The Cliff and the Oasis
Summary: In an attempt to mend fences with his clan after the Babel conference, Spock accepts T'Pau's order to go on a traditional Vulcan pilgrimage. When Sarek finds out about the journey, and that it will take his son, and Jim Kirk, into the chaos of the Coridan civil war, he resolves to go after them. A tale of fathers and sons, conflicts and resolution.
Prologue
[Excerpt from Grayson, A, 2236. A Commentary on Vulcan Social Roles for the Non-Vulcan Reader.]
Having discussed the most common pre- and post-Surakian genders and gender roles, we now turn to their manifestation in another social role - that of the parent.
As noted in chapter 5, the traditional female gender role afforded the pre-Surakian individual authority over the katek (here translated as 'the domain'): the inner workings of the household and estate, including power over all economic resources and decisions, ownership of land and the final say in matters of justice and punishment. The traditional male gender role afforded the individual authority over the e'katek (here translated as 'the frontier'): the right to bear arms, to make decisions in hostile situations or territories, to make alliances, trade or raid enemies. These social conventions carry over to the two most typical parental roles - that of the ko-mekh (here translated as 'mother') and sa-mekh (here translated as 'father').
The father image in particular holds much meaning to Vulcans, and it is the one that is most filled with contrast and controversy. The father is responsible for the education (moral and scholarly) of his children, for their physical training, and for arranging marriages with other families. The idealized father is both a remote strict teacher, and a close confidant. He is both supposed to prioritize the wellbeing of the entire family or clan, and to prioritize the wellbeing of his own children. "The father" is thus a high-status social role, but one with many inherent social dangers: a pedestal from which it is easy to fall.
The role of the father is addressed by Surak in the logico-philosophical treatise Reflections on Clan (#73) as well as in several public speeches, but the perhaps most well known treatment of the subject is from the poem The Cliff and the Oasis, written in the traditional style of the Forge by an unknown disciple, and dated to four years after Surak's death. Like many Surakian commentaries that seek to understand and analyze Vulcan parent-child relations, this work will also start with an analysis of the poem.
"The Cliff and the Oasis"
Be as the cliff
The cliffs of the Llangons
Eternal, unchanging, firm.
The most violent storms cannot touch it.
It does not change.
When the fire ravages, remain calm and cool.
When the sweet breeze comes, remain damp and hard.
When fatigue threatens, your paths still remain unchanging and steep.
When the desert storm engulfs their world - they will never doubt that your caves still give shelter.
Be as the oasis.
The oasis of the Depak valley.
Mutable, adapting, providing.
Each breeze leaves multidimensional fractal matrices
In the memory of water.
When the drought strikes, your depths will be enough.
When they fall, you will embrace them.
When the enemy threatens, you will give them water also.
When they have ventured too far - they will never doubt that they can at least return to you.
Chapter 1
Given the subject matter, Sarek knew he should be contemplating the Cliff and the Oasis, or better yet, the Reveration of the Mother. As it was, he found that he needed all his focus to master an explosion of outraged fury.
"I do not understand, T'Pau. I ask you to please explain the situation again."
His mother looked at him coolly. A 3D simulation of a worm hole hovered in the air to her left, paused just before the imminent collapse of its time-space matrix. The modern tools were at odds with the ancient stone wall behind her, and the elegantly carved wooden ink horn on the desk. Sarek had never understood the logic of which modern contraptions were allowed in the Keep, and which were banned - but he dutifully assumed that this was a shortcoming of his own analysis.
T'Pau had not put down her reed brush. He was clearly interrupting something she considered more important.
"Spock and his companion are on a pilgrimage in the Coridan systems, to the Vulcan healers there. You will have to explain the nature of your difficulty in interpreting this information."
Sarek stared at her. Finally he said, voice as even as he could make it, "It is an unlawful area of space. There are several warring factions. The ion storms make navigation perilous."
"I am aware."
"Are you aware of the diplomatic consequences, should they die?"
Her eyes swept over him. "I am well acquainted with the consequences of my actions, my son." She reached to terminate their connection, but left him with a final question.
"Are you?"
===oOoOoOo===
Jim stretched, and hit his elbow on the protruding emergency kit by the shuttle door. Reflexively, he jerked back, pushing the narrow medical stretcher overbalance. Slowly but inevitably, the stretcher upended, leaving him wedged between it and the shuttle's single bunk.
He could practically feel Spock studying him from the cockpit.
"A little help?"
"Forgive me. I was uncertain as to what you were trying to accomplish."
A strong Vulcan arm helped him effortlessly up, the grip leaving him as soon as he was on his feet. Spock then hauled the stretcher up, hitting the button that reduced it to a long thin bundle. He placed it in its designated cupboard, before reaching down for the pillow and blanket that had tumbled to the floor. As he folded them meticulously, he still would not meet Kirk's eyes.
Jim sighed. It took a lot of determination to keep your distance when you were two people in a one-person shuttle. Spock was, unsurprisingly, trying to excel at it.
"I thought you agreed that it was logical for us both to rest before we leave Federation space," he said, gently.
"I slept for 1.4 hours, and meditated for another 3.67 hours."
"So until just now. I'm sorry if I disturbed you."
"It is of no matter."
Spock turned, and managed with some deft maneuvering to pass Kirk without brushing against him in the narrow corridor. On one side was the shuttle wall, sporting the large infotainment screen that was customary in high-end civilian models. The other side held the bunk to the right, with storage space above and under it. To the left was a small head that also doubled as a sonic shower. There was no space for chairs or tables, but there were trays that folded out from the wall by the bunk space and in the small cockpit. The cockpit had, in grudging compliance with Federation safety regulations, two chairs and duplicated navigation and control boards.
"We cross into Coridan space in six hours, forty three minutes," Spock informed him as he made his way forward.
Kirk ambled after him, stretching out his legs. He stopped by the small civilian food synthesizer inset in the wall directly behind the cockpit.
"I'm going to have some…" he looked through the available bags that the synthesizer could turn into finished meals, "borscht soup. I'll get you some too."
Spock shoulders stiffened for a second like he was about to protest, but then subsided.
"Thank you," he said formally.
Jim let his hands go through the familiar motions of pouring out the bag contents into bowls, letting his mind and eyes wander over the shuttle's functions.
Regardless of the tight confines, the little shuttle was a beaut. Sleek, capable of warp four on its own, equipped with all the latest commercial wonders. Compared to the boxy contraptions of his youth, or the pragmatic volume-focused synthesizers of the Enterprise's mess hall, the gleaming synthesizer looked like a piece of art, adorned with buttons and touchscreens, and blinking, chirping lights and fixtures.
"You're still the same on the inside," he muttered as he tried to make sense of the different menus. With a pang of memory, he suddenly remembered the way his father had never gotten along with their old synthesizer, always insisting that in the end it was just as fast to just whip up something on the fusion stove. It was a bittersweet memory, and he almost turned to the cockpit to share it, when he realized both why it had probably been brought to his mind, and why it would be ill advised to bring it up just now.
He turned back to the synthesizer, his mind wandering towards Spock...
In a universe where nothing was ever simple, Spock usually was. Oh, sure, he was an incredibly complex person, and there was astonishing complexity introduced by their professional roles, but Kirk didn't usually have to think twice about what to say to him or how to talk to him; interacting with him was usually simple. But in this situation, with all its family involvement and cultural norms and taboos, Jim felt as if he didn't know what to say to Spock, or perhaps, he didn't know how much to say, and that uncertainty and complexity was unfamiliar.
So while he felt Bones' voice in his head, shouting for him to confront the Vulcan, to pull him out of his shell, provoke him if need be, he simply continued making the soup.
He'd gotten himself onto the shuttle, at least. Spock would talk when he was ready.
Jim couldn't stop himself from glancing at the timer on the wall, counting down their approach to the Coridan border - or where Starfleet was of the opinion that the Coridan border should be, which might have little to do with reality.
He hoped that moment would come before they had to start ducking.
===oOoOoOo===
Author's note: The next chapter should come in a day or two! What do you think? I'm hoping that you have lots of questions, probably sharing Sarek's frustration with T'Pau. :) Remember - reviewing is good for your karma!
MaryChapel and WeirdLittleStories did a great job beta reading this chapter - it's much improved after their TLC.