The Joy Machine - Prologue
Title: The Joy Machine
Author: Soledad
PROLOGUE
It was early spring in the year 2271 in Earth reckoning, but nobody in Munguroo really cared for how time outside their home was counted. What mattered was that the great feast of Spring Equinox was already over. The people in the village lived their lives and did their work in a rhythm that was older than either Earth or Federation reckoning. A rhythm that was naturally coded in their very genes.
Nyota Uhura, who wore a Starfleet uniform and the rank of a lieutenant commander in the outside world, walked barefooted on the stomped dirt path that led to the temple area - although in the opposite direction. He was heading towards the flat-roofed white limestone house of his family, a house that branched out into every direction like a labyrinth. This house had grown with the clan through the centuries ever since Nyota Kahama, the First Mother, had begun to build it. For outsiders, it looked like a confusing maze, but no small child had ever got lost in it since the clan had been founded. It was their home.
Well, actually... Uhura smiled and adjusted the folds of the brightly coloured, hand-woven cloth that she had wrapped around herself like the Hindu women their saris. Yes, there was one who still managed to get lost in the house. But he was an adopted member of the clan, so nobody took offence at it. Who could be angry with Imaro, the Dark Flame, who had come from the dark and cold space beyond the stars to bond with the Eldest Daughter of an Ancient Family?
Uhura quickened her steps a little, as she wanted to arrive home before Imaro’s return. After a decade and a half of deep space duty, it was a strange thing to be responsible for such mundane tasks as housework, but she enjoyed it. It felt good to finally spend a longer time with the circle of her clan, to have enough time for Imaro, to perform her ritual duties in which her younger sister, Kamala had replaced her for so long... and to follow the development of her young daughter, Kimora, from day to day. And there was Kitharo, of course, the calm and proud Kitharo, Oulu’s son, now grown into adulthood, whose paths within the clan she also had to even. To be a mother was a great responsibility among Uhura’s people.
When Imaro had chosen not to follow the other Colonial refugees who had found a new home in the newly-christened Kobol Sector, due to the generosity of the Federation, the clan accepted him and the barely nine thousand survivors of his people with open arms. The Libran people settled in an abandoned Bantu village, with the intention to move to the new planet designed to them as soon as their numbers had grown sufficiently. But Imaro hadn’t joined them, either. He followed Uhura to Munguroo and asked her, before the presence of all the Mothers, to accept him as her life-mate.
Uhura, firstborn daughter of the Wise Women, the guardians of ancient lore among the clan, was now climbing the flat, sometimes broken limestone steps that led to the central building of the Great House slowly, thoughtfully. This was her home - the home of every First Daughter, regardless if they walked the paths of the jungle or that of the stars. In the basin of the anteroom, a basin covered with a colourful mosaic of small ceramic tiles, the water was gleaming softly, invitingly. She let her brightly coloured shroud fall to the floor and submerged into the ritual bath, as tradition demanded after visiting the temple. Her adolescent niece, Yva, whose education she had taken over since her return, appeared wordlessly between the columns of the anteroom with a rough linen towel to rub him dry after leaving the basin.
“Visitors have called from the outside world, kiha,” she then said.
Uhura wrapped the shroud around herself again. “Really? Who?”
“A young woman. She said her name was Masters. She called from Mars.”
“Charlene? Didn’t she leave any message?”
“She did, kiha. She said you should call her back in the central spaceport of Malacandra... and that the great sky vessel is ready to leave.”
“The Enterprise?” Uhura gave a low whistle. “They must have been busy like bees in the drydock. Well, with Scotty breathing down their necks, that’s not a surprise.”
Yva shrugged, barely visible. “She didn’t say that.”
“It wasn’t necessary,” Uhura smiled. “Has Imaro returned home already?“
“Not yet, kiha. And Kitharo asked me to excuse him for tonight. He’s gone to the village of the new brethren; he’ll probably stay the night.”
“Very well,” Uhura nodded, “we’ll be only four for dinner, then. Would you prepare food before Imaro returns?”
“Of course, kiha.”
Yva hurried over to the kitchen, and Uhura went back into the large bedroom of her home, a room with a spacious veranda adjoining it. This wide and airy room has been furnished in traditional style: hand-carved dance masks hung on the walls, among old weapons and woven hangings that showed hunting scenes. The stomped dirt floor was covered with rare animal skins, and on the nicely carved, broad and low wooden benches that run around the entire room, there were silk pillows in bright colours. However, discretely hidden behind a curtain in one corner, there was also the most sophisticated computer terminal available for private households, linked to a subspace radio. Both pieces of modern equipment were necessary for a high-ranking Starfleet officer and for a diplomat like Imaro who represented the Twelve Colonies during negotiations with Starfleet.
Uhura automatically righted the totemistic figurine of her ancestors on the low ebony table that was given a particularly rustic look by the fact that the wood carver left the rough bark on the outer side, and she crunched up on the sofa, pulling up her legs.
The time of waiting was over, it seemed. The Enterprise had been completely overhauled. Of course, Charlene Masters, who lived on Mars and was nominally counted among the engineering crew, could follow the work in the Utopia Planitia shipyards a lot better, but Uhura knew that the next five-year-mission was just about to launch. Her disposition was still the Enterprise. She had served aboard five years under Christopher Pike, than another five under the command of James T. Kirk. Spock, Scotty and herself… only three were left from the old crew.
She shivered a little. No, not three, only two now. Spock had quit the Fleet and had been first the head of the Vulcan Academy of Sciences (rumour said he had even been betrothed to a Vulcan woman for a short time). But after that, he’d unexpectedly vanished in the desert of Gol, among the kolinahr-adepts, and was never heard of ever since.
Uhura tried to imagine the bridge without Spock but failed. Spock simply belonged there, during the beautiful years of their subdued friendship, when they had not only shared duty, danger and adventure, but also poetry and music… and some bitter secrets of their souls nobody else had been privy to. It had been a friendship strong enough to endure even the disappointments.
But Spock had gone to the Masters of Gol to try forging together his dual nature by shier force, and the bridge, the starship, yes, the entire universe would be strangely empty without him. Uhura knew that even though she would have Imaro’s presence in her life, not even the closeness of a life-mate could fill the void left by the loss of such an intense friendship.
Uhura let a small sigh escape her lips, and taking the ka’athyra that was hanging above her head on the wall, she allowed her fingers to glide across its strings in a distracted manner. This wondrously crafted Vulcan lute was a special gift from Spock to her at the end of their mission. The heartbreakingly beautiful, strangely harmonic accords slowly shaped themselves into the melody of a pre-Reformation Vulcan wedding song. The almost unbearable sweetness of the melody brought tears into her eyes. She played for herself only, for a long time, thoughtfully, until she felt the presence of another person.
She looked up and saw Sahel standing in the doorframe: the tall, slender, beautiful Sahel, with whom the Mothers once wanted to bond her, way back when she had still been serving under Captain Pike, because they had detected the dormant abilities of a prophet in the young repatriate. Sahel left Starfleet to serve the Temple, but their bond brought no children, although they had both proved fertile with other partners before. They separated in friendship and had remained friends ever since. In the meantime Sahel had bonded with one of Uhura’s sisters, which helped to keep the closeness between them. In Munguroo, that was considered a natural thing.
“Am I disturbing you?” Sahel asked in that deep, mellow voice of his.
Uhura shook her head, smiling. “Of course not, amuntu! Come on in!“
Sahel followed the invitation. In his widely cut, long and colourful robe he moved around with the natural grace of a Temple dancer, his thick, curly hair crowned his beautiful head like dark flames. In her entire life, Uhura had only met two men who could be called literally beautiful, without being effeminated. Imaro was the other one.
“I heard the Enterprise is ready to leave,” he said, sitting down on the other side of the table. Uhura smiled.
“I should have known that you’d hear about it before I would,” she replied; although he had left Starfleet almost a decade ago, Sahel still remained in touch with some of his former colleagues.
“Pavel Andreievich called yesterday,” respecting Russian custom, Sahel always addressed Chekov by both his given name and his father-name. “He spent the last days of his leave in Vladivostok, with his cousin Pavi. There he got the call that his name had been shortened by two letters.”
“Which two letters?” Uhura inquired; Sahel’s little jokes had been a welcome refreshment for her, since the long-gone days of their short-lived engagement.
“J and G,” Sahel replied, and their both laughed.
“If anyone deserved a promotion, Chekov certainly did,” Uhura commented. “Instead of enjoying planetary assignment for a while, he enrolled a second training course. Not many would be that dedicated.”
“It was his own gain, after all,” Sahel answered thoughtfully. “Few people can say that they are the Chief of Security aboard a Constitution-class starship.”
“So, he did get the job, after all?” Uhura raised her hand with a gesture that expressed surprise and joy. “That’s fantastic! But who’ll be the chief navigator aboard the Enterprise then?”
“Not even I can know everything,” Sahel laughed. “But if the refitting of the Enterprise is in fact finished, your orders must be arriving, soon. Are you looking forward to the start?”
“Yes and no,” Uhura replied carefully. “I’m glad to return to duty, soon, moreso that Imaro will be coming with us... “
“Have you got the official permission?”
“Admiral Nogura signed a contract with Fleet Commander Adama; a contract which allows Imaro to travel with us as a diplomatic observer of the Twelve Worlds. He even might choose a staff of three from the former crew of the Galactica. The details are being worked out at Headquarters in San Francisco right now.”
“That’s good. What’s the other side of the coin?”
“Kimora,” Uhura said quietly, “and this here... all of it. As long as I worked far away from Earth, I haven’t even realized how much I was missing my roots. You know how young I was when I left home, barely more than a child, and I never could come back for longer than for quick visits.”
“Now however,” Sahel added with that thoughtful smile of his, “you’ve spent enough time here for your long-slumbering connection to the Temple, haven’t you?”
“That’s true,” Uhura replied in surprise. “How can you know that?”
Sahel shrugged.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” he said. “You, the Eldest Daughter of an Old Family, left the Temple to reach out to the stars, and you’ve forgotten that what you were looking for has in a sense always been here, and here only: the roots, the same spiritual heritage that had called you away from here in the first place. I, on the other hand, am just a reintegrated son of the cult; I don’t even know which clan my ancestors belonged when they were taken by force and dragged over the Sea to become slaves. But after long, tiresome years of searching, I finally found my way home, and it’s I now who guards the threshold of the Temple. When I joined Starfleet Security, I certainly didn’t think that I’d end up as a prophet.”
“Have you ever regretted giving up the stars?” Uhura asked quietly. Sahel shook his head with a peaceful smile.
“The stars are always with me, amuntu. When I look up from the anteroom of the Temple to the skies in clear nights, I can call them by their names. I know the light of which ones nurture the many different people on Federation planets. My place, though, is here. Should the Visitors return one day, this place will be ready to welcome them, as it has always been ready. My duty is to keep the hearts of our people awake in joyful expectation.”
He rose from the sofa. “I have to go now, amuntu. Aretha won’t return home before the day after tomorrow, and I’ve promised her to spend some time with the children.”
“Have dinner with us,” Uhura offered, but Sahel shook his head.
“The pleasantries of the outside world would be misplaced here, Uhura. You’re sharing your hearth with Imaro now.“
“And yet you’ll remain part of my life.”
“As well as you’ll remain part of mine, forever. But our bond has been ordered by the mothers and severed for the good of the clan. Imaro, you’ve chosen of your own will, out of love. He was the one who’s built you the way home.”
“He and the mercy of the Mothers,” Uhura whispered sadly. Sahel raised his hand in a forbidding gesture.
“Leave the past to the past, Uhura! Live according your name!”
“I’ll try,” she replied slowly. But they both knew it won’t be easy.
Sahel turned on his heels and left the room unhurriedly. At the same time, another man came through one of the side doors, and seeing him, Uhura rose to greet him.
“Imaro... welcome home.”
Imaro, known for the databases of the Federation and the allied Kobol-colonies as Colonel Tigh, was barely older than Sahel, but his thick mane was interwoven with silver already, and the memories of old pain had drawn deep lines around his wide, generous mouth and in the corners of his large eyes. Although a good head shorter than the now leaving prophet, he didn’t seem dwarfed by Sahel. His well-built body, the emanation of his strong personality made up for his small frame. His disciplined, economical movements revealed that he’d spent the majority of his life in tiny cockpits; the few years in Munguroo couldn’t override those old instincts yet.
“Amuntu,” he said, using the local expression, and embraced his wife who snuggled up to him in utter devotion. Their quickly inflamed love had gradually deepened and strengthened during the recent years spent in a traditional bonding, and the birth of their first child had made them even more part of each other’s lives.
“What’s news in the outside world?” Uhura asked.
Imaro shrugged off his long travelling cloak whose wide sleeves had more decorative than practical purposes and threw it onto one of the sofas. Underneath he was wearing a colourful tunic and white trousers as it was customary for his people.
“I’ve spoken with Admiral Nogura,” he said. “He will keep his word, albeit not entirely without trepidation. I’ve threatened him that otherwise the Quorum of Twelve would delegate Sire Uri as its representative on the negotiations with the Federation.
“The Old Man is not easy to intimidate,” Uhura commented soberly. An interview in Nogura’s office was the living nightmare of every Starfleet officer.
“I know,” Imaro nodded, “but he’s a good judge of character. I think he realized that I’d be capable of sitting in front of his office for weeks, if necessary.”
“You would?” Uhura teased.
“If the stakes are high enough, yes,” he replied, unsmiling. “I spent most of my life on warships, save the last couple of years here on Earth; it’s time for me to do some peaceful exploration. What about you? Have your orders arrived yet?”
Uhura shook her head. “Not officially,” she said, “but Charlene Masters called on an interplanetary channel while I was in the Temple. She might have heard something. Let’s have dinner, Yva must be done by now. There’s no use to guess. Starfleet Command has never been late with dispositions.
“I don’t doubt it,” Imaro said. “But what will Captain Kirk say to my presence on his ship?”
“He won’t be happy,” Uhura prophesied. “Everyone knows how allergic he is to diplomats, save perhaps Sarek of Vulcan, and he probably won’t like the fact that your staff is supposed to be on regular duty, either.”
“Why? It’s only three people!”
“True, but he won’t have one hundred per cent control over them. Rigel and Boomer might be under his command while on duty, but they are still your navigator and your pilot. And Cassiopeia isn’t even in Starfleet.”
“Admiral Nogura asked Cassiopeia to take over running the rec deck,” Imaro told her, while they were heading the dining room, arm in arm. “He wants to unburden the personnel officer a little.”
“That won’t make Captain Kirk happy, either,” Uhura guessed. “But Nancy Wong certainly will welcome any help she can get. Keeping four hundred and thirty… no, five hundred crew in good mood isn’t an easy task, especially as they belong to half a dozen different species.”
“Cassiopeia is practically predestined for this job, due to her training,” Imaro said. “For my part, I’m glad that New-Gemini sends her to be my assistant. I’m not a natural born diplomat, as you know.”
“That’s one of the reasons why I love you,” she said bluntly.
They lowered themselves onto the small ebony stools that had very high, carved backs, and young Yva served dinner, which had been cooked in earthenware pots, on the colourful mat spread on the floor. Although the people of Munguroo didn’t reject modern technology on principle, they didn’t use food synthesizers. Every dish was cooked in the traditional way - the only allowance was to use modern fuel, to spare the trees and the environment.
Yva had cooked a popular dish: sweet corn with beans and tomatoes, after which she served a couscous and palm wine. Imaro, who still couldn’t get used to the strange taste of mimbo, barely took a sip.
“This is the only thing I hate here,” he said, “this disgusting booze.”
Uhura exchanged a smile with her niece.
“The consuming of mimbo is an acquired taste,” she said, amused. “After a few decades you’ll learn to appreciate it for the spiritual experience it is.”
“You see, flame-hearted, that is why I don’t mind to remain an underdeveloped barbarian,” the man replied calmly.
“Don’t let her tease you; I think I won’t get used to mimbo, either, and should I live a thousand years. Besides, mother feels the same way. She just likes to see you squirm.”
Turning towards the door, they saw Kitharo, Uhura’s sixteen-year-old son from Oulu, entering the dining room. He kneeled in front of his mother, according to custom, to greet her. He was small and limber, just like his mother, and their profiles bore a striking resemblance, too. But Kitharo’s much darker skin, thick lips and large, expressive eyes were an inheritance from his father. Sometimes Uhura found it almost painful to look at him. No matter how happy she was with Imaro, the years spent with Oulu on Two Twilights, years full of agonizing passion and the all-too-present awareness that their parting had been imminent, no time in the world could have erased from her mind.
“I thought you’d spend the day in the village of the new brethren,” she said, touching her son’s face, signalling that he can rise.
“That was the plan,” the youngling sat down next to his mother, “but since you’re leaving, soon, I thought I’d rather spend some time with you. Can’t I go to San Francisco with you? I’d like to see the Enterprise again.”
“I’m afraid not,” Uhura said, regretting to have to disappoint her son. “This is not the Enterprise you used to know, my son, and neither are the people who used to serve on her twelve years ago.”
Kitharo nodded. “I know. It’s just… I envy you a little. It’s been ten years since I was out among the stars for the last time.”
“That’s a path that stands open before you,” Imaro said. “If you join Starfleet…”
The youngling shook his head. “No, that’s not my way. The Fleet binds the hands of its members in thousand different ways. My wings would be cut there. No, I’d like to fly freely.”
“And you intend to reach that goal… how exactly?” his mother asked.
Kitharo hesitated for a moment. “One of the Ibo tribes has founded a far-away colony, in the neighbourhood of Two Twilights,” he replied carefully. “It’s called Harare and has some ten to fifteen thousand inhabitants. After finishing my studies - and the initiation - I’d like to move there. Do you object?”
“It’s your life, Kitharo,” his mother answered thoughtfully. “If you think Harare is the place where you’d like to live, I won’t stand in your way. I only ask you to check out that world very carefully before making your final move.”
“Of course, mother. I know the risks. And it’s a long way between Harare and Earth.”
“Have you already chosen a field for your studies?” Imaro asked. The youngling nodded.
“The Agricultural Faculty. Harare is a pioneer world; they need well-trained agronomists with a minor in xenobiology.”
“And what about the dance college?” Uhura asked. “You’ve already finished four semesters; wouldn’t it be a shame to waste that? On a new world like Harare that has only existed for a few decades, tradition is even more important than at home.”
“I won’t quit it,” Kitharo replied, “but I’ll continue on an individual schedule.”
“Ah,” his mother said. “May I ask how?”
“Dr. Anekwe, the renowned Ibo music historian has started courses on the Agricultural faculty last year,” Kitharo explained. “I contacted him four days ago, and he agreed to accept us, I mean Abiru and me, as his private students.”
“So Abiru is going with you?” Uhura asked. According to the mutual agreement between the two families, Abiru and Kitharo had been betrothed for years. “And has her family agreed to let her move to Harare?”
“It wasn’t easy,” her son admitted. “But in the end, Abiru isn’t a firstborn daughter; neither are her older sisters planning to leave Africa.”
“In that case, however, she needs to choose a profession that is useful for Harare,” Imaro warned him. “A pioneer world won’t be able to afford the luxury of sponsoring professional artists for quite a while yet. Have you thought of that?”
The youngling nodded. “Yes, we’ve planned it all out.”
“And what kind of solution did you find?”
“Abiru is going to study alternate medicine; something that works on a foreign world without modern hospitals. And a little botany, because of the healing herbs. But first she’ll finish art school - she only has one more year left.”
“That would be a sin for her to quit,” Uhura agreed. “I never heard anyone play the kissar as she does.”
“I have,” her son replied, “but that person quit her music when I was seven years old.”
Uhura gave him a pale, somewhat sad smile. “I didn’t do it voluntarily; well, at least not eagerly. But after your homecoming, my experimental post has been deleted from the space exploration program for good, and as chief of communications, I simply had too much technical stuff to handle.”
“That wasn’t meant as an accusation, mother. I’m just sorry that you’ve wasted your talent, that’s all.”
“Not entirely. How many human musicians can say of themselves that they can play the Vulcan ka’athyra on the same level as I do?”
“It’s not the same, mother, and you know that.”
“Of course not,” Uhura nodded. “But had I chosen my music instead of the stars, I’d never have met Imaro. And that would be a much greater loss, don’t you think?”
Kitharo remained silent for a moment. “For you, it would,” he finally said. “But not for the Temple, I think.”
“Kitharo!” Uhura stared at her son, scandalized, and felt as if someone had rammed a blunt knife into her heart.
Kitharo made an apologetic gesture. “Don’t take this as a personal affront, Imaro, because it is none. But you have no idea what my mother was capable of, back then, when she was still actively studying sacral music. The Temple hasn’t had a singer of her format for fifteen generations - if she had finished her training, that is - and it’s hard to tell when another such talent will be born among us. Abiru is very gifted, but she can’t even be mentioned in the same sentence with mother.”
Imaro, who’d had the privilege to enjoy Abiru’s wondrous music and singing, looked at his wife with newfound respect. “I never thought I’d be worth such a sacrifice,” he said quietly.
“I haven’t given up my music for you,” Uhura pointed out. “But should the choice be demanded from me today, I’d choose you nevertheless. Finding you was the best thing that has ever happened to me. I won’t give you up for anything or anyone.”
She rose, without the aid of her hands, and the two males automatically followed suit. It would have been unseeming for them to remain seated.
“What now?” Imaro asked.
“I need to call Charlene Masters on Mars,” Uhura said. “Are you coming with me? Perhaps Captain Boomer will be there, too.”
“That would be fortunate,” Imaro agreed. “I haven’t spoken to him for quite some time.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Charlene Masters, a Warp-specialist and a docent of the Pallas University on Mars, if possible, looked even younger than a good two years earlier when the Enterprise had been taken into the Utopia Planitia Shipyards’ drydock. The asymmetrically cut, brightly coloured dress - the latest fashion on Mars - left her right shoulder bare. Her intricately carved sandalwood earrings almost touched her shoulders. Together with her short-cropped hair, it was an… interesting look.
“I’ve just got my disposition,” she told Uhura, “and Boomer has his okay from the Old Man, too.”
“Do you know which department you’d be delegated to?”
“I’ll go to Engineering, permanently,” Masters grinned. “It’s fine with me - who knows whom we’re going to get instead of Mr. Spock. At least I’ve known Scotty for years, and we’ve always worked well together.”
“What about you, Captain?” Imaro asked Boomer.
The good-natured, dark-skinned young man shrugged. “Before everything else, I’m your pilot, Colonel. Rigel and I have personally supervised the building of your courier ship. These warp-shuttles are a brand new construction from Vulcan; they can accelerate up to warp factor 4 - not a small task of ships of their size. We’ve everything checked and re-checked four times, of course. With all due respect towards Vulcan efficiency, I always sleep better when I’ve checked everything personally.”
“I know you’re my pilot,” Imaro said. “But you’re also supposed to take a regular duty shift aboard the Enterprise.”
“I haven’t heard anything specific about that,” Boomer replied, “although Lieutenant Commander Sulu kept giving me certain… hints. In any case, we’ve been ordered to check in by Chief Wong, the personnel officer of the Enterprise, within three standard days.”
“I’m sure you, too, will get your disposition shortly,” Masters added, addressing her words to Uhura. “Scotty meant the command crew would be drafted last, because Nogura wants you all to sweat a little first.”
“Uhura’s position is secured,” Imaro said calmly. “I asked Admiral Nogura a direct question, and he didn’t dare to sidestep.”
“The Old Man dares a lot,” Charlene Masters said. “Otherwise he’d never have managed to make Starfleet to what it is now. He isn’t called God Himself for nothing.”
“I’ve heard about that,” Imaro nodded. “But allow me to say that I, too, have a certain… reputation in the outside world.”
“I know: the Steel Eagle,” Masters laughed. “By the way, you sound almost like Uhura.”
“I do my best,” Imaro replied, “although I’m still far from my ultimate goal in that department. Do you already know when the Enterprise is supposed to leave the shipyards?”
“In two standard days,” Masters said. “There will be an intermediate stop in the drydock above San Francisco to take aboard all crewmembers currently on Terra. The start is planned for…” she counted in her head for a moment, “the 21st March, Terran reckoning.”
“That leaves us a week,” Uhura said. “Will you go aboard from Utopia Planitia or will you have to make the extra trip to Stratopolis?”
“We belong to the maintenance team… well, more or less,” Boomer said, “so we also have the privilege to travel aboard the Enterprise to Earth. Engineering has a full crew already, but the security section is still waiting for a few people to return from various advanced courses. That’s all we know.”
“And that’s also enough for the time being,” Imaro said. “I’ll see you aboard in a week’s time then, Captain.”
“Yes, Colonel. I’m delighted to serve under your command once again, sir.”
“This time, however, it’s going to be a peaceful mission, Boomer.”
“Yes, sir. That’s the best part of it. Boomer out.”
“Good-bye,” Masters added, and the screen went dark.
Imaro gave his wife a long, thoughtful look. Uhura’s face was so… distant, so foreign and exalted; he’d never seen her like this before. “Are you longing for the stars very much?” he asked.
Uhura nodded, her smile full of longing. “My heart is pulling me into two different directions, Imaro. When I’m at home, I hear the call of the stars, but when I’m aboard, I yearn for the Temple.”
“I can see that,” the dull, unexplained ache that Imaro sometimes felt, appeared again. “Do I have a place, too, in either of those constellations?”
Uhura woke from her daydreams with a jolt. Seeing the pain in her bondmate’s face induced guilty feelings in her. She stepped closer to Imaro and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You are in both, beloved,” she replied, planting a slow, caressing kiss on the sad curve of his mouth. “You know that.”
Imaro didn’t answer at once, and Uhura’s heart grew cold with fear. It can’t be that things would take a turn to the wrong, right now, after two years, she thought, and looked into the dark, beautiful - and resigned - face of Imaro with anxiety.
“Amuntu, what is the meaning of this?” she asked. “Have you regretted already bonding your life with me? Or do you feel left out in our society, like a stranger under the rule of the Mothers?”
“Of course not,” he said, somewhat mellowed, and returned her kiss. “No woman has ever loved me the way you do. And I’ve never been more respected among my people than I am now, wearing the highest rank possible in the long-yearned-for peacetime.”
“What’s wrong then?” Uhura wondered.
“I’ve just been thinking,” Imaro said slowly, “what your choice might be, should you have to choose between me and the stars.”
Uhura became ash grey, all of a sudden. This was something she’d been secretly wondering about, too.
“Do you intend to make me choose?” she asked.
Imaro shook his head thoughtfully. “No, I don’t. At least not right now. But there might come a time when my people will have need of me, and I’ll have to return to New-Libra. What will you do then?”
“I don’t know,” Uhura replied honestly. “This is a question that had caused me the one or other sleepless night already. I can only hope that I’ll make a decision that suits us all. But I think it’s too early to worry about that now. The next five years will belong us, for sure.”
“I certainly hope so,” Imaro said gravely. “Unless my people call me back earlier. You know I cannot neglect my duties.”
“You shouldn’t always imagine the worst,” Uhura murmured, snuggling up to him. Imaro reacted to her closeness as he always did, and for a while, they forgot about their worries.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Much later, when Imaro was already asleep next to her under the brightly patterned, hand-woven blanket, his face buried in the crook of his elbow, Uhura noiselessly slid out of bed, pulled over her light robe and walked out onto the veranda. The night was blissfully cool in Munguroo, and the spicy aromas flooding in the light breeze reminded her of the damps of the huge forests on Two Twilights.
She was thirty-five now; it was the age when her people began with the mental practice of memory preservations. This was a training she had already started upon their arrival, as she’d known that her time in the Temple would be short. The ultimate goal of this practice was the supervising and ordering of memories and the grafting of those that had been found worth preserving into the long-term memory. Only people who’ve reached the so-called ritual maturity, a state that had little to do with actual age, were able to do that.
Now that she was about to leave the Temple again, she called up the mental pictures of her loved ones.
She began with the members of her family and her clan. With her grandfather who had taught African history at the University of Kenya. With her grandmother, the ruler of the clan, who hadn’t been happy when their only daughter, Uhura’s mother, had married a Starfleet officer who wasn’t even the son of the Cult. Kyle Nichols, Uhura’s high-spirited, over-active father, had died at a relatively young age, by the evacuation of an endangered colony. Her mother never remarried. She’d chosen to raise her daughters, Uhura, Kamala and Aretha, alone. And though the Mothers disagreed with that decision, they had to admit that she’d done a good job with them.
Nonetheless, she hadn’t lived long, either. At the time when Uhura met Oulu in the boarding school for gifted children, her mother had already returned to the Ancestors.
Oulu had been the first man she’d loved. They’d loved each other at a very tender age, with such an obvious passion that the Mothers gave their blessings, although it was known that Oulu wouldn’t have a long life, either. The illness that had taken him so young he had passed down tot heir daughter, too, and Karidy, the Love, this sweet and beautiful child, followed him to the Ancestor when she was barely four. They were both buried on Two Twilights, where they had lived happily, because that had been Oulu’s wish, and Uhura respected it, no matter how much she’d wanted to bring their ashes home to the clan.
At least Kitharo had escaped that fate. He was born healthy and remained healthy, and he’d grown to become an intelligent and lovable young man under that protective wing of the Mothers. And now that he’d reached the border of manhood, he was ready to begin his own journey to the stars.
In a matter, Uhura had loved Sahel, too. They had never been in love, but the passion had been honest between them, and they both regretted that their bond had remained childless and therefore had to be broken. She might have been willing to give up the stars for him, but as the Eldest Daughter, she couldn’t afford to live in an infertile bond. She had to give birth to the next generation of daughters.
Having broken the mesq according to custom, Uhura returned to the Enterprise - not to the experimental position of a counselor (which experiment had been already deleted by the admiralty) but as a communications officer, making her former fake position true. Captain Pike and his first officer had already left, and though she’d found new friends among her new shipmates, things were never the same again.
There she met Dr. M’Benga, who belonged to a similar African cult, and who’d offered his services for the then-upcoming khemmer, should she not have a partner yet. Uhura accepted the doctor’s offer, grateful that she wouldn’t have to spend the festival lonely and infertile, but their relationship was a strictly sacral one, which ended with the end of the khemmer. Uhura had recognized M’Benga’s interest for his assistant, Nurse Johnson, long before the doctor became aware of his own feelings, and she didn’t want to stand in their way. She could see that Cindy Lou loved the doctor, too, although they were both too shy to make a move, and she hoped that one day they’ll find the courage to admit their feelings for each other.
Their brief ritual encounter (although it remained childless) led to a steady friendship. M’Benga was the only man aboard whom Uhura allowed to arm's length after the traumatic events on Triskelion.
However, they never talked about those events, not even among themselves, and Uhura had remained alone for the rest of the five-year-mission… when Imaro walked into her life. Love flared up quickly between the two mature, lonely people, and they accepted this unhoped-for gift of fate with gratitude. Kimora’s birth completed their happiness, and now that she’d continued her bloodline (ritually, only daughters counted as a continuation) Uhura was the first among Munguroo’s Mothers again… something she’d never really hoped for.
Still, she knew that should duty call Imaro back to New-Libra, she would follow him. Perhaps not at once, perhaps only years later, as she had her own duties towards her own people. But when the time came, and Imaro still wanted her, she would follow him.
Chapter 1
Author: Soledad
PROLOGUE
It was early spring in the year 2271 in Earth reckoning, but nobody in Munguroo really cared for how time outside their home was counted. What mattered was that the great feast of Spring Equinox was already over. The people in the village lived their lives and did their work in a rhythm that was older than either Earth or Federation reckoning. A rhythm that was naturally coded in their very genes.
Nyota Uhura, who wore a Starfleet uniform and the rank of a lieutenant commander in the outside world, walked barefooted on the stomped dirt path that led to the temple area - although in the opposite direction. He was heading towards the flat-roofed white limestone house of his family, a house that branched out into every direction like a labyrinth. This house had grown with the clan through the centuries ever since Nyota Kahama, the First Mother, had begun to build it. For outsiders, it looked like a confusing maze, but no small child had ever got lost in it since the clan had been founded. It was their home.
Well, actually... Uhura smiled and adjusted the folds of the brightly coloured, hand-woven cloth that she had wrapped around herself like the Hindu women their saris. Yes, there was one who still managed to get lost in the house. But he was an adopted member of the clan, so nobody took offence at it. Who could be angry with Imaro, the Dark Flame, who had come from the dark and cold space beyond the stars to bond with the Eldest Daughter of an Ancient Family?
Uhura quickened her steps a little, as she wanted to arrive home before Imaro’s return. After a decade and a half of deep space duty, it was a strange thing to be responsible for such mundane tasks as housework, but she enjoyed it. It felt good to finally spend a longer time with the circle of her clan, to have enough time for Imaro, to perform her ritual duties in which her younger sister, Kamala had replaced her for so long... and to follow the development of her young daughter, Kimora, from day to day. And there was Kitharo, of course, the calm and proud Kitharo, Oulu’s son, now grown into adulthood, whose paths within the clan she also had to even. To be a mother was a great responsibility among Uhura’s people.
When Imaro had chosen not to follow the other Colonial refugees who had found a new home in the newly-christened Kobol Sector, due to the generosity of the Federation, the clan accepted him and the barely nine thousand survivors of his people with open arms. The Libran people settled in an abandoned Bantu village, with the intention to move to the new planet designed to them as soon as their numbers had grown sufficiently. But Imaro hadn’t joined them, either. He followed Uhura to Munguroo and asked her, before the presence of all the Mothers, to accept him as her life-mate.
Uhura, firstborn daughter of the Wise Women, the guardians of ancient lore among the clan, was now climbing the flat, sometimes broken limestone steps that led to the central building of the Great House slowly, thoughtfully. This was her home - the home of every First Daughter, regardless if they walked the paths of the jungle or that of the stars. In the basin of the anteroom, a basin covered with a colourful mosaic of small ceramic tiles, the water was gleaming softly, invitingly. She let her brightly coloured shroud fall to the floor and submerged into the ritual bath, as tradition demanded after visiting the temple. Her adolescent niece, Yva, whose education she had taken over since her return, appeared wordlessly between the columns of the anteroom with a rough linen towel to rub him dry after leaving the basin.
“Visitors have called from the outside world, kiha,” she then said.
Uhura wrapped the shroud around herself again. “Really? Who?”
“A young woman. She said her name was Masters. She called from Mars.”
“Charlene? Didn’t she leave any message?”
“She did, kiha. She said you should call her back in the central spaceport of Malacandra... and that the great sky vessel is ready to leave.”
“The Enterprise?” Uhura gave a low whistle. “They must have been busy like bees in the drydock. Well, with Scotty breathing down their necks, that’s not a surprise.”
Yva shrugged, barely visible. “She didn’t say that.”
“It wasn’t necessary,” Uhura smiled. “Has Imaro returned home already?“
“Not yet, kiha. And Kitharo asked me to excuse him for tonight. He’s gone to the village of the new brethren; he’ll probably stay the night.”
“Very well,” Uhura nodded, “we’ll be only four for dinner, then. Would you prepare food before Imaro returns?”
“Of course, kiha.”
Yva hurried over to the kitchen, and Uhura went back into the large bedroom of her home, a room with a spacious veranda adjoining it. This wide and airy room has been furnished in traditional style: hand-carved dance masks hung on the walls, among old weapons and woven hangings that showed hunting scenes. The stomped dirt floor was covered with rare animal skins, and on the nicely carved, broad and low wooden benches that run around the entire room, there were silk pillows in bright colours. However, discretely hidden behind a curtain in one corner, there was also the most sophisticated computer terminal available for private households, linked to a subspace radio. Both pieces of modern equipment were necessary for a high-ranking Starfleet officer and for a diplomat like Imaro who represented the Twelve Colonies during negotiations with Starfleet.
Uhura automatically righted the totemistic figurine of her ancestors on the low ebony table that was given a particularly rustic look by the fact that the wood carver left the rough bark on the outer side, and she crunched up on the sofa, pulling up her legs.
The time of waiting was over, it seemed. The Enterprise had been completely overhauled. Of course, Charlene Masters, who lived on Mars and was nominally counted among the engineering crew, could follow the work in the Utopia Planitia shipyards a lot better, but Uhura knew that the next five-year-mission was just about to launch. Her disposition was still the Enterprise. She had served aboard five years under Christopher Pike, than another five under the command of James T. Kirk. Spock, Scotty and herself… only three were left from the old crew.
She shivered a little. No, not three, only two now. Spock had quit the Fleet and had been first the head of the Vulcan Academy of Sciences (rumour said he had even been betrothed to a Vulcan woman for a short time). But after that, he’d unexpectedly vanished in the desert of Gol, among the kolinahr-adepts, and was never heard of ever since.
Uhura tried to imagine the bridge without Spock but failed. Spock simply belonged there, during the beautiful years of their subdued friendship, when they had not only shared duty, danger and adventure, but also poetry and music… and some bitter secrets of their souls nobody else had been privy to. It had been a friendship strong enough to endure even the disappointments.
But Spock had gone to the Masters of Gol to try forging together his dual nature by shier force, and the bridge, the starship, yes, the entire universe would be strangely empty without him. Uhura knew that even though she would have Imaro’s presence in her life, not even the closeness of a life-mate could fill the void left by the loss of such an intense friendship.
Uhura let a small sigh escape her lips, and taking the ka’athyra that was hanging above her head on the wall, she allowed her fingers to glide across its strings in a distracted manner. This wondrously crafted Vulcan lute was a special gift from Spock to her at the end of their mission. The heartbreakingly beautiful, strangely harmonic accords slowly shaped themselves into the melody of a pre-Reformation Vulcan wedding song. The almost unbearable sweetness of the melody brought tears into her eyes. She played for herself only, for a long time, thoughtfully, until she felt the presence of another person.
She looked up and saw Sahel standing in the doorframe: the tall, slender, beautiful Sahel, with whom the Mothers once wanted to bond her, way back when she had still been serving under Captain Pike, because they had detected the dormant abilities of a prophet in the young repatriate. Sahel left Starfleet to serve the Temple, but their bond brought no children, although they had both proved fertile with other partners before. They separated in friendship and had remained friends ever since. In the meantime Sahel had bonded with one of Uhura’s sisters, which helped to keep the closeness between them. In Munguroo, that was considered a natural thing.
“Am I disturbing you?” Sahel asked in that deep, mellow voice of his.
Uhura shook her head, smiling. “Of course not, amuntu! Come on in!“
Sahel followed the invitation. In his widely cut, long and colourful robe he moved around with the natural grace of a Temple dancer, his thick, curly hair crowned his beautiful head like dark flames. In her entire life, Uhura had only met two men who could be called literally beautiful, without being effeminated. Imaro was the other one.
“I heard the Enterprise is ready to leave,” he said, sitting down on the other side of the table. Uhura smiled.
“I should have known that you’d hear about it before I would,” she replied; although he had left Starfleet almost a decade ago, Sahel still remained in touch with some of his former colleagues.
“Pavel Andreievich called yesterday,” respecting Russian custom, Sahel always addressed Chekov by both his given name and his father-name. “He spent the last days of his leave in Vladivostok, with his cousin Pavi. There he got the call that his name had been shortened by two letters.”
“Which two letters?” Uhura inquired; Sahel’s little jokes had been a welcome refreshment for her, since the long-gone days of their short-lived engagement.
“J and G,” Sahel replied, and their both laughed.
“If anyone deserved a promotion, Chekov certainly did,” Uhura commented. “Instead of enjoying planetary assignment for a while, he enrolled a second training course. Not many would be that dedicated.”
“It was his own gain, after all,” Sahel answered thoughtfully. “Few people can say that they are the Chief of Security aboard a Constitution-class starship.”
“So, he did get the job, after all?” Uhura raised her hand with a gesture that expressed surprise and joy. “That’s fantastic! But who’ll be the chief navigator aboard the Enterprise then?”
“Not even I can know everything,” Sahel laughed. “But if the refitting of the Enterprise is in fact finished, your orders must be arriving, soon. Are you looking forward to the start?”
“Yes and no,” Uhura replied carefully. “I’m glad to return to duty, soon, moreso that Imaro will be coming with us... “
“Have you got the official permission?”
“Admiral Nogura signed a contract with Fleet Commander Adama; a contract which allows Imaro to travel with us as a diplomatic observer of the Twelve Worlds. He even might choose a staff of three from the former crew of the Galactica. The details are being worked out at Headquarters in San Francisco right now.”
“That’s good. What’s the other side of the coin?”
“Kimora,” Uhura said quietly, “and this here... all of it. As long as I worked far away from Earth, I haven’t even realized how much I was missing my roots. You know how young I was when I left home, barely more than a child, and I never could come back for longer than for quick visits.”
“Now however,” Sahel added with that thoughtful smile of his, “you’ve spent enough time here for your long-slumbering connection to the Temple, haven’t you?”
“That’s true,” Uhura replied in surprise. “How can you know that?”
Sahel shrugged.
“Ironic, isn’t it?” he said. “You, the Eldest Daughter of an Old Family, left the Temple to reach out to the stars, and you’ve forgotten that what you were looking for has in a sense always been here, and here only: the roots, the same spiritual heritage that had called you away from here in the first place. I, on the other hand, am just a reintegrated son of the cult; I don’t even know which clan my ancestors belonged when they were taken by force and dragged over the Sea to become slaves. But after long, tiresome years of searching, I finally found my way home, and it’s I now who guards the threshold of the Temple. When I joined Starfleet Security, I certainly didn’t think that I’d end up as a prophet.”
“Have you ever regretted giving up the stars?” Uhura asked quietly. Sahel shook his head with a peaceful smile.
“The stars are always with me, amuntu. When I look up from the anteroom of the Temple to the skies in clear nights, I can call them by their names. I know the light of which ones nurture the many different people on Federation planets. My place, though, is here. Should the Visitors return one day, this place will be ready to welcome them, as it has always been ready. My duty is to keep the hearts of our people awake in joyful expectation.”
He rose from the sofa. “I have to go now, amuntu. Aretha won’t return home before the day after tomorrow, and I’ve promised her to spend some time with the children.”
“Have dinner with us,” Uhura offered, but Sahel shook his head.
“The pleasantries of the outside world would be misplaced here, Uhura. You’re sharing your hearth with Imaro now.“
“And yet you’ll remain part of my life.”
“As well as you’ll remain part of mine, forever. But our bond has been ordered by the mothers and severed for the good of the clan. Imaro, you’ve chosen of your own will, out of love. He was the one who’s built you the way home.”
“He and the mercy of the Mothers,” Uhura whispered sadly. Sahel raised his hand in a forbidding gesture.
“Leave the past to the past, Uhura! Live according your name!”
“I’ll try,” she replied slowly. But they both knew it won’t be easy.
Sahel turned on his heels and left the room unhurriedly. At the same time, another man came through one of the side doors, and seeing him, Uhura rose to greet him.
“Imaro... welcome home.”
Imaro, known for the databases of the Federation and the allied Kobol-colonies as Colonel Tigh, was barely older than Sahel, but his thick mane was interwoven with silver already, and the memories of old pain had drawn deep lines around his wide, generous mouth and in the corners of his large eyes. Although a good head shorter than the now leaving prophet, he didn’t seem dwarfed by Sahel. His well-built body, the emanation of his strong personality made up for his small frame. His disciplined, economical movements revealed that he’d spent the majority of his life in tiny cockpits; the few years in Munguroo couldn’t override those old instincts yet.
“Amuntu,” he said, using the local expression, and embraced his wife who snuggled up to him in utter devotion. Their quickly inflamed love had gradually deepened and strengthened during the recent years spent in a traditional bonding, and the birth of their first child had made them even more part of each other’s lives.
“What’s news in the outside world?” Uhura asked.
Imaro shrugged off his long travelling cloak whose wide sleeves had more decorative than practical purposes and threw it onto one of the sofas. Underneath he was wearing a colourful tunic and white trousers as it was customary for his people.
“I’ve spoken with Admiral Nogura,” he said. “He will keep his word, albeit not entirely without trepidation. I’ve threatened him that otherwise the Quorum of Twelve would delegate Sire Uri as its representative on the negotiations with the Federation.
“The Old Man is not easy to intimidate,” Uhura commented soberly. An interview in Nogura’s office was the living nightmare of every Starfleet officer.
“I know,” Imaro nodded, “but he’s a good judge of character. I think he realized that I’d be capable of sitting in front of his office for weeks, if necessary.”
“You would?” Uhura teased.
“If the stakes are high enough, yes,” he replied, unsmiling. “I spent most of my life on warships, save the last couple of years here on Earth; it’s time for me to do some peaceful exploration. What about you? Have your orders arrived yet?”
Uhura shook her head. “Not officially,” she said, “but Charlene Masters called on an interplanetary channel while I was in the Temple. She might have heard something. Let’s have dinner, Yva must be done by now. There’s no use to guess. Starfleet Command has never been late with dispositions.
“I don’t doubt it,” Imaro said. “But what will Captain Kirk say to my presence on his ship?”
“He won’t be happy,” Uhura prophesied. “Everyone knows how allergic he is to diplomats, save perhaps Sarek of Vulcan, and he probably won’t like the fact that your staff is supposed to be on regular duty, either.”
“Why? It’s only three people!”
“True, but he won’t have one hundred per cent control over them. Rigel and Boomer might be under his command while on duty, but they are still your navigator and your pilot. And Cassiopeia isn’t even in Starfleet.”
“Admiral Nogura asked Cassiopeia to take over running the rec deck,” Imaro told her, while they were heading the dining room, arm in arm. “He wants to unburden the personnel officer a little.”
“That won’t make Captain Kirk happy, either,” Uhura guessed. “But Nancy Wong certainly will welcome any help she can get. Keeping four hundred and thirty… no, five hundred crew in good mood isn’t an easy task, especially as they belong to half a dozen different species.”
“Cassiopeia is practically predestined for this job, due to her training,” Imaro said. “For my part, I’m glad that New-Gemini sends her to be my assistant. I’m not a natural born diplomat, as you know.”
“That’s one of the reasons why I love you,” she said bluntly.
They lowered themselves onto the small ebony stools that had very high, carved backs, and young Yva served dinner, which had been cooked in earthenware pots, on the colourful mat spread on the floor. Although the people of Munguroo didn’t reject modern technology on principle, they didn’t use food synthesizers. Every dish was cooked in the traditional way - the only allowance was to use modern fuel, to spare the trees and the environment.
Yva had cooked a popular dish: sweet corn with beans and tomatoes, after which she served a couscous and palm wine. Imaro, who still couldn’t get used to the strange taste of mimbo, barely took a sip.
“This is the only thing I hate here,” he said, “this disgusting booze.”
Uhura exchanged a smile with her niece.
“The consuming of mimbo is an acquired taste,” she said, amused. “After a few decades you’ll learn to appreciate it for the spiritual experience it is.”
“You see, flame-hearted, that is why I don’t mind to remain an underdeveloped barbarian,” the man replied calmly.
“Don’t let her tease you; I think I won’t get used to mimbo, either, and should I live a thousand years. Besides, mother feels the same way. She just likes to see you squirm.”
Turning towards the door, they saw Kitharo, Uhura’s sixteen-year-old son from Oulu, entering the dining room. He kneeled in front of his mother, according to custom, to greet her. He was small and limber, just like his mother, and their profiles bore a striking resemblance, too. But Kitharo’s much darker skin, thick lips and large, expressive eyes were an inheritance from his father. Sometimes Uhura found it almost painful to look at him. No matter how happy she was with Imaro, the years spent with Oulu on Two Twilights, years full of agonizing passion and the all-too-present awareness that their parting had been imminent, no time in the world could have erased from her mind.
“I thought you’d spend the day in the village of the new brethren,” she said, touching her son’s face, signalling that he can rise.
“That was the plan,” the youngling sat down next to his mother, “but since you’re leaving, soon, I thought I’d rather spend some time with you. Can’t I go to San Francisco with you? I’d like to see the Enterprise again.”
“I’m afraid not,” Uhura said, regretting to have to disappoint her son. “This is not the Enterprise you used to know, my son, and neither are the people who used to serve on her twelve years ago.”
Kitharo nodded. “I know. It’s just… I envy you a little. It’s been ten years since I was out among the stars for the last time.”
“That’s a path that stands open before you,” Imaro said. “If you join Starfleet…”
The youngling shook his head. “No, that’s not my way. The Fleet binds the hands of its members in thousand different ways. My wings would be cut there. No, I’d like to fly freely.”
“And you intend to reach that goal… how exactly?” his mother asked.
Kitharo hesitated for a moment. “One of the Ibo tribes has founded a far-away colony, in the neighbourhood of Two Twilights,” he replied carefully. “It’s called Harare and has some ten to fifteen thousand inhabitants. After finishing my studies - and the initiation - I’d like to move there. Do you object?”
“It’s your life, Kitharo,” his mother answered thoughtfully. “If you think Harare is the place where you’d like to live, I won’t stand in your way. I only ask you to check out that world very carefully before making your final move.”
“Of course, mother. I know the risks. And it’s a long way between Harare and Earth.”
“Have you already chosen a field for your studies?” Imaro asked. The youngling nodded.
“The Agricultural Faculty. Harare is a pioneer world; they need well-trained agronomists with a minor in xenobiology.”
“And what about the dance college?” Uhura asked. “You’ve already finished four semesters; wouldn’t it be a shame to waste that? On a new world like Harare that has only existed for a few decades, tradition is even more important than at home.”
“I won’t quit it,” Kitharo replied, “but I’ll continue on an individual schedule.”
“Ah,” his mother said. “May I ask how?”
“Dr. Anekwe, the renowned Ibo music historian has started courses on the Agricultural faculty last year,” Kitharo explained. “I contacted him four days ago, and he agreed to accept us, I mean Abiru and me, as his private students.”
“So Abiru is going with you?” Uhura asked. According to the mutual agreement between the two families, Abiru and Kitharo had been betrothed for years. “And has her family agreed to let her move to Harare?”
“It wasn’t easy,” her son admitted. “But in the end, Abiru isn’t a firstborn daughter; neither are her older sisters planning to leave Africa.”
“In that case, however, she needs to choose a profession that is useful for Harare,” Imaro warned him. “A pioneer world won’t be able to afford the luxury of sponsoring professional artists for quite a while yet. Have you thought of that?”
The youngling nodded. “Yes, we’ve planned it all out.”
“And what kind of solution did you find?”
“Abiru is going to study alternate medicine; something that works on a foreign world without modern hospitals. And a little botany, because of the healing herbs. But first she’ll finish art school - she only has one more year left.”
“That would be a sin for her to quit,” Uhura agreed. “I never heard anyone play the kissar as she does.”
“I have,” her son replied, “but that person quit her music when I was seven years old.”
Uhura gave him a pale, somewhat sad smile. “I didn’t do it voluntarily; well, at least not eagerly. But after your homecoming, my experimental post has been deleted from the space exploration program for good, and as chief of communications, I simply had too much technical stuff to handle.”
“That wasn’t meant as an accusation, mother. I’m just sorry that you’ve wasted your talent, that’s all.”
“Not entirely. How many human musicians can say of themselves that they can play the Vulcan ka’athyra on the same level as I do?”
“It’s not the same, mother, and you know that.”
“Of course not,” Uhura nodded. “But had I chosen my music instead of the stars, I’d never have met Imaro. And that would be a much greater loss, don’t you think?”
Kitharo remained silent for a moment. “For you, it would,” he finally said. “But not for the Temple, I think.”
“Kitharo!” Uhura stared at her son, scandalized, and felt as if someone had rammed a blunt knife into her heart.
Kitharo made an apologetic gesture. “Don’t take this as a personal affront, Imaro, because it is none. But you have no idea what my mother was capable of, back then, when she was still actively studying sacral music. The Temple hasn’t had a singer of her format for fifteen generations - if she had finished her training, that is - and it’s hard to tell when another such talent will be born among us. Abiru is very gifted, but she can’t even be mentioned in the same sentence with mother.”
Imaro, who’d had the privilege to enjoy Abiru’s wondrous music and singing, looked at his wife with newfound respect. “I never thought I’d be worth such a sacrifice,” he said quietly.
“I haven’t given up my music for you,” Uhura pointed out. “But should the choice be demanded from me today, I’d choose you nevertheless. Finding you was the best thing that has ever happened to me. I won’t give you up for anything or anyone.”
She rose, without the aid of her hands, and the two males automatically followed suit. It would have been unseeming for them to remain seated.
“What now?” Imaro asked.
“I need to call Charlene Masters on Mars,” Uhura said. “Are you coming with me? Perhaps Captain Boomer will be there, too.”
“That would be fortunate,” Imaro agreed. “I haven’t spoken to him for quite some time.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Charlene Masters, a Warp-specialist and a docent of the Pallas University on Mars, if possible, looked even younger than a good two years earlier when the Enterprise had been taken into the Utopia Planitia Shipyards’ drydock. The asymmetrically cut, brightly coloured dress - the latest fashion on Mars - left her right shoulder bare. Her intricately carved sandalwood earrings almost touched her shoulders. Together with her short-cropped hair, it was an… interesting look.
“I’ve just got my disposition,” she told Uhura, “and Boomer has his okay from the Old Man, too.”
“Do you know which department you’d be delegated to?”
“I’ll go to Engineering, permanently,” Masters grinned. “It’s fine with me - who knows whom we’re going to get instead of Mr. Spock. At least I’ve known Scotty for years, and we’ve always worked well together.”
“What about you, Captain?” Imaro asked Boomer.
The good-natured, dark-skinned young man shrugged. “Before everything else, I’m your pilot, Colonel. Rigel and I have personally supervised the building of your courier ship. These warp-shuttles are a brand new construction from Vulcan; they can accelerate up to warp factor 4 - not a small task of ships of their size. We’ve everything checked and re-checked four times, of course. With all due respect towards Vulcan efficiency, I always sleep better when I’ve checked everything personally.”
“I know you’re my pilot,” Imaro said. “But you’re also supposed to take a regular duty shift aboard the Enterprise.”
“I haven’t heard anything specific about that,” Boomer replied, “although Lieutenant Commander Sulu kept giving me certain… hints. In any case, we’ve been ordered to check in by Chief Wong, the personnel officer of the Enterprise, within three standard days.”
“I’m sure you, too, will get your disposition shortly,” Masters added, addressing her words to Uhura. “Scotty meant the command crew would be drafted last, because Nogura wants you all to sweat a little first.”
“Uhura’s position is secured,” Imaro said calmly. “I asked Admiral Nogura a direct question, and he didn’t dare to sidestep.”
“The Old Man dares a lot,” Charlene Masters said. “Otherwise he’d never have managed to make Starfleet to what it is now. He isn’t called God Himself for nothing.”
“I’ve heard about that,” Imaro nodded. “But allow me to say that I, too, have a certain… reputation in the outside world.”
“I know: the Steel Eagle,” Masters laughed. “By the way, you sound almost like Uhura.”
“I do my best,” Imaro replied, “although I’m still far from my ultimate goal in that department. Do you already know when the Enterprise is supposed to leave the shipyards?”
“In two standard days,” Masters said. “There will be an intermediate stop in the drydock above San Francisco to take aboard all crewmembers currently on Terra. The start is planned for…” she counted in her head for a moment, “the 21st March, Terran reckoning.”
“That leaves us a week,” Uhura said. “Will you go aboard from Utopia Planitia or will you have to make the extra trip to Stratopolis?”
“We belong to the maintenance team… well, more or less,” Boomer said, “so we also have the privilege to travel aboard the Enterprise to Earth. Engineering has a full crew already, but the security section is still waiting for a few people to return from various advanced courses. That’s all we know.”
“And that’s also enough for the time being,” Imaro said. “I’ll see you aboard in a week’s time then, Captain.”
“Yes, Colonel. I’m delighted to serve under your command once again, sir.”
“This time, however, it’s going to be a peaceful mission, Boomer.”
“Yes, sir. That’s the best part of it. Boomer out.”
“Good-bye,” Masters added, and the screen went dark.
Imaro gave his wife a long, thoughtful look. Uhura’s face was so… distant, so foreign and exalted; he’d never seen her like this before. “Are you longing for the stars very much?” he asked.
Uhura nodded, her smile full of longing. “My heart is pulling me into two different directions, Imaro. When I’m at home, I hear the call of the stars, but when I’m aboard, I yearn for the Temple.”
“I can see that,” the dull, unexplained ache that Imaro sometimes felt, appeared again. “Do I have a place, too, in either of those constellations?”
Uhura woke from her daydreams with a jolt. Seeing the pain in her bondmate’s face induced guilty feelings in her. She stepped closer to Imaro and wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You are in both, beloved,” she replied, planting a slow, caressing kiss on the sad curve of his mouth. “You know that.”
Imaro didn’t answer at once, and Uhura’s heart grew cold with fear. It can’t be that things would take a turn to the wrong, right now, after two years, she thought, and looked into the dark, beautiful - and resigned - face of Imaro with anxiety.
“Amuntu, what is the meaning of this?” she asked. “Have you regretted already bonding your life with me? Or do you feel left out in our society, like a stranger under the rule of the Mothers?”
“Of course not,” he said, somewhat mellowed, and returned her kiss. “No woman has ever loved me the way you do. And I’ve never been more respected among my people than I am now, wearing the highest rank possible in the long-yearned-for peacetime.”
“What’s wrong then?” Uhura wondered.
“I’ve just been thinking,” Imaro said slowly, “what your choice might be, should you have to choose between me and the stars.”
Uhura became ash grey, all of a sudden. This was something she’d been secretly wondering about, too.
“Do you intend to make me choose?” she asked.
Imaro shook his head thoughtfully. “No, I don’t. At least not right now. But there might come a time when my people will have need of me, and I’ll have to return to New-Libra. What will you do then?”
“I don’t know,” Uhura replied honestly. “This is a question that had caused me the one or other sleepless night already. I can only hope that I’ll make a decision that suits us all. But I think it’s too early to worry about that now. The next five years will belong us, for sure.”
“I certainly hope so,” Imaro said gravely. “Unless my people call me back earlier. You know I cannot neglect my duties.”
“You shouldn’t always imagine the worst,” Uhura murmured, snuggling up to him. Imaro reacted to her closeness as he always did, and for a while, they forgot about their worries.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Much later, when Imaro was already asleep next to her under the brightly patterned, hand-woven blanket, his face buried in the crook of his elbow, Uhura noiselessly slid out of bed, pulled over her light robe and walked out onto the veranda. The night was blissfully cool in Munguroo, and the spicy aromas flooding in the light breeze reminded her of the damps of the huge forests on Two Twilights.
She was thirty-five now; it was the age when her people began with the mental practice of memory preservations. This was a training she had already started upon their arrival, as she’d known that her time in the Temple would be short. The ultimate goal of this practice was the supervising and ordering of memories and the grafting of those that had been found worth preserving into the long-term memory. Only people who’ve reached the so-called ritual maturity, a state that had little to do with actual age, were able to do that.
Now that she was about to leave the Temple again, she called up the mental pictures of her loved ones.
She began with the members of her family and her clan. With her grandfather who had taught African history at the University of Kenya. With her grandmother, the ruler of the clan, who hadn’t been happy when their only daughter, Uhura’s mother, had married a Starfleet officer who wasn’t even the son of the Cult. Kyle Nichols, Uhura’s high-spirited, over-active father, had died at a relatively young age, by the evacuation of an endangered colony. Her mother never remarried. She’d chosen to raise her daughters, Uhura, Kamala and Aretha, alone. And though the Mothers disagreed with that decision, they had to admit that she’d done a good job with them.
Nonetheless, she hadn’t lived long, either. At the time when Uhura met Oulu in the boarding school for gifted children, her mother had already returned to the Ancestors.
Oulu had been the first man she’d loved. They’d loved each other at a very tender age, with such an obvious passion that the Mothers gave their blessings, although it was known that Oulu wouldn’t have a long life, either. The illness that had taken him so young he had passed down tot heir daughter, too, and Karidy, the Love, this sweet and beautiful child, followed him to the Ancestor when she was barely four. They were both buried on Two Twilights, where they had lived happily, because that had been Oulu’s wish, and Uhura respected it, no matter how much she’d wanted to bring their ashes home to the clan.
At least Kitharo had escaped that fate. He was born healthy and remained healthy, and he’d grown to become an intelligent and lovable young man under that protective wing of the Mothers. And now that he’d reached the border of manhood, he was ready to begin his own journey to the stars.
In a matter, Uhura had loved Sahel, too. They had never been in love, but the passion had been honest between them, and they both regretted that their bond had remained childless and therefore had to be broken. She might have been willing to give up the stars for him, but as the Eldest Daughter, she couldn’t afford to live in an infertile bond. She had to give birth to the next generation of daughters.
Having broken the mesq according to custom, Uhura returned to the Enterprise - not to the experimental position of a counselor (which experiment had been already deleted by the admiralty) but as a communications officer, making her former fake position true. Captain Pike and his first officer had already left, and though she’d found new friends among her new shipmates, things were never the same again.
There she met Dr. M’Benga, who belonged to a similar African cult, and who’d offered his services for the then-upcoming khemmer, should she not have a partner yet. Uhura accepted the doctor’s offer, grateful that she wouldn’t have to spend the festival lonely and infertile, but their relationship was a strictly sacral one, which ended with the end of the khemmer. Uhura had recognized M’Benga’s interest for his assistant, Nurse Johnson, long before the doctor became aware of his own feelings, and she didn’t want to stand in their way. She could see that Cindy Lou loved the doctor, too, although they were both too shy to make a move, and she hoped that one day they’ll find the courage to admit their feelings for each other.
Their brief ritual encounter (although it remained childless) led to a steady friendship. M’Benga was the only man aboard whom Uhura allowed to arm's length after the traumatic events on Triskelion.
However, they never talked about those events, not even among themselves, and Uhura had remained alone for the rest of the five-year-mission… when Imaro walked into her life. Love flared up quickly between the two mature, lonely people, and they accepted this unhoped-for gift of fate with gratitude. Kimora’s birth completed their happiness, and now that she’d continued her bloodline (ritually, only daughters counted as a continuation) Uhura was the first among Munguroo’s Mothers again… something she’d never really hoped for.
Still, she knew that should duty call Imaro back to New-Libra, she would follow him. Perhaps not at once, perhaps only years later, as she had her own duties towards her own people. But when the time came, and Imaro still wanted her, she would follow him.
Chapter 1