Ice and Fire

Chapter 9: Signs and Portents

Mike met her outside her cabin door, a smile of unmistakeable pleasure and welcome brightening his face.

"So, he didn't eat you, after all!" He held out his hands, so that it seemed perfectly natural to clasp both of them and smile back up at him.

"Worse." She declared, her knees still knocking from the experience. "He offered me krayla and tsa'e – which, though Sarek compared the two, is nothing like cake and coffee!"

"No, they're not." Mike laughed softly, "Then again, tsa'e does grow on you - after a while."

"Maybe, I'll have to take your word for it." She shook her head and made a wry face at him. "I only had two tiny bowls of the stuff but I think I'm going to have the hangover of all hangovers tomorrow."

"Uh-huh. That's for sure."

"Sarek's scheduled another lesson, but at least he confirmed my inclusion to the team." She stopped to take a breath and found she was still holding both of Mike's hands. "Now, I don't know whether to be relieved or terrified."

"If we're still talking about Sarek, maybe a little of both." His eyes twinkled. "He's a Vulcan after all. But he's on our side, which is a big plus for me. How about you?"

"I'm not sure." She wrinkled her nose. "But however we regard him, I doubt Kula'at Sarek cares either way."

His eyes widened in appreciation at her use of Vulcan, "Hey, not only do you look the part, but you parley the language too – and with an accent, no less. Those tapes the prof. gave you must be something special. But your hard work deserves a reward. Are you hungry?"

"Ravenous." She confirmed with unreserved enthusiasm, her stomach rumbling once more.

"Glad to hear it because there is a sumptuous repast in my cabin just waiting to be consumed by two hungry Humans." He inclined his head in an almost perfect imitation of their Vulcan hosts, and then grinned with ironic good humour. "Come on, T'sai Grayson. We have to fatten you up so that Sarek has something to bite into when he sees you again."

Mike proved an affable and amusing companion. They swapped stories of their childhoods, people they had known, places they had been. He regaled her with tales of his boyhood spent in the Terran enclave on Vulcan, she of her schooldays in New York and her years at Barnard College.

They marvelled at each other's taste in food, music, and books, how both of them preferred the real, live paper variety instead of the electronic kind. And, of course, they talked about their mission, journeys end, and what it would mean to stay with a Vulcan family.

They also talked about Sarek! Mike questioned her more closely about the Vulcan diplomat's gift of clothing and sympathised over the way he had kept her waiting. He complimented the approach she had used and agreed that Sarek's behaviour had probably been a test. Of course, she told him about the revelation in respect of the Vulcan courtesy tongue, though for some reason she could not explain even to herself, she kept the fact of the mind-touch private. To her surprise, instead of the anger she might have expected at the disclosure, he laughed uproariously.

"We suspected something of the sort," he explained. "Of course, it's only since Sarek became the cultural attaché that we've been allowed access to Vulcan society at all, though it's interesting that he came clean about the language to you."

"Why would he do that?" She asked, "Why tell me and not you?"

He shrugged, "You'll be living with his family. Maybe that has something to do with it."

"You mean the lessons are a kind of insurance policy so that I won't embarrass him in front of his mother," she murmured dryly.

"It's a possibility. Rumour has it that T'Phra is T'Pau's daughter, and a chip off the old block." Mike's eyes gleamed. "Whatever the reason, I suppose we should be grateful. At least we now know there's a difference."

They continued to sit over the remains of the meal Mike had prepared far into the evening until with great reluctance he took her back to her own cabin. Again, he gently kissed her flushed cheek. With a contented smile, she left him, the faint citrus smell of his aftershave a reminder as she finally undressed, rolled out the bedding that was indeed hidden away in the lacquered chest, and completely exhausted, crawled beneath the covers.

Despite her fatigue, Amanda slept poorly. She tossed and turned on the unfamiliar dais while her mind grappled with the events of the day. When she finally managed to drop off into slumber, her dreams fell into the same restless pattern, seemingly full of strange portents and subconscious anxieties.

The Ti-Valka'ain language surged through her mind with its complexities of expression and structure. The sound of it resonated in her throat and rolled sonorously on her tongue, it droned in her ears, a swarm of humming bees. Bizarre fragments of previously unknown information, the strains of outlandish music, alien scenes of black mountains and red sands came and went, jostling for position. Sarek haunted her thoughts. Heat stole through her as she felt his fingertips caress her flesh once again, stretching in the katra vertex - as her new knowledge insisted the position was called - to encompass her brow, cheek and jaw. The delicious aroma of cinnamon surrounded her and with a soft moan of pure pleasure, she finally realised the scent belonged wholly to his hot skin.

She woke twice; the first time in need of something to ease tense throat muscles and quench a tsa'e-induced thirst increased further by the dry heat of her quarters. The need proved easily satisfied when she stumbled drowsily from the dais and ordered - in Ti-Valka'ain - a flask of water from the selector panel on the far wall. At least the computer understood her mangled syllables. It arrived within seconds ice-cold and pure, with a refreshingly, sweet taste that she found far preferable to the tangy heat of the Vulcan 'tea'.

The second disturbance came when her bladder insisted on being emptied an hour or two later. Not surprising, after she had imbibed both the first flask of water and half of another before settling back into sleep. Again, she rose, fumbled with the controls of the waste disposal unit, and finally got the recalcitrant contraption to open. However, by the time she had navigated the device, kept her balance, and seen to her physical comfort, any desire for further sleep had disappeared.

It was still very early in the ships diurnal cycle. A headache thumped behind her eyes in time to her beating heart. Her stomach also roiled queasily. A result of the tsa'e or of Sarek's mind-touch, or nervous tension at the thought of meeting him again, remained uncertain. Amanda had dated a few boys since she had learned there was more to them than 'snips, and snails, and puppy dog tails'. Her father, Charles, had encouraged her in the diversion, trusting her to use good judgement in her encounters. She had liked most of her beaus, appreciated a couple, but had yet to find one she could love. None of them had measured up to the enduring image of Charles. Mike Gorsky resembled Charles not only in looks, but also in personality. She had felt 'at home' with him almost instantly.

Sarek, on the other hand, was like no other male she had met before or could ever hope to meet in the future. He was truly alien, an unknown entity. She might not like to admit it, but while his natural authority and dominance frightened her more than a little, it also proved a powerful attraction. However much she might want to, she could not hide from his darkly dangerous gaze. In the briefness of the mind touch, he had witnessed her soul. His fire had ignited her blood. With that one single sizzling contact, intentional or not, she had become moth to his flame.

Still unable to sleep, she decided to arm herself in readiness for her appointment with him. It would not do to be late a second time.

After a leisurely sonic shower, she dressed carefully in another outfit she found concealed in her wardrobe, amused at Sarek's diligence. In all things except the colour, a tranquil forest green, it resembled the ensemble she had worn the day before. Amanda tamed her short curls in a neat chignon and following T'Shenra's example arranged the tasselled ch'ipau in exactly the same way. She used her cosmetics with a subtle hand, accentuating her lips and the azure of her eyes, camouflaging her pale cheeks. Thus prepared she left her cabin and sauntered through Insala's corridors towards Sarek's door. Head high and back straight, despite the nervous fluttering of her heart, she pressed his door buzzer and waited for him to answer the summons.

OOO0OOO