Chapter 2

Even before the ground speeder drew up in front of the house, Jarrod knew they'd made a terrible mistake. Instead of the placid twilight setting in which he'd planned to make his entrance, the entire front of his family's dwelling was illuminated, and the hum of music and voices chattering in diverse languages carried on the still air. Even the lawn and terrace were bustling as well-dressed being from a variety of worlds crossed to and from the main entrance.

Reaching forward, he signaled their hired pilot to stop well short of the main entrance, which was already crowded with other transport vessels waiting to deposit passengers.

"I can't believe this," he murmured. "We've stumbled into a diplomatic reception!"

"I take it that's not a common occurrence at your house?" Leila peered out at the unfolding scene with open curiosity.

"I should say not. My father holds them only when he can't get out of it. There must be some important dignitary passing through this system." Drawing back into his seat, Jarrod blanched. "That means Starfleet officials will also be in attendance. A public arrest on my doorstep wasn't quite the homecoming I had in mind."

"You won't be arrested. Wouldn't diplomatic immunity apply on the grounds of an Embassy house?"

"I don't know. I had planned to talk to my parents in private before I turned myself in. After all, I think I've embarrassed them enough. Let's turn around and go back to the hotel. This was a terrible idea."

"Jarrod, please. We've just spent five days changing from one shuttlecraft to another, and you want to run away the moment we reach our destination? Besides, no one will be looking for you-why would they?" He remained glum as she squeezed his hand. "Maybe this is the best thing that could have happened. Think about it-this way you can blend into the crowd, assess the situation before you do anything irreversible."

He frowned at her. "Are you suggesting we crash a formal Embassy gathering?

"I'm suggesting that we find a discreet way in...and see what happens from there."

Slowly, his head came up. "I guess we could try. It would be a shame to waste five days of travel, especially when you didn't have to come with me."

"In a way, I think I did. This wasn't the kind of trip anyone should make alone."

He didn't speak as they exited the speeder and warily inserted themselves into a contingent of jovial humanoids who were moving toward the house as a unit. From their slightly nervous manner, and the overly eager tone of their conversation, Jarrod decided that the strangers were lower-level, off-duty Embassy personnel. Little danger of any of them recognizing him, he decided; on the contrary, they seemed to accept both him and Leila as members of their group. He nodded good-naturedly as one of the women turned and included him in a harangue against someone called Commander Berkley, apparently her supervisor in some clerical division.

"Even if someone does try to verify our identities, we should be safe," Leila reassured him. "Years ago, I represented one of Elias' colonies at an interplanetary caucus. My credentials should still be in order. I'll tell them you're my secretary."

"I think it would be wiser to avoid any such inquiries altogether."

She murmured her agreement as they continued to move with the others, drifting across the grounds and finally up a wide stone staircase, so highly polished that it seemed to glow under their feet. At the top, an equally dazzling terrace stretched the entire length of the house. Huge potted plants with umbrella-like leaves stood sentry over buffet tables heaped with alien delicacies of every conceivable description. Guests milled freely about, sampling the food and chatting over the exotic, atonal hum that carried on the warm night air.

"That's an odd sound," Leila commented, tilting her head to listen. "What is it?"

"If I'm not mistaken, it's called a Hrajillian Euphony-or at least that is how it is referred to among the Federation anthropologists who have studied their culture. Theirs is known as a passionately xenophobic culture, though I suppose they would simply say they value their privacy." He scowled. "I can't imagine why they'd be playing it here, now. Unless...could my father have persuaded them to apply for Federation membership? Is this party for their benefit?"

"Whatever the reason, it should work to our advantage. Look around. There must be fifty people out here-we can blend in easily."

"From the look of things, I'd also guess that we've arrived at the general reception. The VIPs must be hidden away in the inner sanctum somewhere." For the first time in five days, his face and posture visibly relaxed. "You're probably right. No one will notice me with everything else that's going on. I'll bet my parents won't even venture out here at all."

It took a conscious effort for Leila to mask her disappointment over his last observation. For his sake, she smiled and patted his sleeve. "You see? I told you not to worry. Now you'll have plenty of time to decide what to do. And in the meantime, maybe we can find something to eat."

"Let's see what we can do about that." Tucking her arm into his, he moved toward one of the buffet tables. Too late, he realized his mistake. Directly to his left hovered a tall, muscular Terran. Unlike almost everyone else on the terrace, he was in uniform: the sleek green and gold dress tunic that designated Embassy security.

For a tense, endless moment, the two of them stood motionless as the guard's eyes shifted from Leila to Jarrod's face and then back again. They narrowed slightly, but nothing else in his expression changed.

"He recognized me," Jarrod muttered as they moved hastily away. "Will he tell my parents?"

Leila glanced back over her shoulder while Jarrod kept his own head down. "He hasn't left his post. Maybe you imagined it."

"I know I didn't."

"All right, then, come on. Let's move away while he's still making up his mind."

Jarrod didn't object as she grabbed his hand and pulled him across the terrace, sliding between and around clusters of guests until they passed through an open pair of full-length doors. On the other side lay a spacious, glass-walled room lined with cushioned benches and smaller tables to facilitate more private conversations. Here were more guests, more comestibles. Again, thankfully, no one gave them a second glance.

"Well, we made it inside the house," she murmured. His nervousness had returned; even through two layers of clothing, she could feel his muscles tightening. "What is this room?"

"It's...a sort of lounge," he said, huddling close to the wall with her while he scanned the crowd cautiously. "During the day, my mother liked to come out here and enjoy the sunlight. In the evenings, when my father was away, my sisters and I would look out and try to guess which star he was closest to." His gaze drifted up to the ample skylight that dominated the high ceiling. "I have a feeling he was usually a lot farther away than we could even have imagined."

For a moment, Leila thought she saw his eyes grow moist, but decided it was merely a trick of the artificial light.

"It's a lovely place. You must have liked growing up here."

"Actually, I spent most of my time fighting against everything this house-and my father-stood for." He winced. "What a fool I was."

While Jarrod fell into a brooding silence, Leila took a few moments to examine their surroundings in more detail. Even after the many hours she'd spent helping her young friend decide to return to Amphitrite, and even after their many grueling hours of travel to that end, the scene that lay in front her still retained an almost surreal quality.

Yet, somehow, she had to force herself to accept it. This was the home Spock had made for himself, the same home her younger and far more na•ve self had once envisioned sharing with him. Though the cool, sparse dŽcor reminded her very much of the man who had obsessed her so long ago, she also detected a feminine touch in the room. The clues were subtle: the overly casual placement of a flowering plant, a hanging piece of sentimental artwork no Vulcan would have favored. Gradually it dawned on her that Jarrod himself was a product of the same struggle between emotion and rigid Stoicism. Had he always been as conscious of it as she suddenly was?

Leila turned back to him abruptly, before her own reverie could grow too distracting. "Surely you must have some positive memories of your life here," she prompted.

This time, though, Jarrod couldn't hear her. He was staring, mesmerized, at a woman who had entered the room and was slowly working her way through the crowd.

Leila felt herself go cold as a kind of fascinated horror stole through her. For a moment, it really seemed as if everything around her was moving in slow motion...including the tears, now unmistakable, that formed in Jarrod's dark eyes.

"That's her," he whispered. His voice became little more than a groan. "My mother."

Leila stood frozen beside him, watching Spock's wife move easily among the guests. Many of them appeared to know her, or at least fell quite easily into light conversation with her. She, in turn, seemed to sense exactly how much time she should spend with each person-or being-she greeted. Fortunately, she was too occupied with her duties to notice them huddling at the far end of the room.

The necessity of retreat saved her from blurting something foolish or unguarded. Wordlessly, they slipped back onto the terrace, though they continued their surveillance from behind the open doors.

Suddenly, both of them noticed something they hadn't seen before. Trailing alongside their hostess, and participating in the formal greeting process, was a very young Vulcan boy. Hands clasped behind his back, he wore an expression far too serious for his limited years.

"That child." Jarrod barely managed to choke out the words. "I've never seen him before. Who could he be?"

"You said you'd been away five years." As endearing as she found his naivete, Leila heard her own voice emerge thick with misery. Inwardly, she hated deceiving him, almost as much as she hated this spectacle and all it represented. Most of all, she hated the raw, burning envy that welled up in her throat. "Could he be your brother?"

"That's impossible! My mother is in her fiftieth year, at least. That's too old to bear a child."

In spite of herself, Leila stifled a laugh. "Jarrod, I can hardly believe that an intelligent-and scientifically trained-man like you could entertain such a preposterous fallacy. Certainly it's not common, but women your mother's age - and my own- can certainly do so given the proper medical attention. I expect a Federation starbase could provide just that."

He looked both puzzled and contrite. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to offend you. I suppose I'm more or less in shock."

"I'm not offended. And I do understand." Her fingers sought his and squeezed them. "Perhaps you were right; we shouldn't have crashed the party. I'm beginning to feel highly conspicuous. Besides, ambushing your parents in the middle of all this would be cruel."

"Maybe we should just leave without speaking to them at all."

"I don't think that's what you want. Besides, we've come too far to simply turn around and go back. How about this: we stay out of sight until the party is over, then approach them in a more civilized manner? Surely you can find us a spot where we can blend in with all the other outsiders."

His sullen gaze followed the happily oblivious perambulations of his mother.

"All right. I guess I can manage that."

"I thought you could. Besides, I still want to sample those refreshments. It's been hours since either of us had anything to eat. I admit I'm feeling a little faint."

"I guess I am, too."

His discomfort was emotional; Leila knew he expected her to understand that. She couldn't help thinking how much deeper his agony would be if he'd realized that her own distress had bubbled up from the same bitter well.

- - -

For the next hour or so, safely ensconced at a tiny table behind a pillar, they watched with a kind of numb fascination as the festivities progressed. At one point, Jarrod pointed out his sister, Lidia, who was walking beside a teenaged Vulcan who, despite his bored expression, appeared to be her suitor.

"Apparently many things have changed since I've been away."

"Life is like that, I'm afraid. And yet, sometimes, it all comes full circle again." Keeping a tall, luxurious potted plant between herself and the rest of the room, Leila performed another quick scan of the various faces. "I take it there's no sign of your father yet."

"Not a one. Still, that doesn't necessarily surprise me. I suspect he's consulting with some important dignitary in more private surroundings. The truth is that he dislikes these functions, inasmuch as he can be said to actively dislike anything. Instead, he follows the Vulcan way-leaving these social duties to my mother."

"She seems to be handling them well."

He nodded. "It's a talent she comes by honestly. Before her imprisonment, it was expected that she would one day marry a man with political aspirations. Women on her world had fewer opportunities than they do here."

"Then I suppose she's fulfilled her ambitions. That's much more than most of us can claim."

He looked at her strangely, no doubt assuming she meant his own failed career with Starfleet. Despite his hurt, she couldn't bring herself to correct him; that might have led to other questions she didn't care to answer.

"All the same, if the time ever comes, I'd hope my wife would expect a bit more of me than she does of my father."

Leila considered his words with growing interest. "That's either very forward-thinking of you, Jarrod, or unbelievably presumptuous." Briefly, she looked off into the distance, losing herself in some admittedly ungracious thoughts. When she turned back to continue the conversation, he had disappeared from her side.

It took her less than a heartbeat to understand why. In front of them, a large group of guests had suddenly dispersed, leaving her corner of the table utterly exposed. In the very same instant, his mother was crossing the terrace and heading straight toward her.

To Leila's unspeakable relief, her expression gave no sign that she had recognized her son. Instead, she approached Leila as she might have approached any other guest left alone to daydream over an empty plate.

"Can I get you something?"

At last, Leila found herself staring directly into a face she'd tried to visualize, in precise detail, for months. Not surprisingly, reality bore only a passing resemblance to her private conjectures. The vivid red hair Jarrod had talked so wistfully about was rather generously threaded with grey, and the genuine warmth behind Zarabeth's smile caught her wholly off guard. Resenting this woman was going to be more difficult than she'd anticipated.

"Actually...I'd just about kill for a white wine. I haven't seen any all evening."

"That's because some of the attending cultures have an ethical objection to intoxicants. I'm afraid we're limited to fruit extracts and non-alcoholic synthetics."

Leila sighed. "Well, I'll make do. Thank you for asking, though."

"Wait a moment. Maybe I can come up with something."

As Zarabeth walked back to the reception, Leila heard a fierce hiss behind her. She turned to see Jarrod desperately flattening himself behind the hedges that bordered the terrace's stone rail.

"Leila, what are you doing? Get out of there-quickly!"

"How can I? She said she was coming right back!"

And she did. Jarrod ducked back out of sight as his mother hovered only a few short meters from his hiding place.

"There you are, white wine in a juice glass. Be sure to pour out any that's left over and don't tell anyone."

"I promise. Thanks."

"Normally I wouldn't break protocol, but you looked like you needed that."

"You have no idea."

"So, which bureau are you with? Or are you from Starfleet?"

Leila tasted the wine slowly, buying enough time to formulate a casual answer. "Actually, a friend with connections to the Embassy invited me here. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not. This side of the party is more or less open to all base personnel, anyway. The official reception is going on behind closed doors."

Exactly as Jarrod had predicted, she thought. "So that's where the Ambassador is hiding." She couldn't quite bring herself to say 'your husband.' "I'd expected him to be out here, giving you a hand."

"It's all right. The Embassy felt it necessary to arrange some sort of gathering in their honor, but in truth, they have no desire to mingle with the rest of us. This seemed an adequate compromise. Besides, my duties out here are more to my liking, and those inside are more to his."

"You did have an assistant earlier, I noticed. A very small one."

"Yes, that was my younger son. It was getting late, so I asked my daughter to take him to his room. He didn't appreciate that, since he's never quite acknowledged that he is still a child."

"I see."

"You're from Earth?"

"Yes, though I haven't been back there in many years. Have you?"

"Just once, briefly. It was several years ago." Hastily she redirected the conversation. "However, I do find Earth quite interesting, since my own world was similar to yours in many ways. Those who study such things even believe that both worlds were originally colonized by the same progenitors. So perhaps we have more in common than we realize."

"You're probably quite right about that."

Soon Zarabeth left Leila to her wine and moved on to deal with the first wave of departing guests. When it was safe to do so, Jarrod emerged from behind the rail, his clothes flecked with leaves and twigs. He brushed at them with irritation.

"That trip to Earth she mentioned-that was to install me at Starfleet Academy. I was embarrassed to have them there. Apparently they haven't forgotten how I let them down."

"You may have heard what she said, but you didn't see they way she said it. She misses you terribly, I can promise you that. You have to reveal yourself to them, Jarrod. Tonight."

"I don't know. Once Starfleet knows I'm here, I may still have prison to look forward to. My father would never harbor a fugitive, even his own son, and my mother wouldn't keep my presence a secret from him."

She shook her head. "But we already agreed that this was for the best. You can either face what you've done, or hide on Gamma Aurelius for the rest of your very protracted Vulcan life. Eventually, there won't be any more cabins for you to build. Then what?"

That familiar defiance flashed and faded in his eyes. "As you say...we've already decided. I suppose I am too much a Vulcan to go back on a promise, even one made only to myself."

"We'll wait until everyone else is gone. Is there a place we can stay totally out of sight for a while?"

"I grew up here, remember? I made it a point to discover an entire network of places like that. Now...how would you feel about climbing over this railing with me?"

"I'd say I've had just enough wine to attempt it without a second's hesitation."

"Good."

As she followed him through the scratchy shrubs and then off into the dark, she decided that the next hour or so was going to rank among the slowest-moving of her life.

- - -

Having seen off the last of their visitors, including the reclusive Hrajillian contingent, Spock and Zarabeth watched as Embassy aides attached transponders to the ravished buffet tables and the extra furniture that had been brought in for the party. Piece by piece, the debris and the aides themselves began to shimmer and dissolve, on their way back to the base. All that remained were a few insignificant clean-up tasks that could easily be left for the following day.

"On the whole, a fairly subdued group," Zarabeth said. "You were right about the drinks. I only hope the Hrajillians appreciated the sacrifice everyone made on their behalf."

"In fact, they were most impressed with what they observed of human behavior. Perhaps they are not as culturally advanced as I had previously supposed."

"Well, I'd suggest leaving that observation out of your official report."

"Agreed. However, they did make one observation that would tend to support the Federation's assessment of their perceptive abilities. They complimented me on my choice of a wife."

"I hope you thanked them for me."

"Their manner of discourse does not require that one be thanked merely for speaking the truth. I did find it both expedient and accurate to concur." Spock seemed about to say something more when he paused and tilted his head to the left. "Zarabeth...have all the guests left the premises?"

"Yes, your staff saw to that as far as I know. Why do you ask?"

"Because I just heard someone walk past the staircase."

"One of the children, perhaps."

"I do not believe that is the case."

She, too, fell silent and listened. Sure enough, the heavy footsteps his sensitive Vulcan hearing had detected grew louder as an unknown individual approached the door that separated the rest of the house.

"You are correct, Mother," said Jarrod as he entered the room in one swift, forceful movement. "It is indeed one of the children."