Christopher Pike folded his arms over his chest, leaned back in his seat and stared. His dinner lay untouched on the table before him. "How well do you know Special Envoy M'Umbha Wakufunzi-Uhura?"
Spock blinked. "M'Umbha Uhura bint Wakufunzi has known my mother since they attended the same university," he replied. "She became acquainted with my father when she was assigned to Vulcan as an under-ambassador in the Diplomatic Corps. I am not certain of the specific details, but that was more than a year before my birth. However, Dr. M'Umbha retired from the corps soon after the birth of her son, Muta. I was seven years old when the Uhuras returned to Earth."
Pike grinned grimly. "Well, apparently, just like in Starfleet, there's no such thing as actually retiring from the Diplomatic Corps. They've tapped your 'Dr. M'Umbha' for a short-term mission. She agreed under one condition."
It was clear from the expectant look on his commanding officer's face that Spock was required to respond. But how?
He suppressed a frown — the desire stemmed both from his use of his childhood nickname for Dr. Wakufunzi, and from concern about this disruption in life as a university professor — and said with a confidence he failed to feel, "I have been told that, during her service, she was well known for her ability to effect positive conclusions to… delicate circumstances."
"Well, that might partly explain why they were so adamant about pulling in an ex-dip who's been out of the game for nearly twenty years," Pike mused. "And if she's known you since you were born, that might explain her single condition."
This time, the younger officer didn't waste time trying to guess what the captain wanted from him.
"What is that condition, sir?"
.
.
M'Umbha Uhura bint Wakufunzi managed not to chuckle at her future son-in-law's official greeting, but the decorous bow and the "Commander Spock at your service, Special Envoy Wakufunzi-Uhura" made her eyes gleam with barely concealed amusement. There'll be time enough to loosen him up once they were alone, she told herself. At the moment, there was work to be done.
"Thank you, Commander," she said just as formally as she offered him the garment bag and small case carrying all the personal items she would need for the trip. The diplomatic attaché, she held onto. "We are scheduled to depart in fifteen minutes. Shall we board now?"
Spock bowed again and gestured for her to precede him up the shuttle stairs.
"I have already completed the pre-flight check," he told her once they were settled into the pilot's and navigator's chairs. "For such a short journey, there is no real need for a navigator. If you wish to take your ease in one of the passenger seats, you might find them more comfortable."
She grinned at that. After all, once the shuttle door had been sealed, there was no one else to see them.
"Trying to get rid of me already, mwana?" she chided teasingly, and was pleased to see the formality pour out of him. He was very nearly smiling when he turned from the controls to answer, "Of course not, Mama."
This is going to go even better than I thought it would, thought M'Umbha.
.
.
Spock wasn't completely unfamiliar with the practice of making polite conversation. He was an ambassador's son, after all. But only fifteen days had elapsed since the week he'd spent in Dr. M'Umbha's company had concluded, so "small talk" was quickly exhausted. Once she'd apprised him of the new research project she intended to embark on after their return to Earth, there really wasn't anything left to say. He settled into a comfortable silence, certain that if there was a topic she wished to discuss, his beloved's mother would bring it up when she was ready.
After forty minutes had passed, during which Dr. M'Umbha had done nothing more than hum quietly and occasionally chuckle over the device she'd pulled from her bag as soon as their conversation had ceased, he was no longer feeling quite so comfortable.
"Mama?"
"Hmm?"
He glanced over at her; she hadn't looked up from her device to answer.
"Why didn't the Diplomatic Corps insist on sending their own pilot and Guard to accompany you? Surely a delicate state of affairs would usually warrant that."
"Delicate?" Her trilling laughter was delicate, even if her incredulous tone suggested the mission was not. Even then, she didn't stop peering at her device. "Oh, mwana! Do you really believe they would choose me to handle anything sensitive with you in tow?"
Swallowing a tiny hint of unease — Wakufunzi women were capable of enacting the most complicated plots, after all — Spock forged on.
"It seemed likely that you were appointed in spite of your retirement because of the special skills you were known for during your tenure in the corps."
Finally, she spared him a glance.
"Well, usually that's the case."
"Usually?" he prompted before she could go on.
Smiling sympathetically, Dr. M'Umbha said, "Spocky, no one ever really retires from the corps. I get perhaps one assignment every two years—more than most, granted—and usually they are missions that require my 'special skills.' This time they just asked me because the university is on break and because the Thebians are already familiar with the Wakufunzi name. My cousin Rasul was the first Federation representative they ever dealt with.
"Alemannisch Guardisten would be wasted for two low-level meetings and a state ball," she replied, referring to the elite (and supposedly neutral) non-Federation bodyguard unit that protected diplomats across the galaxy.
"I see," Spock said. And he did. Obviously, she'd chosen him as her escort for personal reasons. Ignoring her husband's warnings about the dangers of upsetting a Wakufunzi woman, he bravely sought satisfaction for his increasing curiosity. "What are your plans for me, then?"
Dr. M'Umbha laughed, loud and hard.
"I should have known I couldn't fool you, mtoto!" She handed him the device that had kept her so preoccupied for so long. "Here," she said. "You look at this, and I'll take the controls."
When he raised a skeptical brow, she added, "Surely by now you've noticed how peripatetic we Wakufunzis tend to be. Just about every one of us is trained to pilot a shuttle. And just about all of us are good at it. Nyota is an aberration."
Knowing he was treading dangerous ground, Spock nonetheless felt compelled to defend his ko-kugalsu. "She continues to receive excellent marks for her pilot training."
"Pah!" Dr. M'Umbha waved a dismissive hand, then ran her fingers over the controls, expertly transposing the pilot and navigational stations. "Simulations and guided hops. She's terrified of flying a real shuttle on her own." She shook her head. "Oh well. By the time Amanda and the priestesses of WA are through with her, she'll have conquered that fear, too."
Spock decided that last remark didn't require comment from him, but he still wondered what could possibly be happening to his beloved at the mysterious Temple Wehk Aitlunlar. Then, a glance down at the device he was holding chased all thoughts about priestesses, T'Khut and Pon farr from his mind.
.
.
M'Umbha watched Spock watching the holograph displayer. She bit back a smile as he thumbed past holo after embarrassing holo of nude babies and awkward toddlers. When he paused on one, studying it intently, she leaned over to see that he'd reached a holo of himself, around three Terran years old, grinning wildly, his face covered in deep violet muck.
"Benjamin and Amanda thought it would be fun to make blueberry pies that day. Fortunately, they got you all cleaned up before your father and I were through with our meeting. Even more fortunately, they saved pictorial evidence for me to enjoy at a later date!"
"I remember that day," Spock said quietly. Then he began scrolling again.
The next time he paused, M'Umbha saw that he'd stopped at a holo featuring a toddler Nyota nestled in his arms. She'd captured that particular moment herself, just two days after the two children had met and her daughter had declared her intention of marrying her "new best friend."
Nyota's tiny fist gripped Spock's tunic as she smiled in her sleep. Spock leaned back beneath the umbrella thorn that Nyota would eventually call her "thinking tree," his own dark eyes open, but unreadable. And yet he held his precious cargo with a gentleness that would have eluded many twelve-year-olds.
"I should have realized even back then," M'Umbha observed with a wistful smile. When Spock met her eyes, curiosity evident, she explained, "Wakufunzi women usually get their way, you know."
.
.
I should have realized, Spock told himself as he scrolled through the holographs loaded on the device Dr. M'Umbha had labeled Good For Spock & Nyota's Wedding Reception? Even the invitation (which had really been a command) to share a meal with Captain Pike had been a part of her plan.
"Did Baba worry that I would have difficulty adjusting to Nyota's temporary absence?"
Dr. M'Umbha feigned a hurt expression, but Spock was not fooled.
"You don't think that I might have been the one who worried?" she asked, poking her lip out in an exaggerated pout.
"You are right, Mama. A xenopsychiatrist as renowned as Baba would not even suggest that a Vulcan might become… lonely after only two days away from his ko-kugalsu," he teased back, his face and voice utterly devoid of emotion.
"Even if she happens to be his dvel-telsu."
When Dr. M'Umbha's trilling laughter finally stopped reverberating throughout the shuttle, he turned to her and said, "Thank you."
A/N: "Dvel-telsu" is a word I just made up - seconds ago - by joining "dvel" (choice, according to the Vulcan Language Dictionary) and "telsu" (bonded, same source. Ko-telsu is another word for "adun'a" as sa-telsu is another for "adun" which are wife and husband, respetively).
Disclaimer: I don't own any Star Trek characters or concepts, and I'm not a Wakufunzi woman.