Library Pass

By

Pat Foley

Chapter 3

See them gaily dance about.
They love to play and shout.
And never have any cares.

At six o'clock their mommies and daddies
Will take them home to bed
Because they're tired little teddy bears.

Later that morning, T'Jar finished tidying the master suite, putting a last few touches on the room. The mistress did insist on making the bed, a menial task for a clan leader, but T'Jar still straightened and smoothed its clan shield coverlet to her own Vulcan standards of neatness. And then her eyes went to the bedtable where reposed a book. For a moment, T'Jar resisted, then she picked it up and riffled through it. And was disappointed. Emma again. It seemed so illogical to reread the same book. But it highlighted to T'Jar her own faults of illogic. Was she not doing the same thing? In one respect, it helped, to know her behavior was apparently the norm for this activity. But it reminded T'Jar that regardless, it was a human norm. And she herself was Vulcan. Vulcan.

She thought of Sarek, of what she had seen. Or almost seen…

He was Vulcan, too. But she had seen… What she had thought she'd seen…

No. He was Vulcan. She must have been mistaken.

And she was Vulcan. It was all very well to give a nod to IDIC, but… it was time for her to return to Vulcan behavior. She was sure of it.

She sighed, fully, feelingly. And put the book down. Reminding herself that she had one of her own to…put down. At least in the essential sense of things. And even harder to restrain herself from taking another up. Best to do it now, while her resolve was still strong.

Leaving the master suite she retrieved a book from her quarters. Estimating she had another few minutes before T'Rueth would expect her, she went reluctantly to fulfill her Vulcan duty. At the top floor of the ancient fortress, she glanced up and down the long gallery corridor and then slipped surreptitiously through the automatic doors of the library and media center. Her volume clutched against her breast, she made her way through the library to the section of stacks where it belonged. The library inside was divided into two main sections. On the one side resided the ancient texts of Vulcan philosophers, the history of the clan of Surak and of the Vulcan people, the laws and logical treatises of five thousand years of Vulcan wisdom.

And on the other side, Amanda's library. An arcane if eclectic selection of non-fiction. And a hodgepodge of something rare on Vulcan: fiction. Not philosophies or histories or lectures or disciplines, but fiction – children's literature that few Vulcan children would ever read, mystery that would mystify no Vulcan except for its existence, fantasy that no Vulcan could conceive, adventures no Vulcan would undertake and … romance. Romance that had no place in a logical society. It was just such a book that T'Jar was returning.

Drawing a strengthening breath, her heart beating fast, T'Jar plunged into the stacks willing her eyes not to see, or at least, to see just enough to shelve the book in question. No sooner than she had fitted it into place than she turned, and eyes nearly closed, sped through the library to the outer doors. Hands free.

And on the outside, drew a relieved breath. She had done it. For the first time in several weeks, she had not taken a new book from the library. She resolved that no more of these illogical human ideas would occupy her thoughts.

But what she had seen. Almost seen. Thought she'd seen? Still plagued her.

She told herself she was being illogical. A Vulcan engage in such behavior? She had seen nothing.

And went back to her duties.

xxx

But as she went about her chores, the day seemed, illogically to drag, with nothing new with which to look forward. She could not seem to discipline her thoughts. Far from being banished with her erstwhile book, the siren call of the library was as strong as ever. More so, knowing she had not even one to peruse. She was regretting her bookless state enough that she sought validation of her choice from one who was both Vulcan and her everyday mentor -- in a way that her erstwhile employer was not. She accosted T'Rueth after luncheon, though the cook was in a flurry with the party preparations.

"T'Rueth, don't you find it…curious…that Lady Amanda – who is logical and disciplined in many ways -- a respected teacher and researcher, should collect and read archaic paper books?"

"Why should it be curious?" T'Rueth asked, struggling with an unwieldy plomeek, one of a series that were lined up awaiting their doom. "She is a scholar. Her place is with such writings, as my place is with," the first section of the stem finally yielded to T'Rueth's determined assault, though covering the cook with orange colored juice, "this plomeek." She tossed the piece of stem in the recycler, and pushed back a strand of hair that had become loosened in her struggles, wiping the juice from her eyelashes. "The library is full of such books, Vulcan and human. So I have heard, for I have no time for such pursuits."

"The Vulcan books are clan archives. Ancient histories. Philosophical treatises."

"These human books are archaic as well, T'Jar, or they would not be books. I see nothing unusual in a scholar collecting such things."

"But Lady Amanda's books are different," T'Jar insisted. "She has books of fiction."

"Indeed, well…" T'Rueth had succeeded in undoing the rind and was now removing the purple guts of the plomeek, setting aside the firm orange flesh for baking. Last week, she had found a recipe for pumpkin tarts. While she had never seen or tasted pumpkin, the orange coloring in the accompanying illustration had tempted her to try the recipe with plomeek. Both her employers had praised the recipe and she intended to add them to the party delicacies. True, it was not on the list of party dishes, but she saw that she had time to fit in the preparation of a few more items, and she saw no need to bother the Lady Amanda with every detail. The rest of the cooks were doing the Vulcan dishes, but only she felt competent to do those Terran, or quasi-Terran, those she had adapted from a mixture of Terran and Vulcan ingredients and tastes. She was of the mind that at such a mixed gathering, such dishes should be showcased. "I know nothing of human scholarship or of fiction, T'Jar. I have other concerns. Ask the Lady Amanda if you wish to know. Surely you have chores, my girl. Today is hardly the day to ask me foolish questions about Terran books. What could you possibly want with Terran books anyway?"

"Yes, T'Rueth." T'Jar drifted away, face flushing, unwilling to answer that. And as to asking Lady Amanda, she hardly dared. It was neither her place nor her business, to bother her lady with her own personal concerns. And as if she could ever dare ask what she truly wished to ask. No, that would be forbidden. But how else would she know?

She sighed, wishing she had never begun her investigations in the library that had started all this. It had begun so innocently. She had merely been …curious about the paper books her lady read before she slept. As if they were a Terran equivalent to meditation rites. As she tidied her lady's things, she had picked up the books, and looked at the printed words on the paper pages. They were so archaic Misinterpreting her curiosity, Amanda had casually suggested Alice in Wonderland, something she'd thought was appropriate to a young Vulcan girl, both for the sense of wonder and the logical trivia. Had found the book for her and handed it to her saying her son had liked it. And almost as an afterthought, had given her a blithe and absentminded carte blanche to use her library as she chose.

T'Jar had at first not thought to take advantage of such leave. But she had dutifully read Alice in Wonderland. And it had, indeed, been wonderful. And then, given there was a continuing volume, and one must, after all be thorough, she had taken advantage of Amanda's leave to go to the library and read Through the Looking Glass. Seeing a second set in French, a language in which she had wanted practice, she had read it again. It had made it …easier…to justify such an illogical action in her mind, to read the same book twice. She could…almost…understand why her lady continued to reread books she had previously read. These were not merely books of fact, that once read, were consigned to memory. They were …something else. She hadn't quite known what. They took one on a journey. And if the journey was pleasant, who would fault taking it twice, the second time to understand it better? But twice was as much as she could justify in her own logical mind. And not wishing to bother her lady to make further recommendations, so busy was she that she had little time to read her own books, T'Jar had put aside further interest.

It might have ended there. But T'Rueth's project to go through their lady's culinary books, to glean such recipes as might be found useful to Vulcan tastes had begun in earnest. T'Jar had been sent frequently to the huge library to regularly pull cookbook after cookbook down for T'Rueth's perusal. And pouring through the stacks, day after day, she had lost her sense of their strangeness. T'Jar had necessarily to pass many other books. She had become intrigued by those she passed on the way to the cookbook section. The colorful bindings and covers, the intriguing titles. The temptation was too much. She had been curious. And after all, she had her lady's permission. And was not IDIC a very important philosophy, worthy of every Vulcan's attention? She had begun to dip into intriguing volumes.

What she found had fascinated her. Even after T'Rueth had finished her recipe project, T'Jar had continued her visits and her surreptitious sampling. Some of the stories, of adventure, of war, she found shocking to her Vulcan sensibilities, for even if fiction, these were not stories of ancient warrior Vulcans, long before Surak's reforms, but of humans, emotionally essentially as they were today.

Then purely by accident, she had read a story of human love. It had been wonderful. In some respects like Alice in Wonderland, but it was a wonderland of a different kind. A wonderland of passion. T'Jar had been shocked in a different way. But also enthralled. Though all knew of Vulcan passion, it was seldom discussed, much less celebrated in Vulcan history or Vulcan texts. But it seemed humans did discuss, even dwell on such passions. Since then she had been reading stories of love almost exclusively. At first, she had brought her books to the kitchen table, as she had Alice in Wonderland. She'd read them around the other staff, even as T'Rueth paged through her recipes and the other aides and guards and servants walked in and out. No one had taken notice, perhaps thinking she was helping T'Rueth. No one, that is, except for the burly Sascek. Since he guarded their lady, he was often about, and seemed to be forever in the kitchen, underfoot where he could hardly be wanted, treading in sand on just cleaned floors, or cleaning his weapons or eating. He was forever eating. Just yesterday, he had observed with unVulcan dissatisfaction that her nose was lately always in an archaic book. But she took no notice of him, difficult as it was to avoid taking notice of someone who took up so much space and created so much mess.

Now that she had begun reading love stories, she had become somewhat self conscious, of her interest, perhaps of her expressions as she read, the eagerness with which she turned the pages to discover each new scene. She found it hard to tear herself away from the stories. She wanted to read passages over and over, even though her eidetic memory consigned them instantly to recall. She grew impatient if she was interrupted at a crucial point of the plot. She had found herself beginning to not merely read, but imagine herself in the plots. Wish for some of what she was reading, for herself. And that had taken her aback. She realized she had become somewhat…undisciplined. It was time for her to regain her Vulcan control.

She had decided after the last volume, that she had to reconsider her actions. Resist the temptation to indulge further. It was very well for the Lady Amanda who was human. As a Vulcan, T'Jar resolved to make no more visits to the stacks in search of Terran fiction. She shelved her book determined not to indulge further and to avoid future temptation if at all possible. Fortunately T'Rueth had finished her recipe research, and T'Jar would no longer be tempted by visiting the library. So she decided her visit to the stacks that morning would be the last, and once returned, she vowed to indulge no more. Even though, returning it, she'd seen several books whose titles practically begged to be taken down, opened and read.

But she was resolved. She resisted the temptation. She would not visit the library again.

She congratulated herself on that resolve though her day's work. Arriving in the kitchen for afternoon tea, her plan proved to be short-lived. She had thought to go unnoticed among all the staff borrowed from the palace, but T'Rueth had eyes as sharp as her knives. "There you are, my girl," T'Rueth was surrounded by more tools of her trade, bowls and batters, fruits peeled and chopped and divested of their rinds, and was directing as well the labors of a host of others. "before you start your tea, I would have you run up to the library and bring me down Mrs. Beeton's Book of Household Management."

T'Jar regarded her with something close to dismay. "I've always thought you managed this household very well," she offered faintly.

"I wish to consult something in reference to this evening's gathering. Mind your hands are clean, now."

T'Jar cleaned her already spotless hands, using the delay to strengthen her resolve. "Do you wish to see?" she asked, offering them in an attempt to delay further.

"Go on with you," T'Rueth said, re-sharpening a cleaver worthy enough to serve a Klingon berserker and gestured T'Jar along with it, absentmindedly brandishing it like a warrior about to do battle. "I haven't time; I have twelve dozen tarts to make." She tossed the cleaver on the chopping block with a practiced thwack beside a basket of lemons, tartward bound.

T'Jar sighed and went, as resigned to her doom as the lemons. And fate would have it that to find the book T'Rueth wanted, she had to pass very near one of the books that had called to her before. She snatched it almost resentfully from the shelf as she passed and resolved, on the way to put it in her quarters, to read only one chapter. Just to prove to herself what Terran nonsense it was. She would read it in her quarters, in lieu of tea, so that she could not be absconded with for more errands, and then slip it back into the library before she could be missed from her duties.

Leaving Mrs. Beeton in the kitchen with T'Rueth, she didn't find it difficult to slip another book past her. The cook was so busy in her preparations she barely raised her head from her pyramid of fruit to acknowledge T'Jar. But attempting to slip back to her rooms to peruse her own book, T'Jar encountered a less oblivious obstacle. Sascek caught her as she was hurrying back to the staff wing. "T'Jar. I was coming to find you. There is something I would discuss with you. Would you care to meet me for a walk through the gardens this evening?"

T'Jar's eyes widened. "My lady's gardens? They will be in use by the guests."

"The guests will all in at dinner for the period I am considering. The gardens will be empty. Why should we not view them? They have been made particularly beautiful for the party."

"Won't you be working?"

"Sedet will be covering Sarek," Sascek said. "Lady Amanda will be with Sarek. All the guests are security cleared. Too obvious a security presence would be considered a diplomatic insult. Therefore, I will have minimal duties once the guests are within."

"I see. However, I have other plans for this evening."

Sascek gave the volume she held a dark look. "More of your Terran books?"

"That is not your concern," T'Jar said, stung and guilty. He would notice

"What can a bound attendant want with Terran fiction?" Sascek asked, "You are not a diplomat or a scholar or an ethologist. You are not Terran. Such things are not for you, T'Jar."

T'Jar folded the book more tightly against her, the color rising in her cheeks. "T'Rueth reads Terran books."

"She is reading cookbooks. For her profession."

"You seem to appreciate the results of her study." T'Jar accused.

"That is beside the point. What can result from your study?" Sascek asked. "For what purpose do you read this Terran nonsense?"

"I would like to hear you tell the Lady Amanda her books are nonsense," T'Jar flared.

"What is not nonsense to a human must be nonsense to a Vulcan. This is not for Vulcans. It is not for us, T'Jar."

"Us? There is no us. I am not your employee, Sascek. I am not your concern. It is not your responsibility to oversee how I spend my time. You overreach yourself. T'Rueth is my immediate superior. And the lady Amanda."

"Does she know how you spend your time?"

"I have the Lady Amanda's leave to read her books."

"I meant T'Rueth."

"If T'Rueth and the Lady Amanda read her books, so can I." She straightened. "Anyway, just because your services will not be needed this evening, doesn't mean that my time is equally unoccupied. I will be working, Sascek."

"You might have said so at first," he grumbled.

"Had you not insulted me at first, I might have been able to," she said haughtily. "I am not at leisure this evening."

Sascek stiffened and his voice took on an injured tone. "Then you will excuse me." He turned his broad back on her, and strode away.

T'Jar looked after him, and then down at her book. If he had not insulted her reading… Oh, but he was a nuisance. Always underfoot, especially when he was least wanted. She moved in the opposite direction from him, dismissing him from her thoughts, eager to read a chapter of her book. Or possibly two.

To be continued

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