The Taming of the Raptor

by Bineshii

T'Pau must chart a course for Vulcan in the wake of the demise of the Vulcan High Command. Two things impede the progress of that: V'Las escapes prison and Surak's katra goes missing. Trip and T'Pol are recruited to search for these two missing Vulcans.

Disclaimer: No filthy lucre changed hands.
Genre: adventure, angst, mystery
Rating: M
Summary: Ever wonder why T'Pau never took a seat on the Federation Council? This story is set two years after the fall of the High Command and T'Pau must chart the course for Vulcan civilization. But a couple of things complicate the matter: V'Las escapes prison and Surak's katra goes missing. Trip and T'Pol get involved in finding the missing Vulcans while T'Pau prepares for her upcoming wedding.

The Taming of the Raptor
by Bineshii

Characters:

T'Pau – First Minister of the Vulcan Planetary Council
T'Pol – Cultural advisor to the Vulcan Planetary Council and investigator
Varisk – Chief Priest of the Seleya Mountain Retreat
Surak – Greatest philosopher in Vulcan history
V'Las – deposed Vulcan High Command administrator
V'Lar – elder Vulcan ambassador
Samik – criminal investigator and mediator
Silnik – cousin of Samik and best man for Samik's wedding
Soval – he is mentioned, quoted, but has no walk on part
Kov – friend of Trip's, he has a small walk on part
Spock – Vulcan ambassador who works underground on Romulus (in the afterword)
And various minor Vulcans

Trip Tucker – husband of T'Pol, works on Vulcan's warp 8 project
Jon Archer – Starfleet Admiral and chief architect of the incipient federation
Irene – IT exchange student and tourist
Jackie – IT exchange student and tourist
Picard – Captain of the Enterprise D (in the afterword)
And minor humans

Moton – Andorian ambassador to Vulcan
And various minor Andorians

Unnamed Telarite ambassador

Talok – Romulan operative disguised as a Vulcan
And various minor Romulans

Animals – the raptor
A le-matya family

Prologue:

The shadow of soaring wings moved across the sands. A cry pierced the thin Vulcan atmosphere and sharp eyes spotted the food. The raptor folded its wings and dove. Within feet of the ground, it unfurled its entire wing span and extended two taloned feet which upon impact buried themselves a few inches into the sand on the scree-strewn slope. Then it waddled clumsily over to the dead thing and ripped off a piece. The ground predators were coming, so this piece was all it had time to take. Hopping down the slope it spread that majestic plumage again. Each hop tested the air until a puff of wind gave it the lift it needed. Heavy wing beats fanned the air as it rose to a safe height. Then a dip of one wing swung it onto a course straight to its nest. Back on the cliff shelf barely wide enough for it to turn in a circle, the raptor dropped its prize. Tilting its head it refocused its eyes from the distant desert floor to inspect this food: a pointed ear.

Chapter One

The government hoverlimo wove between the spires of ShirKar's tallest buildings and a diminutive women in formal robes gently swayed within it, oblivious to the beauty of the late night cityscape. Her incisive intellect was focused on the latest problems in the governing of the planet. She set the tone for this world presumably filled with reasonable people. She thought: We do not laugh; we do not do things that make other people laugh – especially Andorians. Humans will laugh at anything, so they don't count. A Vulcan would be mortified (but they would not show it) to be caught in an embarrassing situation such as this latest, should it be made public. Vulcans should be all about dignity, duty, and logic.

The hovercraft changed course and headed out over the desert. Its august passenger contemplated this strange disappearance from the meticulously refortified and well-guarded monastic retreat carved into the side of a mountain. Her own guard broke his vigilant scan of the airspace around them to turn his head to the back seat and address her.

"First Minister T'Pau, we will be setting down in 12.5 seconds. Please remain seated until I have inspected the grounds before you exit the vehicle."

"As you wish, Commander Tarmik."

T'Pau's thoughts shifted to another problem, but this one was almost behind her. It was logical for T'Pau to assume that Vulcan had heard the last of V'Las. The traitor was in prison waiting execution. After a conviction, the punishment of a Vulcan citizen was a very private matter, so neither the offender nor his family suffered publicly. The media had told the Vulcan population that V'Las had already been disposed of. That was the end of it, an end to the days of aggression against the Andorians and the repression of Vulcan's staunchest ally: Earth. Vulcans need no longer be disquieted by such vulgar goings-on. But now, this new problem had entered the mix, for no one expected Surak's katra to be lost so soon after it had been found.

T'Pau stepped through the restrained Doric-like monastery entrance and followed her escort to the stark quarters of the chief priest. Her robes of state brushed the cool stone floor of the dimly lit audience chamber as she swept in and settled herself in the chair facing the priest, fanning the under dress and then the overdress into an elegant semi-circle around her. Not a hair was out of place. She wore a precise cut shaped to her skull, no longer the unkempt and sun bleached shaggy nest that had been the Syrranite trademark in the desert dwelling days.

The Chief Priest sat like a statue, his nightdress rumpled, and his hands tightly clasped in his lap. He stared at her for a full minute before speaking, seemingly having trouble focusing a mind that had been sharp as a raptor's claw for over two hundred years. His aged and cracked voice hinted at the effort to maintain control. "First Minister, it was not my fault. Someone must have extracted it from me in my sleep. I fell asleep arguing with Surak about the meaning of his statement against all killing. I did not think it should apply to criminals like V'Las. Surak insisted it applied to everyone. Then when I awoke to pass urine in the night, he was gone."

T'Pau's stiffly embroidered robe barely creased as she leaned forward. "Varisk, my old friend, whatever possessed you to debate with The Master?" She took a deep breath, for she should show no irritable disrespect for her mentor, who had been her father's mentor, and her first foremother's…perhaps that was the problem. Age had taken its toll, and it had been illogical to burden this venerable elder with such responsibility. T'Pau stood and inclined her head briefly in respect. "Dear respected mentor and kinsman, I must be sure that the katra is gone. Surak may be hiding deep in your mind as an object lesson to you. It will only be another two T'Khut cycles until the Ritual of Interment. Already the Cave of the Revered Ancients is being prepared above us at the peak of this mountain. This is a serious matter, that of being katra keeper. It has been a trying situation for you, a great honor but an awesome burden. I would have received the katra myself but it is best for a person of the same gender to hold it. I will now perform the meld to detect the presence of the katra."

Varisk seemed to shrink in his chair even though he had expected this response from T'Pau. She was the planet's highest authority now. Though not a Syrranite free-melder, Varisk approved of the practice for situations where the absolute truth must be uncovered. He would comply with the meld.

….

Others were awake late in the night. V'Las was awake because he was waiting for something. He tried a light meditation that would relax him yet keep him aware. But V'Las's meditations had never helped him much. As a child in constant conflict with his parents over this issue, he had hated their insistence on extending the normal meditation time for a child of his age. To their unspoken embarrassment, he had been excited by the tales of 'Those Who Marched Under the Raptor's Wing' that the elders awed youths with in the dark and cold of desert nights around campfires. These tales, meant to scare the children into correct behavior, had an unusual effect on V'Las. He was attracted rather than repelled. But now, in his cell waiting rescue by his heroes which seemed long in coming, disenchantment was creeping into his bones. They had offered him transport to Romulus, there to spend the rest of his life as an advisor to the Senate on all things Vulcan. But he had rarely been off his home world and the prospect of never seeing it again was more chilling than the desert night seeping into a lonely cell. Had they abandoned him? Had they discounted his years of dedicated work toward reunification?

A footfall. It seemed tentative, furtive. Had they come for him? The security codes must have been changed and he no longer had Stel to fix that. Stel was dead. V'Las had seen the body when he had to identify it after ordering the secret execution. That was a shame, for Stel had been loyal to him. Seeing those dead staring eyes, almost as if his last thought was utter surprise, had disturbed V'Las. He had envied Stel's youthful vigor, so efficiently ended by an assassin's razor drawn deep across the throat. And there had been just a small pool of coagulating blood on the floor; had they already cleaned most of it up for his official viewing-of-the-traitor's-corpse? Another footfall, and V'Las's cell door slowly opened. A robed figure stood with his back to the dimly lighted corridor, his face almost invisible in the shadow. He deliberately pulled his hood back with one hand. V'Las stood uncertainly and gave the Vulcan hand salute, not knowing how else to greet this fellow.

"Don't bother with that crap," spat the robed figure as he stepped closer and raised his other hand containing a knife dripping green blood. He displayed a smile absent of warmth. "Shut up and follow me. You are leaving this place."

….

The night wore on and one who dreamed badly when he had problems, moved restlessly on his bed.

"I hate you! You never take me!" Lizzie stamped a foot, her eyes on the ground, her thin arms crossed and hugging her flat chest.

Trip sighed and tried to put his arms around his baby sister. She backed away and turned her back to him. As he reached for her again, a far away voice was calling him "Trip, T'hy'la." He opened his eyes and felt two fingers brush his cheek. They lifted and returned, brushing slowly along his cheek bone, ending with one delicate finger warming the tip of his nose.

"You were dreaming again." T'Pol's eyes were now inches from his own, large with concern as only a Vulcan's eyes could be, in a face immobile and absolutely the loveliest thing he'd ever seen since he'd gazed at the angelic sleeping face of his new born baby sister when his mother placed her in his arms…or the face of his several-months-old-daughter resting in T'Pol's arms… Both his precious Lizzies. But it was always his sister's angry nine-year-old face that entered his nightmares. This time the cause must be Dr. Savink's rejection of his latest proposal for the shape of the warp coil of Vulcan's prospective warp 8 engine…

T'Pol sat up. "I may have set you to dreaming by partially waking you when I rolled over to answer a call. I just had a message from First Minister T'Pau. V'Las has escaped. She said three guards have been murdered and another survived to say one of the cowled attackers had a bony V-like forehead when his hood was ripped back during the struggle. This was most likely a Romulan operative."

Trip sat up in one motion. "How are they gittin' onto Vulcan? The planet seems to be crawlin' with these guys despite the tightened security!"

T'Pol eased up straighter on the bed and grabbed her bathrobe. "Soval showed you how our systems can be bypassed. When V'Las was head of the High Command, it must have been a simple matter to accomplish and then to hide the intrusion, with his absolute control over the planet's defenses. But we have apprehended most of these Romulan operatives. I do not think they are getting in. I think the few who may be left are trying to get out."

"Right. V'Las. So what do we do about it now?"

"He won't be found." The bed bounced lightly as T'Pol slipped off the edge onto her feet, her robe closing enticingly around the trimmest figure on Vulcan. "T'Pau thinks he is already off world. He is not top priority anymore, except for public opinion. Let the Romulans have him. Most likely they will not get out of him much more than he has already given them. Then they will kill him. He is a failure and Romulans do not reward failure. Nor do they give asylum to those who have nothing more to give them. I am sure he does not realize that though. He was infatuated with them. We know this from his journals. But this is not all. I have been called to the Seleya retreat. Surak is missing."

"V'Las?"

"Somewhat unlikely, but not completely discounted." The movement of T'Pol's elegant behind did not escape Trip's notice as it moved off toward the bathroom. "You have been given clearance to accompany me."

Trip sighed. "Right." Then he pushed himself up and began fishing for his slippers.

….

T'Pau got only an hour of sleep after returning to her apartment from the Seleya retreat and calling T'Pol. Dawn on Vulcan spread peachy pink rather than the rosy pink as on the Terran world. But T'Pau who had marveled at the desert sunrises, never saw the awesome desert dawn these days. She rose in the pre-dawn chill and hot tea would magically appear. She appreciated this attentiveness now, having always been the one to rise early in the desert, shivering, shaking the sand out of her robe, and wrapping it tightly around her so she could restart the fire. With cold hands she would place the dented pot with the precious ounces of water on the fire and throw in a handful of tea leaves. That was usually all they had until they reached their next food cache when evening shadows found them digging into it on all fours in their threadbare robes. Dignity was the first thing stripped from refugees in the desert. Those days of vagabond scrounging and hiding were over, but they were never far from T'Pau's thoughts as she partook of the best Vulcan had to offer.

T'Pau dressed in the plain muted silk under robe, the most comfortable part of her formal wear, and slipped out of the apartment carrying her tea. She had eight sets of formal monogrammed over robes in the meditation room attached to her office. Not one to strut around in finery, these were for various types of audiences, carefully selected with the aid of her staff.

The carpeted hallway was empty, but she knew they were watching. Two turnings of hallway and the centuries-old massive wood office door, a rare commodity on her world, loomed heavily before her. The door recognized her biosign and silently swung inward. Yes, there was her breakfast, steaming from having been set down just a moment before, in that little privacy nook at one end of her office. She chose this office suite because of that nook. She ate, then set to work at the desk going over the reports that had come in during the night. The silence of this time aided concentration, a peaceful lull before the noise and the rush of the day began.

And it began with a vengeance later, as the approved hours for visitation arrived. How the Andorian ambassador to Vulcan found out that V'Las had escaped was something that T'Pau dearly wished to discover.

"Madam, every Andorian on Vulcan, and there are over three hundred now, is in grave danger with this criminal at large!" T'Pau shuddered inwardly as the alien dared place his ugly blue hands on her desk and lean toward her, coming nearly as close as four feet from her face. This invasion of Vulcan personal space was less annoying than his misuse of venerated Vulcan phrases as he continued his beastly attack. "It was ILLOGICAL to let him live one day past the date of his conviction! He may have more escape routes than a glacier has crevasses! Vulcan dignity and privacy be damned, Madam! This is an intolerable situation!"

T'Pau listened while Moton raged on, antennae in constant motion. It was not wise to interrupt an Andorian once he warmed to his subject. Like Human emotions, it was best to let Andorian emotions run their course, much as it tried the Vulcan soul. At times, she longed for the days in the desert where her only responsibility had been to keep herself and Syrran's followers one step ahead of V'Las's henchmen. Abandoning the security her desk gave her, she forced one foot in front of the other until she was standing almost at attention in front of the raging Andorian, assuming a posture that indicated respect. T'Pau modulated her voice to the higher register, which was comfortable to the Andorian when coming from a female of high rank. All these non-Vulcan protocols were intensely irritating.

"Ambassador, we will soon have him back in custody, or have evidence that he has left the Vulcan system. The guards on all of your people have been doubled. And, (T'Pau disliked this necessary concession) two hundred more of your security personal have been allowed clearance to transport from your space-docked ships to the city of ShirKar."

"Thank you, First Minister. That will do for now." And Moton turned on his heal without the usual formal leave taking ritual Andorians normally practiced a palms up gesture followed by an arms across the chest salute indicating the nonverbal request to be dismissed. Had she offended him somehow? She thought she had meticulously followed the advice of her off world culture experts. At the end of her long work day, she would go over the recordings of two dozen interactions with aliens in a debriefing with her advisors to see how she could improve her communication techniques. For a former philosophy and ethics student, this series of emotion laden interviews with non-Vulcans, day after day, was the most trying thing she had ever been forced to endure.

….

At midday when 40 Eridani A's power was piercing the Vulcan atmosphere with relentless heat and blinding light, the Vulcans were hard at work at their normal occupations. T'Pol was no exception and Trip tagged along, taking a day off from the Vulcan Science Academy engineering labs so he could be brought up to speed with this investigation. T'Pau had a job in mind for him concerning the possibly related investigation of V'Las's escape. But he had quietly left the interview room when the Vulcan interviewee kept glancing at him. Trip surmised that an alien made him reticent.

Back in the room, an elderly man with only a few wisps of white hair left to him, pulled a blanket over his thick robe. It was only 95 degrees in the room as this retreat did not have modern heating installed and this chamber was too deep in the mountain for the sun's warmth to penetrate.

"Did anyone enter the Chief Priest's quarters during the night?" T'Pol asked this steward who had been on duty. She suspected he had relaxed his vigil to relieve himself at least once during those long hours, or had nodded off. Only the outer most doors were guarded by trained security people under the age of one hundred and fifty. This elder did seem to be past his best years, like everyone else in this venerable warren which functioned as a dormitory for the keepers of the mausoleum of katras further up the mountain.

"Lady, I recall no one entering the Chief Priest's quarters," the old man coughed and shifted in his chair like a bird sidestepping on a perch to distance himself from someone who had ruffled his feathers. Vulcan elders were a difficult group. Since they had attained a position in society that demanded respect, it was rare that they were questioned about anything. Especially not by someone as youthful in appearance as T'Pol.

Trip was inspecting the construction of this part of the monastery while waiting for T'Pol to finish her inquiry. Just when all seemed settled and they were ready to take a vacation hiking in the Vulcan polar region where it actually was pleasant by Terran standards during the day… Well, Surak's katra was a matter of extreme planetary importance. Dignitaries no less than the likes of Admiral Shran and Ambassador Moton had been invited to the Ritual of Katra Interment.

Trip was skeptical of all this soul stuff. It made him think of Elizabeth and baby Lizzie, and T'Les. It was so unfair that these loved ones had been taken from him and T'Pol. He talked to both his Lizzies and that comforted him. But it did not mean that he absolutely accepted the existence of souls or katras. Best to concentrate on the living, and the telepathic connection with his wife. The existence of telepathy suggested to him that perhaps there WERE souls that could be detached from the body. But the living certainly caused enough trouble without thinking of the dead. He gently pushed his absent loved ones to the back of his mind and walked on to examine a statue carved into a recess off the hallway.

Next thing Trip knew, T'Pol was peering over his shoulder at the carving. So he asked, "What does this mean, do ya know?"

Her sweet warm breath tickled his neck. "It is a very old saying. Not Surak. It is from Tovin, a philosopher who lived before Surak's time. I believe Surak studied his writings. Vulcan ethical thought was progressing steadily before Surak. But it took Surak's genius to codify it and add the logic that set it high above everything which came before. And now, we seem to be at another historical leaping forward point. It is a disquieting time for my people, Trip. And like in Surak's time, could set us on a course of cultural renaissance or to the destruction of our civilization. In Surak's time the disruptive elements left our world by the thousands. At the moment, we have only a few stray operatives left of The Sundered who have tried to retake Vulcan…the disruptive elements that threaten us the most are those that reside within us. It is disquieting. I am glad for the comfort of your calm presence and often irreverent humor."

"Well thank you, Darlin'…I think. Trip was touched but a bit embarrassed by T'Pol's frank words. Time to deflect that, so he asked: "Any luck with the elders?"

T'Pol frowned. "I have no idea of the whereabouts of the katra. Perhaps as T'Pau suspects, it is hiding. Let us go to the retreat's dining hall for the midday meal. They have a simple but quite adequate cuisine."

….

The heat of mid afternoon clung to T'Pau's office. She had only to pass her hand in front of the control to raise or lower the room temperature, which she did to suit the requirements of each guest. Due to the unusually heavy schedule of visitors, she had not allowed herself an after-meal meditation break. This last visitor of the day would not be particularly unpleasant so she took a moment to stand in the sun by the window, a sort of mini basking meditation, before she heard the soft chime announcing the visitor. She turned.

"Admiral, we meet again." T'Pau moved out of the direct sunlight and walked around her desk to stand close to Jon Archer. As a former carrier of the katra of Surak, he deserved this respect.

Archer bowed the proper number of inches and length of time that the echo of Surak within him was telling him to. "Yes, First Minister. And I am sorry it is under present circumstances." Archer had been told by newly elevated Admiral Shran that V'Las had escaped.

T'Pau gave him the barest inclination of her head. "It would only be under such dire circumstances that we would have cause to meet. I see that the news has spread like a sandstorm. How did you come by the information that V'Las had escaped?"

Archer trolled his mind for Surak's advice. He was unsure whether to treat Shran's news as a confidence, for this was not the same T'Pau he had known in the desert. No longer could he assume the manner of easy familiarity that fighting beside her and extreme fatigue would warrant. When he had known her last, she was something of a desert rat. Now she looked regal in her gowns of state. She was not, he realized, quite as easy on the eyes as his own former first officer. "My source wishes to remain unknown at this time. But know also that anything you wish to remain private will be treated with the same care, First Minister."

T'Pau inclined her head a little more this time. "Well spoken, Admiral. But that pales in importance compared to the favor I have to ask of you."

T'Pau knew that other than Varisk, Archer was the only living person to have had direct contact with the katra. A meld with the katra carrier was not the same as the intimate presence of the Great Surak in your mind. Would Archer have any idea what Surak would be doing, assuming Surak was in control of his current situation?

She gestured to a chair in a pleasant alcove lined with ancient Vulcan tomes. Her cozy corner, he thought. Bodes well. He sat. She sat. With some effort, she assumed an exaggerated expression of earnestness, so even a Human might detect her sincerity. "What I have to ask you must be in strict confidence. Did you ever debate with Surak during his tenure in your mind?"

Jon Archer furrowed his eyebrows. "First Minister, Surak did most of the talking. And the questions I did have were answered in a formal, very Vulcan manner. Each word was packed with meaning. I felt like I was back in school. No, I did not debate him. Everything that passed between us was of urgent and direct importance in the effort to defeat the High Command."

"I see. Well then, have you any idea what Surak might do to avoid an unwanted discussion?"

"No." Archer, for once, understood how embarrassing this was for a Vulcan to be dependent on a Human for advice. There were few times in his life he felt vindication for his father. What goes around, comes around, he thought. Then buried that thought Vulcan fashion as Surak had taught him so T'Pau's powerful mind could not get at it.

"Thank you, Admiral, that will be all for now."

"No problem, First Minister. Would you care to join me for the evening meal?"

"I must decline," said T'Pau. She realized that the mind of a Human did not disclose all of its contents immediately like a logical Vulcan mind did, but rather in an inferior fashion revealed its knowledge in an intermittent series of recalls. She concluded that Archer's answer might acquire addendums, so she sought eye contact again. "But please, while you are here I will assign you a guide to explore the city. And if you think of anything more, please tell your guide and you will have immediate access to me."

Puzzled, but looking forward to this unexpected offer, Jon Archer took his leave of T'Pau.

Well, at least Humans have no lengthy leave taking rituals, she thought.

….

He was no longer used to the harshness of the desert like he had been as a young man. This was not the campfire of an elder surrounded by young faces eager for stories before bedtime. All the years enjoying the comfortable luxury of the High Command had made him go soft. Even that prison cell had been more comfortable than this stool in the evening chill two hundred feet from the Romulan shuttlecraft.

He noted the subtle downgrade in respect directed at him by his 'rescuers'. But they had not mistreated him, no rough handling, and they had fed him. They were conferring among themselves in the shelter of the camouflaged alien shuttlecraft, leaving him fully exposed to the evening wind and chill. He had told them all he knew, given them all he had left. Willingly. When were they going to leave for Romulus?

He was becoming more uneasy by the minute and his fitful attempts to meditate only made it worse. Ah, one of them was approaching. It was not the leader, no, it was the head guard. The man passed by him a few feet to his left as if he did not even exist. Maybe off to relieve himself, so V'Las ignored him too, and kept his eyes on the glow from the windows of the shuttlecraft he longed to be allowed inside of. He detected the crunch of a footfall behind him now. Fear shot through him causing an erection of hair and genitals as a cold metal object was shoved roughly against the back of his head. His last though was almost a relieved laugh. "I see I will be saved the unseemly emotion of nostalgia induced by residing far from my home world." The hot energy bored through his brain burning away that thought and exiting the forehead with bits of gray matter punching out onto the sand. Those standing by the shuttle watched the corpse slump over. Grinning, they grabbed up the caliper padd to measure the diameter of the exit wound and settle the wager they had made over its size.

….

Sixteen light years from Vulcan, several thousand Vulcans were living and working on an alien world. The solar collectors on the Vulcan embassy in San Francisco did what they could with the weak sunlight. It was not enough to heat the private offices where Vulcan personnel turned up the heat whenever Humans were not present. The embassy had to plug into the city's power grid to meet their need for warmth.

One Vulcan did not mind the chill. It seemed to energize him as he looked over the arrest report in the Sensitive Crimes Unit office. His hand stroked a comely chin attached to a strikingly handsome face. Tapping a finger on the edge of the desk, he blinked once and came to the decision to do the interview himself. Long lashes met as he blinked again. There was something about this case that was off and the most offensive thing to Vulcan justice was to accuse an innocent person and tarnish an otherwise clean reputation. The embassy was only supposed to hold a Human until the San Francisco police could arrive to take him into custody accompanied by a written complaint, so Samik had to conduct this interview immediately.

Closing his office door, the tall Vulcan stepped into the corridor where the heads of females of both species turned in his direction. He was aware of his effect on people so he waited until he turned into an empty corridor before attempting to change his demeanor. Samik brushed his rather longer-than-regulation hair down, obscuring the upsweep of his eyebrows and pushed it back covering the tips of his ears. He glanced at his suit, deciding that it was species neutral enough. As he walked down the hall, his dignified Vulcan pace developed a slight Human swagger, and he shoved his hands into his pants pockets. His shoulders bent slightly into a slouch as he pushed open the door to the interrogation room. Making a quick visual evaluation of the Human occupant, he decided his approach would work. "Oops," he said, trying to infuse his voice with a sense of confusion, "they told me the men's room was down this hall…"

The forlorn Human looked up from his seat at the table, but said nothing.

Samik pulled out a chair and sat next to the Human, just slightly inside the border of Human personal space. "Hey buddy, what the Vulkys nab you for? Me, this ain't the first time. While they were looking over the com unit I lifted off a table in the embassy café, I was flitching this from a drawer in a desk." Samik pulled a gold IDIC out of his pants pocket. "Told them I had found that com unit on a public bench and was on my way to return it when the com unit set off an alarm in the embassy foyer. They let me off with a warning. Guess they don't wanna piss off the natives too much."

The Human relaxed a bit. He stared at the IDIC and frowned. "But I didn't DO anything wrong. I don't go around lifting their gadgets. It was so stupid, I can't believe this. I was in their book store, the one where they have some Vulcan literature in English, just next to the tourist information desk. I only offered a Vulcan kid a candy bar 'cause I wanted to see if she would like it. I was trying to be nice. Now they think I am some sick predator."

Leaning closer, Samik lightly touched the man's arm. He felt the attraction the man had for the little girl, but it was more like curiosity and it did not have any sexual overtones. He was careful to work his throat muscles the way he learned to do when he was little and sneaking out of the compound in Sausalito to play with the Human kids. "Listen buddy…hey, call me Sam…I understand. Really. They are as cute as little Human kids, right? Say, I like to watch them too, know what I mean?" Samik's fingers remained where they were, picking up puzzlement, anxiety, and anger in quick succession. Samik withdrew his hand and leaned back. He slumped against the low chair back, hoping he was not over playing his part, and waited for the Human to speak.

The Human moved his chair away a couple of feet, acting uncomfortable in Samik's presence. "Okay, Sam. I don't know what you are implying about watching kids. And I didn't know chocolate was intoxicating to Vulcans. Honestly! I was not trying to get the kid drunk and do something…you know…perverted or anything. So what's wrong with admiring them? I am an artist. I just watch and memorize what strikes me, and go home and draw. Its just a hobby. Anyway, you better leave. Don't think I want them thinking I'm a friend of yours. No offense, man."

Samik stood up. This case was not worth pursuing. They should just quietly release the man with a warning not to approach Vulcan children without first consulting their parents. "Well, I guess I'd better go find that men's room before they come looking for me. I wouldn't worry too much. These Vulkys are not all stuffed shirts. Just a bit overly cautious. Wouldn't you be, so far away from home and all?" Then, remembering he was supposed to be a scoundrel, he added "Course, they are easy marks for a guy like me, some of them are so naive." He winked at the man, then stepped to the door. He was half way out before the man turned to him.

"Hey Sam, put that medallion back, okay? It looks like a work of art to me. Someone must prize it highly."

Samik nodded and closed the door behind him. "Someone does," he whispered as he fingered the family heirloom his mother had given him.

….

Shoving the com unit back into a pocket of her robe, T'Pau headed for the commons area near the Department of Philosophy, Ethics, and Law. She had an unexpected hour free since T'Pol would be delayed. One of the more recalcitrant monks had finally come forward and agreed to be interviewed.

The students walking slowly in quiet discussion or sitting on benches intently concentrating on padds, struck T'Pau an almost physical blow. This had been her chosen life. Now she was an outsider viewing the student's calm, almost cloistered existence. In another lifetime the younger T'Pau had been happy here at the Vulcan Science Academy until the unfairness, the exploitation, the repression that had existed outside this island of reason had become too much. She joined an action group led by Professor T'Les, the most inspirational ethics teacher T'Pau had ever met. T'Pau sighed quietly. She missed T'Les's council. She glanced down, watching her feet negotiate the familiar flagstone garden walk. T'Pol, though not an unpleasant companion, was not T'Les.

Back in her student days, the student action group booked the charismatic Syrran to speak on one of his rare forays into the city. His rough manners and original interpretation of that towering giant of Vulcan philosophy, Surak himself, had converted T'Pau from a bookish reclusive introvert into a raging outspoken radical. After she received her doctorate in philosophy she followed him into the desert where her idealism was soon worn down to stubborn survival. Only her anger at the High Command's duping of her world's hardworking, duty-loving, ethical, and compassionate people kept her going. And one by one her friends were arrested, never to be seen again. She pushed the image of her parents back to the dark place in her mind. But those days were over.

T'Pau could not return to this quiet garden of reason until this political mess was set to rights. It WAS different, what the High Council was doing to V'Las from what had happened to her friends, right? His family would see his body, would be allowed a dignified parting. But she would never know what had happened to her friends or her parents. V'Las must be found and executed or his flight beyond the reach of Vulcan justice proven. Let him live among The Sundered. That would relieve her of the burden of his death. It was unlikely the Romulans would be merciful. That was one reason why reunification was not an option.

T'Pau walked through a pergola covered by vines. These were native to mountain ravines where the sun only peeked in for part of the day and where nearby streams bathed them in moisture. Timed hoses hidden in the pergola supports kept them moist and deeply grey-green in this garden. She loved these walkways where she had debated the principles of ethics and law. One day, she would give up her leadership of the High Council and move on to straighten out the planet's justice system. That would take years of precedent-setting cases, but it would be less wearing on her than politics. Then, probably after her hair was grey, she could return to teaching in the same classrooms where her ethics had been honed. A fitting reward for a century or more of service, the enjoyable hours of long detailed debates; the feeding of young idealistic minds like hers had once been. But this time there would be no call for students to leave their haven and correct the politics of the outside world. She would make it better for those future students.

T'Pau roped in her nostalgia and wove her way through this garden of semi-private sitting areas half hidden in verdant plantings. She found that bench between two hedges. Sitting on its rough surface, she ran her finger over the carved stone edge. Empting her mind of wistful memories, T'Pau was able to slip down into a restful meditative state.

An hour later, someone approached T'Pau's bench. "Madam T'Pau, greetings."

T'Pau shook off her meditation and looked up into a young Vulcan face half shadowed by the setting of Eridani over the hedge. Well, not so young a face, but not yet lined, though T'Pau knew this well-traveled woman had experienced more than most Vulcans, including some very personal losses. Still, T'Pol's face held the sort of female beauty that T'Pau's strong angular visage never had. But envy was illogical. T'Pol was one of T'Pau's most loyal supporters.

T'Pau honored her friend's daughter with the hand salute. "Greetings, Advisor T'Pol. How went the inquiries today?"

"I have eliminated much testimony that will not be useful, though I have yet to discover any leads on the whereabouts of the katra."

"Perhaps tomorrow's interviews will go better. Come join me for evening meal in the philosophy professors' private dining room. I have some things to discuss with you."

As they walked, T'Pau pondered the mystifying fact that T'Pol had thrown aside a perfectly adequate Vulcan mate for a Human one, even though this Human had proven to be very useful. Having people like Mr. Tucker around was an undeniable display of IDIC tolerance on the part of the new Vulcan government. Vulcan was not strong enough to counter this threat by The Sundered alone, especially if her world had to contend with other hostile worlds like Andor. But it would be unwise for Vulcan to admit that publicly. T'Pau's keen hearing had picked up Andorian Ambassador Moton's comment at a reception when he told the Telarite ambassador: "You do realize that the Human male handing T'Pau her tea is the very one who put his ship between the Vulcan and Andorian fleets? Gives one hope, my friend. Gives one hope." 'Pau knew it was logical to keep Charles Tucker at hand.

"T'Pol, I have left a message for your mate that I would like him to work with someone who is arriving on Vulcan from your world this evening. He is a criminal investigator who I have assigned to search for V'Las. I think they would work well together. Because one is an engineer and the other not known to the Vulcan public, no one would suspect their inquires about V'Las are any more than imprudent curiousity. The fewer Vulcans who are involved with this search, the better. The alien ambassadors who know he is at large will keep this knowledge to themselves. But ordinary Vulcans working for the present administration would fear for their safety and feel it to be their duty to inform their families who would in turn inform the wider family of the clan. Soon all of Vulcan would be agitated again by V'Las. We made a clean sweep of V'Las's supporters but those who support us now would expect savage treatment should V'Las return to power."

"First Minister, you do not have to ask me permission to assign Trip a working partner, you only have to ask him."

"I realize that, T'Pol. I want you to know I am not keeping anything from you. When I asked you to join me here it was to share a relaxing evening with a valued colleague."

"I accepted the invitation as such."

….

Trip parked the hovercraft in the aeriel lot and took the walkway over to the ground station customs area. He had been looking forward to dinner with T'Pol until he got the message that T'Pau wanted him to pick up someone who would be arriving this evening from Earth. There was only one man in jeans, a plaid shirt, and baseball cap empting his pockets for the customs officer. Under the detection lamp sat an ID badge, a deck of playing cards, a Vulcan-style personal padd, and a wrapped vegetarian energy bar. The man curtly nodded to the customs officer and scrapped his possessions off the table, sorting them back into his pockets. He turned. "Ah, you must be Mr. Tucker. Sorry for the informal attire, I enjoy traveling casually." He offered his hand.

"Then you must be Sam Kiosik, my new partner in this investigation." Trip gave him a boyish grin. "Thought they'd be sendin' a Vulcan. It's nice to be work'n with a Human once in a while." Trip tilted his head in the direction of the parking area and picked up one of Sam's bags. The taller man fell in beside Trip, shortening his natural lengthy pace. Once airborne and out on the air lane that would take them to Trip and T'Pol's residence, Trip asked Sam if he had ever been to Vulcan before.

"Yes."

Trip glanced at his companion and back to the traffic. "So do ya speak the language, at least a little, because that would be helpful."

"Yes."

"How are things back on Earth? People gett'n used to the idea of an interplanetary federation?"

"Yes."

Trip grinned. "Do ya ever say no?"

"Yes." Sam turned to Trip and his eyes were smiling in the way T'Pol's sometimes did. His skin shone faintly greenish in the slanted rays of the setting sun. A few wisps of black hair sat in slight disarray under his cap which he removed as he leaned back into the seat so the last rays of the sun would fall across his face. "The sun feels good. I will enjoy basking in it at full strength during midday tomorrow."

The hovercraft jerked and Trip straightened it again as he recovered from his surprise. "Heck, I thought you were Human! You could pass for one easily. Hope I didn't say anything disrespectful about Vulcans."

Samik grinned. "Do you usually? No, you have not. That's okay, when I grew up on the streets of Sausalito, my Human friends often forgot I was Vulcan and critical comments would slip out followed by 'of course we don't mean YOU, Sammy.' I have a whole collection of Human jokes about Vulcans. Some are demeaning, but there are many that are spot on and point out cultural differences in a humorous way. For instance, how many Vulcans does it take to change a light bulb?"

"I don't know."

One, point-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero."

Trip snickered.

"And how many Humans does it take to change this light bulb?"

"Careful there, yer talk'n to an engineer."

"None. The Vulcans will be changing the light bulbs because it is a technological secret."

Samik then glanced at Trip who was suppressing a smirk, not sure if it was safe to laugh. "Having a Vulcan wife, you must have heard a few of the Vulcan jokes about Humans."

"Yeah, some. Guess they run the same range from racist to gentle chid'n. A few are funny, but some just seem weird. Maybe I don't understand some of them because I'm still learn'n the culture. Probably never will understand everyth'n, though I feel more at home here now. Okay, here's one T'Pol's cousin told me: The carrying capacity of the Vulcan world would be compromised if more than 250,000 humans were allowed to visit at one time. That is because Vulcan's only sea would become a dry bed of sand since all the water would be absorbed into the bodies of those Humans." Trip shook his head. "Told ya it was weird. But grow'n up on Earth, ya probably know more about Terran cultures than I do about Vulcans."

"That might be true. I value my multi-cultural upbringing. I think it is useful in mediating disputes and misunderstandings. But I have come home for my wedding, and to help with this investigation, of course. I would hate to see anything slow the momentum toward federation. We need it. As they say, and you more than many must understand, it's a cold and often unforgiving universe out there. We need each other to survive."

"How come ya have a Human-sound'n last name, Sam?"

"It is a contraction of part of my clan name. It seemed easier to use on Earth."

"You remind me of someone. He's out there in a ship held together with chewing gum and bail'n wire, if ya are familiar with that phrase? I wish he would come home to Vulcan sometime. Name's Kov. You wouldn't know him would ya?"

Samik grinned again and folded his arms over his chest. "You would not know his clan name, would you? His parents names? I probably do not know him since over my life time I have been personally acquainted to varying degrees with only 647 Vulcans out of the 4.38 billion currently in residence on this planet."

Trip laughed. "Fell right into that one, didn't I? His father's name is Kuvak. The Kuvak on the High Command who pulled a phase pistol on V'Las and arrested him. He's on the High Council now."

"Oh, THAT Kov. Yes, I know him."

Trip wondered what that meant, but thought more questions could wait until he and Sam had their evening meal. They could talk later since Sam was spending the night with him and T'Pol and tomorrow would be looking for his own place.

….

Others were arriving on Vulcan. With the change to more openness on the part of the government came a greater tolerance for alien tourism and educational exchanges. Irene threw her bag on the dorm bed. "Well, we are here! Did you take your first triox shot?"

Jackie sighed. "Yes. It reminded me of all those shots and exams by both Human AND Vulcan doctors we went through before even leaving earth. Had I known all that we would have to go through, I would have opted for three months volunteering to study insects in the Amazon with that scientific vacations group. You're the one with a Vulcan friend, not me."

"Ok, I know I talked you into it, but we get first crack at these Vulcan computers. I'm gonna buy some of these new padds for personal use."

"Better check with customs first. There is still a lot of restricted technology."

"Yeah, well, at least I didn't buy a statue of Surak and later discover 'made on Terra' on the bottom of it! Think they'll let you off Vulcan with that?"

Jackie sat on her bed and grinned sheepishly. "My first purchase. Right at the ground station while they riffled through our bags or whatever they did to them behind closed doors."

"Your exact words were 'An authentic piece of Vulcan'. Me, I think I will just grab a handful of sand and put it in a baggie. Won't cost a penny."

"You can get an ounce of Vulcan sand at any Interplanetary Trader chain store back on earth."

"But how do you know that it isn't just taken from the nearest Long Island beach?"

"Irene, the only Vulcan souvenir that YOU really want is the one who sent you a Dear Jane letter a month ago because he was returning to the old home world to get married. You even think you will run into him? Give it up."

Irene's shoulders sagged. "Let's drop it Jackie. We are here to learn about operating systems. I only want to see him one more time, is all. Okay? I got us on that Blue Line city tour and it goes near to where he lives now. I checked. Quite logical, isn't it? The online directory records the residences of everyone the day they move from one dwelling to another on the whole damn planet."

….

Touring the sites of Shirkar with a friendly native guide was definitely more fun than transporting down to the open desert and hiding from patrol craft and wild sehlats. Jon Archer was enjoying himself and drinking all the water he wanted without having to carry a supply along. T'Sil was a delightful companion and had even invited him home for the evening meal with her mate and two-year-old daughter.

The old High Command building was now the Ministry of Justice, perhaps a subtle joke on the part of T'Pau? Its gothic spires were actually an architectural innovation that was quite new, meaning about two hundred fifty years old. Really old was the fortress at the city's center with the huge uncut stones that fit so perfectly they did not need mortar. It was ten thousand years old and continuously occupied since long before the time of Surak. Touching those walls gave Jon a feeling like looking down a deep well. Was that a Surak echo or his own reaction? Mind boggling how old Vulcan civilization actually was. The fortress had been the start of his tour because the High Council offices where there, and T'Pau actually lived somewhere inside those ancient walls.

Now T'Sil was showing him a shopping area. She had warned him about the dubious authenticity of models of famous buildings and statues of Surak. He had smiled. He had all the reminder of Surak that he needed and had asked her about children's games. This she was very knowledgeable about, having studied the latest Vulcan consumer reports in preparation for the education of her daughter. Jon made a few purchases with T'Sil's advice. His cousin's kids were gonna love these holographic logic puzzles. On the way to T'Sil's home he said "Ah" startling T'Sil and letting the puzzle he was working on slide off his lap. It had just hit him about something Surak might have done, as T'Pau had suspected it might. He told T'Sil and she spoke a code into her com unit and handed it to Jon.

….

Samik had enjoyed his dinner with Trip and the update from T'Pol once she returned from her dinner with T'Pau. Samik was eager to learn as much as possible about His Intended before he formally announced his presence. He explained to Trip how he must make an official visit to her, then to her family, to prove that he was gainfully employed and ready to take on the responsibility of maintaining a household. Then there was the gift to her clan head. And then, the preparation of his own clan's marriage grounds. Unless it was an emergency and the ritual hastily arranged, the male was supposed to repair any damaged stones, gongs, chimes, and of course brush the spider webs off those ugly ancient weapons…just in case.

After a peaceful night's rest and the preparation of the morning meal for Trip and T'Pol, Samik accepted the condo offered by the housing service and had the few possessions that he brought from Earth sent there. Well, today is the day, thought Samik. Formal visitation robe, hair cut to regulation Vulcan norm, a little token for His Intended: not strictly necessary, but nice. He walked up to the imposing walls of the old fortress and through into the modern office foyer. His biosign was already registered, so the guards gave him a quick once over and supplied him with an escort. His Intended was expecting him, but her secretary said her latest meeting had run overtime. So he waited.

And he waited. He knew she had important business but who could this be? It was a trade commission from a Vulcan colony world?!? For this long he expected it to be at least the Andorian ambassador saying they needed to take back another disputed planetoid or Ambassador Soval with the news that the Klingons were threatening the Terran system again. No? "Well tell her I am going to visit her parents first then. Yes, I know that is highly irregular. Yes, I know her parents are dead and that means a journey to their clan memorial site on the other side of the planet. Okay, thank you, I am glad she will see me now as this will only take a minute out of the time with the trade commission!"

Samik waved his hand at the bio ID unit and walked into T'Pau's private office. The entire commission of five stood and nodded in unison. T'Pau rose from her seat at her desk and raised her hand in the formal greeting. Samik returned the greeting and addressed her.

"Hi Darlin', (that's a Terran greeting), since I am fresh from that world. I see you got your hair cut since the last time we met. For a long-time denizen of the desert, as the Humans say, you sure clean up nice. I formally announce my presence. How about a night out on the town and, if it is not too soon, spend the night at my place? I know it is not the norm, but it has been done often enough. I doubt your parents or mine will object, all of them being deceased."

He had only meant to lighten this formal moment a bit, not show any disrespect. But Samik had been away from home a very long time, and his family's sense of formality had always been much more relaxed than that of T'Pau's family…as he realized belatedly.

There was a slight cough from one of the trade commissioners and another of them was valiantly trying to keep a straight face. Samik had not necessarily violated the dignity of anyone present, but he certainly had stretched it. T'Pau's cheeks turned a livid green. She walked to the door of her meditation room and turned to address the trade commission.

"A moment of you indulgence, please." She pushed open the door and swept her gowned arm up and pointed into the room. "Samik, if you please?"

Samik nodded to the commission and stepped into the room, but T'Pau did not follow. Instead, she remained in her office, closing the door between herself and Samik and locking it with a flick of her wrist over the bioscan unit. She then returned to her desk to finish her business. A half hour later she bid the commission good day, and reopened the meditation room door.

….

"How did it go with T'Pau?" asked Trip when Samik met him at the engineering offices of the warp engine development work area on the outskirts of ShirKar the next morning.

"Well, it could have started out better, but did not end altogether badly. She accepted my little blood-green earth emerald necklace after I promised never to embarrass her again. She dropped the necklace in a desk drawer and locked the drawer."

"Should I just shut up now or are you gonna tell the whole story?"

"Trip, I think it would be more profitable for us to go over our search strategy. T'Pau has some very explicit orders on how we are to proceed. She has recalled the uniformed search teams as people are asking too many questions about what they are doing. We are to start two days after tomorrow, so you are to spend a night at my condo enabling us to get an early start. Tomorrow I have some matters to settle in relation to the wedding and I must also interview the people who had been in contact with V'Las the last few days before his escape. Then My Intended has scheduled tea and meditation in the garden near her quarters as a get-acquainted session for the two of us, day after tomorrow."

Three days from now? Not much hurry about this. Not very high priority?"

"We have to back off the searching so the infinitely curious Vulcan public disregards the previous activity. And I suspect this assignment is just something to keep me out of her office. Not that I enjoy my designated accommodations there anyway."

….

T'Pol had interviewed everyone at the Seleya retreat. There really was no way an outsider could have gotten into the Chief Priest's sleeping room without being seen by one of his attendants even if his steward had slept the whole night at his post. Melds had been done with all the retreat personnel who could possibly have gotten by the steward. They were performed by a skilled telepath whose reputation was spotless. Surak had hidden himself well. All that could be done now was to wait for the katra to reveal itself.

The First Minister was not content with this report but T'Pol's investigation had been accepted as adequate. T'Pol returned to her work at the Interplanetary Relations Administration where there was a pile of padds detailing numerous requests and complaints.

….

There were three types of weapons, two each, as was required in the rare event of a challenge, six in all. Two types of weapons were for the male challenge and one for the female challenge. Those in the possession of Samik's clan dated back less than a thousand years, so their composition was of a steel which did not rust. Still, they did turn a duller gray between rituals and needed some buffing up. Although kept locked in a storeroom, children had a way of getting around locks to take a peek and dare each other to touch these forbidden items. Small fingerprints may have accounted for some of the graying, but no child ever admitted to such an act. And of course no child ever told on another.

Samik had contacted his cousin Silnak. They made plans for the formal parade from the clan mother's house to his condo with the lirpas and the ahn-woons and ahn-fois. The ritual cleaning and wrapping would be done at the condo. They would be stored there until the wedding to be held in two month's time, put off till after the Interment of the Katra of Surak. Today would be the official start of the various preliminary rituals connected with a formal Vulcan wedding.

The procession wound through an older meandering residential section of Shirkar and out into a new residential section that was laid out in a precise grid. Five of the six males had their faces hidden by the hoods of their robes as they walked single file, each balancing a weapon on their forearms. The formal wrappings that were to be applied after the cleaning were folded neatly on top of the weapons. The only male with his hood off was the intended groom who was the last in line. The procession drew mild interest, as this was a common enough sight in the city. There were, in fact, thirty such processions occurring this very day and all had filed procession permits because vehicle traffic was impeded for a short time. Vulcans living in cities checked their routes online before going anywhere execpt on foot, to see if there would be any delay on the intended route and if so, whether a detour was advisable. This permit filing also was a boon to the tourist industry that was growing since the High Council had opened up the planet in the spirit of interplanetary federation.

As the curious procession moved along the street, a slim petite woman hopped up and down to see over the people in her tour group. She gasped when she recognized the face of the last man in the procession and pushed through to a low wall defining the border of an outdoor café. Boosting herself up on the wall, she waved her arms and shouted above the crowd in a Terran language: "Yuoo Huooo, Sammy! Hey, Sammy Kiosik! That IS you Sammy, isn't it?"

Samik looked up at the young woman hailing him from atop the wall and almost tripped. He spoke to the male walking ahead of him, and that male spoke to the next until the procession halted to gather in a circle, weapons to the center, and then stacked them on the ground. The males then faced outward and Samik removed his robe which was placed on the pile of weapons.

Silnak, who had been leading the procession, spoke the formal words, known but unused for many years. "A person of unknown clan has hailed the honored one. Her hail must be answered and her request fulfilled or denied. We will await your return."

Samik gave the hand salute and took four steps backward, while facing the group. Then he turned and with a tilt of his head indicated a side street to Irene. She took his meaning and jumping down from the wall, threaded her way through the onlookers, and stepped into the empty side street. This was a narrow pedestrian-only walkway with benches and plantings and overhead, a kind of netting which softened the sun's glare. She walked to the nearest bench and turned back to face the busy thoroughfare. Too nervous to sit, she leaned against the nearest wall.

It took Samik a minute to appear. In the meantime, Irene thought over the encounter. She had made a huge cultural blunder in hailing him. He had made his intentions clear back on earth, but she found it impossible to let go of such a desirable male. And he had said they would still be friends and that he would continue to correspond with her and Vulcans did not lie, right? This three month educational trip and tour was fortuitous. She had V-mailed him her itinerary on Vulcan, sent just before she left earth.

Suddenly here he was walking toward her with his determined familiar gate. He glanced down the street, then back behind him.

He doesn't want anyone to see him talking with me, she thought, and a sinking feeling descended through her.

"Well, hello there!"

His greeting is cheerful enough, Irene mused, then stammered, "Sorry if I interrupted something. But I was so surprised to spot you!"

Samik leaned an arm against the wall over her head, bending forward so he was looking directly down into her eyes. He was blocking her sight of the busy street, giving them a bit of privacy. He smiled. She felt all shy and awed looking up at him. He was so wonderfully handsome, so desirable. Her body felt like a magnet that would instantly adhere to him if she was not grounded by the touch of her shoulder against the wall of a building.

He shifted his feet. "I was planning on contacting you before you left Vulcan. But I am involved in an investigation of some urgency. I must apologize for that."

"Can we do lunch or something?"

"I am afraid not. But I will send you a nice long letter when I have time. I will send it to your address here on Vulcan. I did note your itinerary."

"When are you returning to your job on Earth?"

Samik sighed. "I am not. My work is here now, at home. I did tell you that my life is now on my home world. That we would always be friends even though our paths would be parallel for only a short time. And…I am getting married soon. I did tell you that. It is my duty but also, my fulfillment. I am happy. I wish you happiness too."

"Oh."

"I did tell you I was engaged since childhood and soon to be married."

"Yes, you did. But I thought, when we a…that it might have been off." Irene's insides froze. "Well, I guess it isn't. And I guess this is it? We will not see each other again?"

Samik reached out and lifted a strand of her hair. She knew that was extremely intimate for a Vulcan, but it was not a telepathic touch. They had been a bit further along than that a few weeks ago. That kiss had shivered through her like no other kiss.

"I am sure we will see each other again. You are making your first exploration of my home world. I think you will come back to my world more than once. I will be visiting your world, probably many times and in many capacities, but this is my home because it is my wife's home. I do wish we had been able to have more personal explorations between us and I treasure our experiences. I learned much from them. And I will always care about you. Anytime you are in real need, you can contact me. A Vulcan friend is a friend for life."

Irene's face was sad and she looked down at her feet. But she nodded.

Samik sighed. "If I were free to choose a Human mate, it would be someone like you. I never meant to mislead you. Thinking Human relationships were more open and tentative than the Vulcan, I may have inadvertently done so. But I regret none of it and sincerely hope that you do not either. Be content with what we had, a brief touching. More cannot be… More would be…."

"Illogical," they both said together.

Samik flashed a brief smile, like a hiccup. "Was it not worth it to know that Vulcans and Humans can be in accord – can love? Irene, it has to be enough for us. Find a Human mate. Or find an unpromised Vulcan."

Irene took a deep breath. "I'll try. But it hurts, Sammy. It really hurts. Sometimes Human relationships are not as shallow as you might think."

At least she had friendship. Deep down she had expected this reaction. She knew him as well as she thought she did any male. However, both Vulcan AND Human males mystified her. No sense in making any undignified reaction now. It would only spoil this moment. This last moment as almost lovers, which she knew would be replayed in private tears later. "Okay. I understand. Friends then." And she did not realize she was biting her lip.

Samik pushed off the wall with his hand and hesitated for a second. Then he brushed her cheek with two fingers. "You know I cannot answer you again if you hail me on the street. Just know that all the time we spent together is sharply etched in my memory with the fondest of feelings."

He turned and walked away. He disappeared around the corner. She stood unable to move for almost a minute, then sat on the bench and wrote down his words so she would remember them. It was all she would have of this aborted romance and it would be a long time before she could sort out her life and put thoughts of him as a potential lover behind her. When she walked back into the main street, the procession was gone and her tour group was patiently waiting for her with deeply inquiring expressions, especially on the face of the Vulcan tour guide. None of them got an explanation and the tour continued, a bit more subdued than when it had started.

….

T'Pau had been mulling over Admiral Archer's comment, relayed over T'Sil's com unit, for a couple of days now. So Surak thought his family had been safe when he was killed? He had asked Archer to discover whether some of his descendents still lived, but Archer had not had time to do that. T'Pau knew her clan held a tentative claim to such descent. So did several clans. Even in Vulcan's excessive record keeping civilization, such knowledge was little more than family legend. With the upcoming wedding, family continuity had been on T'Pau's mind. Archer's comment was interesting, but not much help in locating Surak.

The place she had chosen for their first private meld was a small garden a few steps from T'Pau's apartment through a door hidden by vines. And opposite was another vine obscured door which led to a narrow maintenance hallway with access to the backdoors of several office suites including T'Pau's and also to a door into the grand reception hall. This ancient administrative complex was completely unlike the very modern High Command Complex that had recently been turned over to the Department of Planetary Justice.

T'Pau thought the subtle intimidation of that building's sand-colored spires would serve to keep Vulcan's very small criminal element in line. Having been judged worthy of execution herself by the former powers who misruled the planet from those walls, she could not bring herself to work there. Yet. But when the government of the planet was again stable and she discarded the robes of state to don judicial robes, she would again enter that building. Then she would oversee definitive cases which would set the tone of Vulcan ethics from that time forward. But there were other aspects to her life. She must start a family soon.

They sat cross-legged facing each other in this small vine guarded garden hidden deep within the grounds of the government office complex. Rough hewn stone block walls climbed several stories above them making a grotto out of the garden. The fortress complex had grown organically outward from this section, additions in the current styles of countless eras having been built as needed. The ancient weathered walls had witnessed and hidden much over the centuries of Vulcan culture, as they did now, sheltering a ritual older than the walls themselves.

"Let me have your thoughts. I want to know all about you." T'Pau took his tea cup from his hands and set it on the damp stone edge of the fountain. "We should be in accord. We shall become as one."

Samik kept his breathing even, his hands still. She was so lovely and so young to have experienced what she had in life so far. That she was a skilled telepath excited him. He prepared himself for the shock of learning the details of her persecution by the High Command. If he could vicariously endure these events, he would be able to rock her in his arms and tell her that was all behind her now, as he was here to protect her. He let her place her long elegant fingers along his cheekbone. He closed his eyes and brought down his barriers. They sat like stone garden statues for 4.36 minutes. Then…

She withdrew roughly from his mind. Choking back a cry, she rose to her feet with the aid of the fountain edge, her hand slipping on the wet stone and knocking the tea cup into the water. Its delicate bowl filled with water and slipped down to strike the bottom and crack from its rim to its base. She ran out of the garden and Samik, following her, knew which memory had upset her. He had to set this straight. He caught up to her in the grand reception hall where she paced like a caged raptor, her meditation robe spread like puffed-out feathers. Her eyes pinned him like prey in the reflected light of a hunter's night vision within the shuttered hall kept closed from the sun when not in use. "You have betrayed me! I, who could have had any male I wanted! But I waited for you, the choice of my beloved parents! I think now that their logic was wanting!" Her voice rang out as the war cries of past centuries had done in this ancient hall.

"T'hy'la, it was not a betrayal, only a harmless experiment from which I learned much. The greatest thing I learned was that it would be so much better with a woman of my own species. I will appreciate our union all the more!"

"Liar! Cheat! You disgrace all of Vulcan!"

Samik was not sure how to proceed now. A stab of despair went through him. Then the doubt he had of his own worth, not having been raised on Vulcan, bubbled up and turned into a complaint of his own. "And how do you think I felt, worried about your safety over the years as you evaded V'Las! And I worried that such a self-absorbed and crude brute like Syrran… was melding with my future mate!"

Her eyes sent daggers through him, as only an angry Vulcan can do. "I may have been melding but I was not kissing and fondling an alien in the back seat of this…vehicle…on a public street! I was seeking to touch the katra of Surak, not the mammary glands and tongue of some alien female to raise my libido!" She paced away from him. The huge hall seemed almost too small. Swirling her robe she turned sharply and paced back. "I will have you fumigated! You will be gone over on the molecular level by the Science Academy healers before you touch me! I want not even the tiniest piece of a skin flake from this creature to touch me!" T'Pau was a thing possessed.

"But My Beloved, you have touched Humans too. How much more intimate can you get than a mind meld? First Syrran, then Archer, and who knows how many others! Do not tell me there was no trace of pleasure in any of that, despite the intent!"

"THAT was in the service of our people. But YOU…that was in the service of your own titillation! You gave HER what belongs to ME!"

"It was not a mating. I have never participated in the mating act."

"No. You have not. You ONLY participated in behavior which leads DIRECTLY to it!"

"Beloved, I only wanted to understand Humans. We should understand what drives the core of their emotions. We must know this about our closest allies. Yes, I felt attracted to her. But I did not use her. She enjoyed it as much as I. And she knows it can go no further. We are now only friends." He paused, then bared his own raptor claws. "But I will not give up this friendship."

Her robes deflated, swinging slightly but molding to her body. Her voice lost its punch, rising an octave and becoming a tremor of hurt. "Why you of all people? The future consort of the head of the Vulcan High Council? Then her voice regained its venomous volume. "It is outrageous!"

Samik had been coming up to speed with T'Pau's emotions. He could not abide what he perceived as pride and hypocrisy. "At one time, I was only the future consort of a leader of a small despised group of political dissidents who wore rags, ragged hair, and smelled of stale body odor because she could not wash often enough!"

Her anger spiking again, T'Pau raised herself as high as her diminutive stature would allow and stabbed a shaking finger straight off the end of a rigid arm. Appearing not unlike an ancient nuclear field piece rolled up to the edge of The Forge, she spat "I will find a professional assassin to assist me with the Kun-ut kali-fi!"

Samik's fury became quiet and contained. "No you won't. That is not the action of T'Pau, who is to lead all Vulcan back to Surak. That would be the action of a minion of V'Las and ally of Those Who Marched Beneath the Raptor's Wing. I am going to meditate now. I suggest you do the same!" Samik left her standing there in the formal council chamber. His footsteps echoed sharply, dying away down the long ornate hallways.

T'Pau kicked her slippers off and they went spinning into the shadows of the cavernous darkened hall. She slouched out of her robes, discarding them like dead snake skin as she continued to pace. The coldness of the floor tiles made her feet ache and her pacing became unsteady, then a heavy stagger as her anger drained off. The tough Vulcan body had evolved to withstand the attacks of emotion that were the norm before the advent of Surak. But like the aftermath of a grand mal seizure in Humans, an emotional release in a Vulcan left a person weak and disoriented. T'Pau collapsed into a carved chair that dwarfed her form as she curled into the fetal position. She shoved her face into the sehlat hide and wept copiously for the first time since she was a small child.

Chapter Two

The heat radiated up from the Vulcan city street in dry waves. If an Andorian fought it, he would not last long on this world. Let it pass through his body and out of it. The only consolation for Ambassador Moton was that some hapless Vulcan ambassador was experiencing the opposite on Andoria – the cold was climbing up some heat loving legs and threatening to paralyze them. But the discomfort of holding negotiations on the home world of the former enemy was the price of peace. Commercial trade agreements, academic exchanges, and a little tourism were all being carefully arranged. Admiral Archer was a persuasive man and his dream of federation was beginning to seem possible despite the thousands of disputed details involved. And it was worth it. Moton's children would not become phaser blackened corpses set forever adrift in space at the hands of emotionally repressed Vulcan soldiers like those of past generations of his family.

Moton had scoped out a zigzagging path through the narrower side streets between the ambassador's residence and the Andorian embassy. He stepped along at half his normal pace, studying the sun shadows on the walkway. Some of these streets were covered over with a lattice of sun-damping metal framing which allowed geometric patterns to play on the pedestrian paths and vehicle lanes. Then turning down another street, he looked overhead at the netting festooned with climbing plants which swayed whenever a slight breeze wafted through. Other pedestrian-only walkways were like narrow canyons, uncovered but shady - quiet refuges from zipping vehicle traffic. These passages protected from the relentless rays of the sun made him realize the Vulcans themselves had limits to heat tolerance. He nodded to a lovely Vulcan female who returned his greeting as they passed each other, almost touching, on the narrow walkway. Some Vulcans were easy on the eyes. He sighed. Fewer Vulcans were staring rudely at him on their streets then when he arrived six months ago.

But the heat exhaustion Moton struggled with every day meant he was still Andorian. If he ever grew to tolerate this heat, or heaven forbid – like it, then it would be time to hand the briefs over to his assistant and retire to the gentle soul soothing snow-covered landscape of his home world. Ah, just thinking of it brought a sense of well-being. That, and knowing his son was enjoying the amenities of the Andorian embassy in the Terran system in a place called Alaska. His grandchildren were skiing with Human children instead of marching and training with miniature weapons at a pre-military primary school on Andoria. Federating could improve their lives, yes, it was almost a certainty. He might go easy on T'Pau today. She had been showing remarkable respect – for a Vulcan. If he could credit the rumor that she had locked her own mate in a closet attached to her office for a half hour, her esteem would soar in his opinion. But realistically, only an Andorian would be capable of such a sensible act of spousal discipline.

….

T'Pau felt so alone. She was feeling out of control. What would an Andorian think of her locking her mate in a small room, let alone threatening to kill him? Moton would lose what little respect he had for her, she was sure. After her emotional tantrum in front of Samik in the grand reception hall, a two hour meditation had restored much of her equilibrium. But she was so very alone. She wanted her mother. But V'Las had deprived her of her parents. She needed her mate. But she had threatened his life and he had walked away. Would he come back? Could the issue between them be resolved?

Vulcan males! The universe sure had dealt them a difficult hand: so utterly dependent on females for their continued adult existence. Some Vulcan males picked up an unseemly emotionalism when they left their native world to work elsewhere. A conference with Soval was almost as bad as one with a Human, though never as bad as one with an Andorian. But in Humans sexual readiness exuded from them constantly. Vulcans, except for the peak of the seven year cycle, had to work hard to arouse themselves. But she should not blame Samik because some Human had trapped him. This constant play of emotions at the surface of both Human genders was dangerous to Vulcans. She must protect her people from close contact while retaining the alliance. She could not keep up with the Humans' swiftness in switching from one type of thought process to another, one emotion to another. It was such a trying, dizzying thing. It wore Vulcans out quickly, especially the more telepathically sensitive ones like T'Pau.

Soval had been adamant that T'Pau attend the conferences on Earth and Andor where the foundations of this federation were being laid. Her cutting-edge logic would slice through much of the endlessly circular debate, he had said. But she knew this would not be possible. She needed to retreat into her Vulcanness each night. To do this she had to dig her feet into her own native sand, so to speak.

She knew her limits. She would become quickly emotionally overwhelmed and ineffective off-world. She wished she had Samik's facility, or was it a need, to slip between cultures. Samik! I should enlist the strengths of my mate. We are supposed to be a team. I should let him enjoy frequent off world visits. In fact, he would thrive on them. By Surak, that is the answer! Samik will be my personal representative and I can track his negotiations through our bond. But no more of these experiments with the females! My deep Vulcan possessiveness would not tolerate that. He is my possession as I am his.

….

Trip went over the air recon photos from the latest Vulcan Planetary Defense patrols in Samik's condo. The photos of desert encampments containing any craft that looked space worthy were closely studied. They had chosen three of the most likely and Trip asked if they would be issued a government vehicle for their assignment.

"No, we have something better." Samik raised an eyebrow and motioned for Trip to follow him. Samik went through to the garage with Trip at his heals. Passing his hand over a control, Samik brought up the indirect lighting in the garage. He moved his hand up and down twice more, and the soft lighting brightened, revealing a shiny deep mauve-colored vehicle with beautiful aerodynamic curves.

"Where did you get this beauty?" Trip asked, then whistled his appreciation. Samik had opened the driver's door; Trip put his hand in and ran it over the leather-like seat, then passed his hand several inches in front of the system controls. They lit up. "You don't even have to touch these controls."

"This vehicle belongs to Silnak, my cousin, who will be my lead attendant at the wedding. He has offered the use of his vehicle to me from now though a month following the wedding. We had intended to spend our post wedding seclusion in another city and I was saving the vehicle for that."

Samik paused for a second and he seemed to Trip to actually be sad when he spoke. "But our plans may change. So I have decided to use this vehicle in our investigation. It is good cover." Samik patted the head rest on the driver's seat. "Sehlat hide."

Trip was shocked. "But Vulcans don't kill for hides and they don't breed any animal domestically for hides because that would involve killing the animal."

"You are correct, we do not kill animals. That is why sehlat hide seats are so expensive. The leather comes from animals that have died naturally. The demand exceeds the supply by a factor of…"

"Okay, Samik, I get the point. Boy, you better not put any dents in the bumpers."

"No, I had better not. By using this vehicle on our search for V'Las, no one would suspect our purpose to be anything but leisure. It is an older model with few examples of its design still in existence. A true collector's item on which Silnak has spent many years effort and expense in restoration. The new engine takes up the whole of the compartment that used to contain the engine and some storage space. It can move much faster than one would suspect, which is also an advantage for our mission."

Trip walked around the vehicle while listening to Samik extol its virtues. It reminded him of some 1950's Terran ground vehicle designs, though he declined to mention this to Samik who had said this vehicle was from a Vulcan esthetic innovation about seventy-five years old. Trip crossed his arms and beamed at Samik. "A Vulcan hotrod!"

"Exactly," grinned Samik. "Would you like a driving lesson now?"

"Sure would! What does T'Pau think of this vehicle?"

"She thinks it is too ostentatious, but that it is comfortable and she will tolerate it for the length of our seclusion."

And again Samik seemed a bit depressed, so Trip tried to keep the conversation going. "T'Pol likes T'Pau, but she kinda intimidates me."

"Trip, she's okay," Samik mildly defended His Intended. "There will be adjustments to be made. I assume you have made great adjustments to live with a Vulcan mate. I admire that."

"Ya do?" Trip was surprised. "There are adjustments, as you say, but it doesn't seem like a big deal. I would do anything to make T'Pol happy."

"It has to work both ways. So what makes you happy?"

"T'Pol."

Samik sighed. "A very simple and Vulcan-like answer. I am afraid since I was raised on your world, that I need more than that. I think T'Pau is letting me work with you so a Human can show me how to be Vulcan."

Both men laughed. They were falling into an easy companionship.

….

Early the next morning Trip was assembling his outfit. He turned the robe one way, then another. "Samik, how do you wear this thing?"

Samik stepped back to take in the whole scene of the engineer struggling inside the multiple layers of the semi-formal desert wear. "Have you never worn a Human choir robe or from your heritage, the great kilt?"

"My singing voice is off key and that is Scottish garb, not Irish."

With a raised eyebrow, Samik stepped close to Trip and lifted the layers. He straightened the under layer to the left, then shifted the over layer to the right and the whole outfit fell into place.

Quite impressive, Trip thought, as he looked at the elegant way the fabric fell around his form in the full length mirror. "Will it stay in place when we are huffing up dunes and sliding down scree slopes?"

"Probably not. But what T'Pau orders, T'Pau gets."

"I have noticed that about Vulcan women."

"Hey, Human women are not without that quality, I have observed."

Trip gave his friend a quizzical look, before returning his attention to the outfit. "But where do we store weapons and com units in this thing."

"There are a couple of small pockets."

"The location of these pockets must be a Vulcan security secret," said Trip, as he rummaged through his clothing while trying not to disturb the drape of the folds.

"There is one pocket in the under robe and one in the outer robe. This outfit is a disguise so people will think we are on our way to a ceremony in the desert. We do not want to disquiet the Vulcan population with news that V'Las is loose and that we are hunting for him."

"There are practical limits to this robe."

"I am not in disagreement with that. Well, the sky grows light. We must be on our way."

As they flew low over the desert, Trip relaxed into companionable silence. He considered he had two male Vulcan friends now: Kov and Samik. It was so easy to fall in with Samik, perhaps because he was so at ease with Humans. But he forced his thoughts onto V'Las and the job at hand.

"Why do ya think T'Pau picked me for this assignment, Samik?"

"You knew V'Las."

"Barely. He was a Vulcan dignitary who brushed past me in a companionway in the Enterprise shortly after the embassy bombing. A visit to a Human ship by a Vulcan head of state seemed strange to me. So I thought he must be gauging us, seeing how far he could push us."

"Your assessment is accurate. As a child, I overheard private discussions of my diplomat parents on the subject. And T'Pau has made available to me correspondence V'Las did not have time to destroy. I hate to say this, but he wanted to see how much he could manipulate you. He had plans to put Human resources on the front lines of the Andorian war. Your captain's friendship with an Andorian captain was disconcerting. One ploy was to see if he could blame the Andorians for the embassy bombing and get Captain Archer emotionally charged against them. Expending your military resources against Andoria would be a good way to manipulate a potentially troublesome people in a way that would benefit Vulcan. He otherwise saw your world as a controllable resource, a supplier of food and minor industrial parts."

"We were only cannon fodder to him? Bastard."

"Unfortunately. And Soval was in V'Las's way. He had hoped the embassy bombing would have taken him out too. Otherwise, there were assassination plans meant to be carried out on your world by manipulation of Terra Prime fanatics."

"So Soval's attempt to hold us back from space exploration…"

"Was undertaken at least in part to keep you from creating a fleet of ships for V'Las to put between Vulcan and V'Las's enemies."

Trip gripped the dashboard. "I'll be damned! I become more impressed with Soval as time goes by."

The late afternoon shadows were creeping out across the desert from the foot hills as Trip and Samik found what they came for. The remains of a camp had been roughly scattered and not carefully obliterated in the Vulcan style. They found discarded food containers with Romulan script. There was a smell: stale copper and rotting meat. Then Samik pointed to a trail of something being dragged over the sand. A large bird rose from the slope above where the drag marks led. They followed the partially wind-erased trail leading up to a sheltered space behind a rocky outcrop. There were le-matya tracks all around. Samik discharged his phase pistol to scare away any predators, but none were still present. The body was partially eaten and half buried for a later meal.

"This is the work of only one le-matya. I think it has gone to find its mate to join it in its next meal."

Trip scooped sand away from the partially exposed skull. He withdrew his hand but some grey hairs stuck to his fingers with the gore. The ear on the exposed side was missing. Samik twisted the head face up. Trip gagged as much from recognition as from the smell. Minus the phase burn exit mark in the center of the forehead, this was the face that had glared with deadly intent out of the bridge screen on Enterprise warning Trip that Vulcan would fire upon the ship of its closest ally if it did not leave the Vulcan system.

Trip wiped his hand in the sand. "I'll bet he thought he was headed for retirement on Romulus. I could almost feel sorry for him."

"Do not feel sorry for him, Trip. He almost destroyed my home world. He would have pulled your world into the war with Andoria. He was not an honorable man."

Samik used a small burst of his phase pistol to sever the head from the neck bones, leaving a very low charge remaining in it. Samik had wanted to be better armed, but as part of their cover they were only to carry this ornate ceremonial weapon. He wrapped the grizzly trophy in the remains of V'Las's robe and handed it to Trip. "We must have proof, no matter how distasteful it is to carry this back. Let the le-matyas enjoy the rest of him, since we cannot carry the whole body off before they return."

The le-matyas. The thought raised hairs on the back of Trip's neck. He quickly strapped the bundle on his back, tying the ends over his chest so he could have his hands free in case he slipped on rocks or sand. Samik, unencumbered by the improvised sack, could protect them with the pistol. They started back down the slope, picking their way so they would not fall.

Soon Trip felt a dampness. "Hey, Samik, I think this sack is leaking."

Samik slowed to let Trip come alongside him and glanced at the sack bouncing against the small of Trip's back. "Yes, your robe is wet. But I do not think the discharge is toxic, and we can double bag the head in the hovercraft."

"Didn't think it was toxic, it's just uncomfortable having a fly blown and maggoty head leaking stuff which is possibly crawl'n into your own clothes."

"V'Las had the habit of making people uncomfortable. I see his character remains consistent in his current manifestation. Sorry. You will soon be relieved of him. Now pick up the pace, or our bones and intestines will be decorating the desert too."

Trip fell in behind Samik again and jogged faster to keep up, the sack picking up a double time rhythm too, knocking against his back. This is the difference between Jon and me, Trip thought. He gets the glamour missions like carrying Surak's katra and addressing ambassadors on the merits of federating. But I get knocked up on an alien ship, or tied up in my shorts on Risa, or left holding The Bag.

They hit the flats and fear made them fly over the sand. The hovercaft was only a few yards away when Trip heard soft pad falls behind him. The keys! He fished for them and noticed Samik doing the same. No time for that!

"Jump on top of the vehicle!" Samik shouted as he leaped onto the hood, then onto the roof, leaving shallow dents in the metal. Trip jumped and slipped onto his knees. Samik grabbed his robe and pulled so hard that Trip slid across the roof on his belly. He would have slid right off the other side but for Samik's grip on his collar. He choked as Samik released him, sitting up in time to see the le-matya lope past. It turned back to evaluate the situation. It raised its head and howled.

"Calling its buddies?"

"Yes. I do not see them yet, but they are coming."

The le-matya began to circle the hovercraft. On its second circle, Samik said "the rear cargo hatch would be quicker to open." He lay flat on the roof and reached down with the key he had finally located, inserting it into the lock. "Okay, now we only have to raise the hatch."

"You or me?"

"Me. No offense, Trip, but I think I can move a bit faster in this environment."

"No offense taken. Be my guest."

Samik handed Trip the weapon. "It might slow this le-matya for a second or two."

"Got it."

Samik waited until the le-matya was in front of the hovercraft then leaped down and lifted the hatch. He ducked inside but the beast reached the hatch in three bounds. Trip emptied the rest of the phase charge into him but yelping in pain, he still leaped into the vehicle after Samik. The side door burst open and Samik rolled out, slamming the door closed on the le-matya's paw. As the le-matya screamed, Trip jumped onto the hatch closing it with a bang. He hit the sand, fell, and rolling on his shoulder he twisted to slam both feet against the hatch, denting the metal inward but hearing the click of the lock. Jumping to his feet, he moved quickly around to the side door of the vehicle. He drew back his arm to throw the pistol at the le-matya. Samik, noting Trip's support, released some of his pressure on the side door so the le-matya withdrew its paw. Then as the beast hit the inside of the door with its shoulder, Samik threw his body against the outside of the door. Trip scrambled over and added his weight so Samik could lock the door. Then they circled the hovercraft to check all the doors. The le-matya was caged.

"Now what?" asked Trip.

"Now we call for help," said Samik, rummaging in his robes for a com unit.

"Isn't that your com unit inside on the dashboard?" asked Trip.

Samik stared into the hovercraft. "It would appear so. I must have left it in the rush to explore the campsite before it got dark. Would have had to hold it – the pockets are too small. Where is yours?"

"Uh, under the passenger seat. Couldn't find those pockets in my robe."

Samik sighed. "Back up top. We are expecting company."

"Darn robes, both of us would be properly equipped had we been allowed our usual respective away mission uniforms."

"I will add that as an addendum to our report, if we ever get to file it."

While the two men sat back to back on the roof, inside of the hovercraft sounds of ripping and gnawing could be heard. Trip glanced down, but could not see much as caustic saliva was dripping down the windows. The interior was obscured by a blizzard of white flakes floating in profusion – like a snow globe that Lizzie once had. He turned to Samik. "There is le-matya spit runnin' down all the windows and what's that white stuff?"

Samik had become very still, a Vulcan Buddha, with his legs crossed and his hands folded together in his lap. He answered Trip in a resigned monotone. "The white stuff would be the down of the haurok bird. The le-matya has ripped open the sehlat hide seats and released the padding. It has gnawed on the controls and there will be teeth marks on every surface. Its poisonous saliva will have slid down the windows and reacted with the spun silk door padding like acid, creating streaks that will be difficult and expensive to repair. Soon it will defecate on the seats and the flooring, leaving an odor that women will be able to detect for the rest of the existence of this vehicle………Would you consider becoming my lead attendant at my wedding?"

"Of course I would. No problem. But maybe that won't be necessary. Look, I will chip in on the repairs. Won't that satisfy your cousin? He will forgive you under the circumstances, won't he?"

"Vulcans do not forgive. That is why I have mostly Human friends."

"So you are something of a screw up? Well, join the club."

"I am a founding member of this…club, Trip. I am glad you are also a member. What is your Terran saying? Misery loves company?"

Five minutes later, three le-matyas were circling the hovercraft: an adult female and two juveniles. They approached and retreated from the vehicle, sniffing along its surface, leaving tooth and claw marks here and there in their attempt to free the trapped le-matya. They ignored the potential prey on top in their concern for mate and father.

Samik and Trip, realizing they had been granted a reprive, let up their tension enough to whisper.

"I know you are deeply committed now, but whatever possessed you to take a Vulcan mate, Trip? If you do not mind my asking, seeing it may be the last time I am able to satisfy my insatiable Vulcan curiosity."

Trip was silent for a second. Then he whispered back, eyes following the mother le-matya. "On the request of our ship's doctor, T'Pol was treating me with neuropressure to releave the emotions generated by the death of my sister. It helped, but it also awakened the emotions we had for each other. No treatment is without it's side effect, I guess." Trip grinned at Samik in the dusk of the approaching night. "And now there is no one else in the universe either of us is closer to."

"You two broke a planned bonding. That is a rare occurrence among Vulcans. 97.861 of Vulcan child bonded marriages work, Trip," said Samik.

"I'm grateful for the 2.139 that don't," Trip answered.

Samik's hand tightened on the edge of the roof. "You are getting more Vulcan every day."

It was fifteen tense minutes before they heard hovercraft engines growing louder in the distance. The le-matyas slunk off. Four vehicles put down a few yards away and the door of the lead craft opened to reveal the faces of four security people with T'Pau sitting among them.

"When you failed to call in on schedule, I knew something was wrong. Are you uninjured?" T'Pau's face showed real concern. "I felt a bit of unease through our bond."

Samik raised both hands off his lap an inch or two, palms up. "We are uninjured. Would you put through a call to the wildlife rescue people? And also to a vehicle towing service?"

"Of course," T'Pau said, taking in the animal throwing itself against the inside of the hovercraft, rocking it, causing the two sitting on top to grip the frame above the doors. "May I inquire how this situation came to be?"

"You may inquire, though I would rather not be forced to explain in front of strangers. If you care to, you may collect the remains of former administrator V'Las from that hillside - or not, as you see fit. We have evidence enough of his demise. Would you have any liquid proof wrapping in your vehicle?"

….

T'Pau was distressed and pacing her office again. "Surak's syllogisms!" She swore in the best Vulcan fashion, trying to justify her latest emotional outburst. She had lit into her mate and T'Pol's mate for the ham-handed way they had handled their assignment – even though they had followed her instructions in every detail. And they had let her know it was against their better judgment. But leaving their tools in the vehicle was unprofessional, illogical, she had told them in her best dressing down voice. They had stood before her in pained silence. Samik's eyes had spit fire and when she had asked for an explanation, he had said he had nothing more to say. Both of them could not wait to be out of her presence. Then Samik had not called her by com or telepathically in two days.

T'Pau sighed. She paced. She tried to eat her lunch, but pushed it away to return to her desk and stare at the addendum to Samik's report. It had been those robes! Yes, truly it had been partly her fault. Everyone in civil service had regular performance reviews. But as head of the whole system she did not, and perhaps she was the person most in need of one. She had been micro managing in an area that was best left to Samik's professional discretion. That is why he had announced his intention to return to his posting on Earth the day after the wedding.

She recalled Samik's gift and pulled it out of the drawer where she had carelessly discarded it. The clasp was well made and easy to close behind her neck. It was time to make amends, time to truly become 'as one' with him. But how to achieve this? She needed clarity. Asking her secretary to hold her calls and reschedule appointments, she entered her meditation room and set the lock from the inside, noting the irony of this act.

By early evening, T'Pau had a mate-mending plan. She would make it up to Samik by tolerating his occasional afternoons spent with his Human friends. She desperately needed him by her side here on Vulcan. There was no way she could continue with this relentless alien assault on her senses and make critical decisions for her people without assurance of a sympathetic mind and the warmth of another Vulcan intimately sharing her life.

She was not the government of this planet, the civil service, three million strong, managed the government's daily business. She only set its direction. It was a matter of trust and respect. Her people must be allowed to do the jobs they were trained for. It was her own feelings of inadequacy that made her dictate the details. Her feelings. Her EMOTIONS. Denying them only forced them to break through and cripple her effectiveness. Without Samik, she could not achieve a balance of logic and emotion. It always came back to Samik. A Vulcan was only allowed to show emotion with their mate and perhaps a professional psychological counselor. She would order Samik to meet with her tonight. No, she would ask him. She would even beg him, hoping it was not too late for them. She picked up the com unit.

….

T'Pau was pacing again. This time in the grand reception hall. She had chosen the site of her worst outburst to overcome it and repair the damage. Her robes of state again swirled around her as she turned at the end of the elegant hall and glided back down its length. Then they swirled again as she paced to the middle of the room and faced Samik. He stood there watching her in fascination, once again like a prey animal hoping to be overlooked. Her words, when she finally spoke, bit into him like fangs. "Our world…our culture… is out of balance. We as a people have a unique gift that we can share with the rest of the sentient universe only if we are allowed to develop it to its fullness. But we must be at peace with ourselves…our conflicting philosophies, our clashing plans for our individual lives…they may yet destroy us!" Then the wild energy seemed to leave her and she groped for a chair, her eyes not leaving his.

Samik came forward and guided her to the chair, pressing her gently into it. He dragged another chair close and sat, leaning toward her. Then he went to the windows and drew back the curtains before returning to sit even closer. Samik waited patiently as was his nature, for his mate to express herself in the nature that was her own.

Vulcan's sun was moving its light slowly over the floor tiles. There were a few metal flakes, sparsely scattered in the tiles in minimalist Vulcan fashion. They winked as the sunlight passed over them. The light had moved an eighth of the way across the room before T'Pau spoke. Eventually she counted ten breaths and said: "I must set an example for all of Vulcan. You should be aiding me in this! If we let the ideas, colorful quips, and strange practices of other worlds percolate in, we will lose our identity. We are at a turning point similar to when Surak first introduced his excellent philosophy. We must retreat within ourselves and absorb it before we can open our world to outside influences. The Terran cultures have such eldritch allure for us. Its people, so very interesting and, admittedly, compatible with us, are a danger. We can only relate to a few of them at any one time without losing ourselves. You see what an effect Mr. Tucker has on one of the best and brightest of us. Most of our people do not have T'Pol's training and discipline. Think, My Beloved, THINK what it would do to our culture should we let them in by the thousands! Look at yourself. You are half-Human in behavior. You must help me, not fight me. Do you not care for the fate of your people?"

Samik put a light and pleading pressure on her hand with his. "T'Pau, the Terrans are our closest, most avid supporters. We need them. They have embraced much that we have offered."

"True. But they are so varied in culture and races that what we have given them disappears into the…what were Soval's words? Ah, the abundant and confusing mix. If you must have your Human moments, please share them only with Mr. Tucker, or Admiral Archer when I allow him an audience on our world. YOU must be the consummate Vulcan with me. Not just for my sake, or our people's, but for your own." T'Pau beseeched her mate, arms out, palms up.

Samik leaned further toward her, his face softening. He ignored her hands, pulling her into a close embrace, settling her head against his chest so he could brush her hair with his lips "As you wish, T'hy'la. I do take great satisfaction in deeply immersing myself in things Vulcan. As will our children. From now until the sands reclaim our ashes I will be as Vulcan with you as you need me to be. This, I promise you."

She looked up at him, the only person she dared show vulnerability to. "I acknowledge your promise, My Love. And I promise always to meet your need. You will not have to wait for the seven year intervals, as some women demand of their mates. I know you need also to mingle with those outside our world. You would make an excellent representative to the Federation because you understand the outworlder in a way I never could and never should. For propriety's sake, for the good of all Vulcan, I belong here. You are a traveler between the worlds. I accept you as such. But here, in the heart of our life together, we must be purely Vulcan."

….

By the mid afternoon on Vulcan, the built up heat of the day was enervating even to the natives. This was a normal slow down period in activity and a break time for school classes. Trip fell into the natural rhythms of the Vulcan day. Since this was a day off from work, Samik was paying his friend one of his many visits. Today he had some special news. His investigative skills backed by T'Pau's influence had spread out a net of inquiry that had snagged the Vahklas.

This was great news for Trip who had often wondered what had happened to his friend, Kov, since their ships met out in space that first year of Enterprise's mission. Trip knew the repairs he helped Kov make to the worn out old Vulcan civilian transport would not have lasted. Now the exhausted old ship had been discovered moored up in what amounted to a starship chop shop space station. The V'tosh were still living on board but had to keep life support going by selling off bits of Vulcan technology to aliens whose ships were little better off then their own. They were holding classes on meditation techniques to supplement the sell off. While still practicing their deviant lifestyle, they were just surviving and were ready to come home.

Kov had been the class clown and the class nerd, Samik related to Trip as they sat with their feet up on T'Les's low table in the sitting room. "He was impulsive with many of his questions. Not disrespectful, but never quite in step. I think his humor was to cover a feeling of inadequacy about his looks, his weight, his near the surface emotions. His weight was not his fault, you know. There is this condition in his family. His father…well Kuvak is lucky to still be alive and I doubt whether Kov will even live as long as Kuvak has. But Kov is not a bad guy, not a bad Vulcan either."

Trip tried to wipe the ring from his beer glass off the table, only managing to smear the dampness out further. "Well, we hit it off right away. He considered me a friend and that is the first time I ever got into a frank discussion with a Vulcan. I just wondered where the heck he went off to after our ships disconnected."

"I am glad I was able to locate him for you. I would not mind seeing him again either."

Samik enjoyed the male bonding rituals of Humans, even the required beer supplied by Trip. His long legs were stretched across the table and his booted feet hung off the far edge, conveniently preventing scuff marks. Samik explained he was only in 'high school' with Kov for one year, having been born on Earth and living there up through his sixteenth year. The only times he had returned to Vulcan was in his seventh year for his kas wan and bonding, then for his more advanced schooling culminating at the Vulcan Science Academy. "I learned to be a quick judge of character, having to get along with both Humans and Vulcans. It also has been useful in my work as a criminal investigator and hostage negotiator. But I am ready to move on into the diplomatic corps, where I can use my mediation and negotiation training to greater effect. Pays better too."

"Ah, the bottom line attracts Vulcans too," Trip grinned. "And this suits your girl better?"

"That too. And because of my relationship with her, I may get jobs that would belay my lack of experience in the field. I was hoping your mate could mentor me in the mysteries of Vulcan upper echelon administrative protocol, with your consent, of course. I seem to have made a few blunders to the irritation of My Intended."

"Not if we scratch up her furniture, she won't be mentoring you."

"Point taken. Let's go destroy the garden furniture first," said Samik, rising to his feet and stretching to get the couch potato kinks out of his 6'2" frame. His Vulcan body wanted to soak up a bit of Eridani's rays and get that deep olive healthy tan. "T'Pau's taste in furniture is very utilitarian. I enjoy the T'Pol-T'Les décor."

"Me too," Trip responded, leaving unsaid that his Vulcan home reminded him of the style of a young talented architect whose name he still could not speak out loud without profound sadness, to anyone but his mate.

….

T'Pau had placed Trip's appointment last of the day to end on a high note. He stood before her, almost at attention like he would on board ship with his former captain. T'Pau searched Trip's face for the emotion that lay underneath. Trip's social skills at hiding his feelings were approaching the Vulcan. Good. He was one of the few aliens T'Pau was comfortable bestowing permanent residence status on. She still balked at the idea of giving any Human the honor of Vulcan citizenship. But she owed him much. He deserved to be allowed to breed.

"Mr. Tucker, despite my justified reprimand, you have performed adequately in the assignment to retrieve the criminal V'Las, and in many other ways have been an asset to Vulcan. I appreciate your discomfort with the details of that assignment. The touch of such a criminal is offensive, even in his post viable state. You are not unwelcome here on Vulcan. Neither would your offspring be unwelcome here. Unfortunately, at this time in history, it would be detrimental for mixed species children to reveal their heritage. My people, not unlike yours, have their prejudices. If you and T'Pol reproduce, your progeny must merge quietly into the Vulcan population."

T'Pau rubbed her hands together and turned in a slow circle, trying to say this so it did not sound demeaning.

"Your Terra Prime, even in their reprehensible purpose, did some good basic genetic research into this problem of producing a hybrid. Is not the Terran saying 'she did not die in vain' appropriate here in the case of your daughter? I have asked some of the best geneticists at the Vulcan Science Academy to take the notes of this research and work with Dr Phlox with the object of creating a viable hybrid child. What say you to this?"

Trip made a show of placing his tea cup on the edge of T'Pau's desk. "Although I appreciate…and accept this offer, I see it as a mixed blessing. You seem uncomfortable with the idea of mixed species children. Do you really dislike my species and resent your world's interdependence with us, T'Pau?"

"Do not take this as disrespect for your species, Mr. Tucker. All Vulcans need massive doses of isolation within their own culture to remain Vulcan. But our IDIC philosophy IS genuine. Our needs as a people, our psychological nature, requires daily solitary meditation to keep emotion from erupting and destroying our best intentions for interplanetary relations. We cannot embrace more than a few of your people on our world at this time in our history. I do sincerely hope you have come to understand that."

The strong rays of Vulcan's sun were spotlighting the soft deep sand colored pile of the office carpet. Trip focused on these and on how much he had come to love this world while still having a strong yearning for the lovely blue planet which had given him life and shaped the man he had become. "I understand the logic of your words. But it is highly unfair. It will not stop me from havin' children and hopin' that things will change so they don't feel they have to hide any part of their heritage."

"Well spoken, as usual. You do your adopted world a great honor with your presence and in the creation of your future children." With that, T'Pau also turned to watch Vulcan's sun play with her carpet. The two of them stood side by side in silent communion for another minute. Then T'Pau gestured to a side table where some architectural drawings lay.

"These are the plans chosen by the Terran Planetary Government for the rebuild of the Terran embassy on the ground where the bombed out structure stood. Although these plans were for a corporate headquarters of an interplanetary commercial group on your own world, they have such utilitarian beauty that I personally submitted them and urged your world's governing council to adopt them. The architect is not available to work with the builder to implement them. So I thought that you might have a hand in working with the builder."

Trip glanced at the plans. "I am an engineer, not an architect, though at one time it was an alternate career choice of mine. I got my sister interested…" Trip stopped for a moment because his voice was showing a bit of emotion. "I don't think I would be the best choice to…"

Then Trip spotted the architectural firm's name in a corner of the blueprint, and under it, the actual architect's name. He squared his shoulders and looked directly at T'Pau. "Ma'am, I would be honored to work with the builder on this project."

T'Pau rolled the plans herself, banded them, and handed them to Trip. "When I saw this design, I knew the esthetic spirit in your family was Vulcan. It was then that I fully accepted you into our world."

Trip bowed and left T'Pau's office. In the hall outside he could not help but stop for a minute to brush a tear away and run his finger over the name of the architect on the plans: Elizabeth Caroline Tucker. Her spirit was alive and well and living on Vulcan.

….

Surak was satisfied that Vulcan would survive. He had only had one in-the-mind experience with aliens, but if all sentients had the abilities Humans had, which enabled them to come up to logic when it was needed, the universe was on the right track. Both Vulcans and Humans had seemed to pass the point of self-annihilation in their history. Not that they could not come to that point again, but that both planetary civilizations had come through once was encouraging. Surak did not tolerate fools easily, especially in his current state of existence. He was not now possessed by a fool, but by a young person struggling toward wisdom. He thought she would prevail. It was time to return to the world of pure spirit. He would let his presence be known.

T'Pau was in a government shuttle on an overflight of the terraced grain fields of the cooler Polar Regions. Grain was a staple of the Vulcan diet. This area was a patchwork of government-sponsored farms and commercial ventures that processed cereal products. There were several natural varieties and a couple hundred engineered sub-varieties. The Telarite ambassador was separating grains held in the palm of one hand with the cloven appendage of his other hand. He looked up at her.

"These, Madam T'Pau, were genetically engineered from a Terran grain called rye. We have been growing them on Tellar for fifty years now and recently sent samples to Andoria for an agricultural experimental station in their equatorial zone which is similar to Earth's temperate zone."

T'Pau was interested, but she turned the ambassador over to a Vulcan agricultural expert and excused herself. The restrooms were at the back of the shuttle. T'Pau sat on a bench seat and leaned her head over into her hands. The stirring at the base of her skull was very distracting.

Suddenly she murmured "Krioka!" She shook her head which only served to make the pain worse. "I cannot believe I cried out," she scolded herself. She stood up…and collapsed to the floor.

T'Pau woke in the Vulcan Science Academy hospital. Samik was holding her hand, his face a study in several emotions that she would have to work with him on. She squinted at him through the pain in her head. "My intended, it is unseemly to show one emotion in public, let alone a package of four. I have a cure for the most obvious one. Please clear your mind so I can apply a light banishing trance."

Samik raised an eyebrow. "T'hy'la, it is you who is here to be cured. A third level healer has been examining you to discover if your collapse on the shuttle had a physical or psychological cause."

"Oh." T'Pau tried to remember the shuttlecraft. A palm holding Telarite grain was her last memory. "How long have I…"

A healer appeared over her and interrupted. "First Minister T'Pau, I can find no cause for your episode. You seem healthy for a woman of your age. Please take this medication for the next two days. And you are not to work. You have been registered for a two day stay at the Mount Seleya retreat."

That evening Samik flew T'Pau to Mount Seleya where she settled into a guest apartment with a view that could detect the glow of distant Shirkar. She was given a light meal and left to meditate. Tomorrow she would have a session with Chief Priest Varisk as once more their roles had reversed. Tonight as she entered her meditation she was immediately swept down many layers of thought and time onto a balcony of the T'Karath sanctuary that no longer existed thanks to V'Las's bombing. A robed male figure stood with his back to her. She walked toward him and offered a greeting. The figure turned. He was a grey headed male of still powerful build. She had never seen him before but she knew. "Surak!"

"Indeed."

"How long have you been my guest?"

"Since you went in search of me in Varisk's mind. He has a basic grasp of my principles and teaches them with skill, but he was not the one I needed to be with."

"You needed me?"

"Correct. Varisk reaches up to twenty people at a time in his classes. You reach all of Vulcan. Or will."

"I am but an emotion ridden woman unequal to the tasks thrust upon me. If Syrran had lived…"

"Syrran did not have the potential you possess. He thrived in the desert but would have been lost in the cities. Even Jon Archer would have done better in the cities. I enjoyed exploring an alien mind, but I am essentially Vulcan. I regret that you must be the one to dedicate yourself to your people and carry on my work. All else in your life must come second. Because of this sacrifice, I will leave you a small gift. I know your clan claims descent from me, as do others. While I have no proof of your clan's claim, I will honor it with any who ask me about it. It will aid in the teaching of my philosophy to all of Vulcan, as many of your clan are already teaching it in the manner that I approve. In this, the vagueness of truth bows to expedience."

T'Pau raised an eyebrow. Surak responded with: "Vulcans are nothing, if not expedient."

After a short silence he continued.

"You have a strong mate who can comply with this for I have tested your relationship and found it sound. Your emotions in the grand reception hall were quite impressive. Your mate stood up to you. And you reconquered your emotions effectively."

T'Pau struggled to remain calm. "Our relationship was not yours to manipulate. Not even Surak can violate the sanctity of the mating bond! That is one of your own basic principles. One of the things by which we are identified as Vulcan!"

"Agreed. But the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the two. You lacked certain elements of experience which I had to manipulate you into discovering. All of your life you have had your emotions under the most rigid control due to the excellent nurturing of your now deceased parents and your training at the Vulcan Science Academy. You even took your parents' deaths by order of the High Command with the logic the situation demanded, in order that you escape their fate, as they wished you to."

"It is not that I did not feel their loss."

"Exactly. But to maintain the relentless adherence to logic that will be required to convert the whole of the Vulcan population demands that you understand, more, even to feel, the inexorable pull of emotion that threatens to drag Vulcans down into a permanent state of plak-tau. I had to loosen your control from within your mind. The murderous anger you felt toward your mate in the face of potential betrayal had to be allowed to surface so you could understand the fullness of its destructive potential."

T'Pau looked out into the unmerciful desert from which her people emerged to scale the mountain of logic. I did not like what you did to me. Yet I do understand why".

"So be it. Your grounding in logic is set. You will grow in it as will all of Vulcan. Having imparted this lesson, and set in your mind all the lessons that are to come, I must return to the natural state for a katra which has outlived its corporal packaging. Please make arrangements to place me in the Cave of the Revered Ancients soon so all living sentients who are worthy to seek me, have equal access. You have been a worthy container, but to stay longer would temp me to overwhelm you and live your life. Your body is your own possession. Mine, even as you dwell on its comeliness here, has been dust in the wind for centuries. I will not speak to you from within your own mind again. Live long and prosper, T'Pau, symbol of all Vulcan."

He was gone. So was her headache. Her cheeks were green and hot with the knowledge that she had desired not only the mind, but the perceived body the long dead Surak and that he had been aware of this. Her beloved Samik would read her irreverent and impossible desire. But somehow she knew he would only find it amusing, as she now did his dalliance with a Human. But no more of these distractions. Being Vulcan WAS all about dignity, duty, and logic. Being Vulcan was not easy. Nothing was easy which was worth having.

Chapter Three

On the day before the ritual on Mount Seleya, there was a reception for those invited to this most solemn of Vulcan events. The grand reception hall in the government administration building rang with the babble of alien voices. Trip and T'Pol had found a corner to themselves, content to observe rather than participate. They watched Samik picking over the refreshments table, carefully holding back the long embroidered sleeves of a rose-beige robe. As in the Vulcan embassy on Earth, many pairs of eyes followed the tall handsome Vulcan male.

Trip folded his arms as best he could in the formal robe T'Pol had made him wear. He tore his eyes away from the refreshment table to glance in T'Pol's direction. "That robe suits Samik. Was it made to show off the male Vulcan physique?"

"It is too loud, like your Hawaiian shirt. I speculate he wore it to irritate T'Pau," T'Pol said, looking pointedly at her mate."

"That is not what I heard. Samik says she picks out his clothes for him too."

Samik was now moving in long strides across the hall in a direct line toward T'Pau. He balanced a tapering ale flute and round handle-less tea cup between the fingers of one hand and a heaping plate of hors d'oeuvres in the other.

Trip frowned. "I have lost my function at diplomatic receptions. Samik now retrieves T'Pau's tea."

T'Pol looked up at her mate. "You could get MY tea for me, Trip."

"Bit of a comedown, but still employed," Trip teased.

"And a plate of those Andorian delecacies," she continued.

"But you don't like Andorian food, T'Pol."

"That is not the point, T'hy'la," she responded.

"Oh, I get it. It is because I am your possession like that priest said. A Vulcan owns her mate. Therefore he should obey her just for the sake of obedience, whether the activity is needed or not."

"Precisely," she said, resisting a smile that threatened to turn up the corners of her mouth.

Trip took a step, then turned back to her "And it is not diplomatic to argue in front of the Andorians."

"Actually it IS polite to argue in front of the Andorians. But Vulcan logic dictates that you request food when you are hungry and to expect it to be delivered without undue deliberation."

Trip nodded and resumed his progress toward the reception table for two steps, then turned back again, a quirked smile playing across his face. "Say, aren't you supposed to be my possession too?"

T'Pol hesitated for a second then responded. "Yes."

So will you be fetching me a tall flute of Andorian ale like Samik selected?"

"Its too intoxicating for a Human."

"But Samik…"

"Is Vulcan. He will not be effected by the alcoholic content."

"And now you are restricting my food and drink in addition to restricting my wardrobe?"

"You are just now noticing this when I have been doing both these activities since we moved to Vulcan?"

Trip shrugged. This was not going to be an argument that he could possibly win. He changed tacks. "Well, I am hungry. Will you be going to the refreshment table and make the proper choices for a 143.341 pound adult male in his most physically active years?"

T'Pol sighed. "I suggest this approach. You fill a plate with a selection of Vulcan and Andorian hors d'oeuvres while I get my tea and your glass of ale."

"Sounds like a plan. I'm glad we don't have to negotiate every meal or we would end up starving."

"Not necessarily. Vulcan couples negotiate everything."

"You mean they ARGUE?" said Trip, emphasizing the last word.

"No. Vulcan couples have logical discussions, weigh the merits of the options, and decide on the best plan."

"Humans do the same. Maybe with a touch of emotion to keep the conversation from becoming boring, but basically the same."

"That touch of emotion makes all the difference."

"And that is why you married a human," quipped Trip, ending the conversation by simply walking off to fill a plate, his smug look hidden from T'Pol.

In another part of the hall, three people stood together. The Andorian in the group looked first at the Human and then the Vulcan. "You can spy on each other's worlds quite efficiently with only the barest of disguises. Blue skin and antennae would stand out on both of your worlds. Federation is the only expedient course for us if we are to gain technical knowledge from either of you."

Jon Archer stood watching a master at work as Ambassador V'Lar locked eye contact with the imposing ambassador from Andoria. They had sparred before. Being of lesser physical presence, she relied upon her voice control, her logic, and the implied backing of a tough and technologically advanced civilization. "Then it would also follow that neither of our worlds would be able to set up a network of spies on your planet. It is often true that a perceived advantage is also a disadvantage."

Moton narrowed his eyes. "Of course we could probably hire a Human and stick points on his ears before letting him loose on your world…if the compensation was to his liking, that is."

"You could. I personally know of a handful of Humans who would be capable of this. But they are already receiving their compensation…from us, in the form of acceptance within our culture via satisfying employment and/or bonding to Vulcan mates. "

"Ah, Madam, I bow to your craftiness. Always one step ahead. All the more reason to federate with you."

"Ambassador, despite the superficial similarities, very few Vulcans and Humans are able to maintain close relationships. There are currently more Humans on Andoria than Vulcans. It seems your climate is a better fit for Humans. However, I think our three worlds have many intersecting interests and will find an equitable balance. With the addition of Telar, we have a strong foundation for this federation we are crafting."

"If I had not already been impressed by your mediation skills, your words tonight certainly would have won me over. I do hope that T'Pau will attain your finesse as she mellows with age."

Moton offered his arm and V'Lar took it. They walked off in the direction of the refreshment tables, stopping to talk to one diplomat or another on the way, leaving Admiral Archer awed by the exchange. He knew that although the federation was his brain child, it was the V'Lars and Motons who would make it work.

A couple strolled by the admiral with their snacks, nodding to him. He nodded to Trip and T'Pol, smiled, and striding toward the refreshments himself, said "I'll catch up with you two in a minute. Find a table and I will join you."

Trip looked at T'Pol. They had also been watching V'Lar in action from a polite distance. He whispered over the heaping plates in his hands: "I think they like each other."

"They should. That pair was solely responsible for the first Andorian-Vulcan accords. We need the youthful vigor of the T'Paus balanced by the soothing wisdom of the V'Lars to lead Vulcan into the future."

….

The elderly woman moved slowly up the trail watching her feet so she would not trip on a stray stone. She had her walking stick tucked under her arm as it was not so steep this close to her cottage. The houseguest carrying her gathering basket made a conscious effort not to show his impatience. He moved slowly so as not to step on her heals. They were still too close to the cottage. He would have to wait.

She paused and turned her head part way back to ask "Are you sure you did not see Tavark at all last night? I wish he had returned from the hunt so he too could have heard your latest story. I worry these days when he hunts all night. He is not the strong young hunter he once was." She started to move forward again but spoke out brightly "perhaps he found the trail of a family of ch'hariyas. That might mean we each will have a whole ch'kariya for our dinner tonight".

The houseguest knew that this would not be the case, but decided to give the old crone a hopeful answer so she would keep moving. "He did mention to me yesterday that it was the time of year when game was more plentiful, T'Fil."

T'Fil turned up a brush disguised path that the houseguest would not have seen on his own. Good, he thought. No one is likely to pass this way anytime soon. He picked up the story he had left off last night, just to pass the time. "As you are aware, our people have made much progress since leaving this world. We have greatly improved our technology and now possess a cloaking mechanism."

"Fascinating," T'Fil replied, now using her walking stick to pull herself forward. "The few of our ancestors who managed to hide from Surak's followers here on the home world would be gratified that some of us have prospered." She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, for she could no longer both talk and walk at the same time like when she was a young woman. "I once had dreams of becoming a medical researcher. Oh, the things I was going to do for my people, for ALL of Vulcan. Can you imagine? Me? Discovering a cure for some disease and elevating those marked by the raptor's wing above our brow ridges to equal status as Vulcan citizens?" T'Fil's smile faded. "But those are the dreams of innocent children, unschooled in the ways of the world." She stopped speaking and moved on, one heavy step after another.

The trail began to wind up a gorge. Cliff walls tapered closer as the trail grew steeper and their progress slowed even more. The swampy area at the base of the gorge had become a running steam plashing lightly over rocks. T'Fill halted to kneel by the trail. She began to pull a tuber out of the loose soil as the houseguest put the gathering basket down beside her. The stream trickling down the mountainside kept this patch of soil moist and small trees shaded it from the sun. She loved the feel of the soil here. Each foraging trip was to be experienced with gratefulness, because the years left to her were few in number. Ten perhaps? Twenty? It was time to finally commit her knowledge of these wild plants to a padd. Perhaps one of her home cures was yet unknown to academia, and would be a welcome addition to Vulcan pharmaceutical knowledge. Perhaps, in some small way, she could achieve her childhood dream. A footnote in history at least?

Pulling her cloak tighter, T'Fil shivered in the cliff shadow, working steadily to fill her basket as the houseguest leaned against a large boulder and watched her. Having caught her breath from the climb, she again spoke. "I am gratified that our people prosper. But I am content with my life as it is. Although we just manage to get by alone out here, we do not experience the demeaning treatment our people receive when they live and work in the cities." Her hands groped in the soil and three more tubers appeared in the basket. The houseguest reached for the basket. She gave it to him and lurched to her feet to move forward toward the next secluded patch of soil further up the trail.

Though the houseguest was helpful, his following her today was disconcerting. He had never bothered to help her on other foraging walks in the months he had been living in the cottage with them. And having a guest for an extended period had put a strain on the couple's subsistence lifestyle here in the isolated southern mountains of Vulcan. He had never stayed this long before, though he had visited several times over the years.

Where was her husband? Tavark had gone out hunting at dusk yesterday to catch a stay day animal searching for cover, or a night animal emerging from a burrow to forage. Yes, perhaps they would dine on ch'kariya tonight. Ch'kariya, or even aylak, were tasty. Tavark would not have been arrested for killing these animals, would he? The wildlife stewards rarely got this far into the wilderness where only a smattering of Vulcans chose to live.

The houseguest followed T'Fil to the next patch and again handed her the basket. She turned to study his face. It had the bony V, more prominent than hers or her husbands: the mark of the Raptor's wings. There were so few of them now. She and her husband did not have any children. Children were sustainable in the cities, like where her sister lived with her two offspring and her offspring's children. T'Fil did not like the stares she got in the city. Being a member of an ancient and shunned Vulcan minority was not easy. They had been quite numerous before the time of Surak, the storytellers among her people said. But that was not confirmed by the records in the libraries, not that T'Fil had had much opportunity to explore them. Then her people were dispossessed of their lands and wealth because they did not follow the new political order imposed by the followers of Surak. Best not to think on these things, sighed T'Fil.

Used to only the mountain noises, T'Fil startled as the house guest began speaking again in a louder, angry voice. "Our people were at a disadvantage. The dominant Vulcans were able to hunt them down and round them up using their telepathic communication to coordinate their movements. Few of our people have this ability and rightly disdain to develop it when they do have it. Our people had learned to fear the telepaths. But we did just fine on our own. There are many worlds filled with our people now. We now outnumber these stay-at-home Vulcans by billions! And there are many alien worlds that we have conquered to serve our needs. This is as it should be. You must take pride that in our empire it is others that grovel in the dirt to bring us our food. It pains me to see the few of our people still living on Vulcan grovel like the subservient races."

The houseguest was working himself up emotionally to the task at hand by diminishing his host. T'Fil sensed the disdain in his voice. It disquieted her. Where was her mate? She walked on to another spot she knew of, and this one was a few feet off the trail, hidden in a small grove of scrub trees. This houseguest had overstayed his welcome despite his marvelous stories. After dinner tonight she would ask him to leave. No, maybe tomorrow morning she would, for she enjoyed hearing that their people had flourished and would one day soon return to rule Vulcan. That day would come for her sister's children. But she would not live to see it, she thought. She was right.

This was far enough away from the cottage. Her houseguest put the basket down beside her as she lifted her robe to allow bony knees to settle on another grassy patch. He helped her down, his hand at her elbow. Despite his helpfulness, she was uneasy about him and wished him gone.

The houseguest stood over the old woman wondering if he should kill her right there. It was a minimal regret. She was loyal, but a weak old woman would reveal his presence under just the suggestion of torture. He still had work to do on this world and could not allow himself to be taken. Due to his efforts, all his operatives got off-world on the last shuttle, but he was trapped here. That did not matter. He could not return home, for he had failed. With the fall of the High Command it would be at least a generation before they could regroup, infiltrate, and have another chance to conquer Vulcan. He meant to go out in a spectacular way; to strike at the heart of the Vulcan consciousness.

The old woman was now picking berries off the underside of leaves. He was grateful that his people could not read minds. She had no inkling of the fate he had planned for her and her mate. Her husband had been easy. Just follow him a half mile away from the cottage, a quick phaser shot, and return from his evening 'meditation' before T'Fil wondered where he was. What was the sacrifice of one old couple that had little of a dreary life left anyway? He bent and drew the knife across her throat. She barely gurgled at all. He was skilled at this technique and preferred to use it when dispatching those with less than his own strength. As he let the body drop onto the grassy patch. He removed a tuber from her basket. Walking back down the trail he bit into the tuber, all thoughts of the old couple dismissed from his mind.

….

The select few who attended the ritual on Mount Seleya were still a large enough grouping to force many to stand uncomfortably close to the jagged drop-offs. T'Pau had wisely placed Vulcan security people along the edges. Moton of Andoria was sweating in his formal robes. He told his nervous aide to think of the Cave of the Revered Ancients as the equivalent of the icy crevasse tombs back home. With a hand on the young woman's shoulder, he said "The Vulcans put their disembodied souls in jars and cremate the body to release ashes into the hot wind and sand. We release the soul to the cold winds of Andoria and preserve the body in jars of ice. Seeing these differences that our physical worlds impose upon us is a good starting point in the attempt to understand the separate paths our cultures took. Studying these cultural differences will help us understand these strange people and fathom what kept us at war with them for centuries. It will be the key to peace keeping between us for the centuries to come."

Moton and the interplanetary dignitaries had only walked up the last two hundred feet from a landing space carved into the mountain on a relatively flat outcropping. Behind this landing site, medical equipment was stored in a room blasted out of the rock to form an artificial cave. It was cooler inside and had several bio beds. The Vulcans did not want visitors expiring at funerals, for even this short distance they were required to walk, took its toll in the thin air. The guests had to wait only long enough to catch their breath before the Chief Priest they had gathered around raised his head, listening for the party which was ascending from the base of the mountain. The crowd parted as much as possible when the procession of robed Vulcans appeared. The Vulcans showed no fatigue from the long walk up. T'Pau walked solemnly and with grace, protected in the middle of the group as it approached the Chief Priest and his attendants.

The ancient priest, so old his katra would probably rest here soon, raised his arms and turned slowly in a circle to quiet the subdued murmurs of the guests. He said a few words of greeting in Vulcan then repeated in heavily Vulcan accented Terran, Andorian, and Telarite. It was an obvious memorization for the occasion. T'Pau then stepped into a tiny space the crowd had made.

"Honored guests, what you are about to witness comes down from the beginnings of our civilization. It is the honoring of the completion of a corporeal life and the transference of a person's spiritual energy to the invisible unity of Vulcan spirit, and in essence, to the spirit of all existence in the universe." She reached into her robe and withdrew a square earthen jar. "The katra of Surak resided within this vessel from his death until 19 years ago. When the Vulcan people were in need of him, he returned to the corporeal world by allowing his katra to be joined with a living mind. Four living minds have had the privilege to be host to his katra. Will those still alive who have been so honored please step forward."

Admiral Archer and Chief Priest Varisk joined T'Pau in the tiny open space.

"We who have been touched by the katra of Surak are charged by him to spread his philosophy…each in our own unique way. Admiral Archer honors the principle of IDIC by being the chief architect of the federation that is forming. Varisk honors the teachings of Surak by himself becoming a teacher, traveling around our planet and occasionally off world. I honor Surak by remaining on this world to form a new government that will regain the essence of that which is Vulcan while leaving an opening for cooperation with civilizations beyond our system. When I retire from this duty, I will preside in our court system to apply Surak's ethical principles with ruthless discipline and logic among my own people. I will rarely step off this world myself, though I will closely follow what unfolds beyond it. Peace and long life to you all. I will now place Surak's katra in the Cave of the Revered Ancients, available for consultation through those who attain the level of High Vulcan Priest or Priestess, and while we live, any of the three of us who have carried his katra.

T'Pau made a slow circle in place, making eye contact with each person. Then she walked regally over the uneven rocky face of the sloping mountain to the cave and disappeared within it. Two robed attendants stepped together in front of the entrance, crossing their lirpas, faces like stone, bodies like statues. A susurration of whispers wafted through the crowd like a fitful breeze. It was a good fifteen minutes before T'Pau emerged from the cave to honor the crowd with a half bow and lead her attendants through them to start back down the mountain.

Moton caught Archer's eye and motioned him over with an antenna so they could walk down to the hovercraft landing. "My dear Admiral, I would be honored if you would dine with me this evening. I have some questions concerning the philosophy of Surak which I wish to put to you. He has points which touch on Andorian ethics which I would like to compare with you."

Jon Archer smiled at Moton. "Certainly, Ambassador. I would be honored."

….

After the re-interment of Surak, T'Pau, like a mother bird gathering her chicks safely under her wings, had called Vulcan's wayward children back to the home world. With Samik's help, she had sent feelers beyond the Vulcan system to seek all the groups and individuals driven away by the intolerance of the High Command. Sharing many a pot of tea, she and Samik spent long hours together in her office interviewing people, tracking down dusty written records, and searching electronic records. It was not that she was any less demanding of the moral behavior of the Vulcan people, but she was now flexible enough to tolerate those who followed their own path to Surak, and she invited them all to come home.

T'Pau, as an afterthought, made a note at the bottom of a page buried in a minor proposal for consideration in a year or two, or maybe ten years from now: It may be of some compassionate consideration to ponder the upgrade of the educational opportunities and medical services to those among us who bear the raptor's mark. I realize this is a novel idea, considering the history of this non-productive and troublesome sub-race. But let us be fair, those among us with great telepathic gifts have, for a couple of generations, suffered unfair censure. We more than any other group should understand the effects of being shunned. These unfortunates marked by the raptor's brand have been marginalized in the meaner sections of our cities and pushed out into the least productive of our rural areas. Compassion should be offered to all Vulcans…eventually.

The V'Tosh Ku'tar were the first to respond to the call to come home. Tavin, who for years had only the captive audience aboard the Vahklas as students, was offered a chair in the Vulcan Science Academy philosophy department. What better way to keep an eye on him than to have his interpretations dissected by the best minds on Vulcan? If his teachings were discredited, it would be a better way to end his movement than by shadowing a leaky old ship and hoping it would self destruct. And, their melding methods would come under the scrutiny of experts.

As to the fate of Tolaris, it had been decided years ago. Captain Archer had informed Tavin of the attack upon T'Pol when he booted the V'Tosh off Enterprise. Having had some previous suspicion, but no proof of Tolaris's criminal nature, Tavin had confronted his second in command within fifteen minutes of their leave taking of Enterprise. Tolaris had denied the whole incident, but a mind meld performed by Tavin himself revealed the details of the hideous attack. The Vulcan was confined to his quarters on board the Vahklas while Tavin pondered his fate. This incident threatened their eight year long experiment and Tavin called a meeting of the entire crew to discuss it. A Vulcan style detailed review of the mental health of everyone on board followed. A Vulcan healer from a colony world was invited aboard for an independent analysis of the crew.

The Vahklas crew voted to expel Tolaris, who was then taken into custody on the colony world. Three months later, undergoing treatment in a mental health facility, Tolaris commited suicide. Samik related this history to Trip and T'Pol after Trip had asked about the fate of the rapist. While the Vulcan had evaded prosecution in relation to the attack on T'Pol, the couple decided there was nothing further to be done but begin a final healing treatment together. This freed them to welcome back the members of the V'Tosh whom they held in respect and friendship.

Samik was sent to the Shirkar spaceport ground station to begin the process of reintegration. He brought Trip with him to meet the returning V'Tosh and was gratified to see Trip stride forward with arms waving. At the inspection station stood the same scowling customs officer who had been on duty when Trip had collected Samik. The dour Vulcan was picking through the detritus from the emptied pockets of a portly traveler who had at last come home to reconnect with family and friends. If it was unseemly for people to touch in public on Vulcan, Kov was the last Vulcan to object to a manly slap on the shoulder from Trip. Kov searched Trip's face and with his hearty voice said "I can see that much has happened in your life since we last met." And in his sincere, almost naïve way, strongly gripped Trip's hand saying "You must tell me all of it."

Emotion rose in Trip's throat, almost choking off speech. "Sure, Kov. There is much I wish to share with you." Trip had not known until this moment, just how close he and Kov had grown in their short time together, years ago.

….

Sitting in her garden, T'Pol was thinking of her mother again. And mind melds. It was partly due to the residual emotion left from learning Tolaris's fate. She had carried her mother's katra to Mt. Seleya's Cave of the Revered Ancestors before returning to Enterprise and the recent ritual for Surak's katra brought this memory into sharp focus. Through bringing her mother's katra to the mountain, she had come to a tranquility, a sort of unity with her mother that she had not had when her mother was alive. T'Pau did not have that final closure with her own mother. T'Pau and T'Pol had discussed this. For T'Pau, it was Surak's mind which brought her peace. Studying the Kir'Shara with T'Pau brought T'Pol's mind in line with family and ethics stretching back over the centuries. She felt grounded, connected and ready to move forward into her future with Trip.

Had her mother and father had the close connection that she and Trip felt? The echo of her mother's katra said 'yes'. If so, why had they spent so much of her childhood apart? Her parents were no more different in personality than T'Pau and Samik. And T'Pau had confided in her that her bond to Samik, set with a light meld in childhood, had helped them keep their commitment. T'Pol had not melded with Koss, there was only the promise and a light holding of hands. She had shuddered at that touch, knew from the beginning it was not right. And it had been something so ephemeral that it had been impossible for her to express to her parents, at least in the 36 hours grace period within which the child promising could be declared void.

But her life with Trip - her heart and soul - she had been forced to publicly deny. It would affect any children they had, who must merge into the Vulcan population without revealing their Human heritage. She had promised T'Pau on her own mother's honor that she and Trip would do this. She must endure this humiliation to her husband's people to save her own. Maybe in a hundred years, two hundred, a hybrid would be openly accepted. Trip deserved better. So did she and their future children. The Needs of the Many was a difficult philosophy to follow. Yet she was Vulcan enough to accept its demands.

To accept these restrictions, T'Pol sat in her garden and built a mental wall over the negative emotions connected with them. She used an image of the garden wall in front of her to facilitate this. It drew up memories, which she let flow freely: the image of the garden before her expanded to the size it was when she was a toddler. Garden conversations with her mother were the most vivid memories of her early years.

"Ma'ih-kam, how put this, I?"

T'Les's warm hands gently engulfed T'Pols smaller ones which were gripping the herb tightly. T'Pol felt the love flow into her from her mother. T'Les loosened T'Pol's fingers. "Do not crush the life out of the plant, T'Pol." And T'Les scooped out a little deeper, the hole T'Pol had dug.

"What life length, this plant?" asked T'Pol.

"One growing season, Dear."

"Too short. I have longer. You have longer."

"T'Pol, everything has its own timing. You must learn to be content with that."

And T'Les's touch told T'Pol, much more than her words, that everything was as it should be.

That was one of T'Pol's first memories. But there was one at age seven which was particularly vivid because it was disquieting.

"I did not like the feel of that boy's hand, Mother. It was not like your touch. It was not like the gentleness of your hands over mine when I planted my first herb."

T'Les laid her garden trowel down and reached out with both hands for her daughter. T'Pol gripped her mother's hands hungrily. Her hands were now half the size of her mother's as she felt the love flow, belaying the stern look on her mother's face.

"It will be alright, T'Pol. You will see. It will be like your father and me."

T'Pol then repressed the thought that it would not be alright. She trusted her mother. But the thought festered beneath the repression and when T'Pol brought Trip home with her that first time, her loathing of Koss had defiantly broken into her conscious mind. There had been no quiet communing in the garden with her mother that time. After the wedding, after her dear Trip had gone, T'Pol had sought comfort alone in the garden. The violet head scarf, foremother T'Mir's wedding scarf, had become tangled in a thorn bush where an evening breeze had blown it. T'Pol had roughly pulled it off and thrown it on the ground and now it was possibly ruined, twisted and ripped by wind and thorns. She had not sought her mother's comfort, though T'Les was only a few feet away inside the house, trying to meditate and resolve her own disquiet about the choice T'Pol had been forced to make.

That wedding day seemed so long ago, a lost opportunity for one last garden talk with her mother. And now, T'Pol sat once more in the garden which had become hers and Trip's, trying to touch her departed mother's spirit. "Mother, it is Trip who is with me now. I know you liked him. I need you to accept that it is Trip and not Koss who will be the father of your grandchildren! I need you to tell me that you do accept him!"

T'Les's katra was in a cave on Seleya, but T'Pol felt closer to her here in the garden. In her mind her hands stretched out to beseech her mother, reaching toward the distant mountain. Then T'Pol dug her hands into the garden soil. "But part of you is here, your ashes that we scattered among your herbs. We thought you would like that. It was Trip's idea. Trip's. He respects you more than Koss ever did. Touch me now with your mind and tell me Trip's children will be welcome in your garden! Give them your blessing. Please?"

As T'Pol's tears dropped into the garden soil, nourishing the herbs she and Trip had planted, the air in the garden seemed to warm around her. The breeze, like gentle hands caressed her. It felt like her mother's hands on her shoulders, sending love and acceptance into her body. This was her answer, she knew it. The wall she had built in her mind came down and was washed away by her tears.

….

Finally, T'Pol had slipped into bed beside him. She had been busy earlier, sorting through that package of children's garden tools his mother had sent them. A gentle hint that it was time they produced a grandchild? Of course it was. Trip recognized those tools. They had been Lizzie's, then passed on to varies Tucker cousins but found their way back to his mother. It must have been hard for her to part with anything that had been Lizzie's. He had opened that closet looking for towels when home on a visit. It was filled with Lizzie's things. He had felt like he had invaded his mother's privacy. So now, he was thinking it was healthy for his mother to part with a few of her treasures and once more pass them on to family.

Trip rolled closer to T'Pol and his thoughts took inventory before he fell into sleep. His life was coming together nicely at this time. He had been told he could father a child on Vulcan, he had two close Vulcan friends in addition to a Vulcan wife, and he had the best memorial possible for his baby sister. These thoughts didn't die away when he drifted off to sleep. They crept into his dreams in the wee hours as he lay asleep beside T'Pol. The dream unfolded on a porch that no longer existed, in a house within a town in Florida that no longer existed. Trip was watching the woman on the porch glider look up from her writing to say "Trip tell your sister to wear shoes in the grass. It is illogical to go barefoot in Florida with those fire ants present."

So Trip raised his voice to reach a distracted three-year-old running about the yard: "Lizzie, your Auntie T'Les wants you to put on your shoes."

Lizzie jumped up the porch stairs, grabbed her sandals, and plunked down beside Trip. Leaning toward the infant Trip was rocking slowly, she said: "She is Lizzie too. I am an Auntie just like my Auntie T'Les." Trip smiled as he traced the pointed ear of the daughter in his arms, while his sister leaned her head against his arm.

All was well in this dream as it faded away, and instead of tracing a baby's ear, he was touching his mate's ear as she snuggled against him. Trip woke whispering "My two Lizzie's are happy". T'Pol murmured and snuggled closer. It was morning and for only a few precious moments more, Trip could delay the start of another work day on Vulcan. His proposal for a small improvement had been approved yesterday and today he would be showing his friend Kov around the shop. Kov had been taken on as an assistant while he waited word on his other applications. And Samik seemed to get along with Kov; the three of them had planned an evening of cards. Yes, his life was happier than it had been in a long time.

….

Moton, Jon Archer, and Samik met to plan the security for the procession and ritual. This would be the final formality in the process to bring the ancient enemies together before the three of them left for Earth to sign the Articles of Federation. Samik had almost convinced T'Pau that she should leave her home world for a short time for this important event. She need not be gone long and her presence would seal the occasion with great authority. It would make a huge impression on other worlds if the four founding worlds prospered. Soon the Federation would be swamped by applications for membership.

"Vulcan and Andoria alike are beginning to value their telepaths and put aside their fear," Moton addressed Archer. "I have been in contact with people on your world who tell me that Humanity is not without an unknown percentage of their population who also possess this…gift."

Jon shifted in his chair. "So I too have been told, but this is not something I was ever much concerned with. I will take your word for it, and that of those who understand it better. Certainly, since playing host to Surak, I believe this phenomenon must exist."

"Healthy skepticism is better than fearful rejection. And I do hope you see why this ritual must be attended only by the top officials of Vulcan and Andor now on this planet? It is no denigration of your people. But Vulcans and Andorians must be comfortable with each other without a Human there as mediator. Your answers at our dinner together really have helped me understand the Vulcan viewpoint. Amazing that a man from a world less technologically advanced compared to either our world or Vulcan, could be so valuable in explaining us to each other.

Moton smiled and Samik nodded. Samik then passed out the padds on which the plan for the procession wound through the hallways of the administration building to the grand hall. And they bent their heads over the padds, making notes and discussing details.

….

One month after Surak's re-interment ritual, people stepped aside in the hallways of the administration complex in respect as the procession of monks glided past in a stately, almost mesmerizingly swaying gate. They came four abreast with the outer two carrying lirpas. The chanting was barely audible but of a rhythmic cadence in step with the foot movements. Following the monks, the Andorian ambassador walked between T'Pau and the Aenar telepath.

When people had stopped moving into the hall, Moton raised a hand. "This memorial service is combined of elements from the Andorian and the Vulcan. Admiral Archer was instrumental in advice on Surak's principles of peace building which would be compatable with the Andorian concepts, but today, just representatives of our two peoples meet alone to put aside our ancient enmity. Today we lay to rest the anger over those who have fallen during the centuries in wars between our two worlds. A telepathic link between our worlds to pay respect to each other's dead will now be performed."

T'Pau and the Aenar woman moved forward to join hands. Varisk stepped in front of them and spoke a few words in Vulcan, followed by an Andorian shaman who stepped forward, nodded once and stepped back. The two young women looked into each other's eyes and became still, locking into a deep telepathic embrace though their palms were only lightly touching. The air in the room seemed to take on an indefinable charge of energy, all present becoming engulfed in solemn stillness. All except one, that is. One of the hooded monks moved out of line, ran forward raising his lirpa threatening T'Pau and the Aenar who could not move because of their link.

"Death to the evil telepaths of all worlds!"

As the lirpa swung down in what would be a lethal blow, Varisk, belaying his age, grabbed a lirpa from the monk next to him. He stepped in front of the joined telepaths and swept the lirpa upward. The ancient weapons met with a dull clunk. The impact stopped the attacker's advance, causing his hood to slip back revealing a bony V on his forehead. The attacker was much younger and taller than the old Chief Priest but the two lirpas seemed to hold their positions for a long time before Varisk's arms began to shake. Pulling back his lirpa, the attacker feinted to the left making Varisk move clumsily to block him. The attacker then circled his weapon smartly under Varisk's and came up on his right side cutting up into his arm pit and severing the arm. Hardly slowing, he brought his lirpa into Varisk's side penetrating the heart. The old man sank to the floor in a fountain of blood which spattered all of those close by.

Before Talok could renew his attack on the telepaths, several people had taken a defensive position in front of them. Others were coming out of their trance to take up arms against him, so he turned and pushed through the stunned crowd and out a door into the maintenance corridor. Moton pulled Varisk's lirpa from his dead and bloody hands to run after Talok.

Talok tried several doors, all offices on his left. Escape had not been his plan, but he had not accomplished his mission, so he must flee and make a new plan to kill T'Pau. He noticed the door on the other side of the corridor and ran through into a small garden. Glancing around, he saw no other exits in the vine covered walls so he turned to go back into the hallway but the door was now blocked by an Andorian menacing him with a lirpa.

Moton closed the door behind him. He wanted to take this enemy himself.

Talok put the fountain between himself and the Andorian. They circled the fountain, lirpas raised in a defensive posture. Moton noticed out of the corner of his eye that his reflection in the surface water of the pool was relaxed and composed. Good. It meant he was keeping Andorian martial discipline. A quick evaluation made note that his opponent was probably much younger, though considering Vulcan longevity, he could not be sure. Vulcan? A strange Vulcan. Ruthless and emotional. Primitive brow ridges, perhaps an inferior subspecies? He took a deep breath of the thin Vulcan air and spoke. "Heh, Greenskin! Great move, killing an old man."

The greenskin did not take the bait. He remained calm, moving slowing to his left, the lirpa held sideways in his left hand.

Left handed? Moton noted. What else can I learn? "Greenskin! What's your problem with telepaths?"

The greenskin smiled. Not a thing a Vulcan would normally do, and not at all a nice smile. The lips parted and the voice was contemptuous. "I will have no problem with telepaths when they are all dead."

"But all Vulcans are telepaths. YOU must be a telepath," Moton said, fingering his lirpa.

"I am neither Vulcan nor a telepath! There are only a few Vulcans who are strong enough telepaths to use their ability as a battlefield weapon. They will be destroyed."

Moton moved slowly, subtly trying to close the distance between himself and his opponent. He wanted to kill this monster, yet he was curious. "Most species have a few telepaths among them. Humans, even Andorians. And among these species the telepaths have been feared, until their value was appreciated."

"If you are referring to our use of your Aenar, taken off your home world right under your noses, of course they can be used…before they are eliminated." The evil empty smile again.

"Apparently we Andorians are more civilized than you, VULCAN," Moton spat out the word, knowing this greenskin would resent it and perhaps reveal what race he thought himself to be.

"As I said, I am no Vulcan weakling!" The greenskin hefted his lirpa and shifted his grip. "I am Rihannsu! A descendant of those with the courage to leave this burned-out world and carve an empire among the stars!"

Moton noted the shift in the greenskin's grip. Not used to this weapon. That evens things up a bit. I found its balance immediately. "A Rihannsu? What inferior Vulcan cast off race is that, with an ugly humped forehead? One who is not even trained in the signature weapon of Vulcan!"

"A smooth forehead is a sign of weakness, Andorian fool! My kind is the heartiest of the Vulcannsu races! We are destined to conquer the planet of our origin and spread our star empire through all of known space! And as for this weapon, I know it well enough, inept Andorian fool! I used it in The Forge recently."

Talok, in his rage, was closing the distance in a menacing but clumsy manner. His gestures were becoming wild, unplanned. Moton forced himself to stand still, letting the greenskin advance. Knowing an opponent's strategy, or lack thereof, and letting him continue to use it, was better than countering it so the opponent changed his strategy to something unknown.

"Andorian, I'd like a souvenir of our time together. Can you guess what it is?" The greenskin had that awful smile again. It was not a Vulcan expression.

How could I ever have considered that hump face to be Vulcan, thought Moton. "Surely I can, Greenskin. But more pertinent to our little dance, can you guess what souvenir I will be taking?"

The smile disappeared. His opponent was becoming rattled. Moton decided to make his move soon before the Vulcan security force discovered their private dueling ground. Samik was a competent security chief. It seemed like they had been circling each other with the fountain between them for ages, but it must have been only a few moments.

To distract the greenskin, Moton increased the distance between them by sidestepping quickly until they were directly across the fountain from each other. The door was now directly behind the greenskin. Realizing his quarry might run for the door, Moton waited for the greenskin to glance at it. When he did, Moton took two leaping steps through the water and brought his lirpa down. Surprised that someone would jump into water, Talok was only able to avoid a killing blow and fell stunned, face forward into the fountain. Moton pounced on Talok's back, holding his head under. Talok heaved his back, but unable to dislodge the heavier Andorian, whipped his head from side to side, attempting to raise it out of the water. Moton dug his fingers into Talok's hair, holding his head under. Talok struggled to breath, blowing out bubbles, taking in water. Slowly he ceased his struggles, his hands grasping and ungrasping at emptiness. In a few moments he was still.

Moton looked up to see Samik burst through the door with a dozen security guards behind him. Another group of Vulcans came out of the vine covered wall opposite and still more were climbing out of the ground where a trap door under a flagstone had been throw up. Moton stood, his formal wear dripping water, and stepped out of the fountain as Samik and his men stepped in to grab the Romulan.

Samik lifted Talok's head. "He is dead."

"The last of the invaders," said T'Pau from behind him. "We knew it must have been him organizing the withdrawal of the Romulan operatives. He has been among us a long time and knowing our world, would have been the logical person to do this. But I speculate he was either trapped here or he refused to return home a failure. Hs last act would have been to cause as much damage as possible and die a hero's death."

"He certainly did damage, but not as much as he might have," said Samik. "I do not know how he got through the safety net I have constructed around you. I screened those monks most carefully".

"Th'y'la, he had been studying sporadically at the Seleya and other retreats for thirty-five years. The monks must have had no idea who he really was. And of course he disguised his appearance. But he stayed away during our recent investigation, returning only to take part in this ritual. And now we must finish our joint ritual joint with the Andorians." T'Pau clasped her hands together and stared into the water. "Varisk would have wanted that."

"Agreed," Moton concurred. "We will add Varisk to the long list of those we mourn today. Such a reprehensible act to viciously slay an old man instead of just running like he eventually did. The hero's death was Varisk's, not this…Romulan's."

T'Pau moved closer to Moton. "For once we are in perfect accord, Ambassador. I think we will be finding much more to agree on in the future."

Moton offered his arm and T'Pau took it without hesitation, the blueness of his hand no longer seeming quite so ugly. She even leaned on his arm a bit, not quite recovered from the abrupt withdrawal from the telepathic link.

Moton steadied her and waiting patiently for her to take a step toward the door, looked around at the garden. He sighed. "I would like to take the Blue Line special historical tour of this fortress. People popping out of walls and out of the ground. How extremely Andorian."

"I shall conduct it myself," answered T'Pau.

….

Two months after Surak's re-interment, a course of study was concluding at the Vulcan Science Academy. It had been a strenuous but rewarding three-month-long training course and well adapted to the level of expertise of the visiting Humans. Vulcans are excellent teachers – conscientious and meticulous, thought Irene. As part of a technological exchange, each student got one of the latest Vulcan personal com/padd units. Scanning through the daily news site on her com/padd, Irene saw the notice of Samik's wedding in the 'Events of the Day' section. She handed the padd to Jackie.

"Geez, this kinda wedding back home would be on the front page, not just an item in a list under 'adult bonding ceremonies'. Hey, he WAS a good catch. The First Minister of the Vulcan government? You are lucky you didn't disappear like that horrible V'Las character that Her Highness T'Pau made short work of."

Irene crossed her legs on the stone bench and leaned forward, her hands joined together in her lap. "V'Las made people disappear but T'Pau disposed of V'Las legally. They don't make people disappear any more on Vulcan. Anyway, I doubt Samik even mentioned me to her. Well, that vindicates my taste in men. Guess I will just have to look for another."

"Another Vulcan?"

"No. I have seen enough now to know I could never live here. This visit has been nice and all… but I miss home. Love their computers, though!"

"Well, I am relieved," said Jackie, "this heat just wears me down. That alone makes this not the place I'd like to spend the rest of my life."

Irene's face took on a dreamy look. "Some of these men, yeah, great physiques, so I wouldn't mind a cuddle with one of them, maybe." Her face turned sad. "But it doesn't work like that for them. They don't mess around. It's like binary code – two conditions: on or off. REALLY on or off and no in between - no flirting, no teasing. Samik could do that somewhat, but not any of these other stone-faces."

Jackie frowned. "Well, they never appealed to me. Tall and creepy quiet and sour faced."

"Hey, you have to consider the cultural differences though," said Irene defensively. "Still, I wouldn't want to get in deep with one of them and become a bored Vulcan housewife for the rest of my life. Divorce is not in their nature. Can you just see trying to break it off with an angry and tyrannical Vulcan husband? Especially for a Human enervated by this heavy gravity and trying to catch your breath in this thin air so you could have a decent argument? They CAN get angry, you know. Very angry – T'Pril has been telling me some things."

"Why am I not surprised? T'Pril is very open, for a Vulcan. Why can't the men be more like the women?"

"It may have something to do with the, um, biological hold the women have over the men. We are not supposed to know about that. Its all hush, hush stuff."

"I don't see why. But anyway, to back up T'Pril's admission, let me share THIS experience with you. Walking back to the dorm in the dark one night, I turned abruptly because I had forgotten a notebook in the classroom and this guy in a dark robe almost bumped into me. I hadn't even heard him and he startled me, so I jumped and screamed. He pulled back his hood and glared down at me like I had just dented his brand new hovercraft or kicked his ugly pet sehlat. I wish they wouldn't wear those robes, makes them look like vampires or something. Then scowling, this guy steps around me and walks off without so much as an 'excuse me' or anything. Vulcan men! The women should keep them chained in the basement!"

Irene gave Jackie a sad smile. "Well, the women do have them chained, so to speak. This very secret cycle thing the men go through, but not the women."

"But I DO like the women," Jackie perked up. "I have made a lot of friends and they have such different personalities – just like us. So the men are either boring or out of control? Glad to see you are over it. Let's just get this final test behind us and enjoy that month long wrap up tour of the southern cities and that hike in the southern polar region. I'm ready to go home too."

….

T'Pau woke gently. She wiggled the toes of her left foot and luxuriated in the fact that the only chore of the day was to make babies. Seclusion was a lovely word. But it felt naughty to be flat on her back when the sun was already half way to its zenith. She trailed her middle finger down through the soft hair on the arm that lay sprawled over her chest, then circled her finger under the large strong wrist and onto the palm. She drew circles on the palm, and the hand jerked, then the body attached to it rolled face up to stare at her with sleepy half open eyes.

"Is it morning already?" asked the sleepy eyes.

"It is, my lazy mate. But since we are in seclusion, our work is to create a child. So getting to work does not involve getting up."

"Your logic is faultless."

"And relentless." She reached down to ascertain how ready he was to work. "Is this the definitive expression of Vulcan manhood?" she teased.

Samik propped his head up with one hand and grinned back. "You were expecting me to throw you across the room, deep in the throes of the Plak-tau? Sorry to disappoint, T'hy'la, but the males in my family usually experience their first blood burn sometime in their early forties. We have a few years till then. But I am told by the healers that I have had viable seed since the age of twenty-two. It is likely we may become parents before the year is out…if we keep at it the way we have started." He sat up. "Okay, where is that modern Vulcan marriage manual you gifted me with while I was still being kept in reserve in my bachelor condo? Perhaps we should follow it step by step? You read aloud and I will follow the instructions of that misogynous monk who would barely even remember when he actually 'did it' because he was too out of his mind at the time to know."

T'Pau put her hands under her head, elbows flat out on the pillows. "You technique is fine as it is. More than fine. I bask in the glow of your exquisite skill."

"You bounce between extremes. I hope you do not address your planetary assemble in this manner? The truth does not lie in one extreme, in absolute right or absolute wrong. I will take it that the truth lies somewhere in between inept bungling and exquisite skill."

"Correct. As with my neuropressure skills."

"Also correct. All we need is practice. So…"

He didn't finish…suddenly T'Pau was being subjected to a not unpleasant line of kisses descending between her breasts and advancing towards other interesting areas of her body. Being Vulcan, her arousal warmed slowly. They would be at this all day.

She glanced away and up to her shelf of treasures and let her mind roam free. Vulcans were not knick knack collectors but a scorched clay IDIC found in the ruins of the T'Karath shrine and a ruined tea cup, its delicate planet-like roundness marred by a thin long crack, sat as reminders of the path she had to walk. There were now only two people who had the precious gift of having held Surak in their living minds. It was up to them to nourish the new-born federation. She would never again allow the cup to crack. She would never allow the scarring of her world like that thousand mile strip that marred the beauty of the Terran world in a place called Florida, or a repeat of what had created The Forge on her own world. War must be brought to an end! At least between the worlds of this new federation. Wage peace! Make love! And to that end, she would start by embracing this mate of hers, who had a foot in each of two worlds.

T'Pau reach out and pulled him closer.

Afterword:

Spock watched the movement in the aquarium in the corner of the ready room before settling back in the Captain's guest chair to begin another anecdote on that powerful head of his clan. "T'Pau had been walking with a cane for some years, many times leaning on the arm of her mate. But after his death she no longer had the strength to walk, and demanded the services of chair bearers for her infrequent attendance at public events."

Picard nodded. Some of this was already known to him from his mind meld with Sarek. He gestured for Spock to continue.

"Father had presided at Samik's memorial because he had been a mentor to Father. Samik had recruited him right out of his classes at the Vulcan Science Academy, as a diplomatic aide for a Federation scientific treaty conference, the cutting edge of technology not being Samik's strong point."

Spock took a sip of his tea, and continued. "Father never forgot that conference and after a few years in computer research and development, asked to be transferred into the diplomatic corps. The big issue at that time was the sharing of technology developed by Federation worlds and how the varying patent laws were to be handled. Samik groomed Sarek to be the lead mediator between Federation worlds on these mundane but vital issues, because dry as they were, they had the potential of ripping the Federation apart. The rest is history. Sarek was more successful than anyone could have predicted. And as we Vulcans say about a telepathic union, on issues scientific the worlds of the Federation 'are as one'."

Spock leaned forward to emphasize his words when he saw incredulity on Picard's face. "This, and many other things that bind the Federation together have been due to the quiet behind the scenes work of T'Pau's mate. He would be embarrassed to hear me say so, as he was a Vulcan's Vulcan in such matters. I never saw him conduct himself with anything but dignity and discretion. As for these rumors that he would often steal off to drink beer and tell jokes with Human friends, I must conclude they are slander."

"Of course! It stretches credulity to propose that a Vulcan such as yourself would covort with friends," smiled Picard as he offered the ambassador another cup of Earl Grey.

"I come by my few Human foibles naturally, Captain. I used to consider it an insult when someone would point them out. But after the wise nurturing of my father and mother, and a century-and-a-half of life, I have trimmed my own Vulcan raptor's claws and Human eagle's beak, so to speak."

Picard sat straighter and tugged down his uniform jacket. "Ambassador Spock, I greatly admire T'Pau. History will place her beside Surak and Sarek, of that I am sure."

Spock nodded agreement. "Indeed. After her death, her sayings were carved in buildings all over the planet. No one but Surak is more honored among my father's people. My favorite saying of hers is the one set into the entrance to the three centuries old Ministry of Justice building: 'There is a raptor eternally stalking all of Vulcan. It is forever threatening to spiral upwards on a thermal in the desert of each katra. It is hungry to feed again. No Vulcan should ever relax control, even for a second. A second is all the raptor needs. Only relentless vigilance will keep it at bay.' – Chief Justice T'Pau, formerly Head of the Vulcan Planetary Council."

Spock glanced at the still, cold stars out the view port in the middle of Romulan space. "Her logic was flawless and unwavering. It is only because of it that we have come far enough to attempt to tame the raptor in its last refuge and reunite the Vulcanoid peoples. In the days of her youth it was nearly the other way around."

The End.

Note: We have Vulcan/Human hybrids in canon, novels, and fan fiction. These people are somewhat bi-cultural. I wanted to create a full Vulcan who was bi-cultural. Samik is the result of this effort.

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