Part 3: Yesterday's Legacy Chapter 2
The following morning, Jarrod's official letter of expulsion arrived from Starfleet Academy, accompanied by a personal communication from Michaela Taylor, who had served as his academic advisor and personal mentor, expressing deep regret over what happened.
The reason for his dismissal was listed simply - and unsurprisingly - as "Insubordination." Captain Taylor's missive hinted that there might be more to tell, but that she was under orders to reveal nothing further until a follow-up inquiry was complete. The former cadet's parents would, of course, be notified of any new developments in the investigation.
In the days that followed, the Andorian made himself at home, and during the day, he and Jarrod often went off to explore the base and sample its various entertainments. Before long, Adonia began to join them when she wasn't in school. Neither of her parents could invoke a valid reason to keep her home, so they had no choice but to watch her walk away, her attention fully focused on Therov while he and Jarrod talked earnestly about matters they did not share with anyone else.
One afternoon, Zarabeth noticed the two of them walking toward the abandoned structure at the edge of the property. Though workers had long ago filled in the artificial waterway that once flowed past it, the shelter was still commonly, though somewhat incongruously, referred to as the boathouse.
She decided to follow them at a discreet distance, staying behind the imposing row of hedges than ran parallel to the old canal lines.
"At one time," her son was explaining to Therov, "before the Federation came to Amphitrite, the entire city was linked not by roads, but by a system of waterways. The first buildings, including the prototype for this house, were built on raised hills, and the primary mode of transportation was by small aquatic vessels. They were kept in here."
"That must have been magnificent," Therov cast an admiring gaze around the vast grounds and sighed as if he could envision a sparkling lagoon there instead. "What a shame someone decided to fill it in."
"Oh, that was over forty years ago, long before our time. Apparently a series of natural disasters made it necessary to implement more conventional landscaping. Still, most people kept their boathouses. They use them to store things, mostly, though a few ambitious citizens have turned them into garden rooms or even guesthouses. My sisters and I used ours as a recreational site."
"That must have been quite diverting for you."
"I also liked coming down here alone. I acted out some rather intricate scenarios, many of which I never did share with my sisters, or with anyone else, for that matter. The boathouse could become a starship, a palace, even a jail cell. It just depended on my mood."
Therov laughed. "I can't say I ever played at being a prisoner. I suppose I always valued my freedom too much, even as a child."
"I usually ended the game by breaking free and escaping. Or my mother would come looking for me. I never told her exactly what I'd been doing, though. I feared it would distress her."
"You said your mother came looking - but never your father?"
"I wouldn't say 'never.' 'Seldom' would be more accurate. His Embassy duties kept - and keep - him moderately busy, or away. But I don't mean to sound disrespectful. I'm sure he did the best he could. And my mother always made it easy for him."
"Andorians are apt to overindulge their children, and I fear I was no exception," Therov mused. "You know, in one respect it's rather humorous. No subject is of more interest to every known culture than the ideal way to raise its offspring. Yet as far as I know not a single one has been able to master it in the entire history of the universe."
"You're right. It's like a constant trial-and-error procedure with no definitive outcome."
"Perhaps they should run computer simulations, such as those Captain Taylor developed for us at the Academy, demonstrating how to create wormhole effects for the purposes of time travel."
"I remember." Jarrod's voice grew softer, as if the recollection troubled him. Then he abruptly changed the subject. "Come, let me show you the inside. Some of the modifications I made during my bursts of youthful creativity are probably still there."
They slipped into the boathouse, and Zarabeth took the opportunity to slip back to the house. The conversation had been perfectly innocuous, the usual confessions teenagers shared with one another. Yet it left her with a sense of apprehension she could bring herself to share with no one, not even Spock. As she went about her daily tasks, a single image remained with her: that of her young son, alone in the boathouse, looking around at what he perceived as the impenetrable walls of a dungeon.
---
Within the week, the Andorian apparently sensed that he had overstayed his welcome at his friend's home, and transferred his possessions to a hostel closer to the base facilities. He continued to call almost every evening, though, and one day he arrived in the company of two more young people. The pair introduced themselves as Xertes and Callinda, the twin children of an Issonian diplomat Zarabeth recalled meeting at a reception some years earlier. Both of them were striking, with strong, intelligent features, free-flowing gold hair, and deep black eyes. Still, Zarabeth knew it was Therov, not Xertes, who commanded Adonia's interest whenever the three of them came to visit. Every night, they seemed to stay a little longer in the small sitting room on the ground floor of the house. Their intense philosophical discussions occasionally gave way to impassioned debates that were loud enough to prevent Lidia from concentrating on her Gorn research upstairs.
Somehow, it seemed inevitable that she would next find her daughter struggling to decipher a book printed in a highly unusual typeface. A digital translation aid sat blinking on the table beside her.
She blushed when she noticed that she was being watched. "Therov thought I might like it," she said, a little too quickly. "He knows I'm interested in learning other languages."
"What is it about?"
"Well...it's sort of a love story. He says it's a classic, very popular with the women on his planet."
"I see. And do you like it?"
Adonia shrugged and averted his eyes. "Oh, you know...it's different. Learning about other cultures is always beneficial."
"Of course. Perhaps you could translate some of it for me."
"I'd be happy to, Mother, but not just now. Jarrod's friends are coming again after dinner and I have to get ready."
Grabbing the book and the translator, she fled the room with a glance that was only half-apologetic.
That night, in the small sitting room, the usual political discussion dragged on for hours. However, the nature of the gathering seemed to have evolved. Now, voices were raised not in dissention but in excited laughter and even more ecstatic speechmaking - most of it Therov's.
For a long time, Spock lay motionless in bed, his arms folded and his head tilted back as if he were asleep. Zarabeth knew that he was actually listening to the conversation taking place in the room below theirs. Eventually he opened his eyes to find her watching him expectantly.
"Well? What's going on down there? What did you hear?"
"Enough to decide that we have extended sufficient hospitality to Jarrod's acquaintances. And it is long past the hour when Adonia should have retired." Standing, he pulled on his dressing gown. "You need not attend me if you would prefer to remain here. I doubt Jarrod and his guests will welcome my intrusion."
"No, I'll come. I want to make sure Adonia goes right to sleep."
"As you wish."
Without waiting for her, he swept downstairs and into the sitting room. From the stairs, Zarabeth heard the conversation come to an abrupt halt. Next, Spock said something she couldn't quite make out, and then the door opened and angry voices spilled into the hall. Loudest among them was Jarrod's.
"Why are you so determined to silence us, Father? It's because you know what Therov says makes perfect sense. If you can't admit that, it's because you've bought so completely into the Federation's hoax of peace and fairness that you can't even see what's in front of your eyes!"
"No political entity can ever function perfectly; it is a practical impossibility. Yet I might remind you that the alternative Therov proposes has been attempted many times, not only in Federation history, but previously. It has repeatedly proved one of the least successful systems ever implemented."
"How can you say that? You haven't even listened to his ideas. You're too busy defending your own benightedness."
"It is not necessary for me to examine every nuance of your friend's argument. When one has heard the same piece of music hundreds of times, a single strain is sufficient to recall the entire movement. So it is with derivative political theories."
Jarrod started to protest, but Therov cut him off. "Let it be for the moment. As I told you before, we can never hope to sway the unopened mind. Your father is, understandably, heavily invested in a bureaucracy that has done him more damage than he may ever realize. Give it time. Meanwhile, let us bid you goodnight."
"Adonia, you will go to your room," Spock ordered. "Jarrod, remain here so that I may speak to you privately."
Considering how heated things had gotten downstairs, Zarabeth decided to wait for Adonia on the landing. She listened for - and heard - the sounds of footsteps moving through the house and through the front door, but to her surprise Adonia did not appear. Clutching the front of her dressing gown closed, she crept downstairs and outside. When she turned the corner of the house, she stopped and stared in amazement.
Adonia and Therov were leaning against the wall, their mouths locked in a passionate kiss while Amphitrite's double moons swelled just as ardently behind them.
"Adonia," she said, causing them to break apart and whirl around. Their mouths were still open. "You were told to go to your room."
"I was...I was just on my way." Bursting into tears, Adonia fled into the house.
Far from looking embarrassed, Therov flashed her his most charming smile, nodded, and disappeared into the shadows.
"I love him," Adonia wept pitifully, burying her face in her pillows before her mother had even asked her anything. "When that other girl - Callinda - started coming over every night, I knew I had to tell him how I felt. And he is drawn to me, too, Mother, he told me so."
"Adonia, you're only 16. You don't need to rush into anything."
"Why do you and Father hate him so much? Even if you disagree with his beliefs, he has every right to express them to his friends."
"I'm less concerned with his beliefs than with the fact that Therov isn't right for you. He's too old, and besides, he's from a very different world."
"How can you say that? You told me yourself that plenty of people didn't think you were suitable for Father, including Grandfather. The reasons they gave were almost exactly the same. Yet you are happy."
"You know those circumstances were very different."
"I don't know that at all. Perhaps you are beginning to think like Father-you want me to marry a Vulcan, is that it?"
"I don't want you to marry anyone-at least not for a long time. Don't you think it's a little early to think about such matters?"
"But I love Therov. And he and Jarrod have been talking about going away - "
"Going away?" Zarabeth's eyes widened. "Where?"
Adonia, realizing that she'd betrayed a confidence, backpedaled quickly. "Oh, not now - just sometime, that's all. You know that Therov is only here temporarily. He hasn't even seen his family in almost a year."
"Therov may go when and where he likes. Your brother is a different matter."
"I knew it - you wish Therov to leave at once. You and Father care nothing for my happiness!" Adonia looked miserable, but finally gave up when even a fresh volley of tears failed to move her mother. "Please don't tell Jarrod what I told you just now. He won't let me sit up with them any more."
"I'm not sure that's even an option after tonight. In the first place, I don't think Therov and his friends will be welcome here any longer. In the second, it is not Jarrod's place to permit or deny you anything. I think you know who has the power to decide that."
Anger flooded back into Adonia's voice as quickly as her sobs faded. "You might be able to forbid them to come to the house, but you can never order me not to love Therov! I will do as I think right - just as Therov will act on what he believes in. There's nothing you can do to prevent that!"
She met Spock coming up the stairs.
"I have attempted to reason with him," he informed her, but she didn't need to ask to know that he had achieved nothing.
"It's even worse than we thought," she said. Instinctively, she brought her hands together and rubbed them. Despite the placid warmth of Amphitrite's night air, her skin felt bloodless and cold.
---
Jarrod had stayed up all night. She saw it in his haggard eyes, the shadow on his unshaved chin. He leaned against the counter beside the food replicator, hands jammed in his pockets, a vacant gazed fixed on his bare feet.
"Jarrod, please," she said, reaching for his arm. He didn't pull away, but neither did he react to her touch in any way whatsoever. "You used to confide in me. Please do so again."
"I was a child then, Mother."
"I don't like what's happening to you - these ideas of Therov's seem to obsess you." What she wanted to tell him, but couldn't quite bring herself to, was that she'd seen it all before: the endless discussions behind the closed doors, the hurried smiles and excuses when she passed too close to a hastily exchanged whisper. And then the entire world of her youth had been brutally swept away.
His head came up, eyes flashing with anger. "Maybe it's just a shock to see the truth clearly for the first time. But we've already established that you wouldn't understand the things we speak of - or, should I say, you would refuse to."
Stung, she pulled away. Argus had used almost those exact words when she inquired about his private conversations with her uncles and cousins. "This is the business of men," he would tell her. "You wouldn't care to understand it." Sometimes he would close the door in her face. When she tried to listen, she heard nothing. And, in the end, she had been punished as grievously as any of them.
She wasn't about to be brushed off as easily by her son. "Why don't you try to explain yourself to me, then? Why is it easier to turn away and say nothing?"
Jarrod took coffee from the replicator, tasted it, then slammed it down on the counter.
"I find it interesting that when I was away at Starfleet Academy, you had no issues with letting me pursue my own interests. But perhaps that was because I was doing Father's bidding."
"Why do you resent him so much? It makes no sense. You have no reason."
"I am not surprised to hear you say that. It is not him, but what he stands for. He has devoted his life to an institution that oppresses and corrupts, all in the name of progress and peaceful transformation. The Federation would have been content to let both of us die the very day I was born. You told me so yourself. And yet you persist in defending their policies as if we owed them our lives."
"But we do, in a very real sense."
"As I said before, it is pointless to try and reason with you, Mother. Suffice it to say that the Andorians have seen through the Federation's sham for decades. It is Therov's hope that one day his world will be free again, and that he will be in a position to assist other civilizations in freeing themselves. He believes it will be possible to create a new way for all the planets to come together, but not under the supervision of a military entity. It would truly be a free exchange of cultural ideals."
"It sounds admirable in theory, but I think it will be far more difficult to put in practice than Therov realizes."
"I knew you'd say that."
"There's another factor I want you to consider as well. Adonia is in a highly impressionable state. I think it would be better if you stopped including her. Her interest in Therov can't lead to anything positive."
"Adonia is old enough to make her decisions. You would do well to begin accepting that. You and Father both."
Zarabeth shook her head in exasperation. "You know, Jarrod, the world I was born into considered itself advanced, but it was beyond primitive compared to this one. Your father would never admit it, but my options here were really somewhat limited. I couldn't live long enough to learn half of what you and your sisters have the luxury of taking for granted, but at least I thought I had done a creditable job raising all of you. Now I have to wonder if I've deceived myself about that."
Jarrod hastily averted his face. "It pains me to think I am a disappointment to you, Mother."
"I didn't say you were. It is your behavior that troubles me."
He grabbed his coffee. "I'm sorry. I have to finish this and go to the city."
He pushed past her into the dining area. Moments later, Adonia came and sat beside him. Her head was bowed as Jarrod spoke to her in a low, tense voice. Neither of them looked up at her.
The remainder of the day proved uneventful, but that night, she dreamed of Argus.
They were in the prison again. Memory had preserved every detail perfectly, from the mind-numbing plainness of the pale green cells to the cloying antiseptic smell of the uncirculated air. Pressed against the bars of their adjacent cells, they received the news of their cousin's execution without flinching, even when the Tyrant's guards described the manner of his death in mirthful detail. The event had been nothing less than a public spectacle, with compulsory attendance for every citizen. He had not died quickly.
When they were alone again, stoicism gave way to despair.
"We're the last two," she said. "That means we must be next. And do you know something? I hope we are. I can't go on like this another day. I don't want to."
Wincing with the discomfort it caused, her brother forced his arm through the narrow bars that separated them and clasped her around the wrist. "It's too soon to wish for death. Please don't," he urged. "Maybe it doesn't make sense now, but somehow I feel that you and I will find a way out of this. We just have to wait until the worst has passed. Promise me you'll do whatever it takes to survive - with or without me."
She wept openly, uncontrollably. "I don't know if I have the strength. This has gone on so long already. How many months have we been here? I don't even know any more. It's torture."
"Torture? No." Argus lifted his eyes to the ceiling and sighed, as if he were trying to will himself to dissolve and float up and out that way. "I don't think we've experienced torture yet...not by any means. But I have a feeling we will."
She woke in a cold sweat, convinced for a moment that the ice was blowing across her face again, the way it had the day she'd first stepped through the portal. In front of her stretched nothing but the glistening white shroud of death.
Fortunately, the illusion was short-lived. Almost immediately, Spock was there, shaking her back into the present.
"It has been many years since your sleep has been troubled in this manner," he said, watching as her panic gradually subsided.
"I know." Turning, she clung to him until her fingers left greenish-blue impressions in his skin. "But it hasn't ended - it's all going to happen again. We're going to lose Jarrod. And this time, not even you will be able to undo it."
"Zarabeth, be rational. You are experiencing the residual effects of a psychosomatic disturbance. Dreams of the past, however disturbing, can have no bearing on present reality."
"Then I'll give you a chance to prove yourself correct," she said, throwing back the covers. "Come on. We have to go and check on him."
Minutes later, they stood in the threshold of their son's room, which had been stripped of every personal possession.
"This is my fault," she said, making no attempt to hide her anguish. "Why did I give him my family name? I've doomed him to follow them into ruin." Suddenly, she looked up as a fresh horror dawned on her. "Adonia," she said.
Their daughter's room was locked. Tearing open the control panel beside the door, Spock triggered the latch and they rushed inside to find Adonia on the bed, crying hysterically.
Her agony turned to outrage when she saw them staring down at her.
"It's bad enough that you broke into my room," she snarled. "But you don't have to look so happy about it."
The following morning, Jarrod's official letter of expulsion arrived from Starfleet Academy, accompanied by a personal communication from Michaela Taylor, who had served as his academic advisor and personal mentor, expressing deep regret over what happened.
The reason for his dismissal was listed simply - and unsurprisingly - as "Insubordination." Captain Taylor's missive hinted that there might be more to tell, but that she was under orders to reveal nothing further until a follow-up inquiry was complete. The former cadet's parents would, of course, be notified of any new developments in the investigation.
In the days that followed, the Andorian made himself at home, and during the day, he and Jarrod often went off to explore the base and sample its various entertainments. Before long, Adonia began to join them when she wasn't in school. Neither of her parents could invoke a valid reason to keep her home, so they had no choice but to watch her walk away, her attention fully focused on Therov while he and Jarrod talked earnestly about matters they did not share with anyone else.
One afternoon, Zarabeth noticed the two of them walking toward the abandoned structure at the edge of the property. Though workers had long ago filled in the artificial waterway that once flowed past it, the shelter was still commonly, though somewhat incongruously, referred to as the boathouse.
She decided to follow them at a discreet distance, staying behind the imposing row of hedges than ran parallel to the old canal lines.
"At one time," her son was explaining to Therov, "before the Federation came to Amphitrite, the entire city was linked not by roads, but by a system of waterways. The first buildings, including the prototype for this house, were built on raised hills, and the primary mode of transportation was by small aquatic vessels. They were kept in here."
"That must have been magnificent," Therov cast an admiring gaze around the vast grounds and sighed as if he could envision a sparkling lagoon there instead. "What a shame someone decided to fill it in."
"Oh, that was over forty years ago, long before our time. Apparently a series of natural disasters made it necessary to implement more conventional landscaping. Still, most people kept their boathouses. They use them to store things, mostly, though a few ambitious citizens have turned them into garden rooms or even guesthouses. My sisters and I used ours as a recreational site."
"That must have been quite diverting for you."
"I also liked coming down here alone. I acted out some rather intricate scenarios, many of which I never did share with my sisters, or with anyone else, for that matter. The boathouse could become a starship, a palace, even a jail cell. It just depended on my mood."
Therov laughed. "I can't say I ever played at being a prisoner. I suppose I always valued my freedom too much, even as a child."
"I usually ended the game by breaking free and escaping. Or my mother would come looking for me. I never told her exactly what I'd been doing, though. I feared it would distress her."
"You said your mother came looking - but never your father?"
"I wouldn't say 'never.' 'Seldom' would be more accurate. His Embassy duties kept - and keep - him moderately busy, or away. But I don't mean to sound disrespectful. I'm sure he did the best he could. And my mother always made it easy for him."
"Andorians are apt to overindulge their children, and I fear I was no exception," Therov mused. "You know, in one respect it's rather humorous. No subject is of more interest to every known culture than the ideal way to raise its offspring. Yet as far as I know not a single one has been able to master it in the entire history of the universe."
"You're right. It's like a constant trial-and-error procedure with no definitive outcome."
"Perhaps they should run computer simulations, such as those Captain Taylor developed for us at the Academy, demonstrating how to create wormhole effects for the purposes of time travel."
"I remember." Jarrod's voice grew softer, as if the recollection troubled him. Then he abruptly changed the subject. "Come, let me show you the inside. Some of the modifications I made during my bursts of youthful creativity are probably still there."
They slipped into the boathouse, and Zarabeth took the opportunity to slip back to the house. The conversation had been perfectly innocuous, the usual confessions teenagers shared with one another. Yet it left her with a sense of apprehension she could bring herself to share with no one, not even Spock. As she went about her daily tasks, a single image remained with her: that of her young son, alone in the boathouse, looking around at what he perceived as the impenetrable walls of a dungeon.
---
Within the week, the Andorian apparently sensed that he had overstayed his welcome at his friend's home, and transferred his possessions to a hostel closer to the base facilities. He continued to call almost every evening, though, and one day he arrived in the company of two more young people. The pair introduced themselves as Xertes and Callinda, the twin children of an Issonian diplomat Zarabeth recalled meeting at a reception some years earlier. Both of them were striking, with strong, intelligent features, free-flowing gold hair, and deep black eyes. Still, Zarabeth knew it was Therov, not Xertes, who commanded Adonia's interest whenever the three of them came to visit. Every night, they seemed to stay a little longer in the small sitting room on the ground floor of the house. Their intense philosophical discussions occasionally gave way to impassioned debates that were loud enough to prevent Lidia from concentrating on her Gorn research upstairs.
Somehow, it seemed inevitable that she would next find her daughter struggling to decipher a book printed in a highly unusual typeface. A digital translation aid sat blinking on the table beside her.
She blushed when she noticed that she was being watched. "Therov thought I might like it," she said, a little too quickly. "He knows I'm interested in learning other languages."
"What is it about?"
"Well...it's sort of a love story. He says it's a classic, very popular with the women on his planet."
"I see. And do you like it?"
Adonia shrugged and averted his eyes. "Oh, you know...it's different. Learning about other cultures is always beneficial."
"Of course. Perhaps you could translate some of it for me."
"I'd be happy to, Mother, but not just now. Jarrod's friends are coming again after dinner and I have to get ready."
Grabbing the book and the translator, she fled the room with a glance that was only half-apologetic.
That night, in the small sitting room, the usual political discussion dragged on for hours. However, the nature of the gathering seemed to have evolved. Now, voices were raised not in dissention but in excited laughter and even more ecstatic speechmaking - most of it Therov's.
For a long time, Spock lay motionless in bed, his arms folded and his head tilted back as if he were asleep. Zarabeth knew that he was actually listening to the conversation taking place in the room below theirs. Eventually he opened his eyes to find her watching him expectantly.
"Well? What's going on down there? What did you hear?"
"Enough to decide that we have extended sufficient hospitality to Jarrod's acquaintances. And it is long past the hour when Adonia should have retired." Standing, he pulled on his dressing gown. "You need not attend me if you would prefer to remain here. I doubt Jarrod and his guests will welcome my intrusion."
"No, I'll come. I want to make sure Adonia goes right to sleep."
"As you wish."
Without waiting for her, he swept downstairs and into the sitting room. From the stairs, Zarabeth heard the conversation come to an abrupt halt. Next, Spock said something she couldn't quite make out, and then the door opened and angry voices spilled into the hall. Loudest among them was Jarrod's.
"Why are you so determined to silence us, Father? It's because you know what Therov says makes perfect sense. If you can't admit that, it's because you've bought so completely into the Federation's hoax of peace and fairness that you can't even see what's in front of your eyes!"
"No political entity can ever function perfectly; it is a practical impossibility. Yet I might remind you that the alternative Therov proposes has been attempted many times, not only in Federation history, but previously. It has repeatedly proved one of the least successful systems ever implemented."
"How can you say that? You haven't even listened to his ideas. You're too busy defending your own benightedness."
"It is not necessary for me to examine every nuance of your friend's argument. When one has heard the same piece of music hundreds of times, a single strain is sufficient to recall the entire movement. So it is with derivative political theories."
Jarrod started to protest, but Therov cut him off. "Let it be for the moment. As I told you before, we can never hope to sway the unopened mind. Your father is, understandably, heavily invested in a bureaucracy that has done him more damage than he may ever realize. Give it time. Meanwhile, let us bid you goodnight."
"Adonia, you will go to your room," Spock ordered. "Jarrod, remain here so that I may speak to you privately."
Considering how heated things had gotten downstairs, Zarabeth decided to wait for Adonia on the landing. She listened for - and heard - the sounds of footsteps moving through the house and through the front door, but to her surprise Adonia did not appear. Clutching the front of her dressing gown closed, she crept downstairs and outside. When she turned the corner of the house, she stopped and stared in amazement.
Adonia and Therov were leaning against the wall, their mouths locked in a passionate kiss while Amphitrite's double moons swelled just as ardently behind them.
"Adonia," she said, causing them to break apart and whirl around. Their mouths were still open. "You were told to go to your room."
"I was...I was just on my way." Bursting into tears, Adonia fled into the house.
Far from looking embarrassed, Therov flashed her his most charming smile, nodded, and disappeared into the shadows.
"I love him," Adonia wept pitifully, burying her face in her pillows before her mother had even asked her anything. "When that other girl - Callinda - started coming over every night, I knew I had to tell him how I felt. And he is drawn to me, too, Mother, he told me so."
"Adonia, you're only 16. You don't need to rush into anything."
"Why do you and Father hate him so much? Even if you disagree with his beliefs, he has every right to express them to his friends."
"I'm less concerned with his beliefs than with the fact that Therov isn't right for you. He's too old, and besides, he's from a very different world."
"How can you say that? You told me yourself that plenty of people didn't think you were suitable for Father, including Grandfather. The reasons they gave were almost exactly the same. Yet you are happy."
"You know those circumstances were very different."
"I don't know that at all. Perhaps you are beginning to think like Father-you want me to marry a Vulcan, is that it?"
"I don't want you to marry anyone-at least not for a long time. Don't you think it's a little early to think about such matters?"
"But I love Therov. And he and Jarrod have been talking about going away - "
"Going away?" Zarabeth's eyes widened. "Where?"
Adonia, realizing that she'd betrayed a confidence, backpedaled quickly. "Oh, not now - just sometime, that's all. You know that Therov is only here temporarily. He hasn't even seen his family in almost a year."
"Therov may go when and where he likes. Your brother is a different matter."
"I knew it - you wish Therov to leave at once. You and Father care nothing for my happiness!" Adonia looked miserable, but finally gave up when even a fresh volley of tears failed to move her mother. "Please don't tell Jarrod what I told you just now. He won't let me sit up with them any more."
"I'm not sure that's even an option after tonight. In the first place, I don't think Therov and his friends will be welcome here any longer. In the second, it is not Jarrod's place to permit or deny you anything. I think you know who has the power to decide that."
Anger flooded back into Adonia's voice as quickly as her sobs faded. "You might be able to forbid them to come to the house, but you can never order me not to love Therov! I will do as I think right - just as Therov will act on what he believes in. There's nothing you can do to prevent that!"
She met Spock coming up the stairs.
"I have attempted to reason with him," he informed her, but she didn't need to ask to know that he had achieved nothing.
"It's even worse than we thought," she said. Instinctively, she brought her hands together and rubbed them. Despite the placid warmth of Amphitrite's night air, her skin felt bloodless and cold.
---
Jarrod had stayed up all night. She saw it in his haggard eyes, the shadow on his unshaved chin. He leaned against the counter beside the food replicator, hands jammed in his pockets, a vacant gazed fixed on his bare feet.
"Jarrod, please," she said, reaching for his arm. He didn't pull away, but neither did he react to her touch in any way whatsoever. "You used to confide in me. Please do so again."
"I was a child then, Mother."
"I don't like what's happening to you - these ideas of Therov's seem to obsess you." What she wanted to tell him, but couldn't quite bring herself to, was that she'd seen it all before: the endless discussions behind the closed doors, the hurried smiles and excuses when she passed too close to a hastily exchanged whisper. And then the entire world of her youth had been brutally swept away.
His head came up, eyes flashing with anger. "Maybe it's just a shock to see the truth clearly for the first time. But we've already established that you wouldn't understand the things we speak of - or, should I say, you would refuse to."
Stung, she pulled away. Argus had used almost those exact words when she inquired about his private conversations with her uncles and cousins. "This is the business of men," he would tell her. "You wouldn't care to understand it." Sometimes he would close the door in her face. When she tried to listen, she heard nothing. And, in the end, she had been punished as grievously as any of them.
She wasn't about to be brushed off as easily by her son. "Why don't you try to explain yourself to me, then? Why is it easier to turn away and say nothing?"
Jarrod took coffee from the replicator, tasted it, then slammed it down on the counter.
"I find it interesting that when I was away at Starfleet Academy, you had no issues with letting me pursue my own interests. But perhaps that was because I was doing Father's bidding."
"Why do you resent him so much? It makes no sense. You have no reason."
"I am not surprised to hear you say that. It is not him, but what he stands for. He has devoted his life to an institution that oppresses and corrupts, all in the name of progress and peaceful transformation. The Federation would have been content to let both of us die the very day I was born. You told me so yourself. And yet you persist in defending their policies as if we owed them our lives."
"But we do, in a very real sense."
"As I said before, it is pointless to try and reason with you, Mother. Suffice it to say that the Andorians have seen through the Federation's sham for decades. It is Therov's hope that one day his world will be free again, and that he will be in a position to assist other civilizations in freeing themselves. He believes it will be possible to create a new way for all the planets to come together, but not under the supervision of a military entity. It would truly be a free exchange of cultural ideals."
"It sounds admirable in theory, but I think it will be far more difficult to put in practice than Therov realizes."
"I knew you'd say that."
"There's another factor I want you to consider as well. Adonia is in a highly impressionable state. I think it would be better if you stopped including her. Her interest in Therov can't lead to anything positive."
"Adonia is old enough to make her decisions. You would do well to begin accepting that. You and Father both."
Zarabeth shook her head in exasperation. "You know, Jarrod, the world I was born into considered itself advanced, but it was beyond primitive compared to this one. Your father would never admit it, but my options here were really somewhat limited. I couldn't live long enough to learn half of what you and your sisters have the luxury of taking for granted, but at least I thought I had done a creditable job raising all of you. Now I have to wonder if I've deceived myself about that."
Jarrod hastily averted his face. "It pains me to think I am a disappointment to you, Mother."
"I didn't say you were. It is your behavior that troubles me."
He grabbed his coffee. "I'm sorry. I have to finish this and go to the city."
He pushed past her into the dining area. Moments later, Adonia came and sat beside him. Her head was bowed as Jarrod spoke to her in a low, tense voice. Neither of them looked up at her.
The remainder of the day proved uneventful, but that night, she dreamed of Argus.
They were in the prison again. Memory had preserved every detail perfectly, from the mind-numbing plainness of the pale green cells to the cloying antiseptic smell of the uncirculated air. Pressed against the bars of their adjacent cells, they received the news of their cousin's execution without flinching, even when the Tyrant's guards described the manner of his death in mirthful detail. The event had been nothing less than a public spectacle, with compulsory attendance for every citizen. He had not died quickly.
When they were alone again, stoicism gave way to despair.
"We're the last two," she said. "That means we must be next. And do you know something? I hope we are. I can't go on like this another day. I don't want to."
Wincing with the discomfort it caused, her brother forced his arm through the narrow bars that separated them and clasped her around the wrist. "It's too soon to wish for death. Please don't," he urged. "Maybe it doesn't make sense now, but somehow I feel that you and I will find a way out of this. We just have to wait until the worst has passed. Promise me you'll do whatever it takes to survive - with or without me."
She wept openly, uncontrollably. "I don't know if I have the strength. This has gone on so long already. How many months have we been here? I don't even know any more. It's torture."
"Torture? No." Argus lifted his eyes to the ceiling and sighed, as if he were trying to will himself to dissolve and float up and out that way. "I don't think we've experienced torture yet...not by any means. But I have a feeling we will."
She woke in a cold sweat, convinced for a moment that the ice was blowing across her face again, the way it had the day she'd first stepped through the portal. In front of her stretched nothing but the glistening white shroud of death.
Fortunately, the illusion was short-lived. Almost immediately, Spock was there, shaking her back into the present.
"It has been many years since your sleep has been troubled in this manner," he said, watching as her panic gradually subsided.
"I know." Turning, she clung to him until her fingers left greenish-blue impressions in his skin. "But it hasn't ended - it's all going to happen again. We're going to lose Jarrod. And this time, not even you will be able to undo it."
"Zarabeth, be rational. You are experiencing the residual effects of a psychosomatic disturbance. Dreams of the past, however disturbing, can have no bearing on present reality."
"Then I'll give you a chance to prove yourself correct," she said, throwing back the covers. "Come on. We have to go and check on him."
Minutes later, they stood in the threshold of their son's room, which had been stripped of every personal possession.
"This is my fault," she said, making no attempt to hide her anguish. "Why did I give him my family name? I've doomed him to follow them into ruin." Suddenly, she looked up as a fresh horror dawned on her. "Adonia," she said.
Their daughter's room was locked. Tearing open the control panel beside the door, Spock triggered the latch and they rushed inside to find Adonia on the bed, crying hysterically.
Her agony turned to outrage when she saw them staring down at her.
"It's bad enough that you broke into my room," she snarled. "But you don't have to look so happy about it."