute, I don’t
know what it is. I’m not in his confidence,
Mike.”
He accepted that, though it
took a moment before his lips curved reluctantly up in the smile she had come to know and appreciate.
His eyes softened in amused fellow feeling.
“No argument there. But Sarek’s
net was thrown further than the Cultural Institute. He investigated candidates from all over the
Earth. Whatever the cause, you’re one
special lady to him, Amanda.”
At her amazed expression,
he took her face between his hands and kissed her once more, lightly - on the
brow - his laugh tender, half-amused, half-impatient. “Okay, we’re still both in the dark about his
motives, that’s nothing new. Sarek plays
his cards close to his chest.”
His grin widened, wickedly
impudent. “But please, promise me not to
get sucked in by that boyish charm of his…”
Boyish charm?
“Are we talking about the
same Sarek?” She threw him a disparaging
look - sticking out her tongue - just as a group of three Vulcans, two women
and a man, dressed in floor-length somber robes, turned the corner into the
corridor.
Mike and Amanda instantly
separated. Even so, three pairs of
relentless Vulcan eyes inspected them both with careful intent.
Chapter 14:
Mind, Body and Spirit.
The taller and eldest of
the two women stopped before them, while her two companions flanked each
side. Offspring most likely, Amanda
decided for there was no mistaking the family resemblance. Amanda wondered if
Professor Tolkien had ever crossed paths with a Vulcan or two before he had
come up with his Elvish kin in Lord of
the Rings. These three, definitely
cast in the same mould, reminded her instantly of Celebrian’s people.
Transported from the Elven
kingdoms of Laurelindórenan or Imladris, the high cheekbones, straight noses, and proud
foreheads were identical on all three - though the features of the womenfolk
were less severely chiselled than on the male. All were astonishingly tall -
overshadowing even Mike by an inch or two - and uniformly handsome in a spare, lissome
sort of way.
They were again minutely
scrutinized. “You are Q’uomi … Human, is that not so?”
Amanda flashed a startled
look at Mike at the question before remembering her manners. She bowed slightly from the shoulders and
replied in Standard, the language used by the Vulcan Elder. “Indeed we are, T’sai. I am Amanda Carynese
Grayson, from Sol III.”
“I have heard of it.” The cool brown eyes probed Amanda, assessed
her youth, her stature, and dismissed her – as evidently innocuous. Mike did not even rate a glance. “What of your en’ahr’at, your sponsor on the Station? Why are they not with you here?”
Amanda lifted her chin,
copying Mike’s stance, hands locked behind her thighs in an attitude of respect. “Sarek,
ansh’oine au t’skon s’kahri T’Phra.
We are instructed to meet him - after purification - at the shuttle
departure lounge.”
At mention of Sarek’s name, or maybe it was
the reference to the purification ceremony, the trio of Vulcans seemed to catch
their collective breath. The Elder
regained her equilibrium first. “The
rite is long and your time is short, child.
I advocate alacrity. Convey to
the Kula’ at the greetings of T’Pa’melasht ansho’ine ahr t’sanshiin kah
T’Vhelasht when you meet with him.”
Amanda managed not to
flinch aside from the iron gaze. Blue
eyes locked on brown. “Indeed, I will,
Lady.”
“Our House is his,” T’sai
T’Pa’melasht inclined her regal head.
“The route is familiar to you?”
“My companion knows the
way, Lady. ”
T’Pa’melasht’s cool gaze
studied Mike with impassive calm. “And
you are called?”
“Mikhail Gorsky, T’sai.”
“From the Tehr’n enclave.”
“That is so, T’sai T’Pa’melasht.”
“Sarek has entrusted this
child to your care?”
Solemnly, Mike inclined his
head. “He has, T’sai.”
The Vulcan Elder’s face
remained impassive but for an instant, she exchanged a look with her male
offspring. She met and held Amanda’s
gaze once more. “Kwil’inahr is large. It
would not do for you to lose your way.
Sanshoum will escort you.”
Amanda not daring to look
at Mike blurted, “The suggestion is most kind, but … unnecessary, Lady. We have delayed you and your family far too
long.”
“The interruption is minor
and of little consequence. Sanshoum,
take them to their destination.” It was
not a request.
“M’aih.” Sanshoum bowed
discreetly to his mother, nodded to his sister and robes swirling about booted
ankles, turned on his heel. “The
purification … facility … is this way.
You will follow …”
He marched them, his long
legs moving at some speed, to a turbo-lift that hurtled them elsewhere at even
greater velocity. Apparently, Sanshoum
had nothing of value to say to them during the short journey. He did not speak again. Amanda followed Mike’s lead and also remained
silent.
The doors opened the instant the lift came to
a cushioned halt. They stepped out into
a circular chamber with a vermilion-tiled floor that gave slightly beneath
Amanda’s feet. Light, orange-hued but
muted, shone down from several decorative wall sconces occupying niches in
frescoed panels that ran from floor to ceiling.
A Vulcan woman clothed in
diaphanous white linen waited there before a second entrance. A silver circlet adorned with twin iridescent
crystals shaped in a ‘v’ bound back her long black hair at the brow. From those transplanted memories of Sarek’s
came the word, ‘ta’al’ – and with the
word came an image - a mountain peak pronged in exactly the same way. Mount
Seleya. Amanda knew the woman before
them was a priestess there, a reldai
of the sprawling temple hewn by mind, and might, from out of mountain stone.
Sanshoum stepped out in
front and raised his hand; fingers spread in another version of that same
sign, “Peace, and long life, Reldai Pesht’Ihai. We come to serve.”
The priestess inclined her
head in graceful acceptance, replying in a soft voice that nevertheless carried
well. She spoke in Vulcan. “Thy service honors us, Sanshoum ansh’oine au t’shiinaj kah s’kahri T’Pa’melasht…”
Hidden effectively behind
Sanshoum’s back, Amanda sidled nearer to Mike.
To attract his attention
she nudged his arm and when he looked at her, silently mouthed, “I’m-sorry---”
His left eyebrow rose in
such perfect imitation of Sarek’s that Amanda almost giggled. Without speaking aloud, his lips clearly
enunciating each word he asked, “Sorry-for-what?”
Amanda bit the inside of
her cheek, managed to control her laughter.
“That-we-missed-our-sightseeing-tour.
Maybe-next-time.”
In reply, he rolled his
eyes and raised a finger to his lips - a request for silence.
The priestess was still
speaking, some traditional rite by the sound of it. “Why come thee here, son of Shiinaj, son of
Shamouj?”
A poke in the ribs got his
attention for the second time. He glared
at her in mock ferocity as she mouthed, “What’s-going-on?”
“No-idea.” He shrugged and shook his head. “Never-done-this-before.”
For a moment, Amanda
thought he must be joking again, but swiftly understood by his fascinated
expression and the way he strained to listen to the on-going conversation that
he spoke the truth. The ceremony was as
strange to him as it was to her.
Her neck hairs prickled
abruptly and goose bumps rose along her arms although the room temperature was,
as far as she could tell, close to Vulcan norm.
Hot.
Though, Mike had been
raised in the Terran Enclave he had told her this was not his first time off
world. He had spent some years on Earth
completing his schooling, then later, his training for the Cultural
Institute. He must have gone through
decontamination each time he returned to Vulcan. But this time, the procedure had changed.
“In the name of Sarek ansh’oine au t’skon kah s’kahri T’Phra,
on behalf of these Q’uomi,” Sanshoum
intoned, I ask for pa’shu i’ki tama vai,
the cleansing of mind, body and spirit.”
Chapter 15:
Drum Beat Out Of Time
Reldai Pesht’Ihai looked
beyond Sanshoum to Mike and Amanda. A
glint of what might be conjecture in the serene inspection, she met and held
Amanda’s concerned gaze. A strange quiet
fell. Awed by the silence, Amanda’s
breath stilled in her throat, caught in the spell of the reldai’s depthless, black-satin eyes.
“Come to me, Child.”
Amanda shivered in the heat
of the small antechamber; found her feet moving toward the priestess without
her conscious volition. It seemed a
natural enough act to kneel before the tall and slender Vulcan woman.
“I would feel thy
thoughts. Will thee permit this?”
The hot, dry air of the
Vulcan station seemed abruptly insubstantial, but Amanda bowed her head in
agreement and readiness. “Certainly, Reldai Pesht’Ihai.”
With permission
established, the priestess reached out, and stroked a finger along Amanda’s
temple. White fire burned along with the
touch and Amanda gasped aloud. A
powerful consciousness probed deep into her mind. Unlike Sarek’s mind-touch, however, this
latest infiltration had neither individuality nor character. Amanda sensed only an indefinable
intellect. Helpless to prevent it, the
doors of her mind opened, one after another.
An indifferent force delved through her memories, her thoughts, her
inmost privacy…
Shock turned quickly to
fury. The arrogance of that casual
invasion, the way Pesht’Ihai rifled through Amanda’s secret-self had her
seething with rage and humiliation.
Within the boundary of her psyche, she struggled futilely against the
intrusion. Then, unexpectedly, some
reflex, previously unknown to her, kicked in.
A barrier dropped, blocked the reldai’s
access. Sarek’s construction, the screen
he had formed to contain her thoughts from the crew of the Insala. It had to be.
The hand withdrew abruptly
from her brow.
Pulses thumping, her breath
fitful and ragged, Amanda flung herself onto her feet. Arms rigid by her sides, hands curled into
fists, she raised her chin and glared at Reldai
Pesht’Ihai. Though shaking with
anger, there was nothing she could do, nothing she could say.
The priestess ethereal,
wraithlike in the ochre light, her smooth skin glowing with pale gold
undertones, merely inclined her beautiful head, face expressionless, though
apparently quite aware of Amanda’s dilemma,
“Thee are strong willed for a Q’uomi,
Amanda Carynese Grayson.”
Did the soft tone possess a note of approval,
Amanda wondered, or commiseration? It
was difficult to tell from the enigmatic expression on Pesht’Ihai’s delicate,
heart shaped features. Puzzled, she
wanted to ask for clarification but suddenly did not dare.
The priestess stepped aside
from the inner doorway, which swept open as if at some silent command. “Enter now into Seleya’s precincts. Let the purification begin.”
Once through the door it
blurred and disappeared.
Though Amanda knew they had
not left the confines of the station, she, Pesht’Ihai, and Mike now appeared to
be standing on a rugged, sandy plain at the foot of a mountain. A flight of seemingly endless steps, carved
into the mountain’s ochre flank, led up to a narrow bridge that spanned the
chasm between twin cones – the slender link between two worlds. There was no sign of Sanshoum. He had not entered the chamber with
them. Perhaps, his task completed, he
had rejoined his mother and sister.
It was the best holo-pic
Amanda had ever seen, the virtual reality complete to the very last detail,
with a depth and clarity that could not be faulted. Above them the sky shaded into crimson
dusk. Here and there, set between huge
pillars of age-old stone, guttering torches flamed against the crepuscular
gloom. A playful zephyr ruffled Mike’s
short hair and stirred Pesht’Ihai’s ghostly draperies. Somewhere, not far off strains of alien
music, the lilting notes of some kind of harp and the quick throb of a small
drum thrummed rhythmically on the cinnamon scented air while nearby, wind
chimes clashed and tinkled in vocal response.
Grit crunched under
Amanda’s Vulcan slippers as she took a step toward that rising stair, the
memory awakening of Sarek when just a young child preparing to ascend. The recollection produced a strong sensation
of trepidation strangely mixed with profound feelings of expectation. He was not alone. Other children, both boys and girls arranged
in pairs, made an orderly procession behind his lead. A young girl stood at his side, dark hair
secured with white flowers, dressed in ceremonial robes, her small fingers laid
lightly along the back of his hand … never
and always touching and touched…
The small hairs on the back
of Amanda’s neck prickled. A tremor ran
up her spine. The girl’s name popped
unbidden into her mind, a stone dropped into still waters: T’Reah. He was married. Sarek was already bonded to T’Reah. The ripples spread outward in a welter of
telling images. Amanda’s mind reeled
from the impact.
Her preoccupation shattered
at Pesht’Ihai’s mention of her name. The
reldai barred her path. “That Way is not
thine, Amanda Carynese Grayson. Come,
this is the Path thee must take…”
The priestess walked on as
Amanda and Mike fell into step behind her, following a well-trodden route under
a major arch. More torches flared into
life, revealing a sandy trail that led unerringly to the rough-hewn entrance of
what appeared to be a cave opening, darkly mysterious.
No words were spoken as
Pesht’Ihai led them over the threshold.
It was all so amazingly real and lifelike that Amanda had difficulty
remembering she was simply immersed in a holo-pic and not on Vulcan at
all. The only light came from over their
shoulders as they moved single file further into the dim interior of - not a
cave - but a narrow passageway, the walls uneven, the roof so low even Amanda,
the shortest of the three, had to bow her head.
It grew steadily darker
until only a glimmer of light was left to show them the way, and while Pesht’Ihai
trod calmly onward, Mike, preceded by Amanda, shuffled nervously after the
reldai step by cautious step.
“Watch out,” she warned
Mike in a whisper after what seemed an eternity of groping about in the dark
with her outstretched foot, “there’re
several steps here….”
Gingerly, they descended
the rocky stair, which at least elevated the roof enough for Mike to stand
upright again. Another few steps brought
them to a bend in the passage and orange light suddenly shone up ahead. A door had apparently opened further on.
Pesht’Ihai stood before it,
waiting for them, accompanied by two acolytes, a man, and woman. Over their white robes, they each wore a long
tabard of scarlet cloth, embossed with a single sigil of Vulcan script high upon
the breast. The reldai nodded to her
companions and both stepped forward, moving between Amanda and Mike with such
quiet authority that neither thought to question the action.
“Cleansing of the body is
the first step of purification,” The reldai informed them, her voice soft and
impassive, yet quite adamant. “T’Lachtli
and Zhamujan will attend thee. They will
require any medical data chips thee may have.”
The two Humans exchanged a
quick glance but Pesht’Ihai left them no choice in the matter. Without protest, they handed over their
medical records.
“Pa’shu i’ki tama vai is, by tradition, conducted in silence. Thee will not question or confront whatever
ensues. Is this acceptable?”
Again, Mike and Amanda
shared one telling look between them.
Mike shrugged, philosophical. For
a second time, they both grasped there was no option if the purification was to
proceed – and without it, they would not be allowed onto Vulcan proper.
“We will abide by thy
custom, Reldai Pesht’Ihai,” Amanda confirmed.
The priestess bowed from
the shoulders, before nodding to the acolytes.
“Take them. When they are
prepared, bring them to me.”
Without a word, or touch,
the two Humans were led to adjoining rooms further down the long corridor. They separated at each room’s access. Amanda followed T’Lachtli while Mike trailed
after Zhamujan.
Once beyond the threshold,
Amanda found what she had half expected, a room solidly laden with alien
unknowns. But none of the elegant,
sculpted-looking, interlocking equipment of crystal and white veined red
marble, enclosed in a pool of bright tawny light, could disguise the function
of the octagonal stone plinth raised waist high off the floor.
The Vulcan acolyte looked
young - no more than twenty-five or so - but there again, so did Sarek – and
looks were no indication of age. Amanda
guessed T’Lachtli owned the dual role of celebrant and physician. Neither was she overly surprised when the
girl, softly spoken, commanded her to strip.
Remembering her promise to Pesht’Ihai, Amanda quietly obeyed, depositing
her clothes in a neat pile on the only available place – the floor. Once completely naked, she obligingly, if
somewhat bashfully, clambered upon the table and without protest stretched out
on her back.
There followed the most complete
physical she had ever undergone, mercifully short but very thorough. T’Lachtli spoke to the computer, which
scanned Amanda with a variety of equipment.
At the same time, the Vulcan physician took samples of blood, hair and
skin. After consulting the data panels
inset within the plinth, she fetched a hypospray and expelled the contents of
it against Amanda’s neck.
But when Amanda tried to
rise thinking the ordeal over, the Vulcan bade her remain on the table with
arms stretched out above her head and her legs apart. Once she had obeyed, the amber glow that
bathed the plinth changed hue. A soft
hum started up, the radiance turned golden, and grew brighter still. Amanda closed her eyes against the
dazzle. Subtle vibration spread through
her from head to toe along with a sudden heat concentrated especially in her
armpits and groin. It lasted no longer than a moment or two, but when she sat
up at T’Lachtli’s command, she noticed a fine dusting of whitish powder over
her skin. With a start, she become
conscious the dust was actually ash.
Apart from her short curls and eyebrows, the rest of her body was
completely smooth, the hair and top layer of skin burned away.
T’Lachtli touched a stud on
the plinth’s control panel and a fan whirred into life sucking away the
residue. She spoke to the computer once
more and a white linen robe appeared.
The Vulcan acolyte bowed as she held out the garment in both hands to
Amanda, bowing from the shoulders.
“Thee must dress now, T’sai
Grayson.”
Chapter 16:
Her own clothes were no
longer where she had left them.
T’Lachtli saw her look and inclined her head. “Thy garments will be returned after the
ceremony concludes.”
The floor length gown, long
sleeved and high-necked, with a cowl-like hood, fitted her exactly. Flowing Vulcan script decorated a panel down
the front fastening. A phrase entered
Amanda’s mind: veshtau’svai kau hohnaya – experience increases wisdom. A venerable Vulcan saying no doubt, though
she had no idea whether originally coined by Sarek or something he had learned.
It sounded appropriately astute - especially in the circumstances!
Still barefoot and without
a stitch of underwear, feeling vaguely decadent without it, Amanda followed
T’Lachtli from the room. Mike, dressed
likewise in a long robe, bare toes peeping modestly from beneath the hem,
waited in the corridor with his attendant acolyte. His left eyebrow rose as he gazed at her in
obvious enquiry.
Her cheeks coloured in
response as she quickly nodded, aware that he, too, must be naked beneath the
robe he wore - and that he had probably guessed about her own state of
undress. She did not know which she
found most embarrassing, especially when a little voice inside her head asked
what the rest of the Vulcan purification ceremony might involve.
They followed the sound of
the drum, the soft drubbing gradually increasing in tempo as T’Lachtli and
Zhamujan led them back up the rocky passageway to where they had left
Pesht’Ihai.
Orange light spilled out
from around the edges of the roughly hewn stone door. As they reached it, the
two acolytes parted, each taking up a position either side of the opening. T’Lachtli bowed and beckoned the two Humans
forward into the room beyond.
That first step into the
unknown proved a hard one for Amanda.
Her heart thudded against her ribs matching the rhythm of the drum that
continued to pulsate wildly, the pounding beat issuing from behind the door. She cast a nervous glance at Mike. However
when he correctly interpreted her look and stepped in front to precede her,
Zhamujan abruptly intervened. The Vulcan
celebrant held up an imperious hand, dark eyes narrowed in warning.
Apparently, there was no
other alternative but for her to go first. She pushed at the heavy-looking
door. To Amanda’s surprise, at the first
touch of her fingertips it opened without difficulty, swinging back on silent
hinges. The drum fell silent.
Again the room beyond was
circular, seemingly a favourite architectural principle, and about thirty paces
wide. Pyramid-shaped lamps formed from
some unworked crystalline substance glowed in niches hollowed out of the smooth
rock walls; the radiance playing flickering light and shadow games with a
half-obscured fresco of life sized ceremonial figures. A sunken fire-pit, filled to the brim with
hot coals, occupied a central place, the raised hearth decorated with strange
runes. Even at the periphery the heat was oppressive, it hammered up through
the red stone-tiled floor scorching the soles of Amanda’s bare feet. The very
air sizzled; it burned in her throat and lungs, thick with the scent of
aromatic incense and exotic spice.
Pesht’Ihai was there,
standing on the far side of the fire-pit clothed now in a long wide tabard of
scarlet over her white linen gown, a deep pectoral of rose gold set with huge
ruby stones clasped about shoulders and waist.
The reldai bowed with
perfect grace. “Q’uomi, though thee are, thee has requested pa’shu i’ki tama vai, the purification of body, mind and
spirit. What thee are about to observe prevails
without change from the Time of the Beginning.
It is part of the
Amanda swallowed in a dry
throat, answered huskily with words that came unbidden to her tongue, though
once spoken they seemed unquestionably true.
“With my life, Reldai Pesht’Ihai.”
The priestess inclined her
head in acknowledgement. She switched her attention to Mike. “And thee Mikhail Gorsky, son of Earth, with
thy life forfeit, will thee also swear?”
His answer seemed long in
coming to Amanda, but with a sigh of relief she eventually heard him say, “I…do
so swear, Reldai Pesht’Ihai.”
“So be it. Kah-if-farr!”
At the signal, bells rang
with the penetrating intensity of ting-sha
chimes, dissonant, loud and disturbing to the ear. They rang again as T’Lachtli handed the
priestess a large round bowl filled with herbs. Pesht’Ihai took a handful of the shredded
plants scattering the contents upon the hot coals before her. Flames leaped, crimson twined with gold and
the air filled with a heady, intoxicating fragrance…
Thereafter, Amanda moved in
a curious daze, obeying instructions without question or alarm, only half-aware
of Mike as he did the same. A
low-pitched chanting began and the throbbing rhythm of that single drum, which
echoed her pulse and heartbeat. She drank
something hot and slightly sour from a blue crystal bowl. She breathed in the
fragrant sweetness of the air. The
chimes resonated as Pesht’Ihai, a smoldering wand of desert sage and sweetgrass
in one hand weaved a trail of vermillion smoke from Amanda’s feet to the top of
her head, concentrating on her navel and the area about her heart. Only then did Amanda apprehend that she and
Mike were both quite naked – though she had no recollection of how or when she
had misplaced her robe. Nor did the
knowledge trouble her unduly or have the power to humiliate.
Pesht’Ihai’s mysterious
dance wove before and about Amanda, moved back from her, drew near once
more.
The chanting rose in
volume, the words slowly becoming clear.
“A’tha, we give this One’s katra into thy care. Protect the essence of the All she carries
inside. Protect her mind and her
will. Temper strength with wisdom. A’tha, we give this One’s body into thy
custody. Temper valor with
consideration. A’tha, we give this One’s spirit into thy protection. Let her
always understand thy grace dwells within…”
And whether it was
imagination or reality she appeared to answer with a familiar prayer. “A’tha,
purge my mind of emotion and my heart of passion. Purge my mouth of all but sincerity and candor. Purge my ears, so that I may always hear thy
precision. Purge my eyes so that I can
see the true Path. A’tha, lead my soul on the
More herbs were scattered onto the coals and
sparks blazed in a dazzle of incandescence.
The chimes rang, high and thin and clear. Ochre smoke writhed and
twisted within the chamber, a veil behind which the fire blazed. Time stood still, as transfixed, Amanda
watched the vaporous curtain slowly dissipate.
A shape materialized
amorphous, shadowy, which swiftly transformed into a contour she recognized. Abruptly her blood thundered and the air
roared in her ears. The hair at her nape
prickled.
Like the golden phoenix of
Terran mythology, Sarek stepped from the smoke-haze. His long lean torso
gleamed in the scattered light, clothed only in flame. Broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, he had
the slender physique of an athlete.
Watching him, wanting him, Amanda exalted at his male strength, his
purity and unique beauty, bared entirely to her gaze - for any body hair that
might have concealed his shape had been burned away - leaving his skin sleek
and smooth. Her eager heart tensed in
reaction at the sight.
She took a tentative step
towards him, reached out a hand, fingers curling, needing to touch… but she
could not reach him. His lips moved, forming her name, but his distinctive
voice remained muted, scarcely audible above the pounding beat of the drum and
the murmur of voices. Amanda strained to
hear, knowing it was vitally important that she understand …
The chimes rang, the sound
so penetrating that it was impossible to ignore. Amanda’s attention shifted, a
momentary distraction, but when she looked back toward him, Sarek was no longer
there. Only heat haze and smoke wavered
above the fire-pit.
The pounding beat of the
drum wound down into silence, the chanting voices subsided. Pesht’Ihai bowed
before them.
Amanda blinked. Shaken from
the trance, she glanced about in confusion, but her search for Sarek’s
whereabouts proved in vain. He had
disappeared as surely as the smoke from the herbs. She also seemed to have gained
back her robe.
The reldai placed a garland
of purple leaves bound with crimson and saffron twine about Amanda’s neck.
Still pungent but cool, the wreath was a delicious contrast to the overbearing
heat of the chamber.
Into the sudden quiet the
priestess declared, “Thee has passed through the cleansing fire, Amanda
Carynese Grayson and Mikhail Gorsky, children of Earth. Pa’shu
i’ki tama vai is now complete. Thee
may proceed about thy business.”
O0o
The bell that rings inside
your mind
Is challenging the doors of
time
It's a kind of magic
Chapter 17:
Sar-e-Kahr.
They arrived at the shuttle
transportation bay only seconds before Sarek.
A personal flyer, sleek-lined and ultra modern waited for them there.
After ushering the two Humans into the back, Sarek climbed into the pilot’s
seat.
Amanda focused on him as he
began the pre-flight routine, her mind in disarray. She breathed in, counted to ten, breathed out
and searched for calm. It seemed strange but never once had she considered that
her Vulcan might be married. Even
now, the reality appeared improbable. It just could not be. The Cosmos had gone
all awry. Yet the memory, Sarek’s memory, was as clear as the blue crystal
dining-ware he used. When just seven
years old, he had climbed the thousand steps to Seleya’s Mount, he had taken
the delicately pretty T’Reah as his mate.
The intimacy of the mind touch Amanda had shared with him meant nothing
in the face of that.
She thought back over the
alien ceremony of Pa’shu i’ki tama vai, the
purification of mind, body and spirit. Were the visions she had witnessed just
the product of a psychedelic hallucination induced by the alien incense; or
maybe directly, or indirectly, Sarek had something to do with them. He could have planted the images in her
subconscious during the mind touch. But
if so, for what purpose? Nothing made
any sense. Frustrated by her lack of understanding,
Amanda determined that she must speak to Sarek.
He was the one with all the answers.
If there were more to her
inclusion into the Cultural Institute’s team than appeared on the surface,
surely he would not object to letting her in on it. She would bide her time for the present,
concentrate on playing her professional role and try to forget the emotions that
Sarek’s mind-touch had evoked. She was
an observer on Vulcan, not a pawn in some game she did not comprehend. For the reminder of her time there she must
stay aloof. Amanda knew it for the
right decision, knew that for her own peace of mind as well as the interests of
Earth, whatever the temptation, she must stick to it.
Sarek landed the flyer
within a small cluster of unobtrusive buildings, built of ochre-coloured stone
that blended into the natural landscape.
The debilitating heat struck Amanda the instant she stepped out of the
flyer’s access door blistering up from the ground through her boot soles. She gasped as the powerful sunlight burned
into the exposed skin on her face and
hands. Perspiration stung her eyes while
each breathy exhalation parched her abruptly dry throat of moisture.
Mike draped a voluminous
hooded cloak about her shoulders before shrugging into his own. “They’re made of a specially treated
thermolytic material and will help cut down the loss of body fluids – as well
as keeping the sun out of your eyes.
Vulcan is on the fringe of hospitable ‘M’ class planets for Humans. Less
oxygen, higher gravity, and temperatures that can climb way higher than any
thing we know on Earth. We’ll get you
fitted with contact lenses to protect your sight and daily Tri-ox injections
will combat the extra weight and heat. It’s a drag – literally - but you’ll get
used to it.”
Amanda nodded. “Now I know what they mean when they say ‘hot
as Vulcan’. They got that right in the holo-vids at least!”
Protected now against the
fierce light, the capacious hood pulled a good way over her forehead and eyes;
she peered out at the landscape. She was
surprised to find that Sarek had apparently landed the flyer on a large plateau
halfway up a mountain. Rich vermillion
stone rose painfully up into an equally cinnabar sky. The Earth saying immediately came to mind; red sky in the morning, shepherds’ warning,
red sky at night, shepherds’ delight. Since the sky of Vulcan was red all
the time, she wondered with a little rush of adrenaline, which would now apply
to her.
She looked to Mike for an
explanation. “Where are we?”
Despite the thinness of the
air, her question carried to Sarek’s keen ears. He raised a hand and pointed
down beyond the plateau into the vastness of an open valley far below. Clearly visible, though some distance away,
Amanda saw the geometric regular lines of buildings surrounded by a ring of
what looked like parklands. There was no
green anywhere. Silvery blue vegetation,
hazy like wood smoke, clung to the red, rocky soil. The deeper indigo hue of
larger plants created a barrier against the sparseness of the adjacent
desert.
“It is ShiKahr.”
“You live there?”
“A house is retained for my
use. However, for a time we shall remain
in Retreat until you are sufficiently… acclimatized.”
Amanda did not miss his slight hesitation, or
the reason behind it. Without rancor,
she had read his use of ‘acclimatized’ for ‘sufficiently educated in the
Both she and Mike tracked
Sarek’s gaze as he looked up at the sheer mountain wall. “Almost the same. Sar-e-Kahr is located above. We must transport to
the other side of the ridge.”
Mike’s eyes came out on stalks.
This was big news. “You have a working transporter, sir?”
“The technology has been
known to us for … some years.” Did a smile ghost briefly at the corner of
Sarek’s lips? His tone was the driest Amanda had ever heard it. “If you will follow me.”
He led them through an
archway, shaped by the elements from the living rock, into a wide, columnar
rotunda. A three-stepped dais made from rosy marble blocks and of classical
design decorated the centre of the open space.
“Your application for the research position stated that vertigo was not
a weakness, Miss Grayson. If that
assumption was inaccurate, you may find your time here … uncomfortable.”
Mystified, Amanda climbed
the steps to stand beside Sarek in the middle of the platform. Mike took a position next to her,
obviously just as much in the dark. The
next moment a faint hum vibrated on the air. The pulsations grew in volume, the
gentle purr of a sonic shower on low, escalating to a throb that echoed Amanda’s
pulse. An instant later, an iridescent
sparkle shimmered out of nowhere, caught them up in its glow and whisked them
off into the ether.
Walled with huge blocks of
dressed marble, a spacious room solidified out of the air. Enclosed on three
sides, the fourth opened via a triangular arch onto a wide, flagged terrace and
an expanse of sky. Made breathless by
the sudden transition but strangely revitalized, Amanda followed Sarek as he
stepped off the transporter podium.
Pinkish floor tiles ‘gave’
slightly under her feet much the same as they had in the space station. The dazzling radiance that streamed in from
outside, the buoyancy underfoot – despite the heavier gravity - and the
rarefied air induced in Amanda an almost dreamlike state. She puzzled over the sensation. Something told her they were high up, even
higher than where Sarek had landed the flyer. Yet oxygen deprivation could not
fully explain her sense of euphoric tranquility, of knowing she was where she
was supposed to be. With every breath and every fleeting look, her exaltation
grew.
Drawn to the light, Amanda
hardly glanced at the beautifully frescoed walls of the reception chamber,
though she took distracted note of the unexpected coolness, so much more
pleasant than out in the open. Wind chimes
tinkled in a fitful breeze. That sound,
merged with the soft splash of an ornamental fountain, compounded the sensation
part mystical, part visual of having reached at last some place that was a
conclusion, an end to a journey begun long ago.
Mike followed her out onto the
shaded terrace where they stood together leaning up against a waist high
fret-worked stone parapet. Beneath them, the mountain wall dropped almost
straight down into a gorge thousands of feet deep, perhaps the result of some
great cataclysm in Vulcans ancient past.
The floor of the valley below made tiny by distance greeted the eye with
similar plum coloured vegetation as the parklands around ShiKahr.
Amanda, searching for a
path that led downwards, only then realized the precarious nature of Sar-e-Kahr, how it clung to the side of
the mountain, the many stone towers, cupolas and square pavilions exploiting
each and every ledge, outcropping or rocky extension that the environment - or
possibly some ingenious Vulcan engineer - had devised. Yet, she experienced not apprehension at the
height and insecurity but a sense of absolute rapture much like a creature of
the sky as it spread its wings and poised for flight.
She laughed aloud. “This is tremendous!”
And one look at Sarek told
her immediately that this time there was no doubt that she had passed the test.
Mike had not fared so well. When Amanda turned to grin at him in joyful
fellow feeling, she noticed immediately the look of strain on his abruptly pale
features. Although he leaned over the
parapet, he held his body way too tense and his fingers gripped the stonework
so tight his knuckles had turned waxen. Amanda laid a gentle hand on his arm,
drew him stumbling back into the shade of the portico.
“The air is especially thin
at this altitude.” Sarek interceded. “We
will retire for a time and take some tsa’e.”
He led them through the
reception hall and out another triangular doorway that automatically whooshed
open at their approach and closed seamlessly behind them.
Amanda, solicitously linked
arms with Mike but once enclosed by solid walls, with firm ground underfoot, he
quickly recovered his aplomb. Hurrying in the wake of Sarek’s long legged
stride as they proceeded down an anonymous corridor of the rosy hued stone,
Mike murmured softly, “I think I made a fool of myself back there. A show of
male machismo at its finest. ”
“Not one bit.” Amanda
squeezed his arm in reassurance. “You’ve
not been here before?”
“I didn’t even know this
place existed. That drop into infinity didn’t bother you at all did it?”
She shrugged. “I found it … exhilarating. Just think of the buzz you’d get hang-gliding
over that edge!”
Mike turned pale again. “I’d rather not! Though with a working transporter you’d have
no problem getting back. What a
discovery, Amanda. All this time we’ve
known the Vulcans and they never once let on.
I wonder what else they’re keeping under their hats.”
“Maybe they want us to find out these things
for ourselves. Would you give a loaded
gun to a child?”
He shook his head, grinned,
almost his old self again. “That’s one
way of looking at it, I suppose, though I’m beginning to suspect that Sarek and
maybe all Vulcans are big on smoke and mirrors.”
The mention of smoke, if
not mirrors, brought the odd events on the space station back to Amanda. It seemed a good time to find out if Mike had
experienced the same things she had. “Mike,
about the purification ceremony…”
Some steps ahead, Sarek
turned on a booted heel so fast that his long over-robe swirled about his
ankles in an eddy of unstated opulence.
“Miss Grayson, I would not wish to denigrate Gorsky’s knowledge on the
subject but if you have questions to ask you may find I am a more reliable
source regarding Vulcan ceremonies and traditions.”
Amanda blinked,
startled. Nothing much got by those
Vulcan ears it appeared – and possibly Vulcan eyes did not miss a great deal
either. He was giving her the ideal opportunity to discover what was going on.
“That would be most kind, sir.”
“I have an hour free after
the evening meal if that is acceptable?”
It might be more politic to
wait until then. “Indeed, thank
you.”
However, Amanda needed to
find out something right then. Since landing, they had seen no other
Vulcans. From what she had already
observed from outside, and if the length of the corridor was anything to go by,
Sar-e-Kahr was enormous. She couched
the question in the appropriate polite form, lesser to higher rank. “Kula’
at Sarek, surely you don’t live here all alone?”
“Indeed, I do not, Miss
Grayson – as you may soon ascertain for yourself. Sar-e-Kahr
is the domicile for one hundred fifty-three personnel and their immediate
families.” Sarek extended a hand. “There
are also a number of guests both permanent and interim.”
As if by some conjuror’s
trick, a further, large, triangular door, invisible to them before, suddenly
opened up in the otherwise featureless corridor. Mike exchanged a surreptitious glance with
Amanda as if to say; see what I mean
about smoke and mirrors.
Chapter 18: Acclimatization
Revealed within was a
concourse wholly different from the bland and empty walkway that had brought
them there.
The two-tiered circular
plaza stretched wide and soared loftily above, the roof arched with vaulted
stone apparently carved from living rock. A gentle radiance, kind to even the
Human eye, shone from some hidden source.
Around the walls, alcoves separated by square pilasters held crystal
sculptures and marble statuettes interspersed with low seating. Several large
archways led deeper into the retreat. The upper level surrounded by a stone
balcony mirrored the first floor. Vulcans of both sexes came and went, alone
and in groups of twos and threes, passing through on their way to other
destinations. A cluster of
schoolchildren, dressed alike, and accompanied by two adult women stirred up
fond memories from Amanda’s past.
Apart from an Andorian
child, blue skinned and white haired, who sat on one of the alcove benches
nearby, legs swinging idly and antennae quivering with curiosity, they received
no special attention.
They followed Sarek as he led them through a
nearby arch and into a hallway of polished stone. From there they descended a wide stair,
traversed several open courtyards and a further colonnade that again overlooked
the valley far below. On various vacations with her father, Amanda had walked
the old cities of Earth, had seen roadways that had felt the beat of Roman
legions, yet Sar-e-Kahr was far, far
older. So old that to Amanda the retreat
gave the impression that it had formed along with the mountain at its
back. Proportion and purpose, geometric
precision and strict logic seemed to dictate the curves and sweep of the
structure she had seen so far. It came as a complete and very pleasant surprise
when at the end of the colonnade they descended another stair and entered a
scene of quite unexpected perfection.
A garden, lushly verdant,
enclosed a round pool where water from a fountain continually splashed. Thickly planted, Amanda recognized many of
the shrubs and other flora as Earth natives, though there was a sprinkling of
Andorian blue puzzle-leaf and a great blaze of Atlantean fire-rod.
“How wonderful,” Amanda
murmured, “but how did it get here?”
“The garden pleases you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“The vegetation was chosen
to aid in your acclimatization to Ti-Valka’ain.
I believe you enjoy gardening as an activity.
Tending it will be your responsibility.”
Sarek pushed through a riot of foliage to reveal a hidden pavilion
surrounded on three sides by sheltered arcades.
A low table already set
with crystal bowls, tsa’e pot, and krayla awaited their arrival – along
with two young Human women who jumped up from their floor cushions at Sarek’s
approach. Mike, trailing Sarek with Amanda by his side, brightened immediately.
“You know who they are?”
Mike grinned. “They’re from the Enclave, Tara Kaladin and
Romani Ghoshal.”
If it was another of
Sarek’s ‘adjustment’ tactics Amanda wondered who he thought needed them
most.
Though she recognized
Sarek’s considerate action, his insight of Human needs, the truth was she had
never felt so much at home. Even the
altitude and thin air had started to trouble her less since she had discovered
a new way of breathing.
The mind meld with Sarek
must have conferred that ability, too. It needed concentration and a little
more effort, which, though distracting at first, after a time brought on an
almost euphoric serenity. For the first time, her entire body worked in true
harmony, mind and limb in disciplined accord. Breathing became meditation. The
sensation relaxed and exhilarated her at the same time. For what seemed her
whole life she had waited for the chance to visit Vulcan, to find her Elvish Prince again. Now both those
dreams had come unexpectedly true. However
the adventure might end, Amanda wholeheartedly opened her soul to the
experience.
She held back as Mike
embraced the two girls. All three seemed to know and like each other well.
Sarek gave her a
considering look. “I will leave you in
the company of your associates, Miss Grayson. There are rooms allocated for
your use adjacent to the court. You will
find your possessions there. I will
speak with you again after the evening meal.”
He walked away as Mike turned and welcomed her
into the midst of the magic circle. Before
she knew it, the four of them were chattering away like old friends.
They ate together
surrounded by the plants of Earth, a reminder of home. Yet Amanda did not wish to forget that she
was on Vulcan. Sar-e-Kahr had become a part of her, breath and bone. The ancient stone spoke to some secret place
within her heart, its history echoed down to her through the ages. There
remained a sensation, not unlike déjà vu, that although she had never in her
experience encountered the retreat before she seemed to know it intimately. It
offered sanctuary in a restless universe.
Maybe another result of the mind meld she had shared with Sarek.
Her assigned apartments had
been all she could have wished, spacious and airy, separated from the garden by
only a light, wooden fret-worked screen.
There was a study area with a personal concom unit and computer, while a
sleeping dais occupied a different level.
A food selector, placed in the wall near a low table and several floor
stools, seemed programmed with a variety of cooked fare from not only Earth and
Vulcan origins, but many other worlds too.
The food appeared instantly and on demand. There was even a private
sonic shower and toilet facility.
Best of all, she had found
a closet with two more outfits, both stunning. Before dinner T’Naoui, a young
Vulcan girl, came to help her dress.
Amanda wondered if that would continue during her whole stay on
Vulcan. Certainly, she needed some
assistance with the unfamiliar garments. Though unadorned for the most part,
they were again of the finest material and fitted like a dream. T’Naoui handed
her a short chemise in saffron silk with matching harem pantalon first. A neck-to-toe under-gown of the same coloured silk
with narrow ruche sleeves followed. The
next garment - T’Naoui called it a khelat
- resembled a Moroccan takchita. Of a deep yellow shade, generously cut,
the gown had knee-high side slits that revealed the under-gown beneath. T’Naoui
smoothed the delicate fabric over Amanda’s hips and adjusted the fall of the
beautiful wide sleeves before helping her on with a deep russet full-length
surcoat, stiff with self-coloured embroidery.
Similarly slit up the side seams like the khelat, a wide, stiffened belt around the midriff held it closed at
the waist. Again, thought had gone into the accessories; golden sandals for her
feet and a gold and russet tasseled ch’ipau
for her upswept hair.
When she returned to the
pavilion, they all oh-and-aahed appreciatively over each other’s appearance,
for all four of them had received the Vulcan transformation.
They concocted a meal using
the menu from the food selectors in their rooms. Amanda found that she enjoyed Vulcan cooking,
with its spicy aromas and tangy flavors.
Her first meal at Sar-e-Kahr
only added to the welcome familiarity that she had begun to expect. She suspected also that Sarek’s
acclimatization programme included a few additives, some herb or medication in
the food that helped them cope with the high altitude and thin air. Amanda not only felt the soothing comfort of
mind and body, she also noticed it in Mike and the girls.
Dusk fell with the
abruptness of a tropical night and with it a welcome coolness from the heat of
the day. T’Naoui and Saran, a Vulcan boy who had attended Mike, emerged to
light huge bowl-shaped copper braziers. Grateful now for the layered Vulcan
clothing, the four of them sat on in the warmth and flickering illumination
long after the food had disappeared
When Sarek’s summons came
however, Amanda rose eagerly to her feet, pulses jumping in anticipation. Her impatience grew as she accompanied
T’Naoui through half glimpsed rooms lamp-lit and lovely to another part of the
retreat. Long before they ascended a
spiral stair and T’Naoui paused before an unmarked door, the uncanny feeling
washed over Amanda again of having been there before, of knowing exactly what
lay beyond the next shadowed court or curve in the hallway.
A strange inner excitement
surged through her as T’Naoui operated the door release. “Kula’at Sarek will receive thee alone, T’sai Ha’lei’ha.”
Chapter 19:
Ska-plak
The door opened. Amanda
stepped over the threshold still puzzling over the title T’Naoui had given her.
The door closed so quietly behind her that she hardly realized that she was
again alone. For a moment, she stood in
hesitant contemplation searching the room for an occupant. It was transparently empty. There was no sign of Sarek. Amanda had already learned that he did
nothing without a purpose. This was
either a lesson or test of some sort.
All she had to do was figure it out: no pressure then!
She moved further into the
room. Modeled on the same lines as her
quarters, the floor was stepped into several levels and plateaus, the large
space separated into smaller areas designated for sleeping, working and
eating. In a far corner, a further
raised platform housed a statue of a winged feline creature similar to the one
in Sarek’s cabin aboard the Insala. Light pulsed, a luminescent blue, from a
votive bowl held in the animal’s paws - Sarek’s meditation area.
There were no wall hangings
or works of art on the walls. Instead,
painted directly onto the pink stone surface, a colorful fresco shimmered in
the shifting light of two copper braziers. Amanda moved closer to study
it. A stylized panorama, it was
nevertheless exquisitely executed. More
than one scene depicted huge, bear-like animals in woodland settings. Another was of a desert vista, daubed in
vermillion and orange where courtly, robed figures took part in some sort of
ceremony. Yet another panel portrayed a
fortress-city much like Sar-e-Kahr
perched among mountain crags. Amanda
leaned further in - a much younger mountain from the look of the highlighted
rock, which appeared free of erosion, Sar-e-Kahr
in an earlier age perhaps. It was a
guess but it seemed true to the implanted memories she held. Her eye roved fascinated by the images. The portrait of a woman claimed her
attention. She was Ti-Valka’ain, her
face overlaid with a tracery of fine cracks, a testament to the age of the
work.
As if to balance the piece, the woman looked toward the profile of a
man whose ruggedly handsome face appeared vaguely familiar.
On impulse, Amanda touched
her fingers to the surface of the portrait, taking pleasure in the texture of
the stone, quietly appreciative of the special magnificence that came from
antiquity. As she did so, a sensation
washed over her, that feeling of suspension, of things about to happen. The Universe held its breath.
Eagerly, she turned to look
back at the room. A blue crystal
sculpture stood on a low table nearby.
Without a second thought, Amanda crossed over to it and hunkered down,
examining it with her eyes. No larger
than her palm, it resembled a box within a box; a hexagonal-shaped central
structure suspended within an open cage of delicate rods interspersed with tiny
beads of the same blue crystal. It reminded Amanda of some alien interpretation
of a Chinese puzzle box.
She narrowed her eyes, the
better to see, and peered closer. The
heart of the gemstone glimmered with blue-white foxfire illuminating strange
runic script carved into the outer surface.
Amanda cocked her
head. The faint strains of music came
tinkling from the sculpture like the last, drawn-out, chimes of a clockwork
musical toy. No, she had that
wrong. It was a voice, someone
speaking….what were they saying? If only she could hear clearly…
“You find the ska-plak of interest, Miss Grayson?”
Startled from her trance,
Amanda jumped to her feet and spun about.
“Kula’at Sarek…”
How had he come to be
there? Even ensorcelled by the
sculpture, she would have noticed if he
had entered by the main door. She
glanced toward the rear of the apartment where stars glowed in the aperture
that led to a private terrace. Had he been observing her from there all along,
or was his appearance more Vulcan gramarye.
“It’s very beautiful, sir.”
“Indeed it is, and also
ancient, even by Ti-Valka’ain
standards. You know of its use.”
Amanda tilted her head,
looked inside herself, searching the inner knowledge she possessed. “It’s a memory device of some kind…”
“A recorder of memories to
be precise. The Lady who once owned Sar-e-Kahr commanded this particular ska-plak carved from a single jasif crystal. It holds her knowledge and experiences, all coloured
by her individual thoughts and … emotions. The answers to all your questions
lie there - if you are able to retrieve them.”
“I thought… Vulcans didn’t
have emotions.”
“That is a popular
conviction, one we do not contest, though it is patently fictitious.” While Amanda goggled speechless at him, Sarek
picked up the ska-plak and held it
out. “Will you undertake the challenge,
Miss Grayson?”
Amanda loved puzzles. It was partly what made her such an
accomplished linguist. She always attacked such conundrums with tenacity and
persistence. She guessed this puzzle
also had a massive reward attached – or a massive penalty.
“What if I’m unable to
access the memories?”
Sarek’s eyes reflected the
flickering light from the twin braziers as he met her gaze. “It is early to talk of failure, Miss
Grayson. I believe you have all the
requisite skills to aid you in the quest.
If you prove diligent enough, you will be victorious.”
Impaled by his unrelenting
gaze, Amanda’s heart jumped. A thrill of
anticipation touched her spine. Without
a word, she held out her hand. Sarek
inclined his head, the ghostly half-smile hovering about his lips as he placed
the ska-plak upon her palm.
Chapter 20:
Whizz-bang, flip-flop, Heaven-for-a-Minute
T’Naoui waited with patient
grace outside Sarek’s door. Amanda
followed the Vulcan girl docilely back the way they had come, the glory of the ska-plak hidden within a concealing
copper metal casket. Though it did not
seem possible, while she had been absorbed in the jasif crystal’s enchantment,
the night hours had entirely passed.
Rosy light brightened the horizon by the time they reached Amanda’s
apartment - where T’Naoui bid her farewell.
Exhausted by the constant
excitement over the last few days, Amanda’s overwhelming desire was to seek out
her bed and stay there for the following week.
Despite her mounting fatigue, she still found the energy to try to
release the crystal sculpture from its hiding place.
Much like Amanda, Sarek
also had good reason to believe in the demonstration of magic. On his world, however, such occurrences went
under the category not of the paranormal or supernatural but of psionic phenomena. The possession and development of such
skills, though undisclosed to their Federation allies, had been ongoing on Ti-Valka’ain since the dawn of time. For
thousands of years certain technologies had arisen to amplify and extend those
psychic gifts. The creation of such
devices had never been simple or easy.
All were hand made by psionic adepts.
Those most highly regarded were relics treasured by individual owners
and handed down through generations of the same Family. The ska-plak
now in Amanda’s possession was just such an artifact. That much Sarek had revealed. The rest she must discover on her own if she
could. It was the brainteaser of all brainteasers.
With the casket cupped in
her palms, Amanda settled cross-legged on the floor behind her computer
console. After a brief hesitation, she closed her eyes and concentrated hard,
building up an image in her mind. She
pictured the way the casket looked, the way the copper glowed, felt its weight
and the smoothness of the metal surface beneath her fingers…
She peeked out through
half-open eyes. The casket remained
closed. Darn! That was not the way,
obviously. So, what was the trick? Amanda heard once more the sophisticated
tones of Sarek’s voice. She recalled his
words exactly, I believe you have all the
requisite skills to aid you in the quest.
If you prove diligent enough, you will be victorious…
It had seemed so simple
when Sarek had shown her. All he had
done was look intently at the casket for a moment. Perhaps opening the box had less to do with
concentration and more to do with a quietness of spirit. Amanda closed her eyes again. She relaxed her shoulders, and exhaled. The air in her lungs released in a long,
gentle sigh. She became conscious of a
warm, peaceful silence. It washed over
her and soaked into her mind. She breathed in.
With the air came the scent
of the plants out in the courtyard, a fertile smell, loamy and rich, a poignant
reminder of Earth. She put it
aside. Again, she conjured up an image
of the casket, visualized the way the lid irised open like the shutter on an
old-fashioned camera…
Wind chimes tinkled, a faint crystal ringing,
and the room filled with a scintillating, cerulean sparkle. The ska-plak called softly to her. It whispered a name.
For a moment Amanda held
back - resisted the summons – before she lifted the globe from its
captivity. The heat of the sculptured
gem warmed her palms as she held it close. The potency of it throbbed along
with her heart. Energy crackled like
summer lightning. It filled the air with
the scent of cinnamon and sand…the scent of home.
Chapter 21:
Captivated By the Light
Amanda woke later with only
a vague memory of undressing, showering, and falling exhausted into bed. Across the room, the ska-plak glimmered with a soft blue glow. She had left it beside her computer console
where a yellow light also now winked.
Someone had sent her a com message.
Barefoot, Amanda padded across to the unit and switched it on.
The screen cleared and Mike
appeared. His eyebrow lifted suggestively.
“Tsk, tsk, Amanda, you missed breakfast.
Sarek must have had a lot to
say last night about all those Vulcan
Traditions. He left instructions
that we should let you sleep in this morning.
Now the sun is well and truly over the horizon so I’m giving you a wake
up call. There’s talk of a sight-seeing
trip of Sar-e-Kahr. If you can be ready in an hour, we’re all
invited…”
Amanda switched off with a
sheepish grin at Mike’s risqué innuendo over the missed breakfast and lost
hours she had spent in Sarek’s quarters. His masculine pride sounded bruised.
She would need to heal that breach. Mike was a friend she would hate to
lose. Though she felt a profound desire
to stay in her quarters and research the ska-plak,
the tour of Sar-e-Kahr sounded too
good to miss. She needed to see the
retreat through her own eyes. A
comparison between Sarek’s memories and those she gleaned at first sight could
prove invaluable, especially in unraveling the mysteries that surrounded the ska-plak. She ordered up a plate of krayla and a pot of tsa’e and went to inspect her wardrobe. Maybe, while she slept, another outfit would
have mysteriously appeared.
Alas, there were no new
additions but the other of the two outfits that had materialized the day before
- an emerald khelat and mid-length
chocolate tajik, with its beautiful
flowing sleeves and ribbon flower decorative edges - was certainly
extraordinarily beautiful. Sarek had
without doubt taken the dictum to heart of clothes
maketh the man. As his protégé,
Amanda realized she dressed to impress. All her new garments had the unmistakable
stamp of haute couture. She stroked the soft, almost velvety pile of
the surcoat and nuzzled it with her cheek, luxuriating in the richness of the
cloth. There were symbols embroidered
precisely on the front panel. The script
resembled that carved into the ska-plak crystal. Amanda traced one of the runic characters
with an adroit fingertip. Wind chimes
tinkled.
Something touched her
thoughts much as Reldai Pesht’Ihai
had on Space Central, yet unlike the cool indifference of the priestess, this
contact was cautious and unassuming, almost shy. Amanda shut her eyes. The action provoked an
image that shaped itself within her mind.
A room within the retreat
solidified about her, sparsely furnished and sunlit. A young girl, dressed only in pantalon, chemise and under-gown knelt
beside a wide sleeping dais. Before her,
arranged in regal splendor, an outfit lay, similar to Amanda’s own though many
times more impressive.
The girl inclined her head. “Be welcome, T’sai Ha’lei’ha. This day I
ascend the Thousand Steps to Seleya’s Mount and bond with he who will be my
future mate. These are my betrothal robes. Will thee help me dress?”
“Who are you?”
For a startled moment, Amanda thought the girl might be T’Reah but this
was not a manifestation of one of Sarek’s memories. The touch of the fabric, or
perhaps the tracing of the rune, had promoted a recollection from a much
earlier time.
“I believe thee already
know the answer to that, Lady.”
“This isn’t a dream?” In the same way T’Naoui had tended to Amanda,
she now assisted the girl. With careful
fingers, Amanda selected the delicate, tissue-thin khelat and held it out so the girl could slip her arms into the
elegant sleeves.
“Thee see the past through
my eyes.”
Amanda reached for the
translucent tajik. The surcoat, fashioned from gauzy silk,
was so light it almost floated on the air. “The ska-plak
crystal has done something to me.”
“It chose thee for a
purpose.” Illumined by the rosy
sunlight, and dressed in her wedding finery, the girl looked ethereal, her
youthful beauty exquisite but fragile. The mystery in her eyes beckoned Amanda
irresistibly.
“Why?”
“If thee open thy mind and
heart that intention will become clear.”
The room dissolved and
Amanda’s apartment formed about her once more. Disorientated by the sudden
shift in perception she sat on the dais until her balance returned. The girl had been familiar. There was a marked resemblance between her
and the wall painting of the Ti-Valka’ain
woman in Sarek’s quarters. The Lady who owned both Sar-e-Kahr and whose memories were encapsulated within the ska-plak. Amanda had received a piece of the puzzle but
still had no idea where it fit into the mystery, or how it answered any of the
questions she wanted to ask Sarek.
She had interacted with a
ghost of someone long dead who she was supposed to know. How could that be? Only one chance meeting
with a certain Elvish Prince had sparked her interest in Vulcan as a child, not
some preordained destiny. The need to mull over what she had learned and to
study the ska-plak pulled at Amanda
even more than before but there was no time to indulge the desire. She would have to do her thinking on her
feet. Without further ado, fingers
flying, she quickly, but carefully, dressed in her Vulcan finery. With newfound skill, Amanda swept up her
hair, positioned the ch’ipau and
slipped on a pair of matching sandals.
Once dressed, with only moments to spare, she crossed to the
computer. After she returned the
ska-plak to its storage place, she addressed the com. “Reference all information regarding the
owner of Sar-e-Kahr, particularly in
connection with the creation of a jasif crystal memory device…”
She picked up her skirts
and skipped to the door. It opened
immediately to reveal Sarek, Mike, and the two girls waiting for her to
appear. Amanda twirled on the threshold
as a sudden afterthought struck her.
Softly, in passable Vulcan she ordered, “Lock data until my return,
computer. Available for my attention
only.”
Chapter 22: Shadow Dancing
It seemed Amanda had been
right about Mike’s injured, masculine pride. Neither he or Tara offered much
beyond an offhand greeting, though Romani, the other Enclave girl did manage a
whispered compliment on the Vulcan clothing Amanda wore. Sotto voce, Amanda returned the favor for once again both girls and
Mike looked equally resplendent in their own finery.
If Sarek noticed the
coolness between his Human entourage, he did not refer to it. Instead, with brisk efficiency he commenced
the grand tour of Sar-e-Kahr by
leading them to an internal elevator.
Constructed of some kind of ceramic, the circular booth’s smooth walls
appeared free of instrumentation. Once
inside, the doors closed and Sarek voiced a Vulcan phrase. The lift, with dutiful mechanical obedience,
glided downward. They decanted into a
corridor that looked hand carved, the polished stone surfaces exquisitely
decorated on both sides with a life size tableau, interspersed with Vulcan
symbols.
Painted in brilliantly
coloured tinted inks, Amanda was not the only one who lingered over the
dazzling depiction of Sar-e-Kahr’s
long history. Shoulder to shoulder with Mike, they exchanged a look of ardent
enchantment.
“Are those militia…?” Mike’s pointing finger indicated a scene,
clearly illustrated, where a number of male Vulcans engaged in combat. Dressed
in archaic-seeming breast shields and protective helmets, they brandished
vicious weapons composed of a heavy metal shaft with a circular, razor-edged
blade at one end and a metal cudgel at the other. A name popped into Amanda’s mind, lirpa… and with the word, a mental
picture appeared of a dust-strewn desert plain.
Two lines of armored men faced each other ready to engage in battle…
A spark of tolerant
approval flared across Amanda’s mind as the phaser beam intensity of four pairs
of Terran eyes settled on Sarek’s enigmatic face. “They are, indeed, warriors,
Gorsky. Though much of the history of this period has been lost over time, our
scholars teach that long ago early Vulkhanir
nomads banded together in extended family groups for protection.”
His gaze settled on Amanda,
the resonance of his thoughts not quite matching the tenor of his words. “They
fought over water rights and patches of fertile cropland, priceless commodities
on the Sas-a-Shar and elsewhere. The victors of such skirmishes established
permanent settlements at sites rich in food, water and shelter. Sar-e-Kahr
is one such location. It has been part of my family’s lands for generations.”
“That is so, Miss Kaladin.
The first known Sarekh led the foray
party now venerated on these walls.”
He talked of the past with
an unpretentious ease, honest but ambiguous. He spoke the truth although
Amanda, through her connection with him, recognized it was not the whole truth.
Curiously, the ambiguity did not alarm her.
In fact, she continued to experience a quiet serenity. Any reservations
she felt were lost in an uncanny acceptance of Sarek and his world.
For some moments, she had
been aware of the soft jingle of tinkling bells. As Sarek led his little troupe
further down the hallway, the high silvery notes of a flute joined the faint
chiming. A drum started up, a muted throbbing beat in counterpoint to the
flute’s melody. The music’s tonality,
without any apparent key, appeared distorted to Amanda’s ears as if certain
crucial notes were missing. The
resultant dissonance was mildly disturbing...the same way metal on metal or the
eerie caterwauling of a cat was disturbing.
An archway appeared. They entered a large room, which opened as
usual onto a shaded terrace at one end. A dance class was in progress. The students, a group of children of varying
species, none above the age of six or so, copied the movements of their Vulcan
teacher as she led them through the desired steps. The music silenced at Sarek’s entrance. The
musicians, two young boys and a girl, sitting seiza on the tiled floor,
instantly put aside their instruments and rose to their feet. Pupils and teacher turned to face him,
shoulders back, heads up, and hands behind their backs.
They greeted him in unison. “Mehe
nakkhet ur-sevah, Kula’at Sarekh.”
“Peace and long life,
children. T’Parul, if you will continue
the lesson for our Terran guests.”
It was a scene straight out
of one of the holo-vids, Amanda had cherished so much as a child, a view of
Vulcan culture imagined but never corroborated. T’Parul was tall, lissome,
graceful … but what held Amanda’s attention the most were the little cluster of
infants. Bare footed, they all wore identical clothes, even the few, assorted
Andorian, Rigellian and Tellarite tots, ochre trousers that fell just below the
knee with tunic tops the colour of Vulcan’s desert sands.
The music started up at
T’Parul’s nod. She plunged straight into
a routine with the infants lined up behind her.
They followed her exaggerated movements.
Eyes darted, fingers parted, tiny feet arched and curled. The children
bent and twirled, stamped their feet. Confident, precise movements highlighted
the crystalline ringing of the bells. There was a perfect synchronization
between the dancers’ performance and the musicians on flute and drum. The
actions were complex and demanded abundant control but even at such a young
age, the infants appeared highly trained.
“Our children are taken to
performances long before they can walk, and receive lessons soon after.” Sarek continued with quiet emphasis, “Balance
and control are essential. Dance
necessitates mastery of every limb, muscle and emotion...”
That word again! Amanda
studied Sarek’s face. For a second time
that morning, he had their undivided attention. His lips curved upward briefly
at the corners. “The artist must learn
to sublimate personality. Only then can
they become one with a’Tha.”
Amanda translated for Mike
and the girls, though the meaning of the term eluded her just as much. “The All?”
“The words significance has
no direct translation into Tehr’n. One experiences a’Tha differently every second.
It is the direct experience of the power or energy responsible for the
creation and continuance of the universe.”
Amanda blinked and
exchanged a wide-eyed look of utter amazement with Mike. He murmured, “You’re talking about the divine
spirit, sir. You’re talking about…God!”
“Perhaps, but this
familiarity is not unique to Ti-Valka’ain,
Gorsky. Have not all here felt that electrifying presence, the kind that
mesmerizes audiences and transports performer and viewer to another time and
place? Being one with a’Tha can
transform an average dancer into a prima
ballerina or a singer into a chanteuse.”
Amanda watched the display
of eye, shoulder, hand, head, hip, and foot movements, dazzled by the infants
performance. “I suspect a’Tha also requires something in return.
It doesn’t appear just a one way process.”
“Indeed, Miss Grayson. To sense a’Tha’s
presence, one must be dedicated. It
requires practice.” He inclined his head to T’Parul in stately grace and led
them to the adjoining studio.
Chapter 23:
As It Was From the Beginning
Once through the door they
discovered another beautifully proportioned stone-lined room, with trompe l’oeil arches, and colonnades
that appeared to look out onto desert vistas.
Upon a circular three-stepped dais, a further collection of children
gathered. Older than the first group,
they appeared to age from early to late teens and were separated into three
mixed ensembles. Again, they were mostly Vulcan with a sprinkling of other
species. As in the previous class, the
students and teacher, a male this time, greeted Sarek before he bade them
return to their lesson. It was a singing
class. As they watched, two girls from
each ensemble stepped forward. From the
left hand group a low hum gently increased in volume. While the vibration
continued, the right hand group added a supplementary theme augmented by one or
more overtones. The third group introduced a percussion beat, slightly out of
synchronization. Accompanied only by the
rise and fall of the manipulated sound, the six girls commenced to flute a
subtle vocalized refrain, which spiraled up impossibly high.
The timbre rattled Amanda’s
teeth, resonated behind her eyes. Her head buzzed as her Terran educated ear
tried in vain to identify each nuance and subtle variation, unable to translate
what she heard without reference points.
It was the equivalent of attempting to separate and view the individual
facets of a diamond all at once. She glanced over at Mike, who stood with head
bowed and eyes shut, almost as unreadable as Sarek. In obvious discomfort,
It was Sarek’s turn to be
quizzical although the only sign of his curiosity was an elevated eyebrow. His distinctive ‘voice’ echoed unexpectedly
within Amanda’s mind.
What is ‘wow’? Explain.
Caught off guard, her
thoughts chaotic, she met his gaze. I didn’t know you could speak with me this
way.
It is not speech, although your psyche accepts the
process as such.
The others, can they hear us, too?
That… is doubtful.
We aren’t in physical contact. How…?
It is helpful to touch but not always
necessary. Over short distances and,
more importantly, where a rapport is already in existence, communication is
still possible. But something is
amiss. You are in discomfort. This has
something to do with… the lack of ‘wow’ Miss Ghoshal mentioned.
Through her headache,
Amanda recognized his concern and confusion; Romani meant that special ingredient that sets something apart from the
mundane…What you described as being One with the All, that’s our ‘X-factor’,
the ‘wow’.
Indeed?
Amanda had to concentrate to make her thought clear. Our
ears aren’t attuned to this kind of harmonic gymnastics. It’s difficult for us
to separate so many variants. We hear
the sounds as incompatible with each
other, jarring.
If that is the case, I believe I have the
solution. He closed the gap between them. Their thighs brushed
as he stood close beside Amanda.
If you will permit me…
With splayed fingers, he
placed a hand in the small of her back.
At his touch, heat flared through Amanda’s skin. Sweet fire burned up
her spine and along her nerve-endings. Pleasure pulsated inward. She gasped in
startled reaction.
Close your eyes. Listen through
me.
After a moment of confused
thought, Amanda complied with his command.
Darkness lurked behind her closed lids; tumultuous sound reverberated
through her shocked ears.
They sing of the desert, the Sas-a-Shar, Vulcans
Forge. This is the place where the winds
meet. A storm approaches. See the
lightning. Hear the bellow of
thunder. The sand rises. It is a beast hunting prey. Nothing can stand before it. It shrieks out
its rage…
Amanda saw it just as Sarek
described, heard Nature’s fury replicated in the riotous clamor surging through
the room. As the storm built so did the music.
It rose to a crescendo, building and building, wave upon wave, a tempest
of sound, wild and ferocious. The storm flew across the desert, increasing in power,
swallowing all in its path. Ket-cheleb,
the daemon lord that drove the sand
howled and screeched. The voices thrummed in a savage beat. Lightning flared. Thunder roared. Finally, the storm reached
the
The strident voices
softened into an organ-toned chord that promptly shifted into another related
harmony. Stone stood before storm,
veiled in a robe of clouds, crowned by a diadem of stars. The numen of the mountain, Valk’ana, met Ket-cheleb’s wrath with her inborn femininity. Combined voices cascaded upward, a crystal
ringing. A deeper resonance mingled with
the soft chiming.
Never and always touching and touched…
Parted from each other but never apart, the Gods of earth and air embraced.
Chapter 24: Count to three, Hold your breath, and Make a
Wish.
The music stilled, the
images faded.
Still enmeshed in the spell
Sarek had woven through his fingers on her flesh, it took Amanda a moment to
return to the present. She sighed: That was… wonderful. But how…?
Telepathy is a common trait among us, Miss
Grayson. It permeates our society at
every level, including the arts.
Not altogether surprised,
Amanda questioned: Then the missing ingredient is telepathy? Without your, or another Vulcan’s intervention,
I won’t be able to fully appreciate this planet’s music?
With a barely perceptible
nod, Sarek stepped away: It seems so.
His departure from Amanda’s
side was both a mental and physical wrench. Aloneness hurt. Cold suddenly, without him there to provide
heat, she shivered in reaction and looked to the Human girls for comfort. Now the composition had ended, Amanda saw
relief on their faces. Mike’s eyes were
also open, his impassive expression turned reflective as he gazed steadily back
at her. Unaware of the secret component,
and without the benefit of Sarek’s intercession, he and the girls had
experienced the performance as just a migraine inducing cacophony. The splendor
of the vocal drama, its imagery, was lost to them. Once more, Amanda had the advantage of
privileged information.
She implored Sarek with her
eyes, focused her mind and sent him her thought: There must be a way you can share this with them, with all of
Earth! How can we fully understand you
without this knowledge?
In part, that is why you are here, Miss Grayson.
Her mind wondered if he
felt her puzzlement: In what way?
His nod was barely
perceptible: For the association of
Tehr’a and Ti-Valka’ain to succeed fully, we must find ways to bridge our
mutual incompatibility. The only way is
for logic and emotion to unite.
Bombshell dropped, Sarek
bowed succinctly to the class, turned on his heel, and led his variously
stunned, dismayed, and pensive Terran entourage from the room.
Once in the hallway, while
the echoes of his statement still reverberated through Amanda’s brain, Sarek
suggested they take a refreshment break.
A proposal eagerly received by them all.
The morning had flown by. The noon hour had come and gone and, despite
the cooler air within Sar-e-Kahr the
higher gravity, and thin atmosphere of Vulcan still placed a strain on less
resilient Terran stamina. They needed
rest and they needed food.
Again, they followed Sarek
through wide, conspicuously empty, corridors, down a lengthy stairwell to an even
lower level that must have been deep within the retreat. Gradually, the filtered artificial light
dimmed before the pure, clear glow of what appeared to be natural
sunlight. Sarek’s step quickened as if
eager to reach what lay ahead. A warm,
moisture-laden breeze stirred Amanda’s hair.
The lap of water teased her hearing.
Mike clasped her hand. Tara and Romani grinned at each other. In a bunch, hard on Sarek’s heels, they
rushed forward.
A world within a world
opened up before them. A great open
space – originally, a cavern in the mountain – further hollowed out over
millennia, appeared to expand for miles into the distance. That might have been
an illusion, Amanda thought recalling the holographic perfection of the temple
on Vulcan Space Central, but even if that were so, the secret underground
chamber was one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen.
Amber water gently lapped a
shore of rufescent sand. A stand of
trees, foliage resembling blue smoke and trunks studded with two-inch long
thorns, stood guard around the perimeter of the lake that stretched to the
horizon. Dotted here and there purple leaved bushes and bluish-green shrubs
drooped with strange gourds. Fat, black-leaved flowers, their fleshy petals the
colour of pale amethyst, grew in large clusters on stones at the water’s
edge. Beyond the tree line, a cliff
face appeared to climb toward an orange hued sky.
“This can’t be real.” Amanda squinted up through half closed eyes
at the ‘sun’. “We’re underground.”
“Some artifice is involved
but not as much as might be expected,” Sarek confirmed. “The lake is a natural artesian aquifer that
supplies water to ShiKahr along with KhirAhl, a neighboring oasis-city.”
He strolled across to a
nearby bush and plucked a handful of pale, globular fruits, which he shared out
amongst them. “Almost everything is
edible here, apart from the rocks…though some ‘rocks’ are not what they seem. Our flora includes several mobile carnivorous
species, large enough when full-grown to overpower a small humanoid. They excel
at camouflage. ”
His amusement at their
thunderstruck expressions and collective gasp washed through Amanda’s
mind. One eyebrow on the rise, he amended,
“However, those specimens are carefully managed. When approaching full growth they are
relocated in their natural habitat in the valley below Sar-e-Kahr.”
He indicated the fruits
they still held. “Please, sit and
eat.”
The lake proved a natural
draw. They collected at the water’s
edge, wiggling bare toes in the shallows, picnicking on Vulcan fruits and the
fat, mauve flower petals. Both fruit and
flowers had an agreeable taste, though Amanda preferred the fruits, piquant flavor
to the petals more coppery tang. Sated
finally, she followed Mike’s example, by rejecting hygiene, and wiped the last
of the tart fruit juice from her chin before licking her fingers clean. Leaning
back on her elbows in the sand, she watched Sarek with curious if surreptitious
intent. He had eaten sparingly but with
a gusto that spoke of an appreciation of good food. He washed his fingers in the water.
Amanda hid a grin. Their little sojourn had apparently
concluded. Before Sarek could get to
his feet and commence the tour, Amanda broke the habitual mealtime silence and
in payback for the one-liner about carnivorous ‘rocks’ enquired
innocently, “Kula’at Sarek, I would very much like to know…if I may ask? Do Vulcans swim?”
The green in his dark eyes
reflected the sunlight as he considered her question with all due seriousness.
“If you are asking, can Vulcans swim,
Miss Grayson, the answer is ‘yes’, though the skill is not called upon often or
routinely taught. With so little
available on our world, we revere water as almost sacred. There is a cultural
if not a biological embargo on using it in a frivolous manner.”
Before he stood up to brush
the sand from his robes, Amanda thought she saw a twinkle in the depth of his
gaze as he continued, “However, as my guests you are under no such
restrictions. You are free to swim if
you so wish…”
“…Will continue
tomorrow.” He held up a premonitory hand
as they grinned at each other. “There is, however, a concert scheduled in the
main auditorium for later this evening.
I will expect your attendance.
T’Naoui will acquaint you with the time and location.”
Sarek inclined his head,
preparatory to leaving them but again, Amanda forestalled him with another
question. “Kula’at, if I may try your patience a little longer….? The lake here…it doesn’t contain any of those
walking rocks you mentioned by any chance?”
His lips curled at the
corners, just the slightest amount.
“Indeed not, Miss Grayson. You
may be reassured. The water is a habitat
for various Aquarian species, but I doubt they have a taste for Tehr’n. Enjoy your swim.”
Chapter 25: Just When You Thought It Was Safe.
Minutes after Sarek’s
departure, T’Naoui appeared with an armful of what she termed ‘swimming
attire’, though in reality the clothing turned out to be briefer versions of
the Vulcan underwear they already wore; cap-sleeved tops matched with
short-legged pantalon in a buttery-coloured woven yarn. They scattered in various directions to
change behind the concealment of nearby shrubs.
None of them spotted the elusive perambulating rocks for which all four
were profoundly grateful, though far in the distance the eerie cry of a large
animal sounded distinctly on the breeze that wafted now and again through the
cavern. Similarly, as Mike finally gave
up trying to persuade T’Naoui to join them in the water, something large and
sleek skimmed across the treetops heading in the direction of the cliffs. Whether raptor,
pterosaur or gryphon it was hard to
tell. Reassured by T’Naoui’s lack of
concern they waded into the lake.
The chill did not take
Amanda’s breath away, though fed from deep underground the lake was certainly
cold… it was the sheer bliss of feeling water on her skin again after what
seemed weeks of Sonics. The Vulcans had no idea what they were
missing. With sure, swift
confidence, she left the shore behind and headed for the depths. Mike matched her stroke for stroke though
Tara and Romani, evidently feeling the same buoyant joy, lagged only a few feet
behind. Together, as if of one accord,
the four Terrans inhaled within seconds of each other, tipped heels-over-head
and submerged.
Another alien world awaited
them.
Pulled downward by Vulcan’s
higher gravity Amanda drifted on the current.
The artificial sunlight from above laced through the water speckling the
lake bottom with ruby fire. From just below the surface, Amanda had a panoramic
view. Sarek had been right about the aquatic life. Who would have believed that a desert world
could harbor such variety?
There were life forms she
thought she identified - and others she did not. Sleek, softly luminous
vertebrates darted away from the upper world intrusion. Other exotically finned flutterbys, feathered gills afloat and solemn fish-eyes on the look
out for a tasty morsel or two, came to nibble on exposed alien flesh. When the flavor proved unpalatable, they
flapped away, tiny mouths pouting in distaste.
Then, just before she
needed to breathe again, Amanda spotted what looked like a cluster of
jewel-bright anemone tentacles waving in slow motion, the elongated, tubular
bodies attached to an embedded lump of shiny grayish basalt half buried in the
sand. A couple of swift kicks had her
within inches of the outcropping. Soon joined by Mike and the girls, Amanda
examined the tiny creatures in fascinated curiosity. When the ‘basalt’ abruptly
rose from the lakebed, in a flurry of scattered sand, anemone still
attached, the Humans exploded away in a
welter of flailing limbs. Newly reminded of Sarek’s warning, they fled for the
surface.
With Mike acting as gallant
rearguard, they erupted from the water in a burst of flying spray. T’Naoui, apparently lost in reflection, sat
cross-legged at the water’s edge. At
their agitated shouts, she climbed elegantly to her feet, watching in obvious
puzzlement as they finally waded ashore.
They spoke all at the same
time. She listened in patient
mystification as breathless and exhausted the words tumbled from them. Finally, understanding nothing of the wild
garble, she held up a hand. “Gorsky will
speak.”
At the single command, they
all fell silent. Did the entire Vulcan
species have such natural authority, Amanda wondered, or maybe like Sarek,
T’Naoui and Saran were more than they appeared?
Amanda watched as Mike
quickly composed himself before T’Naoui’s iron gaze. He would have to teach her
how to do that, she thought. He inclined
his head. “Kula’at Sarek warned us of a predatory life form that used camouflage
to disguise its shape…”
T’Naoui agreed. “Indeed, there are several…”
“While swimming, there
appeared to be such a creature lying on the lake bed. Unaware of its presence we approached. It …”
Amanda saw the light switch
on behind T’Naoui’s eyes. If the Vulcan girl felt any amusement at their scare,
it did not show on her features. Her
gaze wandered over Mike’s shoulder, faintly steaming now in the warmth of the
cavern to look towards the lake. The
four Terrans turned also and froze in their tracks as from out of the depths,
the ‘basalt outcropping’ complete with accompanying anemone, waded toward them.
T’Naoui’s patience was
again infinite, “I believe you speak
of Abhijnansakuntala
Sahasunaka Ihosy…a boyhood friend of the Kula’at. S/he is from Sanhyangde-minangkabau. You have heard of it perhaps. Sahasunaka and
hir people live in that worlds many lakes and waterways. S/he finds the heat of Ti-Valka’ain disadvantageous.
Kula’at Sarek authorized hir use of the lake…”
Chapter 26: Time Passages.
An hour later, while
watering the plants in the courtyard garden back in their quarters, Amanda
pondered on the strange encounter. Abhijnansakuntala
Sahasunaka Ihosy, (or, for convenience sake, and the inadequacy of the
human memory and tongue, Ihosy for short) had proven to be an individual of
impeccable manners. With T’Naoui acting as interpreter, the Sanhyangde-minangkabauan had expressed
regret at being the cause of distress to the Terrans. In response, the Terrans apologized for disturbing
Ihosy’s sojourn on the lake bottom. They
all parted the best of friends.
Amanda did not believe for
one second that the meeting was a coincidence. Sarek had engineered the
event. Not as a joke, though she began
to appreciate how much quiet humour was part of his personality, but almost
certainly to emphasize that unlike Earth, Vulcan was a dangerous place for the
unwary. They needed to keep their wits sharp and their eyes and ears open. Even when something appeared harmless, or
innocent, caution was still necessary. Next time it might not be Ihosy in the
water but something far less friendly. Nor had he lied to them about the
inhabitants of the lake. He had spoken
the exact truth. Though Ihosy did
resemble a rock, camouflaged s/he was
not, nor had s/he wanted to eat
them. It was a salutary lesson, one
best learned before the training reins came off and they were free to wander on
their own.
A melodious chime rang
within her apartment. The sound heralded
not the door as she first thought but the com.
Amanda turned the watering system to ‘seep’ and went to answer it. On her first night at Sar-e-Kahr, she had implored T’Naoui to instruct her on the com
controls so that she might put a call through to her father. While she was on
Vulcan, Charles Grayson had also taken the opportunity to travel. If his schedule had gone to plan her call
should have located him in the Rigil Kentaurus system. Kentauri V
was a beautiful and peaceful world, a paradise just made for the energetic
outdoorsman. Together and apart, both
father and daughter had visited the planet several times.
Amanda was only slightly
disappointed however when instead of seeing Charles’ blond good looks appear on
the screen, it was T’Naoui’s features that formed there.
The Vulcan girl inclined
her head in response to Amanda’s salutation.
“Greetings, Miss Grayson. It is Kula’at Sarek’s request that I inform
you of the itinerary for this evening.”
“Thank you, T’Naoui. He mentioned something at lunch about a
concert.”
“Indeed. Chamsat’ash-ur is a traditional ceremony that
culminates in the ancient drama of the ash-ur’i. The performance is long. It lasts through the night. Ash-ur’i requires patience. Conservative dress is a requisite. You must be certain to eat and rest before
Saran’s arrival at the seventh hour. He
will convey you to Sar-e-Kahr’s main
amphitheatre via maglev. Kula’at Sarek will meet you there.”
With another brief nod,
T’Naoui closed the connection. Almost
instantly, the com chirruped again.
This time it was Charles. “Hello darling. Sorry I didn’t get back to you straight
away. I was up in the mountains. You remember our last visit here together? It did nothing but rain. It’s a different story this time….”
His message was brief.
Electronic voice mail from planet to planet was still extraordinarily
expensive, but at least Amanda knew that he was far from moping over her sudden
desertion. In fact, she had never seen
him look so rested. His features fairly
glowed with health and enthusiasm. For
just the briefest second, Amanda felt a pang of resentment, then mentally shook
herself. She could not deny her father
the same fulfillment that she now experienced.
It was time for him to throw off the concerns of a parent and enjoy the
pleasures of the single life again. And maybe, without her there to distract
him his thoughts might even start to ponder the notion of romance…
That idea sparked another
and summoned up an image of Sarek in Amanda’s mind, which in turn reminded her
of the command she had given the computer earlier that day. She accessed the
programme with a quickening of her pulses but just as the information began to
scroll upon the screen footsteps approached from the court outside. Mike called her name.
A single command in Vulcan saved
the data for later perusal as Amanda welcomed him in. She ordered a flask of riman fruit wine and a bowl of Kaferian apples from the wall
selector before they wandered outside to join Tara and Romani. Newly watered,
the garden steamed with moisture redolent with aromatic fragrance from the many
plants.
Once again, they sat in the
little pavilion the sudden humidity a balm in the afternoon heat, and picnicked
on foods from half a dozen different worlds.
Amanda had heard about Kaferian apples but never eaten them before. Unlike the malus of Earth, the fruit
resembled a golden-skinned tomato with a peachy bloom – but however it looked,
ambrosia could not have tasted any less satisfying. With the customs of Vulcan in mind they
munched on the food mostly in silence, only a moan or two of sheer
gratification disturbed the quiet from time to time.
Stomachs full, heavy-eyed
after their day of wandering none of them, least of all Amanda, needed any
urging to return to their rooms and sleep away the rest of the afternoon. She carefully removed her gown, and kicked
off her sandals. A quiet order to the
computer turned the air conditioning up until a cool breeze circulated in the
stifling room. Dressed only in pantalon and camisole, Amanda curled up on the sleeping dais and within minutes
descended into slumber.
Only her subconscious heard
the soft chime from the ska-plak. She stirred on the dais but did not
rouse. Soon after, an intricate
reminiscence played out within her mind.
Unlike the previous ska-plak memory, when Amanda spoke with
the child from Vulcan’s past, her personality now seemed to blur. There was a
rush of identification, of melding into one until she was the girl. Several years
had passed since the betrothal ceremony...
She had been dreaming but
now she woke fully and turned on her pillows in sleepy wonderment as a voice
spoke within her psyche. He conversed in
the symbology and picture-talk of the mind:
T’sai, are thee awake?
It was the eve of her
Koon-ut-kal-if-fee. At dawn on the
following morn, she would traverse the Sas-a-Shar
with her kinsfolk to the place of marriage or challenge. After a short ceremony, the link forged when
they were seven years old would bind her irrevocably with the boy chosen at
that time to be her future adun.
That boy had since become a
man. Even over the distance that
separated them, she felt the burning of his blood, his need of her: S’haile? Where hast thee been. I would help thee in thy anguish.
The preparation for just
such a moment, initiated as soon as she could walk and talk, came to her aid.
So ingrained was the training, that almost by instinct she added her strength
to his. Together they smothered the
conflagration that threatened to consume him.
Eventually, the flames diminished though they did not die
completely. Only the Joining could
accomplish that.
She controlled her own
concerns, secure in his regard for her.
Starlight washed through the filigree screen that guarded the
terrace archway. The patterned
brightness illuminated the platform that she rested upon, but within her inner
sight, the face of her k’diwa remained
shadowed. Only his eyes gleamed
hauntingly out of an ambiguous haze that otherwise shrouded him in the darkness
of his disgrace.
Yet, she did not need light
to reveal his features. She knew them
better than she knew her own. She called forth the image of his lithe form
crouched beside the dais, dressed in his habitual robes. She saw distinctly the broad forehead, the
exotic face, with its high cheekbones. Green eyes peered keenly from beneath
upswept brows, expressive lips parted in a knowing smile. Dark, wayward hair hid pointed ears, and
brushed his shoulders in the typical style of the S’kanderai tribesmen he resembled, unpredictable as a wild sehlat or perhaps a desert storm looming
on the horizon. Truly they were k'hat'n'dlawa, each of them part of the other’s heart and mind, two halves of
the same whole. Even before their bonding as children, her
soul recognized his. Their katras had
converged before. So it had been from the Beginning, a’Tha knew.
Distance had no meaning in
the country of the mind. Though
separated by custom – and the width of the Sas-a-Shar
- they continued their acquaintance by telepathy, attuned like only a few before
them to one another’s thoughts.
While still a child, his
nocturnal visitations had a mysterious air, as if her loneliness had called him
up, an imaginary companion, a make-believe ally with whom she shared
everything. With the passing of the
years, his reality gradually acquired more substance; no longer did she regard
him as a product of adolescent fantasies. When her parents had her attend the
hall of learning in Ta’vistar Province,
far from home, he became her closest companion.
Lately, because he came to
her only at night, just before she slept, she had named her mystical S’kanderai tribesman Anarchya, the ancient term for Daemon. But he accepted the impudence with that same
quiet enjoyment and jousting as he accepted ‘S’haile’
or, in unguarded moments, ‘t’hy’la’.
Although he had never asked
it of her, instinctively she knew that he wished their mind-talk to remain a
secret. Afraid of the consequences she never spoke of him to anyone.
Where hast thee been
k’diwa, she shut her eyes, the better to see the image he
projected. I have been lonely without
thee.
Insubstantial fingers
encircled her wrist. At the feather-light touch, her heart jolted. The pulse
point in her throat throbbed erratically, shocked by the electricity of even
that tenuous grip. Anarchya raised her hand, brushed soft lips over the tender skin of
her wrist. He planted a ghostly kiss in her open palm. His skin, scented with
the faint but distinctive cinnamon fragrance of the Sas-a-Shar, made her head spin.
His glamour, emphasized by the onset of pon farr engulfed her, fired
passions she hardly understood.
Beloved,
he breathed beside her ear in a low, brandied tone, sweet Ha’lei’ha, my Lady
of Flowers. Will thee be kind on the eve
of our Joining? Walk with me for a time
as thee used to do when we were children. I would not be alone at such a time.
She recalled earlier trysts
with wondrous delight; they had conjured a world made especially for the two of
them. Now, with the blood fever running
through her veins, the desire for him escalated beyond any reason. With a thought, he created a portal. Hand in hand, oblivious to anything but their
need for one another, they stepped through.
Chapter 27: To See More Than the Eyes See, to Hear
More Than the Ears Hear
S’kros, cho’nom, T’sai Grayson. Quaer I naradzram…
The computer voice spoke in
Vulcan; a wake up call. Amanda stirred,
for the first time since arriving on Vulcan unsure precisely where she
was. Still enmeshed in dreams of that
other time, she felt a drowsy satisfaction mixed with an inner
exhilaration. In all her life, she could
not recall experiencing anything quite like it.
Amanda could still smell the lingering fragrance of cinnamon on Anarchya’s skin and feel the heat of his
touch as he spread his fingers across her katra points.
All fear, all doubt had
melted away with the gentle contact. She
had never offered herself to anyone so completely before. A smile curved her
lips as she remembered…
Ashur’a, s’kros neh kharos’hin anh’kwet romeh …
Again, the muted computer
voice sounded in the quiet room.
Reality rushed back as the
dream images fled. Amanda blinked and sat up on the dais. Of course, she was not Anarchya’s Lady of Flowers.
She was Amanda Carynese Grayson with an hour to wash and dress before
Saran appeared to take them to the Chamsat’ash-uri ceremony.
Hurriedly,
she rose and strode over to the wall selector. It seemed important suddenly to
emphasize, if only in a small way, that she was Human and not Vulcan. So, instead of tsa’e and krayla,
she returned to her roots. “Coffee, hot
and sweet, please. And… some buttered
toast.”
After
her sonic shower, she sipped the coffee while looking through her wardrobe for
something a Vulcan might consider ‘conservative’. All her recent outfits seemed to match the
description, and nothing new had appeared while she slept. At last, she chose the set of clothes she had
received on board the Insala, conscious of how the dark blue khelat, with
its rows of tiny ribbon buttons, compliment her skin tone. Amanda was no longer
surprised to find the garment pristine, clean and creaseless as if freshly
laundered. While she dressed, her mind
drifted back over the dream.
The
images still felt completely authentic, more an actual memory than some
subliminal wish-fulfillment. In her
fully awake state, Amanda acknowledged, how much Anarchya resembled
Sarek, though the similarity seemed not so much physical as psychological. Her stomach flipped as she recalled the
controlled intensity of Anarchya’s eyes, how the power of his gaze had
seemed to pierce her to the soul. As in
Sarek’s presence, she felt a mix of security and excitement. Though separated
by centuries of time, both had that same hint of inner passions, barely
tamed. The portraits on Sarek’s wall now
also had identities. They were
undoubtedly pictorial studies of Anarchya and his Lady.
In
respect for T’Naoui’s guidelines, Amanda combed her hair up but in place of the
ch’ipau she had intended to use, her fingers wavered, seemingly of their
own accord, and reached instead for a long translucent scarf. A fitted cap made from a similar dark blue
fabric appeared the perfect accessory.
She placed the cap over her curls and with a few nimble twists, an
adroit turn or two, the scarf soon turned into an attractive yet discreet
headdress. It also covered her ears and
most of her eyebrows. Even if anyone
proved more than casually interested in her origins nothing but a thorough
inspection would confirm her as other
than Vulcan. Delighted with her
contrivance, she bustled to the apartments next door to share her unforeseen
skill.
Saran
appeared as expected, exactly on the seventh hour but he did not come
alone. A little boy accompanied him,
along with the most handsome male Vulcan Amanda had yet seen. Tall, muscular and distinguished, she watched
in detached amusement as Romani and Tara almost openly swooned on meeting the
gorgeous Tarok’s crystal gray eyes.
Although
appreciative of Tarok’s undoubted magnetism Amanda had to admit, if only to
herself, that she had eyes for only one Vulcan.
Instead, the little boy aroused her curiosity. He looked to be five or possibly six years
old, though it was even more difficult to judge relative ages with a Vulcan
child than it was with the adults. Small and slight with a wayward curl to his
dark hair, Saran introduced him briefly as Sibok. Amanda could not quite pin down the reason,
but behind Sibok’s solemn features, she sensed a lost and lonely heart. The boy seemed far more out of place there than
she was.
Dressed
in formal Vulcan robes, the same as his two companions, Saran handed out
full-length hooded cloaks, head inclined in approval at their choice of
attire.
His
earnest gaze settled on the Terrans intriguing headgear. Even Mike had
improvised a tasteful turban-style cover up.
“I have little doubt Kula’at Sarek will value both your research
and willingness to embrace our customs.
The Chamsat’ash-ur represents the essence of Ti-Valka’ain
traditional culture. It is Vulcan’s oldest music drama, born in the era of
T’plana-Hath, and continues mostly unchanged since that time.”
He
exchanged a glance with Tarok as he shepherded them down the hall. “It is a custom not usually shared with
outsiders. You attend the ash-ur’i ceremonies at Kula’at Sarek’s
express command.”
A
comment Amanda took to mean they should definitely mind their p’s and q’s while
in attendance.
When
Sibok fell into step beside her, she returned his look of open and unabashed
curiosity. His was a rare inquisitiveness
among the normally reserved Vulcans. The
boy’s eyes sparkled with an almost adult intelligence. Small fingers brushed her palm, rested
lightly against her hand. Touched,
Amanda smiled down at Sibok as she warmly clasped his fingers within her
own.
The
boy’s embryonic, untrained, mind probe might have startled her if she had not
experienced something entirely more accomplished before. But even as the shield positioned there by
Sarek fell into place, Amanda heard a childish voice smoothly request, I
would learn of thee, Amanda Carynese Grayson.
Will thee not share thy thoughts…?
She looked down into Sibok’s dark eyes. They appeared innocent, ingenuous, a little
confused now as the mental safeguard shut him out.
Sarek
had created the inner defense to prevent the broadcast of emotional overspill
from her psyche to all and sundry while aboard the Insala. It had activated first on Vulcan Space
Central when Reldai Pesht’Ihai
had entered Amanda’s mind. Although she
had given permission, the Vulcan reldai
had taken Amanda’s consent as authorization to ransack her most intimate
thoughts. Sarek’s protection had proved
more than a match for Pesht’Ihai’s incursion. Although it was difficult for Amanda to believe Sibok’s exuberant
probe was in the same league, the screen had still blocked him out. Maybe there was more to the boy than could be
seen physically – or perhaps Sarek’s protection merely reacted to any mental
contact other than his own. In any
event, Amanda could change nothing. Yet,
Sibok’s eyes were so bright, so full of concern that he might have offended
her.
She
squeezed his fingers in reassurance. “We
humans don’t usually share our thoughts the way Vulcans do, Sibok. Maybe we can talk to each other
instead...”
He
regarded her with solemn intent before he acquiesced with a small inclination
of the head. Still with hands clasped,
the intimacy hidden from view by the folds of their cloaks, Amanda briefly
answered questions about her home and family, and received answers from Sibok
in return. His voice though hushed, was
courteous. In the wake of the rest of the party, they traded information. Shyly he admitted that this was his first
visit to Sar-e-Kahr. Normally,
his home was the mountain retreat of Gol.
He
was six seasons old. The Chamsat’ash-uri
was no less a mystery to him than it was to Amanda, though en’ahr’at Tarok
believed he would benefit significantly from attending …
Amanda’s
internal database translated the term.
Like many Vulcan words, the meaning was fluid. It had changed over time. Now it meant a sponsor or guardian. Long ago,
at about the time Anarchya had
taken his Ha’lei’ha for life-mate, the expression had a darker significance. Then, en’ahr’at transposed almost perfectly to sentinel - a
‘jailer’ by any other name.
Sibok’s
eyes searched her face as if an echo of that thought had reverberated through
their clasped hands. For a brief moment,
Amanda found herself mesmerized, lost in ageless depths, far too ancient to
belong to this child. All of a sudden,
he reminded her of someone else…
Like
smoke on the wind, recognition dissipated vaporously as Tarok then Saran turned
to look back. Engaged in conversation,
she and Sibok had fallen behind. He loosed her fingers in an instant and though
he did not seem to move, Amanda felt a gap open up between them.
The
boy inclined his head in well-mannered consideration. “Miss Grayson, I would speak with thee again
if that is agreeable…”
“Certainly…
we should perhaps compare notes on the Chamsat’ash-uri ceremony…to
increase our joint understanding…”
With
a brief nod, Sibok went to join his en’ahr’at as Mike dropped into the
vacant space by Amanda’s side. Sar-e-Kahr’s
corridors, deserted when the Terrans had used them earlier were now bustling
with activity. Amanda would not exactly
describe the silent, splendidly poised men, women and children as a happy
throng but there was definitely a buzz in the air. Hushed though they were,
dressed in concealing cloaks or hooded robes, an underlying ambience appeared to
unite them all.
In the chocolate-colored
cloak, with the russet turban hiding his blond hair, Mike certainly rivaled
Tarok’s dashing hero look. He regarded Amanda with quizzical interest. “It seems I have a rival for your
affections.”
Amanda poked him hard in
the ribs. “Maybe in a few years.”
Mike groaned theatrically
at the sudden prod. “Ouch! That hurt.”
“Serves you right for
trifling with my womanly honor,” she told him sternly. “For some reason Sibok reminds me of
someone….I just can’t quite put my finger on whom.”
“What, the famous Grayson
intuition has finally let you down? Tsk!”
Amanda stopped in her
tracks, hands on hips. “Okay, what do
you know?”
He grinned in boyish good
humor but kept on walking. Over his shoulder he murmured, “Who, me?”
Amanda hurried to catch
up. In the same low tones she hissed,
“Tell me…”
“You’re even lovelier when
you’re angry, did you know? All right,”
he capitulated abruptly at the look she threw him. “The intonation of his name is ‘Sybok’ not
Sibok. Hear the difference?”
The pronunciation, subtly
different resonated unexpectedly through Amanda. It rang with the clarity of the ska-plak in her quarters. The name was archaic. Although it conformed to the pattern of
Vulcan male names it was rarely chosen in modern times.
“You think you recognize
him because he looks a lot like his father - a definite ‘chip off the old
block’... ”
The penny dropped at the
same time the shock-wave hit. “Sybok is
Sarek’s son? Is that what you’re saying, Mike?”
“So Saran informed me. The boy’s only just come to join his father
at Sar-e-Kahr.”
Amanda ignored Mike’s
speculative appraisal, her own expression carefully controlled. She had known
of Sarek’s marriage… no… more correctly… his bonding, she amended, a difference
not only in nomenclature but also in depth of relationship. She had seen his memory as a child ascending
the one thousand steps to Seleya’s temple mount, T’Reah by his side. At that time, the two young Vulcans pledged
their fidelity with a telepathic link, a connection that bound them to a far
greater level than simple custom.
According to Sarek’s understanding, a bond extended beyond even
death. It should not have come as a
surprise that Sarek and T’Reah had children. Another thought suddenly occurred. If Sybok had recently moved to Sar-e-Kahr, did that also mean T’Reah
resided there now? Despite her best
efforts, a frisson of apprehension shivered down Amanda’s spine. How would Sarek’s wife receive her in Sarek’s
home when eventually he decided she was at last equipped to leave the retreat
and ready to take her place in Vulcan society for real?
By the time they reached it, the maglev terminal was a-teem with Chamsat’ash-ur attendees. The whole of Sar-e-Kahr’s residents must have thronged the platform. Again, among a small, mixed-species group of
schoolchildren and their teachers, Amanda spotted the young Andorian she had
seen on her first day; head uncovered, aquamarine antenna and cotton wool white
hair a contrast to the more subdued hues of Vulcan robes and complexions.
Amanda’s fascinated gaze
roamed the maglev’s huge
chamber. As in other public spaces
within Sar-e-Kahr, trompe l’oeil
decorative scenes covered the walls from floor to ceiling and hoodwinked the
mind. Light flooded the underground
cavern, an ochre stream of warmth and colour. Faint music thrummed the air, intense and
strong, the lilting notes of a flute woven with drumbeat and chitarrone, a harp-like instrument akin to the ka’ithirah
The atmosphere continued to
resonate with a communication that ran potent but speechless, a quiet
exhilaration that raised gooseflesh along Amanda’s arms.
“Can you feel it,
too?” She asked Mike in wide-eyed awe.
His inquisitive gaze again
searched her face before he nodded. “As
if the universe was holding its breath?”
“Yes…” Amanda grinned. “You’re turning into a poet, Mike. That’s it
exactly…”
“Not really…” He touched her lightly on the arm. “But I do get that feeling every time I’m
near you, Amanda.”
In mock exasperation,
Amanda nimbly stomped his booted foot under cover of the arrival of the first
transport tube. It floated silent as a
ghost a couple of inches above the single magnetic guide rail right to the edge
of the platform. As if under some
psychic direction, the first forty attendees stepped forward and boarded the
tube. With a soft whoosh of displaced
air, it left the platform. A second tube
glided up and the next forty embarked in the same disciplined manner. Saran, along with Tarok, Sybok and the four
Terrans joined the end of the third group. The last cluster of attendees waited patiently
on the platform as they took their seats, surprisingly well padded and
comfortable.
The doors shut, and the
tube accelerated away like a skyscraper elevator, rapid, smooth, humming
faintly. The sudden velocity pushed Amanda back into the seat cushions. Her stomach muscles contracted as she felt
the abrupt kick. She looked up. The roof, by all accounts a transparent
bubble, provided a view of dusky rose skies alight with the brightest stars
Amanda had ever seen.
Four minutes of
gravity-simulator-style acceleration later, during which the star shine outside the windows blurred into glowing
streaks, they began to slow.
The maglev tube banked in a gentle curve while the stars reoriented
themselves through the transparent roof, even more brilliant than before; real
this time, Amanda decided, and not just a holographic projection. They had passed through the mountain to emerge
out into the desert. Star shine painted
a frosted landscape of shadowed mountain peaks and rusty sands that stretched
to the horizon.
The entrance to the
open-air amphitheatre where the Chamsat’ash-ur
played that evening was a narrow cleft carved by the elements of sand and wind
into the heart of another towering cliff. Once inside, the fissure tapered to little
more than three meters in width, while the walls loomed up hundreds of meters
on either side. The cleft, twisted and
turned, the only light that of the stars shining down from the night sky above
them. As they slowly traversed the
meandering chasm, a single drumbeat began to pound, reverberating through the
gently shifting air.
A moment later, another
joined it, and then another, until the rock walls throbbed with a complicated
yet harmonious rhythm, the great thundering heartbeat of a planet. The sound filled Amanda’s mind, sang in her
blood, and stirred some deep, elemental part of her that so far had remained
aloof. Caught up in the booming roar,
almost hypnotized, she found herself swaying gently from side to side. Again, she seemed to sense that ongoing
communion; the focused attention of numerous people like identical but
individual sparks in a fire, or indistinct grains of sand in the desert. All there, and perhaps even those within
ShiKahr's precincts, were one mind, one heart, one thought, and intent on the
ceremony about to begin…
Torchlight flickered
against the pale red sandstone through the further opening that led into the
giant semicircle of the amphitheatre, large enough to hold the entire
populations of both Sar-e-Kahr and ShiKahr with room to spare. Almost without Amanda realizing it, the
ponderous booming of the drums had given way to the softer but no less
enthralling sound of voices. The chant
rose from a formless humming that rippled through the crowd before them, into a
disconcerting, deep-throated susurrus that continued to transform as they
finally entered the auditorium.
Cloaked and hooded, Sarek
waited for them there, attended by T’Naoui.
As the throng dispersed along tiered stands, he directed them into a
wide aisle that sliced upwards. Tawny
light from a mass of flaring torches illuminated the solemn, transfixed faces
of the crowd. The attendees swayed back
and forth in time to the music; one step backward, a step to the right, one
step forward, another step to the left; heel and toe, heel and toe, moving in
isolated unison joined as if by invisible strings, never and always touching
and touched…
The sacred song's timbre
altered, became counterpoint to the drums once again, the tempo quickening,
indefatigable and remorseless. Sarek in
the lead, with Amanda one side and Sybok the other, continued to climb upwards
towards the amphitheatre’s highest tier.
At last, they reached the
summit of the rock face, a wide, flat plateau at their back, the semicircular
auditorium before them. Mike, Tara and
Romani, stood with Sarek and Amanda while Saran, T’Naoui and the Vulcan party
took places on the tier below.
Unobstructed, the view from
the cliff top was magnificent, and Amanda’s heart thundered in time to the
booming roar, legs aching from the climb, her breathing quick and shallow as
she gazed down at the unadorned proscenium fifty meters beneath them.
She looked at Mike,
recalling his fear of heights but his face remained impassive, a mirror image
of the Vulcan attendees all around them.
Discreetly, she squeezed his fingers and after a moment felt him squeeze
back. He had the dread under control. He would be all right.
Sarek’s eyebrow quirked upward,
his hawk-eyed gaze apparently missing nothing, yet he refrained from making a
comment. Instead, he held out his palm
where four impressive sapphire gems glowed.
His voice, pitched at just
the right intensity, rose above the singing and the sound of the drums. With a nod to Amanda, he explained their use,
“Miss Grayson has clarified how our music appears disharmonious to the Terran
ear. These gallenite crystals, individually modified to assist the
transmission of sound, should alleviate any discomfort and allow for a… greater
perception of the performance this evening.”
Romani was the first to
reach out and take a crystal. She gazed
in wonder at the gem clasped in her fingers sparking with blue fire. “It’s… lovely.”
“And so big,”
Mike followed her lead,
curiosity overcoming his vertigo. “How
do they work?”
Sarek turned to Amanda, the
only one left without a crystal. A dark
eyebrow arched. “With Miss Grayson’s
help I will demonstrate…”
Her lips parted in
surprise, too startled to offer any objection. “Oh…yes, Kula’at,
of course.”
He cupped her chin, fingers
radiating heat along her jaw. Amanda’s
heart thundered, air seemed hard to find – though, this time, not from climbing
steps at high altitude. The sensation of
Sarek’s fingertips upon her skin woke a hungry yearning she had managed to
sublimate so far. Her mind flashed back
to the dream of Anarchya and Ha’lei’ha’s tryst beyond the
portal…. Ethical or not, logical or not,
only the fact they were in a very public place kept the moan of desire from her
lips.
It took effort to look at
him as he leaned in to place the crystal below her right ear. His expression continued enigmatic, though
his eyes never left her face. There was no communication between them. If only her control was so good. No doubt, he had read every scandalous
thought racing through her mind.
As if in answer to that
last reflection one dark eyebrow flared upward once more. A muscle quivered at the corner of his mouth,
generous lips curved in that secret almost-smile only she observed. Beneath the hooded lids, his eyes, shades of
amber and green, flamed with reflected torchlight. “Clingstones are known for their… unusual
properties. With the crystal attached,
you will all hear a realistic facsimile of the sound values… transmitted via
the mastoid bone. Once affixed, a gentle
tap will remove it once more.” He
demonstrated on the crystal that adhered like a limpet to Amanda’s skin, tapped
lightly, twice, with a neatly trimmed and polished fingernail.
Explosive currents
reverberated through her every limb. Her pulse beat rivaled that of the
drums. Blood thrummed in her veins, an
instrumental melody that merged with the bittersweet song of her heart. The gemstone detached at Sarek’s touch but
Amanda was scarcely aware of it for the chaotic clamor within.
Confused by her unexpected
response to the contact, she fought to master her swirling emotions. By the
time she had gained a little self-control, the amphitheatre had fallen into an
eerie silence. Standing beside her on
the wide tier Sarek’s smooth voice broke into her reverie. ‘The performance begins. Please, be seated.”
The breathing
quiet stirred briefly as the audience, in unison, sat down. Amanda glanced covertly at Sarek until he
turned and caught her staring at him.
She blushed and instantly transferred her gaze downwards. His hands lay
loosely clasped together, palms up, on his knee. Within the cradle of his long fingers, a single
clingstone resided, glimmering with faint blue luminescence - her
clingstone. She took a quick peek at
Mike, beyond him to Tara and Romani. All
sported sapphire gems. Amanda hastily looked back at Sarek’s hands. Although held in the same position, they were
empty.
Far below, the
simple stage lit. The high, sweet call
of a melancholy flute danced upon the air.
A young girl, long hair bound at the brow with a ta’al diadem appeared out of the shadows.
Sarek shifted
discreetly on the stone terrace. Amanda
soon became aware of the heat where his warm flesh pressed against her side. His nearness left her breathless. Beneath the thick cloak, her body tingled from
the contact. Clothing apparently was no
barrier to telepathic communication…
The Chamsat’ash-ur performance
combines the arts of poetry, drama and music, Miss Grayson. Symbolism plays a major part. Unlike Terran ballet or opera, the lyrics,
music, and dance movements of the piece depict landscape...and emotion. The subtle actions of the artiste evoke the
natural world poetically in the imagination. The means of expression are limited to the
absolute minimum. It is the
responsibility of the observer to ‘see
more than the eyes see, to hear more than the ears hear’.
Amanda glanced up at him: Which
gives Vulcans the advantage over Terrans.
You have the benefit of telepathy, Kula’at Sarek…
He agreed. Indeed, telepathy has a part to play. But so does Vhosh’anta – observation and
interpretation of nonverbal language. Within the simplest of things exists all,
Miss Grayson…
On the stage below, a withered old woman loomed out
of the fiery dark… not a witch, but a god, Amanda realized with that uncanny
intuition that visited her increasingly since Sarek’s mind-touch. The young girl and the old women, though very
different, were opposite faces of the same coin. Together they represented
angel and daemon, wisdom and imprudence, rage and tranquility… the duel nature
of the Vulcan soul.
The dancing
maiden is Shen’ava. She cavorts among
the stars and rejoices in the beauty of the world. Der’aval in contrast signifies the jealous
part of gratification. She hides away the things she worships. Only she may enjoy the magnificence of the
heavens. When they eventually betray
her, she destroys them for their disloyalty. Both are representations of
irrational, dangerous emotions. They are
two of the gods from what we call the Kah’ta’pakhq, the Inner Chorus that resides within every Vulcan.
Chapter
33: Honored By Time
The blushing hues of dawn stained the cliffs by the
time the Chamsat’ash-ur concluded
with the final act of the ceremony. The
turbulent images of the ash-ur’i,
channeled once again by Sarek, swirled through Amanda’s mind. The drama - a performance of rage, desire,
and passion - captivated all her senses.
The stage had become part arena, part temple, carved
by wind and restless sand from the surrounding rock face. Transposed by Sarek’s insight, his experience
and reverence, the past came alive. The
last vestiges of cool night fled before fiery day. Amanda heard wind chimes stir, felt the hot
breeze upon her cheek, whether in reality or imagination she could no longer
tell.
Before thee
is Koon-ut-kal-if-fee, the place of marriage and challenge. In the distant
past, we…killed to win our mates.
A distant gong resounded, complementing the lighter
tones of the wind chimes. Soon after, a
procession appeared among rocks at the arena’s periphery. At the head, four armored chariots swept in, pulled by huge beasts
that reminded Amanda of the hoof-toed triceratops of Earth history. The animals tossed their great triangular
heads; rough manes flying, snorting out huge plumes of hot vapor through
dilated nostrils.
She hardly required Sarek’s explanation that
followed her gasp of shock: They are khu’unla, used as war-mounts
previously, mostly riding animals now.
Her incredulity filtered through the link.
Khu’unla
can neither be domesticated or tamed, Miss Grayson. Their fondness for Kaferian apples however can
persuade them, on occasion, to carry someone they find interesting.
A cavalcade of mounted warriors both male and female
followed behind the war chariots. The
animals were not khu’unla this time
but an odd amalgam; a little like a horse with a long snout, or maybe a Terran
camel with a bit of giraffe thrown into the mix. They certainly looked alien with their long
necks, small heads, no fur and tough leathery hides.
Sarek’s thought came: They
are charah, grazing animals, first bred in the southern mountain region from this
period in history – more docile and less intelligent than the khu’unla, not so
fascinating to ride…but steadfast beasts.
Amanda leaned forward on the hard stone tier better
to see whom the warriors guarded so assiduously. Within the centre of the phalanx a girl rode,
head high, hands loosely clasped upon her thighs, poised and beautiful beyond
Terran standards. Her lissom grace
invited scrutiny and admiration. At the
girl’s side, mounted on another charah, sat a tall and muscular youth. Amanda knew them instantly; it was Anarchya and his betrothed, Ha’lei’ha, the Lady of Flowers.
Blinking and abstracted, Amanda stirred as if from
trance. She glanced at Sarek only to
find him already watching her.
They lived
long before Surak, Father of All We Became. Their story lives on through the ash-ur’i. But… thee already knows of them, I see…The
ska-plak chose accurately. He is Sarekhq
first of that name, a tribal princeling, she is…
Eyes once more upon the stage, Amanda absently
supplied, Ha’lei’ha.
That is a
denominate bestowed by Sarekhq because of the regard she bore for her
gardens. Her family name is recorded as
T’Piony ansho’ine ahr t’sulen kah T’Plek-ra, Honored by Time. And so she has become.
Their union
was arranged, as is our custom when both were but seven years of age. One touches the other – as thee has seen me
do to feel one another’s thoughts. Their
minds were locked together – so that at the proper time they would be drawn to
Koon-ut-kal-if-fee.
Below, the procession continued. Behind Sarekhq and Piony rode two more young
men, friends and bodyguard, each carrying a Vulcan war axe. In their wake, the rest of the marriage party
moved in majestic dignity to the accompaniment of tinkling bell banners and the
sombrous notes of the gong.
At the very last appeared another warrior, armored
and heavily muscled, the shaft of a lirpa grasped in his two hands.
He is
eksi’ha’vras and will act if duplicity is seen.
Sarekhq was son and heir of the tyrant Surok who ruled KhirAhl, Piony
the daughter of T’Plek-ra, priestess and matriarch of ShiKahr. Their Joining formed a potent alliance. Between them, they held major water
holdings. It shifted the balance of
power and caused a rift among the tribes
From out of the temple, a priestess emerged, flanked
by half a dozen handmaids, every one adorned in shimmering draperies.
Apart from
the bonding ceremony, all but a few of their closest friends believed that
neither Sarekhq nor Piony had met again, but both were skilled in
mind-talk. Their childhood bond held
true. Even over great distances they
were able to communicate…and more…
O0o
This flame that burns
inside of me
I'm hearing secret
harmonies
It’s a kind of magic
Chapter
34: The Stuff of Legend
Amanda’s gaze shifted from the drama beneath them to
Sarek’s face. His allure for her grew stronger each time their minds touched. The contact appeared so effortless, so wholly
natural – it seemed impossible to believe she had known him such a short
time. Now, his saturnine features spoke
of mysteries they shared, of possibilities known to them both, but which so far
remained undisclosed.
The world
beyond the portal…
His nod was barely perceptible: Indeed.
A quiver of secret excitement surged through Amanda
as she met Sarek’s eyes. Heat coloured
her cheeks as she acknowledged the understanding that at some time previously
he had also accessed the ska-plak’s
memories and experienced the intimate rendezvous between Anarchya and Ha’lei’ha.
Mellifluously serene, Sarek’s mind-voice continued. Separately
their power was almost negligible, combined it conjured another world. A’Tha’s
ways are indeed mysterious.
The sonorous
words echoed through Amanda’s psyche while Sarek continued to watch her, keenly
speculative. The spell was broken only
at the sound of chiming bells from the floor of the amphitheatre, followed soon
after by the deep male tones of the gong – a signal that the marriage ceremony
had ended - devoid of the violent incident half expected by Amanda.
With the guards replaced by the handmaids, Sarekhq
and T’Piony, hands, hearts and minds united, followed after the priestess into
the temple. In a thunder of charah hooves, chariot wheels and
throaty khu’unla bellows the rest of
the marriage party dispersed in the same way they had arrived.
Whispers on the wind, a contented sigh ran through
the audience. Soon after, to the
accompaniment of flute, drum and ka’ithirah
they too began to disband in a typically orderly Vulcan manner.
Sarek stood his hand beneath Amanda’s arm. After so much inactivity, her limbs had
stiffened. She discreetly stretched,
taking the moment to catch her breath and reorient to the modern world.
On the return journey, isolated scenes from the ash-ur’i continued to play through her
mind. She felt an urgent need to return
to her rooms at Sar-e-Kahr to find
out from the ska-plak what had ensued
for Sarekhq and T’Piony since their marriage.
At the maglev station, Sarek detained her fingers
again imperceptibly beneath her elbow. “Miss Grayson, if you are not too fatigued,
before you retire, I would speak with you about our future itinerary. The lake cavern will be most pleasant at this
time of day.”
Even the desire to consult the ska-plak could not
compete against an opportunity to be alone with Sarek. She acquiesced with an incline of her head. “Certainly, Kula’at.”
His lithe body moved with easy grace as they walked
together at the edge of the lake. Amanda
stared out across the water ostensibly searching for a glance of Abhijnansakuntala Sahasunaka Ihosy,
Sarek’s friend, while her mind
skittered over one conversational gambit after another.
Sarek finally broke the silence in his usual concise
manner. “You have questions to ask, Miss
Grayson.”
She had to tilt her chin to see his face. “You really must stop reading my mind, Kula’at! Terran women value their air of
mystique.”
His lips quirked. “As I have explained previously, it is not
your mind but your body language I ‘read’, Miss Grayson.”
“The Way of
Vhosh’anta, a most practical skill on
Vulcan,” she murmured in a rueful tone. Amanda scrutinized his enigmatic
features. “Perhaps someone could teach
me – the finer points at least…”
“Certainly. Your observational skills appear well
developed. It would only be a matter of
honing your natural abilities.”
“Thank you. I
did have a question…” Or fifty!
“It concerns the Chamsat’ash-ur?”
“More specifically the ash-ur’i…”
“Indeed.”
“What happened to them…Anarchya and his Lady, I mean?
Did they ‘live long and prosper’?”
The question may have been
inappropriate, may have violated the strict rules of privacy on Vulcan,
however, after the briefest of pauses, Sarek answered, soft voiced, and in an
oddly gentle tone. “The bond between
Sarekhq and T’Piony became legend. There
were three children over three cycles before Sarekhq eventually fell in
battle.”
The shock was so great Amanda’s eyes filled with
sudden tears. Hand to her breast, she
choked back a cry. “But … how could she
live …without him?”
“Severing the link in such a way can be… quite
devastating.” Sarek paused to stare over
the waters of the lake, his eyes shadowed.
After a moment, while Amanda also fought for restraint, he faced her
again, mellow voice now entirely composed.
“But you mistake me, Miss Grayson.
Though Sarekhq fell… he did not die…”
Chapter
35: The Legend
“Many saw him fall.
A few alleged they saw him die, including a young apprentice healer –
who, according to records from that time, later became part of T’Piony’s
household. However, word came within a
short time of Sarekhq’s removal from the field of battle that he still lived,
though his injuries were severe.
Legend states that it was Ayen-Valkathi, enraged by the potency of T’Piony and Sarekhq’s bond
– which rivaled the perfection of the gods themselves – who took mortal form
and struck Sarekhq down…”
Disoriented by fear, grief, and renewed hope, Amanda
questioned softly, “Ayen-Valkathi?”
Sarek’s eyebrow flared upward. Without reproach, he reminded her, “The Old
God of fire and … renewal. T’Piony pleaded with the Old One that whatever they
had done to earn such displeasure, she should pay the price.
“Upon hearing her cries, Ayen-Valkathi offered her a bargain - her katra in exchange for Sarekhq’s life.
“But T’Piony mistook the Old One’s words. The God laughed when she offered up her
mortality. Only when Sarekhq stirred
back to life within her arms, did she appreciate how grave her offence. One
lifetime could not compensate for Ayen-Valkathi’s
ire. He would allow both T’Piony and
Sarekhq the grace to live in Shen’ava’s
Gift until age finally withered them and they returned to Sha-ka-ree as must all such souls. Afterward, T’Piony would never more return to Ti-Valka’ain. Instead, her destiny would be to roam time and
space, a soul on the wind, pulled by the currents of the universe until she was
reborn across the vast expanse of stars on some distant planet.
“Der’aval, mischief-maker, intrigued by the
commotion between God and Mortal, intervened. Although she could not alter the
contract, for provocation she offered a jasif crystal, blue as T’Piony’s
startling gaze. Within the interstitial
crevices, she said, were stored memories captured through all of time when the
katras of Sarekhq and T’Piony had conjoined.
A thousand lifetimes hence, using the stone’s assistance, the parted
souls could again unite.
“After many years, T’Piony
had the jasif crystal created into a ska-plak.
As they lay finally within each other’s arms, she slipped the stone from
her dying hand into Sarekhq’s palm and closed his fingers about it. His mind brushed sweetly against hers one
last time: Ha’lei’ha, my Lady of Flowers…
“With the core of her soul,
she beseeched him with the thought: Anarchya,
S’haile, my t’hy’la…the skies are always less radiant when you are not with me,
the stars, they never shine as bright. I
will not spend all my forever without you. Through a hundred million faces, you
will see me shining. You know I glow
when you are close. Remember me, k’diwa. Come and find me when the time is
right…”
Chapter 36: Dreams Are Made of This
A memory triggered for
Amanda of San Francisco on that windswept day so long ago, a recollection - she
soon realized - that came from Sarek’s viewpoint and not her own. His thick, wool cloak swirled in the
flirtatious breeze about his long legs as he strode out the Residence door and
down the steps. Fitful sunlight
reflected dazzlingly off the cerulean expanse of open water in the bay – a sight
that still had the power to startle him - and flashed mirror bright from the
highly polished hood of a luxury Terran limousine parked across the
street. T’Askat and T’Vhosa with the
first consignment of Consulate children had arrived - somewhat awkwardly - with
the last of the furnishings.
The sudden incandescence
enticed his attention away from not only teachers, children and furniture
carrier but also the small inquisitive crowd gathered outside the Consulate
gates.
A child leaned from the
back window of the vehicle, face lit up in the reflected glow, the brightness
of her fixed gaze apparently for him alone.
Before the world stilled,
he peripherally noticed auburn braids tied with blue ribbons hanging from
beneath a round school hat balanced perilously on the back of the child’s head.
She wore white gloves made from a
delicate, decorative open work textile fabric – lace, the Terrans called it –
and a jacket too large for the thin shoulders. She was very young, yet her clear blue eyes
had an adult’s directness, a sophistication that belied her age.
Caught in the moment, held
by that gaze, Sarek stopped in mid stride.
Words resonated in his mind…
“Through a hundred million faces, you will see me
shining. You know I glow when you are
close. Remember me, k’diwa. Come and find me when the time is right…”
T’Piony’s last thoughts to
Sarekhq as they both lay dying imprinted on the ska-plak, the memory globe,
given him by T’Pau only days ago. He had
wondered at such a gift, pondered on T’Pau’s benevolence. As he isolated the surging emotions into the
beautifully serene patterned thoughts of pure logic, he heard again the
reed-thin fragility of T’Pau’s voice. It
was an illusory frailness, he knew well enough. Despite her great age even for
a long-lived Vulcan, her will remained indomitable. It was a brave soul – or a
foolish one - that spoke in opposition to that natural force.
She received him in her
offices, garbed in dark robes, a small woman leaning on the carved stick that
proclaimed her position as Eldest of both Family and Council. Fool he was, but despite his own desire to
further his research as an astrophysicist at the Vulcan Science Academy,
nothing he said had swayed her from the decision to send him to Earth in the
role of junior Cultural attaché.
Her regard had scorched him
more than the hot sands of the Sas-a-Shar. The coolness of her tone had seared his
affronted dignity. “Sarek, child of my
child, thy course is laid out. Thee may
resist but to no avail. Kaiidth, what
is, is.”
The ska-plak, rarest of
antiquities, had softened the blow. He
had never held one before, hardly seen one out of its protective casing. Such devices, developed many thousands of
years before, were a way to share telepathically experience and knowledge
without the deep intimacy of a mind-meld. The psionic skill necessary to mind-shape a
jasif crystal took exceptional artistry. Only the most adept of the Kolinahru assumed
such an undertaking in modern times.
From the first moment he
released the ska-plak from its case, the devise fascinated him. It gave up its secrets without the slightest
resistance. Yet, not until he saw the
Terran child had he comprehended the significance of both the gift and the
memories it held.
T’Pau, of course, had accessed
the globe. She believed the legend.
O0o
This rage that lasts a
thousand years
Will soon be done.
The waiting seems eternity
The day will dawn of sanity
Is this a kind of magic?
Chapter 37: The Flame Inside
“So you did recognize me.”
“In what context?”
Amanda could almost see the
twinkle in his eyes. She laughed softly,
delighted at his joke. “At the terminal,
on Earth, of course.”
“Indeed.”
She wrinkled her nose at
him. “Is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?”
“I have the benefit of an
accurate and vivid recall, Miss Grayson.”
“Then why didn’t you
acknowledge me? Show some sign…”
“One must use one’s
resources in the most effective manner.”
Several pieces of the
puzzle abruptly slotted into place. “Is
that why you chose Mike to meet me on Space Central? You were studying me! Us!”
“You have been under
observation since that first encounter, Amanda. But essentially, you are correct. It was only logical to analyze your
reaction... and that of Gorsky. I am
considering him, with Miss Kaladin and Miss Ghoshal, as members of my
diplomatic personnel. As you may
appreciate I require associates of the utmost reliability and integrity.”
Amanda shook her head,
partly amused, partly chagrined. “I
appreciate that you wanted to be sure of me - especially if T’Pau really
accepts that you and I are the reincarnated spirits of T’Piony and
Anarchya! But I’ve yet to hear what you
consider true, Kula’at!”
His
profile as he gazed over the lake displayed a pride that was unyielding. Despite his youthful appearance, the marks of
his austere upbringing had already etched his features. He would always transmute the vulnerability of
love, the passion of joy into the clarity of absolute reason. Long ago, in early childhood he had learned
never to cry, not even within his private self.
He had trained in techniques that helped him withstand weariness, or
grief, or pain. Logic would always
over-rule emotion. If he was the
transformed soul of T’Piony’s daemon lover, he was a far more sophisticated
version.
“All life is One according
to a’Tha’s creed, Amanda. Similar
philosophies exist on your world, I understand.
Is it not part of the teachings of, for example, Buddhism and
Hinduism? There were also Christian
heresies - such as the Cathars, among others.
Even the ancient Egyptians and Greeks…Plato’s Myth
of Er describes souls judged immediately after death and sent either to the
heavens for a reward or underground for punishment. After their respective judgments have been
enjoyed or suffered, the souls transmigrate.”
“You’re very learned on
Earth history and religions, Sarek. But
I’m not T’Piony…I’m not Vulcan.” There
was defiance in her tone as well as a subtle challenge.
He agreed with an
inclination of his head. ”Whatever the
belief of others, we can only live the life given to us as individuals. You are, and will always be, Amanda Carynese
Grayson, Earth-woman - as I am Sarek, ansh’oine au t’skon s’kahri T’Phra. That
will not change.”
Mollified, feet planted a little more firmly on
solid ground, she reflected. “So, Where
does that leave us? Where do we go from
here?”
Keen
eyes searched her face. The lines either side of his mouth deepened as his lips
faintly stretched in that odd suggestion of a smile.
An
eyebrow flicked upward. “Is that not a
question for a’Tha? We are what we are, but perhaps… it would not be too
illogical… if we both allowed a tiny flame of who they were burn within
us.”
He
stepped closer and Amanda felt electricity arc between them. “Before I went to Earth, T’Pau implied that my
destiny was sealed. Even if she was
mistaken, and resistance was possible, I believe you would still be my choice,
Amanda Carynese Grayson.”
“Your choice?” Her heart soared abruptly with excitement and
yet an image burned in her memory of Sarek as a child climbing Seleya’s Steps
with T’Reah at his side. “You mean as
another member of your diplomatic staff?”
“Obduracy does you no
credit, Miss Grayson.” A bright mockery
invaded his stare. He was close now, so
close his cinnamon scented breath fanned her cheek. “I require you as my non-diplomatic wife.”
“Aren’t you already
married… to Sybok’s mother, T’Reah.” There, it was out in the open. Amanda’s hands, palms flat on his chest, held
him at bay. Her eyes sparked with blue
fire while the blood pounded between her temples at her own audacity.
He held her gaze. Somehow, his arms had managed to encircle her
waist, one hand in the small of her back. “A…most painful mistake. We annulled
our bond before Sybok’s birth with the intervention of a skilled reldai. T’Reah is now Kolinahru, an Adept of Gol. She
has renounced all ties and emotional associations.”
Amanda searched his face,
and received a frank and open appraisal that was hauntingly familiar. The arms around her were tight but she hardly
noticed. “And have you done the same, Kula’at
Sarek?”
“Indeed, I have.”
“If I returned to Earth,
would you find it painful to let me go, S’haile?”
His impressive brows drew
together. “Is that what you intend to
do?”
She raised her hand to
brush at the wayward hair that curled upon his brow, trailed fingers across his
temple spreading them wide until she encompassed his katra points. Sarek
followed her example until they linked mind to mind.
Her soul converged with his
across time and space: I will never leave
thee, my t’hy’la, S’haile, Anarchya…
And I will never let thee go, Ha’lei’ha. I have waited far too long to find thee…Even
death shall not part us now.
The End
Should I ever leave this
world before you do
When you follow, you must
cross your heart and promise …
Find me...
Look hard, never stop; I'll
be waiting until then
Do not sleep, and do not
eat until I am back in your arms again
Find me...
I've tried to tell this
world how much I love you.
But they don’t understand
how deep it goes.
I can’t even find the words
to tell you
So I’m the only one who
really knows.
And though we have our
times together, I am always wanting more
So if we are separated
please do just like before…
Find me...
Through a hundred million
faces, you ‘ll see me shining through.
Because I’ll glow when you
are close, I always do.
So please I entreat you on
bended knee…
We can share our love
through all eternity
Because with you is all I
ever want to be...
Find me.
O0o
Many thanks to Mary Stacy, (aka Fardreaming), for
her great help and creativity in researching the legend of T’Piony and
Sarekhq.
O0o
Lexicon:
Ayen-Valkathi – Ancient Vulcan God of Fire and new
beginnings. He gave Vulcan her true
name.
Katra – Vulcan Soul
Sha-ka-ree – Home of Gods and bodiless souls.
Shen’ava – God of love, joy and beauty.
Der’aval – Covetous aspect of joy.
Ti-Valka’ain – Vulcan (the world and the people.)
Ska-plak – memory globe.
Anarchya – Daemon
T’hy’la – Vulcan term of friendship (pronounced
T-high-la)
Ha’lei’ha –
Flower Lady (Courtesy of Mary Stacy)
S’haile – Masculine term of respect (Mr. / sir.)
K’diwa - half of my heart and soul
O0o