Jonathan Archer sat back and looked at the blank screen for what seemed like hours– thinking about his wife and their baby.

Baby.

Through the conversation, he'd learned there were issues like the age of the child and that they'd have a boy.

A boy.

When Archer reached 40, he was fairly certain children were out of the question. He was career Starfleet material – with no time to start a family. That's what he'd always said to anyone asking if the Archer family line would continue. It made him feel sorry as his own father was one of the best men he'd ever met.

But here he was, well past 40, and with a child on the way. A half-human, half-Vulcan child. Suddenly a million questions popped into his mind, some revisiting what he'd learned on Enterprise in their early adventures.

Would the child have pointed ears? Would the child be considered human or Vulcan? Should their son be raised on Vulcan or Earth? Would their son be an engineer, pilot, or science officer? Would he have green eyes? Iron blood or copper-based? Logic or emotion?

Does he have genetic issues causing him to age more quickly?

Then a more troubling question popped into his head. Was the reason T'Pol's child was older than they expected because the child wasn't his? Did Vulcans, like other species, release eggs much later?

Could there be a possibility it was Trip's …?

He shook his head telling himself not to borrow trouble and decided he'd bring this new development up with the queen to leave sooner. Reaching for the protocols given to him, he researched what it took for him to request her presence and learned there was no such chapter. Opening his door, he saw a handmaid outside and smiled at her. She was tall with light blue skin, much like the other handmaids he'd seen. Her white hair was in two braids, reminding him of a Valkyrie from ancient Norse legends.

"Hi," he said hoping to pile on the charm. "Do you how I contact the queen?"

The blue Andorian frowned with contempt. Her clicking came out quickly and he supposed just as cranky as she'd said it.

"You don't," she said.

"When will I see her next?" he asked.

"When she wants you to see her," the handmaid replied.

This time, Archer drew himself up and realized he was roughly her height. With the bear-skin like cloth covering everything up to nearly his calves, he frowned.

"Although why she has chosen you is beyond understanding. Humans are weak."

It occurred to Jon that the queen was already telling even those closest to her that he was to be the father of her children. The Andorian looked him up and down and he felt himself blush.

"I would never question our queen's judgment, but a human and offworlder …. It would've been better to choose an Andorian."

Something that felt like a sneer spread across Archer's lips. "Just lucky, I guess."

The female scoffed, "Yes, I suspect so. You should rest as your fragile body may not be able to withstand what is required."

Recoiling, he decided to retreat into his room before the handmaid gave him details of exactly what was expected to plot and plan. Thinking about T'Pol and her child growing made him pace as he thought through what he needed to do.

Gral stood in front of the Prime Minister of Earth – Pelletier. He'd already provided several worthwhile arguments, matching his overall strategy to get the humans help. He even tried Rovak's attack, where he accused Pelletier of something Gral knew to be untrue to throw him off. Then he let loose with Tek's grunt, where every counterpoint was met with a sarcastic grunt. He even threw in a few Glog's method to obfuscate, bringing up irrelevant information. As he was about to finish his tactics of confusion with a well-timed fart to change the subject, Shran stepped in.

"We need your help," Shran said. The blue alien's antennae sagged.

Gral was about to explain he was nearing the end of his side of the argument when Neville Simon spoke up.

Neville said, "Ambassador Shran is afraid for his life and his family's. Krag has threatened them." He then pointed to Gral. "Tyr's equally unhappy with Ambassador Gral. Earth should provide them asylum."

Gral thought Earth's ambassador asked too quickly, but the three of them waited as the Prime Minister took off his glasses and moved to the window. Only now the new Federation building was beginning to take on new life, nearing the end of its renewed construction.

They were tentatively calling it the Peace building.

Pelletier said, "That building – I was here when it was destroyed. I've been to so many funerals … all for an enemy we can't see and don't know anything about," he said.

"We were there, too," Shran said. "Gral nearly lost his life."

Gral grunted, "And this blue devil was buried under a pile of rock during that explosion."

Pelletier looked back at them and nodded. "I remember."

Neville added, "Sir, they've been through a great deal to help us. There's no question of their loyalty to help protect us from the Romulan menace."

Pelletier said, "But if we give them asylum, Krag may withdraw support from the war as well as Tyr. As it is, we're lucky to have their help. Even T'Pau acts as if she may withdraw at any moment. Illogical for a Vulcan."

"T'Pol won't let her," Shran said. "Neither will Skip."

"Skon," Gral corrected.

"Yeah, him," Shran agreed.

Pelletier looked over at Simon and then gave a heavy sigh. "I'll need to think about it."

"You should," Neville agreed.

A woman appeared from nowhere, one who looked highly decorated, and led the men outside. Neville stayed behind as the door shut behind Gral. He grunted as Shran shrugged.

"There seems nothing more we can do," Shran said.

It wasn't like the blue devil to admit defeat so summarily. Gral knew it was because of his entire family, that he was worried about protecting them. The pig-like creature twitched his snout and had an idea.

Just as the door was about to close, Gral grunted, "Prime Minister, we know Archer is seeding the Andorian queen with pups."

Shran's eyebrows knitted as the door jerked open. Wondering if they'd heard, Gral tried to repeat it, only louder. "The Pink Skin is interested in giving pups to the Andorian queen."

This time the door opened completely. Both Pelletier and Simon's jaws went slack as Shran shook his head.

"Humiliating," Shran said. "No doubt the queen will die barren and her brother will take her place, turning into the next queen." He turned to Gral. "They should've asked me, an Andorian, to help. Any Andorian would be proud to give the queen offspring."

None of this seemed to matter to Simon or Pelletier. The prime minister waved them back in as he said, "Archer went AWOL."

"Does AWOL mean wallowing in the mud with a woman?" Gral asked. He turned to Shran thinking the blue alien would know. He gave the device on his shirt a thwack. "My translator isn't working."

Simon explained, "It's working. Archer abandoned his military post."

Pelletier asked again. "Are you sure it was Archer? It seems strange that—"

Shran puffed up his chest. "Are you calling Gral a liar? He may be good at deception and be as argumentative as a tarpig, but he's not a liar."

This made Gral squeal. "Yes, we're certain. We saw it in the Andorian news."

Shran flatted his lips, his antennae drooping. "She's chosen an offworlder. I mean, I like Archer, but … I can't imagine the future of my world with little hairy Pink … Purple Skins running around. Mind you, I'm not like the religious caste – I don't care what races mixes with ours. It's just …. My queen will have Archer's offspring." His body shook in revulsion. "She'll probably eat him, too, to end his line if he is able to by-tok with her." Looking up with sadness, he excused himself for cursing. "It would've been better for her brother to become the new queen."

This seemed to confuse the Prime Minister more. Quickly he shut the door behind him and then spoke into his intercom asking Matt Gardner to join them. As the man in charge of Starfleet walked in, Pelletier asked Gral and Shran to start from the beginning about Archer.

"Admiral Archer has been chosen by my queen to give her offspring," Shran explained. Calling up the Andorian news, he showed the Prime Minister and Gardner the news. "It's right there – of course our religious caste is up in arms as you might imagine, but … they're not as angry as our military. They're demanding our queen mate with them and have offered up even the most exquisite of our species to change sexes."

Pelletier grimaced, just as Gral did, and turned away. "I hadn't heard that yet. Our network from has suffered some since the war. We don't know as much as we used to."

"I can help Earth," volunteered Shran. "I'm loyal to Andoria, but … this is information Earth should know."

This seemed to intrigue Pelletier and Simon and before Gral could caution his friend, the Prime Minister agreed. "You have sanctuary, both of you. Simon and I will give you the particulars of your agreement."

Shran nodded and the two left. They walked into the corridor and looked out at the giant crater where the Federation Hall used to be. Gral snorted. "You're officially a spy."

"I was already," Shran grunted.

"You may never see Andoria again," Gral told him.

"Their springs were overrated." Shran turned to him. "My first priority as the male is security for my family and offspring. I should provide a proper home. Jhamel likes Earth. I just hope my son and daughter can return there one day."

Gral agreed. "I figure we have at least six years to evade police, but … even then it'd be difficult for them to find us. The police of my planet prefer the mudholes of Tellar, not some barren wasteland like Earth. Still Martog likes this place with its dry climate and lack of mud."

Pelletier began to create a plan and called in several people to help hatch it. Gral didn't feel like he was betraying Tellar as much as helping the human help Tellar in the long run. Still, he watched as the blue devil next to him discussed Andorian business with as much enthusiasm as a pletok on Eating Day. The Andorians antennae sagged as he provided information about the caste system on Andoria.

Gral learned a few things. First, he understood that each Andorian was born to a role. Shran was part of the military class. But there was also a religious class. Shenar led that, and Shran seemed not to know whether that was a male or female, not that the classification bothered him. There was a worker class – people who provided key services. And Shran curled his lip when discussing the artistic class – the ones who painted, created poetry, and more.

"What class is Jhamel?" Gral asked.

"She's not a class," Shran said with annoyance.

Shran continued providing information about the royals and answering key information about his people. To Gral, he knew Shran felt like a betrayer. After hours of answering questions, the two were dismissed. Gral consoled his friend.

"You did what was right."

"I saved the blue hides of my family," Shran said.

"But this information – it will help many more Andorian in the future," Gral returned.

"I think so, but …. In the meantime, my people will know I'm a traitor – a ty'lek'tekek."

Gral frowned. "My friend, no such person who knows you will think that. Your clan and your class will rise again."

Shran said stoically, "Perhaps Andorians need the religious class now. We have little else."

T'Pol drank more water when a chime rang out over her video screen. She knew through her bond it wasn't Jonathan and surmised it must be Phlox who already had an answer. Indeed, she wasn't mistaken. The Denobulan seemed eerily quiet as if he'd lost all cheer. Even the Vulcan who wasn't skilled at emotion knew this couldn't be – as Jonathan would say – good news.

"Doctor," she said.

Phlox frowned somewhat although seemed determined to go through the pleasantries. "T'Pol, thanks for taking my call."

"It is I who should thank you."

"No … no, not at all." His frown deepened. "I reviewed your information as quickly as I could."

Only Dr. Phlox would apologize for reviewing information within twenty-four hours, T'Pol thought. "Did you discern anything?" she asked. As she did, she gripped the sides of her chair as if to do something the humans discussed – brace herself for the bad news.

"The scans had a number of abnormalities," he said, shifting as if uncomfortable. "It's why the child looks unnaturally aged."

"Yes?"

"I compared these scans to the ones retrieved from The Expanse," he said. "The T'Pol from that timeline had a child with a number of genetic peculiarities, something the Phlox from that timeline called Slthar Syndrome."

She'd never heard of the syndrome and wondered silently if she had given the abnormalities that word. After all, slithar in Vulcan meant unusual, abnormal or irregular. Regardless, it seemed cruel that she would give the syndrome such a name, even as logical as she was.

"So my child has genetic issues."

Phlox seemed to let his entire body sag. "Yes."

"It is the first known breeding of our species. Perhaps it was o be expected." T'Pol took a breath, although she believed she knew the answer. "Can these issues be resolved with gene therapy?"

"The Phlox from that timeline tried … and failed," he said. "The T'Pol from that timeline …." She could tell the doctor had more to say, but managed to abridge his version. "She was also unsuccessful."

T'Pol knitted her brow. "Do I have any options?"

"I don't believe so, T'Pol. But perhaps it's wise to discuss this with Vulcan doctors. Perhaps they have seen something like this before."

Bringing up the scans again, she tried to consider what could've caused such abnormalities. There were Vulcans who mated with Andorians many years ago. When the species were first intermixing, anomalies were created. At the time, they were banned from society.

"It is our mix of DNA?" T'Pol asked, knowing the answer.

"It seems that way," he said. "Of course, knowing what issues you might face, you most likely can avoid future issues by accepting –"

To avoid genetic mutations, she and the doctor would have to experiment with her eggs and Jonathan's sperm. T'Pol wondered whether that was true of Lorian, her child with Trip.

Was he created in a lab?

At the time, she'd chosen not to look into the matter. There was a part of her that wanted to deny Lorian's existence, including a relationship with Trip. It had been foolish for her to ignore that relationship, Lorian, and Trip.

What she hadn't considered at the time is that people aboard the Enterprise, stuck in time, needed families to carry on to save Earth. Perhaps Phlox had helped her and Trip carefully plan Lorian, ensuring their child wasn't afflicted by Slithar. Perhaps they all knew that a Vulcan would live longer, enabling Enterprise to carry on and survive.

Would she and Phlox be successful now?

The peak of her next biological cycle would be another several years, not to mention that her husband's genetic material was decaying due to age. Even by human standards, he would have less success producing children without medical issues.

"I do not believe that will be necessary," she said.

As if reading her mind, Phlox retorted, "Apparently in the Expanse, the other Dr. Phlox and other T'Pol were able to accelerate her cycle so that she had several eggs. It seems their third experimentation made Lorian. That and I was able to give that T'Pol an enzyme that would help her sustain life with trace amounts of iron in his blood."

"I would need to discuss this with Jonathan." Tapping her finger along the console, she asked, "What happened to the child who had Slithar?"

Phlox pushed a hand through his hair. "The other T'Pol miscarried at three months." He paused and drew a breath. "Since you know that will be the outcome, perhaps a doctor there—"

"No," she said, anticipating his words.

He was suggesting she speed up the process – to shed the life. There were roots Vulcans used to expel life that was assured to die.

Sighing he said, "You should rest as much as possible."

"Is there any chance …?" T'Pol asked.

Although she was a scientist, she wanted to hear her child had a chance, even a remote one. Dr. Phlox seemed to understand the unasked question and a frown took up his entire face.

"No. By my calculations, you'll miscarry again soon."

She was quiet and he used that time to instruct her to rest, saying that although it wasn't life threatening it wouldn't be easy. He also mentioned, delicately, a doctor could help make that process easier, including speeding up the inevitable.

T'Pol didn't mean to be rude, but nodded and cut the doctor off. "Thank you for your assistance." It was then she ended the video screen.

Resting her chin against her chest, she decided meditation would be helpful. She would also do her own research. Although she trusted Dr. Phlox, she felt the need to verify and quadruple check. It would also be necessary before she spoke to Jonathan again.

Aide Skon watched his sister, Soval, and Kuvak gather on the circular sofa that took up much of the Great Hall. Pillows on the floor, this meeting place was intended to be a location where discussions could take place or meditation.

Bold colors of rich hues adorned the space. Unlike when V'Las was minister, this gathering place seemed to be warm and inviting. The words on the walls hailed Surak's teachings, the runes in gold – brilliant against the fabrics.

Soval paced humanly across the floor as he spoke of Coridan. He knew the planet, understood the turmoil the people had encountered and spoke with what on Vulcan would be considered passion about providing reparations. At least thirty minutes had passed before Skon's sister spoke.

"You sound like your mentee, Soval," T'Pau said.

"T'Pol and I have been to Coridan, you have not," Soval said. "What both my mentee and I say is based on experience."

Skon watched his sister bristle slightly at the accusation. It would only be perceivable to a Vulcan, but he knew his sister. It was there.

From the familial bond, he knew she felt emotions – the need to prove herself, especially because she was young. His sister also had the desire to bring her people to peace at long last. He could not fault her for wanting that harmony. Skon had to agree, the Vulcans had spent many years at war even when they touted peace.

"We have worked with so many civilizations," T'Pau said. "Should we repay everyone, including the Terrans?"

"If necessary, yes," Soval said.

"We do not have the funds," T'Pau said.

"Then we should negotiate," Skon said. "Sister, it seems so far, Ambassador T'Pol was correct in her interpretation of Surak's newly found teachings."

Minister Kuvak said, "That may be, Skon, but we cannot change the past – even as we may wish it to be different."

Minister Soval spoke again. "That is also true, but ignoring our past may hinder us further."

T'Pau rose a hand after listening to them. It was clear why she had asked both Soval and Kuvak to help her. Both were logical, and yet compassionate. Soval knew foreign affairs, while Kuvak understood the affairs of Vulcan. They were formidable allies and it brought some – if he had to name an emotion – pride that his sister had identified she needed such counsel. Indeed, this counsel so far had garnered the admiration of the Vulcan people. Skon had heard so, even on Earth.

T'Pau said, "Minister Kuvak, you and Minister Soval have provided compelling arguments. But … it would be logical to talk with Coridan directly. To understand their interests ourselves."

Skon knew this was a win for T'Pol, Soval, and himself.

T'Pau continued, "I will contact them. Skon, can you provide the information to do so?"

Skon agreed, "Of course."

It wasn't in Soval's nature to gloat, and both he and Kuvak sat placidly accepting the information. Skon wondered if they both knew their role was to present arguments against each other for T'Pau's benefit. In fact, if Skon had to make a hypothesis about Kuvak's thoughts, he would guess he agreed. As he watched, he heard his sister give a command.

"Walk with me, Skon," she told him. It sounded more like an order from his leader than a request from his sister.

With that, the ministers separated. It was near the time when Vulcans rested and meditated to keep up with the longer days, both ministers retreated probably to return to their homes. As Skon watched them leave, his sister began walking outside on the veranda. He followed.

"Surak would say that power encourages corruption," Skon said coolly, following. "And that power can be an addiction."

T'Pau gave her brother a jaundiced eye. "You are concerned I am corrupt or addicted to power?"

They reached the end of the stone and looked out on the horizon together. Darker than a sehlat's fur, the mountains reached into the sky seemingly to almost touch one of the suns. Hooded statues lined the way to the mountains, a connection of Vulcans to their past and the mountains.

He would never say so – as it was illogical – but Vulcan was hauntingly beautiful.

"Ever since you were a child, you wanted to lead," he said to her.

She looked up at him. "It concerns you as you are the older child?"

Raising an eyebrow, he said, "No, sister, you were born to lead. But one might believe you enjoyed leadership too much."

"Enjoyment is an emotion," she said.

"Yes," he agreed. "It is true all the same. Kuvak and Soval may think of you as Vulcan's lead minister – emotionless and connected with Surak, but I know better. We share a familial bond."

It seemed to amuse her some and she looked out with him. "Just as I know you were never meant to be a teacher. You are patient, but you yearn for the stars."

"We understand each other," he agreed.

They were quiet for a moment. After a time, his sister turned to him.

"Brother, T'Pol is unwell."

T'Pol's color was off, she seemed tired of late, and he noticed she craved salt in her water. Yet, because she was his friend, he began thinking of reasons why she would seem ill. It worried him more that his sister had noticed, but because T'Pol was a friend, he pretended it was normal.

Skon said, "It is difficult for even me to be back on Vulcan – the altitude, the additional gravity, the hot, dry weather —"

"She is with child," T'Pau said.

He felt his jaw drop, but manage to regain his composure quickly.

T'Pau continued, "She says it is the Admiral's. That they bonded."

"You felt my thoughts. You know although it is unusual, that is indeed what it appears," he said.

"I know." Again, she looked out at the vista and again several minutes passed. "Skon, I remember the day you nearly died, when you returned from the Kahs-wan battered and broken. Doctor T'Slan said you may not survive. Mother was … agitated, as was I."

"But I lived." He remembered the ordeal. She was right, it nearly killed him. He was always a studious boy with his head in the clouds, unlike her. She, on the other hand, was athletic and logical to a fault. "You seemed to have no trouble, Pi' ko-kai."

She softened at the words, a name he sometimes called her which roughly meant, Little Sister. He was careful not to do so in front of others. Although she would never say so, he knew it embarrassed her.

"I … care for your well-being," T'Pau.

He felt his heart grow lighter at the comment. "I am relieved you do not wish me dead."

"The death of your lifemate … it took a toll on you."

He let out a breath. "Yes."

"I could sense T'Pol touched your mind."

This time he was the one who welcomed the silence. Finally, after he gathered his thoughts, he turned to her.

"T'Pol did. She entered the unmentionable and I was required to give her assistance."

"That is logical. But … I could sense more."

Straightening, he put his hands behind his back, clasping them to gird himself against emotion. "She is wed to Admiral Archer now."

"She started a mindfire in you."

"And that was extinguished by another Vulcan."

"Yes."

Skon said, "I sense there is a reason you are asking me these questions."

"Suk' sa-kai, I will always be concerned for your well-being."

"How is that connected to Ambassador T'Pol?" he asked.

"She has agreed to resign."

"Resign?" he asked, surprised. Even he could hear the tinge of shock in his voice. It took him a full minute to recover. For some reason, this was more perplexing than having a human child, married to a human.

T'Pau said, "Yes. As she is bonded to an offworlder, she cannot be trusted with our most … sacred information."

"You mean our secrets."

T'Pau disagreed, "We must protect some of Vulcan, our allies, and our enemies from knowing the Sundered are our brethren."

"You know my thoughts on this. If it helps them win against them, then we have a duty to warn."

"Vulcan is—"

"I know your reasoning, and it is faulty. You believe if Vulcans become aware of our history, that it may destabilize us. I disagree. Being a Vulcan is more than having green blood."

"What if Vulcans who enjoy emotion turn to the Sundered? What if the v'tosh ka'tur start a rebellion?"

"Then they do," he said. "They have always threatened."

"V'Las wanted to reunite us, to encourage Vulcans to feel emotions. Only we know how dangerous our emotions are. How base. How … troubling."

Skon said, "Interacting with the humans, Andorians, and Tellarites, I believe they are aware."

Skon watched as she stuffed her hands into her robe as she did even as a child to show she was annoyed.

Skon said, "Although I believe Surak to be correct, Vulcans are also more than our ability to control our emotions."

She asked, "Then what separates us from the Sundered?"

This, finally, Skon understood to be the root of her concern. Vulcans were forced to ask existential questions, such as what did it mean to be Vulcan. He disagreed with his sister on many issues, but at this core one – she seemed to be right. If not for embracing logic, what did it mean to be Vulcan?

"I have meditated on this, discussed the issues with Kuvak, talked with Soval to gain his point of view, reached out to Surak's katra, and consulted the priests on Mount Selaya. You may believe me rash, but this has weighed on me, Brother. I have studied and meditated on this key point for some time."

"You are worried."

"Worry is an emotion."

"Yes," he agreed. "Surely, you must believe Vulcans are wiser than to flee to Romulus."

"Perhaps in one hundred years or two hundred years, but not now. You have not been here in some time. There has been discord – those who do not embrace logic – more than just the v'tosh ka'tur. There are some who believe they can unite the universe in a single religion. Even the old monarchs believe they would add stability by gaining power. Kuvak, Soval, and I rule Vulcan by a single thread."

The V'Dem were the monarchs from old from before even the time of the Awakening. Known for their severity, they ruled Vulcan by brute force alone. Many believe Surak was a reaction against it.

"The V'Dem? They have become part of society."

"T'Pik has made it known she would rule, if asked."

"This would start old clan wars."

T'Pau agreed. "Now you know the issues on Vulcan."

"I have only been gone a Sol year."

"The more Surak's writings are uncovered by those who follow Surak, the more strife there seems to be. You may not agree with us, but Soval, Kuvak, and I are doing what we think is best for Vulcan. To unite us first, to rely on peace. I can lend support, but I cannot join the war. Kuvak has helped unite those from the government and the old clans. Soval has united those who served in the military. I have brought the Syrannites and the old priests. But many do not want to embrace peace or the old ways."

"But, if we do not join the war, the humans, Andorians, and Tellarites may not survive."

"When we rejoined minds, surely you saw all this. What is at stake for us and how I believe we can help."

Hearing her explain things made much more sense of the images that displayed – warring factions, Kuvak gathering leaders for support, Soval talking with people, and T'Pau meeting with priests on Mount Selaya. He knew, though she would never express it, she was afraid for Vulcan – both that the teachings of Surak would extinguish and that unrest would lead to civil war.

The more his sister explained how on the brink of war they were at home made him understand how tenuous their position was.

"I am uncertain how I can help here," Skon admitted.

"We are fortunate that Soval's daughter has married into one of the clans that followed the v'tosh katur. The young man now is following logic, rather than emotion and has persuaded some of his order to follow him. We need education ministers to revive the old ways as well, including mind melds."

"I can speak with them, if you want," Skon agreed.

After all, he was a teacher. He had connections with the education community, including influential people in the university system.

T'Pau said, "The reason I asked about T'Pol and the Vulcan woman who assisted you during mindfire is I hear Stikon's daughter – T'Rama – has lost her first husband. She is now unbonded."

Skon swallowed. "Sister, that seems ill-advised."

"You may have heard of her. She is a mathematician at Ri'ahana."

At the connection, he realized he had heard of her. She was one of the foremost mathematicians on chaos theory. Based on her calculations, she hypothesized that all species in the universe were related. He'd even heard about some religion merging based on her ideas – one that many on Vulcan unemotionally scoffed at – the Sha Ka Ree. At the university where she was a teacher, she was considered a rebel, a revolutionary.

Vulcans rarely liked revolutionaries.

Skon wasn't sure he agreed with her hypothesis, but thought he would further investigate it at some point.

"I … I cannot agree to an alignment there. Besides, I will be on Earth assisting T'Pol."

"Because of her Terran bond, we have agreed that she would temporarily resign her duties and pass them to you. You will be our ambassador."

He merely opened his mouth when his sister spoke again.

"Skon, you can assist me in working with Coridan. As we re-establish a connection with them, you will remain here on Vulcan and can decide if you and T'Rama are … compatible." He hesitated and she used logic to persuade him. "Certainly the alignment is logical. You have mathematics in your blood, neither of you are particularly conventional, and you are both unbonded."

Skon's lips remained flat. "Sister, even you must understand alignments are forged on more."

T'Pau countered him, "And I well know they are forged on less."

"And what about your … alignment?" He knew she was promised to Lehran. "Last I heard, Lehan was joining the priesthood."

As if knowing he would touch a nerve, he saw her stiffen. "Lehran's way is one of the metaphysical. He is eager to touch the minds of our ancestors and share that knowledge."

"Some who join can marry. Only those who reach the position of High Master are devoted to only that task."

"Yes. Our intention is to join at the appropriate time. However, he has made it clear that way is an option for him," she said.

"Then your marriage could be void."

"We shall see when the time comes. He does not have the mindfire, and I am not eager to relinquish my duties in this tentative state."

"You are eager to see me bedded, but you …."

T'Pau shot an eyebrow up at her brother. "I do not sulk because a Vulcan has wed a human."

Skon could barely feel the corners of his mouth twitch. "You have made your point."

Rare though it was, T'Pau put her hand on his forearm. The two watched each other and he eventually put a hand over hers. It meant their emotions were bare to each other. Indeed, he could feel her worry for him and for all of Vulcan. He could even feel she knew she had hubris.

"Brother, I need your help. You have gained wisdom and insight as T'Pol's assistant – information I cannot yet understand. I need your guidance. And T'Rama may prove a worthy allegiance for our planet and for us personally." She wet her lips slightly – a sign he knew meant sincerity in her. "I want my brother cared for. You may be t'hy'la."

"Can you listen to me then, Pi' ko-kai?"

Softening, she released the grip on his arm. "I will."

"Then we are agreed. Until T'Pol gathers her strength, I will serve in her place. And … I will meet T'Rama."

T'Pau's head inclined, what humans may call thanks. With that, the two were silent and watched as the second sun set. It caused a brilliant purple to fill across the mountains. It was the hour or peace and tranquility, as Surak called it. It was a time when Vulcans meditated. As part of the ritual, Skon and his sister kneeled to do exactly that.

In his peace, Skon meditated on T'Pol and how he could help his sister by allying with T'Rama. It was then that logic overtook him, and he realized that all choices were his. His breathing finally accepted the atmosphere of Vulcan. And he felt – at long last – at home.