The Residence of the House of Sartan was far from the city, at the base of the low line of rocky hills known as Harr T'Rachanya—Dragon's Tail. It was an impressive compound, carved from the native bedrock, once a stronghold of an ancient clan. There was a spring there and the first fortress had been built to protect and defend it against invading clans.

Kerin had never been here before. She studied the surroundings as she accompanied Sidak through the outer courtyard and into the compound, and finally into the cool, high-ceilinged entrance hall. The stone floor had an intricate mosaic design, and richly woven tapestries hung on the walls.

They were met and ushered into another room, obviously a place where visitors waited. There were chairs and benches ranged along the walls. Kerin was asked to wait and Sidak was escorted through another door.

For a few moments after her father had gone, Kerin stood where she was, alone in the room, studying her surroundings. The room was large and impressive; like the outer hall, it's walls were hung with lovely tapestries. There were pieces of statuary distributed around the space; the floor was black polished marble, the furniture clean-lined and spare. At length, she sat down on one of the benches and grew very still, her hands folded calmly in her lap. She had told Spock that her Vulcan behavior was role-playing, but her stillness was far more than an act. It calmed her, became part of her, allowed her to relax, attain self-control and maintain her posture almost indefinitely.

Nearly half an hour passed before the door opened and Sidak emerged with T'Kress. The Oldest Mother was as aged as had been reported, but she carried her years with grace and regality. She was tall and straight, her steps firm, if a trifle slow. Her silver hair was swept back into a simple coil at her nape. Her resemblance to Sidak was noticeable—the same thin, finely chiseled features; in her youth she had been stunningly beautiful—and in fact she was his grandmother, so the connection was direct and close. Kerin realized she had never before thought of this woman as her great-grandmother.

Kerin rose to her feet as T'Kress and Sidak approached; she bowed formally. "Mene sakkeht ur-seveh, Dorli T'sai."

"Live long and prosper, Daughter." T'Kress' voice was dry and cool, yet Kerin felt welcomed; perhaps because T'Kress had acknowledged their relationship by calling her 'Daughter,' rather than merely using Kerin's name. "I have anticipated this meeting for some time."

"I am most honored, Mother," Kerin replied, masking her surprise.

T'Kress turned to Sidak. "I will speak with our Daughter privately. The Family business which we discussed awaits your attention."

He bowed slightly. "I shall see to it at once." He left them.

Kerin waited for T'Kress to speak. The Oldest Mother studied her for a time. "I am told that you are an exemplary student, both in your science studies and in the mental disciplines."

"You do me honor."

"It is you who brings honor to the Family by your achievements, " T'Kress said.

"You are most kind," Kerin murmured.

"It is with regret that we would see you go."

Kerin stiffened, drew herself up even straighter. "There is sadness in my heart that I must go," she replied, meeting the old woman's eyes squarely.

T'Kress raised a delicate eyebrow. She had not missed the slight emphasis on the word must, but instead of pursuing it she said, "Walk with me, Daughter."

They walked slowly and aimlessly (or so it first appeared) through the large chambers of the Residence—chambers for dining, receiving guests, holding Family meetings; there was a huge multi-roomed library; an office where the Family's business was conducted, where a number of people were working at desks. Every room held art objects which lent richness and beauty to the surroundings; glass and crystal, stone statuary, rugs and tapesties, a few paintings—Vulcans did not tend toward this art form, but these were outstanding. "All that you see here was created by members of our Family. Some are very ancient." T'Kress paused beside a cabinet; behind glass doors was a huge crystal bowl whose depths seemed to burn with rose and gold fire. "This is our oldest piece. It was blown 5400 years ago by the true founder of the art, T'Cass.

"It's incredible," Kerin said softly. "I am honored to be shown."

"It belongs to you equally with all members of the Family," T'Kress pointed out.

They passed through another door, and into an armory. The walls were lined with bladed weapons of all kinds—lirpas, daggars, crescent shaped nach'tsa, spears, swords, war axes called t'draku which came in many sizes and shapes. Kerin knew little of metalwork, but she recognized beautiful workmanship when she saw it.

T'Kress led the way to a pedestal standing alone in the center of the room. A longsword lay upon the pedestal. The design of it was lean, economical—a blade nearly a meter and a half long with a hollow ground diamond profile. The illumination in the room had been carefully planned to bring out the highlights in that blade—layer upon layer of light deeply buried in the steel. The grip of carefully formed black stone, finished but unpolished, would insure that the hand that held it would not slip; the cross-guard of the hilt was made of deep black-bronze metal as was the oval pommel. A sigil, the only decorative element, was scored into the pommel.

"This sword was forged by S'harien," T'Kress explained. "It belonged to Sartan." She lifted a hand to encompass the wall display. "All these were forged by smiths of great talent, but S'harien was the greatest of them all. Only a few of his blades survive."

Their walk eventually led them to T'Kress' private offices, where an even more impressive display awaited. The walls of both inner and outer office were lined with holo-prints of notable Family members. All of the Oldest Mothers and Heads of House were there, along with many others whose extraordinary contributions had made the House of Sartan great.

"This is Soral, a well known scientist, physicist and navigator… Beside him is his mother, T'Lera, also a scientist and space traveler… Here is Sartan, our founder; he was with Surak when that one died… T'Rhon, Oldest Mother before me… Silar, philosopher… The author, Stronn… The artist, T'Cae…" T'Kress continued around the rooms, identifying the portraits. Many of the names were known to Kerin from her studies, though she had not been aware that they belonged to her Family. "This is your heritage, Daughter," T'Kress said at last, watching the young woman closely as she continued to gaze around the room. Finally Kerin's eyes came to meet the black ones of the Oldest Mother for a long moment. T'Kress nodded, satisfied.

"There is one more thing you should see," T'Kress said. In the rear wall of the office was heavy door, with an airtight seal. The old woman entered a code on an entry panel, and the door slid open smoothly. Lights came up as they stepped into a large vault. The walls were lined with shelves, which contained ancient books—of real paper—and scrolls even older, made of skins. The air was dry and cool. Kerin moved forward to read the titles printed on the spines. Many were illegible with age, but labels affixed to the shelves identified them all.

"These are the ancient Family archives—the originals. Of course everything here has been put into the computers. But here are our history and traditions." T'Kress watched as Kerin traced the sigil of one of the books, her fingertip not quite touching the old leather. "Temperature and humidity are very carefully controlled here, in order to assure that these are preserved." She removed a volume from a shelf and laid it in Kerin's hands.

Kerin opened the book reverently. It was yellowed with age, but did not feel as fragile as she would have expected. This particular book was a collection of poetry. "This is nearly 4000 years old," she said, with no effort to conceal the awe in her tone. She turned pages carefully at random and began to read:

Nesh-kur rala t'kushel va'ne na'ge t'ved…

The blackbird-wing obscures the day and wraps the desert in deepest darkness.

Night falls and from behind its curtain we glimpse the stars—

and for a brief moment become one with the majesty of the Universe.

Our hearts and minds overflow with wonder;

our eyes search the bright heavens, hungry for understanding of things far beyond us.

Night is not truly darkness, but rather the absolute brilliance of creation!

It is only with reluctance that we turn at last from this splendor and seek our rest.

It was a very old verse, written long before Vulcans ventured into space. From the most chaotic period in Vulcan's history, it was one of the few non-violent writings to come out of that era. The full poem was hundreds of stanzas long, and spoke eloquently of the beauty and mysteries of existence.

Kerin had read the poem a number of times. The writer's name was Tevar.

She closed the book carefully and replaced it on the shelf, then turned to T'Kress. "Thank you for bringing me here," she said softly.

The Oldest Mother seemed to smile. She led the way out of the vault and sealed the door.

"Our Family is strong," T'Kress said, "because we are unified by our history and traditions. Our forebears were people of conviction, dedication, loyalty and strength."

They sat on a couch in the office. T'Kress' spine was as straight as that of the younger woman.

"I have something to ask of you," T'Kress said.

Oh, no. She is going to ask me to stay, Kerin thought, but was careful not to show.

"You have seen some of the objects passed down from our beginning. The portraits of our ancestors. The writings. The artwork. Now I would have you see the history, as it has been passed to me, from Mother to Daughter, through the ages."

At first Kerin did not understand what she meant. There was only one way that the thing T'Kress was describing could be done. Surely she did not intend…

"I would ask you to let me join your mind, Daughter," the Oldest Mother said gently. "To perform the kahs-nafv."