The Gardens of the Desert, Part 4
Title: Gardens of the Desert
Authors: lindmere and merisunshine36
Artist: ladymac111
Mixer: nextian
Beta: sail_aweigh
Series: ST XI
Character/Pairing(s): Joanna McCoy, Kirk, McCoy, Pike, Spock/Uhura/OFC, Winona/Sarek
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language
Word Count: 27,000
Warnings: Secondary character death, violence, discussion paralleling the autism debate
The room clears out quickly. Everyone sets off in twos and threes, energized by a renewed sense of purpose now that they have something to do rather than just sit around and make aimless speculation. Joanna gives Uhura a jaunty salute before the conference room door slides shut behind her and Kirk, a good an indication as any that she's looking forward to the work ahead of her.
Eventually, Uhura and Spock are the the only two left in the room, a move she assumes was deliberate on his part since he now has a not-insignificant task on the horizon. She takes a moment to hang onto the silence that fills the room as it empties out; they haven't had much of that since they relocated to the colony, what with Spock spending most of his time navigating the bureaucracy of the colony and Uhura spending her time at the Teslau clinic with the children.
Uhura starts a little when she feels his fingers come into contact with the back of her hand, sending a curl of warmth into the pit of her stomach just like always. She adjusts her chair so she's facing him directly.
"This won't be over in a day or two," she muses. "If they can't find a way to pin the flux compression generator on the Romulans, they'll find something else."
His face takes on that preternaturally composed state, the one that's too perfect, and she knows that he's keeping information from her. She doesn't press him for it.
In the end, he just curls his fingers around hers, lets out an exhalation of breath so faint it can hardly be called a sigh. "Indeed. The destruction of my home planet has knocked the political balance of the entire Federation from its course. It will take a great many years before it is righted again."
She foresees the conversation wandering off into a direction she never intended, one full of philosophizing and reminiscence. It's a habit he picked up from so many years with Jim, the way they follow each other around in ever-wider circles of rhetoric yet somehow wind up at the same conclusion. Uhura, on the other hand, has always been direct with him from the start.
"My reassignment period is coming up next month," she says, her chest hollow with anticipation. They haven't been apart from each other for more than a few months in years, a span of time that has narrowed to days since the twins arrived. "I'm going to offer my services to Jim on whatever vessel he's posted to next, if he'll have me. It's been ages since I've done any serious work with Romulan dialects but I'm sure I can pick it up again if I..." Uhura catches herself dragging her fingers nervously back and forth across the touch screen, and clenches them into a fist. "I can't stay here, on this planet, anymore," she finishes in a rush.
I'm going insane is what she really wants to say, or maybe even something ridiculous and emotional like, I miss humans. But she bites her tongue. She's stated her intentions; that will have to be good enough.
"You are aware of the shortage of labor on the colony at present," he begins, carefully not meeting her eye. "The people of Uzh Shi'kahr place a great value on your services. As do I."
Uhura snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure they'll all miss how I corrupt the youth with my Human education methods." She tilts back in the chair and stares at the rivets in the bulkhead above her until Spock reclaims her attention by saying her name at a volume so low that she can barely hear. The disappointed look he gives her makes her uncomfortable and flushed with warmth all at once. It's as if they've been going back in time instead of forward, and they're back in the hanger again, when their tempers ran as hot as the attraction felt for one another.
"Saiehnn and I do not hold this opinion. Vesko would attest to the same, as would others, I assure you."
"Okay, yes, you're right." She pushes her chair back, away from the table and away from her obstinate husband. "But it doesn't change my decision. You've found a place that fulfills you, Spock. Don't I deserve the same?"
Spock settles back into his chair, his mouth tight around the corners. He doesn't respond.
+++++
The VIP quarters on the Carson aren’t as luxurious as those on a starship, but they’re enough to make Joanna feel that she shouldn’t touch anything--anything except the irresistible bed with its green-and-gold velveteen bedspread. She dangles her feet off the edge while she talks to Saiehnn who, true to form, has found the stiffest and most upright chair in the room. It’s delicious and frightening to be alone with her--locked away with her, in fact.
“I do not understand what progress we can hope to make before Spock reconstitutes the device,” Saiehnn says, though her presence speaks louder than her skepticism. “Admiral Kirk is no doubt supervising the investigation and interrogation of the crew.”
“Of course. But that doesn’t mean we can’t go through the mental exercise, especially since we know as much about the political situation on New Vulcan as anybody here. A Romulan device was beamed down from this ship--a ship with no Romulans on board--to damage but not destroy the Teslau Project building. Who got it on board, how was it powered up, and how was it beamed down?”
“Inductive reasoning.” Saiehnn seems to be placated. “Very well. You propose to work backward, hypothesizing a sequence of events, thus narrowing the possibilities.”
“It’s that or play chess.” Saiehnn gives her what she swears is a skeptical look. “You’re right; I’m definitely better at conversation.”
+++++
Uhura has met plenty of worms and traitors in her 20-year career, and Engineer Kanu is her least favorite kind: self justifying, passive aggressive, and worst of all incompetent--so poorly trained by his masters that he veers between an implausible cover story and flat denial depending on who’s talking to him.
“You say you received orders to charge the flux compression device and beam it down, but you won’t say from whom.” Uhura keeps her eyes focused on her PADD. “You say it never occurred to you not to follow these orders, even though you were delivering a device with enormous potential destructive energy to a civilian facility.”
“Yes,” Kanu says, pouting into his crossed arms.
“You’re either a complete idiot or lying. Since they don’t let complete idiots in the engine rooms of starships, I’m going with the latter.”
Jim moves into Kanu’s field of vision. He’s been pacing with his head down, listening while Uhura interrogates Kanu, mostly quiet, and giving the man serious jitters if he has any brains at all. Jim’s not intimidating in the conventional sense; he carries very little physical threat in his thin frame, and he’s made a career out of being underestimated. But once he’s set on a course of action, he’s relentless in its pursuit.
“He won’t protect you, you know.” Jim’s voice is hard and a little too loud; the corners of Kanu’s eyes twitch.
“I don’t know who you mean.”
“He was willing to risk the lives of innocent people,” Jim says, as if he hasn’t heard. “If he can do that, he can throw you away without a second thought.” Jim catches her eye, his own barely visible between narrow slits of dark lashes. She has no idea who Jim’s referring to, but she doesn’t need to.
“He’s right, you know. I’ve seen it happen before. But Starfleet believes in second chances. If you turn him in--”
“Starfleet?” Kanu says in disbelief. “It’s Starfleet that I’m trying to protect, from the likes of both of you. I don’t get it--I was raised on stories of the Enterprise; it’s one of the reasons I came out here in the first place. But now look at you.” He flicks a glance at Jim. “Driving a school bus for scientists. And you? Holding babies for the Vulcan. Shit, if that’s what 20 years of--”
Uhura doesn’t get to hear any more of Kanu’s editorializing because Jim gives him a good whack on the base of the skull, hard enough to deliver a point but not to damage.
“Commander Uhura is a recipient of the Medal of Valor, and you’re an asshole who’s about to do 20 for treason.” Jim says. “Apologize to her.”
Kanu glares at him, slightly cross-eyed. “I won’t-”
“You will.” Jim looks down on the crown of his head from his full six feet in height, eyes cold. “Because you’re going to need all the friends you can get, and even though I’m pretty sure I hate you, you could be useful to me. More useful than you are to him.”
“Who?” The contempt in Kanu’s voice is starting to wear thin.
“Admiral Cartwright.”
It’s all Uhura can do to stifle a gasp; Kanu, less guarded, lets his chin drop and gapes at Kirk while his brain recalculates its limited options.
“Commander Uhura.” His voice is flat, braver than a mumble, but without the bluster Jim’s just thwacked out of him. “I didn’t mean to imply--”
“Oh yes, you did.” She gets up, kicks her chair away, and stands shoulder to shoulder with Jim. “You know what would make me feel a whole lot better? If you told us everything. Right now.”
+++++
“But assuming hardcore anti-Romulans in Starfleet staged the whole thing, what would be the point--to get rid of the colony? What kind of threat could it possibly be?”
Joanna is lying back on the huge bed staring at the ceiling, because it’s less distracting than staring at Saiehnn, who’s unwound far enough to remove the outer layer of her complicated dress.
“Does the rest of the Federation truly understand the difference between the Romulan colonists and the Star Empire?”
“You mean, is one bunch of Romulans as good as another when it comes to stirring up hostility?” Joanna rolls onto her side. “Do you think anyone at Starfleet’s really that cold-hearted--attacking and injuring pregnant women to make the Romulans look bad?”
“Much can be justified in self defense. Nero believed he was saving Romulus.”
“I know,” Joanna says, and feels pointlessly guilty, the way she does every time Saiehnn alludes to her past. “I’d just like to think better of the Federation.”
The silence that stretches out should be uncomfortable for many reasons, but it isn’t. Saiehnn walks to the viewport and looks down on New Vulcan, beige and featureless and moonless, and Joanna can’t resist any longer. She doesn’t move from the bed; it’s easier to drift on the unreality of a post-adrenaline crash, the weirdness of her surroundings, and Saiehnn’s face, glowing in the ship’s running lights.
“How do you do it, Saiehnn?” she asks softly. “Why aren’t you ever bitter or angry about what happened? And how do you face an entire life of knowing you’ll never get back what you had--” Joanna swallows. “Of never getting what you want?”
Saiehnn turns to face her, eyes sharp and unflinching. “If you believe I will never receive it, then you are clearly wrong about what I wish. Or perhaps you believe you can provide it yourself.”
Even in her most sentimental moments, Joanna has never deceived herself, although it makes what follows a confession instead of a declaration. “Of course not. I just want to know that you’re happy, in whatever way you can be. That it isn’t just duty that keeps you with Spock and Uhura. And I want you to know--” It takes all of Joanna’s strength not to reach out to Saiehnn. “I want you to know that your happiness is important to me, if that helps at all. Because I care about you. Because I love you.”
Whatever’s in Saiehnn’s eyes at that moment, it isn’t contempt.
“Yes,” she says. “I know.”
“You do.” It doesn’t matter whether Saiehnn is a telepath; she’s a keen observer. Joanna would have noticed, if she hadn’t been so enamored of her selfless, doomed love.
“Yes. I have observed for some time that you sought out my company. I have also discussed it with Nyota, who received confirmation from your father.”
“You discussed it?” Joanna’s mortification is transmuting into anger. “Little Jo McCoy has a crush on Spock and Uhura’s wife, whatever shall we do? Like that?”
“You are young and far from home.” Saiehnn’s tone verges on sympathetic, which makes it worse. “Human emotions are malleable at such times. As it caused me no injury, I saw no reason to take action, except that I anticipated that our parting might cause you distress.”
“What parting?”
“The Teslau project will in all likelihood be discontinued. The results have been equivocal at best, and the attack will focus attention on it that is unlikely to be positive.”
“But that’s unfair!” Joanna knows how she sounds, how it makes a lie of her protestations to maturity, but it is unfair that on one of the first days of her life that she felt competent and useful that everything should be pulled away. “What about the kids--who’s going to teach them? What about the parents? What about you?”
Saiehnn’s gaze drops, only for a second; it’s fortunate that Joanna has become such a keen student of Saiehnn’s body language, or she might have missed it. “I am sure I will find other ways to serve the cause of Restoration.”
“God damn it.” There’s a stronger curse in her throat, but more than a year on Vulcan has given her a built-in filter, even now. “You can’t convince me there’s nothing you want for yourself. I don’t care if it’s not me, but it must be something. Nobody is that selfless.”
Saiehnn opens her mouth as if she’d like to argue but realizes it would be paradoxically egotistical. “If I wish anything, it is to have freedom of choice. Unfortunately, I do not; the decisions that govern my life were made when I was still a child.”
“But who says you have to follow them?” Joanna aches to touch her, to let her feel the force of Joanna’s own desires and ambitions--half-formed, unclear, full of fruitless human longing as they are. “A baby’s obligations to its parents stop the day it’s born. That’s what my father says.”
“It is not so with us. If we reject the legacy of all that is gone before, then we are no longer Vulcan.”
“Then be something else.”
Saiehnn looks truly startled.
“Human malleability is indeed remarkable. Yet you cannot be a rock or a tree. Nor can you be a Vulcan.”
“I think I could if I wanted to. I’m pretty sure Rh’vaurek could. At least he was willing to try.” Thinking of Rh’vaurek blasted body, Joanna summons the courage to take Saiehnn’s hand in her own. It’s hot and dry, alien and lovely. “I want to have his courage. I want to be around people who don’t believe in limitations. I thought you were one of them, Saiehnn. I still think so, but I want you to want things for yourself.”
Saiehnn does not remove her hand; instead, the fingers curl lightly around Joanna’s own. “There is much that I would wish to be different, if I could freely choose.”
Joanna feels tears start to her eyes; it’s that beautiful, and Saiehnn is radiant in her indecision. “There,” she says, stroking her hand lightly. “It really isn’t that hard.”
+++++
“Cartwright.” Uhura keeps repeating his name, hoping it will start to make sense. She remembers him as an intense and dedicated captain, a military prodigy of an admiral, hero of a dozen skirmishes with the Klingons. “Did you guess, or did you know?”
Jim’s sitting in one conference chair with his legs stretched out in another, a flap of his admiral’s tunic undone, like a partygoer after a long night. “Kanu served with him on the Bonaventure. That’s how these things usually go if you’re not a career rat; bonds forged in battle, and all that. And Cartwright hasn’t been in my fan club since I backed the Antarion Treaty. You have to admire it, in a way; either I’d be here to validate that the Romulan colonists were behind the attack, or I’d trace the device back to this ship and look like an idiot for letting it happen on my own vessel. Lance was always a hell of a strategist. Now I’m going to ram all that strategy up his tailpipe and make sure he never puts on a Starfleet uniform again.”
“So that’s the plan? Turn everything over to Starfleet?” Uhura’s perched on the edge of the conference table, swing her legs back and forth to dispel what’s left of the adrenaline. “How can you be sure the conspiracy doesn’t go up any higher than Cartwright?”
“I can’t; hence the vulgar analogy. You put a stick of dynamite up a tailpipe, the whole fucking thing explodes.” He kicks at the table leg. “God fucking damn it. Chris Pike picked a hell of a time to die. I have no idea what’s going on in San Francisco any more.”
“You don’t think he--” Uhura pauses, because Jim’s feelings about Pike, while not exactly sentimental, are at least familial.
“I wish I could say I had no doubts, that I know he’d never authorize hurting civilians. I don’t want to think he could. He believed in the loyal opposition; shit, he even wanted me to take the Excelsior, so I could keep on charming everyone with my borderline-insubordinate ways.”
“And why didn’t you?” Uhura’s heard the story before from his own lips, but she wonders if the answer has changed.
Jim gives a snort and looks sullen, recalling a side of him only the Bridge crew ever saw, the enthusiasm that was only ever depressed by death and betrayal, both of which he’s had in the last few days.
“I didn’t trust myself. In life and death situations, the possibilities narrow to where the ethics get pretty fucking clear. But playing the long game, I could have ended up like Cartwright. Whatever it was that Pike had that kept his head on straight, I don’t have that.” He gives a tight smile. “Crazy, unpredictable Jim Kirk, controlled chaos. I’m a useful tool in the right hands, but I’m not a leader. Not in the way that I’d have to be.”
Uhura considers her next words carefully, because when Jim’s in one of these moods he’s as likely to shut down as take a swing at the person sitting next to him. She half wishes that Spock were here, but Spock’s always been indulgent with Jim, assuming with Vulcan naivete that Jim’s moods were a necessary side effect of his massive enthusiasms.
“I think that’s an excuse.” She keeps her voice neutral, as if they’re discussing the Federation elections. “You believe Pike had some kind of magical moral compass he could consult? There’s no such thing. It’s hard for everyone to know they have to live with the consequences of their decisions.”
His brows lower; he’s skeptical, maybe a little annoyed, but he’s not angry. “Hmm. You arranged it pretty well for yourself, though, didn’t you? Teaching, raising the next generation; unimpeachable, even if it bores you out of your damn mind.”
“You think I’m holding babies for Spock, too?” She aims an almost-not-mock kick at him. “I’m an outworlder married to one of Vulcan’s favorite sons, raising two kids with three parents on a planet where the biggest luxury item is water. If you think that’s easy, excuse me, but up yours, Captain.” Her scowl slides into a grin. “I mean, up yours, Admiral.”
“It’s okay, old habits die hard.” Jim’s looking a bit more cheerful himself. “I didn’t mean to imply your life was easy, it’s just--the narrowed options thing, you know.”
“I know what you meant. I won’t deny it; New Vulcan is insular and preoccupied with survival. The Vai Ba’Tak may spend time debating whether k’thia permits the consumption of monocellular organisms, but everyone else is more worried about whether Councillor Sepan is going to vote for a second Market Day. Basically, New Vulcan is a small town populated by obsessive-compulsive geniuses with photographic memories. And I won’t deny that I miss this--or at least, that I miss all of us serving together. I’m not sure the Starfleet I remember exists any more.”
“Me, neither.” He gets to his feet and offers her a hand as she slides off the desk, feeling the cold metal against the back of her thighs, a sense memory from another time. “Only one way to find out; throw the grenade and see what floats to the surface.”
She lets her hand rest on his shoulder for a moment longer. “For a suspected pacifist, you sure are full of grisly metaphors.”
“For a schoolteacher, you sure like an excuse to strap on your phaser.” He means it as a good-natured joke, at least until he gets a good look at Uhura’s face.
“I want to ask, you know,” he says quietly. “I want to ask like you wouldn’t believe, for you to come with me. But it wouldn’t be fair, would it? To so many people, but especially to you.”
It won’t hurt just to hear what he has to say, she tells herself, and that’s how she knows she’s already made the decision. But for her to live with herself, he’s got to prove to her that Starfleet needs her as much as--more--than the Colony, than her family.
“Go ahead,” she says. “Take your best shot.”
Jim grins, warming to the challenge. It turns out that what Starfleet has to offer is quite a lot.
+++++
South of Uzh Shi'Kahr, the low hills give way to a flat-bottomed valley, a vestige of a time when there was running water on this planet. As light refracts through the hotter air close to the burning rock, it appears silver and slick, reflective, like still water. Like the still surface of the Voroth Sea, Spock thinks, and wonders--not for the first time--if this is why his father selected the location for his home. The family villa at Raal was a masterpiece of classical architecture, blending seamlessly into the red rock, uniting sea, earth and sky. It is gone now, of course, along with the rock and sea. Only the sunlight remains, the visible radiance of 40 Eridani reflecting off its two remaining planets.
Spock has long since ceased trying to prevent himself from falling into these well-worn patterns of thought. It is easier to let them run their course, to pass through his mind and out into figurative space, as he does during meditation. For a moment he allows himself to be fully present in the memory of Raal, to contemplate what he had and did not have, during his brief life on that planet.
“My son.” Sarek appears in the doorway, holding two glasses of ka’sak. Spock takes one from his hand and raises it in a gesture of respect.
“Health and long life to you, father.” They each drink and Spock feels a familiar discomfort settle over him. Though their relations have greatly improved in the years since his mother’s death, Spock does not forget that the role of a Vulcan parent is to guide a child’s mind with constant correction, and that his father had applied this principle with diligence. “I presume you wish to discuss the investigation into the Teslau matter.”
“This is a worthy subject for discussion,” Sarek says, with a slight inclination of his head. “You may know that James has asked me to file a formal complaint with the Federation as a way of increasing political pressure to purge the corrupt elements from the Starfleet leadership. This I have agreed to do, as I believe it will ultimately benefit Vulcan.”
“Jim does not believe his own influence to be sufficient,” Spock says, relaxing slightly. This topic has been very much on his mind as well.
“No, and in this, I believe he is wrong. However, I did not summon you hear to speak of James. I have a private matter to discuss with you, my son.”
This statement revives Spock’s concern.
“Yes, father?”
Sarek runs a fingertip around the rim of his glass, a curiously purposeless gesture. “Marriage, as you know, is among the most sacred of all Vulcan traditions. Marriage, and the bond that precedes it, is the structure upon which we build our commitment to non-violence.”
Nonplussed, Spock quickly reviews his recent behavior as a husband and finds nothing wanting. “I trust that I have always shown the greatest respect for that institution.”
“Indeed.” Sarek moves to stand behind Spock but does not look at him, keeping his gaze instead on the bare hills, where the lowering sun glows like a dying fire. “You have fulfilled your obligation to continue the line of Surak. I have, however, a different obligation: to set an example as a leader of our world and a representative of the living memory of Vulcan.”
“Have you not fulfilled this obligation as well?” Spock hopes his reference is sufficiently elliptical. Sahn’pel, Sarek’s second wife, had died shortly before Spock and Uhura had arrived on Vulcan.
“Marriage is not an achievement; it is a state, and one which male Vulcans are ill advised to forswear until they are advanced in years.” Now Spock must suppress a slight dilation of the blood vessels in his face; he has never discussed the time of madness with his father, and has no wish to do so.
“I presume, then, that you plan to marry again?”
“I do.”
It is not unexpected; Spock had, in fact, wondered when his father might take another wife, although the fact that his union with Sahn’pel had been childless had raised uncomfortable questions.
“And the name of she who is to be my mother?”
Sarek comes as close to smiling as Spock recalls ever seeing. “She is Winona Kirk, of course.”
Spock experiences a curious sensation, similar to falling. He grabs at the balcony railing to steady himself. Sarek looks taken aback.
“Surely this is no surprise. You know that Winona and I have spent a great deal of time in each other’s company. She is a woman of good character, highly intelligent, and respected in her profession. Moreover she is the mother of James, your close associate.”
“On the contrary, I have nothing but regard for her. But I naturally assumed you would select a Vulcan mate.” His father continues to look at him impassively, and Spock is annoyed at his obtuseness. “As I have done. As so many others have done, for the survival of our species and culture.”
“You found an elegantly logical solution to reconcile your obligations and your personal desires, it is true. Yet you must know that it is controversial in many quarters. There are those who regard Saiehnn as your true and only wife. I cannot allow this to be the case with Winona.”
“And yet it is acceptable for Nyota?” Spock makes no effort to control his anger. “Our arrangement, however logical, has been difficult for all three of us, Nyota most of all. She left her homeworld and her commission in Starfleet to raise our children in conditions that may at best be called inhospitable. I have subjected her to all this because I believed it was my duty to Vulcan. And now you take a wife of your choosing and will have no other, and you tell me that it is out of obligation?”
“Nyota is fully capable of choosing her own path,” Sarek says, a hard edge to his voice. “As your mother was. As Winona is. Through their choices I have learned much about human adaptability, and it is this example I wish to place before our people. My son, our civilization is dying a slow death. It may seem beyond the reach of any one individual to prevent that. And yet it has happened before, in the time of Surak, when we almost destroyed ourselves through passion and ignorance.”
“Then you support Reunification, after all?”
“Why must it be one or the other? No, I do not support Reunification, as I have learned not to trust to the clemency of the victor. True change, I believe, comes only with necessity and pain; again, I point to our own history.”
“Admiral Kirk believes that the Romulans desire peace as much as we do, but that their culture provides no framework in which it can be sought honorably. He believes we can show them the way.”
Sarek gives another half-smile. “James takes human empathy to its logical conclusion; he believes that his own capacity for change is present in all sentient beings.”
“You disagree?”
“No, but I would be unwilling to wager the survival of the Federation on it. Yet Vulcan must adapt and find a path forward, lest we become as a species under glass, something to be studied and put back on the shelf.”
“What of the aspect of khul-ut-shan that speaks to the preservation of diversity?”
“The universe is far from perfect. As Surak said, khul-ut-shan as it exists in our minds is but a shadow of its real form. I serve it in my own way, and I am proud of what I have achieved.”
“To what specifically do you refer?”
Sarek joins his first two fingers and brushes them against the back of Spock’s hand. It is the closest he has come to touching Spock in many decades, and he feels the brush of his father’s mind like the passage of a great ship.
“To you yourself, my son. You are a child of two worlds and the only one of your kind. I trust you shall not be the last.”
I never wished to be a symbol, Spock thinks, and then thinks of his own children.
Sarek holds his gaze for a moment but says nothing, finally taking the empty glass from Spock’s hand and disappearing into the house, leaving Spock alone with his thoughts and the first stars of evening.
+++++
Winona casts an eye around her office at the Teslau Center for the last time, checking to make sure that nothing is left behind. Not that she has much to take with her--a few PADDs, a mug made by one of the Teslau mothers, a sweater for the nights that she was kept late and the desert cold crept into the walls.
If she wanted, she could wait until everything settles down again. But at 72, Winona isn't too keen on the idea of twiddling her thumbs while Starfleet slowly siphons off the funding for Teslau each year until it ceases to exist altogether. There's a cushy research position waiting for her at the VSA; perhaps she'll have the opportunity to find some smart kid she can nudge towards the idea of revisiting the heaps of data they've collected. They haven't even begun to scratch the surface of the raw data acquired on those few children who possessed enhanced telepathic ability. `
"Computer, lights off," she says, her voice ringing loudly in the silence.
Winona makes a point of taking her leave formally from the few full time staff they have on board there. She'd notified them all as soon as she made her decision, but still, her breath gets a little caught in her chest when she says goodbye. They politely pretend not to notice as they offer formal regrets at the news of her departure. Whether or not they're all sincere, she can only guess.
There's a heaviness in the air that hangs over everything, working its way into the silences that used to be filled with children's voices. Classes are on hold indefinitely; the High Council deemed their continuation unsafe until such a time when they can guarantee the safety of the children. And who knows when that will be.
Vesko's office is last on her list. When she arrives, she's greeted by the rise and fall of soft conversation coming from inside. It falls to a stop when she sets foot into the doorway.
"You may enter, Commander Kirk."
T'Pau, Winona thinks. She's bit stunned to see her at all, a sentiment that rapidly curdles into bitterness.. She's probably come to gloat over the figurative and literal rubble that's been made of Teslau. Her anger rises hot and fast under her collar. Who does she think she is, anyway--Winona has never needed special clearance to enter the offices of her own staff members.
Winona clears her throat, nods to politely first to T'Pau in deference to her status as the eldest female in the room. "Good evening, T'Pau, Vesko. What brings you to the clinic today?"
T'Pau's expression shifts subtly. "You are angry with me," she says, a questioning rise at the end of the statement.
Vesko makes a hesitant motion forward from her position next to the windowsill. A long crack runs down the window, one of the many small repairs on hold for the moment due to the shortage of workers and the long list of high priority construction projects in the city.
"Winona," Vesko says, moving to intercept the argument that they can all see on the horizon, "T'Pau has come to offer congratulations on your appointment at the Academy. I am sure you will find the position a suitable match to your skill set."
That makes Winona feel a little embarrassed, but it doesn't quell her suspicion entirely. The day T'Pau makes a visit solely for the purpose of socialization is the day Winona signs up as a trader with the Orion Syndicate.
"I supposed you're satisfied, then," Winona says wearily. "The Vai Ba’Tak have achieved their stated aim, after all. Teslau is effectively finished."
"I gain no pleasure from senseless violence." T'Pau replies, sharply. That strength of personality within her that has bent entire governments to her will is like a palpable force in the air. "The attack brings no benefit to the people of Uzh Shi'kahr. I anticipate that in the long term, the Federation will shift its focus away from the colony and toward the Romulan threat, whether it is real or a fantasy."
"You don't think the Romulans are responsible?" Winona says, caught off guard.
"That remains to be determined," she replies, easily dodging the question. "It is also irrelevant. Teslau was destined to meet with failure from the moment it was conceived."
"The project succeeded in its stated aims," interjects Vesko. "The adaptation of the teachings of Surak was one step in the evolution of our people; Teslau was to be the next."
"Surak has taught us that where fear walks, anger is its companion." T'Pau looks pointedly at the cracked window. "Every star has a number of years in our skies before it burns itself out. It is your fear of the natural progression of our race that has brought us to this point."
Winona scoffs. They live in a world where the laws of physics are bent to their will on a daily basis, and she wants to draw the line at giving population replacement a little nudge in the right direction? "Are you saying that you would let Vulcan die rather than have a few of you who are different?" She takes a deep breath and uncurls her fingers from where the nails were cutting into the skin of her palms. "The science here was new, untested--we would have gotten it in a few more years, I know we would have."
"At what cost?" T'Pau demands. "If we cannot communicate, one mind to another, we are no longer Vulcan. Do tell me, Commander Kirk. What number of children with mothers who cannot speak to them, or fathers can not touch them, would be sufficient to justify your cause?"
From the corner of her eye, Winona spots Vesko, who holds herself terribly still. She's no doubt thinking of her own children, whose psychic abilities are so accelerated that they are drawn into a mind meld instantaneously upon contact with another individual. Winona's own thoughts go to T'Sura, who at her young age already shows a growing reluctance to interact with her peers outside of the Teslau center.
"I don't have an answer for you, T'Pau. But I know that we at least had to try. "
There's something undeniably weary about the way that T'Pau looks at them. "Yes. I thought as much."
+++++
Spock finds Jim at the Federation’s semi-permanent headquarters on New Vulcan, where the Admiral has been given a small, plain office that at least has the distinction of a door. The building itself is as bland and steeped in human geometry as any of the others constructed by the Federation Authority for New Vulcan. That the buildings are starting to show signs of age in the harsh climate is a visible reminder of exactly how long it has been since the settlement of New Vulcan, while sheer number of humans working in the building demonstrates too clearly that the promise of rapid revival has not been met.
“Can you spare a moment? I wish to speak with you briefly,” Spock says, observing Jim’s temporary desk, cluttered with a half-dozen PADDs, a half-finished cup of coffee, and a small wooden box.
“Sure, sit. I’ve got something I need to talk to you about, too, but I can’t promise it’ll be brief.” Spock notices that Jim is not smiling.
“Perhaps it concerns the same matter.”
“Won’t know until you tell me.” Spock sees unaccustomed challenge in Jim’s direct, blue gaze.
“Very well. I have spoken with my father, who wished to convey his intention to--” Spock pauses, and Jim leans forward.
“Lodge a complaint with the Federation? Yeah, I know, and I can’t tell you how important I think it is. It’s going to make it awfully hard for the Committee of Inquiry to think it’s just Jim Kirk being a holier-than-thou ass again.”
“It is uncharacteristic of you to care about others’ opinions,” Spock says, a little thrown off. “But it is his intentions concerning your mother of which I wish to speak.”
“Oh, that.” The absent smile finally breaks out across Kirk’s face. “I probably had the same conversation with mom. It’s kind of cute that they wanted to ask our permission first.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That I was delighted, of course. Wait--did you think I’d be upset?”
“I hoped not. Yet your mother did not remarry after the death of your father, and it has been many years.” Spock has an unpleasant memory of his own illogical feelings when witnessing Sarek’s marriage to Sahn'pel.
“Not that many years,” Jim says, running a hand through his thinning hair. He has been alive, of course, for the exact number of years that his mother has been a widow. “But apart from making my mom happy, it’s going to make us family--you and me and Uhura. How could I not be pleased with that?”
“You are generous, as always, in your construction of events.”
“You mean I’m a hopeless optimist. Well, in this case I think it’s a safe bet. This Teslau thing has turned into a mess. Starfleet’s likely to keep it going for long enough that they can’t be accused of giving into terrorism, and then mothball it. Why should Winona get pushed around by annoying Starfleet brass like me when she can be here, among her own people?” Spock raises an eyebrow in question. “You know--scientists.”
“Then she intends to give up her commission?”
“Hand over the phaser, keep the pension. Sounds like a good deal to me.” Kirk picks up the coffee cup, sniffs at it tentatively, and takes a swallow. “Less than a day old is probably safe, right? I really hope I can make it to the wedding; Vulcan weddings are great. Has Sarek picked an executioner yet?”
“No plans have been made because they are not formally betrothed. Sarek will, however, expect both his sons to be there.” The word produces an alteration in Jim’s mood, which was veering toward the lighthearted.
“Oh, right. Vulcans consider bonds by marriage to be the equivalent of family ties. That’ll be novel. I’ve never had a father to piss off before.” As he speaks, he runs his finger lightly along the top of the wooden box on his desk, as if to brush off the dust.
“Sarek is--” Spock pauses, unable to easily summarize everything he has learned about his father. “He is a typical Vulcan father in many ways--demanding to the point of harshness, by human standards. Yet he is capable of surprising leaps in--I hesitate to call it logic; vision might be more precise. And he is a great admirer of human culture. As you are its embodiment, at least in its better aspects, I believe Sarek will consider you a most satisfactory addition to the family.”
“Thanks. I’ll do my best to live up to that.” Jim’s smile now is warm and genuine; Spock feels himself responding, as he always has, both on the level of personal affection, and to his captain, who does not make idle promises.
“Now, you wished to tell me something as well?”
“Yeah.” Jim slumps a bit, sighs out a little whuff of air, and pulls the wooden box toward himself with both hands, as if he is determined to confront something unwelcome. “Bones brought me this. It’s Pike’s. He left it with Bones a while back, to give to me in case something happened. That’s not unusual in itself; humans can be pretty sentimental when it comes to death and parcelling out their stuff. But he’d already made me his executor, and you better believe the chain of custody on an admiral’s personal effects is pretty tight. So I figured that there had to be something in here he wanted me to see.”
Jim flips the lid of the box open, and it bangs against the desk with a hollow thud. Spock avoids looking at its contents.
“Go on and look. It’s nothing personal. I mean, it’s all personal, but nothing he’d be embarrassed to have you see. You were friends with him longer than I was, after all.”
Spock considers the truth of that statement as he peers at the box. It appears to be the usual ephemera that humans accumulate through their lives, like the magpie birds of Earth that gather shiny objects: a pair of ancient-looking cufflinks, a few comm badges, pieces of paper, a handful of memory cubes, and a crude metal model of a starship that appears to be of the Deep Space Scout type. Jim brushes it lightly with his fingertip.
“I was going to go for the memory cubes first, but this caught my eye. It’s the Kelvin.”
“May I ask how you know?” The model appears to have no markings on it, save a few small holes.
“Long story. Anyway, Chris would’ve known this would catch my eye, and that I’d pick it up. Lucky, because it’s got a biometric lock, and it opened when I touched it. Like magic. Like something from an old story.” Jim fits actions to words, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, close to his face, scrutinizing. With a tiny click and a sigh, the miniature saucer section opens, and Spock peers in.
“It appears to be some type of nanodevice,” Spock says.
“You’re right. It’s a recording device, and what it recorded was Pike’s personal logs. There are hundreds of hours, but I figured the last ones would be the most interesting, huh?”
Jim’s words are a bit too rushed and hectic for Spock’s comfort. It cannot have been easy, listening to the words of a dead man to whom he had been so close, never minding what they said.
“And what did they reveal?”
Jim meets Spock’s eyes with effort. “Pike was involved in a secret intelligence initiative. Only the highest levels of Starfleet knew about it, which, interestingly enough, didn’t include me. But Chris trusted me; in the end, he trusted me, even though we’d had our differences about the Romulan matter.” Jim places the device in his open palm and drops his hand, along with his gaze, to the desk. Spock feels it would be rude to notice the shine of moisture in his eyes, though he himself is hardly unaffected. “He trusted us both, at the very beginning. I feel like this is his last order, Spock, and I want to do the right thing. But it’s not just a ship this time. Not even Earth.”
“No? What is it, then?”
“Oh, nothing we can’t handle.” Jim’s eyes are still bright, but now he is smiling. “Just the whole damn galaxy.”
The look in his eye, the tone in his voice--mischief where others would see horrifying danger, as if he were a child and the risk of death were an unearned treat--Spock’s heart responds to Jim as it always has. But Jim has remained the same, and Spock is now a different person.
“I regret that I cannot--” he begins.
“I know, I know,” Jim says quickly, ducking his head, hiding his disappointment. “You have obligations here. I get it. But I can’t help wanting what I want. Between you and Uhura, you make me feel like Mephistopheles.”
“Like that devil of Earth, you are not offering us anything that we do not already desire.”
“That may be true--” his voice trails off, and he rubs his hands together, restless. “Spock, I did make Uhura an offer. I won’t apologize for it; there’s going to have to be a purge after this Teslau thing, and we’ve been losing officers anyway, between the border skirmishes and the fact that a lot of people are expecting to get our assess handed to us by the Romulans. If news about his last mission gets out, there’s going to be an exodus, and I need good people. Great people. So I offered Uhura command of the Astarte.”
Spock is rendered momentarily speechless, not least of all at the thought that it only now occurs to him that this something his wife would both excel at and wish for.
“As she has both extensive experience on the Enterprise and technical and linguistic skills, she would be a fine choice.”
“Oh, please. If the thought doesn’t terrify you, you’re not--” Jim pauses.
“Human? A loving husband?” Spock can sit still no longer, and rises to pace--a bad habit, but one he will not curtail now. “I have tried to be these things and as always, I find them difficult to reconcile with being a good Vulcan. The truth is that besides the Vai Ba’Tak, and those old and set in their ways, there are few who would remain on New Vulcan if presented with an honorable alternative. I have every reason to wish to go with you and Nyota.”
“Every reason?”
“I stand corrected. I have my children, and Saiehnn, to keep me here.” At this moment, the thought does not comfort him as it should. “Jim, Nyota has been unhappy here for some time. I cannot leave, and I gain nothing by persuading her to stay.”
Jim places his hands, palms open, on the desk, a gesture of openness, or perhaps surrender. “You know me, and how I work. I don’t take risks with other people’s lives lightly, but when I have a job to do, I work with the tools I’m given.”
“Of course,” Spock says, trying with all his discipline not to feel like he has lost a battle. “I expect nothing less.”
+++++
Taking on T'Sura and Saavik for an afternoon of babysitting isn't a pleasure that Winona indulges in often, but with Sam and Aurelan's children parsecs away, it's certainly one she misses. There's no overstuffed bag of toys or list of frantic instructions, just a single PADD and a three-dimensional puzzle, which all three parents repeatedly assure her are more than enough to keep the occupied for the next few hours. Winona, however, is skeptical, and has picked up a few educational learning tools over the years that come highly recommended by some of the parents she's come into contact with. They all look more like instruments for torture rather than amusement, but Winona is doing her best not to judge. Her refrigerator is stocked with her secret stash of imported Terran foods, once of the small luxuries she intends to introduce the children to, as befits her role of surrogate grandmother.
"Rumor has it that this might be the last time I drop them off here," Uhura says, her expression coy.
"Vulcans are terrible gossips in their own way, aren’t they?" The children duck behind her legs and disappear into her flat. She's been on her own for so long now--it would be a lie to say that there wasn't a small amount of apprehension involved in folding herself into another person's life, especially one as important as Sarek.
"Admit it, he makes you happy," Uhura says, laughter in her eyes. "I can tell."
A smile and a shrug is all she'll give away--she's picked up a number of personality quirks from her partner-to-be, and a certain degree of emotional dissembling is just one of them. "So, you're headed back into the black--how does it feel?"
"Good--and bad. Strange." A shadow passes over Uhura's face. "I think Spock is coming around to the idea, but it's taking a while. Longer than I thought I would, to be honest."
Spock and Saiehnn are staying on the colony with the children, at least for the foreseeable future. The work of chipping away the domestic resistance to anything that isn't an exact replica of life on old Vulcan is an uphill battle, and they're still standing at the foot of the mountain.
Winona gives Uhura's shoulder a squeeze. "Don't forget that Spock's a stranger here, too. He's up to his ears in politics not only because he wants to be, but because he has to. His real friends, well--they're probably few and far between. I probably don't have to tell you this, but, he's going to miss you."
Winona can see the hesitation written all over her face. Both Uhura and Saiehnn have put up remarkably well, what with standing on the dividing line of Spock's affections for all these years. But she must have a lot of faith in her marriage to take off to the other side of the galaxy, where she'll be out of touch with her young family for months at a time, if not years.
A crash sounds from somewhere in the direction of the bedroom, followed by an ominous silence. Winona's ears perk up, but she doesn't hear any crying, so it can't be that bad. On the other hand, hold it a minute--the twins probably wouldn't shed a tear if you were holding their feet to a fire.
Winona smiles at the pained expression on Uhura's face. "Well, I can't tell you what you'll run into out there, but I can say that I'm sure you won't miss this part at all."
+++++
"Good weather today," says Uhura, looking out of the shuttleport window. The station at Uzh Shi'Kahr is still tiny--people aren't exactly banging down the doors to get here.
"You call this good weather? I call it torture," replies Kirk, a grimace on his face. He turns to Joanna, who tagged along for the send-off. Kirk has done his best to rally her to the spacefaring cause in the past few weeks, although Uhura isn't so sure how successful he'll be. Joanna is her father's daughter after all, a landlover to the core.
"You sure you don't want to come with us, Lieutenant? The ship is climate controlled for the comfort of you and twenty-seven other species onboard."
Joanna wrinkles her nose, then shakes her head. “I’ve requested transfer to the Starfleet base at Uzh Shi'Kahr. I think Sarek will put in a good word for me. He said he liked the data visualization stuff I did for Teslau.”
“Lies!” McCoy says, appearing behind her. “She’s cooking something up with the Romulans. No, not anything like that,” he adds, seeing Uhura’s expression of shock. “Some kind of cultural exchange. What culture, I ask you? Duelling? Assassination techniques?”
“It’s not like that at all! Romulus is an ancient culture, with--” The rest is lost as the two McCoys walk onto the Carson’s shuttle together.
“If he can keep her talking, we might be able to take off with both of them,” Jim says.
“Jo’s not going anywhere,” Uhura says. “It’s strange, but she’s settled in the best of all of us.”
“Resilience of youth. Or stubbornness of McCoys, one or the other.” When Uhura can’t quite bring herself to laugh, Jim stops trying. “And she had the least to hold her back. She loves her family, but she’s at the age where she has to make her own place in the universe.”
“Then what does that say about me? That I’m going through a second childhood?”
Kirk makes a noncommittal noise, trying and failing to look innocent. "You said it, not me".
"Sometimes I wonder if Joanna's taking the right approach with the Romulans. I still can't believe that they're pursuing the development of--” She doesn’t speak it aloud, not even here; the Romulans’ possession of red matter is a highly classified secret. “Not after the destruction it's already created." Uhura remembers the sight of a hundred cracks spreading across the viewscreen of the Enterprise as that gaping mouth threatened to swallow them whole. It never fails to send a chill down her spine.
"If you look at it from their perspective, it's a strategically sound decision. Starfleet has yet to return to its pre-Narada strength, and Vulcan never will. If we wanted to maintain our position as king of the mountain, we’d be looking into ways to develop it ourselves."
Kirk is keeping his expression perfectly still, which makes Uhura suspicious. He's always worn his emotions on his sleeve. "Well, are we?" she asks, and is almost afraid to hear the answer.
"I'm glad to say that the answer to that question is no. Old Spock may have given us enough information to destroy Nero, but that was all he gave us."
"But it had to have come up among the brass at some point."
"It did." The corners of his mouth tilt up into a wry smile. "I fought it every step of the way."
Uhura tightens her grip on the window railing. When Kirk argues with Spock, it's merely the first step on their path to eventual agreement. But while Uhura respects him, she's never quite seen eye-to-eye with Kirk, and she suspects it's the same here. Kirk has done a lot for New Vulcan. But he's never had to watch Saiehnn sit up late at night trying to piece together the history of her family, trying to conjure a legacy for the twins out of the few pieces of oral history that survived. On those nights, Uhura keenly feels the need to have someone to blame.
"Do you ever regret it?"
Uhura's attempt at prevarication doesn't fool Kirk in the slightest. He shakes his head firmly, all traces of his usual warmth disappeared.
"Not once. Who's to say we would stop at simply threatening them? Once it's out there, there's no turning back."
"And yet we expect to them to drop their weapons and turn tail at the sight of us?"
“They don’t know we haven’t developed--it. In fact, I have it on good authority that Romulan spies returning home from the colony here are confirming our own weapons program. They’re telling the Star Empire that Teslau was a convenient distraction, and that Old Spock’s hermit routine was just that, a cover.”
“Good lord.” Uhura’s going to need to recalibrate her mind for the multi-layered deceptions of galactic politics. “How long can we keep bluffing?”
"A good long while, I think. No one can resist the Kirk charm.” He nudges her with his shoulder. "Not even Romulans. Are you gonna tell me you're not excited?"
"I can hardly wait," Uhura replies, and is surprised to realize that she means it.
Their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Spock and Saiehnn, with the twins in tow. They attempted to leave for the station all at the same time, but the twins had waylaid them with their most recent round of investigations into the viscosity of breakfast cereals at various temperatures.
Uhura squats down to the ground where T'Sura is standing next to Spock, one hand on his trouser leg for comfort.
"Behave for me, okay? No more experiments at the table."
She gifts each of the girls with a series of kisses on each cheek, an experience that they bear with remarkable stoicism. The thought that they might be twice this size the next time she gets to touch them makes her heart twinge a little.
"Your safety will always be foremost in my thoughts," Spock says, keeping his voice low enough that only she can hear.
Uhura's afraid of what she'll say if she opens herself up right now. There's no telling which of the jumble of emotions jockeying for supremacy in her mind is going to win. So she just gives his forearm a squeeze and says, "I hope that's the Vulcan for, 'I'll miss you, too.'"
+++++
Uhura takes a sip of a dead man’s Scotch and tries to relax. The fire is pleasant, and Christopher Pike’s old dog is silken and drowsy under her hand. But Uhura still expects the admiral to appear at any moment, asking what the hell a cadet is doing sleeping in his house and helping herself to the contents of his liquor cabinet.
The house is Jim’s now, and the suggestion that she stay here until she found a place of her own was generous and thrifty but, in practice, distinctly creepy. The ancient wood creaks with wind and rain and often for no reason at all. Uhura, waiting at the pleasure of Starfleet Command for her commission, has far too much time to think about the dry winds and blazing sun of New Vulcan.
This morning, on their daily comm, Spock told her that Saiehnn was pregnant with a child conceived without any Teslau medical wizardry. Since then, Uhura’s put great effort into being happy for them, even though it’s the final nail in the coffin of any hope that Spock might agree, at the last moment, to a new commission in Starfleet. His days of dramatic appearances on the bridge are gone; he’s committed now, quite literally with his blood, to the slight hope of rebuilding Vulcan. In the private corners of her mind, the ones she hasn’t shared with him, Uhura sometimes hoped that the Destruction had at least eased Spock’s aching need to be a better and more perfect Vulcan. But all it had done was give Spock a new Vulcan, one he could help to shape--not in his father’s image, or his future self’s, but in his own. And now Spock will have a mostly Vulcan child with his fully Vulcan wife. Well, she thinks, it’s not my responsibility now to try to make him happy.
It’s not as if her own future is any clearer. They could well be doomed, the lot of them-- playing a shell game on the table of the galaxy, drawing it out until they find peace or a better weapon. Uhura’s not afraid of death, not really; it’s the uncertainty that sets her fingers drumming on the wooden arm of the old easy chair.
“I just wish I knew what would happen,” she says aloud, because the silence is driving her crazy.
Pike’s old dog raises her head and gives a hopeful whine, not understanding, just glad for now to hear a human voice.
Authors: lindmere and merisunshine36
Artist: ladymac111
Mixer: nextian
Beta: sail_aweigh
Series: ST XI
Character/Pairing(s): Joanna McCoy, Kirk, McCoy, Pike, Spock/Uhura/OFC, Winona/Sarek
Rating: PG-13 for violence and language
Word Count: 27,000
Warnings: Secondary character death, violence, discussion paralleling the autism debate
The room clears out quickly. Everyone sets off in twos and threes, energized by a renewed sense of purpose now that they have something to do rather than just sit around and make aimless speculation. Joanna gives Uhura a jaunty salute before the conference room door slides shut behind her and Kirk, a good an indication as any that she's looking forward to the work ahead of her.
Eventually, Uhura and Spock are the the only two left in the room, a move she assumes was deliberate on his part since he now has a not-insignificant task on the horizon. She takes a moment to hang onto the silence that fills the room as it empties out; they haven't had much of that since they relocated to the colony, what with Spock spending most of his time navigating the bureaucracy of the colony and Uhura spending her time at the Teslau clinic with the children.
Uhura starts a little when she feels his fingers come into contact with the back of her hand, sending a curl of warmth into the pit of her stomach just like always. She adjusts her chair so she's facing him directly.
"This won't be over in a day or two," she muses. "If they can't find a way to pin the flux compression generator on the Romulans, they'll find something else."
His face takes on that preternaturally composed state, the one that's too perfect, and she knows that he's keeping information from her. She doesn't press him for it.
In the end, he just curls his fingers around hers, lets out an exhalation of breath so faint it can hardly be called a sigh. "Indeed. The destruction of my home planet has knocked the political balance of the entire Federation from its course. It will take a great many years before it is righted again."
She foresees the conversation wandering off into a direction she never intended, one full of philosophizing and reminiscence. It's a habit he picked up from so many years with Jim, the way they follow each other around in ever-wider circles of rhetoric yet somehow wind up at the same conclusion. Uhura, on the other hand, has always been direct with him from the start.
"My reassignment period is coming up next month," she says, her chest hollow with anticipation. They haven't been apart from each other for more than a few months in years, a span of time that has narrowed to days since the twins arrived. "I'm going to offer my services to Jim on whatever vessel he's posted to next, if he'll have me. It's been ages since I've done any serious work with Romulan dialects but I'm sure I can pick it up again if I..." Uhura catches herself dragging her fingers nervously back and forth across the touch screen, and clenches them into a fist. "I can't stay here, on this planet, anymore," she finishes in a rush.
I'm going insane is what she really wants to say, or maybe even something ridiculous and emotional like, I miss humans. But she bites her tongue. She's stated her intentions; that will have to be good enough.
"You are aware of the shortage of labor on the colony at present," he begins, carefully not meeting her eye. "The people of Uzh Shi'kahr place a great value on your services. As do I."
Uhura snorts. "Yeah, I'm sure they'll all miss how I corrupt the youth with my Human education methods." She tilts back in the chair and stares at the rivets in the bulkhead above her until Spock reclaims her attention by saying her name at a volume so low that she can barely hear. The disappointed look he gives her makes her uncomfortable and flushed with warmth all at once. It's as if they've been going back in time instead of forward, and they're back in the hanger again, when their tempers ran as hot as the attraction felt for one another.
"Saiehnn and I do not hold this opinion. Vesko would attest to the same, as would others, I assure you."
"Okay, yes, you're right." She pushes her chair back, away from the table and away from her obstinate husband. "But it doesn't change my decision. You've found a place that fulfills you, Spock. Don't I deserve the same?"
Spock settles back into his chair, his mouth tight around the corners. He doesn't respond.
+++++
The VIP quarters on the Carson aren’t as luxurious as those on a starship, but they’re enough to make Joanna feel that she shouldn’t touch anything--anything except the irresistible bed with its green-and-gold velveteen bedspread. She dangles her feet off the edge while she talks to Saiehnn who, true to form, has found the stiffest and most upright chair in the room. It’s delicious and frightening to be alone with her--locked away with her, in fact.
“I do not understand what progress we can hope to make before Spock reconstitutes the device,” Saiehnn says, though her presence speaks louder than her skepticism. “Admiral Kirk is no doubt supervising the investigation and interrogation of the crew.”
“Of course. But that doesn’t mean we can’t go through the mental exercise, especially since we know as much about the political situation on New Vulcan as anybody here. A Romulan device was beamed down from this ship--a ship with no Romulans on board--to damage but not destroy the Teslau Project building. Who got it on board, how was it powered up, and how was it beamed down?”
“Inductive reasoning.” Saiehnn seems to be placated. “Very well. You propose to work backward, hypothesizing a sequence of events, thus narrowing the possibilities.”
“It’s that or play chess.” Saiehnn gives her what she swears is a skeptical look. “You’re right; I’m definitely better at conversation.”
+++++
Uhura has met plenty of worms and traitors in her 20-year career, and Engineer Kanu is her least favorite kind: self justifying, passive aggressive, and worst of all incompetent--so poorly trained by his masters that he veers between an implausible cover story and flat denial depending on who’s talking to him.
“You say you received orders to charge the flux compression device and beam it down, but you won’t say from whom.” Uhura keeps her eyes focused on her PADD. “You say it never occurred to you not to follow these orders, even though you were delivering a device with enormous potential destructive energy to a civilian facility.”
“Yes,” Kanu says, pouting into his crossed arms.
“You’re either a complete idiot or lying. Since they don’t let complete idiots in the engine rooms of starships, I’m going with the latter.”
Jim moves into Kanu’s field of vision. He’s been pacing with his head down, listening while Uhura interrogates Kanu, mostly quiet, and giving the man serious jitters if he has any brains at all. Jim’s not intimidating in the conventional sense; he carries very little physical threat in his thin frame, and he’s made a career out of being underestimated. But once he’s set on a course of action, he’s relentless in its pursuit.
“He won’t protect you, you know.” Jim’s voice is hard and a little too loud; the corners of Kanu’s eyes twitch.
“I don’t know who you mean.”
“He was willing to risk the lives of innocent people,” Jim says, as if he hasn’t heard. “If he can do that, he can throw you away without a second thought.” Jim catches her eye, his own barely visible between narrow slits of dark lashes. She has no idea who Jim’s referring to, but she doesn’t need to.
“He’s right, you know. I’ve seen it happen before. But Starfleet believes in second chances. If you turn him in--”
“Starfleet?” Kanu says in disbelief. “It’s Starfleet that I’m trying to protect, from the likes of both of you. I don’t get it--I was raised on stories of the Enterprise; it’s one of the reasons I came out here in the first place. But now look at you.” He flicks a glance at Jim. “Driving a school bus for scientists. And you? Holding babies for the Vulcan. Shit, if that’s what 20 years of--”
Uhura doesn’t get to hear any more of Kanu’s editorializing because Jim gives him a good whack on the base of the skull, hard enough to deliver a point but not to damage.
“Commander Uhura is a recipient of the Medal of Valor, and you’re an asshole who’s about to do 20 for treason.” Jim says. “Apologize to her.”
Kanu glares at him, slightly cross-eyed. “I won’t-”
“You will.” Jim looks down on the crown of his head from his full six feet in height, eyes cold. “Because you’re going to need all the friends you can get, and even though I’m pretty sure I hate you, you could be useful to me. More useful than you are to him.”
“Who?” The contempt in Kanu’s voice is starting to wear thin.
“Admiral Cartwright.”
It’s all Uhura can do to stifle a gasp; Kanu, less guarded, lets his chin drop and gapes at Kirk while his brain recalculates its limited options.
“Commander Uhura.” His voice is flat, braver than a mumble, but without the bluster Jim’s just thwacked out of him. “I didn’t mean to imply--”
“Oh yes, you did.” She gets up, kicks her chair away, and stands shoulder to shoulder with Jim. “You know what would make me feel a whole lot better? If you told us everything. Right now.”
+++++
“But assuming hardcore anti-Romulans in Starfleet staged the whole thing, what would be the point--to get rid of the colony? What kind of threat could it possibly be?”
Joanna is lying back on the huge bed staring at the ceiling, because it’s less distracting than staring at Saiehnn, who’s unwound far enough to remove the outer layer of her complicated dress.
“Does the rest of the Federation truly understand the difference between the Romulan colonists and the Star Empire?”
“You mean, is one bunch of Romulans as good as another when it comes to stirring up hostility?” Joanna rolls onto her side. “Do you think anyone at Starfleet’s really that cold-hearted--attacking and injuring pregnant women to make the Romulans look bad?”
“Much can be justified in self defense. Nero believed he was saving Romulus.”
“I know,” Joanna says, and feels pointlessly guilty, the way she does every time Saiehnn alludes to her past. “I’d just like to think better of the Federation.”
The silence that stretches out should be uncomfortable for many reasons, but it isn’t. Saiehnn walks to the viewport and looks down on New Vulcan, beige and featureless and moonless, and Joanna can’t resist any longer. She doesn’t move from the bed; it’s easier to drift on the unreality of a post-adrenaline crash, the weirdness of her surroundings, and Saiehnn’s face, glowing in the ship’s running lights.
“How do you do it, Saiehnn?” she asks softly. “Why aren’t you ever bitter or angry about what happened? And how do you face an entire life of knowing you’ll never get back what you had--” Joanna swallows. “Of never getting what you want?”
Saiehnn turns to face her, eyes sharp and unflinching. “If you believe I will never receive it, then you are clearly wrong about what I wish. Or perhaps you believe you can provide it yourself.”
Even in her most sentimental moments, Joanna has never deceived herself, although it makes what follows a confession instead of a declaration. “Of course not. I just want to know that you’re happy, in whatever way you can be. That it isn’t just duty that keeps you with Spock and Uhura. And I want you to know--” It takes all of Joanna’s strength not to reach out to Saiehnn. “I want you to know that your happiness is important to me, if that helps at all. Because I care about you. Because I love you.”
Whatever’s in Saiehnn’s eyes at that moment, it isn’t contempt.
“Yes,” she says. “I know.”
“You do.” It doesn’t matter whether Saiehnn is a telepath; she’s a keen observer. Joanna would have noticed, if she hadn’t been so enamored of her selfless, doomed love.
“Yes. I have observed for some time that you sought out my company. I have also discussed it with Nyota, who received confirmation from your father.”
“You discussed it?” Joanna’s mortification is transmuting into anger. “Little Jo McCoy has a crush on Spock and Uhura’s wife, whatever shall we do? Like that?”
“You are young and far from home.” Saiehnn’s tone verges on sympathetic, which makes it worse. “Human emotions are malleable at such times. As it caused me no injury, I saw no reason to take action, except that I anticipated that our parting might cause you distress.”
“What parting?”
“The Teslau project will in all likelihood be discontinued. The results have been equivocal at best, and the attack will focus attention on it that is unlikely to be positive.”
“But that’s unfair!” Joanna knows how she sounds, how it makes a lie of her protestations to maturity, but it is unfair that on one of the first days of her life that she felt competent and useful that everything should be pulled away. “What about the kids--who’s going to teach them? What about the parents? What about you?”
Saiehnn’s gaze drops, only for a second; it’s fortunate that Joanna has become such a keen student of Saiehnn’s body language, or she might have missed it. “I am sure I will find other ways to serve the cause of Restoration.”
“God damn it.” There’s a stronger curse in her throat, but more than a year on Vulcan has given her a built-in filter, even now. “You can’t convince me there’s nothing you want for yourself. I don’t care if it’s not me, but it must be something. Nobody is that selfless.”
Saiehnn opens her mouth as if she’d like to argue but realizes it would be paradoxically egotistical. “If I wish anything, it is to have freedom of choice. Unfortunately, I do not; the decisions that govern my life were made when I was still a child.”
“But who says you have to follow them?” Joanna aches to touch her, to let her feel the force of Joanna’s own desires and ambitions--half-formed, unclear, full of fruitless human longing as they are. “A baby’s obligations to its parents stop the day it’s born. That’s what my father says.”
“It is not so with us. If we reject the legacy of all that is gone before, then we are no longer Vulcan.”
“Then be something else.”
Saiehnn looks truly startled.
“Human malleability is indeed remarkable. Yet you cannot be a rock or a tree. Nor can you be a Vulcan.”
“I think I could if I wanted to. I’m pretty sure Rh’vaurek could. At least he was willing to try.” Thinking of Rh’vaurek blasted body, Joanna summons the courage to take Saiehnn’s hand in her own. It’s hot and dry, alien and lovely. “I want to have his courage. I want to be around people who don’t believe in limitations. I thought you were one of them, Saiehnn. I still think so, but I want you to want things for yourself.”
Saiehnn does not remove her hand; instead, the fingers curl lightly around Joanna’s own. “There is much that I would wish to be different, if I could freely choose.”
Joanna feels tears start to her eyes; it’s that beautiful, and Saiehnn is radiant in her indecision. “There,” she says, stroking her hand lightly. “It really isn’t that hard.”
+++++
“Cartwright.” Uhura keeps repeating his name, hoping it will start to make sense. She remembers him as an intense and dedicated captain, a military prodigy of an admiral, hero of a dozen skirmishes with the Klingons. “Did you guess, or did you know?”
Jim’s sitting in one conference chair with his legs stretched out in another, a flap of his admiral’s tunic undone, like a partygoer after a long night. “Kanu served with him on the Bonaventure. That’s how these things usually go if you’re not a career rat; bonds forged in battle, and all that. And Cartwright hasn’t been in my fan club since I backed the Antarion Treaty. You have to admire it, in a way; either I’d be here to validate that the Romulan colonists were behind the attack, or I’d trace the device back to this ship and look like an idiot for letting it happen on my own vessel. Lance was always a hell of a strategist. Now I’m going to ram all that strategy up his tailpipe and make sure he never puts on a Starfleet uniform again.”
“So that’s the plan? Turn everything over to Starfleet?” Uhura’s perched on the edge of the conference table, swing her legs back and forth to dispel what’s left of the adrenaline. “How can you be sure the conspiracy doesn’t go up any higher than Cartwright?”
“I can’t; hence the vulgar analogy. You put a stick of dynamite up a tailpipe, the whole fucking thing explodes.” He kicks at the table leg. “God fucking damn it. Chris Pike picked a hell of a time to die. I have no idea what’s going on in San Francisco any more.”
“You don’t think he--” Uhura pauses, because Jim’s feelings about Pike, while not exactly sentimental, are at least familial.
“I wish I could say I had no doubts, that I know he’d never authorize hurting civilians. I don’t want to think he could. He believed in the loyal opposition; shit, he even wanted me to take the Excelsior, so I could keep on charming everyone with my borderline-insubordinate ways.”
“And why didn’t you?” Uhura’s heard the story before from his own lips, but she wonders if the answer has changed.
Jim gives a snort and looks sullen, recalling a side of him only the Bridge crew ever saw, the enthusiasm that was only ever depressed by death and betrayal, both of which he’s had in the last few days.
“I didn’t trust myself. In life and death situations, the possibilities narrow to where the ethics get pretty fucking clear. But playing the long game, I could have ended up like Cartwright. Whatever it was that Pike had that kept his head on straight, I don’t have that.” He gives a tight smile. “Crazy, unpredictable Jim Kirk, controlled chaos. I’m a useful tool in the right hands, but I’m not a leader. Not in the way that I’d have to be.”
Uhura considers her next words carefully, because when Jim’s in one of these moods he’s as likely to shut down as take a swing at the person sitting next to him. She half wishes that Spock were here, but Spock’s always been indulgent with Jim, assuming with Vulcan naivete that Jim’s moods were a necessary side effect of his massive enthusiasms.
“I think that’s an excuse.” She keeps her voice neutral, as if they’re discussing the Federation elections. “You believe Pike had some kind of magical moral compass he could consult? There’s no such thing. It’s hard for everyone to know they have to live with the consequences of their decisions.”
His brows lower; he’s skeptical, maybe a little annoyed, but he’s not angry. “Hmm. You arranged it pretty well for yourself, though, didn’t you? Teaching, raising the next generation; unimpeachable, even if it bores you out of your damn mind.”
“You think I’m holding babies for Spock, too?” She aims an almost-not-mock kick at him. “I’m an outworlder married to one of Vulcan’s favorite sons, raising two kids with three parents on a planet where the biggest luxury item is water. If you think that’s easy, excuse me, but up yours, Captain.” Her scowl slides into a grin. “I mean, up yours, Admiral.”
“It’s okay, old habits die hard.” Jim’s looking a bit more cheerful himself. “I didn’t mean to imply your life was easy, it’s just--the narrowed options thing, you know.”
“I know what you meant. I won’t deny it; New Vulcan is insular and preoccupied with survival. The Vai Ba’Tak may spend time debating whether k’thia permits the consumption of monocellular organisms, but everyone else is more worried about whether Councillor Sepan is going to vote for a second Market Day. Basically, New Vulcan is a small town populated by obsessive-compulsive geniuses with photographic memories. And I won’t deny that I miss this--or at least, that I miss all of us serving together. I’m not sure the Starfleet I remember exists any more.”
“Me, neither.” He gets to his feet and offers her a hand as she slides off the desk, feeling the cold metal against the back of her thighs, a sense memory from another time. “Only one way to find out; throw the grenade and see what floats to the surface.”
She lets her hand rest on his shoulder for a moment longer. “For a suspected pacifist, you sure are full of grisly metaphors.”
“For a schoolteacher, you sure like an excuse to strap on your phaser.” He means it as a good-natured joke, at least until he gets a good look at Uhura’s face.
“I want to ask, you know,” he says quietly. “I want to ask like you wouldn’t believe, for you to come with me. But it wouldn’t be fair, would it? To so many people, but especially to you.”
It won’t hurt just to hear what he has to say, she tells herself, and that’s how she knows she’s already made the decision. But for her to live with herself, he’s got to prove to her that Starfleet needs her as much as--more--than the Colony, than her family.
“Go ahead,” she says. “Take your best shot.”
Jim grins, warming to the challenge. It turns out that what Starfleet has to offer is quite a lot.
+++++
South of Uzh Shi'Kahr, the low hills give way to a flat-bottomed valley, a vestige of a time when there was running water on this planet. As light refracts through the hotter air close to the burning rock, it appears silver and slick, reflective, like still water. Like the still surface of the Voroth Sea, Spock thinks, and wonders--not for the first time--if this is why his father selected the location for his home. The family villa at Raal was a masterpiece of classical architecture, blending seamlessly into the red rock, uniting sea, earth and sky. It is gone now, of course, along with the rock and sea. Only the sunlight remains, the visible radiance of 40 Eridani reflecting off its two remaining planets.
Spock has long since ceased trying to prevent himself from falling into these well-worn patterns of thought. It is easier to let them run their course, to pass through his mind and out into figurative space, as he does during meditation. For a moment he allows himself to be fully present in the memory of Raal, to contemplate what he had and did not have, during his brief life on that planet.
“My son.” Sarek appears in the doorway, holding two glasses of ka’sak. Spock takes one from his hand and raises it in a gesture of respect.
“Health and long life to you, father.” They each drink and Spock feels a familiar discomfort settle over him. Though their relations have greatly improved in the years since his mother’s death, Spock does not forget that the role of a Vulcan parent is to guide a child’s mind with constant correction, and that his father had applied this principle with diligence. “I presume you wish to discuss the investigation into the Teslau matter.”
“This is a worthy subject for discussion,” Sarek says, with a slight inclination of his head. “You may know that James has asked me to file a formal complaint with the Federation as a way of increasing political pressure to purge the corrupt elements from the Starfleet leadership. This I have agreed to do, as I believe it will ultimately benefit Vulcan.”
“Jim does not believe his own influence to be sufficient,” Spock says, relaxing slightly. This topic has been very much on his mind as well.
“No, and in this, I believe he is wrong. However, I did not summon you hear to speak of James. I have a private matter to discuss with you, my son.”
This statement revives Spock’s concern.
“Yes, father?”
Sarek runs a fingertip around the rim of his glass, a curiously purposeless gesture. “Marriage, as you know, is among the most sacred of all Vulcan traditions. Marriage, and the bond that precedes it, is the structure upon which we build our commitment to non-violence.”
Nonplussed, Spock quickly reviews his recent behavior as a husband and finds nothing wanting. “I trust that I have always shown the greatest respect for that institution.”
“Indeed.” Sarek moves to stand behind Spock but does not look at him, keeping his gaze instead on the bare hills, where the lowering sun glows like a dying fire. “You have fulfilled your obligation to continue the line of Surak. I have, however, a different obligation: to set an example as a leader of our world and a representative of the living memory of Vulcan.”
“Have you not fulfilled this obligation as well?” Spock hopes his reference is sufficiently elliptical. Sahn’pel, Sarek’s second wife, had died shortly before Spock and Uhura had arrived on Vulcan.
“Marriage is not an achievement; it is a state, and one which male Vulcans are ill advised to forswear until they are advanced in years.” Now Spock must suppress a slight dilation of the blood vessels in his face; he has never discussed the time of madness with his father, and has no wish to do so.
“I presume, then, that you plan to marry again?”
“I do.”
It is not unexpected; Spock had, in fact, wondered when his father might take another wife, although the fact that his union with Sahn’pel had been childless had raised uncomfortable questions.
“And the name of she who is to be my mother?”
Sarek comes as close to smiling as Spock recalls ever seeing. “She is Winona Kirk, of course.”
Spock experiences a curious sensation, similar to falling. He grabs at the balcony railing to steady himself. Sarek looks taken aback.
“Surely this is no surprise. You know that Winona and I have spent a great deal of time in each other’s company. She is a woman of good character, highly intelligent, and respected in her profession. Moreover she is the mother of James, your close associate.”
“On the contrary, I have nothing but regard for her. But I naturally assumed you would select a Vulcan mate.” His father continues to look at him impassively, and Spock is annoyed at his obtuseness. “As I have done. As so many others have done, for the survival of our species and culture.”
“You found an elegantly logical solution to reconcile your obligations and your personal desires, it is true. Yet you must know that it is controversial in many quarters. There are those who regard Saiehnn as your true and only wife. I cannot allow this to be the case with Winona.”
“And yet it is acceptable for Nyota?” Spock makes no effort to control his anger. “Our arrangement, however logical, has been difficult for all three of us, Nyota most of all. She left her homeworld and her commission in Starfleet to raise our children in conditions that may at best be called inhospitable. I have subjected her to all this because I believed it was my duty to Vulcan. And now you take a wife of your choosing and will have no other, and you tell me that it is out of obligation?”
“Nyota is fully capable of choosing her own path,” Sarek says, a hard edge to his voice. “As your mother was. As Winona is. Through their choices I have learned much about human adaptability, and it is this example I wish to place before our people. My son, our civilization is dying a slow death. It may seem beyond the reach of any one individual to prevent that. And yet it has happened before, in the time of Surak, when we almost destroyed ourselves through passion and ignorance.”
“Then you support Reunification, after all?”
“Why must it be one or the other? No, I do not support Reunification, as I have learned not to trust to the clemency of the victor. True change, I believe, comes only with necessity and pain; again, I point to our own history.”
“Admiral Kirk believes that the Romulans desire peace as much as we do, but that their culture provides no framework in which it can be sought honorably. He believes we can show them the way.”
Sarek gives another half-smile. “James takes human empathy to its logical conclusion; he believes that his own capacity for change is present in all sentient beings.”
“You disagree?”
“No, but I would be unwilling to wager the survival of the Federation on it. Yet Vulcan must adapt and find a path forward, lest we become as a species under glass, something to be studied and put back on the shelf.”
“What of the aspect of khul-ut-shan that speaks to the preservation of diversity?”
“The universe is far from perfect. As Surak said, khul-ut-shan as it exists in our minds is but a shadow of its real form. I serve it in my own way, and I am proud of what I have achieved.”
“To what specifically do you refer?”
Sarek joins his first two fingers and brushes them against the back of Spock’s hand. It is the closest he has come to touching Spock in many decades, and he feels the brush of his father’s mind like the passage of a great ship.
“To you yourself, my son. You are a child of two worlds and the only one of your kind. I trust you shall not be the last.”
I never wished to be a symbol, Spock thinks, and then thinks of his own children.
Sarek holds his gaze for a moment but says nothing, finally taking the empty glass from Spock’s hand and disappearing into the house, leaving Spock alone with his thoughts and the first stars of evening.
+++++
Winona casts an eye around her office at the Teslau Center for the last time, checking to make sure that nothing is left behind. Not that she has much to take with her--a few PADDs, a mug made by one of the Teslau mothers, a sweater for the nights that she was kept late and the desert cold crept into the walls.
If she wanted, she could wait until everything settles down again. But at 72, Winona isn't too keen on the idea of twiddling her thumbs while Starfleet slowly siphons off the funding for Teslau each year until it ceases to exist altogether. There's a cushy research position waiting for her at the VSA; perhaps she'll have the opportunity to find some smart kid she can nudge towards the idea of revisiting the heaps of data they've collected. They haven't even begun to scratch the surface of the raw data acquired on those few children who possessed enhanced telepathic ability. `
"Computer, lights off," she says, her voice ringing loudly in the silence.
Winona makes a point of taking her leave formally from the few full time staff they have on board there. She'd notified them all as soon as she made her decision, but still, her breath gets a little caught in her chest when she says goodbye. They politely pretend not to notice as they offer formal regrets at the news of her departure. Whether or not they're all sincere, she can only guess.
There's a heaviness in the air that hangs over everything, working its way into the silences that used to be filled with children's voices. Classes are on hold indefinitely; the High Council deemed their continuation unsafe until such a time when they can guarantee the safety of the children. And who knows when that will be.
Vesko's office is last on her list. When she arrives, she's greeted by the rise and fall of soft conversation coming from inside. It falls to a stop when she sets foot into the doorway.
"You may enter, Commander Kirk."
T'Pau, Winona thinks. She's bit stunned to see her at all, a sentiment that rapidly curdles into bitterness.. She's probably come to gloat over the figurative and literal rubble that's been made of Teslau. Her anger rises hot and fast under her collar. Who does she think she is, anyway--Winona has never needed special clearance to enter the offices of her own staff members.
Winona clears her throat, nods to politely first to T'Pau in deference to her status as the eldest female in the room. "Good evening, T'Pau, Vesko. What brings you to the clinic today?"
T'Pau's expression shifts subtly. "You are angry with me," she says, a questioning rise at the end of the statement.
Vesko makes a hesitant motion forward from her position next to the windowsill. A long crack runs down the window, one of the many small repairs on hold for the moment due to the shortage of workers and the long list of high priority construction projects in the city.
"Winona," Vesko says, moving to intercept the argument that they can all see on the horizon, "T'Pau has come to offer congratulations on your appointment at the Academy. I am sure you will find the position a suitable match to your skill set."
That makes Winona feel a little embarrassed, but it doesn't quell her suspicion entirely. The day T'Pau makes a visit solely for the purpose of socialization is the day Winona signs up as a trader with the Orion Syndicate.
"I supposed you're satisfied, then," Winona says wearily. "The Vai Ba’Tak have achieved their stated aim, after all. Teslau is effectively finished."
"I gain no pleasure from senseless violence." T'Pau replies, sharply. That strength of personality within her that has bent entire governments to her will is like a palpable force in the air. "The attack brings no benefit to the people of Uzh Shi'kahr. I anticipate that in the long term, the Federation will shift its focus away from the colony and toward the Romulan threat, whether it is real or a fantasy."
"You don't think the Romulans are responsible?" Winona says, caught off guard.
"That remains to be determined," she replies, easily dodging the question. "It is also irrelevant. Teslau was destined to meet with failure from the moment it was conceived."
"The project succeeded in its stated aims," interjects Vesko. "The adaptation of the teachings of Surak was one step in the evolution of our people; Teslau was to be the next."
"Surak has taught us that where fear walks, anger is its companion." T'Pau looks pointedly at the cracked window. "Every star has a number of years in our skies before it burns itself out. It is your fear of the natural progression of our race that has brought us to this point."
Winona scoffs. They live in a world where the laws of physics are bent to their will on a daily basis, and she wants to draw the line at giving population replacement a little nudge in the right direction? "Are you saying that you would let Vulcan die rather than have a few of you who are different?" She takes a deep breath and uncurls her fingers from where the nails were cutting into the skin of her palms. "The science here was new, untested--we would have gotten it in a few more years, I know we would have."
"At what cost?" T'Pau demands. "If we cannot communicate, one mind to another, we are no longer Vulcan. Do tell me, Commander Kirk. What number of children with mothers who cannot speak to them, or fathers can not touch them, would be sufficient to justify your cause?"
From the corner of her eye, Winona spots Vesko, who holds herself terribly still. She's no doubt thinking of her own children, whose psychic abilities are so accelerated that they are drawn into a mind meld instantaneously upon contact with another individual. Winona's own thoughts go to T'Sura, who at her young age already shows a growing reluctance to interact with her peers outside of the Teslau center.
"I don't have an answer for you, T'Pau. But I know that we at least had to try. "
There's something undeniably weary about the way that T'Pau looks at them. "Yes. I thought as much."
+++++
Spock finds Jim at the Federation’s semi-permanent headquarters on New Vulcan, where the Admiral has been given a small, plain office that at least has the distinction of a door. The building itself is as bland and steeped in human geometry as any of the others constructed by the Federation Authority for New Vulcan. That the buildings are starting to show signs of age in the harsh climate is a visible reminder of exactly how long it has been since the settlement of New Vulcan, while sheer number of humans working in the building demonstrates too clearly that the promise of rapid revival has not been met.
“Can you spare a moment? I wish to speak with you briefly,” Spock says, observing Jim’s temporary desk, cluttered with a half-dozen PADDs, a half-finished cup of coffee, and a small wooden box.
“Sure, sit. I’ve got something I need to talk to you about, too, but I can’t promise it’ll be brief.” Spock notices that Jim is not smiling.
“Perhaps it concerns the same matter.”
“Won’t know until you tell me.” Spock sees unaccustomed challenge in Jim’s direct, blue gaze.
“Very well. I have spoken with my father, who wished to convey his intention to--” Spock pauses, and Jim leans forward.
“Lodge a complaint with the Federation? Yeah, I know, and I can’t tell you how important I think it is. It’s going to make it awfully hard for the Committee of Inquiry to think it’s just Jim Kirk being a holier-than-thou ass again.”
“It is uncharacteristic of you to care about others’ opinions,” Spock says, a little thrown off. “But it is his intentions concerning your mother of which I wish to speak.”
“Oh, that.” The absent smile finally breaks out across Kirk’s face. “I probably had the same conversation with mom. It’s kind of cute that they wanted to ask our permission first.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“That I was delighted, of course. Wait--did you think I’d be upset?”
“I hoped not. Yet your mother did not remarry after the death of your father, and it has been many years.” Spock has an unpleasant memory of his own illogical feelings when witnessing Sarek’s marriage to Sahn'pel.
“Not that many years,” Jim says, running a hand through his thinning hair. He has been alive, of course, for the exact number of years that his mother has been a widow. “But apart from making my mom happy, it’s going to make us family--you and me and Uhura. How could I not be pleased with that?”
“You are generous, as always, in your construction of events.”
“You mean I’m a hopeless optimist. Well, in this case I think it’s a safe bet. This Teslau thing has turned into a mess. Starfleet’s likely to keep it going for long enough that they can’t be accused of giving into terrorism, and then mothball it. Why should Winona get pushed around by annoying Starfleet brass like me when she can be here, among her own people?” Spock raises an eyebrow in question. “You know--scientists.”
“Then she intends to give up her commission?”
“Hand over the phaser, keep the pension. Sounds like a good deal to me.” Kirk picks up the coffee cup, sniffs at it tentatively, and takes a swallow. “Less than a day old is probably safe, right? I really hope I can make it to the wedding; Vulcan weddings are great. Has Sarek picked an executioner yet?”
“No plans have been made because they are not formally betrothed. Sarek will, however, expect both his sons to be there.” The word produces an alteration in Jim’s mood, which was veering toward the lighthearted.
“Oh, right. Vulcans consider bonds by marriage to be the equivalent of family ties. That’ll be novel. I’ve never had a father to piss off before.” As he speaks, he runs his finger lightly along the top of the wooden box on his desk, as if to brush off the dust.
“Sarek is--” Spock pauses, unable to easily summarize everything he has learned about his father. “He is a typical Vulcan father in many ways--demanding to the point of harshness, by human standards. Yet he is capable of surprising leaps in--I hesitate to call it logic; vision might be more precise. And he is a great admirer of human culture. As you are its embodiment, at least in its better aspects, I believe Sarek will consider you a most satisfactory addition to the family.”
“Thanks. I’ll do my best to live up to that.” Jim’s smile now is warm and genuine; Spock feels himself responding, as he always has, both on the level of personal affection, and to his captain, who does not make idle promises.
“Now, you wished to tell me something as well?”
“Yeah.” Jim slumps a bit, sighs out a little whuff of air, and pulls the wooden box toward himself with both hands, as if he is determined to confront something unwelcome. “Bones brought me this. It’s Pike’s. He left it with Bones a while back, to give to me in case something happened. That’s not unusual in itself; humans can be pretty sentimental when it comes to death and parcelling out their stuff. But he’d already made me his executor, and you better believe the chain of custody on an admiral’s personal effects is pretty tight. So I figured that there had to be something in here he wanted me to see.”
Jim flips the lid of the box open, and it bangs against the desk with a hollow thud. Spock avoids looking at its contents.
“Go on and look. It’s nothing personal. I mean, it’s all personal, but nothing he’d be embarrassed to have you see. You were friends with him longer than I was, after all.”
Spock considers the truth of that statement as he peers at the box. It appears to be the usual ephemera that humans accumulate through their lives, like the magpie birds of Earth that gather shiny objects: a pair of ancient-looking cufflinks, a few comm badges, pieces of paper, a handful of memory cubes, and a crude metal model of a starship that appears to be of the Deep Space Scout type. Jim brushes it lightly with his fingertip.
“I was going to go for the memory cubes first, but this caught my eye. It’s the Kelvin.”
“May I ask how you know?” The model appears to have no markings on it, save a few small holes.
“Long story. Anyway, Chris would’ve known this would catch my eye, and that I’d pick it up. Lucky, because it’s got a biometric lock, and it opened when I touched it. Like magic. Like something from an old story.” Jim fits actions to words, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, close to his face, scrutinizing. With a tiny click and a sigh, the miniature saucer section opens, and Spock peers in.
“It appears to be some type of nanodevice,” Spock says.
“You’re right. It’s a recording device, and what it recorded was Pike’s personal logs. There are hundreds of hours, but I figured the last ones would be the most interesting, huh?”
Jim’s words are a bit too rushed and hectic for Spock’s comfort. It cannot have been easy, listening to the words of a dead man to whom he had been so close, never minding what they said.
“And what did they reveal?”
Jim meets Spock’s eyes with effort. “Pike was involved in a secret intelligence initiative. Only the highest levels of Starfleet knew about it, which, interestingly enough, didn’t include me. But Chris trusted me; in the end, he trusted me, even though we’d had our differences about the Romulan matter.” Jim places the device in his open palm and drops his hand, along with his gaze, to the desk. Spock feels it would be rude to notice the shine of moisture in his eyes, though he himself is hardly unaffected. “He trusted us both, at the very beginning. I feel like this is his last order, Spock, and I want to do the right thing. But it’s not just a ship this time. Not even Earth.”
“No? What is it, then?”
“Oh, nothing we can’t handle.” Jim’s eyes are still bright, but now he is smiling. “Just the whole damn galaxy.”
The look in his eye, the tone in his voice--mischief where others would see horrifying danger, as if he were a child and the risk of death were an unearned treat--Spock’s heart responds to Jim as it always has. But Jim has remained the same, and Spock is now a different person.
“I regret that I cannot--” he begins.
“I know, I know,” Jim says quickly, ducking his head, hiding his disappointment. “You have obligations here. I get it. But I can’t help wanting what I want. Between you and Uhura, you make me feel like Mephistopheles.”
“Like that devil of Earth, you are not offering us anything that we do not already desire.”
“That may be true--” his voice trails off, and he rubs his hands together, restless. “Spock, I did make Uhura an offer. I won’t apologize for it; there’s going to have to be a purge after this Teslau thing, and we’ve been losing officers anyway, between the border skirmishes and the fact that a lot of people are expecting to get our assess handed to us by the Romulans. If news about his last mission gets out, there’s going to be an exodus, and I need good people. Great people. So I offered Uhura command of the Astarte.”
Spock is rendered momentarily speechless, not least of all at the thought that it only now occurs to him that this something his wife would both excel at and wish for.
“As she has both extensive experience on the Enterprise and technical and linguistic skills, she would be a fine choice.”
“Oh, please. If the thought doesn’t terrify you, you’re not--” Jim pauses.
“Human? A loving husband?” Spock can sit still no longer, and rises to pace--a bad habit, but one he will not curtail now. “I have tried to be these things and as always, I find them difficult to reconcile with being a good Vulcan. The truth is that besides the Vai Ba’Tak, and those old and set in their ways, there are few who would remain on New Vulcan if presented with an honorable alternative. I have every reason to wish to go with you and Nyota.”
“Every reason?”
“I stand corrected. I have my children, and Saiehnn, to keep me here.” At this moment, the thought does not comfort him as it should. “Jim, Nyota has been unhappy here for some time. I cannot leave, and I gain nothing by persuading her to stay.”
Jim places his hands, palms open, on the desk, a gesture of openness, or perhaps surrender. “You know me, and how I work. I don’t take risks with other people’s lives lightly, but when I have a job to do, I work with the tools I’m given.”
“Of course,” Spock says, trying with all his discipline not to feel like he has lost a battle. “I expect nothing less.”
+++++
Taking on T'Sura and Saavik for an afternoon of babysitting isn't a pleasure that Winona indulges in often, but with Sam and Aurelan's children parsecs away, it's certainly one she misses. There's no overstuffed bag of toys or list of frantic instructions, just a single PADD and a three-dimensional puzzle, which all three parents repeatedly assure her are more than enough to keep the occupied for the next few hours. Winona, however, is skeptical, and has picked up a few educational learning tools over the years that come highly recommended by some of the parents she's come into contact with. They all look more like instruments for torture rather than amusement, but Winona is doing her best not to judge. Her refrigerator is stocked with her secret stash of imported Terran foods, once of the small luxuries she intends to introduce the children to, as befits her role of surrogate grandmother.
"Rumor has it that this might be the last time I drop them off here," Uhura says, her expression coy.
"Vulcans are terrible gossips in their own way, aren’t they?" The children duck behind her legs and disappear into her flat. She's been on her own for so long now--it would be a lie to say that there wasn't a small amount of apprehension involved in folding herself into another person's life, especially one as important as Sarek.
"Admit it, he makes you happy," Uhura says, laughter in her eyes. "I can tell."
A smile and a shrug is all she'll give away--she's picked up a number of personality quirks from her partner-to-be, and a certain degree of emotional dissembling is just one of them. "So, you're headed back into the black--how does it feel?"
"Good--and bad. Strange." A shadow passes over Uhura's face. "I think Spock is coming around to the idea, but it's taking a while. Longer than I thought I would, to be honest."
Spock and Saiehnn are staying on the colony with the children, at least for the foreseeable future. The work of chipping away the domestic resistance to anything that isn't an exact replica of life on old Vulcan is an uphill battle, and they're still standing at the foot of the mountain.
Winona gives Uhura's shoulder a squeeze. "Don't forget that Spock's a stranger here, too. He's up to his ears in politics not only because he wants to be, but because he has to. His real friends, well--they're probably few and far between. I probably don't have to tell you this, but, he's going to miss you."
Winona can see the hesitation written all over her face. Both Uhura and Saiehnn have put up remarkably well, what with standing on the dividing line of Spock's affections for all these years. But she must have a lot of faith in her marriage to take off to the other side of the galaxy, where she'll be out of touch with her young family for months at a time, if not years.
A crash sounds from somewhere in the direction of the bedroom, followed by an ominous silence. Winona's ears perk up, but she doesn't hear any crying, so it can't be that bad. On the other hand, hold it a minute--the twins probably wouldn't shed a tear if you were holding their feet to a fire.
Winona smiles at the pained expression on Uhura's face. "Well, I can't tell you what you'll run into out there, but I can say that I'm sure you won't miss this part at all."
+++++
"Good weather today," says Uhura, looking out of the shuttleport window. The station at Uzh Shi'Kahr is still tiny--people aren't exactly banging down the doors to get here.
"You call this good weather? I call it torture," replies Kirk, a grimace on his face. He turns to Joanna, who tagged along for the send-off. Kirk has done his best to rally her to the spacefaring cause in the past few weeks, although Uhura isn't so sure how successful he'll be. Joanna is her father's daughter after all, a landlover to the core.
"You sure you don't want to come with us, Lieutenant? The ship is climate controlled for the comfort of you and twenty-seven other species onboard."
Joanna wrinkles her nose, then shakes her head. “I’ve requested transfer to the Starfleet base at Uzh Shi'Kahr. I think Sarek will put in a good word for me. He said he liked the data visualization stuff I did for Teslau.”
“Lies!” McCoy says, appearing behind her. “She’s cooking something up with the Romulans. No, not anything like that,” he adds, seeing Uhura’s expression of shock. “Some kind of cultural exchange. What culture, I ask you? Duelling? Assassination techniques?”
“It’s not like that at all! Romulus is an ancient culture, with--” The rest is lost as the two McCoys walk onto the Carson’s shuttle together.
“If he can keep her talking, we might be able to take off with both of them,” Jim says.
“Jo’s not going anywhere,” Uhura says. “It’s strange, but she’s settled in the best of all of us.”
“Resilience of youth. Or stubbornness of McCoys, one or the other.” When Uhura can’t quite bring herself to laugh, Jim stops trying. “And she had the least to hold her back. She loves her family, but she’s at the age where she has to make her own place in the universe.”
“Then what does that say about me? That I’m going through a second childhood?”
Kirk makes a noncommittal noise, trying and failing to look innocent. "You said it, not me".
"Sometimes I wonder if Joanna's taking the right approach with the Romulans. I still can't believe that they're pursuing the development of--” She doesn’t speak it aloud, not even here; the Romulans’ possession of red matter is a highly classified secret. “Not after the destruction it's already created." Uhura remembers the sight of a hundred cracks spreading across the viewscreen of the Enterprise as that gaping mouth threatened to swallow them whole. It never fails to send a chill down her spine.
"If you look at it from their perspective, it's a strategically sound decision. Starfleet has yet to return to its pre-Narada strength, and Vulcan never will. If we wanted to maintain our position as king of the mountain, we’d be looking into ways to develop it ourselves."
Kirk is keeping his expression perfectly still, which makes Uhura suspicious. He's always worn his emotions on his sleeve. "Well, are we?" she asks, and is almost afraid to hear the answer.
"I'm glad to say that the answer to that question is no. Old Spock may have given us enough information to destroy Nero, but that was all he gave us."
"But it had to have come up among the brass at some point."
"It did." The corners of his mouth tilt up into a wry smile. "I fought it every step of the way."
Uhura tightens her grip on the window railing. When Kirk argues with Spock, it's merely the first step on their path to eventual agreement. But while Uhura respects him, she's never quite seen eye-to-eye with Kirk, and she suspects it's the same here. Kirk has done a lot for New Vulcan. But he's never had to watch Saiehnn sit up late at night trying to piece together the history of her family, trying to conjure a legacy for the twins out of the few pieces of oral history that survived. On those nights, Uhura keenly feels the need to have someone to blame.
"Do you ever regret it?"
Uhura's attempt at prevarication doesn't fool Kirk in the slightest. He shakes his head firmly, all traces of his usual warmth disappeared.
"Not once. Who's to say we would stop at simply threatening them? Once it's out there, there's no turning back."
"And yet we expect to them to drop their weapons and turn tail at the sight of us?"
“They don’t know we haven’t developed--it. In fact, I have it on good authority that Romulan spies returning home from the colony here are confirming our own weapons program. They’re telling the Star Empire that Teslau was a convenient distraction, and that Old Spock’s hermit routine was just that, a cover.”
“Good lord.” Uhura’s going to need to recalibrate her mind for the multi-layered deceptions of galactic politics. “How long can we keep bluffing?”
"A good long while, I think. No one can resist the Kirk charm.” He nudges her with his shoulder. "Not even Romulans. Are you gonna tell me you're not excited?"
"I can hardly wait," Uhura replies, and is surprised to realize that she means it.
Their conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Spock and Saiehnn, with the twins in tow. They attempted to leave for the station all at the same time, but the twins had waylaid them with their most recent round of investigations into the viscosity of breakfast cereals at various temperatures.
Uhura squats down to the ground where T'Sura is standing next to Spock, one hand on his trouser leg for comfort.
"Behave for me, okay? No more experiments at the table."
She gifts each of the girls with a series of kisses on each cheek, an experience that they bear with remarkable stoicism. The thought that they might be twice this size the next time she gets to touch them makes her heart twinge a little.
"Your safety will always be foremost in my thoughts," Spock says, keeping his voice low enough that only she can hear.
Uhura's afraid of what she'll say if she opens herself up right now. There's no telling which of the jumble of emotions jockeying for supremacy in her mind is going to win. So she just gives his forearm a squeeze and says, "I hope that's the Vulcan for, 'I'll miss you, too.'"
+++++
Uhura takes a sip of a dead man’s Scotch and tries to relax. The fire is pleasant, and Christopher Pike’s old dog is silken and drowsy under her hand. But Uhura still expects the admiral to appear at any moment, asking what the hell a cadet is doing sleeping in his house and helping herself to the contents of his liquor cabinet.
The house is Jim’s now, and the suggestion that she stay here until she found a place of her own was generous and thrifty but, in practice, distinctly creepy. The ancient wood creaks with wind and rain and often for no reason at all. Uhura, waiting at the pleasure of Starfleet Command for her commission, has far too much time to think about the dry winds and blazing sun of New Vulcan.
This morning, on their daily comm, Spock told her that Saiehnn was pregnant with a child conceived without any Teslau medical wizardry. Since then, Uhura’s put great effort into being happy for them, even though it’s the final nail in the coffin of any hope that Spock might agree, at the last moment, to a new commission in Starfleet. His days of dramatic appearances on the bridge are gone; he’s committed now, quite literally with his blood, to the slight hope of rebuilding Vulcan. In the private corners of her mind, the ones she hasn’t shared with him, Uhura sometimes hoped that the Destruction had at least eased Spock’s aching need to be a better and more perfect Vulcan. But all it had done was give Spock a new Vulcan, one he could help to shape--not in his father’s image, or his future self’s, but in his own. And now Spock will have a mostly Vulcan child with his fully Vulcan wife. Well, she thinks, it’s not my responsibility now to try to make him happy.
It’s not as if her own future is any clearer. They could well be doomed, the lot of them-- playing a shell game on the table of the galaxy, drawing it out until they find peace or a better weapon. Uhura’s not afraid of death, not really; it’s the uncertainty that sets her fingers drumming on the wooden arm of the old easy chair.
“I just wish I knew what would happen,” she says aloud, because the silence is driving her crazy.
Pike’s old dog raises her head and gives a hopeful whine, not understanding, just glad for now to hear a human voice.