7

'I am convinced that T'Ahnu did not commit or order the murders,' Spock said on his return.

T'Pring had left him at a point just down the road, standing just behind an overhanging shrub which obscured her from view. Spock thought these spy tactics a little absurd, but said nothing. T'Pring was obviously concerned about retaining respect in her profession, and he had no reason yet to let anyone know the name of the person he had been meeting.

Amanda was so pleased that he had come home having managed perfectly well on his journey that she didn't mention the worry she had felt. At the moment Spock was sitting at the kitchen table while she made real coffee, the old-fashioned way, and she was just glad to have him there.

'Can you be that sure?' Amanda asked from by the worksurface, unconvinced. 'Did she have some proof?'

'She has shown me no concrete proof. But whatever her prejudices may be, T'Ahnu seems dedicated to eradicating violence and crime on Vulcan. She assured me that she would not commit such a crime, and I believe her word.'

'Spock, if she did order the murders, she wouldn't be beyond a lie,' his mother pointed out.

'I sensed no deception. Of course I can never be a hundred percent sure, but if I required such a level of proof almost everyone would be under suspicion. She also tried to help with the investigation - she went through every member of the opposing side, and those others in the academy who do not like aliens, and listed their characters and motivations. It was most interesting.'

'I hope it helps,' Amanda said. She hesitated a moment, then came to sit next to him at the table. 'Spock - ' she began

'Yes, mother?'

'Spock, I don't want to tell you not to go out alone. I *can't* tell you not to, I know that. But - ' She took his hand and put something small and oblong into it. Spock ran his fingers over it, feeling its smooth plastic surface and rubberised buttons on the face. 'Could you at least take this cell-com with you? Just so you can call anyone if you need to.'

Spock sat silently for a moment, considering the logic of the suggestion. It wasn't as if it was unusual to carry such a device. Most people owned a cell-com, and he was used to carrying his communicator when on ship business. 'Is it adapted for a sightless user?'

'It's not. It's an old one of mine. But I thought if I set it to basic use and take you through the controls you could at least use it to dial out and receive calls.'

He nodded, putting the cell-com back on the table. 'If you instruct me in its use I will carry it with me when I leave the house,' he told his mother. 'It is logical for you to be able to contact me in the event of an emergency.'

'Thank you, Spock,' she said warmly, standing up. She kissed him before he could protest on the top of his head, then went back to the worksurface to carry on with the coffee. 'Oh, the Enterprise called while you were out, Spock, and – '

She broke off at the soft chime of the doorbell, then pulled some more mugs out of the cupboard above her.

'Can you get that, Spock? I'll finish off these drinks.'

'Of course, mother,' he nodded, pushing back his chair. He made his way through the hall, and opened the door cautiously. He felt naturally suspicious after the recent events, and unwilling to open the door widely to a caller he could not see.

'Well, goodday, Spock,' a warm southern accent greeted him before he could speak. A hand reached forward and clenched at his shoulder, and Spock became aware of a face very close to his. 'How you treatin' those eyes?'

'Dr McCoy, you have been drinking,' Spock said by way of greeting, stepping back from his hand. He indicated the hallway behind him. 'Come in Captain, Doctor. I am somewhat surprised at my mother's forethought, but she is making coffee. I believe the doctor needs some.'

'Good to see you, Spock,' Kirk said, stepping up to touch his arm. 'And I don't think Bones is that drunk - it just took a while at immigration, so he tided himself over with the replicator at the transporter station.'

'The transporter station?' Spock questioned him, leading their way into the kitchen.

'I had to set up those beds in your room after all, Spock,' his mother said as they entered. 'I was beginning to say before, that all open transports have been prohibited after what happened yesterday, so - '

'We thought it would be easier to stay down here,' Kirk said, taking the seat and cup of hot coffee offered to him, 'rather than go through that rigmarole every time we wanted to beam down. Amanda kindly offered us a bed - in your room, if you don't mind.'

'I see,' Spock said, turning his head towards the faint smell of alcohol that McCoy released every time he breathed. 'Do you have luggage, Captain?'

'In the hall,' Kirk said. 'Don't worry about it for now.'

But Spock had already got to his feet and gone into the hall, pondering on how many days he would be able to stand of having McCoy in the room when he went to sleep, and McCoy still in the room when he woke up.

******

Amanda left the two Starfleet men in her kitchen while she went after Spock to set up the beds in his room. It seemed best to do that with him around, to arrange things to suit him best. McCoy watched her leave with his hands cupped around his mug of coffee, then returned his gaze to the dark liquid. He had expected to be too hot to drink it, but he felt almost chilled after the heat outside. It amazed him how cool this house was inside, without the aid of fans or ventilation systems, and with the full force of the Vulcan sun beating down on the roof tiles. He looked up to meet Kirk's eyes.

'I think I scared him, Jim,' he smiled.

'I think *I'm* scared,' Kirk grinned back. 'The thought of mediating between you too, breaking up pillow fights... It'll be just like summer camp, Bones.'

'You think Spock ever went to summer camp?'

'Maybe, if it involved extra interstellar-physics and logic training. Can't you imagine him, sleeping in a dormitory with ten other boys and a toy sehlat?'

McCoy chuckled softly, then carried on drinking his coffee in silence. Despite the desperate seriousness of their errand on Vulcan, the first couple of hours on an alien planet like this always felt like something approaching a holiday, and he intended to start what he had begun at the transporter station, and relax. He downed the dregs, then went to the open kitchen door.

'Going somewhere?' Kirk asked.

'Just lookin' - care to come?'

Kirk followed him out into the hall, tracing a hand along the cool plasterwork of the wall.

'I never expected Spock's home to be quite this grand,' he admitted, eyeing the sparse but expensively tasteful ornamentation around them. 'I forget about Sarek's status. I guess he's on a good salary.'

'Jim, would you look at this,' McCoy whistled softly, glancing in through a door in the hallway. The room was dark, warm, and lined with books. Too big to be called a study, it was more like a library-cum-music room. There was a lyre on a stand nearby, much like Spock's, and sitting in the middle of the space was a grand piano, with sheet music lying on the closed lid. McCoy slipped in through the door and walked up to the piano. It was made of walnut wood, and polished to such a sheen that there seemed to be a millimetre-thick transparent layer above the swirls and grain of the wood. As he pulled the stool out and opened the lid over the keys, Jim laughed softly.

'You're not going to pretend an old country doctor like you can play a grand piano?' he asked.

McCoy picked up the music, shook it out, and placed it on the rack under the lid. He studied it for a second, but it was like a foreign language to him.

'Not me, Jim - unless you mean Chopsticks? Always was good with the kazoo, though.'

Kirk laughed. 'You think Sarek can play?' he wondered, coming to look over McCoy's shoulder as he gingerly let one finger down on a pristine key.

'The piano is my mother's,' said a deep, resonant voice from the door, and Jim looked over his shoulder to see Spock standing in the doorway, with that disconcerting look where he seemed to have his ears more directed to his friends than his face. 'She taught Sarek to play.'

'Go on then, Spock - give us a tune,' McCoy said, running a hand lightly over keys that yielded easily under the pressure. 'I know you can.'

Spock came forward into the room, and waited for McCoy to vacate the seat. As the doctor moved aside, he seated himself, and let his fingers rest onto the cool mock-ivory of the keys, reminding himself of the feel of the instrument after so long at the Vulcan lyre. The familiarity of it reassured him that blindness would pose no problems here.

'What would you have me play, Doctor?' he asked, half-playfully. 'Although you may find my repertoire restrictive.'

'Why, Spock, I thought you could play anything, just like that,' McCoy needled him.

'I used to sight-read,' Spock said rather reprovingly. 'Unfortunately I am constrained to memory.'

'Well - what you like, then,' McCoy said, half-apologetically.

Spock rested his hands over the keys, and closed his eyes. Kirk guessed that he was looking back into his vast eidetic memory, perhaps seeking out a glimpse of sheet-music he had played from once. Then he began to play, fingers slipping from key to key without hesitation.

It was like - something Kirk couldn't describe. Wind in the trees, perhaps, or a forest stream. No. That was too twee. It was just beautiful music, that made him want to sit down in one of the deep armchairs in here, close his eyes, and sink himself into the sound. Then McCoy amazed him by saying;

'Chopin.'

'The Nocturne in B Flat Minor,' Spock nodded, continuing to play. 'My mother likes to hear it played, which is why I remember it better than most. Jim, could you close the door?' he asked.

Kirk moved across the room to push the heavy door shut, realising that this room must be almost soundproof to those outside.

'What is it, Spock?' he asked, coming back to stand behind his shoulder.

Spock did not cease playing. 'I have not told you everything that has happened here. We have had another break in, last night – '

'Your mother told me on the comm earlier,' Kirk nodded. 'Hence the new cane.'

Spock nodded. 'The second thing is confidential, however. I am already breaking a confidence by speaking of it to you. I need your assurance that you will not break it in turn.'

'Of course we won't,' Kirk told him. 'Bones?'

'Scout's honour,' McCoy nodded. 'Or surgeon's, if you'd prefer.'

'Scout's will do,' Spock said. 'Although I cannot imagine that you ever were one, McCoy. I was contacted just previous to the murders by a teacher from the academy, who was concerned about events surrounding the talks. She believed violence would occur - and was proved right.'

'So why all the mystery about her, Spock?' McCoy asked. 'She thought something, she was right.'

'She was doing what you would term - following a hunch,' Spock said rather uncomfortably. 'She feared it would jeopardise her reputation in the academy. Perhaps she also did not wish it to be known publicly that she had been contacted by someone assuming she would violently oppose non-Vulcan entry to the academy herself. I hasten to add she holds no such view - although I have attempted to persuade her to act the part of an oppositionist, to tempt further contact.'

'And why the secrecy around her identity, Spock?' Kirk asked rather impatiently. 'You've told us everything else.'

Spock stayed silent as his fingers pressed out the final tapering notes of the piece he was playing. He allowed the resonance to die away, then turned towards the captain on the stool.

'I believe you know her, Captain. You too, Doctor. Her name is T'Pring.'

There was a moment of stunned silence, then McCoy broke it.

'Spock, you can't be serious. That cold, calculating, devious b-'

'She was almost my wife, Doctor,' Spock cut across him.

'Spock, you can't feel for her, after what she did?' Kirk asked incredulously.

'I do not feel for her, in the way that you suggest,' Spock replied, aware that he was verging into complicated territory. 'However, I do not hate her, either. I was bonded to her. I could not live with her, but I do find her an intriguing companion. On the surface, at least, Sarek's choice of our bonding was a correct one.'

'But T'Pring,' McCoy groaned.

'Doctor, I am not suggesting that I wish to be wed to the woman,' Spock said in exasperation. 'I am merely saying that I do not find her company as trying as I had expected it to be. Personal relationships aside, she is our best link to finding out who killed two people in this house last night. I tell you her name only because I believe it best you know all the facts of the situation, Captain. At some point, I shall have to introduce her to you. We need her help.'

'That may be true. But, do you think she'd be willing, Spock?'

'She has made it clear that she is quite *un*willing to involve herself. I believe it will necessitate a certain amount of persuasion. I believe that persuasion would be best performed by me alone. I have already betrayed her trust, but I believe she will be more easily persuaded before she realises that.'

'So, what are you gonna do, Spock?' McCoy asked. 'Turn on the charm, dim the lights...?'

'She is married to Stonn, Doctor,' Spock retorted with a degree of asperity. 'Would you use such measures as adultery to elicit the help of your ex-wife?'

He turned back to face the piano again and steepled his fingers before his face, appearing to gaze at the arch they made.

'I simply have to persuade her logically,' he said finally. 'She has already shown a disposition to help by contacting me.'

He returned his fingers to the piano keys, and began to play a piece Kirk recognised - what they had thought to be an undiscovered Brahms manuscript in the house of a man named Flint, that had turned out to be both by Brahms and Flint, they being one and the same man. It brought an indistinct feeling of happiness to him, mingled with an odd sadness. He remembered dancing with a beautiful woman to that music, but found an odd blank in his mind when he tried to remember anything about her. As if Spock had suddenly realised what the playing might mean to Kirk, he stopped mid-bar, and slipped back into another nocturne by Chopin.

'Perhaps we should go see T'Pring together,' Kirk suggested, shaking off the odd feelings provoked by the previous tune. 'She might respond to a little Starfleet pressure.'

'I find that highly unlikely,' Spock said wryly. 'I thought I might attempt a tactic of which undoubtedly McCoy would approve. I have considered inviting her to dine with me.'

The muffled 'hurrumph' from the corner indicated that McCoy did not approve.

'That might not be so good if you don't want to be overheard,' Kirk said doubtfully. 'Have you considered - a walk in the park, maybe? We could even be there, out of sight, just in case you need us. Especially after recent events…'

Spock hesitated for a moment, and there was no sound in the room but the piano. He realised that in his human way, Kirk wanted to be actively involved now he was here - and he could see no real harm in his presence, as long as T'Pring did not catch sight of him. She would surely remember his face, as the man she had virtually condemned to death during Spock's failed marriage ceremony. He was becoming weary of this constant need of his companions to protect him – but perhaps Jim – and T'Pring - were right. In the current climate, a pair of sighted eyes was a bonus.

'I do not need accompaniment for such a meeting, sir,' he said firmly. 'However, if I can persuade her to accept your involvement, your presence could be useful later. I have attempted to persuade T'Pring to agree to a meeting if she were contacted again by the oppositionists. She was reluctant to expose herself to danger, and pointed out quite astutely that I could not act the part of guard to her meeting. If she accepted your knowledge of her position, you could perhaps act this part.'

At that moment the door opened almost silently, and Kirk looked up to see the dignified figure of Sarek standing in the light from the hall. There was a slight falter in Spock's playing, as if he was considering whether or not to stop - but then he continued.

'Spock, you are back,' Sarek acknowledged him. 'Captain Kirk, Dr McCoy, welcome to my home.'

With the pleasantries over, he crossed the room to the piano, to face his son.

'Spock, I have had a fascinating afternoon at the academy. The analysts there have determined that the intruder in your room was a female - probably skilled at sabotage and breaking and entry, since no one in the house woke as your belongings were being destroyed. But they still cannot identify that female - or the human murderers. Every Vulcan criminal that fits the criteria is either incarcerated, or reformed and living a productive life.'

'Hmm,' Spock nodded. 'And I do not believe that T'Ahnu had a part in the crimes. So it seems that we have found out mostly negative information. Perhaps you could find out more with instruments from the ship, Jim?' he asked, angling his head toward Kirk.

'Well, I could certainly have someone beam down and do a scan of your room...'

Sarek stepped forward silently, the movement only perceptible by his intake of breath. 'A word, my son.'

As Spock got to his feet, Kirk moved to him and touched him on the arm, saying, 'We'll go sort our luggage out, Spock.'

Spock waited until they had left the room, then turned to his father.

'Sarek,' he nodded, as an invitation to speak.

'Your relationship with these humans, Spock,' Sarek began. 'It is – close?'

Spock waited for a moment, then nodded silently. 'Yes, it is close.'

He reflected that Sarek had never really seen his interaction with the humans around him. On the journey to Babel Spock even admitted to himself that he had been doing what McCoy would call *pulling the Super-Vulcan routine*, and after that Sarek had been mainly hospitalised. Sarek would assume his relationship with his shipmates was that of any other Vulcan around humans - totally reserved and unremittingly professional.

'But Kirk, for example, is your superior - your commanding officer, and yet you use a familiar diminutive to refer to him rather than his rank and surname. Respect for his rank alone dictates – '

'He is my friend,' Spock interrupted quietly. 'In certain circumstances respect can be alloyed with familiarity.'

'I fear that you interact too closely with those who are neither of your family nor even your species. Your blindness may make you feel the need to depend on such closeness, but – '

'Sarek, am I to understand this as a criticism on my choice of friends?' Spock asked, raising an eyebrow curiously. Somehow he found it easier to stand up to his father when he could not meet his eyes, despite the almost overwhelming family mental link he could still feel.

'If you depend on human friends, Spock, you will be let down.'

'Sarek, Kirk has been at my side from the moment I lost my sight. He has been just as close to me for many years prior to the accident. I do not believe I would still be in Starfleet if he and McCoy had not been there during my rehabilitation.'

'I had thought that your sight loss may make you reconsider the wisdom of your chosen career,' Sarek said darkly.

'I have never doubted the wisdom of my chosen career – any more than I have doubted the wisdom of my choice in friends. There are some things I still cannot do without help, and I am grateful that the Captain is ready to give me that help at any moment.'

'Then I am to understand that you allow these human 'friends' a greater intimacy than you allow your own family?'

Without even giving time to consider the question, Spock inclined his head. 'Yes, Sarek - I believe that they have earned that right.'

He stepped back to the piano to close the lid silently and stow the stool back in its place.

'If you will excuse me,' he said smoothly, moving deftly around his father and towards the door. He misjudged a little and found the shelves instead, but simply moved sideways with a hand on the shelves until the soft book spines ran out and his fingers brushed over the wooden door panels. He left Sarek in the library, and went to his room. He could hear the shufflings and murmurs of Kirk and McCoy inside as they sorted their belongings, and entered the room cautiously, unsure of what may be in front of him. Their beds were arranged unobtrusively against the far wall, but he could not control what they had done to the room since. As his toe touched something soft on the floor he pursed his lips tightly, stifling a sigh.

'Doctor, Captain,' he said by way of greeting. 'Could someone assist me through this – '

'This mess?' McCoy asked him warmly, looking up from his case at Spock's tense-looking expression. 'Sorry, Spock - didn't realise you'd be finished with your father so soon.'

Kirk came across the room, kicking soft piles of McCoy's clothing out of his path as he came, giving the doctor a silent glare. He touched Spock's elbow with a hand.

'Come over here and sit down while we clean up, Spock,' he said, leading the tentative Vulcan through the room to the swivel chair by his desk.

Spock sank down onto the chair and sat with his hands folded in his lap, something akin to worry etched into his face.

'Captain, I am not sure if this situation will be equitable,' he said finally. 'I rely on order, at least in my own room.'

'We'll be ordered, Spock - I promise,' McCoy reassured him, scooping clothes up from the floor and onto his bed.

Spock parted his lips, wondering how to articulate his need for this calm, quiet space to retreat to where the placement of objects could be relied upon - but his concern remained unspoken.

'Very well, Doctor,' he nodded finally. 'We will see. But, Captain, could you – keep an eye on the place for me?'

'Of course. It'll be fine, Spock,' he reassured him. 'I know we humans seem careless sometimes, but we know how important it is to you that things are in their places. How about we make sure we restrict our belongings to no more than two feet out from our beds?'

'That would be equitable,' Spock nodded.

'Good. What did Sarek have to say to you – if I'm not intruding?'

Spock considered, but there seemed little value in hiding Sarek's prejudice from the captain – it would be evident enough in their time here.

'My father is unsure of the benefit of friendship with humans,' he said diplomatically.

'Really?' McCoy asked sardonically. 'And what does your mother think about that, Spock?'

Spock didn't attempt to work out that problem in logic. There was much about his father's attitudes and views towards others that didn't match up to his own personal life.