Fic: Everything Was Beautiful; Nothing Hurt, Chapter 11
Title: Everything Was Beautiful; Nothing Hurt... or Even More Kin and Even Less Kind
Chapter Title: Chapter 11: Ooh, Grandma. You Nasty.
Author: katiemariie
Artist: tprillahfiction
Fanmixer: civilbloodshed
Beta(s): subluxate and avsioss
Link to Art: Art
Link to Mix: Fanmix
Word Count: 9k
While certainly deromulanizing, by not looking up from her PADD, the immigration officer was a refreshing change in pace from the gawping masses of Palatine. “Full name.”
“Spurius Colius Keras.”
“Place of birth.”
“Romulan Star Empire Space Station Four.”
“Current citizenship.”
“Do you honestly think I would come here if I held citizenship anywhere else?”
The immigration official cast a withering look over her PADD-an expression that soon turned into shock and confusion. “Excuse me.” She picked up the comm on her desk. “T’Ngu here. Is Ambassador Sarek currently on planet? Thank you.” She put the comm away, and held up two fingers in the air. Before Keras knew it, two security officers were standing behind him. “Please take this man to interrogation room one. He is a possible code two-ten.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Keras asked, as the security officers led him away. “Why am I being detained? What is a code two-ten?”
-
“Fascinating,” Sarek murmured.
“I thought you would like to see it for yourself, sir,” Detective zh’Vreni said.
“Thank you.”
“We’ll also need to microchip you now, sir.”
“Excuse me?”
“Only temporarily, sir. If he consents to a DNA test, or we find some other tangible way of telling you apart, you can have the chip removed.”
“I am a citizen of this planet, you cannot-”
“It’s standard procedure, sir.”
“I am well aware. I was on the emergency policy committee that wrote the procedure.”
“Irony’s a bitch, sir.”
-
“He looks exactly like you?” Sybok asked.
“Yes. His hair is darker.”
“Jesus,” McCoy cursed.
“Do you have any idea how he got here?” Uhura asked.
“No. Planetary security has launched a full investigation.”
“It is possible, then,” Spock said, “that he has come through the Ah’rak black hole.”
“It is entirely possible.”
“We need to prepare ourselves for the possibility of further incursions from the mirror universe,” T’Pring said.
“Hell, any universe!” McCoy exclaimed. “We don’t know how many other there are, or how many of them can come through that damn black hole.”
“We’re sitting ducks,” M’Benga said grimly.
“Who’s to say that everything that comes through that black hole is necessarily evil?” Christine asked. “That’s how we think Data got here.”
“Yeah,” Sybok said brightly. “Maybe someone from a really nice universe will come though. Or a trampoline.”
-
“I have told you repeatedly, I am Spurius Colius Keras, former Romulan military Commander. I have never heard of this Sarek of Vulcan.”
The Andorian detective stared at him intently. “What universe are you from?”
“What universe? Are you mad? There’s only one universe. That’s why it’s called the universe.”
“Do you consent to a DNA test?”
“I’ll consent to anything if it will get me out of this room.”
-
The Romulan military personnel manager guffawed for two-point-eight minutes when T’Pring asked him to look up their prisoner. It was disconcerting to see a Vulcanoid face that was not Sybok’s fall into hysterics. “Has my question triggered some involuntary laughter reflex in your species?”
Wiping the tears from his eyes, the Romulan regained composure. “That man, Keras, he’s the bastard son of the praetor. He was banished for showing cowardice in the line of duty. The only reason he’s not dead is that held favor with his father. I can send over military records if you’d like a good laugh.”
-
If Geoff had been holding something, he would have dropped it. Sarek and Keras’ DNA samples were not identical, but their mitochondrial DNA matched. Geoff sloughed it off as a shared maternal ancestor before the Vulcan-Romulan split, but after comparing Keras’ sample to T’Pau’s DNA (she was an originator of an immortal cell line Geoff used often in his research), Geoff could say with 99.99% certainty that Sarek and Keras shared a mother. They were half-brothers.
-
“You’re free to beam down to the planet, if you wish,” the detective said. “Ambassador T’Pring apologizes for the delay in processing you.”
-
As a doctor contracted by planetary security, Geoff couldn’t share the results of his tests with anyone except the officers completing the investigation and Keras. Technically, he shouldn’t have performed the second test on Keras’ sample, but professional curiosity got the best of him. It was a good thing it did, because otherwise he wouldn’t have tested Keras’ sample for the Bendii gene, and, in a hundred years, his brain would have deteriorated to half its size.
Geoff was obligated to tell Keras about this development and offer him treatment. If Keras asked the right questions that allowed Geoff to unload this giant burden, that would be secondary.
Geoff pressed the chime outside Keras’ hostel room. The door slid open. “Who are you?” Keras asked suspiciously.
“I’m Dr. Geoffrey M’Benga. I performed your DNA test today.”
Keras snorted. “Come to get more blood?”
“No, I’m not here as a medical examiner. I’m here as a physician. May I come in?”
“By all means.” Keras ushered him in. The room was small and sparsely decorated: a chair, a bed, a table, a dresser. “Sit.”
“Yes.”
“What is this about?”
“Your DNA test revealed that you’re at a heightened risk of developing Bendii syndrome later in life.”
“Bendii? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a degenerative neurological condition found in elderly Vulcans.”
“Is there record of this condition occurring amongst Romulans?”
“No. My research shows that the gene for Bendii developed due to a virus that swept Vulcan after the Romulan exodus.”
“I must make a very valuable specimen, then. The first Romulan with Bendii.”
“You don’t have Bendii yet, just the allele that codes for it, but I can treat that... And, strictly speaking, you’re not a Romulan.”
Keras grimaced. “Yes. No longer. Not after the praetor,” he spat the word, “revoked my citizenship.”
“I don’t mean civilly.”
“What do you mean?”
Yes, a question. “Genetically, you are half-Vulcan on your mother’s side.”
“My mother’s...? My mother was an Aventinian whore, not some Vulcan woman.” Geoff had heard T’Pau called many things-an “Aventinian whore” was never one of them. “You must be mistaken. Or mad.”
“I’m not mistaken.” The jury was out on the latter claim. “I’m the pre-eminent Vulcan geneticist.”
“If you’re as skilled as you claim, why aren’t you on the colony?”
Geoff gulped. “The Vulcan Medical Board and I had some disagreements about end of life care.”
Keras leaned in closer to Geoff, squinting his eyes like there was small print written on Geoff’s forehead. “You’re him. I’ve heard about you.” Keras leaned back, smiling. “You’re-what did the Federation press call you? You’re Dr. Kevulcian! The poor bastard who got kicked off the planet for euthanizing all those old Vulcans. I’m going to like you.”
“I wasn’t kicked off... They asked me to leave.”
“You’re a smarter man than I. I wouldn’t leave until I had the butt of a phaser rifle to my back.” Keras opened a dresser drawer, and pulled out a bottle of blue liquid. “Join me in a drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m supposed to stay home with the kids tonight.”
“You have children?”
“Yeah, two.” He took his hospital ident chip from his pocket, and showed the holos projected from the backside to Keras. “They’re adopted... The one on the left, Saavik, she’s a Vulcan-Romulan hybrid, too.”
“The difference is imperceptible.”
“It’s not something you can see unless you’re looking at the molecular level, and, even then, you have to be trying to find it.”
“Still, you think I would have noticed. I’m not a telepath... My sash was very expensive, I’ll have you know.”
Geoff grinned. “I didn’t say anything about your sash.”
“I thought I heard you.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Not terribly often.”
“I bet you never got the Terothka virus, not even when everyone else around you had it.”
“No, not once.”
“Hybrids are immune to viruses that target a single aspect of their heritage, in the same way many animal viruses cannot affect sentient life. That’s how my daughters survived the attack on Hellguard. The virus was crafted to affect Romulans, Vulcans, and Klingons, but not Romulan-Vulcan or Klingon-Vulcan hybrids.”
Keras took a slug of ale. “Fascinating story, brother. But what good does being Vulcan do me? The Vulcan colony won’t naturalize me, not that I would stoop so low. And the likelihood of having any living Vulcan kin is incredibly small.”
“Actually...”
-
Keras was more than a little drunk when he decided to pay his dear brother a visit. The doctor had warned him not to rush into anything with these people; the family, apparently, had just recently regained the ability to assemble in one room without martial combat. His presence might upset that delicate balance. Keras took this advice to heart, but once the doctor returned home and Keras’ bottle was empty, waiting for the right moment became unbearable. So he stumbled his way across the small city to the downtown area, where the colony’s elite lived. It was unlike any downtown on Romulus. There were large yards, open space, prefabricated housing sitting beside construction sites for more permanent homes. Sarek’s home, he was told, was one of the last in the neighborhood to begin construction, and wasn’t expected to be completed for a few months. Apparently, Sarek had his doubts about Sha-Ka-Ree. (Such a name.)
As he ambled to the front door, Keras marveled at this once great man-if the doctor was to be believed-reduced to living in the modern equivalent of a double-wide, to use the Terran term. He pressed the doorbell, and within moments he was looking at a slightly-older mirror image. He grabbed Sarek by the shoulders. “Brother.”
“Unhand me, if you intend on retaining all of your phalanges.”
“That’s no way to speak to family.”
“I understand your naturalization was delayed due to our resemblance, but there is no need to harass me at my own home.”
“I’m not harassing you; I’m embracing you.” To make his point, Keras wrapped his arms around Sarek and rested his head on his shoulder. “This is how it should be: family, closeness, hugging.”
“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that we are somehow related.”
“I’m not mistaken.” He let go of Sarek, stepping away. “The pre-eminent Vulcan geneticist told me we shared a mother. We’re half-brothers.” He pulled a miniPADD from his pocket, and shoved it into Sarek’s hands. “It’s all on there.”
Sarek looked over the PADD, scowling in the manner common to his-their-species, before giving it back. “I require a second opinion. I will perform the test myself.” He plucked a hair from Keras’ head. “This shall suffice. I will contact you with the results.” Sarek stared at him expectantly. “Go on then. Return to your home.”
-
The next morning, Sarek was at Keras' hostel door. “It appears we are related. May I enter?”
“Of course.” Keras reclined on his futon. “Take a seat.”
“I would prefer to stand.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Do you know how T'Pau came to be your mother?”
“I assume by having sex with my father.”
“Praetor Colius?”
“Yes. Although, he wasn't praetor at the time.”
“When do you estimate the date of conception?”
Keras did some mental math. “2169.8.”
“T'Pau was representing the Federation at the Romulan accords during that time.”
“Colius represented Romulus there.”
“They would have been in close contact.”
“Very close contact, it seems.”
“T'Pau returned to Vulcan on 2171.6. You would have been one-point-four years old.”
“That explains why I have no memory of her.”
“The time you spent with her as an infant should have been sufficient to develop a maternal bond, if she nursed you.”
Keras looked mildly disgusted. “I doubt my father would have allowed that.”
“I had forgotten the peculiar Romulan distaste for breast feeding.”
“It is not our tradition. And I can say with certainty that the Romulan accords would not have been a success, if the Federation representative went around breast feeding a babe.”
“Then you would not have developed a maternal bond with T'Pau, and your telepathy would remain an infantile state.”
“Telepathy is passed through mother's milk?” Keras snarked.
“The maternal bond forged through nursing grounds the chaotic telepathy of the neonate in the logic of interpersonal relationships. This is why Vulcan society reveres the mother. Without her, we would be isolated, anarchic beings. In a word: Romulans.”
“Oh!” Keras grabbed at his abdomen, faking a swoon. “You wound me with your carefully pointed words.” He grinned at Sarek openly. “Come now. Let us not swipe at one another like a couple of set’leth. I didn’t come to you looking for an enemy. I have enough of those as it is.”
“For what reason, then, did you come to me?”
“I want in.”
“Into what?”
“This family arrangement you have. It’s something I’ve never been party to, but the whole business sounds... fascinating.”
“You have conception of what you are asking. Individually, these people are deeply trying. Together, they are impossible.”
“I’ve never been one to turn down a challenge.”
-
Citing their last disastrous family gathering, Sarek suggested meeting with his newfound extended family in small groups to reduce the risk of conflict. First up were Sarek’s oldest children and their sister. (Keras was not entirely sure how that arrangement worked out.) If the encounter went well, he could meet their children, spouses, and robots.
They convened at the house of Sarek’s eldest son, who quickly led him down to the basement to see the others: the half-Human androgyne and the diplomat.
“Come, sit.” Sybok plopped down onto what looked like a roughly spherical sack of dry goods. The other two were each sitting on one of those objects, as well.
“Here?” Keras gestured to the fourth sack.
“Yes.”
Keras awkwardly settled onto the sack. “Are these common chairs in Vulcan culture?”
“No, they’re a Human invention. They have beans inside. Not real beans. Not edible beans. You can’t eat them. You won’t get sick, but people will laugh at you.”
“Even Julius knows not to eat the furniture,” Spock said.
“Julius is Spock’s pet goat,” T’Pring explained.
“I see.”
“I am curious to know how you did not realize you were half-Vulcan sooner.”
Spock nodded. “There are certain physiological occurrences unmistakable for Vulcan.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are hormonal...” Spock looked down at his feet.
“The reproductive cycle,” T’Pring started, “is...” Her face froze, her eyes unblinking.
“Do you get an uncontrollable urge to fuck roughly every seven years?” Sybok asked.
Keras smirked. “More often than that.”
“How often?” Spock asked, his head snapping up to face Keras. “When did you first experience this urge? What were the symptoms?”
“Do you seriously want me to elaborate on my sex life?”
“If it will give me insight into when my daughter will have her Time, then yes.”
“Time for what?”
“Time is a euphemism for the mating urge experience by all Vulcans about every seven years,” Sybok said. “It’s called pon farr. Spock wants to know if you ever experienced it to see if Vulcan-Romulans do.”
Keras thought for a moment. “I do seem to take a new lover every five years.”
“When did this cycle begin?” Spock asked.
“Probably when I was around forty.”
“Forty,” Spock repeated, relaxing into his bean chair. “Forty is acceptable.”
“Do not speak of this to anyone else,” T’Pring instructed. “It is not something we discuss.”
“Why not?” asked Keras.
“It is... embarrassing.”
Keras would have pushed the issue further, but, perhaps through osmosis, the topic was beginning to embarrass him. He didn’t know much else he should talk about. What was there to say to your long lost brother’s grown children? Sarek’s other child-the baby girl-was much easier to converse with. Surely, Keras couldn’t pretend to steal Spock’s nose. The others were similarly at a loss of words-or maybe Vulcan family gatherings consisted on sitting in the same room and not saying a word. That would not surprise Keras.
After one minutes and twenty-two seconds-Keras was always excellent at telling time without a chronometer-the eldest son spoke up, grinning mischievously, “I have a very bad idea.”
“You speak as if you have any other kind,” Spock said, but his tone was light, almost teasing.
“The girls are completely weaned, right?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear.” Sybok crawled out his bean chair over to a trunk in the corner of the room. He stared at it for a moment, and the padlock looked to just drop open. He rummaged through the trunk until he found his prize, which he held up for all to see: a small glass sculpture and a transparent bag of dried spice Keras had never seen before.
“You keep that in your home?” T’Pring asked. “Charlie could find it.”
“And do what with it? Make friends with the neighbor’s cat?” Sybok crawled back over to his chair, placing the sculpture and the spices between the four of them. “And, besides, if Charlie wants to experiment with drugs, he can make his own.” His eyes flicked over at Keras nervously. “Get his own. From his friends. Or off the street... People leave drugs in the street.”
“I will have to watch where I step then,” Keras said.
Sybok fiddled with the sculpture, filling it with water and the spice. “Light.” The spices in one of the receptacles on the sculpture ignited. “Self-lighting. I got it on Ferenginar. Any takers?”
Lightning quick, Spock snatched up the sculpture, and covered the top with his mouth, causing a curious bubbling sound. After a pause, he passed it over to T’Pring, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Satisfactory. Entirely too much time has elapsed since I last indulged.”
T’Pring stared at the object-Keras gathered it was some kind of pipe for smoking drugs-in her hands dubiously. “I should not.”
“It’s not illegal,” Sybok said.
“Even still, I am an elected official.”
“I hear it doesn’t count if you don’t inhale.”
“Very well.”
-
While on his daily walk with Ainsley, Sarek spied Keras standing on Sybok’s porch--or, veranda, as Dr. McCoy insisted it be called--talking with Spock, Sybok, and T’Pring. They were all perfectly relaxed, laughing, smiling, hugging one another. Spock appeared more at ease in that moment than Sarek had ever seen him. The only variable: Keras. If Sarek were less evolved, he would have been jealous.
Which he most definitely was not.
-
The preliminary meeting a success, Keras was permitted to move onto the next generation of the family: his grandnieces, grandnephew, and grandandroid. (Grandroid?) Counter to his expectations, the siblings determined that the baby grandnieces would cope with meeting a strange man who resembled their grandfather. As such, he was to meet them first.
Under Spock and Dr. M’Benga’s careful supervision, Keras sat down beside the girls in their playroom. “Hello.” The children barely looked up from their blocks. “I am Keras. May I join you?”
“Yes,” the half-Romulan said, but the other one launched a building block at his forehead, causing Saavik to dissolve into a fit of giggles.
“Valeris,” Spock scolded, “we do not throw hard objects at other beings. Apologize to Keras.”
Valeris harrumphed, before climbing onto Keras’ lap. She pressed two fingers onto the spot where the block collided with his head. “Sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
“You can play. The red blocks are mine.”
“Thank you.”
The rest of their “playdate” went well.
-
“So, you’re like Sarek’s long lost identical half-brother?” the Human boy asked.
“Approximately.”
“Cool.” Charlie looked up at Sybok’s spouse, who was hovering around them in the kitchen. “Can I go now?”
Dr. McCoy cursed. “Would it kill you to act like a Human being? Show some manners for god’s sake.”
“Fine,” Charlie sighed. “Why’d you get kicked off Romulus?”
“Charlie!”
“It’s a valid question!”
“It’s all right,” Keras said. “I am not ashamed of what I did.”
“What’d you do?”
“I refused to partake in a covert mission that would destroy several Federation outposts. The Enterprise was patrolling the sector during that time; the mission would mean certain death to me, my crew, and every being on the outposts. Not to mention the possibility that wandering into Federation territory could spark a war between our two empires.”
“They threw you off the planet for that?”
“Yes. I was fortunate really. Any other man would have been put to death.”
“That’s fucked up. D’you ever play RuneScape?”
The boy was just as easy to win over as the girls; just feign interest in their completely pointless game.
-
The android seemed to like Keras instantly, as much as a machine could like anything. He wasn’t certain if Data was programmed to like everyone he met, or, if Keras had pressed a button or something. T’Pring’s Human wife was more cautious-polite and friendly, but cautious. She was leaning on the archway between the living room and kitchen, watching Data carefully.
“Although you look almost identical, you are much more agreeable than Sarek,” Data observed.
“Do you not like Sarek?”
“Unknown. It is difficult to make a meaningful judgment regarding compatibility when the vast majority of our social interactions involve the ambassador informing me that I am devolving through my pursuit of Human emotion or telling me to remove my person from his lawn.”
“My brother is a man very much set in his ways. I have not known him long, but I can tell that much.”
“Are you not ‘set in your ways’?”
“I do not believe I yet know what my ways are.”
“Self-actualization is a lifelong pursuit.”
“You might be right.”
“I would not say anything that I did not estimate to have a high probability of being true.”
“Androids don’t lie.”
“Nor do Vulcans... Do Romulans lie?”
“Sparingly, and only when it is to our advantage.”
“Is that why Praetor Colius misled you concerning the identity of your mother?”
“It would seem so. I imagine he did not want his affair with a Vulcan revealed to the public. He couldn’t have his illegitimate son running off to Vulcan to visit mommy... As if T’Pau would have even acknowledged me. I think they agreed it was the best for their careers that my parentage remain a secret.”
“Does knowing that give you hurt feelings?”
“No. I’ve long been numb to the effects of the praetor’s rejections and machinations. I have learned not to expect much from him.”
“What about Matriarch T’Pau? Do you feel nothing about her abandonment of you?” While Data spoke these probing questions with an even, polite tone, Keras got the distinct impression his answers were being incorporated into a vast network of appropriate emotional responses collected by Data in an almost scientific fashion.
“If I feel anything about T’Pau, it is regret for not knowing her. Had I known before she died, I would have liked to meet her at least once to determine her character.”
“You can ask others about Matriarch T’Pau. There are several people on planet who knew her quite well. While their responses will in no way be objective, they could still be helpful in discovering T’Pau’s character.”
It was disconcerting that out of the three meetings Keras held with the youngest generation of the family, the only person to truly engage with him as a sentient individual was the android.
-
Having made his way through the entire extended family, Keras decided to take Data’s advice and interview others about his mother.
“How did you know Matriarch T’Pau?” he asked repeatedly.
T’Pring blinked slowly, before answering. “We were lovers for two years, but I ended our relationship after she tried to give me to her son.”
Dr. M’Benga scratched the back of his neck. “She charged me with serial murder, and told people to spit on me in the street.”
Sybok sighed. “She had me thrown off the planet.”
“I do not think she was terribly fond of me,” Spock said. “She once told me I took after my mother’s side of the family-the ugly side.”
“T’Pau...” Elder Spock stared off into the distance. “She was unafraid of using her clout to her advantage.”
“When we met for the first time,” Sarek’s wife said, “she glared at me and said, ‘Another Human?’”
“I was never close to my mother,” Sarek said. “She was off planet on business for most of my childhood. Once I reached majority, I was sent to England to study linguistics and diplomacy. I did not see her again until Sybok was born.”
-
After a month, Keras felt a bit more at home on Sha-Ka-Ree. He had moved out of the hostel into an apartment in Little Aventine, where he was welcomed with open arms by the pacifist Romulan population. The family seemed more comfortable with him, but he was no expert in comfort or families. He was even invited to partake in something called “football” by Spock-a Terran sport that had gained quite a following amongst Vulcans and across the galaxy.
The rules, as Spock explained them, were simple enough, but the android had some objections. “It is hardly fair that I, as the goalie, should be allowed to touch the ball with my hands when others cannot. Why not permit all the players to hold the ball in their hands?”
“Then,” Spock explained, “it would not be called football.”
“I see. It still does not strike me as an equitable distribution of abilities within the game. I intend to write my representative about this injustice.”
“Will you still play?”
“Yes. Although I am generally opposed to upholding any hierarchy of privileges, I forswore that I would assist you in this capacity.” Data toddled off to his goalpost.
“We would not use him, if we did not require a goalie who could keep up with Vulcan athletes.”
“Why not recruit another Vulcan?” Keras asked.
“The increased hand sensitivity in Vulcans makes sports that involve catching projectiles in one’s hand particularly painful.”
“Hence why football is such a popular sport amongst Vulcans.”
“Correct. How do Romulans compensate for their dextral sensitivity in athletics?”
“We do not. Pain is part of the game.”
“I believe that philosophy is in keeping with the Terran culture surrounding football.” Spock nodded at one of the other players. “Take your position now.”
-
Sarek did not often join the colony on one of their “field days,” but Ainsley had grown bored with the interior of their home and the familiar path they tread on their walks. So, it was off to the central park for them, where all manner of athletic events and games were being played: football, wheelchair basketball, Vulcan sport. Having become a fan of the sport during his time at Oxford, Sarek made his way to the football field to watch the match. He set Ainsley down in one of those microbe infested sandboxes beside the field, and joined the crowd watching from the sidelines, careful to keep an eye on his daughter.
By pure happenstance, he ended up standing next to T’Pring and Uhura, who were cheering for Data. (“Wooo! Go Data!” “Catch the ball in your hands. Do not permit it to enter the goal, lest you desire the other team to achieve victory.”) Dr. M’Benga was on the other side of him, having just placed Valeris and Saavik in the sandbox. He watched Spock with a confused intensity, as if he was observing a primitive ritual performed by the natives of a distant planet.
Looking away from the bystanders and onto the field, Sarek saw Keras playing, passing the ball, working with Spock as a pair. Sarek wondered why he had not been invited to join the game with them. What made Keras a more desirable teammate? Sarek was Spock's father; surely their familial bond would grant Sarek greater insight into Spock's strategy than Keras ever could as a half-uncle he had just met.
“Uhura, did Spock talk to you about the project he's working on?” Dr. M'Benga asked, speaking around Sarek as if he did not exist.
“No, we've both been a little busy with Keras.”
Sarek had almost blocked it entirely from his memory; Keras was being tutored individually on various aspects of Vulcan culture: language from Uhura, logic from T'Pring, music from Spock, and telepathy from Sybok. While the thought of the children (that is what Sarek saw them as, no matter how old or unrelated they were) sharing intellectual intimacy with Keras was trying, the mental image of Sybok and Keras mind melding was almost unbearable. That was his child, not Keras'. And, although he never made occasion to meld with either Sybok or Spock, the absence was not indicative of a lack of want. Perhaps, going as far as need. Melding with his sons was something Sarek had always put off for a later time. He could not meld with Sybok until he mastered his emotions concerning T'Rea's death, lest the boy find out how his mother truly died. Now that Sybok knew and had seen the depth of his father's love for him, Sarek felt exposed, cut open like a fish being cleaned prior to consumption. He could not approach Sybok in this vulnerable state and let him see into his mind without Sarek crumbling down in front of him. He was to wait. As for Spock, Sarek could not meld with him during his childhood with having to do the same with Sybok. Once Sybok was exiled, Sarek was so accustomed to guarding himself from Spock that melding was unthinkable.
Now, his self-restraint was being rewarded. He was to bear witness to the man who had stolen his mother away for many years take Sarek's children from him as well.
Once the match had ended (Data had somehow become lost in the woods in his journey from the goal to the sidelines), Sarek took Ainsley home to perform their evening mind meld. My child, my child. How I love thee...
-
After Data was found and dried off (his GPS navigation system apparently told him to walk into a lake), Nyota swung by Spock and Geoff's place to hear more about this project.
“The cargo containers arrived last week,” Spock said, opening one of the massive trunks. “We had only just begun to sort through them when we found their personal records.”
“We didn't have time to listen to all of them,” Geoff said.
“It would take approximately two weeks without breaks for sleeping and eating to accomplish that feat.”
“But we figured we might as well start playing them for the girls.” Geoff removed a holoprojector from the trunk, and placed it on the floor, where it projected a three dimensional image of a Klingon woman.
“That's Valeris' mother?” Nyota asked.
“Yeah. Take a listen.” Geoff swiped his hand through the image, and it began to move and speak.
Listening carefully-linguists always listened carefully-Nyota heard words with which she was not familiar. Something about a virus and genetic mutation-topics only Spock and Geoff would think interesting to a two-year-old. “I might need Worf's help with this one. It's pretty esoteric.”
“That's what we figured.” Geoff placed another chip in the holoprojector, and out came the images of a Vulcan woman and a Romulan man, Saavik's parents. “Spock was hoping for a second opinion on this one.”
Nyota watched the holo, and by the end, for one of the few times in her life, she was speechless.
“We assume this research is the basis for their banishment from Romulus and Vulcan respectively,” Spock said.
Nyota found her voice, albeit in a raspier form. “Has Starfleet viewed this?”
Spock shook his head. “They were only permitted to decontaminate and identify the inheritors of the objects. I doubt the enlisted personnel assigned with that duty speak Low Romulan.”
“If this information becomes public...”
“The Romulan accords could crumble to pieces. That is why we must verify their research, lest we spark a war with false information.”
“Better to start a war with real information,” Geoff muttered.
-
“What you have to remember about telepathy-don’t fidget. Jesus, Spock. Do you want me to fit these pants or not?”
“I apologize,” Spock said. “I will endeavor to breathe less.”
Sybok rolled his eyes, and looked back over at Keras. “Right. Telepathy. What was I saying?”
“Something I had to remember about telepathy,” Keras said.
“Okay. Telepathy has to be used responsibility, or you will become evil and die. The main goal of any telepath is to not be captured and experimented on. With great power comes great responsibility.” He glanced up at Spock. “How do they feel?”
“The pants fit well.”
“Good. You sure you don’t want a skirt?”
“Skirts are hardly functional. I still do not understand why these pants do not have pockets.”
“They’re Terran women’s dress pants; they don’t come with pockets.”
“Do Terran women not carry small objects with them?”
“They have those bag things. I’ll make you a purse, if you want.”
“Thank you.”
“I can teach you to sew.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“God, you and Leonard. Completely helpless. How could you live on your own for so long without learning how to cook or sew?”
“I understood that food and clothing, like many other goods and services, could be obtained through the exchange of currency.”
“Well, not all of us had Mother wiring credits to our accounts. You can take those off now.”
Spock stepped behind a partition to change. “I have recent information that might prove interesting to both of you.”
“Oh?” Keras said.
“Drawing from preliminary research performed by Saavik’s parents, Geoffrey and I have discovered that the sequence of genes that code for telepathy in the Vulcan species also translate to lower fertility.”
“Spock,” Sybok sighed. “Why would you ever think I would be interested in any of your research?”
“This research may come to reflect poorly on Vulcan society. Anything that functions in that capacity should be of interest to you.”
“How could the Vulcan genome cause negative judgment of the race?” Keras asked. “Wouldn’t that fracture the Federation’s carefully crafted species-blind ideology?”
“It is not the genes in and of themselves that could result in backlash. They support a new theory of how and why the Vulcan-Romulan split occurred that would not show Vulcan society in a positive manner.” Spock walked out from behind the partition, fully dressed in his usual street clothes. “The gene sequence for telepathy is largely absent in Romulans, resulting in higher fertility rates. This is, perhaps, why expansionism is so vital to Romulan culture.”
“They need more room to house their higher population,” Sybok said.
“Exactly.”
“I’m usually very competent at finding any flaw in Vulcan culture, but I don’t see it here.”
“We have reason to believe the lack of telepathy in the Romulan species is the result of a long term selective breeding project that took place before the Vulcan-Romulan split. Or, rather, the project was the beginning of the Vulcan-Romulan split.”
“Why would Vulcan scientists do that? Telepathy is one of the most prized aspects of our culture.”
“You are assuming the intended result was loss of telepathy rather than heightened fertility.”
“That still doesn’t make sense, though. Surely someone had to realize the two were tied. What would science want with a bunch of hyper-fertile psi nulls? I mean, in a few generations, you’d have a large number of powerless Vulcans.”
“That was the plan, we assume.”
“Why, though?”
“Why else have sentient species created giant surplus populations made up of largely powerless individuals?”
Sybok paled. “Shit.”
“Would you care to clue me in to this revelation?” Keras asked.
Sybok swallowed. “Before they left Vulcan, the Romulans were Vul-our slaves.”
“No.” Keras shook his head. “A Romulan would sooner die than be enslaved.”
“Perhaps this is why,” Spock suggested.
-
Not content to lose any status he gained within this family to the usurping half-Romulan, Sarek was determined to further ingratiate himself to his kin. Mirroring Keras’ tactics, he began with the younger generation, the android specifically, his logic being that befriending Data would win favor with T’Pring, who led the whole clan, as well as the planet.
A sedate discussion regarding Data’s career goals somehow led to Data putting on a strange hat and taking Sarek along to investigate the disappearance of the neighbor’s garden hose. After two hours and twelve utterances of “Indubitably, my dear Sarek,” the hose was found in the neighbor’s garage right where she had left it.
“A most unsatisfactory conclusion to this case,” Data said, removing his cap. “Hardly a case worthy of Sherlock Holmes.”
“Holmes was an amateur.”
“Sherlock Holmes is the greatest detective of all time.”
“In the Terran canon, yes. However, when Vulcan literature is taken into account, Holmes cannot compare to the logic of men-hilsu T’Pein.”
“I have not read any mysteries featuring T’Pein.”
“I will send you an anthology of her stories. After you have read it, you may report to me whether Holmes is the genius you once perceived him to be.”
-
The boy child was not as easy to engage. His parents no doubt filled his mind with biased assessments of Sarek’s character.
“What?” Charles asked, opening the front door.
“May I enter?”
“Sure. Whatever.” He retreated to the living room couch and the arms of his female companion.
Sarek lowered himself onto an arm of the couch. “Charles-”
“Charlie.”
“Charlie. You are technically my grandchild.”
“You are just now discovering this?” the Elasian scoffed.
“I realize that I have not allotted the appropriate amount of time to ensuring your proper development. I seek to rectify this.”
“You want to hang out?” Charlie asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m kinda busy.”
Sarek inclined his head toward the infomercial playing on the holoprojector. “Verily?”
“I’ve got stuff.”
“In what manner of ‘stuff’ do you engage?”
“School, work, WoW.”
“Wow?”
“It’s a computer game.”
Ah, an academic enrichment activity. “What type of work do you do?”
“I’m a PA. I work for this guy with, like, Ferengi cerebral palsy. I help him get in the fresher and stuff. If his other PA is off, I clean his house and cook for him. Sometimes I help him and his girlfriend oo-mox. We go to the movies a lot. He wants to be, like, a film theorist or something.”
“Fascinating.” This was a lie. “Do you find fulfillment in your work?”
“Yeah, I guess. He’s a pretty cool guy. I don’t know if I want to do it forever, but it’s okay while I’m still going to school.”
“Have you given any thought to your future career path?” Sarek grimaced internally. Apparently, his strategy for becoming a beloved grandfather was to act as the children’s guidance counselor.
“I read at an eighth grade level; I don’t have to worry about that stuff for a while.”
“I see, but is it not customary for Human children to desire a certain career at as young as five years of age? A firefighter, for example.”
“If I wanted to be a fireman when I was five, I would have turned myself into a fireman.”
“You are capable of that?”
Charlie shrugged. “I can do pretty much anything I want.” Sarek had temporarily forgotten that he was speaking with a god. “Like, I can make a girl come just by looking at her. I don’t even actually have to look at her.”
“It’s true.” Elaan nodded. “He’s very talented.”
“Thanks, babe.” Charlie pecked Elaan on the lips, and their kissing soon took on the style indigenous to France. Sarek quietly let himself out.
-
The small ones responded to his overtures positively. Sarek had always been particularly skilled in dealing with young children. Saavik and Valeris were no exception.
“Take this carton of liquid nourishment,” Sarek instructed, handing out juice boxes to his two granddaughters and Ainsley. When he was finished, he sat beside the three toddlers in their playpen. “I am gratified that the libation I provided is palatable.” He ran his hand over the back of Saavik’s head, careful to not tangle his fingers in her curly hair. So strange to find such a texture of hair in a “white” Vulcan. “Both your satisfaction and nutrition are important to me. No matter what your parents may say about me, the fact remains that I hold a great deal affection for you, as my first grandchildren. It is not the same as emotional sensations I experience regarding my own children, but it is still very powerful. My social health would greatly benefit from a closer relationship with you and your... mother.”
It should be noted, for the record, that Sarek did not jump or blush when he finally heard Dr. M’Benga breathing as he stood in the doorway. How long had the doctor been present?
-
Nyota set aside her PADD, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Do you require a rest period?” Spock asked, looking up from his work.
“No. I... It’s not fatigue. I am becoming concerned about the path our research is taking.”
“Do you find error in our methodology?”
“No.”
“Yet you are still concerned.”
“Yes... I’m afraid what we’ll uncover if we keep digging.”
“The path forged through knowledge is the quickest route away from fear.”
“I know. If I don’t finish this project, I’ll spend the rest of my life imagining what might have happened.”
“The Human imagination can craft horrors unseen in history.”
“Are you willing to put credits on that?”
-
“We are not a righteous people,” T’Pring declared, still reeling from the information Spock and Nyota presented to the family.
“I’ve been saying that for twenty years,” Sybok muttered.
“We created the people who would one day destroy us,” Sarek said solemnly.
“I thought you would be the first in line to deny this.”
“The research is sound. If you recall correctly, I am not a member of the recent Vulcan faction that abandons logic for nationalism.”
“You said that Vulcans bread the telepathy of the proto-Romulans to make them better slaves,” McCoy said. “Then why don’t T’Pelih have decreased telepathic powers and heightened fertility. They were slaves, too.”
“Vulcans residing in the tropic regions were not enslaved until after the Romulan exodus,” Spock explained. “Vulcan elites in the poles found it more logical to enslave people near them, as they would be better acclimated to the climate and less expensive to move. Enslaving the T’Pelih was merely a last resort after the Romulans fled. The tropics provided an almost endless supply of slaves, so there was no need to... breed fertility within the newly enslaved peoples.”
“This didn’t happen all at once, of course,” Nyota said. “The migration of proto-Romulans to Romulus took place gradually over the course of several decades. There was an intricate network of slaves and their allies that snuck them off the planet.”
“An underground railroad,” Chapel said.
“Essentially.”
“So,” Charlie asked, drawing from his modest knowledge of Terran history, “does that make Romulus Canada?”
“I think ‘maroon colony’ would be a more apt description,” Spock answered.
“Jesus Christ,” McCoy murmured.
“Did you know about this?” Apple Pie asked Elder Spock.
He shook his head. “I did not. There is a high probability that Saavik’s parents did not publish or even undertake this research in my timeline.”
“This is why Romulans are so opposed to breastfeeding, no?” Eva asked.
“Yes,” Nyota said. “The research suggests that proto-Romulans were prohibited from nursing their own children. Most of the time they didn’t even have the opportunity; infants were taken from their mother’s arms shortly after birth.”
“This functioned, we believe, to break down the family unit within the enslaved to prevent insurrection, and to further damage their telepathy,” Spock added.
“We are terrible people,” Sybok exclaimed.
“It gets worse,” Nyota said. “The Romulan opposition to breastfeeding doesn’t stem solely from being unable to nurse their own children.”
McCoy guessed, “They had to play Mammy for the slaveowners’ kids.”
“No. Wet nursing has never been a significant part of Vulcan culture,” Geoff said. “Nursing is the time to establish bonds between mother and child, and to anchor the child’s telepathy. Outside of some pretty dire circumstances, no Vulcan woman would give that responsibility to someone else.”
“Indeed,” Spock said. “Fertility rates were so low amongst the slaveholders that they did not entrust their slaves to mind their precious few offspring, let alone nurse them.”
“How could the Vulcan slaveholding class sustain itself, if they had so few children?” Data asked.
“They supplemented their biological offspring with adopted children.”
“Where would they... I understand.”
“We stole their children,” Elder Spock stated.
“And we nursed them right in front of their biological mothers,” Spock continued.
McCoy shook his head in disgust. “That’s enough to turn you off breastfeeding permanently.”
“I feel ill,” Sybok said.
“This cannot become public knowledge,” Keras said, breaking the silence he maintained throughout the entire meeting. “If it did, the Romulan Star Empire would be obligated to seek its revenge against the Vulcan race.”
“So, what you’re saying is,” Charlie said, “the Empire would strike back? Ow!” He rubbed his elbow where McCoy had pinched him.
“We cannot limit academic discourse based on the hypothetical violence it might cause,” Sarek protested.
“The Romulan people have a right to know their own history,” Geoff said. “And I think Saavik’s parents would want their research to be published. This isn’t just about us. This is their legacy.”
“People will die,” asserted Keras. “The praetor will be furious.”
“Would he not be more angry if it is revealed that we chose to keep this information a secret?” Spock questioned.
“If it is revealed. There is no certainty that such a thing will occur.”
“I imagine T’Pau and Praetor Colius deployed similar rationale in choosing to keep your parentage a secret,” Elder Spock said. “Nothing can remain buried forever. You are living proof of that.”
“If war comes...”
“Then we will be safe here,” T’Pring said. “The rest of the galaxy is not our concern.”
-
War didn’t come, at least not then. The research, published in Sha-Ka-Ree’s own scholarly journal, was disavowed by both the Romulan Star Empire and the Vulcan High Council. The Romulans did not want to be perceived as the descendants of slaves, while the Vulcan people had their reputation amongst the Federation to consider.
This is not to say the period immediately following the journal’s publication was free of conflict between Vulcan and Romulan. The war-in a manner of speaking-occurred at a much smaller scale, and only one combatant knew he was fighting.
Yes, Keras went about his day, happy, congenial to one and all, smiling, while Sarek glared at him from afar, cursing the day T’Pau had reproductive intercourse with the current praetor. Sarek thought it a private little war evident to only Keras and himself, until Elder Spock interrupted his daily glaring session.
“May I offer you some advice?” The old man smiled, sitting down beside Sarek on his park bench.
“No.”
“Then you leave me no choice but to foist my advice upon you.”
“Please vacate the area. I am presently occupied.”
“Spying on my counterpart, I presume.”
“I am not spying; I am observing.” And Spock was only a secondary object of study, necessary to observe only to determine how he and Keras could remain on good terms-even playing on the same pick-up football team in the park-despite their recent arguments concerning the publication. Sarek could have one argument with Spock and that would set their relationship back months.
“If you desire a closer relationship with your children,” Elder Spock said quietly, leaning in toward Sarek, “I suggest you mind meld with each of them.”
“With whom I mind meld is none of your concern.”
“I only want you to be happy.” He stood. “That is all I have ever wanted for any of you.”
-
As much as he detested taking another’s advice, Sarek found logic in Elder Spock’s suggestion. The only way Spock or Sybok could know him (love him) was to share with them his mind. After much deliberation, he determined that he would offer his mind to Sybok first, mainly due to the convenience of being able to schedule an appointment with him.
“So.” Sybok reclined in his desk chair. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I do not wish to talk. In order to facilitate a more meaningful relationship between us, I request that you perform a mind meld on me.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“I am not.”
“This is sudden.”
“Certain emerging social formations have made my diminishing importance in your lives evident.”
“What are you talking about? Is this about the book club? Because Christine said you didn’t want to be in it.”
“I am not referring to the book club.”
“Then what... Keras? You’re jealous of Keras?”
“I am not jealous. I do not experience jealousy.”
“Okay.” Sybok smirked. “Did I tell you Keras and I are going on a desert retreat this weekend?”
“No.” The Romulan must be destroyed.
“You sound like a Klingon.”
“Are you enjoying this?”
“A little bit. Daddy has feelings,” he singsonged.
“If you knew what it is like to be jealous of a sibling, to have a brother who excels where you cannot, you would not mock my emotionalism.”
“You think I don’t know what that’s like? Spock is good at everything.”
“Spock is not 'good at everything.' That is an impossible achievement.”
“Okay. Name one thing Spock has tried that he isn’t good, if not the best, at.”
Sarek searched through his memory to find one instance where Spock did not excel at a given pursuit, but he was unsuccessful.
“See? Spock’s great at everything. I’m only good at one thing.” A lecherous grin appeared on his face. “Well, two things.”
“At the very least, people like you.”
“People like you.”
“Who?”
“Christine, Ainsley, Old Spock... the guy downtown who does the balloon animals. He always speaks highly of you.”
“Do you... like me?”
“You're my father; I love you. I have to.”
“You did not answer my question.”
“It's hard to like someone who disapproves of the way I live my life. And, honestly, I think Spock feels the same way.”
“I will endeavor to be more accepting. I do not believe either of you understand that when you reject the Vulcan way, you reject me.”
“Who do you think taught us to do that? Flouting the Vulcan way is practically a family tradition. First with T'Pau and the Syrranites, and then with you marrying a Human. You condemning us for going against the grain of Vulcan society is like me giving Charlie the anti-drugs speech...” Sybok smiled impishly. “I have a very bad idea... How far are you willing to go to close to me and Spock?”
-
“I feel very peculiar.” The walls of Sybok's basement seemed to be vibrating. “Is the room buzzing?”
“This is the greatest moment of my entire life,” Sybok chuckled happily, taking the water pipe away from Sarek.
“I am pleased to have caused such jubi-juju-julib... happiness.”
Spock eyed his father suspiciously as he rolled on the ground. “What did you intend this to accomplish?”
“Emotional intimacy,” Sybok said, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Here.” He passed the bong to Spock. “I'm thinking about incorporating catnip into my couple's therapy, like they did on Terra with MDMA.”
Spock let out a steady stream of smoke. “Amusing as this might be, I doubt the probability of your intended result.” As the last word left his mouth, Sarek's head landed in Spock's lap. “Fascinating.”
“My daughter,” Sarek murmured in Vulcan, stroking Spock's eyebrow with his thumb. “Was that right?”
“Yes,” Spock said, his throat suddenly tight.
“I thought I had made an error. I have never been as skilled as either of you in performing mind melds. I had yet to meld with a fetus before.” He looked at Sybok sadly. “T'Rea would not permit me. Amanda said yes. She wanted to know your gender, so we would not buy you the wrong clothes and furnishings. The doctor had told us your sex, but she wanted to be certain, so that we would not harm you. I performed the mind meld, and I could not tell. I thought my technique was ineffectual, but it was you. My dichotomous child: Human son, Vulcan daughter.” Sarek took hold of Spock's left hand, placing it on the psi points on his face. “Please.”
Spock looked over at Sybok. “I will, if Sybok does.”
Sybok gingerly placed his hand on the psi points on the other side of Sarek's face. “On one condition.”
“Yes?” Sarek asked.
“I want a familial bond with Ainsley.”
“I desire that, as well,” Spock said.
“She's our sister, but we barely spend any time with her.”
“I agree to your terms,” Sarek said. “However, Christine must also consent to the bond. But I foresee no objections.”
Spock and Sybok shared a meaningful glance before reciting, “My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts.”
All in.
Previous Next
Chapter Title: Chapter 11: Ooh, Grandma. You Nasty.
Author: katiemariie
Artist: tprillahfiction
Fanmixer: civilbloodshed
Beta(s): subluxate and avsioss
Link to Art: Art
Link to Mix: Fanmix
Word Count: 9k
While certainly deromulanizing, by not looking up from her PADD, the immigration officer was a refreshing change in pace from the gawping masses of Palatine. “Full name.”
“Spurius Colius Keras.”
“Place of birth.”
“Romulan Star Empire Space Station Four.”
“Current citizenship.”
“Do you honestly think I would come here if I held citizenship anywhere else?”
The immigration official cast a withering look over her PADD-an expression that soon turned into shock and confusion. “Excuse me.” She picked up the comm on her desk. “T’Ngu here. Is Ambassador Sarek currently on planet? Thank you.” She put the comm away, and held up two fingers in the air. Before Keras knew it, two security officers were standing behind him. “Please take this man to interrogation room one. He is a possible code two-ten.”
“What is the meaning of this?” Keras asked, as the security officers led him away. “Why am I being detained? What is a code two-ten?”
-
“Fascinating,” Sarek murmured.
“I thought you would like to see it for yourself, sir,” Detective zh’Vreni said.
“Thank you.”
“We’ll also need to microchip you now, sir.”
“Excuse me?”
“Only temporarily, sir. If he consents to a DNA test, or we find some other tangible way of telling you apart, you can have the chip removed.”
“I am a citizen of this planet, you cannot-”
“It’s standard procedure, sir.”
“I am well aware. I was on the emergency policy committee that wrote the procedure.”
“Irony’s a bitch, sir.”
-
“He looks exactly like you?” Sybok asked.
“Yes. His hair is darker.”
“Jesus,” McCoy cursed.
“Do you have any idea how he got here?” Uhura asked.
“No. Planetary security has launched a full investigation.”
“It is possible, then,” Spock said, “that he has come through the Ah’rak black hole.”
“It is entirely possible.”
“We need to prepare ourselves for the possibility of further incursions from the mirror universe,” T’Pring said.
“Hell, any universe!” McCoy exclaimed. “We don’t know how many other there are, or how many of them can come through that damn black hole.”
“We’re sitting ducks,” M’Benga said grimly.
“Who’s to say that everything that comes through that black hole is necessarily evil?” Christine asked. “That’s how we think Data got here.”
“Yeah,” Sybok said brightly. “Maybe someone from a really nice universe will come though. Or a trampoline.”
-
“I have told you repeatedly, I am Spurius Colius Keras, former Romulan military Commander. I have never heard of this Sarek of Vulcan.”
The Andorian detective stared at him intently. “What universe are you from?”
“What universe? Are you mad? There’s only one universe. That’s why it’s called the universe.”
“Do you consent to a DNA test?”
“I’ll consent to anything if it will get me out of this room.”
-
The Romulan military personnel manager guffawed for two-point-eight minutes when T’Pring asked him to look up their prisoner. It was disconcerting to see a Vulcanoid face that was not Sybok’s fall into hysterics. “Has my question triggered some involuntary laughter reflex in your species?”
Wiping the tears from his eyes, the Romulan regained composure. “That man, Keras, he’s the bastard son of the praetor. He was banished for showing cowardice in the line of duty. The only reason he’s not dead is that held favor with his father. I can send over military records if you’d like a good laugh.”
-
If Geoff had been holding something, he would have dropped it. Sarek and Keras’ DNA samples were not identical, but their mitochondrial DNA matched. Geoff sloughed it off as a shared maternal ancestor before the Vulcan-Romulan split, but after comparing Keras’ sample to T’Pau’s DNA (she was an originator of an immortal cell line Geoff used often in his research), Geoff could say with 99.99% certainty that Sarek and Keras shared a mother. They were half-brothers.
-
“You’re free to beam down to the planet, if you wish,” the detective said. “Ambassador T’Pring apologizes for the delay in processing you.”
-
As a doctor contracted by planetary security, Geoff couldn’t share the results of his tests with anyone except the officers completing the investigation and Keras. Technically, he shouldn’t have performed the second test on Keras’ sample, but professional curiosity got the best of him. It was a good thing it did, because otherwise he wouldn’t have tested Keras’ sample for the Bendii gene, and, in a hundred years, his brain would have deteriorated to half its size.
Geoff was obligated to tell Keras about this development and offer him treatment. If Keras asked the right questions that allowed Geoff to unload this giant burden, that would be secondary.
Geoff pressed the chime outside Keras’ hostel room. The door slid open. “Who are you?” Keras asked suspiciously.
“I’m Dr. Geoffrey M’Benga. I performed your DNA test today.”
Keras snorted. “Come to get more blood?”
“No, I’m not here as a medical examiner. I’m here as a physician. May I come in?”
“By all means.” Keras ushered him in. The room was small and sparsely decorated: a chair, a bed, a table, a dresser. “Sit.”
“Yes.”
“What is this about?”
“Your DNA test revealed that you’re at a heightened risk of developing Bendii syndrome later in life.”
“Bendii? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a degenerative neurological condition found in elderly Vulcans.”
“Is there record of this condition occurring amongst Romulans?”
“No. My research shows that the gene for Bendii developed due to a virus that swept Vulcan after the Romulan exodus.”
“I must make a very valuable specimen, then. The first Romulan with Bendii.”
“You don’t have Bendii yet, just the allele that codes for it, but I can treat that... And, strictly speaking, you’re not a Romulan.”
Keras grimaced. “Yes. No longer. Not after the praetor,” he spat the word, “revoked my citizenship.”
“I don’t mean civilly.”
“What do you mean?”
Yes, a question. “Genetically, you are half-Vulcan on your mother’s side.”
“My mother’s...? My mother was an Aventinian whore, not some Vulcan woman.” Geoff had heard T’Pau called many things-an “Aventinian whore” was never one of them. “You must be mistaken. Or mad.”
“I’m not mistaken.” The jury was out on the latter claim. “I’m the pre-eminent Vulcan geneticist.”
“If you’re as skilled as you claim, why aren’t you on the colony?”
Geoff gulped. “The Vulcan Medical Board and I had some disagreements about end of life care.”
Keras leaned in closer to Geoff, squinting his eyes like there was small print written on Geoff’s forehead. “You’re him. I’ve heard about you.” Keras leaned back, smiling. “You’re-what did the Federation press call you? You’re Dr. Kevulcian! The poor bastard who got kicked off the planet for euthanizing all those old Vulcans. I’m going to like you.”
“I wasn’t kicked off... They asked me to leave.”
“You’re a smarter man than I. I wouldn’t leave until I had the butt of a phaser rifle to my back.” Keras opened a dresser drawer, and pulled out a bottle of blue liquid. “Join me in a drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m supposed to stay home with the kids tonight.”
“You have children?”
“Yeah, two.” He took his hospital ident chip from his pocket, and showed the holos projected from the backside to Keras. “They’re adopted... The one on the left, Saavik, she’s a Vulcan-Romulan hybrid, too.”
“The difference is imperceptible.”
“It’s not something you can see unless you’re looking at the molecular level, and, even then, you have to be trying to find it.”
“Still, you think I would have noticed. I’m not a telepath... My sash was very expensive, I’ll have you know.”
Geoff grinned. “I didn’t say anything about your sash.”
“I thought I heard you.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Not terribly often.”
“I bet you never got the Terothka virus, not even when everyone else around you had it.”
“No, not once.”
“Hybrids are immune to viruses that target a single aspect of their heritage, in the same way many animal viruses cannot affect sentient life. That’s how my daughters survived the attack on Hellguard. The virus was crafted to affect Romulans, Vulcans, and Klingons, but not Romulan-Vulcan or Klingon-Vulcan hybrids.”
Keras took a slug of ale. “Fascinating story, brother. But what good does being Vulcan do me? The Vulcan colony won’t naturalize me, not that I would stoop so low. And the likelihood of having any living Vulcan kin is incredibly small.”
“Actually...”
-
Keras was more than a little drunk when he decided to pay his dear brother a visit. The doctor had warned him not to rush into anything with these people; the family, apparently, had just recently regained the ability to assemble in one room without martial combat. His presence might upset that delicate balance. Keras took this advice to heart, but once the doctor returned home and Keras’ bottle was empty, waiting for the right moment became unbearable. So he stumbled his way across the small city to the downtown area, where the colony’s elite lived. It was unlike any downtown on Romulus. There were large yards, open space, prefabricated housing sitting beside construction sites for more permanent homes. Sarek’s home, he was told, was one of the last in the neighborhood to begin construction, and wasn’t expected to be completed for a few months. Apparently, Sarek had his doubts about Sha-Ka-Ree. (Such a name.)
As he ambled to the front door, Keras marveled at this once great man-if the doctor was to be believed-reduced to living in the modern equivalent of a double-wide, to use the Terran term. He pressed the doorbell, and within moments he was looking at a slightly-older mirror image. He grabbed Sarek by the shoulders. “Brother.”
“Unhand me, if you intend on retaining all of your phalanges.”
“That’s no way to speak to family.”
“I understand your naturalization was delayed due to our resemblance, but there is no need to harass me at my own home.”
“I’m not harassing you; I’m embracing you.” To make his point, Keras wrapped his arms around Sarek and rested his head on his shoulder. “This is how it should be: family, closeness, hugging.”
“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that we are somehow related.”
“I’m not mistaken.” He let go of Sarek, stepping away. “The pre-eminent Vulcan geneticist told me we shared a mother. We’re half-brothers.” He pulled a miniPADD from his pocket, and shoved it into Sarek’s hands. “It’s all on there.”
Sarek looked over the PADD, scowling in the manner common to his-their-species, before giving it back. “I require a second opinion. I will perform the test myself.” He plucked a hair from Keras’ head. “This shall suffice. I will contact you with the results.” Sarek stared at him expectantly. “Go on then. Return to your home.”
-
The next morning, Sarek was at Keras' hostel door. “It appears we are related. May I enter?”
“Of course.” Keras reclined on his futon. “Take a seat.”
“I would prefer to stand.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Do you know how T'Pau came to be your mother?”
“I assume by having sex with my father.”
“Praetor Colius?”
“Yes. Although, he wasn't praetor at the time.”
“When do you estimate the date of conception?”
Keras did some mental math. “2169.8.”
“T'Pau was representing the Federation at the Romulan accords during that time.”
“Colius represented Romulus there.”
“They would have been in close contact.”
“Very close contact, it seems.”
“T'Pau returned to Vulcan on 2171.6. You would have been one-point-four years old.”
“That explains why I have no memory of her.”
“The time you spent with her as an infant should have been sufficient to develop a maternal bond, if she nursed you.”
Keras looked mildly disgusted. “I doubt my father would have allowed that.”
“I had forgotten the peculiar Romulan distaste for breast feeding.”
“It is not our tradition. And I can say with certainty that the Romulan accords would not have been a success, if the Federation representative went around breast feeding a babe.”
“Then you would not have developed a maternal bond with T'Pau, and your telepathy would remain an infantile state.”
“Telepathy is passed through mother's milk?” Keras snarked.
“The maternal bond forged through nursing grounds the chaotic telepathy of the neonate in the logic of interpersonal relationships. This is why Vulcan society reveres the mother. Without her, we would be isolated, anarchic beings. In a word: Romulans.”
“Oh!” Keras grabbed at his abdomen, faking a swoon. “You wound me with your carefully pointed words.” He grinned at Sarek openly. “Come now. Let us not swipe at one another like a couple of set’leth. I didn’t come to you looking for an enemy. I have enough of those as it is.”
“For what reason, then, did you come to me?”
“I want in.”
“Into what?”
“This family arrangement you have. It’s something I’ve never been party to, but the whole business sounds... fascinating.”
“You have conception of what you are asking. Individually, these people are deeply trying. Together, they are impossible.”
“I’ve never been one to turn down a challenge.”
-
Citing their last disastrous family gathering, Sarek suggested meeting with his newfound extended family in small groups to reduce the risk of conflict. First up were Sarek’s oldest children and their sister. (Keras was not entirely sure how that arrangement worked out.) If the encounter went well, he could meet their children, spouses, and robots.
They convened at the house of Sarek’s eldest son, who quickly led him down to the basement to see the others: the half-Human androgyne and the diplomat.
“Come, sit.” Sybok plopped down onto what looked like a roughly spherical sack of dry goods. The other two were each sitting on one of those objects, as well.
“Here?” Keras gestured to the fourth sack.
“Yes.”
Keras awkwardly settled onto the sack. “Are these common chairs in Vulcan culture?”
“No, they’re a Human invention. They have beans inside. Not real beans. Not edible beans. You can’t eat them. You won’t get sick, but people will laugh at you.”
“Even Julius knows not to eat the furniture,” Spock said.
“Julius is Spock’s pet goat,” T’Pring explained.
“I see.”
“I am curious to know how you did not realize you were half-Vulcan sooner.”
Spock nodded. “There are certain physiological occurrences unmistakable for Vulcan.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are hormonal...” Spock looked down at his feet.
“The reproductive cycle,” T’Pring started, “is...” Her face froze, her eyes unblinking.
“Do you get an uncontrollable urge to fuck roughly every seven years?” Sybok asked.
Keras smirked. “More often than that.”
“How often?” Spock asked, his head snapping up to face Keras. “When did you first experience this urge? What were the symptoms?”
“Do you seriously want me to elaborate on my sex life?”
“If it will give me insight into when my daughter will have her Time, then yes.”
“Time for what?”
“Time is a euphemism for the mating urge experience by all Vulcans about every seven years,” Sybok said. “It’s called pon farr. Spock wants to know if you ever experienced it to see if Vulcan-Romulans do.”
Keras thought for a moment. “I do seem to take a new lover every five years.”
“When did this cycle begin?” Spock asked.
“Probably when I was around forty.”
“Forty,” Spock repeated, relaxing into his bean chair. “Forty is acceptable.”
“Do not speak of this to anyone else,” T’Pring instructed. “It is not something we discuss.”
“Why not?” asked Keras.
“It is... embarrassing.”
Keras would have pushed the issue further, but, perhaps through osmosis, the topic was beginning to embarrass him. He didn’t know much else he should talk about. What was there to say to your long lost brother’s grown children? Sarek’s other child-the baby girl-was much easier to converse with. Surely, Keras couldn’t pretend to steal Spock’s nose. The others were similarly at a loss of words-or maybe Vulcan family gatherings consisted on sitting in the same room and not saying a word. That would not surprise Keras.
After one minutes and twenty-two seconds-Keras was always excellent at telling time without a chronometer-the eldest son spoke up, grinning mischievously, “I have a very bad idea.”
“You speak as if you have any other kind,” Spock said, but his tone was light, almost teasing.
“The girls are completely weaned, right?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I’ve been waiting to hear.” Sybok crawled out his bean chair over to a trunk in the corner of the room. He stared at it for a moment, and the padlock looked to just drop open. He rummaged through the trunk until he found his prize, which he held up for all to see: a small glass sculpture and a transparent bag of dried spice Keras had never seen before.
“You keep that in your home?” T’Pring asked. “Charlie could find it.”
“And do what with it? Make friends with the neighbor’s cat?” Sybok crawled back over to his chair, placing the sculpture and the spices between the four of them. “And, besides, if Charlie wants to experiment with drugs, he can make his own.” His eyes flicked over at Keras nervously. “Get his own. From his friends. Or off the street... People leave drugs in the street.”
“I will have to watch where I step then,” Keras said.
Sybok fiddled with the sculpture, filling it with water and the spice. “Light.” The spices in one of the receptacles on the sculpture ignited. “Self-lighting. I got it on Ferenginar. Any takers?”
Lightning quick, Spock snatched up the sculpture, and covered the top with his mouth, causing a curious bubbling sound. After a pause, he passed it over to T’Pring, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Satisfactory. Entirely too much time has elapsed since I last indulged.”
T’Pring stared at the object-Keras gathered it was some kind of pipe for smoking drugs-in her hands dubiously. “I should not.”
“It’s not illegal,” Sybok said.
“Even still, I am an elected official.”
“I hear it doesn’t count if you don’t inhale.”
“Very well.”
-
While on his daily walk with Ainsley, Sarek spied Keras standing on Sybok’s porch--or, veranda, as Dr. McCoy insisted it be called--talking with Spock, Sybok, and T’Pring. They were all perfectly relaxed, laughing, smiling, hugging one another. Spock appeared more at ease in that moment than Sarek had ever seen him. The only variable: Keras. If Sarek were less evolved, he would have been jealous.
Which he most definitely was not.
-
The preliminary meeting a success, Keras was permitted to move onto the next generation of the family: his grandnieces, grandnephew, and grandandroid. (Grandroid?) Counter to his expectations, the siblings determined that the baby grandnieces would cope with meeting a strange man who resembled their grandfather. As such, he was to meet them first.
Under Spock and Dr. M’Benga’s careful supervision, Keras sat down beside the girls in their playroom. “Hello.” The children barely looked up from their blocks. “I am Keras. May I join you?”
“Yes,” the half-Romulan said, but the other one launched a building block at his forehead, causing Saavik to dissolve into a fit of giggles.
“Valeris,” Spock scolded, “we do not throw hard objects at other beings. Apologize to Keras.”
Valeris harrumphed, before climbing onto Keras’ lap. She pressed two fingers onto the spot where the block collided with his head. “Sorry.”
“I forgive you.”
“You can play. The red blocks are mine.”
“Thank you.”
The rest of their “playdate” went well.
-
“So, you’re like Sarek’s long lost identical half-brother?” the Human boy asked.
“Approximately.”
“Cool.” Charlie looked up at Sybok’s spouse, who was hovering around them in the kitchen. “Can I go now?”
Dr. McCoy cursed. “Would it kill you to act like a Human being? Show some manners for god’s sake.”
“Fine,” Charlie sighed. “Why’d you get kicked off Romulus?”
“Charlie!”
“It’s a valid question!”
“It’s all right,” Keras said. “I am not ashamed of what I did.”
“What’d you do?”
“I refused to partake in a covert mission that would destroy several Federation outposts. The Enterprise was patrolling the sector during that time; the mission would mean certain death to me, my crew, and every being on the outposts. Not to mention the possibility that wandering into Federation territory could spark a war between our two empires.”
“They threw you off the planet for that?”
“Yes. I was fortunate really. Any other man would have been put to death.”
“That’s fucked up. D’you ever play RuneScape?”
The boy was just as easy to win over as the girls; just feign interest in their completely pointless game.
-
The android seemed to like Keras instantly, as much as a machine could like anything. He wasn’t certain if Data was programmed to like everyone he met, or, if Keras had pressed a button or something. T’Pring’s Human wife was more cautious-polite and friendly, but cautious. She was leaning on the archway between the living room and kitchen, watching Data carefully.
“Although you look almost identical, you are much more agreeable than Sarek,” Data observed.
“Do you not like Sarek?”
“Unknown. It is difficult to make a meaningful judgment regarding compatibility when the vast majority of our social interactions involve the ambassador informing me that I am devolving through my pursuit of Human emotion or telling me to remove my person from his lawn.”
“My brother is a man very much set in his ways. I have not known him long, but I can tell that much.”
“Are you not ‘set in your ways’?”
“I do not believe I yet know what my ways are.”
“Self-actualization is a lifelong pursuit.”
“You might be right.”
“I would not say anything that I did not estimate to have a high probability of being true.”
“Androids don’t lie.”
“Nor do Vulcans... Do Romulans lie?”
“Sparingly, and only when it is to our advantage.”
“Is that why Praetor Colius misled you concerning the identity of your mother?”
“It would seem so. I imagine he did not want his affair with a Vulcan revealed to the public. He couldn’t have his illegitimate son running off to Vulcan to visit mommy... As if T’Pau would have even acknowledged me. I think they agreed it was the best for their careers that my parentage remain a secret.”
“Does knowing that give you hurt feelings?”
“No. I’ve long been numb to the effects of the praetor’s rejections and machinations. I have learned not to expect much from him.”
“What about Matriarch T’Pau? Do you feel nothing about her abandonment of you?” While Data spoke these probing questions with an even, polite tone, Keras got the distinct impression his answers were being incorporated into a vast network of appropriate emotional responses collected by Data in an almost scientific fashion.
“If I feel anything about T’Pau, it is regret for not knowing her. Had I known before she died, I would have liked to meet her at least once to determine her character.”
“You can ask others about Matriarch T’Pau. There are several people on planet who knew her quite well. While their responses will in no way be objective, they could still be helpful in discovering T’Pau’s character.”
It was disconcerting that out of the three meetings Keras held with the youngest generation of the family, the only person to truly engage with him as a sentient individual was the android.
-
Having made his way through the entire extended family, Keras decided to take Data’s advice and interview others about his mother.
“How did you know Matriarch T’Pau?” he asked repeatedly.
T’Pring blinked slowly, before answering. “We were lovers for two years, but I ended our relationship after she tried to give me to her son.”
Dr. M’Benga scratched the back of his neck. “She charged me with serial murder, and told people to spit on me in the street.”
Sybok sighed. “She had me thrown off the planet.”
“I do not think she was terribly fond of me,” Spock said. “She once told me I took after my mother’s side of the family-the ugly side.”
“T’Pau...” Elder Spock stared off into the distance. “She was unafraid of using her clout to her advantage.”
“When we met for the first time,” Sarek’s wife said, “she glared at me and said, ‘Another Human?’”
“I was never close to my mother,” Sarek said. “She was off planet on business for most of my childhood. Once I reached majority, I was sent to England to study linguistics and diplomacy. I did not see her again until Sybok was born.”
-
After a month, Keras felt a bit more at home on Sha-Ka-Ree. He had moved out of the hostel into an apartment in Little Aventine, where he was welcomed with open arms by the pacifist Romulan population. The family seemed more comfortable with him, but he was no expert in comfort or families. He was even invited to partake in something called “football” by Spock-a Terran sport that had gained quite a following amongst Vulcans and across the galaxy.
The rules, as Spock explained them, were simple enough, but the android had some objections. “It is hardly fair that I, as the goalie, should be allowed to touch the ball with my hands when others cannot. Why not permit all the players to hold the ball in their hands?”
“Then,” Spock explained, “it would not be called football.”
“I see. It still does not strike me as an equitable distribution of abilities within the game. I intend to write my representative about this injustice.”
“Will you still play?”
“Yes. Although I am generally opposed to upholding any hierarchy of privileges, I forswore that I would assist you in this capacity.” Data toddled off to his goalpost.
“We would not use him, if we did not require a goalie who could keep up with Vulcan athletes.”
“Why not recruit another Vulcan?” Keras asked.
“The increased hand sensitivity in Vulcans makes sports that involve catching projectiles in one’s hand particularly painful.”
“Hence why football is such a popular sport amongst Vulcans.”
“Correct. How do Romulans compensate for their dextral sensitivity in athletics?”
“We do not. Pain is part of the game.”
“I believe that philosophy is in keeping with the Terran culture surrounding football.” Spock nodded at one of the other players. “Take your position now.”
-
Sarek did not often join the colony on one of their “field days,” but Ainsley had grown bored with the interior of their home and the familiar path they tread on their walks. So, it was off to the central park for them, where all manner of athletic events and games were being played: football, wheelchair basketball, Vulcan sport. Having become a fan of the sport during his time at Oxford, Sarek made his way to the football field to watch the match. He set Ainsley down in one of those microbe infested sandboxes beside the field, and joined the crowd watching from the sidelines, careful to keep an eye on his daughter.
By pure happenstance, he ended up standing next to T’Pring and Uhura, who were cheering for Data. (“Wooo! Go Data!” “Catch the ball in your hands. Do not permit it to enter the goal, lest you desire the other team to achieve victory.”) Dr. M’Benga was on the other side of him, having just placed Valeris and Saavik in the sandbox. He watched Spock with a confused intensity, as if he was observing a primitive ritual performed by the natives of a distant planet.
Looking away from the bystanders and onto the field, Sarek saw Keras playing, passing the ball, working with Spock as a pair. Sarek wondered why he had not been invited to join the game with them. What made Keras a more desirable teammate? Sarek was Spock's father; surely their familial bond would grant Sarek greater insight into Spock's strategy than Keras ever could as a half-uncle he had just met.
“Uhura, did Spock talk to you about the project he's working on?” Dr. M'Benga asked, speaking around Sarek as if he did not exist.
“No, we've both been a little busy with Keras.”
Sarek had almost blocked it entirely from his memory; Keras was being tutored individually on various aspects of Vulcan culture: language from Uhura, logic from T'Pring, music from Spock, and telepathy from Sybok. While the thought of the children (that is what Sarek saw them as, no matter how old or unrelated they were) sharing intellectual intimacy with Keras was trying, the mental image of Sybok and Keras mind melding was almost unbearable. That was his child, not Keras'. And, although he never made occasion to meld with either Sybok or Spock, the absence was not indicative of a lack of want. Perhaps, going as far as need. Melding with his sons was something Sarek had always put off for a later time. He could not meld with Sybok until he mastered his emotions concerning T'Rea's death, lest the boy find out how his mother truly died. Now that Sybok knew and had seen the depth of his father's love for him, Sarek felt exposed, cut open like a fish being cleaned prior to consumption. He could not approach Sybok in this vulnerable state and let him see into his mind without Sarek crumbling down in front of him. He was to wait. As for Spock, Sarek could not meld with him during his childhood with having to do the same with Sybok. Once Sybok was exiled, Sarek was so accustomed to guarding himself from Spock that melding was unthinkable.
Now, his self-restraint was being rewarded. He was to bear witness to the man who had stolen his mother away for many years take Sarek's children from him as well.
Once the match had ended (Data had somehow become lost in the woods in his journey from the goal to the sidelines), Sarek took Ainsley home to perform their evening mind meld. My child, my child. How I love thee...
-
After Data was found and dried off (his GPS navigation system apparently told him to walk into a lake), Nyota swung by Spock and Geoff's place to hear more about this project.
“The cargo containers arrived last week,” Spock said, opening one of the massive trunks. “We had only just begun to sort through them when we found their personal records.”
“We didn't have time to listen to all of them,” Geoff said.
“It would take approximately two weeks without breaks for sleeping and eating to accomplish that feat.”
“But we figured we might as well start playing them for the girls.” Geoff removed a holoprojector from the trunk, and placed it on the floor, where it projected a three dimensional image of a Klingon woman.
“That's Valeris' mother?” Nyota asked.
“Yeah. Take a listen.” Geoff swiped his hand through the image, and it began to move and speak.
Listening carefully-linguists always listened carefully-Nyota heard words with which she was not familiar. Something about a virus and genetic mutation-topics only Spock and Geoff would think interesting to a two-year-old. “I might need Worf's help with this one. It's pretty esoteric.”
“That's what we figured.” Geoff placed another chip in the holoprojector, and out came the images of a Vulcan woman and a Romulan man, Saavik's parents. “Spock was hoping for a second opinion on this one.”
Nyota watched the holo, and by the end, for one of the few times in her life, she was speechless.
“We assume this research is the basis for their banishment from Romulus and Vulcan respectively,” Spock said.
Nyota found her voice, albeit in a raspier form. “Has Starfleet viewed this?”
Spock shook his head. “They were only permitted to decontaminate and identify the inheritors of the objects. I doubt the enlisted personnel assigned with that duty speak Low Romulan.”
“If this information becomes public...”
“The Romulan accords could crumble to pieces. That is why we must verify their research, lest we spark a war with false information.”
“Better to start a war with real information,” Geoff muttered.
-
“What you have to remember about telepathy-don’t fidget. Jesus, Spock. Do you want me to fit these pants or not?”
“I apologize,” Spock said. “I will endeavor to breathe less.”
Sybok rolled his eyes, and looked back over at Keras. “Right. Telepathy. What was I saying?”
“Something I had to remember about telepathy,” Keras said.
“Okay. Telepathy has to be used responsibility, or you will become evil and die. The main goal of any telepath is to not be captured and experimented on. With great power comes great responsibility.” He glanced up at Spock. “How do they feel?”
“The pants fit well.”
“Good. You sure you don’t want a skirt?”
“Skirts are hardly functional. I still do not understand why these pants do not have pockets.”
“They’re Terran women’s dress pants; they don’t come with pockets.”
“Do Terran women not carry small objects with them?”
“They have those bag things. I’ll make you a purse, if you want.”
“Thank you.”
“I can teach you to sew.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“God, you and Leonard. Completely helpless. How could you live on your own for so long without learning how to cook or sew?”
“I understood that food and clothing, like many other goods and services, could be obtained through the exchange of currency.”
“Well, not all of us had Mother wiring credits to our accounts. You can take those off now.”
Spock stepped behind a partition to change. “I have recent information that might prove interesting to both of you.”
“Oh?” Keras said.
“Drawing from preliminary research performed by Saavik’s parents, Geoffrey and I have discovered that the sequence of genes that code for telepathy in the Vulcan species also translate to lower fertility.”
“Spock,” Sybok sighed. “Why would you ever think I would be interested in any of your research?”
“This research may come to reflect poorly on Vulcan society. Anything that functions in that capacity should be of interest to you.”
“How could the Vulcan genome cause negative judgment of the race?” Keras asked. “Wouldn’t that fracture the Federation’s carefully crafted species-blind ideology?”
“It is not the genes in and of themselves that could result in backlash. They support a new theory of how and why the Vulcan-Romulan split occurred that would not show Vulcan society in a positive manner.” Spock walked out from behind the partition, fully dressed in his usual street clothes. “The gene sequence for telepathy is largely absent in Romulans, resulting in higher fertility rates. This is, perhaps, why expansionism is so vital to Romulan culture.”
“They need more room to house their higher population,” Sybok said.
“Exactly.”
“I’m usually very competent at finding any flaw in Vulcan culture, but I don’t see it here.”
“We have reason to believe the lack of telepathy in the Romulan species is the result of a long term selective breeding project that took place before the Vulcan-Romulan split. Or, rather, the project was the beginning of the Vulcan-Romulan split.”
“Why would Vulcan scientists do that? Telepathy is one of the most prized aspects of our culture.”
“You are assuming the intended result was loss of telepathy rather than heightened fertility.”
“That still doesn’t make sense, though. Surely someone had to realize the two were tied. What would science want with a bunch of hyper-fertile psi nulls? I mean, in a few generations, you’d have a large number of powerless Vulcans.”
“That was the plan, we assume.”
“Why, though?”
“Why else have sentient species created giant surplus populations made up of largely powerless individuals?”
Sybok paled. “Shit.”
“Would you care to clue me in to this revelation?” Keras asked.
Sybok swallowed. “Before they left Vulcan, the Romulans were Vul-our slaves.”
“No.” Keras shook his head. “A Romulan would sooner die than be enslaved.”
“Perhaps this is why,” Spock suggested.
-
Not content to lose any status he gained within this family to the usurping half-Romulan, Sarek was determined to further ingratiate himself to his kin. Mirroring Keras’ tactics, he began with the younger generation, the android specifically, his logic being that befriending Data would win favor with T’Pring, who led the whole clan, as well as the planet.
A sedate discussion regarding Data’s career goals somehow led to Data putting on a strange hat and taking Sarek along to investigate the disappearance of the neighbor’s garden hose. After two hours and twelve utterances of “Indubitably, my dear Sarek,” the hose was found in the neighbor’s garage right where she had left it.
“A most unsatisfactory conclusion to this case,” Data said, removing his cap. “Hardly a case worthy of Sherlock Holmes.”
“Holmes was an amateur.”
“Sherlock Holmes is the greatest detective of all time.”
“In the Terran canon, yes. However, when Vulcan literature is taken into account, Holmes cannot compare to the logic of men-hilsu T’Pein.”
“I have not read any mysteries featuring T’Pein.”
“I will send you an anthology of her stories. After you have read it, you may report to me whether Holmes is the genius you once perceived him to be.”
-
The boy child was not as easy to engage. His parents no doubt filled his mind with biased assessments of Sarek’s character.
“What?” Charles asked, opening the front door.
“May I enter?”
“Sure. Whatever.” He retreated to the living room couch and the arms of his female companion.
Sarek lowered himself onto an arm of the couch. “Charles-”
“Charlie.”
“Charlie. You are technically my grandchild.”
“You are just now discovering this?” the Elasian scoffed.
“I realize that I have not allotted the appropriate amount of time to ensuring your proper development. I seek to rectify this.”
“You want to hang out?” Charlie asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m kinda busy.”
Sarek inclined his head toward the infomercial playing on the holoprojector. “Verily?”
“I’ve got stuff.”
“In what manner of ‘stuff’ do you engage?”
“School, work, WoW.”
“Wow?”
“It’s a computer game.”
Ah, an academic enrichment activity. “What type of work do you do?”
“I’m a PA. I work for this guy with, like, Ferengi cerebral palsy. I help him get in the fresher and stuff. If his other PA is off, I clean his house and cook for him. Sometimes I help him and his girlfriend oo-mox. We go to the movies a lot. He wants to be, like, a film theorist or something.”
“Fascinating.” This was a lie. “Do you find fulfillment in your work?”
“Yeah, I guess. He’s a pretty cool guy. I don’t know if I want to do it forever, but it’s okay while I’m still going to school.”
“Have you given any thought to your future career path?” Sarek grimaced internally. Apparently, his strategy for becoming a beloved grandfather was to act as the children’s guidance counselor.
“I read at an eighth grade level; I don’t have to worry about that stuff for a while.”
“I see, but is it not customary for Human children to desire a certain career at as young as five years of age? A firefighter, for example.”
“If I wanted to be a fireman when I was five, I would have turned myself into a fireman.”
“You are capable of that?”
Charlie shrugged. “I can do pretty much anything I want.” Sarek had temporarily forgotten that he was speaking with a god. “Like, I can make a girl come just by looking at her. I don’t even actually have to look at her.”
“It’s true.” Elaan nodded. “He’s very talented.”
“Thanks, babe.” Charlie pecked Elaan on the lips, and their kissing soon took on the style indigenous to France. Sarek quietly let himself out.
-
The small ones responded to his overtures positively. Sarek had always been particularly skilled in dealing with young children. Saavik and Valeris were no exception.
“Take this carton of liquid nourishment,” Sarek instructed, handing out juice boxes to his two granddaughters and Ainsley. When he was finished, he sat beside the three toddlers in their playpen. “I am gratified that the libation I provided is palatable.” He ran his hand over the back of Saavik’s head, careful to not tangle his fingers in her curly hair. So strange to find such a texture of hair in a “white” Vulcan. “Both your satisfaction and nutrition are important to me. No matter what your parents may say about me, the fact remains that I hold a great deal affection for you, as my first grandchildren. It is not the same as emotional sensations I experience regarding my own children, but it is still very powerful. My social health would greatly benefit from a closer relationship with you and your... mother.”
It should be noted, for the record, that Sarek did not jump or blush when he finally heard Dr. M’Benga breathing as he stood in the doorway. How long had the doctor been present?
-
Nyota set aside her PADD, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Do you require a rest period?” Spock asked, looking up from his work.
“No. I... It’s not fatigue. I am becoming concerned about the path our research is taking.”
“Do you find error in our methodology?”
“No.”
“Yet you are still concerned.”
“Yes... I’m afraid what we’ll uncover if we keep digging.”
“The path forged through knowledge is the quickest route away from fear.”
“I know. If I don’t finish this project, I’ll spend the rest of my life imagining what might have happened.”
“The Human imagination can craft horrors unseen in history.”
“Are you willing to put credits on that?”
-
“We are not a righteous people,” T’Pring declared, still reeling from the information Spock and Nyota presented to the family.
“I’ve been saying that for twenty years,” Sybok muttered.
“We created the people who would one day destroy us,” Sarek said solemnly.
“I thought you would be the first in line to deny this.”
“The research is sound. If you recall correctly, I am not a member of the recent Vulcan faction that abandons logic for nationalism.”
“You said that Vulcans bread the telepathy of the proto-Romulans to make them better slaves,” McCoy said. “Then why don’t T’Pelih have decreased telepathic powers and heightened fertility. They were slaves, too.”
“Vulcans residing in the tropic regions were not enslaved until after the Romulan exodus,” Spock explained. “Vulcan elites in the poles found it more logical to enslave people near them, as they would be better acclimated to the climate and less expensive to move. Enslaving the T’Pelih was merely a last resort after the Romulans fled. The tropics provided an almost endless supply of slaves, so there was no need to... breed fertility within the newly enslaved peoples.”
“This didn’t happen all at once, of course,” Nyota said. “The migration of proto-Romulans to Romulus took place gradually over the course of several decades. There was an intricate network of slaves and their allies that snuck them off the planet.”
“An underground railroad,” Chapel said.
“Essentially.”
“So,” Charlie asked, drawing from his modest knowledge of Terran history, “does that make Romulus Canada?”
“I think ‘maroon colony’ would be a more apt description,” Spock answered.
“Jesus Christ,” McCoy murmured.
“Did you know about this?” Apple Pie asked Elder Spock.
He shook his head. “I did not. There is a high probability that Saavik’s parents did not publish or even undertake this research in my timeline.”
“This is why Romulans are so opposed to breastfeeding, no?” Eva asked.
“Yes,” Nyota said. “The research suggests that proto-Romulans were prohibited from nursing their own children. Most of the time they didn’t even have the opportunity; infants were taken from their mother’s arms shortly after birth.”
“This functioned, we believe, to break down the family unit within the enslaved to prevent insurrection, and to further damage their telepathy,” Spock added.
“We are terrible people,” Sybok exclaimed.
“It gets worse,” Nyota said. “The Romulan opposition to breastfeeding doesn’t stem solely from being unable to nurse their own children.”
McCoy guessed, “They had to play Mammy for the slaveowners’ kids.”
“No. Wet nursing has never been a significant part of Vulcan culture,” Geoff said. “Nursing is the time to establish bonds between mother and child, and to anchor the child’s telepathy. Outside of some pretty dire circumstances, no Vulcan woman would give that responsibility to someone else.”
“Indeed,” Spock said. “Fertility rates were so low amongst the slaveholders that they did not entrust their slaves to mind their precious few offspring, let alone nurse them.”
“How could the Vulcan slaveholding class sustain itself, if they had so few children?” Data asked.
“They supplemented their biological offspring with adopted children.”
“Where would they... I understand.”
“We stole their children,” Elder Spock stated.
“And we nursed them right in front of their biological mothers,” Spock continued.
McCoy shook his head in disgust. “That’s enough to turn you off breastfeeding permanently.”
“I feel ill,” Sybok said.
“This cannot become public knowledge,” Keras said, breaking the silence he maintained throughout the entire meeting. “If it did, the Romulan Star Empire would be obligated to seek its revenge against the Vulcan race.”
“So, what you’re saying is,” Charlie said, “the Empire would strike back? Ow!” He rubbed his elbow where McCoy had pinched him.
“We cannot limit academic discourse based on the hypothetical violence it might cause,” Sarek protested.
“The Romulan people have a right to know their own history,” Geoff said. “And I think Saavik’s parents would want their research to be published. This isn’t just about us. This is their legacy.”
“People will die,” asserted Keras. “The praetor will be furious.”
“Would he not be more angry if it is revealed that we chose to keep this information a secret?” Spock questioned.
“If it is revealed. There is no certainty that such a thing will occur.”
“I imagine T’Pau and Praetor Colius deployed similar rationale in choosing to keep your parentage a secret,” Elder Spock said. “Nothing can remain buried forever. You are living proof of that.”
“If war comes...”
“Then we will be safe here,” T’Pring said. “The rest of the galaxy is not our concern.”
-
War didn’t come, at least not then. The research, published in Sha-Ka-Ree’s own scholarly journal, was disavowed by both the Romulan Star Empire and the Vulcan High Council. The Romulans did not want to be perceived as the descendants of slaves, while the Vulcan people had their reputation amongst the Federation to consider.
This is not to say the period immediately following the journal’s publication was free of conflict between Vulcan and Romulan. The war-in a manner of speaking-occurred at a much smaller scale, and only one combatant knew he was fighting.
Yes, Keras went about his day, happy, congenial to one and all, smiling, while Sarek glared at him from afar, cursing the day T’Pau had reproductive intercourse with the current praetor. Sarek thought it a private little war evident to only Keras and himself, until Elder Spock interrupted his daily glaring session.
“May I offer you some advice?” The old man smiled, sitting down beside Sarek on his park bench.
“No.”
“Then you leave me no choice but to foist my advice upon you.”
“Please vacate the area. I am presently occupied.”
“Spying on my counterpart, I presume.”
“I am not spying; I am observing.” And Spock was only a secondary object of study, necessary to observe only to determine how he and Keras could remain on good terms-even playing on the same pick-up football team in the park-despite their recent arguments concerning the publication. Sarek could have one argument with Spock and that would set their relationship back months.
“If you desire a closer relationship with your children,” Elder Spock said quietly, leaning in toward Sarek, “I suggest you mind meld with each of them.”
“With whom I mind meld is none of your concern.”
“I only want you to be happy.” He stood. “That is all I have ever wanted for any of you.”
-
As much as he detested taking another’s advice, Sarek found logic in Elder Spock’s suggestion. The only way Spock or Sybok could know him (love him) was to share with them his mind. After much deliberation, he determined that he would offer his mind to Sybok first, mainly due to the convenience of being able to schedule an appointment with him.
“So.” Sybok reclined in his desk chair. “What do you want to talk about?”
“I do not wish to talk. In order to facilitate a more meaningful relationship between us, I request that you perform a mind meld on me.”
“Are you fucking with me?”
“I am not.”
“This is sudden.”
“Certain emerging social formations have made my diminishing importance in your lives evident.”
“What are you talking about? Is this about the book club? Because Christine said you didn’t want to be in it.”
“I am not referring to the book club.”
“Then what... Keras? You’re jealous of Keras?”
“I am not jealous. I do not experience jealousy.”
“Okay.” Sybok smirked. “Did I tell you Keras and I are going on a desert retreat this weekend?”
“No.” The Romulan must be destroyed.
“You sound like a Klingon.”
“Are you enjoying this?”
“A little bit. Daddy has feelings,” he singsonged.
“If you knew what it is like to be jealous of a sibling, to have a brother who excels where you cannot, you would not mock my emotionalism.”
“You think I don’t know what that’s like? Spock is good at everything.”
“Spock is not 'good at everything.' That is an impossible achievement.”
“Okay. Name one thing Spock has tried that he isn’t good, if not the best, at.”
Sarek searched through his memory to find one instance where Spock did not excel at a given pursuit, but he was unsuccessful.
“See? Spock’s great at everything. I’m only good at one thing.” A lecherous grin appeared on his face. “Well, two things.”
“At the very least, people like you.”
“People like you.”
“Who?”
“Christine, Ainsley, Old Spock... the guy downtown who does the balloon animals. He always speaks highly of you.”
“Do you... like me?”
“You're my father; I love you. I have to.”
“You did not answer my question.”
“It's hard to like someone who disapproves of the way I live my life. And, honestly, I think Spock feels the same way.”
“I will endeavor to be more accepting. I do not believe either of you understand that when you reject the Vulcan way, you reject me.”
“Who do you think taught us to do that? Flouting the Vulcan way is practically a family tradition. First with T'Pau and the Syrranites, and then with you marrying a Human. You condemning us for going against the grain of Vulcan society is like me giving Charlie the anti-drugs speech...” Sybok smiled impishly. “I have a very bad idea... How far are you willing to go to close to me and Spock?”
-
“I feel very peculiar.” The walls of Sybok's basement seemed to be vibrating. “Is the room buzzing?”
“This is the greatest moment of my entire life,” Sybok chuckled happily, taking the water pipe away from Sarek.
“I am pleased to have caused such jubi-juju-julib... happiness.”
Spock eyed his father suspiciously as he rolled on the ground. “What did you intend this to accomplish?”
“Emotional intimacy,” Sybok said, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Here.” He passed the bong to Spock. “I'm thinking about incorporating catnip into my couple's therapy, like they did on Terra with MDMA.”
Spock let out a steady stream of smoke. “Amusing as this might be, I doubt the probability of your intended result.” As the last word left his mouth, Sarek's head landed in Spock's lap. “Fascinating.”
“My daughter,” Sarek murmured in Vulcan, stroking Spock's eyebrow with his thumb. “Was that right?”
“Yes,” Spock said, his throat suddenly tight.
“I thought I had made an error. I have never been as skilled as either of you in performing mind melds. I had yet to meld with a fetus before.” He looked at Sybok sadly. “T'Rea would not permit me. Amanda said yes. She wanted to know your gender, so we would not buy you the wrong clothes and furnishings. The doctor had told us your sex, but she wanted to be certain, so that we would not harm you. I performed the mind meld, and I could not tell. I thought my technique was ineffectual, but it was you. My dichotomous child: Human son, Vulcan daughter.” Sarek took hold of Spock's left hand, placing it on the psi points on his face. “Please.”
Spock looked over at Sybok. “I will, if Sybok does.”
Sybok gingerly placed his hand on the psi points on the other side of Sarek's face. “On one condition.”
“Yes?” Sarek asked.
“I want a familial bond with Ainsley.”
“I desire that, as well,” Spock said.
“She's our sister, but we barely spend any time with her.”
“I agree to your terms,” Sarek said. “However, Christine must also consent to the bond. But I foresee no objections.”
Spock and Sybok shared a meaningful glance before reciting, “My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts.”
All in.
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