Library Pass

By

Pat Foley

Chapter 11

See them gaily gad about
They love to play and shout;
They never have any care;

Amanda had fallen fast asleep, but Sarek could not sleep, plagued by both hunger, curiosity and that annoying, infinitesimal hum. After a fruitless exercise in Vulcan disciplines, he gave up the attempt. Disciplines were all very well, but he would not sleep in a hum, discipline or no. And he didn't care how many staff were hiding behind the door in his kitchen, he would have a meal.

He slipped from bed, careful not to jostle his sleeping wife and shrugged into a robe. He hesitated before entering the kitchen, his sharp ears now alert for the slightest sound, even as some part of him bridled at the thought he had to be cautious entering his own kitchen for fear of …interrupting something. But he heard only the sound of his own breathing. Entering, he saw that his aborted meal had been cleared. He raised a brow at that, but refused to allow himself to draw any conclusions on that fact and resolutely made enough of a meal that his stomach ceased its complaints. Having finished and on the way back to his warm bed, he resisted the temptation of his curiosity to check out what had gone on in his household. After all, though out of place, such events were…private. And then, one foot on the stairs, he remembered the hum. Not only had whomever been hiding in his kitchen deprived him of his dinner and kept him from taking a meal, but now their actions meant his sleeping with the windows closed, and with that annoying hum.

Or perhaps the two events were unrelated. He had, after all, hosted a plethora of illogical beings in his home this evening.

After a brief struggle with his conscience, when he told himself that after all, it was his own household, he entered his office, letting the door close behind him. Once within, he drew a relieved breath, assured that at least no one would be lurking here, behind a door, or …otherwise. His office, at least, would be considered sacrosanct by guests and staff alike. And without, his household drifted in sleep. He hoped. Now.

But to be sure…

He settled behind his desk, bringing up the household security systems, pondering, puzzling, the source of that …outcry. It had been a female voice.

And far from any suitable location for such doings.

He was not unfamiliar with the human tendency to exhibitionism. At more than one party, seeking a quiet place to reestablish his barriers, his controls, or a moment's meditation he had come across a pair of humans, seeking a quite corner for their…trysts. He was entirely aware that humans being humans, it had likely happened on occasion at parties even in his own home. And at that thought, he felt both disquieted and …something else.

But in this case the party guests had all departed. Surely they had all departed. The security force would see to that. They would notify him instantly of any discrepancy in numbers leaving as opposed to those admitted.

Nevertheless, thinking uneasily of humans so caught up in their amorous pursuits that they overstayed the party, becoming lost and wandering through the Fortress at night, perhaps of wandering outside, prey for lematya, or any of the other desert predators, he felt obligated to check. True the guard was supposed to be watching for such things, but even Vulcans could be delinquent in duties. Or not anticipate the breadth of strange and alien behavior that their guests could sometimes manifest. And humans found the Fortress confusing; Amanda herself had frequently become lost in it in her first few months of residence. They had lighted much more of the gardens for the party, giving humans more opportunity to wander far and perhaps stray.

But upon checking…he found the counts tallied. He was at once both reassured and disturbed anew. He had thought that wordless outcry had been from a Vulcan throat. He had been quite sure those hiding behind his kitchen door had been Vulcan. But he could not remotely conceive that any of his Vulcan staff would engage in such doings. Not in the Fortress proper. Not when they had their own quarters for such pursuits.

And then there was the issue of where it had come from. It had been high above them, and to the right. In fact, it had sounded very like it had come from the media complex. Sarek told himself anew that he must have been mistaken. Perhaps it had been a bird, or some animal just above the library, on the rooftop gardens or the parapets. In the throes of passion, many animals cried out with almost human-- He stopped himself at that thought. Except it had been a Vulcan voice. He was sure of that. And Amanda had heard it too. Meaning the cry had been very loud and very close. In a part of the Fortress no staff should be using, this late at night, or to such purpose.

Who would use the library in that manner? His bonded staff all had homes or adequate quarters on the grounds and were hardly likely to be overtaken by passion. Certainly not in the media center, scene of innumerable, interminable meetings. Those advisors, aides and attendants who had clearance to the media center, were all quite…proper…Vulcans. Who would never engage in an illogical tryst in such a location.

For a moment, he resisted his curiosity as being prurient. But then he thought of that hum. And the fact that he had hesitated even entering his kitchen. At least, he could determine if there had been visitors in the library, and if their revels now had ceased. After all, this was his own home. Both shamed and resolute, he punched up the security program. It recorded all doors opening and closing in the huge fortress. And all windows as well.

And there, he had his answer. The proof. Not an hour before he had heard the outcry, the prosaic recording of the media center being accessed. He closed his eyes and refused to view that part of the screen which indicated who had so entered. There were lines he would not cross. And not long after, the security program indicated a pair of windows being opened in the library. And some time after he had heard the outcry, the same notation of the windows being closed. And the door being accessed again, as the …visitors…left. It had not been his imagination. And as no one had left the Fortress after that, it had been a member of his staff. Household or diplomatic, but undeniably Vulcan.

Now that he had the …evidence… he was not sure what to do. Or even if to do anything. He puzzled over that for a moment. This was his household. His private household. And he rather disliked the idea of it being so used.

Then shook his head – a human contamination. Not long after his marriage, he had banished the Vulcan staff from his private household, retribution for his wife's lack of clan status. Now that T'Pau had relented and she had such status, he had lately lectured his wife on the necessity of allowing clan attendants into this part of her life. Perhaps, unwelcome as the thought might be, he had some lessons of his own to learn in that regard. At least she was right in one respect. He admitted that things had gotten rather …out of control in his household of late.

And wouldn't Amanda find amusing in what respect things had gotten out of control.

He devoutly hoped the …lovers…had learned the lesson to be discreet in future. And at least spare him her discovery of that. He would never live it down.

Sighing a very human sigh at the innumerable ways life and fate chose to plague him, he went back to his suite. At least he could now turn off the irritating window screens, opening the balcony doors to the cool mountain breezes, assured there would be no more cries this evening, disturbing their rest, and raising questions on the part of his human wife that he had no wish to answer.

But in spite of the lack of the screens' distracting hum, he found himself disinclined for sleep. Between the party and his discovery, he was, as Amanda would say, too 'keyed up'. He could meditate, but he was disinclined for Vulcan disciplines. He was half hoping his wife would have awakened in his absence, or upon his return, for that might leave certain pleasurable options open. But Amanda was fast asleep after her stressful day, and in his absence she had wrapped her arms around a pillow, hugging it close. She looked far too peaceful and innocent to disturb.

He sighed and settled next to her, careful not to jostle the bed and awaken her. And then his eyes fell on the book on her bedtable. It wouldn't be the first time he'd read his wife's books when he was disinclined for sleep or meditation. Generally they were archaic Terran fiction, often something by Jane Austen, for Amanda had read her words so often she found them soporific. But he didn't mind. Though now a diplomat, once he had been a scientist, highly trained in analytical thought. He could glean something useful from almost any research endeavor.

Even archaic Terran fiction.

Even Jane Austen.

Even a love story.

Amanda would attest to that.

He settled down, the book in his hands, and flipped the pages open to reread one of his favorite passages.

To be continued…

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