"Spock, I need you to tell me a story while I do a few preliminary sketches," Margaret said later after the now-calmer Vulcan and Nyota came back inside the house. "This exercise helps me get to know my subject better." She was happy to note that he looked more at ease. After getting a nod from Nyota confirming that her request would not cause undue stress, she guided Spock to the living room. Allen and Nyota followed. "Here, why don't you sit in this chair—the light is best here."
Spock followed Margaret's instructions quietly. Margaret took another chair a couple steps away from him. Allen and Nyota sat on the sofa after Allen set down a tray of refreshments.
"I am not accustomed to storytelling," Spock said, not completely settling back into his chair. "What kind of story do you require?"
Although he had not relaxed his guard completely, Margaret was glad for his cooperation. Nyota had been correct about his need to meditate if his posture were any indication. The stiffness in his shoulders had disappeared. He seemed more approachable. Though she never expected to find out, Margaret was dying to know what he had said to Nyota in the back yard. Nyota's face was beaming when the two came inside, and Spock showed interest in the muffin and fruit he had abandoned at breakfast earlier. She figured that, like young men everywhere, if he were eating, then he was fine. Amanda had told her once that Sarek and Spock could go days without food with few ill consequences.
"It does not have to be a 'Once upon a time' type story, like a fairy tale. You can talk about an experience you've had, or observations on something you find interesting."
Margaret surveyed the room, looking for objects to inspire ideas. Her eyes found it. Over the fireplace was not one of Margaret's works, as one might have expected. In this place of honor hung an intricate textile work of multiple fabrics—some shimmering, others more coarse—coppery and silvery metal disks and tiles, and red, olive, and black stones.
Margaret indicated the work. Spock scanned it, his eyes widened slightly, and his gaze lingered on the piece.
"That was a gift from your parents," she informed him. "For Allen's and my 20th anniversary."
"Yes, I accompanied Mother when she selected it," he said.
Margaret's interest piqued. "Then maybe you could tell me more about it? Amanda said that that's an IDIC symbol in the middle, and I looked up the definition. But she did not tell me about where it came from, and I never got around to asking her. It's a unique piece."
"We found it in the artists' market in Shi'Kahr. It is composed of several kinds of cloth, each with its own fiber content and weave. The metals are copper, bronze, and nickel. The stones are common obsidian, olivine, and quartz."
Such an impersonal description. "There must be more to this story," Margaret prompted. "Why did Amanda choose it?"
Spock's eyes met Margaret's eyes for a couple seconds. Margaret had felt that kind of stare before from Sarek—the one he used while assessing his willingness to divulge a personal matter. Spock took these few moments to weigh his thoughts and make a decision. As Margaret worried that he would retreat into himself again, he surprised her at the last moment when he took a deep breath and began….
-o0o-
[12 years earlier...]
The human woman and her 14-year-old son walked through the courtyard on a mission. Amanda sought a gift to send to her sister and brother-in-law to celebrate their milestone anniversary, something uniquely Vulcan, but also something to which the recipients could relate. Along with Spock and a couple members of her husband's security staff, who always accompanied her whenever she ventured outside of visits to family, she made her way through Old Shi'Kahr, the inner city that held the craftspeople's and artists' sectors. She disliked having her guards along, but she was an ambassador's wife and a member of a high-ranking family, and the additional measure of security was necessary.
Spock suspected that his father also had sent them to thwart displays of bigotry, whether subtle or overt. Although Sarek expected Spock to deal with them through logic and control, his expectations for Amanda were different, and he was more protective of his human mate. Cold stares from a few of the merchants, when they thought no one was looking, confirmed Spock's suspicions. When his mother's attentions focused elsewhere, Spock stared back at them evenly, carefully controlling his own expression, ensuring that they knew their disrespect had not gone unnoticed.
As Amanda worked her way down the row, a glittering pattern caught Spock's attention from a small corner across the plaza. "Excuse me, Mother, I will return shortly," he said.
He turned without waiting for a response, as he was intrigued, and few things slowed him down once they caught his youthful curiosity. The closer he approached, the more interested he became in the various textile wall-hangings and banners he saw. The works' many colors and variety of textures and materials combined in ways Spock had never seen. All of them had one thing in common: the symbol kol-ut-shan. The symbol represented the philosophy of infinite diversity in infinite combinations, the idea that even the most dissimilar and unrelated elements could combine to create something greater than the sum of its parts. The diverse materials in each piece came together to create a beautiful and singular work. The works represented the philosophy perfectly.
In the center of the collection sat the artist calmly assessing various swatches of material for her next endeavor. The young woman's serene features brightened subtly when she noticed Spock, and she nodded to him in welcome. "Greetings...if you wish to examine a particular piece more closely, I will retrieve it for you."
"I am interested in your uncommon choice of subject matter," Spock said. "Representations of kol-ut-shan are rare outside of temples and shrines."
"Indeed, that is unfortunate," the artist replied. "I include it in my works because it is an essential philosophy. Too often our people forget its value, and, thus, forfeit intellectual and spiritual development."
That was as passionate and as open an answer as Spock ever heard from a Vulcan. "You optimize the differences in your materials to create a pleasing, cohesive work," he said, restating what he observed quietly minutes before.
"My intention is to do so," she confirmed.
"I will return," he said.
After finding Amanda, he insisted that she accompany him immediately. Rarely was her son so insistent. "What has gotten into you?" she asked.
"I believe I have located the appropriate gift," he said, leading her.
As Amanda approached the kol-ut-shan, then met the artist T'Yarehn, who welcomed her more warmly than any Vulcan ever had, she had to agree. The woman believed in the philosophy that she expressed on the colorful artworks that fluttered in the light breeze. Although T'Yarehn maintained a Vulcan's reserve, there was none of the iciness that Amanda often encountered. It was refreshing to the human mother and her son who often encountered rejection because of their differences. Amanda purchased two wall-hangings, one for Margaret and Allen, and one for her own home, as much to honor the artist as well as her creations.
Sarek and Amanda turned to the artist T'Yarehn thereafter as a source of gifts that they brought with them on various diplomatic and academic missions.
-o0o-
As Spock told his story, the level of detail he included amazed Nyota, especially his observations on bigotry and his calm admission that he stared down the merchants who had looked down on his mother. For the past few months, Spock had locked himself down. This was an openness to outsiders that she had not anticipated at this point. Was this a piece of his human side starting to reach out? In the back yard he had admitted his need to grieve, a major step for him. She remained unsure that he understood how opening himself to human grief would affect him, but she was proud of his effort. For now, though she could feel his discomfort, he continued.
"The artist, T'Yarehn...," Spock paused, then looked down and to his left. "She was one of the few Vulcan friends Mother had. She, too, perished in the genocide."
Margaret put down her pencil, saddened. The artist had obviously won Spock's respect, and his quiet voice and averted gaze suggested this loss has affected him on a greater personal level. "After hearing about her, I am even more honored to have her work in our home. We will remember T'Yarehn's name always." Margaret hoped her words were appropriate and brought some measure of comfort. It was hard to tell.
"What a loss," Allen agreed. He always liked the wall-hanging. With the planet's destruction, and now knowing the story behind it, the wall-hanging became more to him than a remnant of Vulcan culture. For some reason, a lump formed in his throat as he thought about the circumstances, and after Spock's story, he knew that he would never look at T'Yarehn's work—or his nephew—the same way again.
