The Job Posting
Vulcan Embassy
San Francisco
2295.17
Sarek always found Terran architecture uniquely satisfying. The fireplace in his office would not have been a logical choice, but it was very useful. The warmth radiated throughout the room, keeping the cold, San Francisco winter at bay.
Working late into yet another night, he turned his attention to a project he had asked for: the development of a cultural exchange initiative with the goal of continuous awareness and understanding of cultural and behavioral expression. His experience in diplomacy taught him that more often than not, evaluation of artistic endeavors strongly reflected the emotional health of a culture.
Implementation of the first phase could be easily met with the exception of particular item: finding the right person to head the program. This individual would be highly skilled in their field, have a high level of linguistic proficiency; a consistent and demonstrative instructional reputation, and be able to work with many different cultures well.
He instructed his aid Soran, to distribute the call for applications to colleges, universities, and the Ministry of Xenocultural Affairs at Federation headquarters. Within six hours of distribution more than three hundred applications were received.
Over the following weeks, Sarek quickly discovered many people partially qualified; however, their underdeveloped skills rendered them inappropriate. After reviewing all applications, the field had narrowed to four meeting minimum expectations, and he was not certain any of them were the right fit.
"Ambassador, a Dr. Jarvis from the Eastman School requests to speak with you."
"Put him through."
An older man appeared on the view screen, with several colleagues in the background. "Good evening, Ambassador. I'd like to ask if you're still accepting applications for the directorship?"
"No, the deadline has passed."
"That is unfortunate," he paused, a colleague whispering in his ear. He nodded affirmingly.
"Is there any chance you would accept one more? The reason is we've a current doctoral student who's an ideal candidate. We'd be sorry for her not to be considered because she was traveling off world conducting research," he said, hopefully. "She didn't know about it until after the deadline passed."
Sarek looked at him quietly.
"She's based in San Francisco, and nearly finished her doctoral work. It's a doubled doctorate, and one focus is already completed," Dr. Jarvis said.
"What are the focal points of her degrees?"
"Artistic Management, that's already finished. The other is in Xenocultural Aesthetics."
Sarek thought carefully, reasoning that one more could certainly not cause a problem. "Dr. Jarvis, instruct her to file the application within the next eight hours directly to the Vulcan embassy. She will leave it with the guard on duty."
"Ambassador, thank you. I sincerely appreciate your flexibility in this."
After instructing Soran to inform the security staff of a potential early morning delivery, he thought on this new applicant: if truly interested, she would submit her application no later than 0300 hours. A worthwhile candidate would see it done on time or even better, early.
The next morning Soran knocked on his office door, a folder in his hands. "This was delivered at the embassy gates at 0247 hours."
Sitting across from Sarek, he waited, having already screened the entire document. Sarek took nearly twenty minutes to read it. He stopped, thinking a moment, and then spoke.
"I will speak with Dr. Jarvis immediately."
A moment later, he was waiting on the comm-link. "Good morning," he smiled.
"I received an application from your student. I require clarification: why is Ms. McGregor posted to Starfleet Academy?"
"Oh, that. She received a two-year contract to direct the honor guard at Starfleet. They have a drum line, and a brass ensemble, and she teaches a few cadet buglers to play traditional military cadences – music for ceremonies – that sort of thing. It's an old Terran military custom."
"Its origin?" Sarek asked, intrigued.
"It derives from a more primitive method of communication. Battlefield combat offers a distinct problem: communicating orders effectively over the noise. Drummers and buglers would play rhythmic and melodic patterns to issue orders. Technology began to change battleground tactics. The need waned, but the appreciation didn't – symbolic remembrance of those lost in battle is highly respected in Terran culture."
After arriving Starfleet Headquarters and receiving security clearance, Sarek and Soran made their way to the visitor's center, a short, balding, human male met them.
"Ambassador Sarek? I am Jim Thompson. Todd Jarvis told me you would visit." He smiled at them both. "How can I be of assistance?"
"I am considering a member of your staff for the directorship of the cultural affairs initiative," Sarek stated.
"Emma applied, didn't she?"
"Affirmative. I will speak with you regarding the resume she submitted."
"Certainly, sir. Why don't we make our way to the parade grounds?"
After finding a comfortable place to sit, Sarek observed a group of cadets marching in a tight formation, while another group stood in a circle playing rhythmic cadences on snare drums. He caught a glimpse of a small group of cadets tuning their horns and preparing to drill.
"I would normally invite you to my office, but the honor guard will begin rehearsal in a few moments. She directs the group and it would give you an opportunity to observe."
"Logical. Please clarify her awarded degrees," he requested.
"She earned a bachelor of music from Indiana. She received an assistantship to Harvard for her graduate studies. She earned two master's degrees there: Musical Research, and Xenomusicology."
"What of her linguistic capabilities?" Sarek asked.
"Emma's primary languages are Scots Gaelic and English. She also studied Vulcan for six years for her Ph.D.," he answered. "She gave a research presentation at a conference hosted by Yale three years ago. That is where Todd learned of her research focus.
"He offered her a fellowship to attend Eastman for her Ph.D work. Emma has been translating the works Pre-Reform Vulcan poets. She is making a cross-cultural comparison between them and the Terran Nationalistic composers of the 19th and 20th centuries. The dissertation debate is going to be quite interesting. People are either for or against this one," Dr. Thompson said with poorly masked excitement.
"Why?"
"Because she is the first to perform 'out-worlder' translations for literally all extant works; she has drawn astonishing comparisons in cultural perception and awareness, and it is frustrating the stereotypes held by a lot of people on both worlds."
Sarek regarded him carefully, quite familiar with them. "There are more than fifteen hundred."
"All fifteen hundred sixty-three," Dr. Thompson said, with fading glee as a right eyebrow rose slightly.
An older Hispanic woman found where they were and worked her way into the stands to join them. "Good afternoon, gentlemen." She smiled.
Dr. Thompson introduced them. "This is Caroline Gomes. She is the liaison between our offices and the academy. She created the opportunity for Emma to work here. Caroline, this is Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan."
"Peace and long life to you." She bowed slightly. "I understand Emma applied for the directorship? I am glad she did. She is well suited for that job. She has uncovered similar social responses between Vulcan and Human cultures in periods of social upheaval.
"Please understand our pride in her is not misplaced or undeserved. Evaluations of her cognitive abilities are in the top two percent of known human capability. Her intelligence and spatial-lateral reasoning are off the charts. She also spent six years on Betazed training with their telepathic and empathic counseling staff. Her psi rating is an eight. Most humans with any capabilities max around five," Dr. Gomes stated.
"Eight? What are her capabilities?" asked Sarek.
"She was tested and diagnosed as a broadcast telepath - receptor only, touch telepath, and auditory-visual empath. She reads people very well. It's one reason she can teach just about anyone. Well, there is one group, not so much," she added, hesitating.
"Who?" Sarek asked.
"Tellarites."
"Understandable," he quipped. Soran looked abruptly at him. Sarek then inquired about her instrumental proficiency.
"This is where it gets interesting. She has a tremendous capacity for learning musical instruments. She began percussion as a first year master's student simply because she needed one elective credit to complete her degree plan," Dr. Thompson said with delight.
"Are we to assume she plays others?" Sarek asked.
"Yes. I have heard rumors about guitar and violin, but for some reason she will not give us a straight answer on that. She is from the Isle of Skye, off the west coast of Scotland. There is a very rich folk music heritage there. You should hear her play when it's not important."
"Why?" Soran asked.
"Because it's better than when it really matters," he said with a grin.
"Compostion?" Sarek requested.
"Primarily, she writes instrumental works, art songs and some choral pieces. The word on the street right now is that she will be asked to step into the position left open after the death of Shiyoran Ka'alte last month," Dr. Thompson answered.
"She will be named composer laureate to the Federation?" Sarek asked. "Is she aware of this?"
"Not yet. It seems that the people the selection committee have approached keep deferring to her, and keep in mind those people are anywhere from forty to eighty years her senior," Dr. Thompson stated.
"Two of them were her composition mentors. I can appreciate your doubt. We have talked a lot about her. Perhaps you can watch and decide for yourself," Dr. Gomes suggested, pointing to the woman jogging onto the parade grounds.
Emma came through the gates and trotted up to the center of the field. She blew her whistle once and the cadets assembled in a circle around her. They began to play warm-up exercises and prepare for practice. While they finished their preparations, she strapped on a snare drum harness and began playing the final practice cadences. Emma gave final instructions and they began counting off in Vulcan.
Soran's curiosity got the best of him.
"Why are they counting in Vulcan?"
"The cardinal base of your numbering system is syllabically divisible by two, it establishes a consistent subdivision pattern for them to start the cadence on," Dr. Thompson answered.
As they listened and watched, Sarek was having difficulty with the capabilities she possessed.
"How is it that she has developed such skills in so short a period of time? This level of proficiency in only six years cannot be normal. What were the processes with which she was instructed?" he asked.
"The standard methods, and she has been guided by the very best instructors available. She burns through material at a rate we have not seen before. She recently went to Finland to study for six months – and came home after four weeks. She returned when their ability to teach her had been exhausted. They did not know what else to do with her," Dr. Gomes replied.
"And that is a problem," Dr. Thompson stated clearly.
"Explain," Sarek requested.
"You need to understand that while she is a marvelous person, and a highly gifted musician, she is an aberration in our society."
Sarek's eyebrows rose at such a derogatory description. On Vulcan, any child with this kind of exceptional ability was cultivated, nurtured, and encouraged to realize their highest potential. He could not understand that she was so unusual no one knew what to do with or for her.
"It would appear that everyone she encounters abandons her at a point of great need in her academic development," he observed, "most illogical."
"I mean no disrespect to her at all, please understand that. It is simply that she is so different that people do not know how to interact with her," he said.
"Emma needs to be around highly intelligent individuals; in and out of academia. She spends too much time in that office of hers; how else could she have translated all those works in that amount of time?"
"I agree, I have actually had to tell her to go home on several occasions," Dr. Gomes offered. "I also had to insist she leave her work at the office. At one point, I required her to journal about her leisure activities simply so I knew she was doing something to relax.
"There is something else – she had behavioral and socialization problems as a teenager," she finished.
"Of what nature?" Sarek asked.
"She was frustrated and angry, and had issues with impulse control and self-discipline, getting into a lot of fights, and even had minor problems with the authorities. She dealt with substantial depression and was very withdrawn. She tried to ask for help, but did not know what the problem was.
"She was diagnosed mentally ill - one specialist suggested multiple personality disorder as the only possible way to explain 'hearing the thoughts of others'," Dr. Thompson said.
"No one thought to test her esper abilities?" Sarek could not believe this oversight.
"No - so many humans are psi-blind that to be diagnosed, you have to live in a dense population center. Her island home is very rural," he continued.
"Her father and uncle were working off world with a team responsible for assisting with the admission of Betazed to the Federation in 2273. They spoke with a group of counselors about her situation. They were encouraged to send her to them immediately. Once she arrived, they discerned her telepathic abilities and began a complete battery of psi testing, negating the misdiagnosis of her mental health," Dr. Gomes interjected.
"Who are her father and uncle?" asked Sarek.
"Drs. William and Kenneth McLeod."
Ken McLeod was a highly respected educator that worked tirelessly to integrate Betazoid teaching philosophies into the Diplomatic Corps' training structure. Will McLeod was an architectural engineer. Together they published several papers about education and the arts on Betazed after its admission to the Federation. Amanda had strongly supported their research, having written the foreword to the books they coauthored in 2285 and 2293.
He remembered her expression 'it's a small galaxy', and agreed. It then occurred to him that Emma McGregor was the correspondence language student Amanda taught for so many years. It all finally made sense. He reflected on a conversation with Amanda only two weeks before her death…
"Aduna, I must speak with you regarding our communications invoice," he approached gently.
She was always careful with financial matters, and it bothered him to question her spending habits on the rare occasions it was necessary.
"What about it?"
She reached her arm out and snaked it around his right leg as he stood next to her, and tickled him behind his knee, smiling when he leaned in closer.
"Your attempt to distract me will not succeed. The invoice has increased steadily over the past eight months. Is all well with your brother?"
"He's fine – but he is not the one I am talking to."
She trailed her fingers higher up his thigh, grazing her fingernails along the soft fabric of his trousers.
"May I ask who is requiring this much of you?" he asked. "I would think attending to my wants is both a higher priority and a better use of your time." He smiled at her, liking the thought of where her hand might end up next.
Her eyes twinkled.
"Sarek, it's for a language student. I normally wouldn't make a concession like this, but she is exceptionally gifted. The beginning and intermediate courses normally take forty-eight months – yeah, she completed them in thirty. We have been working on pre-reform poetic translations ever since."
His eyebrows rose.
"Exactly. Her mentors contacted me and asked to work out an arrangement for instruction as she prepares for her doctoral studies. The school pays for her calls, and we pay for mine. The more I learned about her the less I could say no, and you know how hard it is for me to turn a good student away."
She smiled at him. She traced his buttocks and gave them a gentle squeeze. He tried to think of ways to turn himself toward her without being that obvious, and was unsuccessful.
"You are particularly generous with such students, my wife. How is her performance?"
"Virtually painless. The only problem she has is her natural accent. She is from Scotland and the accent tends to be heavy. It occludes some vowel pronunciations. She has an interesting tendency to create diphthongs in her vocabulary, and her oral cavity is always too closed. You really should hear her sometime - it's quite unusual.
"That notwithstanding, she is one of the most intelligent people I've ever worked with. Her father and uncle are writing another book about the creative arts on Betazed. They've asked me to write the forward again."
Such praise was extraordinary, coming from Amanda. She was relentless with her students, often driving them away with her demands on their work ethics and study habits. For one so young to reach that point of competency was no ordinary accomplishment.
As he thought about that conversation, his mind logically went to the activities that followed it – the last time he and Amanda made love. While she finished writing her criticism and instructions for her student, he went to their bedroom and drew a hot bath, adding her favorite salts, and undressed. He turned the bed down and then went to find her.
"K'diwa, I request your attention now," he said, taking in her beauty. She sent the message and took his hand.
He kissed her nose and led her down the hall. Once in their bedroom, he smiled at her.
"I confess I deceived you. I intended not for you to attend me this evening," he said softly, undressing her. Then he picked her up in his arms gently and carried her to the waiting bath. He set her in it, sat down behind her, and held her in his arms.
Afterward, she took him into hers, their thoughts expressing everything they could not say aloud, even in the privacy of their own home. They took time to share the lifelong love-relationship for what neither of them knew would be the very last time…
Sarek's mind rejoined the conversation.
"I think that time on Betazed was the best thing that could have happened to her, honestly. The diagnostic reports described her as a 'ship with a faulty navigational sensor, heading dangerously off-course. If you repair the module, the course is corrected'. She has stayed the course for twenty-two years," Dr. Thompson said.
Sarek listened very carefully to the things her supervisors were sharing with them. Betazed was known for training and counseling individuals struggling with esper-related problems. It was clear to him that they were concerned about her emotional health as well as her professional capability.
He thought she would fit well into Vulcan society. She had the intelligence, work ethic, and the socialization issues were evidently resolved well enough that they employed her. He suspected that the right environment could present her with a much more satisfying life experience.
"I don't see how she has the energy to do what she does," Dr. Thompson admitted.
"Actually, I do. I think it's because there is nothing else in her life. It's a sad thing to consider, but there is no social outlet for her at all," Dr. Gomes said quietly
He instructed Soran to place her on the shortlist. As they were preparing to leave, Sarek turned and asked a very direct question. "If she is all that you say, would you not prefer she remain on staff here? What would you gain from her departure?"
"Ambassador, we gain nothing from her departure. In fact, it would be a great loss, but the issue here is not what is best for us, is it?" Dr. Thompson answered thoughtfully.
"The issue here is two-fold as I see it: you finding someone very qualified to head your program, which she is, and Emma finding the best place for her own professional development and quality of life. She will not find those here with us," Dr. Gomes said quietly.