Heart Break
By
Pat Foley
Chapter 2
Sarek's Tale
I have never gone as a supplicant to the Terran Embassy. It was difficult, even something of a strain to my control, to make such a request. Added to the strain was marshalling control against the frigid temperatures and humidity within the Terran Embassy, set nearly to Earth normal. They had no occasion to adapt it for the comfort of visiting Vulcans, for Vulcans rarely if ever visit. When Federation or Terran representatives wish to ask something of Vulcan, they come to Council Keep. The need to request anything of them, from me, had not previously arisen. I was as unfamiliar with that role of mendicant as they were with the role of benefactor.
Perhaps, had we had more practice, the request could have been granted.
But that was an illogical wish. The Terran Ambassador was new to Vulcan and eager, even anxious, to accede to this unlikely situation from this unprecedented supplicant. He did everything in his power, called in the Starfleet naval attaché, sought alternatives. But only twelve Starships exist among the whole of the Federation, many of them on distant exploratory missions. The remainder is already scouring the four quadrants to deliver the representatives to Babel. Simple physical distances, obvious logistical difficulties, negate juggling existing schedules and starships to send another to Vulcan. Security restrictions mandated that only the existing cleared vessels were to deliver the attendees to the conference location. I understood that, once the situation was laid out.
It was only a thought.
And apparently some effort had actually been undertaken to relocate and reassign the Enterprise to this duty, based on the personnel involved. They could not know how it was otherwise for me. And now it was too late to change. The Ambassador was chagrinned at how these good intentions had gone wrong.
It was unfortunate.
But as I left the Ambassador's office, I was already resigning myself to the necessity of dealing with Spock, mastering the control needed. I had managed several of Spock's visits home before. While they had been difficult, the disciplines were not beyond me. It was unfortunate that it had to be dealt with when my control would be taxed with an already volatile Federation situation. Unfortunate too, because when Spock visited his mother on Vulcan, he was careful to avoid the obvious outward manifestation of his chosen career. Starfleet was avoided as a subject matter when I was present. Now I would be confronted with him in that setting. But I would be equal to it.
Though my heart, already fighting the strain of the frigid temperature in the Embassy and the ignominious and now denied request, sped up somewhat, just envisioning that future trial. I forced it back to something of a normal rhythm, forced my own emotions back under control. The physiological and emotional war was one long fought, and usually mastered. I could manage it. I would have to.
And I thought I had mastered it, and was walking briskly to the exit, thinking of how to prepare. That was when the pain hit, without warning. It came at first like a hammer blow within my chest, nearly bringing me to my knees. The second phase was as if a vise were squeezing my heart, already pounding arrhythmically from the first blow, a vise that tightened increasingly beyond all my control. As my vision dimmed, I turned swiftly, unknowing, barely conscious, into a darkened corridor for privacy, like an animal instinctively seeking a quiet corner. There I fought the urge not to gasp in pain, clenching my eyes shut with the effort not to be brought to my knees. And failed on both ignoble fronts.
Fortunately most every one of the Terrans were away and I was not followed. No one was in this empty space to see Sarek of Vulcan laid low. For a moment, my head reeled with a looming darkness. I wondered with nearly my last conscious thought if I was going to expire – and how ironic if it were in the Terran Embassy. I thought of Amanda. And at that, my will rose. Somehow, I forced physiological control over my rebellious body, brought my heart back into some sort of rhythm, however irregular. I struggled to breathe though the cruel constriction. Perhaps it was the oxygen enriched air of the Terran Embassy that saved me. For long moments, I simply crouched on the floor, struggling against pain, against the disorienting pound of blood in my ears, and the irregular beating of a heart that wanted to go off into spasm again. I breathed shallowly of the cold but oxygen enriched air and waited, to either die or recover.
Then, as swiftly as the attack had come, the pain eased somewhat. I drew a relieved, if shallow, breath through my lungs, amazed that the vise that had constricted my chest had let loose some of its terrible grasp. I drew air in slowly, carefully, almost afraid to breathe too deeply and risk that terrible vise returning. But instead, the remainder of the pain and constriction slowly eased and faded. I sat back on my heels, shaking still, and very weak, but functional. I could breathe a full breath without pain. The hovering darkness threatening unconsciousness lifted. The pounding in my ears lessened. Last of all, my heart stabilized into something closer to a normal rhythm. Opening my eyes, the green mists cleared from my clouded vision. I was astounded to discover directly before me an iconic drawing of a human heart with an arrow and a stylized jagged crack through the center. A broken heart. For a moment, logic failed me and I wondered if this were some prophetic vision.
Then I realized the "heart" was part of a notice for a gathering celebrating the human custom of Valentine's Day. It made me realize anew that I was still in the Terran Embassy. Wondering at my good fortune in not being seen, I looked around and realized I was in some sort of storage area. And plastered on the walls of this utilitarian space were all the flotsam and jetsam banned from the formal public parts of the Terran Embassy: notices for language lessons in colloquial Vulcan, baby sitting services, items for sale, and social activities among the staff. Including the jagged heart notice. Just another incomprehensible Terran party. No prophetic symbolism at all.
For some odd reason, that calmed me further.
I rose to my feet, hand to my side. My breathing was still ragged and I was tense with anticipation and dread in case that exertion started up the pain again. But it did not return.
For now.
To be continued