A Son of Surak
By
Pat Foley
Chapter 10
Returning to Council after his meeting with Longworth, Sarek discovered that in his absence a majority of Council had voted to demand a test of Spock's telepathic abilities as to detecting lematya. They had not committed to demanding that Spock actually pass such a test to all of Council's varied and different levels of satisfaction, whatever those might be. That would be next to impossible to argue to a conclusion. But a majority had determined they wanted to see this alleged ability demonstrated to a chosen representative group.
All of Council could not, in practicality, be present at such a demonstration. In the narrow peaks of the Llangons, vehicles were largely prohibited from landing. In addition, the presence of the entire Vulcan Council, their many minds and presences would inhibit both test and the predators alike. They agreed to have a subset of representatives monitor the test and report back to Council.
Having not been informed of the vote before it had taken place - it purposely occurring during his Alliance meeting with Longworth to prevent his shutting it down - and his control already taxed by that, Sarek's internal reaction to this news was incendiary, however his outward control appeared. But a short conference with his aides proved there was little he could do. He had been remiss, distracted by the Starfleet meeting, not to have dealt definitively with this issue before it had come to this. Nevertheless, his aides felt his displeasure.
But now, Sarek reflected that Spock had been sealed to Council as his heir by his own hand. Spock belonged as much to Council, in such things, as to himself. Such an heirship was not a solely hereditary or inevitable position. It was considered as much meritocracy as hereditary in nature. Sarek could present an heir. But the Council needed to confirm his acceptance. That was by no means one sided.
Council had the right to demand tests of their future leader, to prove his legitimacy and capability. The ancient test of Kahs Wan was one still demanded largely only of the future heads of clans. And in Surak's line, the requirement was further imposed that it had to be passed on the first trial.1 And there were other tests: academic, psionic, control that were imposed solely on the heir to Surak.
Spock had navigated past all those milestones successfully, to Sarek's intense relief, and, in some deep part of himself, near astonishment. With Spock's graduation to the Science Academy, Sarek had thought them through this dangerous phase of Spock's acceptance into his role in Vulcan society, for there were no other traditional tests, save that of marriage and producing an heir.
But Council had a right to set further tests. Sarek could argue Spock's being deposed from his position as heir should he be found to fail a test that had never been required of any past heir to Surak. This one in particular Sarek himself could not pass. Still, Sarek was powerless to prevent Council from requiring such tests as they would. However unprecedented the test, he knew their right to set it was inviolate.
However remiss he believed himself at letting such a vote be held, it was, unfortunately the one type of vote in which his absence was not only allowed but prescribed. There was nothing he could do now but prepare Spock as best he could, and set the time and place. That much, as parent, he believed he had a right to control. So he intended to inform Council, when they convened the next day.
xxx
Amanda had learned to read her Vulcan husband very well. She knew him abstracted and remote with some problem. She knew him relaxed and engaged, even playful, with her. And when times were good, even to be so with Spock. And she knew him when he had been taxed near past his Vulcan controls. When that state had been reached, she did her best to stay out of his way until he had meditated his way back to Vulcan calm. Except when it involved Spock. Then she had sometimes to act as her son's last line of defense. But such defense in her was minor compared to the fury of a scorned Vulcan father.
"You're rather late-" she stopped seeing the set mouth and flashing eyes of her oh-so-Vulcan husband. "What's wrong?"
"Is Spock home yet?"
"Yes," Amanda hesitated, eyeing her husband's stern visage. "Should I warn him to change his name and put himself up for adoption?"
"I am not amused, my wife."
"I can tell. You haven't had humor for much of anything lately. It's made you very tiresome," she tried a smile.
Sarek didn't respond to this opening by any relaxation of manner.
Amanda sighed. "No Vulcan, not even a son of Surak, should have to face so many aggravations. Look, why don't you sit down, have a cup of tea," and calm down, she thought, "And fill me in. What's taxed your temper? It can't be Spock. Is it Council? The Alliance? The Federation? Starfleet?"
Sarek did a virtual double take, staring at her, realizing she didn't know about any of this, beyond Spock's initial saving of Suchon and his spread of that tale, limited only to the rescue, not the latest controversy about Spock's telepathic claims.
And Sarek had in fact never quite explained to her the nature of Spock's relationship with Council. She had taken Spock's acceptance by them as a given since he'd been sealed at three. He didn't think she quite understood the conditional nature of it, apart from Spock's necessary mastery of the Disciplines, something she knew was required of every adult Vulcan. And his passing the Kahs Wan. That survival test had stressed the bonds of his marriage quite enough. She'd been furious that Vulcan custom had demanded any risk to the life of the child she'd risked her life to bear. While their arguments had never quite come to that, Sarek had been aware she'd come close to threatening to take Spock and leave. Her human acceptance of obligatory Vulcan customs had been taxed so much that he preferred to spare her those of which she didn't need to directly concern herself. Even, perhaps especially, where they involved her son.
"Sarek?" she asked, alarmed.
"Where is Spock?"
"I suppose he's studying." She regarded him worriedly. "Sarek, what can it be? I saw Spock today at the Academy, just this afternoon. He's been in class since you last saw him this morning. So he couldn't have done anything wrong. He was fine when I saw him at the Academy. He was even eating, so he couldn't have been -"
"You had lunch with him?" Sarek asked, frowning, imagining how Spock's image might be affected by close association with his human mother in a place where Sarek hoped his Vulcan image would be solidified.
"Not lunch. And not with me," she said, her eyes flashing. "Do you really believe-?" she scaled down her own anger at Sarek's implication. Now when he was upset was no time to make things worse. "He was in the faculty lounge this afternoon." At Sarek's raised brow, she added with some heat, "With another faculty member – a relative of yours, if I remember him right. Sofet, I think his name was." She turned to prepare pot and leaves for tea and calm her own temper. Before she threw a dishtowel at him.
"He is not on the physics faculty. Why was Spock meeting with him?" Sarek asked suspiciously.
Concentrating on her preparations, Amanda bit her lip, wondering if her husband knew how much control humans sometimes had to practice, around Vulcans. "I didn't ask. I didn't talk to them. I had thought that I might go over, once I noticed them, just to say hello. But then they finished and left before I could." She poured him a cup of tea. "I heard Sofet mention he had to get to some vote at Council as they were walking out the door."
Sarek's eyes flashed. That vote had been the one on Spock. He wondered what Sofet had spoken to his son about and to what motive. He had not thought of Sofet as being involved in any way with Spock personally. If he had known of it, he would have not considered him ill disposed to him. But ill disposed or not, Sofet had neither reason nor right to bring this subject up with his son. His temper flared anew.
Amanda brought the tea and cups to the table. "Sarek, Vulcan control aside, you are looking positively feral. You are scaring me. And I thought Sofet was a friend of yours?"
"He has no business with Spock at all."
Amanda put the teapot down on the table with a thump. "Sarek, I wish you wouldn't be so controlling over whom Spock sees and why. I thought with him going to the Academy he was past all that now."
"How can you believe that, when this issue with Suchon has created such a controversy?"
"What do you mean?" Amanda asked, puzzled. "Spock saved Suchon. That can't be all that much of a controversy."
Sarek rose abruptly, doubly unwilling to explain Spock's perhaps questionable claims to his mother. "When Spock comes down from his studies, tell him I wish to see him." Sarek went out the garden court door to his office across the way.
"What's he done wrong now?" Amanda called after him to her husband's departing back. But he didn't turn. And she suddenly didn't want to know any more.
"Just great," she muttered. She sank down, and in lieu of Sarek, drank the tea herself. "It never rains on Vulcan. But it pours."
Neither of them were aware that their son, paused on the stairs outside the kitchen, had heard Sarek's parting words. After a moment, he disappeared upstairs.
She started dinner then went to the media center, reluctant to be used as Sarek's dark messenger. If Sarek wanted him, he could go upstairs and seek him out himself.
It was by mere chance that she came across Spock when she returned to check on dinner. He was dressed in a desert sandsuit and boots, and dropping a couple of cereal bars into a light knapsack.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"As you see. I am going out."
"I grounded you."
"I have stayed home the length of time you demanded."
"You haven't exactly gained much weight either."
Staring at her, Spock pointedly took a third cereal bar and dropped it into his knapsack.
Amanda set her mouth at that. "Well, you can't go yet. Your father wants to see you," she told him.
Spock's brows dropped into thunderclouds in a near imitation of his father's feral look. "I have not done anything to merit discipline. Or a lecture. Or continued behavioral restrictions."
"Don't shoot the messenger. I don't know anything about it," Amanda said, and then sighed. "Spock, I do wish you'd stay for dinner. It will be ready soon. If you insist on going on a hike, can't you delay it for an hour?"
Stepping around her, Spock snatched an orange from the bowl on the table as he passed by her. "I wish to meditate on the Forge."
"You are the worst child ever born," Amanda told him, taxed by both her Vulcans, taking out her flaring temper on her son. "I suppose given this is one of your precious traditions, I can't continue to stop you. But if you are skipping dinner, you had better be back for breakfast before going off to school. As your mother I have the right to demand you eat at least one balanced meal a day with some protein. I have some say over your upbringing," she claimed, following him in frustration as he headed for the same garden court door his father had walked out of. "At least until you are full grown."
Hastening out the door to escape her, Spock gave her a look that told her what he thought of that.
"You can't fight lematya bare handed on just fruit and cereal bars," she called after him. "And remember your father wants to see you before you go."
But when she looked out the garden side windows as she belatedly checked on the evening meal, she saw him walking out the main gate rather than crossing the garden court to Sarek's office wing. She realized, shocked, that rather than going to see his father, Spock had ignored her message and his father's summons and simply left. Leaving her to face Sarek alone.
"Oh, you brat," she said, with feeling.
xxx
She was uneasy about Spock not appearing at dinner, but when Sarek raised a brow at that empty place, she let him know she had seen Spock walking out the gate up to the Forge. Sarek let it go, assuming Spock had never seen his mother.
Sarek was equable about the omission and had not chosen to seek out his son right away for, as always, a logical reason. Upon meditation and reflection, Sarek considered the benefits of an interval would allow him time to regain control and perspective. Perhaps it left him somewhat delinquent as a parent in not choosing to inform Spock of the Council vote immediately. But a delay of a day could hardly be of any great import. He knew he could have intercepted Spock had he made certain of his receiving his message. A note to the guards at the Fortress gates would have sufficed.
But the gate guards had not been notified, and let him pass, as always. And Sarek was content, while he considered how to present this situation to his son.
Some hours after Spock had left, the guards also noted others climbing into the foothills, taking the trail that millennia ago Surak's clan blazed in defense of their lands. Every Shikahr dweller who intended to hike into the mountains, and not just travel the desert Forge or ramble in the lower foothills took that ancient trail head. After Suchon's accident, the guards had been tasked to more closely monitor the comings and goings of those who did. They recorded a group of Vulcan males in their late teens hiking past the Fortress up the trail, noted their somewhat grim aspect, somewhat at odds for most Vulcans, who hiked for the beauty and meditation afforded by the exercise. But theirs was not to wonder why. They recorded their number and their visages as they passed, and then dismissed them from their minds.
One other passed by the ancient check point the guards monitored, an elder Vulcan, eminent and known to them, one of the clan. They acknowledged his passage with a tacit salute. Sofet paused to ask a question, received an answer, and then moved on. The question also gave them some pause. But speculation, however tempting, and any acting upon it was outside the realm of their duties. They turned their gazes to note Sofet's passage up the side of the mountain, but when he disappeared, soon put him from their mind as well.
Of all those concerned with him tonight, Spock thought little of any of them, or considered that he was in their thoughts either. Of Sarek, he thought the most, an uneasy niggle at the back of his mind that payment would be due for ignoring his father's order. But he didn't regret his disobedience. He'd suffered staying home a requisite number of days. After today's disquieting attack, he'd been longing to escape to the hills and meditate. He had certainly not been in the mood to be chastised or lectured about that incident at the Academy. If Sarek chose to blame him for it, and Spock supposed that word had gotten around to him, such things usually did make their way to his notice, Spock was not in a mood to quietly take it. Not without a period of mediation to prepare himself to sit through that injustice calmly.
To his mind, at least before he'd ignored his father's summons and walked out the door, he had done nothing to merit discipline. Now, if he was to receive discipline tomorrow, he would have justified the need for it by his disobedience. So he could accept it with an appropriately contrite frame of mind. If Sarek wanted to punish him then he would do something to merit that punishment. That seemed a fair enough trade to his adolescent mind. At his present stage of development, dependent upon his parents, subject to their discipline, he had little enough recourse otherwise.
He didn't fret about the discipline Sarek might mete out. He did worry, a little, about his Mother's reaction to his disobedience. He found her unpredictable. Telepathic discipline was unpleasant. But he had learned to handle it. His mother's wrath, however, was an entirely different thing and could manifest itself in many ways. But there was no help for that and no predicting her. She could entirely ignore his disobedience, as like to kiss him as to spank him. It had been some years since she had done the latter, but she often threatened it. He never really knew what to expect from her. When he was attempting or needed to be at his most Vulcan, that unpredictability in itself was most trying to him, and made him turn from her.
But in contrast to his very different parents, the mountains were clean of ambiguity, and constant. Survival was all that mattered, a survival he had been trained for, and found eminently possible with reasonable care. It contained no human/Vulcan conflict, no concern about pleasing and obeying two very disparate parents. When he was very much a child, he had been confused and at times despairing of the dilemma that meeting their contradictory requirements and needs had presented him. That, in part, had driven him to solace in the hills. Now he knew the task presented to him at his birth had been impossible. He no longer entirely castigated himself for failing it. He just preferred to stay out of their way. The mountains answered both needs.
That others came to his sanctuary bothered him not at all. He thought of them as he did the tourists that besieged his Fortress home, as a transient and easily avoided nuisance. The mountain pass had been free to all since Surak had brought the clans to peace. His clan monitored those who came through with lofty but distant regard, and only became involved if they got into trouble.
Having reached his retreat on the mountains, studying contentedly, he was aware of a rowdy groups' approach not at first by noise, but by a disturbance in the ambient, as much empathic as telepathic, as every creature on the Forge rose up and wondered at their odd behavior. Spock looked up from his computer pad, set aside his cup of tea, and came out of his sanctuary cave. He looked curiously out over the ridge to see what had roused the entire peak to alert status.
Virtually all travelers through the peaks placed a value on silence and stealthy travel, not only because one could hardly appreciate the natural elements by masking them with noise, but also because noise attracted predators. Most predators gave Vulcans a wide berth, unless they were very hungry, or they perceived the Vulcan was at a disadvantage, young, old, ill or injured. A noisy prey, one who didn't practice desert caution was presumably compromised. Thus noise attracted predators. But when Spock peered down the ridge at the noisemakers, he saw that there was Sindess, the young Vulcan who had attempted an altercation with him earlier. With him was also Stonn. Spock thought little of Stonn. Though of a high born family, he was …well, slow was the kindest way to put it. And too ready to fall in with any scheme put to him. The other Vulcan Spock did not know.
Spock could hear them clearly. They appeared to be arguing.
"How much higher—"
"I'm not attempting the pass-"
"It can't be that much further. Not more than a few hours hike from the Fortress. He won't be as high as the pass on the peak. Because he has to get there and back every evening and morning. That has to limit the places he can be."
Above, Spock's brows rose in wild surmise.
"I am not well trained in desert craft," Stonn said. "Are you sure you are tracking him?"
"I brought the sensor."
"It's been useless detecting him so far, between the shielding properties of these rocks, and all the echoes," the third Vulcan said.
"Once we get higher up, out of these foothills, it will work," Sindess said.
"The higher we go, the more danger from the lematya," Stonn said.
"But don't you know, Spock says he can pinpoint the lematya, even without sensors. So where he is, they won't be."
"So you say. I knew him as a child. I never heard him claim that," Stonn said.
"Suchon said-"
"You're basing all this on some elderly, no doubt senile, ascetic whose tale has gone to his head," the third Vulcan said.
Spock frowned and faded back among the rocks. What folly, he thought. Three individuals not familiar with the lay of the ground, trying to hunt one individual who is. And they are not even being quiet about it. But then a foreboding came over him. But why are they hunting me? Not for any good reason. His jaw set. In that moment he could not have been mistaken as a son of Sarek. He drew back but as he did, he heard one of the party below exclaim, looking at his device, "There he is. Beneath us!"
Spock frowned and leaned down, wondering if their device was truly as faulty as their logic. But then he saw a faint figure below.
"We'll wait for him, hidden, here and here," Sindess said. "And then we'll ambush him. Teach that so-called Son of Surak a lesson."
"I thought we were just going to get him to prove he can find the lematya without a sensor device," the third said. "And our sensor was to prove it. You told me-"
"We'll do that too. After. If he's up to it. Come on, get in position!"
Spock looked down the mountain at the foreshortened hiker, walking innocent and unsuspecting into ambush. Spock calculated, based on his speed, he had perhaps fifteen minutes to head him off. He faded back from the overhang and headed down an intersecting back trail.
It was unfortunate that this trail intersected the den of a lematya pair. But as Spock came down near their den, he sensed they were moving up higher on the mountain, no doubt to hunt. He held his breath, barriered his shields to make himself as psionically invisible as possible, and moved as quietly as he could through that section of trail. Then, free of those obstacles, he poured on the speed, slipping and sliding a bit, coming down hard on the rocks once in an effort to meet the hiker before he missed him at the intersection of the two trails. Rounding the corner of the side trail to intercept him, he came face to face with the potential victim and nearly gasped. "Sofet!"
"Spock." Sofet raised a brow in mild surprise at Spock's manner, somewhat out of character for a meditative hike, but he nodded agreeably. "I too felt the need for mediation tonight. No doubt for the same reason. Perhaps we might-"
"You mustn't go further."
Sofet turned. "Why not?"
"There is a group of three Vulcans -one of them is Sindess – on the trail above. They intend violence. You are walking into an ambush."
"Violence?" Sofet raised a brow. "But the issue is settled. He has been removed from the Academy."
"It is not intended against you. They have mistaken your presence for my own. I was above them on the trail. I heard their plans when they mistook you for me. They are waiting above. You must leave-"
Sofet was silent for a moment, staring intently up at the peak and then nodded. "Yes. I am not an exceptional telepath. But there is no mistaking that ambient is for violence. Well, we will leave them to wait in vain. Let us go down."
Spock stepped back. "But I have no need to return. I know the terrain well. I can easily avoid them. I merely wished to warn you before you encountered them."
Sofet raised his brows. "Spock, I have no doubt you could avoid them. But is it wise to take any risk? You are one and they are three." Seeing the young Vulcan unconvinced, Sofet fixed him with an unblinking stare. "You are the only heir to Surak. How could I face Sarek, if harm came to you? You must spare me that. And consider the legitimate concern I have for your welfare. Returning now with me is logical on a number of levels."
Spock still held back, thinking of the cave he had so abruptly left on the mountain, thinking of his homework, the compad still open to an unfinished equation, thinking of Sarek at home, and his own disregard of his father's order. "My schoolwork is above—"
"I will speak to your tutor and see that you are not penalized if you are behind this once in your work."
"I don't wish to go home," Spock said unthinking. And then was appalled at his candor.
Sofet raised a brow. "Indeed."
Spock hung his head. "I should not have spoken to you of it."
"You should speak to someone. You are yet a child, and in need of guidance. But Spock, you must make peace with your father. His regard of you is not as you believe."
Spock's mouth set, clearly disbelieving this. But his shoulders dropped in capitulation. "Very well. If I must." They turned to go down, and proceeded in silence for a time, their progress measured. Spock was pacing himself for the elder and not eager to face Sarek. Then there was a sudden roar of a lematya, followed by a chorus of screams from above.
"They are being attacked!" Spock said.
"Lematya," said Sofet, staring gravely in the direction of the cries.
"I knew there was a pride of them heading up the mountain to hunt," Spock fretted. "But I had thought them hunting their regular prey. I had not considered that this group-" he turned in the direction of the screams.
"If they consider them without normal caution or defenses," Sofet began.
"Yes. Of course. We should go back at once," Spock said.
"Hold, Spock. We cannot reach them in time."
"We must try," Spock said. "I have anti-venom, in a cave just above-"
"I have a better solution," Sofet said, and pulled out a device. Spock wondered if the elder Vulcan had actually carried a weapon into a wildlife preserve, and what good it could possibly do so far away, but then he breathed out in relief. It was only a communications device.
Sofet called the Guard, describing the situation in a few succinct sentences, giving coordinates, and suggesting the guardsmen be accompanied by a medical team with lematya anti-venom.
They then hurried up the mountain, determined to render what aide they could. But they could see the guard passing overhead in special mountain engineered aircars, designed for the tight passes. A healer emblazoned vehicle appeared overhead not long afterward. The lematya fled before these reinforcements with no need for them to be fought or stunned.
"By the time we arrive," Sofet said, as they hastened upwards, "our efforts in this climb will be for naught."
"It was, in part, my fault," Spock confessed to Sofet, fully expecting that to be ultimately Sarek's judgment, anticipating Sarek's logic in advance and knowing where he was likely to place blame. "I knew the lematya were heading up trail. But I thought they were hunting real game." He sounded a little defensive, even to himself. At Sofet's raised brow, he struggled to regain control. "I should have warned them-"
"That these delinquents were the game," Sofet said, with grim humor. "They would have attacked you."
"Perhaps. But if they should die, for a childish aggression-"
"They will receive prompt attention.
Spock said nothing.
"How is it the lematya did not take you out first? You were closer, smaller, alone, and fleeing. Altogether a much more tempting prey."
Spock raised his brows. "I know better than to be caught by lematya," Spock said, marginally offended. "This group appears unfamiliar with desert craft." He considered that doubtfully in comparison with his own familiarity. "Or at least not facile at it. As for me, these are our lands. I know them well. And this group was making a great deal of noise at first. That may be what set the lematya on the move, thinking them compromised."
Sofet gave him a sharp glance. "You knew where the creatures were?"
"Of course, I know where they den," Spock said, avoiding the implication, tiring of answering for Suchon's assertions. "As much time as I spend on the passes, I have mapped the dens and hunting territories."
"That wasn't my question."
Spock gave him a look that refused to answer to what was already known. Sofet tipped a satisfied brow.
"I was not thinking about lematya then," Spock pondered as they moved up the trail as fast as caution warranted. "I was concerned about foiling the ambush plan. I did not know it was you. But regardless of the target, no one else should have to -" Spock stopped abruptly.
"Face the kind of harassment that you have?" Sofet asked.
"It is very rare, now," Spock said. Finally arriving back at the scene, Spock and Sofet discovered that Stonn and Sindess had taken venom, but Sofet's prompt summons of aid had saved their lives. The third Vulcan had fled, apparently unharmed, before the lematya had appeared. The guard went after and soon apprehended him for questioning. With the guard and the healers busy, the cliff top had been transformed from a place of contemplative refuge to a bee hive of activity, but Spock was stressed considering the possibility of two lives being lost, if he had been the cause, however inadvertently.
And then he looked up and saw Sarek alighting from an aircar, joining his guardsmen. Spock took a half step back, feeling sick. Then he stood firm, his shoulders setting. But he swallowed hard, dreading this meeting, perhaps even being disciplined before Sofet.
Sofet had tilted his head, the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. "Well, perhaps a stint of remedial discipline will be a deterrent to any future attempts," Sofet said.
"I-"Spock began shocked, thinking of Sarek and then realizing that Sofet was speaking of the others, he said, slowly, "I hope that this situation too can be considered closed. After all, nothing of their intended actions actually occurred."
"The intent was criminal," Sofet's voice was hard. "There will have to be a hearing."
"From what I understand of the matter, according to what the guards relayed to me when I dispatched them," Sarek said, coming up to Sofet, "I quite agree."
Spock's stomach churned. He thought of Sarek's dislike of such a public event, with himself involved. He remembered his disobedience, in disregarding his Mother and her relayed order to attend Sarek. Inadvertently, he looked up the ridge to his cave, thinking of it so secure and calm, with his work there, the cup of tea he had left cooling on the desk. And he longed to be there.
Having seen to the worst of the injured, the healers came over to report to Sarek and ascertain if anything else was required. They now eyed Sofet and Spock, both dusty and trail bedraggled from their hurried trip up the trail. Spock had a long gash on his arm from his former slide down some loose rock to warn Sofet. He submitted to having it cleaned and bandaged by one of the healers associated with the patrol guard, a limited attendant versed only in trauma care. Another more prescient healer turned his gaze to Spock, one associated with the Healer's Enclave. After a moment, he took a step back as if burned.
Sarek's sharp eyes had noted the interaction. He was not entirely pleased to have a healer examine Spock under any circumstance. He was equally wary of a usually controlled healer's abrupt disengagement. "Something is amiss?"
The first healer, the one attached to the patrol service and one who normally dealt only with critical care, gave a Vulcan negative, a slight jerk of his chin to the left. "He is not seriously injured."
But the other frowned slightly. "I sense no active disease organisms." The stress was slight but real, particularly for an ultra controlled healer. His eyes met Sarek's. "Perhaps you should have him checked by a pediatrician. Or his human physician."
Sarek bridled at that, somehow without changing expression. That could only mean the healer sensed something outside the individual's control. He looked at Spock critically. The boy seemed to have paled from what Sarek remembered, though in the faint starlight he could not make a very good judgment. Spock's level of obvious discomfort under his scrutiny however, further raised Sarek's suspicions. "Come," Sarek said to Spock.
"I had intended to-," Spock said, taking a step back.
"Come," Sarek said, and his chin jerked to the guards' aircar.
Seeing his father's darkened brow, Spock chose not to argue or disobey.
They left Sofet off outside the gates, where he had left his aircar. By the time they had arrived, Sarek had arranged for another healer. Spock definitely seemed paler than usual to him, though Sarek wondered if it was just his past week's enforced confinement at home that had robbed him of color. He consulted the one who had seen Spock recently about his weight loss and would perhaps be less provincial in his attitudes towards children, or perhaps, towards hybrids.
But the healer was little more forthcoming than the previous one. He examined Spock, regarding his patient as warily as Spock did his examiner. When the healer had finished, he seemed more confused than anything and he stepped back, as if eager to be shed of his patient. "I can only recommend rest."
"To what purpose?" Sarek asked.
"His systems are…unsettled. Rest and meditation would no doubt suffice to order them."
"Can he attend the Academy?" Sarek asked, puzzled.
"That is up to him," the healer said obliquely. He gave Sarek a sketchy nod and left.
"Of all the unhelpful, nonsensical claptrap …" Amanda shook her head when Sarek relayed what the healer had said, "I'm calling Mark."
"The healer said-"
"Nothing that made any sense. I'll put my faith in a medical opinion, rather than fake mystic pseudo science."
"There is nothing fake about—"
"Oh, please. Meditation! For an injured teenager!" she shook her head again in derision and went to the communications terminal.
"His injury is slight," Sarek said, but to no avail. Amanda was gone.
"I left my school things on the mountain," Spock said, willing to go back up the mountain in a sandstorm rather than face that human physician. "Now that the healer has said meditation is warranted, I believe it would be best if I-"
"You will stay here," Sarek said, knowing Amanda would not be satisfied otherwise. "I will get them," Sarek added. "The coordinates?"
Spock eyed Sarek warily and gave them. He reflected as Sarek left that it was probable that his father didn't want to face that human physician either.
Mark Abrams was one of only a handful of physicians practicing Federation style medicine on Vulcan. Attached to the Terran Embassy, he was in his early fifties, lean as long term human residents came to be on Vulcan, where carrying any extra ounce in that heavy gravity counted, and grizzled, with fair hair turning to gray. Knowing his patient would be reluctant to see him, he had his scanner already out as he came through the door.
"Twice in one day, this is a record," he remarked.
He listened to Amanda's explanation of the evening's events as he crossed the room, wanting to get in and out in as little time as possible, for Spock's sake, if not his own.
"Funny that this healer had nothing to say, but seemed to imply something was wrong," Abrams commented, eyes on the readings coming across his device.
Spock bristled at this utterance. "I see no humor in –" He flinched back as Abrams brought the scanner closer to him.
"Nice to see you again too," Abrams said. "As little of you as there is."
"Again?" Amanda asked. "What do you mean, twice in one day?"
"I got called out here earlier today for an issue during the Alliance meeting." Abrams said. "Failure of acclimatization in one of the guests. Spock happened to be in the garden."
"Oh," Amanda frowned but let that pass.
"And I just meant odd," Abrams said, with a tired grin. "Now how about taking a few deep breaths for me. In, out. In, out." He was frowning slightly. "Nothing to be scared of from me, is there? Try to settle down."
"What's do you mean? What's wrong?" Amanda asked anxiously.
"Easy, tiger," Abrams said, regarding the scanner dubiously. "Just some odd readings. Hard to differentiate right now. He seems a little...wired. And there are some odd dolometer readings." His eyes suddenly narrowed, focusing on the scanner. Then looked Spock over, noting the increased pallor and weight loss, watching him swallow hard at the physician's scrutiny. "Can you lay back, Spock?" he asked neutrally. I want to examine you the old fashioned way. You can put that blanket over you. I don't need to touch you directly. It's not any kind of meld. No need to worry about that."
Knowing he had little choice, and at least knowing there was little risk of a psi blind human perceiving much, even with hands on him, Spock lay back. Mark listened to heart and lungs perfunctorily. Not because he needed to, but because he wanted to prove that not every touch of his had to hurt. And then laid hands on Spock's abdomen. "Let me know if this causes any discomfort."
"Hhew!" Spock said as the breath went out of him in a pained rush.
Abrams sat back and scratched his chin, meditatively. "Thought so. Odd. Well, maybe not, considering."
"What?" Amanda asked.
"Got a fabricator nearby?" He asked her. "Nothing restricted or dangerous, just basic elements?"
"In Spock's workroom, there's one that can do chemistry," she said dubiously.
Abrams nodded, coding something into his diagnostic panel. "Plug this script into it."
She gave him a worried look but went out.
"I don't want-" Spock said, regaining his control.
"Want or not, you've got yourself in a bit of trouble," Abrams said. "Can't say I'm too surprised. So what you want and what's needed are two different things."
Amanda came back in, with a vial of tablets. Mark opened the container and took one out and handed it to Spock. "Take this. You can chew it, swallow it whole, or let it dissolve on your tongue, take your pick. But down the hatch it goes, or maybe it's the Med Center for you," he warned.
"Med Center?" Amanda said, "But the healer said he just needed to meditate."
"And maybe that works, for grown up Vulcans. Probably does. I don't know. But it sure hasn't worked for Spock, so far." He looked over at Spock. "You can't tell me you haven't noticed. A burning, sort of a hollow feeling? Occasional abdominal pain? Stomach-aches?"
True to form, Spock didn't answer directly, but his eyes widened in a speculation of his own.
"Maybe you thought you were hungry? Or just not hungry?"
"Mark, what is it?" Amanda said, losing her patience.
"Well, your son has a bit of an upset tummy."
"Mark, he's not four. And for that matter, neither am I. What are you saying? What's wrong with him?" Amanda said, crossing her arms.
Abrams shrugged. "Best that I can guess, he appears to be working himself into the Vulcan equivalent of an ulcer. At least I can see the beginnings of some irritation, here," He showed the panel of his diagnostic reader to Amanda, and then to Spock. "It's not serious. Yet. But," he nodded, "well, it could be, if it continues. Let it develop, and it could perforate his stomach; send the contents into the peritoneum. He could bleed out. End up in a world of trouble. Not a good thing. But that's worst case, much down the line and we've caught it early, long before that."
"But the healer just advised him to meditate."
"And since this sort of thing is caused in part by stress, the healer has that part right. It's probably well within the capability of the average Vulcan to heal on his own. But Spock is just a child, and one with a history of picky eating, and having his stomach turned by this and that. And I'll wager the healer thought this was more of the same."
"Is that why you were always running off to the mountains to meditate?" Amanda asked, turning suddenly to her son. "Spock, you should have told your parents!"
Eyes wide, Spock said nothing.
"Maybe he didn't really understand, Amanda." Abrams said, gently. "For all his education, he's just a child. Maybe you're expecting too much of him, you and Sarek."
"But what if meditation – or this medication - doesn't cure him?" she asked.
"Well, if it gets really bad, we could repair it surgically. But even with humans, they can usually be managed and healed without that drastic measure. So, "he looked back at Spock, "Take the tablets. Try to avoid stress."
Amanda made a strangled noise. "Avoid stress."
"Yeah, I've heard about this ruckus Suchon has raised," Abrams said.
"What ruckus?" Amanda said.
Abrams looked from Amanda to Spock, back to Amanda. "You know. He's been telling tales of his rescue." He eyed Amanda speculatively and gave a glance to Spock. "And so on."
"I don't see why everyone is so interested, or what kind of ruckus that could create from Spock just helping an old man."
"Well, Spock is Sarek's son," Abrams hastily covered. "Even Vulcans I suppose love their icons. Though it must be hard for a kid to be the focus of that attention and pressure, particularly from adults. He seems to have nothing but stress, poor kid." He shrugged, "But he's also pretty smart, and now that he knows what's going on, I'll wager he can heal himself. I'll leave a simple therapeutic diet," turning back to Amanda. And looked at Spock. "No more skipping meals. Frequent small meals are best. I'll check back in a few days, see whether there's any reversal. Give it six weeks, maybe a lot less, for a Vulcan. If Spock does as he's told, we might have this wrapped up very soon. But if he doesn't," Abrams frowned at the boy, "you could end up very sick."
"The healer said he could attend school," Amanda worried. "Even tomorrow. Should he?"
Abrams packed up his bag. "He could. If it were my kid, after this brouhaha tonight on top of everything else making the rounds about him, frankly I'd give him a day or two. He can't possibly fall far behind, can he? But if he can't miss, then he can't."
"He can," Amanda said. "And what is this about something making the rounds?" She looked from Abrams to Spock.
Spock just set his jaw, looking stubborn.
Mark looked between Spock and Amanda, "Ask Sarek about that. As for Spock, what if I come over in a couple of days, and see how much headway the tablets and diet are making? And Spock's got some healing skills of his own, now that he knows what's going on with him. If it hasn't progressed, if the scanner reading looks better, then I'd say school's okay. The idea is for him to take it easy, sure. But I can't imagine sitting at home and stewing will do anything but send him up the wall."
Spock looked at his walls curiously, but forbore to ask, recognizing it another arcane human phrase. He let out a little sigh, now that the exam was over, and the physician would soon be leaving. He thought this could have been worse.
"Thank you, Mark." Amanda said soberly. "To think the healers were just going to let it go and not say anything!"
"This is one of those things that, being exacerbated by stress, probably they don't deal well with. It's not logical. They gave you hints. I guess a sensible Vulcan would have already heeded them. But this also probably isn't any more common among Vulcan children than among human ones. You caught them in a blind spot. Spock probably too. I suspect," he eyed his young patient, "he often has an upset stomach over one thing or another. He just didn't notice it was from a different reason."
"Oh, Spock," Amanda sighed. "What next?"
"Sleep, for him." Abrams said. "Amanda, how about seeing me out?"
She took the hint for a private conference.
When the door closed behind them, Spock sat considering a moment. Then he took the potion out of his mouth, crossed the room and tossed it and the vial in the recycler. And then he came back to his bed, looking from the door out of which his mother had disappeared to the long windows, where the flash of his father's aircar through the forceshields would signal his return.
He drew the coverlet from his bed around him, but he still felt sick and chilled from all that had gone on. It had been a long day, the altercation at school, his father's disturbing return home somehow displeased with him, the long hike up the mountains, the altercation there, being examined by healers and the hated human physician. And now the sure certainty of discipline from his father, perhaps doubly, between this afternoon's altercation or whatever had prompted his disapproval then and this disastrous evening, his disobedience and then a second altercation. And now discipline from his mother, for disregarding her instructions about seeing Sarek and now not swallowing and then throwing away the physician's evil potion. He pulled the coverlet tighter. But he could not get warm. His breath shortened and his stomach ached.
He put his head on his drawn up knees, the coverlet around him like a shield, trying to control and contain feelings that seemed to rise up and overwhelm him. There were times that he wanted his mother's comfort, remembered from a young child, so much. And yet he knew it was wrong. Even if he did express it to her, there was an equal chance she would remind him of his control, and even discipline rather than comfort him. Because he had chosen the Vulcan way. And it was her duty to see that he followed it.
And there were times when he wanted his father too. And there was no uncertainty about how Sarek would react to that need.
It was a terrible, infantile thing, to be so needy at his age. He had mastered the Disciplines based on all the tests; he was attending the Science Academy; he had been fulfilling the duties of the Heir to Surak, sitting on the bridge of a Vulcan patrol ship with phaser weapons under his fingers. And yet the emotions rising in him now, choking him, making the bile rise in his throat, were as encompassing as if he were no more than three. He wanted to rage, he wanted to shout, he wanted to tear the tapestries and arrays of pre-Reform weapons down from his walls and raze the Fortress to ruins. He did not quite know what he did want, but he did know he did not want this. The feelings grew within him, frustration, need, rebellion, rejection. At times this life seemed impossible to him, incapable of growing, sustaining or nourishing him, as indigestible as poison.
At that he leapt up, ran to the bathroom, and threw up everything his stomach contained. Pressing the control to reduce the contents of the receptacle to their essential atoms, he then cleaned his teeth, took a shower, dressed in fresh nightwear, and went shiveringly back under the coverlet. But he could not get warm. The chill that encompassed him was not environmental and not even physiological. He looked out the nearly floor to ceiling windows of his room, showing the Llangons and the starfield above, and felt caught like trapped animal. He wanted to flee; he wanted to leave this place that had no true place for him. He wanted to die.
And yet he couldn't do that.
He knew what he had to do.
He had to control these emotions.
He closed his eyes and began, once again, to reiterate the facts of his position.
In spite of his mother's heritage, physiologically, he was Vulcan dominant. He was his father's son, more than his mother's, and his father's culture had rules. And benefits. Vulcan culture was superior, even his mother agreed with that: little crime, no wars for millennia, a population that, with the help of the Disciplines, had thrown off a violent and savage history. It was logical and beneficial to emulate his father's culture. Even some humans attempted it, without Vulcan physiology. Wholly apart from his physiology making it a natural choice, logically speaking he should emulate the Vulcan Way.
And then there was the personal side of his father's heritage. He was his father's heir. And his father required an heir. If he did not follow in his father's footsteps and accept the Vulcan Way, his father would be without an heir. Sarek would then have to acquire a replacement for him. Possibly take another bondmate, which he didn't think his mother would accept. She could Challenge. Sarek might die then. His mother certainly would blame him. Or his father might die if his mother left him without a bondmate. Or Sarek might die attempting a new bond when he was still bonded to his mother.
If he rejected the Vulcan Way, his mother would lose her chosen bondmate. He would lose his home and his father's regard. His father could lose his life. His clan could lose the possibility of an heir, a living legacy since the time of Surak and before. All because he, Spock, could not control his emotions and had refused the beneficial, logical Vulcan Way.
And had his mother not risked her life, his father not risked his bondmate in a difficult dangerous pregnancy, risking his own life to some extent, to produce an heir, himself, to fulfill that destiny? How could he deny their joint risk for mere selfish, childish behavior?
He had no choice. Follow the Vulcan way, do the logical thing, or risk personal destruction for his family and the potential end of a clan legacy.
Part of him rose up anew, enraged at that conclusion – he wouldn't be trapped, he wanted a choice – but part of him was comforted by the strict binary nature of the options. Beneficent, logical Vulcan, or the chaos and violence of selfish emotions, which might destroy his family and his clan's future.
It was beneficial; it was logical. For him as well as for all Vulcan. It was the correct choice. He went through the logical chains like a mantra. Then he went through the arguments again. And again. It was helping. He was heartbroken; he was sore in body and in mind. But he was calming, his respiration slowing, the cramping in his stomach easing, the shivering leaving him for a gradual warmth. He knew these arguments. He had been through them, over and over again, as far back as he could remember, from the time he had begun to be required to make a choice, and could critically think of the options. They were familiar and known to him. That very familiarity was a comfort to him. He hugged the tattered chains of logic in his mind, a familiar, well known security blanket, even as he hugged the lematya coverlet to his body.
And eventually his breathing evened. His body slumped. And he was finally, exhaustedly, asleep.
To be continued…
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1 Yesteryear – Sarek tells Spock he must pass the Kahs Wan on the first trial unlike other candidates who can bail and then retake the test, or not be considered Vulcan. Rather than assume Sarek was particularly insufferable with his half human son, I've taken it as a requirement of their heritage and Sarek's and Spock's position. While this episode is part of the animated series and not TOS canon, it was written by D.C. Fontana, who also wrote Journey to Babel. You can't get more canonical than that.