Sarek stepped off the starship onto the landing pad and shivered. He drew his collar higher around his chin and gazed out at the fog throughout the bay. Earth's solitary sun had just broken the horizon and cast light on the peaks of the antiquated Golden Gate Bridge.
He disliked Terran weather, San Francisco's in particular. He remembered a time serving as attaché under Ambassador Selden that they had visited a nature preserve that was less than an hour away by shuttle to the southeast. Humans called it Death Valley. He had assumed the moniker was an informal human attempt at witticism, but apparently the formal name was indeed "Death Valley." The excursion was the only time he could recall ever feeling completely comfortable out of doors on this humid, frigid planet. It did not help that he arrived during Earth's winter season.
It began to drizzle and he headed for the turbolift attached to the elevated platform on which they had landed. There was a small throng of people huddled under an overhang, sheltering like a herd of animals against the cold. As he approached, two people stepped from the crowd and moved toward him, one human, the other Vulcan. At approximately six paces from him both stopped and rendered the ta'al, the Vulcan salute.
"We come to serve," said the human. "I'm Giles Marcus, your Terran administrative attaché."
"Ambassdor Sarek, I am Varen, secretary to the Vulcan consulate," the young Vulcan added. "Live long and prosper."
"Your service honors Vulcan. Peace and long life," he replied, nodding a response to each and returning the ta'al to both.
They descended in the turbolift to the street level where a driver waited with a shuttle. Varen opened the door and Giles entered, followed by Sarek, then Varen. Consulate protocol at its finest.
"Ambassador Sarek, I know you held this position for years and no doubt you've read the briefs en route. It is truly an honor to welcome you back to Earth."
"Yes," he mused. "There has been little news about my predecessor as of late. It is one of my foremost initial priorities to advocate for the investigation into his death. Have there been any recent developments, Mr. Marcus?"
"None," Giles replied with a frown. "As of right now the investigation is still open and considered a suspected homicide."
Ambassador Sulak had been found dead in his living quarters just three weeks earlier, and the coroner had been unable to determine a cause of death. The body bore no injuries and the toxicology report had been checked and rechecked and revealed nothing. The transport Sarek had arrived in was scheduled to return his body to Vulcan later that day.
There were rumors and conspiracy theories. Sarek knew the Vulcan High Council suspected the involvement of the separatist Earth Autonomy Movement, but no one had claimed credit for his death. He had been told little by the Vulcan High Council in his entrance briefing, but he presumed that was because they knew little.
He had known Sulak in passing, and knew him to be a competent moderate who got along well with humans and Vulcans alike. That he should die with no explanation as to how or why was deeply troubling in light of growing political unrest on Earth.
"Things have been tense here," Giles continued. "There's an interplanetary conference at the Science Observatory this weekend that you ought to attend. It's been planned for months and I've added it to your schedule."
Giles began clicking through a calendar on his PADD.
"As you know the Autonomy Party is gaining a lot of traction and elections for the Terran government are next month. Ambassador Sulak was scheduled to speak about Vulcan's position on expanding the Romulan corridor. We have the remarks he was scheduled to give, if you'd like-"
"Yes, I will speak for him," Sarek interrupted.
"Very well. Also, there's to be a memorial at-"
Giles' PADD chirped. He clicked a button to silence it and continued.
"The conference is this Saturday for Ambassador Sulak. I know it's not a particularly Vulcan custom, but-"
His PADD rang again and he moved to silence it again when Sarek stopped him.
"Your call seems urgent. Perhaps you should attend to it."
Giles fixed his earpiece and clicked the call on the PADD to 'on' and his face went that pale shade that Sarek knew often indicated fear or pain in humans.
"What, now?" he yelled, forgetting his present company and startling everyone in the vehicle, including himself.
He collected himself a bit as he listened to the caller for a full minute.
"But it's too early. Which hospital? I can be there later, but we just picked up the new ambassador," his voice trailed off uncomfortably as glanced in Sarek's direction.
"I will call you in a little while. Be brave, ok? I love you," he said, his voice quieting again, clearly embarrassed by the show of emotion in front of two Vulcans, one of whom was his supervisor and still a virtual stranger.
"Is everything alright?" asked Sarek, aware that humans often seemed to take delight on divulging matters that Vulcans tended to keep private.
"I'm having a baby, two actually, twins, it's uh…" he trailed off, staring out the window of the fast-moving shuttle and clearly attempted to gather his thoughts.
"Impressive, considering you seem to lack the requisite anatomy," Sarek replied.
"My wife," he muttered.
The shuttle approached the curb of the West side of the complex near the building where the Vulcan consulate was located.
"You should go to her," Sarek said, glancing at Giles.
Giles opened his mouth, clearly searching for the appropriate response. Sarek felt he should say something also, but struggled to recall what was correct to say in such a situation. Vulcans generally did not speak about pregnancy. Though it was obviously a critical biological function, they considered it extremely indelicate to discuss outside of familial gatherings. He seemed to remember humans had no such social convention.
"Congratulations on the addition to your family," he said slowly.
"Thank you, ambassador," he replied, a red flush spreading over his cheeks.
The shuttle came to a complete stop. Varen exited and held the door for Sarek, and the Giles emerged.
"I will be in first thing tomorrow morning. Thank you for your understanding. You're in good hands with Secretary Varen," he said, nodding in the direction of the young Vulcan next to him.
As if Varen's hands could be "good." He had forgotten just how many axioms humans loved using with the Federation Standard English.
"Live long and prosper," Sarek said, rendering the ta'al.
"Peace and long life," he said, before whipping around and simultaneously making a call on his PADD while trying to hail a taxi.
"Your belongings are being unloaded and taken through customs and should be en route to your residence by 1600 hours," Varen said evenly. "Would you prefer to be there when they arrive or should I have a clerk accept them for you?"
"I shall go myself, thank you," he answered, feeling suddenly very tired.
"I am sure you are familiar with the consulate and no doubt would find it redundant to accept another tour. Not much has changed in the four years since you have been gone," Varen explained. "I can however introduce you to the rest of the staff."
"Yes, let us go inside," he replied, dismissing the momentary disappointment that stemmed from the realization that though very much had happened in the last fifteen years, very little had really changed.
Amanda clicked off her PADD and smiled. Talking to her father had been a breath of fresh air. It was weird talking about men with him, but he seemed to instinctively know. After the precursory chit chat and a few uncomfortably started sentences from her, he simply told her that he supported her no matter what, and that was all that needed to be said on the matter.
At least he had good news to share. He said he was near a planet called Zetar and believed he had found a large deposit of helium-3. She wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but she could tell from the excitement in his voice that it was something big. Apparently there were a few more scans and probes to confirm the find, but it sounded promising.
Her father had always made a decent living through surveying, and she always had the sad sense that he did it hoping to become handsomely wealthy, not because he cared about the money, but because her mother did. They had been divorced since Amanda was very young, and he had missed out on virtually all of Amanda's life in an effort to appease a woman he was no longer married to.
The rest of her week passed by much too quickly for her taste. The thought of going to this conference with John put her in a foul mood. She tended to look forward to her weekends working on Rosetta or curled up at home with a book.
She often thought she needed to branch out and make more local friends, or make any real friends at all. She had Vera, who sometimes felt more like entertainment than a friend, and she was acquainted with a lot of the contributors on Rosetta. She loved her students, but being that the oldest was eight years old, they weren't the best source of mature companionship. She decided after this conference was over, not to mention her relationship with John, she would put herself out there more and make more connections with people.
On Friday, she found herself sitting in the back of a shuttle sedan with him. They had just left the main suburbs of San Francisco and she enjoyed gazing at the light fading over rolling countryside. The weather was gray and a misty drizzle hung in the air. She glanced in his direction: he was completely absorbed in his PADD, his fingers performing an intricate dance of swiping and clicking. Every moment she spent with him only made her more certain about her decision.
The Science Observatory was in the hills outside of Palo Alto about twenty-five minutes away by shuttle. They had barely spoken a word to one another, and that was fine. He had picked her up at her apartment just after work. She knew instantly by the way he examined her when he first stepped out of the shuttle that she was probably not dressed well enough for this evening's function, but he had wisely said nothing.
She had never worn flashy colors or much jewelry and couldn't stand the impracticality of shoes with towering heel heights. She often tied her hair back at school: tonight she wore it loosely at her shoulders. The schedule indicated "semi-formal attire," and she had borrowed a billowy, black dress with wide sleeves from Vera that was cut down to her knees with a pair of sensible flat shoes.
Vera had tried getting her to wear makeup but she had put her foot down on that quite firmly. She could count on one hand the number of times she had worn makeup in her life. Makeup felt unnecessary and impractical: the easiest way of avoiding lipstick on her teeth was just to not wear any.
There was to be an informal reception that evening in the planetarium before the conference officially started the next morning. If she could get through the night without seriously offending some diplomat or getting too irritated with John, she began to feel like she might actually salvage some of this weekend.
He was fully scheduled for various seminars on Saturday and had tried to superficially apologize for being unable to get her into any of them, but on the inside she had rejoiced. She had been excited to learn there was an open forum on cross-cultural linguistics early in the morning that she planned to attend, and afterward she would spend the rest of the day touring the observatory before being obliged to attend a formal banquet that evening.
The observatory was home to the largest aquarium in the Federation and exhibited species from every member home world. She had never been exactly passionate about marine species, but she had also never left Earth or seen many things from other planets. She often found it ironic that she was well versed in five other languages and familiar with four more but had never really held long conversations with native speakers of any of them.
Her thoughts drifted and she began to doze. What seemed only like moments later, the shuttle stopped abruptly.
"Here," John said cheerfully, turning to face her.
He raised his hand to her face in what she initially assumed would be a tender gesture, but instead turned out to be him smoothing her hair down.
"What was that?" she sneered.
"Your hair… it's just… frizzy."
She stared at him, open-mouthed, anger brewing inside of her.
"You're very beautiful, Amanda, I just wish you took better care of your appearance," he answered carefully.
"So you fix my hair like I'm three years old?" she sneered. "Are there any graham cracker crumbs on my face you want to wipe off? Did you bring a tissue for me to blow my nose into?"
He seemed taken aback. She had generally held her tongue whenever she felt he was being critical of her, but she felt he had crossed a line.
"You're overreacting," he dismissed.
"It's so humid that it's practically raining. There is no amount of hairspray that's going to make my hair lay flat without making it also look like a football helmet with a high shine varnish," she snapped.
She began to feel bold. She was about to tell him to just go into the conference without her and ask his driver to take her home when a valet opened the door.
"Congressman Molineaux," the valet droned.
John looked sidelong at her. He said nothing, but he didn't have to. The stern glint in his expression clearly ordered her to remain silent. Keeping up appearances, she thought. Typical.
They exited the shuttle and marched up the wide stone staircase in silence. The observatory was such an exquisite piece of engineering that she momentarily forgot her irritation. High, arched, concrete pillars buttressed a building of reinforced glass and metal alloys. The inside was illuminated by warm, soft light that reminded her of antique light bulbs she had seen in very old films.
Then she noticed the crowd and began to feel anxious. She had wanted to review photos of important people she knew would be in attendance, but hadn't found time between a last minute change in her lesson plans and a deadline on a Romulan transitive verb matrix for Rosetta. There were so many people.
The moment they stepped inside, John abandoned her for the company of two men in gray suits with excessively gelled hair who were no doubt contributing to his campaign for house speaker. As little as she wanted to spend time with him, it was preferable to being alone in a room full of strangers. She moved sideways along the glass wall and found the ladies' room just off to the side and went in.
The bathroom was large and minimalist in appearance with harsh overhead lighting. She heard several other women chattering in the stalls and frowned. She looked at herself in the long mirror by the doorway and took inventory. Sure, her hair was beginning to misbehave in the damp air and Vera's dress was a little big on her slender frame and there was a bit of cat hair on it, but she thought she looked all right. Didn't she?
She looked like her mother. Fair skin, dark brown hair, and even darker brown eyes. Her mother was an elegant and poised woman, so Amanda had always figured she must have gotten the awkward gene from her father. The person staring back at her in the mirror looked boyish and slightly scared. She hadn't felt self-conscious about her appearance since primary school… until now.
A woman emerged from one of the stalls and moved to the high tech ultraviolet light cleansing stations. She was tall, blonde, immaculately groomed, stinking of confidence, and everything Amanda figured John was looking for in a woman. Why did he decide to date her? She had never really thought about it.
She brushed her fingers through her hair in frustration and quickly left the restroom. She found herself back in the crowd of people and completely unsure of what to do next or with whom she should attempt to mingle. She spied John not far from her, speaking with Vice Admiral Maxwell Bentham. The admiral was a small man with a clean-shaven face that revealed a serious countenance.
He was well known even to civilians for his role in deescalating tensions with the Klingons. John told her that he lost his whole family during a Klingon raid on a Federation colony as a child. He had been the lone survivor out of an outpost colony of more than 500 citizens. She wouldn't have guessed he had such a tragic story just by looking at him.
Betham clapped John on the back and steered him toward an alcove with several paintings, presumably to speak more privately over the swarm of people. She stood there for a few minutes, nervously inching her way around the crowd toward a long row of tables when she heard someone calling her name from behind.
"Amanda! I didn't know you'd be here!"
She turned to see Giles Marcus: the first familiar face she'd seen since John ditched her at the door for people with money. She knew him moderately well; he was a former Starfleet xenolinguist who had left the service for a job in the Vulcan embassy and like her, also worked part time on Rosetta. He looked… awful. He had bags under his eyes and looked a bit thin, but he wore a broad smile on his face.
"How are you?" she replied as he moved closer toward her, cutting through a small group of people.
"Great, or, you know, as great as anyone can be at a get-together like this," he laughed.
"How's Celeste?" she asked, inquiring about his wife, whom she knew was expecting twins any day now.
"You didn't get my message? She had the babies last week. Two healthy girls," he answered, pulling his PADD from a small shoulder pouch to show her pictures.
Amanda cooed at the images of the tiny babies swaddled in yellow blankets.
"Yeah, Sarah and Amanda," he beamed.
"Amanda! I'm honored!" she joked, a sincere smile spreading on her face.
"Well, it's a family name on my wife's side, but if she grows up to be half as pretty as you, I'll consider myself lucky. And cursed maybe, you know, having to beat the boys off with a stick," he winked, elbowing her gently in the ribs.
Giles was an unapologetic charmer and sometimes she wondered how he managed to stay sane all day, working in an office with Vulcans who weren't exactly know for their dazzling personalities. He enjoyed flirting and teasing, but she knew he was loyal to his wife almost to a fault. Most importantly, his comment came at a moment when she really needed to hear something kind, and she smiled and genuinely thanked him. He brushed it off in his usual good-natured way.
"Weird you didn't get the message though. I sent it to everyone on the chain distribution list down at Rosetta," he added.
"If I got it, I missed it, and I'm sorry," she added quickly. "Anyway, how are things at the office? Has the new ambassador arrived?"
"Yeah, he had a conference call with the higher ups on Vulcan and he'll be late. He actually got here the same day the twins were born. That was… a fun way to make a great first impression," he mused.
"How did that go over?"
"It worked out, I guess. He's understood about my taking time off. I think. It's a little hard to tell."
"What's he like?" she asked, feeling sympathy for his situation.
"Well, he's… Vulcan. He was actually the ambassador about four years ago, before Sulak. Speak of the devil," he added, his eyes darting to the doorway.
Amanda looked over and saw a sinewy figure dressed in black standing in the doorway, seemingly taking stock of his surroundings. He stood nearly a head taller than anyone else in the room and she noted a slight expression on his face that resonated from critical to curious.
"I gotta go. It was good talking with you. I'm staying off of the project for a little while to help my wife out with our little poop factories of joy, but I'm sure I'll see you around," he said cheerfully.
Alone again. She heard a peal of raucous laughter from the left side of the room and saw John holding court with five men who no doubt made up for their thinning hair with an abundance of influence. She glanced down at the time on her PADD and groaned. It was only 18:45.
Sarek scanned the room and quickly located Giles chatting with someone who was either a small human woman or a large human child. He entered the hall, pushing into the large crowd of people with an increasing degree of unease. He breathed slowly and relaxed his mind. It would take a while to get reacquainted with human festivities.
He could never understand why humans and many other species enjoyed congregating in such a disorganized and chaotic manner. He was unsure if the tightly knit horde was the result of the peculiar human desire for intimacy with complete strangers or poor planning to secure a large enough space for so many. Perhaps it was both.
"Mr. Marcus," he said as Giles approached. "Is there somewhere more quiet that I may speak with you?"
"Of course," he replied. "I just came from the aquarium. It's open and there's almost no one there."
Giles pressed his way through the crowd and Sarek followed. It was slow going: in the short distance between the observatory entrance and the aquarium tunnel on the right side of the room, he was stopped by nine people, all with various comments, questions, and pleasantries.
He had been involved in politics for more than three decades, but had never adapted to the various customs and formalities of other species. It was a vile assault each time some well-meaning but ignorant species attempted to shake hands, hold hands, kiss cheeks, pat backs, or touch foreheads with him. Giles thankfully seemed adept at mitigating such interactions by standing in for him.
Behavior aside, he also found other species' manner of dress highly illogical. The air temperature outside was sufficiently cold enough to induce a phase change in the natural liquid state of water. It was logical for Andorians, who preferred cold temperatures due to the climate of their home world, but for most of the other guests, their attire was entirely impractical. He was standing next to a trio of Ithinite women who wore layers of sheer fabric cropped at the elbows who were visibly shivering. Most of the human females wore skirts revealing their arms, legs, backs, and torsos in varying degrees of immodesty and shoes that did not cover much of their feet but elevated their height to unrealistic proportions.
It took them nearly half an hour to traverse the fifteen meters to the aquarium entrance through the thick crowd and the obligatory greetings. They turned into the hallway leading to the aquarium and the noise decreased by a factor of ten. Sarek walked purposefully with his hands behind his back, head and eyes straightforward, and Giles lengthened his stride to keep up with Sarek without breaking into a trot.
"Anything of note from the Vulcan High Council?" Giles asked.
"The investigation into the late ambassador's affairs on Vulcan has turned up nothing," Sarek replied evenly. "There has however been a new advisory issued on the Earth Autonomy Movement. I've sent it to you, along with a collection of memoranda on the proposed annual commerce treaty addendum between Vulcan and Earth. Have Metana contact someone in the Terran economic office on Monday."
Giles took out his PADD and began taking notes. They exited the connecting corridor between the observatory reception hall and the aquarium and Sarek slowed his pace. They entered a walkthrough aquarium tunnel with a wide array of Terran fish species.
The aquarium was remarkable. Unlike Vulcan, Earth had more water than land and boasted a diverse marine population as a result. He stopped a quarter of the way through to observe a fish that was a meter and a half in length with a lopsided head and a pointed dorsal fin. Giles looked up from his PADD and smiled slightly.
"A hammerhead shark," he said, gesturing with his stylus.
"Fascinating," he said, taking several slow steps toward the glass and peering more closely into the deep tank. "Are you well acquainted with marine biology and ecosystems?"
"I loved the ocean as a kid," he replied. "I'm no real expert though."
"How are your children faring, Mr. Marcus?" Sarek asked without taking his eyes off the shark.
"Good, thank you for asking. And I wanted to thank you again for the blankets you sent. My wife and I are very appreciative."
"You are most welcome," Sarek replied, finally turning to face him.
The man looked exhausted, but stood there with his PADD at the ready, waiting to resume taking notes.
He recalled in his first year as ambassador fourteen years prior that he had run through four administrators in less than two years after failing to grasp just how frail humans really were. They needed sleep every day. In fact, he found out they spent about a third of their lives sleeping, which seemed an egregious waste of efficiency from a biological and practical standpoint.
It was also disappointing to learn that to maximize productivity in the remaining two thirds of their waking lives, human required extraordinary amounts of leisure time, which was even separate still from time they needed to spend bonding with their mates and children. Otherwise they would become depressed and their performance would suffer. Or as his third administrator had put it in her formal written resignation, "burnt out," which he still thought was a curious expression.
Giles Marcus seemed highly competent. He had never met a human so fluent in the Vulcan language or so adept at maneuvering around integrated social situations, and reasoned that based on his previous interactions with human subordinates, retaining Mr. Marcus would require concessions that he would never feel compelled to grant to his Vulcan staff members.
"Perhaps you should return home for the evening. Metana will be here in the morning and I don't imagine I'll have a need for you for the remainder of the night."
"Oh, I couldn't-"
"I can manage my own affairs for a few hours, at least," Sarek interjected.
"I prefer to pull my fair share of the work, sir," Giles insisted. "It's really no problem."
Sarek examined Giles, trying to discern his logic and motives behind refusing to abandon his duties. He knew humans were prideful: was that what this was? What answer would lead to the quickest resolution?
"I will not think less of you," he said, before adding, "but perhaps your mate, your wife, would think better of you if you were to return home."
Giles was quiet for a moment and then slowly nodded.
"Thank you, sir. You have the schedule in your inbox. They pushed your speech about Ambassador Sulak to 20:15 and moved it from ballroom three to the mezzanine level. If you need anything, I'll have my PADD on me."
"I appreciate your service, Mr. Marcus," Sarek said in reply, aware humans had a deep-rooted desire for constant affirmation.
Giles bowed his head slightly and turned and left.
Sarek noted the time on his PADD. 1905. He continued down the length of the aquarium tunnel that opened at the other end into a circular intersection with seven divergent hallways. It was almost uncomfortably cold and there was a loud hum from a cooling system that echoed from the hard surfaces, making the acoustic effect mildly uncomfortable to his sensitive ears, but he still preferred it to the clutter of humanity in the reception hall. In fact, he hadn't encountered anyone since Giles departed, and he enjoyed the solitude.
He wandered into the central tunnel and saw numerous exhibits of freshwater Terran fish. He turned a corner, which switched back into the adjacent tunnel where extraterrestrial species were housed. He browsed this area for nearly an hour. The tanks were large and set in isolated marble alcoves. He paused to admire a habitat featuring Andorian ice eels. Their tendrils were an incredible assortment of purples, blues, and blacks. He read the informational display and learned they were nearly extinct on Andor but had been introduced in Terran waters where they managed to thrive in the Arctic near Earth's northern pole and were becoming an invasive species.
In the next alcove he was surprised to find a woman sitting on a bench in front of a tank filled with spiny firefish, a small species native to his own planet. Her hand was gently pressed up against the glass and he could see from the half profile of her face that her mouth was slightly open and that she was lost in what seemed like child-like curiosity.
He recognized her as the woman he had seen speaking with Giles Marcus earlier in the evening. She seemed unaware of his presence and he reasoned that she must have been unable to hear his footsteps over the thrum of the cooling ducts. Not wishing to disturb her, he turned, but his movement seemed to be picked up in her peripheral vision.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, jumping and turning her body toward him.
Her eyes widened and her pupils dilated by a fraction of a millimeter. Their eyes locked. She braced herself to stand and he motioned her to remain seated.
"I did not intend to startle you," he said.
"No, no, of course not, no…" she said, her voice soft. "I was just admiring these fish."
"They are quite common on Vulcan."
His hands were folded behind his back in the typical neutral, diplomatic way. He took a step toward her to get a better view of the tank.
"They're beautiful," she replied, looking back over her shoulder at them. "In their own way."
He was uncertain what human females found aesthetically pleasing, but he considered her perspective on fish that were widely regarded as pests on his home world intriguing. He looked from the tank back to her. She stood, folding her hands before her and shifted her weight onto one foot. She was the first woman he had seen all evening not wobbling on poorly engineered footwear.
"It is good that you can enjoy them," he remarked.
"There are a lot fascinating species here from all over the Federation," she said, looking about the long hallway.
"I quite agree."
They were silent for a few moments, neither one looking at the other.
"I must go, Miss…?" he said, canting his head slightly to the side in deference to her.
"Grayson," she said, looking back at him but not quite meeting his eye.
"Miss Grayson," he finished.
She paused for a moment, lifted her chin slightly, formed her hand into the ta'al, and added in nearly unaccented Vulcan:
"Romhalan, dif-tor heh smusma." (1)
He arched his eyebrows in momentary surprise.
"Sochya eh dif,"(2) he said in response, returning the ta'al.
She looked almost relieved as she slowly backed away and headed for the opposite end of the tunnel and he hesitated to watch her go. It was the first social interaction he'd had all evening aside from Giles that wasn't altogether unpleasant. He appreciated Terrans who tried to understand Vulcan culture and respected the ones who actually made real strides in getting there. He turned on his heel and headed back in the direction of the aquarium tunnel to the mezzanine level, turning his mind to the remarks he was due to give about his late predecessor.
(1) Farewell, live long and prosper
(2) Peace and long life