Chapter 36 - Late

Spock had meditated all morning in his dormitory room before traveling to the Vulcan embassy for brunch. He was determined to present to his father a facade of casual control that demonstrated his full recovery from injury.

Spock and Sarek sat in the tea room over steaming mugs of herbal earth tea. The gray, mid-day light leaching in the courtyard windows threatened rain and the stand heater had been placed beside the table as a bulwark against the chilly, stone-framed windows.

"You are unusually circumspect, Spock."

Spock made certain to gave nothing away when he looked up.

Sarek said, "You generally share more willingly regarding your activities."

Spock remained level. "I regret if I seem distracted. It is not the occasion of our luncheon that the cause for my distance. I am pleased to resume our regular meetings."

"I have something to request of you, regarding that."

Spock sat straighter, let his curiosity show.

"Your mother was sorely disappointed that you were unable to come home the evening of your birthday."

Spock breathed in and held it. "I had a project meeting and two practical lab sections on navigation and astronomical mapping."

Sarek did not respond for half a minute. "We accept that you are otherwise occupied, Spock. And while I do not subscribe, as you know, to romanticizing such anniversaries, your mother does."

Sarek said, "I recall you enjoying such celebrations when you were small. I do not recall what brought about your disinclination to marking this day."

Spock considered that it was a combination of things, a regular reminder that he would always be set apart, not matter how much time passed. He did not voice this despite his father waiting for an explanation.

"It is romanticized, as you say," Spock said.

"I have consistently indicated that an exception is to be made."

"The Vulcan way of marking it, through a simple pronouncement in the old language, is superior."

"It is the same, at the core. The human way is edible, is all." Sarek pushed back and stood up. "I must insist you cater to your mother in this."

Spock looked up, wondered what the purpose of the discussion had been. His father should have simply voiced his insistence at the outset. Then Spock wondered why he himself had argued.

Sarek was waiting, looking down at him.

"Of course, Father."

Sarek nodded deeply. Amanda came in, followed by a servant carrying a cake aglow with yellow-orange light. This was placed before Spock. The sixteen candles gave off significant heat for a collection of individual self-sustaining flames. The frosting was not green this year, but a sparking light blue, like snow in moonlight.

"It's starfleet science blue," Amanda said, seemingly reading Spock's thoughts. She put a hand on the back of his chair and the light filled her face.

"I intend to enter engineering," Spock said, then worried he was still being unnecessarily difficult.

"The red frosting Cook made up was positively grim."

"Of course," Spock said.

"Since you're an adult, I won't sing. Go ahead and blow them out. But make a wish."

Spock studied the columns of standing flames. He dearly desired a message from Kirk. Contemplating making a wish at all, especially that one, undid some tenuous bulwark inside Spock, brought his helplessness into stark clarity. He was aware of Sarek's gaze, waiting. One sputtering candle dripped red wax onto the glittering surface where it appeared as clear as water.

Spock blew out the flames. Amanda handed him a silver triangle on a handle, pulled a plate close for him to cut onto.

Human ritual. Kirk would recognize this, would feel comfortable with it, and that buoyed Spock more than was logical.

Amanda took a seat with her piece of cake, made a noise of appreciation of the first bite, thanked the servants and they slipped silently away.

Spock ate a bite because he had no choice.

Sarek tossed his robes forward and resumed his seat. "I am concerned how well you are readapting to your classes."

Spock was happy to talk rather than eat. "My assigned courses remain relatively easy for me, with the exception of the advanced course on ship design. I have been given a large design revision assignment to be completed in conjunction with a Starfleet lieutenant."

"I see." Sarek sipped his tea, clasped his hands before himself, rested them on the edge of the table. "But there is something else."

Spock studied the way his slice of cake stood canted, crushed by passing a fork through it. He breathed in and out, put in place recently learned controls rather than shove his emotions for Kirk aside, an action that felt increasingly disloyal.

"I have not heard from James in nine days and four point six hours." Spock tilted his head. "I have not been able to logically put my concerns for him aside. I admit."

Amanda set her fork down. Her alarmed gaze weakened Spock's control.

"This concern is impacting your studies?" Sarek said.

Spock pushed his shoulders back, felt his face warming. "I cannot one hundred percent put it aside."

Sarek adjusted his interleaved fingers. "I will have to interpret that as the 'yes' that you are unable to express."

Spock stared down past his hands to the shadow under the table. The scent of cake and frosting was taking him back in time to when the pain was solely a yearning for closeness, and a hopelessness that it would remain inaccessible, not a terror of losing what he'd thought impossible. There was a long silence punctuated by the wind on the many sections of window.

Sarek said, "I wish to assist. How can I do so?"

"I am quite certain there is nothing you can impact, father."

"I cannot change events in a distant star system, but I have you here before me and that is where the suffering lies. You may express to me what you will without fear of reproach."

Spock sat forward, a curtailed movement to stand up. Amanda was looking to Sarek with evident surprise.

"I cannot, father."

"Is Zienn aiding you in this difficulty?"

"As long as I can return to control and logic, he believes all is acceptable. He does not comprehend this kind of emotion. Even though he is trying to for his own reasons."

Sarek breathed in, resettled his hands. "You fear losing the companionship of a being who naturally seems a part of you."

Spock held his gaze away. His controls had decayed farther and he could not piece it back together. The scent of the past that was continuing to undo him. He swallowed hard.

"Speak, my son."

Spock shook his head once. "I do not know how I would adjust to such a change. I would lose all purpose."

Sarek's voice dipped low. "Do not imagine that I am incapable of understanding. Even as I insist on logic in thought and action in all things, even this? You would adjust, Spock, more adeptly than you are capable of predicting at the current time. But I know, also, that hearing me say that is more painful still."

Spock turned slightly, looked at Sarek's robes. "I do not know if I am concerned more for myself or for James. I am simply lost at the very premise of having him removed from my life."

Spock looked up when Sarek didn't respond. His father's distant dark gaze pulled Spock from his own concern, chilled him. His father had been unable to save his first wife from his own son. Spock had known about those events, but had never understood them in such clear terms of personal loss and helplessness until now.

Spock straightened in his chair, spoke deliberately. "I cannot impact anything of this situation, except myself."

Sarek raised his chin as if from a revery. "No, you cannot. And James is likely all right, is he not?"

"I cannot compute the odds. There are too many unknowns."

Sarek poured Spock more tea, pushed it closer. "Everything you perceive is temporary. Regret of a missed alternative future is in part the outcome of insufficiently existing in the present."

Spock openly watched his father's face. These were not sentiments he'd ever heard from him. And they spoke to the heart of Spock's shame at his weakness, relieving him of it.

"Thank you, Father."

Sarek nodded deeply. Amanda had her eyes lowered, a sign that she was keeping her emotions to herself to avoid interfering.

"Spock, you are mine and your mother's son. It would be illogical to expect you to be otherwise, even as we expect you to be the best version of it."

Amanda bit her lips and held them, kept her gaze down.

Spock said, "I will try harder to be that."

"It is not effort that is lacking, Spock. It is perspective. Some of which you will gain with time." He gestured at the cake with his chin.

Spock looked down at it, picked up his fork and resumed eating his piece.

- 8888 -

"If you are through pacing all four corners of my examination room, maybe you'd like to move to the table?" McCoy stood with arms loosely crossed, one arched brow raised.

Overlander, in crisp uniform, stared at the floor, hands on hips. "Yeah."

She lifted her broad frame to sit on the table, adjusted herself there, then slouched. "I thought I was done with you docs for good."

"I can see that."

McCoy waved a scanner in front of her, watched the display on a medicorder. "Well, your machinery shouldn't be an issue with regard to pregnancy, in case you were unaware."

"They said."

"Genetically, though." McCoy shook his head. "I'll need a cell sample at a minimum from you and the hermit priest." He put his things down on a cart, moving methodically, to avoid seeming to rush. "Humans and Vulcans can interbreed, but the pregnancy failure rate might be as high as fifty percent. It's not well tracked due to general Vulcan stubbornness about certain subjects, so I can't give you better numbers. With some gene modification, we can get that number down to twenty-two percent or so. That number we do know, given those couples are in the system."

Overlander's lips twitched, not a smile or a frown. "I don't know if he's going to go for that."

"Will he give up a sample? Have you discussed it?"

Overlander stared far away. "We don't usually discuss difficult things. He just knows what I'm thinking and I try and read the signs of his response. Which are subtle, as you might imagine."

"He's going back to Vulcan at some point," McCoy said.

"That's my understanding."

"Well, I'm old fashioned and it's your life. But your communication doesn't sound all that great anyway."

"Doc. This is the best communication I've ever had. Nothing's hidden. Complete exposure and acceptance, too, because there's no choice." She slouched more. "Acceptance of myself more then him of me. It's crazy what happens when you can't even hide an errant wandering thought that you'd never in a million years say aloud. You have to accept that you think that way. That's who you really are, you know. The things you won't actually say."

McCoy held out a glass swab. "Nah. I always say what I think. Saves the telepathy. Say awwww." He swiped and packaged the sample up. "Well, I'll give you a kit to take. You saw how to use it just now. See if he's willing. Be good to know what the full genetic risk profile looks like, even if there's no chance of an agreement on modification between you." He waited. "Okay?"

"Yeah. Sure." She remained on the table while he put everything away, rolled drawers closed, cleaned his hands.

He rolled a stool over, took his time hitching a hip on it. "Something else? I seem to have time."

"You know Spock a bit, right?"

"I know Spock's innard guts much more than his innard head. But, yes, I guess I'd say I know him."

Overlander looked down at her knees. "I wonder if I'm doing this for the wrong reasons. Selfish reasons. Like loving the idea of having a certain kind of someone around no matter what because they're yours and yours alone and they can't leave. Well, not for a lot of years."

"Lady, if all of humanity worried about that, we wouldn't be here."

There was a delay, but she smiled crookedly. "Still. Humanity has supposedly improved."

"That's a load of bunk. Look. The fact that you're worried about it means it's not really a concern. The ones that can't bring themselves to do even half as much self examination are the ones who should keep it in their trousers."

"Maybe. But thanks. That makes me feel better. I certainly never worried that my parents were just being selfish when they had me."

"Imagine that." He recrossed his arms tighter around his puffed out chest. "Anything else?"

"If we were going to do some gene modification. Would you be willing to do it for us?"

"In consultation with someone else, yes."

"That makes me feel better too. I feel like you'd be straight with me about the pros and cons. Not just trying to build a better kid."

"People are flawed for good reason."

Her brow lowered along with an unwilling smile. "I'll bite. How's that?"

"Sometimes the dreamy optimists have got it right. But then the winds of change come through, and whoosh, the annoying pessimists are the ones that make it through." McCoy gestured with his hand as if sweeping something away. "Sometimes we need careful, sometimes we need carefree. Nature and random fate would play a merry trick on us if we monocropped the galaxy with one kind of person. As tempting as it seems when things are good."

She smiled for real. "I like you, Doc. Sure you don't want a ship? If this doesn't pan out with the kid, I'll be sailing out on a nice, safe refurbed on one as First Officer."

McCoy put his things away. "I'll think about it. I suppose, better a ship with at least one person I can stand."

"And who appreciates you."

"Same difference."

- 8888 -

The air pressed down on Kirk, breezeless and hot. He was breathing it in too heavily. He closed his mouth to make it less obvious. His chest and lungs strained under his armor to draw enough in through his nose.

He'd sent the gunner teams off, one to target the gun emplacement that he was sure was nearby, the other to target the base. That left six of them here, including himself along with launchers and big guns for each of them.

Kirk chewed the underside of his middle finger at the big knuckle. This was a new habit, maybe because these phaser rifle holsters left him with a callous there.

Ranran shifted his weight from one hip to the other, then fell still again. He was almost as lanky as Kilpea, who leaned back against the rock face, feet spread. He didn't look ready for action, but the waiting had already gone on too long, and Kirk didn't see a benefit in nagging. He would move when needed. They'd all be jolted into it.

Kirk had wanted to fire first, a surprise attack on the small base from close in, then have the air power swoop in. But that would require coordination that might give away the initial surprise. They were waiting for the skuttles to make a flyover, to draw fire. Then they'd add in the ground fire. Almost as good.

Kirk adjusted his grip on the rifle butt. Their team was positioned halfway between the other teams where they could cover the airspace over the others, just in case the base launched something. He didn't want his other teams distracted by their own defense.

The sun glinted off something nearby. Kirk looked up, found Kilpea had fished a necklace up from inside his armor. He put something to his lips and wiggled a bit and dropped it back inside against his skin. If Kirk squinted, Kilpea's activated armor made him appear as a wavering rocky terrain and a disembodied glove and face.

A voice came over Kirk's earpiece. He flipped down his faceplate. It was on broadcast, to mask the intended receiver, so he was not certain the transmission was meant for them. He squinted as he listened. Something was wrong somewhere. He tried to sort out the voices, the shifting code words.

An explosion rumbled, rolled through the canyons. It originated far in the distance and in the direction opposite the enemy base and mark thirty from where Kirk estimated the enemy emplacement to be. An icy sensation crept through Kirk's arms.

The voices were discussing a protective shield and arguing over its coordinates and height. The message was for them. There wasn't going to be a flyover, the scuttles couldn't get through. Despite the base being small and using stolen goods for shielding, Kirk had vastly underestimated their tech.

Kirk's team was looking at him. He stared straight ahead, listening to the voices, waiting for his mind to click forward, for an idea to blossom. They were trapped inside the shield without air support or a pickup, days and days of hiking away from the likely shield edge.

He'd been so aggressive, so focussed on being the predator, that he'd not considered what the situation would look like if such a large factor changed. He wondered what else might he have estimated incorrectly? Suddenly, nothing was to be counted on.

His team had heard the same transmission and were waiting for him. They were no longer shifting foot to foot, but stood stock still with guns aimed low, hands on grips, fingers on safeties. Kirk had to lead, even if he didn't know what was best. He'd told the other teams to rendezvous after the attack or if anything went awry. He'd not been as specific as he should have been regarding the air strike never materializing. He'd not even considered it.

Wing it, Kirk thought. Doing nothing is not an option.

"We'll join the team at the emplacement. I suspect the field generator is there. That's where I'd put it, where it would be defended. We'll leave a message at the rendezvous point." Kirk picked up his backpack. "We need to be very quiet. Move out."