Possession:

Holding Out For a Hero

Author: Karracaz

Series: Pre-TOS/ A.U.

Characters: Sarek and Amanda

Rating: PG13

Disclaimer: Paramount/Viacom own Star Trek.

Chapter 1:

Amanda ducked under the skimmer's sail webbing, blue eyes focused on the course before her. She moved up the deck, bare feet confident on the wet boards. The headset she wore hugged her temples snugly. The nodules of the sensor-net embedded in her skin suit shimmered in the light. The skimmer's long, narrow keel sliced through water smooth as burnished quartz, empty from horizon to horizon of other craft.

With the early morning mist dissolved, Nevas'ashar became a world of diaphanous silk, the edges of sea and sky an enchanted wonderland painted in celestial shades by the hand of an angel. Pearl, lilac, dusky-rose, a hint of sherbet lemon - all softened finally into a dawn of iridescent amethyst and orange sorbet.

Delighted with her solitude, Amanda glided along the misty russet shores of Anacho'ashar's Garden Isle headed towards the weathered outline of Tacharut that loomed darkly rufescent up ahead.

She chose to ignore the knowledge that the isolation was an illusion and that substantial villa accommodation, private homes for the most part, equipped with every modern convenience were really secreted among the exotic flora that shrouded the grounds of the larger islands. With an inward chuckle she reflected on the riotous growth, not so much gardens she thought, more like - as most everything on the planet - purposely-engineered symphonies of scent and colour. And, praise to the Goddess, at least until the rest of the world stirred, she had it all to herself. Amanda executed a little jig and laughed aloud out of sheer joy at the thought. It was such a pleasure to be there that she almost forgot that she was on assignment and not vacationing.

Amanda corrected the course of the skimmer not at all sobered. Through the grid interface, she activated the sensor-net with a sub-vocal command. The plasteel chip in the headset recorded everything her five senses perceived as she panned a full one hundred and eighty degrees,

Flung like amber dust upon the fathomless depths of lucent water, Nevas'ashar's many atolls, islets, and shoals looped the planet, the only visible remains of a huge chain of mountains submerged eons ago in the Great Cataclysm.

Each islet had a distinctly separate identity of its own: on Tacharut, there were reefs to explore, lava flows to trek across, and teeming rain forests to investigate.

Streams of sweet water, inland pools, fruit trees in lush profusion and the mellow warmth of a tropical climate all contributed to Anacho'asar's resemblance to the legendary Paradise of Sha'kha'ree.

Songhaien boasted snowy peaks swathed with forests of ancient flame trees, the multihued canyons awash with numerous streams and waterfalls that dropped from huge craggy cliffs into the wild waters of the surrounding sea.

So too with Khois'anar, and Jinja'anar, though the coral reefs of the Triplets had long since been co-joined by artfully devised land bridges. Broad causeways angled out from Alatien, the middle sibling of the trio, in the giant spoke and wheel design that typified most of the island's walkways, the beautifully proportioned archways straddling land and sea alike.

To the south, out of sight, and more than a day's journey by skimmer, lay Orkhas'asar, the largest isle, and capital of the Drowned Kingdom.

But Amanda did not intend to travel so far, though the glowing, domed roofs of Es'sarhan, the Red Fortress, residence of the ruling Keh'sarin, were reputed to be one of the many wonders of this world. No, her interest that morning lay wholly in Oahu'asar, The Gathering Place. North of the Triplets, its two, parallel, mountain ranges now visible, towered massively into the hazy, ochreous sky.

An hour later, with the mist finally burned off, the sun fully up, she had an unrestricted view of the rosy coralline spires of the spaceport - just the stuff of dreams that had become her particular trademark on Sol III and a rapidly growing market of Terran colony worlds. Amanda breathed in the incredible beauty of the place. Similar creative landscapes, worked into the programmes she produced, had made her a unique commodity in the competitive - and lucrative - world of the virtual reality market. Good dramas were always at a premium, avidly sought after for the grid, but while Amanda hoped to gather material for her next production, that was not her main reason for being on Nevas'ashar.

Leaning indolently against the bow rail for a moment, she glanced up suddenly as something glinted above her, a needle stitching through opulent, orange silk. Automatically she commanded the sensor-net to go long-range, picking up a visual of the aristocratic looking skiff that had begun its descent. It was V.I.P without a doubt and not taking time out to admire the view!

Amanda whistled admirably at the sleek lines, the lustrous finish, and classic appearance that spelt wealth with a capital 'W'. A well heeled someone in a great deal of hurry! Now what could that be about, she wondered thoughtfully, her agile brain already probing who, what, where, when, and why. Visitors to Paradise weren't meant to rush around; it was against the Rules!

She grinned, adjusting her course a fraction, putting the thought on hold as she caught sight of her destination, the half-moon curve of a bay in the towering cliff side, its salmon-pink sands more than inviting. Time to break fast and eat the food she had stowed in the skimmer's miniscule galley. Her stomach growled in total agreement as she collapsed the gossamer sail webbing and let the tiny craft take her in, riding a bow wave as if she'd been doing it all her life. But such pleasures had only come lately along with her success

Though she had never sought fame, was privately terrified at the thought, her normal diligence, the desire to shape something worthwhile had produced a sensational first hit at the age of eighteen, a production she'd entitled Sorrow Songs, one that she'd probably been composing all of her life. Hungry Soul, her second work had been received as favourably as the first, but it had been Destiny's Child that had brought her renown – and the coveted Nebula. However, she couldn't help thinking, on occasions like these, that while her grid productions were good, they were still no substitute for the real thing. How long, she wondered just a little irreverently, had the Goddess laboured over Her work table to make the air on Nevas'ashar feel so invigorating, the sea just that exact shade of amber, or the sand so warm, soft, and inviting? Amanda knew, in her last piece, she had come amazingly close to this kind of perfection. The trick next time was to do the same only much better! Nothing to it, she thought with an ironic shrug. At least she had the ideal setting. All she needed now was the story to go with it!

Jumping clear of the skimmer, Amanda wriggled her toes in the yielding softness of damp sand. A wavelet caressed her instep with a light, silky touch, sending a shiver of sensual pleasure through her flesh, aware that the sensor–net would process every impression she experienced, and which she could amend or adjust later when she came to review the data she'd gathered. That was when she would need all her talent and skill, when the real work began, and the fraught nerves, nail biting, and hair tearing became an invariable constant of her professional life. Eighteen months or more of sheer, unmitigated torment - and she would adore every second!

With a light tug, the antigravs doing most of the work, she pulled the skimmer further up the beach and made the bowline fast about a jutting rock almost as tall as herself.

It was only gradually that she became aware that someone was there with her, had been there all along, silent as a shadow, waiting for her to notice. The presence grew gradually, progressively in her mind, until at last she must turn to look, not really knowing why she did.

The apparition, tall and substantial, had detached itself from the shelter of the rock face and now, soundlessly approached concealed by the shimmering heat-haze off the beach.

"Goddess…"She breathlessly exclaimed, reaching for the amulet that no-longer hung around her neck, had not done so for over ten years. She stumbled backwards in the soft, clinging sand, fetching up against the side of the skimmer, hand upraised in defence.

The wavering shadow advanced, loomed over her where she crouched against the side of the skimmer. Dark eyes glinted beneath impressive brows as a perturbed and somewhat preoccupied voice, declared, "I appear to have startled you, T'sai. I apologise."

Spoken in Standard, the lingua franca that most species inside the Federation adopted, the mesmerizing semi-baritone appeared far from spectral. Its urbane air gave Amanda the courage to squint through her fingers at the individual standing before her. Still silhouetted against sun and sea, the vision remained concealed, obscure. Amanda cleared her throat, managed to finally squeak, "I … didn't know anyone was here. The beach looked deserted."

The Shade might have sighed, a brief susurration. "T'sai, I assure you I am no phantom of the sea, whatever you may have heard about this place. I give you my word I will not spirit you away to my watery domain."

Amanda grinned weakly, embarrassed even though his voice remained matter of fact, cool and precise. Somehow, she managed to regain a shaky composure, though perspiration coldly beaded her forehead and upper lip. She surveyed him warily, noting his dark, somewhat unruly hair, winged brows and pointed ears. He looked much like any Nevas'asharn male, though his demeanour was far too serious. Could he be from Vulcan, the more famous sister world that even now glowed, a pinkish-orange moon, high in the morning sky? Vulcan unlike Nevas'ashar was proscribed to off-worlders.

"Will you know me when we meet again, T'sai?" He questioned at last, apparently amused by her scrutiny. Although his full lips still did not smile, his appraising eyes gleamed with what might be suppressed humour. They were green, Amanda noticed not black as she had first thought.

"I apologise, ser!" She countered with a deflecting grace learned long ago, at a different time and on a different world. "Please, tell me if I'm intruding on your privacy?"

His chin lifted in negation, "I will be leaving soon."

She could have let it drop, turned away from him and gone on with her plans to break the nights fast alone as she had intended, but her natural curiosity overtook the earlier fear making her bolder than usual in the presence of someone she had only just met.

"You're a visitor here?" She asked without prevarication, noting his casual clothes, Nevas'asharn-styled kilt, soft tunic, and sandals. Dark-hued and severely cut, they were a further indication that he was no more a local than she was.

"I am a … guest," he spoke economically, almost to the point of brusqueness, his speech mocking, and melancholy both, suggesting that he might be underplaying his position for some reason not yet evident to her. Yet, she sensed no animosity. His eyes swept over the figure-hugging skin suit, settled for an instant on the headset. "And you are the grid artist, Amanda Carynese Grayson."

"You've heard of me?"

His air of mystery was palpable. Who was he? Where had he come from? Mesmerized by the power of his voice, his subtle air of command, the desire burned in Amanda to ask him outright, but she had heard of Vulcan reserve, the way they protected their privacy.

"Who has not?" He countered, "The Maromokotru of our time! No one, it seems, talks of anything else."

Were Vulcans capable of teasing? "I'm surprised that my reputation has spread … to …to … Ti-Valka'ain…."

If he was surprised by her guess at his origins or the use of the correct name for his planet, his face did not show it. Instead, he inclined his elegant head, a fluid gesture that only a true Vulcanoid seemed to execute with perfect grace.

"We are always interested when someone troubles to portray our civilization … and with undoubted skill, T'sai Grayson."

She blushed, unable to prevent the flood of hot blood into her cheeks. Dissembling, she murmured, "Most of it was … guesswork. Your immigration officials refused my request for an entry visa. I didn't even get as far as Space Central."

"Indeed." He acquiesced in a soft rumble, "Regrettably, unlike Nevas'ashar, my world is … somewhat parochial where off-worlders are concerned. None-the-less, your depiction was… startlingly accurate."

Amanda's heart jumped.

"Am I really being compared to Maromokotru?" She asked, intrigued, missing the subtlety of the grid linkage that would have conveyed so much more and on so many different levels. As it was she felt deprived, almost as if one of her primary senses had been disabled. Looking at him, hearing him speak without the constant, adroit, interaction the grid provided was strangely disorientating.

The corners of his mouth lifted - a suggestion of a smile - gone as quickly as it had appeared. His eyes remained enigmatic.

"Really," he agreed.

Not for the first time, Amanda directed the sensor array to zoom in on his face, observed him in minute detail for when she could play the recording back and pore over whatever there was to glean from the holo, the rest of her mind intent on the business of interacting on a personal level. Her stomach growled reminding her that her breakfast still awaited.

"Have you eaten yet?" His quizzical expression at the sudden change of subject was almost comical. "There's enough in the galley for two."

He lifted his chin. "I thank you for the offer, T'sai Grayson, but I … must leave."

"Of course," she murmured, abruptly disappointed. She scanned the bay, but there was no other craft in view.

As if reading her thought, he nodded toward the cliff rearing up behind them. "I came from up there."

Amanda followed his gaze just in time to see what appeared to be a concealed lift entrance discharge a burly local.

Though he made no move, Amanda sensed her companion's withdrawal.

"I must leave now." He turned back to her a frown gathering between his winged brows. "I have enjoyed our encounter, T'sai Grayson. Perhaps, we may meet again. I am Sarek s'kahri ansh'oine kah t'skon. Until then, enjoy your stay."

"I will, thank you, ser." Amanda called after him, watching as he ascended the towering rock face with the stamina and grace of a mountain goat leaping it seemed, without fear or hesitation from crag to crag while her heart resounded apprehensively within her at his audacity.

At last, he reached the top; spoke briefly to his companion, before turning to gaze down at her. With a pang of conscience, Amanda waved forlornly, not expecting him to reciprocate. He hesitated a moment and then, to her surprise, raised his hand, fingers spread in some 'v'-shaped alien salute before he disappeared into the lift entrance, leaving the beach peculiarly deserted.

For a moment or two, Amanda continued to stare at the empty cliff-side, before abruptly coming to her senses. What she needed was food she decided, turning back to the skimmer, resolutely shrugging off the absurd imaginings that paraded through her thoughts.

And after breakfast there was some serious exploring to be done.

End of Part 1

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