Amanda sat on a wooden bench surrounded by dozens of climbing rose bushes just outside of the East gate of the hanging gardens, fiddling with her PADD. She had tried numerous times over the past twenty-four hours to reach her father but hadn't gotten through. She sighed and clicked back to her browser and resumed reading a passage about the Vulcan principle of Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations, too anxious to truly absorb what she was reading.
She was more than an hour early. She had been unable to sleep well the previous night and around 0600 she got up and showered, pulled her hair into a loose bun, and donned a blue gingham shirt, a khaki trousers, and a pair of hiking boots. Vera would have hogtied her and made her wear something more attractive had she been there, but Amanda preferred a more subdued look. Glancing down at herself, she couldn't imagine less suggestive clothing, short of maybe covering herself in a garbage bag poncho. This was definitely not a date.
She was uncertain from which direction he would come, so she caught herself frequently looking up from her reading and scanning the area. She was in the middle of skimming a section about parallels between Greek Stoics and Vulcan philosophy when a shadow covered her screen.
"You are early, Miss Grayson," said a familiar voice.
She noted the time on her PADD and clicked it off and without turning to see him replied, "So are you, Ambassador. By about forty-four seconds, anyway."
"It was logical to arrive early and perform a survey of the area to be certain I could locate you."
"Very logical, yes," she murmured, as she turned her body on the bench to face him and draped her arm over the back.
She squinted in the morning sun and held her free hand up to her face to block the glare. He stood about a meter behind her and looked the same as ever in dark clothes, dark hair, and a perfectly placid expression. To her chagrin, her heart drummed a little faster and she found herself cursing Vera for putting the thought into her head that there existed some romantic attraction between them. She completely disagreed with her friend's assessment, but even thinking about it was uncomfortable.
He moved around the side of the bench to sit and she turned the opposite way to face forward again. They both sat, facing forward with their hands on their knees and Amanda judged the distance between their bodies on the bench. It seemed a modest and appropriate distance. This was obviously not a date.
"What would you like to see today?" she asked, craning her neck to look at him.
"I have never visited these gardens," he replied. "I will accept your recommendations."
"Well, I've never been here either, so I'm afraid I'm going to make a rather terrible tour guide," she admitted, turning her head to look back at the cascading walls of green that lay before them. "But I'm open to exploring them together."
"Very well," he said, rising from the bench.
She stood also and they proceeded down the brick pathway to an arched entryway covered in English ivy that immediately fed into narrow, steep stairs. They climbed together, forced by the width of the stairs into very close proximity to one another. The air was heavy with sweet, earthy smells of springtime.
They were halfway up the stairs when a pair of sparrows engaged in a fierce battle raced just over her head, startling her. She jumped back slightly in surprise and began to lose her balance on the sharp stairway. Her hands clawed at the wall but found nothing to steady herself, but Sarek twisted himself around and caught her firmly by the elbow, forcing her upright.
He quickly released her arm with an almost jerky movement. His grip had been strong and her arm throbbed as a result. Her face grew hot in embarrassment. Not even five minutes into this little outing and already it was going wrong.
"Thank you," she said, her voice barely rising above a whisper.
He nodded slightly and they continued their climb the stairs. At the top they reached a terrace with a wide expanse of green lawns and fruiting trees. A wide path lined with rough stones stretched through the center.
"Is there a reason this place is called the hanging gardens?" he inquired.
"I know it was named for the Hanging Gardens of Babylon," she said. "It was one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, but a lot of historians dispute whether it even existed. The gardens of the ancient world were supposed to be a feat of engineering and an enormous point of pride for the Babylonians. From what I understand, these gardens were built as a symbol to that part of the humanity that prefers to recognize the value in building things instead of destroying them."
She allowed her voice to trail off, unsure if she was brandishing her usual authoritative teacher's voice that she often employed on her students. After all, no one likes a know-it-all.
"When were these gardens established?" he asked.
"The original, or the gardens we're currently standing in?"
"It would seem that if you could identify when the original gardens were constructed, the historicity wouldn't be in dispute," he answered plainly.
"True." She bit her tongue, trying to avoid such an open display of emotion. They walked on.
"I know these gardens are nearly two hundred years old. This place was once a Sanctuary District…" she paused in the middle of her sentence, not eager to explain some of the more unsavory aspects of Earth history.
"I am familiar with the term," he said, almost as if excusing her from explaining further.
"Well, anyway, after a series of riots, the government turned this tract of land over to a billionaire named Harlan Adler. From what I've read, he had no family to leave his fortune to, so he spent the last years of his life investing in public works projects. He wanted the poverty and hunger from the sanctuary districts forgotten, so he insisted on planting a large variety of edible plants in the gardens so that anyone who was in need of food could take it, completely free of charge."
"Admirable," he replied. "Your planet is home to a wider variety of consumable plant species than any other I've visited."
"Have you been to many planets?" she asked, immediately wondering if that was an ignorant question to be asking of an experienced diplomat.
"Yes," he responded. "I have spent most of my diplomatic career on Earth, but I have visited every planet in the Federation, and several non-member homeworlds as well."
"And do you find that... enjoyable? Traveling so much?"
"It has been invaluable to my abilities as an ambassador, though also generally a requirement of it. To where have you traveled?"
"San Francisco," she said. "I've never left Earth. I've never even left the North American continent."
"Surprising, for someone with such a degree of linguistic ability."
She didn't return his gaze but continued to move forward through the thickening expanse of peach trees.
"Your silence suggests I've caused some offense," he added after a minute.
"No," she said, fighting off a pained smile. "I mean, thank you for your compliment. And you're right; I always imagined I would travel more. I just sort of fell into teaching at the diplomatic school as a way to work on Project Rosetta. I've often been forced to appreciate the irony that I've spent so much of my life learning to communicate with alien cultures but haven't really had much occasion to do so."
"And yet here we are."
"Well, unfortunately my Vuhlkansu is terrible. I'm afraid to insult you by even attempting it," she admitted.
"It is a lesson I have encountered many times in my time in the Diplomatic Service. Offense is an inevitable byproduct of seeking to understand other cultures. It goes in both directions."
"Can I admit something to you?" she asked, stopping in the middle of the footpath.
"If you wish," he said with what she swore was a slight discernable hint of puzzlement.
"I stayed awake last night trying to learn about Vulcan culture. Every time…" she hesitated midthought and forced herself to look him in the eye. "Every time I'm around you, I feel… I don't know. Daunted?"
"That was never my intention," he said, his eyebrows scrunching a fraction of a millimeter.
"No, of course not. It's not you at all. It's me," she explained. "I just never seem to know quite what to say. Obviously Vulcans are a very private people, and humans are not. I've spent my whole life on Earth learning how to fit in to society, but only as it relates to humans; which topics of conversation are considered polite, which are taboo, how to make small talk, that kind of thing."
"I am not particularly skilled in 'talking small', to borrow your expression," he began. "Yet I recall you told me once that the best way to learn a language is to experience it as the native-speakers do. I think you'll find culture is much the same way. In other words, lal'sharr dang-qual veshtau, ri kah'rul."(1)
Amanda blinked and considered his words. She had studied some Vuhlkansu in graduate school alongside Romulan, which she knew far better, but she had very little practice with actually speaking it outside of a handful of useful phrases. She bit her lip and slowly replied, "Sep-wafik, du ved yet."(2)
They began walking again, this time conversing in Vuhlkansu. It was slow going and Amanda found herself limited by her vocabulary and the language's ambiguous nature, but he corrected her patiently when she made mistakes. They talked on general subjects, from the weather to their surroundings, with Sarek mostly guiding the conversation and Amanda struggling to hold her ground. Aside from telling him she liked to eat concrete for breakfast, she made few major errors.
The sun was rising higher in the sky and as they continued their walk, they started to encounter other people out walking, jogging, or spending a Sunday afternoon with their families. She noticed a few people give sidelong glances or raise their eyebrows. After they had circled the whole level of that section of the gardens, they went down a wider set of stairs on the West side.
As they descended, Amanda said, "You're not as bad at small talk as you say."
"And you are not as bad with Vuhlkansu as you believe."
"My instincts are telling me to dismiss your compliment for humility," she said, looking over at him.
"Self-deprecation seems to be a common trait among your species, irrespective of merit," he replied. "You possess an acceptable command of the pronunciation, and what you lack in vocabulary and grammar could be remedied through practice and patience."
They emerged onto wide-open lawn with a large pond in the center with dozens of migratory birds. There were more people walking about on this lower level, and a small crowd was formed on the far side around what looked like an outdoor amphitheater.
They walked along the concrete walking path toward the pond through a maze of waist-high boxwood shrubs and topiaries. They were quiet for a time and Amanda thoughtfully probed the silence: it felt sort of natural. She realized she was beginning to enjoy their walk and the anxiety she had started the morning with had completely fallen away. They were only five meters from the pond when she heard a distinctive hiss from behind of the bushes. She halted and they watched the long black neck of a Canada goose appear from around the corner of the boxwood.
She took a few steps back but Sarek held his ground.
"What is that creature?" he asked, craning his neck to look at it.
"A nesting Canada goose," she stammered. "Let's go around, before the male-"
It was too late. From behind them burst a cacophony of honking and rustling. She turned and saw another large goose approaching, his feet slapping on the pavement and his wings flapping threateningly. She gulped, recalling summers at her father's family's lake house near Thunder Bay and could feel the blood draining from her face.
She knew her fear was entirely irrational. She wasn't bothered by most of the traditional phobias like heights, spiders, dentists, snakes, rats, blood, or virtually anything else. She had been maybe three years old and had gone with her mother to feed the ducks from the dock. Her mother returned to land to take pictures of her when several geese walked up the narrow dock, cornering her. They had so aggressively ripped the bread crusts from her hands that one had drawn blood and she panicked and fell backwards into the water. Most people would look back on such a story and laugh, but it had instilled in her a profound terror of geese.
"Miss Grayson? Are you ill?"
"No," she lied in a gasping breath.
The male goose stood about two meters away, bobbing his head and hissing. Amanda felt nauseated and dizzy. She instinctively stepped away from the angry father goose, only to be met with an even angrier display as she encroached closer to his mate and her nest. She battled the urge to jump over the boxwood bushes and sprint away but found herself clutching her mouth with her hands.
"I think it would be wise to find an alternate route."
"Uh-mmmmm," Amanda said, trying to shove coherent words out of her mouth.
Sarek moved closer to the male goose, taking a path closer to the bushes to give the avian aggressor a wide berth and turned to wait for Amanda. She stood glued to the ground. The goose rushed forward as Sarek moved alongside it, and Amanda bolted behind Sarek, running into his back. His face was expressionless, but still somehow brandished a look of utter confusion and maybe something that bordered on contempt.
"I'm sorry," she said, walking briskly in the opposite direction of the geese. "I'm so sorry."
"More apologies," he mused. "Were you afraid of those birds?"
She stopped and looked back at the pair of geese, judging the distance and beginning to feel less anxious. She looked back at Sarek, unable to meet his eyes. They stood about a meter apart, and his considerable height allowed her to look him in the throat as she said, "If you were anyone else, I would beg you not to laugh at me."
"Laugh?"
"Yes, I'm afraid of geese. A lot of people would think that's funny."
"It is… illogical. You have no reasonable expectation of significant harm from such an animal."
"I know," she blurted. "Is there nothing you're afraid of?"
"Vulcans are taught from an early age to master emotions, including fear."
"Fear is so primal though," she countered. "And it seems to have a significant evolutionary benefit."
"Unless of course one is afraid of moderately-sized water fowl species. I fail to deduce the evolutionary advantage of that."
"It just gave him an evolutionary advantage," she said, bobbing her head in the direction of the geese.
Sarek locked his hands behind his back and turned down the footpath that they had come from. Amanda felt foolish as she trailed behind him. As they neared the wider main path that was lined with yellow rosebushes, she started to think about what he had just said.
"May I ask you something?"
His eyes darted toward her and she took it as a sign of assent.
"You said 'Vulcans are taught from an early age to master emotions,' but I thought Vulcans didn't have emotions."
"That is incorrect," he said quickly as he slowed his stride to walk abreast with her. "It is a common misconception among other species that Vulcans lack emotion, but Vulcan philosophy is nearly entirely concerned with the ultimate mastery of the self, and emotional control is the foundation upon which the teachings of Surak rest."
"I see," she said, biting her lip and thinking.
"Have you ever read Surak's teachings?"
"As an undergraduate I read excerpts in a comparative religion class."
"It was not intended to be studied in a fragmentary fashion," he explained.
"I sort of got that impression," she admitted.
They were nearly upon the amphitheater and had entered the outskirts of the crowd. Amanda looked at the stage and instantly recognized the story to be Shakespearean. She stopped, placing her hands in her pockets to observe the actors.
"Then hie you hence to Friar Laurence' cell! There stays a husband to make you a wife. Now comes the wanton blood up in your cheeks…"
Romeo and Juliet.
"This reminds me of a theatric performance I attended twelve years ago," Sarek whispered. "Though I do not believe it is the same."
"I would have never guessed Vulcans enjoyed the theater," Amanda whispered, turning to him and pulling her hands from her pockets to cross them about her chest.
"Vulcans do not engage in stage performance, but we are not opposed to the art forms of other species," he explained.
"Do you remember the title of the play you went to?" she asked.
"I believe it was The Merchant of Venice."
"Ah, a pound of flesh but not a drop of blood," she said trying to avoid a smile. "You have a good ear and an excellent memory. This is a different play by the same playwright."
"The language seems inefficient and cumbersome," he noted.
"Many great lovers of literature would call that blasphemy," she smiled. "William Shakespeare is widely regarded as one of the greatest English authors in history even still. But I agree with you, performed in the original language, it is a bit tedious."
"What is the title of this performance?" Sarek asked, observing the actors as they departed the stage and rearranged the set.
"Romeo and Juliet," she said, beginning to feel awkward for no identifiable reason. "It's almost over; they're about to elope and kill themselves."
He turned to face her, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms across his chest.
"Yes, it's illogical," she nodded, seemingly speaking aloud what he was already thinking. "Romeo and Juliet is probably one of his most famous tragedies, though depending on your sense of humor it might be considered a comedy."
"Explain," insisted Sarek.
"Well, I've never actually seen the play performed and I read it years ago in secondary school, but I think I can remember most of the main details. Romeo and Juliet are young lovers from rival houses. After he sneaks into a party at her family's house, they fall instantly in love and decide to run away and marry one another. Some people get killed which only makes the war between their families worse, and Romeo is banished from the city. Juliet's parents arranged for her to marry another man, not knowing she was already married to Romeo, so she comes up with this plan to fake her death by drinking a small amount some kind of poison that will only make her look dead, but no one bothers to tell Romeo. He finds her, thinks she really is dead, and then drinks the rest of the poison in a dose that ends up being fatal. She wakes up, sees her dead lover, and drives a knife through her heart."
She became very aware of how hard Sarek was staring at her, but he said nothing. A quiet existed between them for a few moments, before Amanda finally added, "What? I didn't write this play."
"I am unable to discern how anyone would consider such a story a comedy, if my understanding of the definition is correct."
"Well, it's not a comedy exactly," she continued. "But the plot is so ridiculous that it's almost a parody. For centuries people have pointed to this play and these characters as the epitome of young and undying love."
"How can it be considered 'undying love' if they are both dead by the story's end?"
"It's like you've asked and answered your own question," she replied, meeting his gaze.
They stayed to watch the last act of the play, but Amanda found herself watching Sarek from the corner of her eye. He seemed wholly engaged in the actors on the stage, and she struggled to understand what part of him could be so interested in something that seemed so illogical. At the play's conclusion, they both applauded and resumed their walk through the gardens and very quickly found themselves back at the East gate they had first entered through.
She couldn't believe how quickly time had passed. It was nearly 1400, meaning they had been wandering together for nearly six hours.
"I suppose this is where I bid you goodbye," he said, taking a step toward her with his hands adopted in their usual position neatly behind his back.
"I enjoyed our morning," she said, feeling strangely shy.
"Kup itar-bosh na' du k'waw'zhe," he said.(3)
She carefully translated his words in her head, struggling with the last word but assuming he was thanking her for her invitation. She bit her lip as she thought of the correct and appropriate response and then replied, "Kup-aitlu k'kan'zhe na'sasarlah." (4)
His eyebrows rose higher than she'd ever seen them go and if she didn't know better, she could swear he was about to laugh. True to his Vulcan demeanor, he maintained his composure but said, "You should continue to work on your Vuhlkansu."
"What did I say?" she gulped.
"I believe you meant to say 'I want to thank you for coming,'" he answered.
"Yes, but what did I say?"
"You said something suggestive of impregnating me," he replied.
"Oh my God!" she yelped, clasping her hands over her face to try to stifle embarrassed laughter. "I'm so sorry."
"Your seventh illogical apology," he said, turning his body square to hers and taking a few steps toward her. "Vulcan is a difficult language to master and you have done better than any other human I've encountered."
She slid her hands down her face to expose her eyes, though they remained clamped over her mouth. She lowered them, feeling like her face was on fire.
"Well, thank you," she said. "And this is number eight, but I'm still sorry."
"I am to meet the consular driver in four minutes by the driveway. Do you have a means of transportation home?" he asked.
"Um, I was going to stay and walk around a little by myself and take a cab home," she said, feeling her knees wobble slightly from embarrassment.
"Very well. Live long and prosper, Amanda Grayson," he said, giving her the Vulcan salute.
"Wait," she added, "what was my sixth illogical apology?"
"You apologized for your fear of geese. While your fear is illogical, so was your apology."
"Oh right," she groaned, before locking eyes with him and adding, "Peace and long life, Ambassador Sarek."
He nodded and walked away.
(1) Culture is learned through experience. (approximation)
(2) I agree: you're quite right. (approximation)
(3) I am thankful for your invitation. (approximation)
(4) I want to pregnant you for coming. (approximation)