Sarek returned to his living accommodations less than an hour later. His mind felt chaotic and he felt the urge to continue his unproductive meditative efforts from the previous day. He hung his cloak in the entryway closet, removed his shoes, and proceeded to his bedroom when he heard his PADD chirp on the long desk nestled in the corner. It had remained in his quarters during his excursion to the gardens and he now felt compelled to tend to it rather than meditate.
He saw two missed calls from Voris, his security advisor, another two from Kuvak, his adjutant, as well as a missed call and message from Giles. As none of them were expected at work on that day, he deduced it was a matter of urgency and dialed a communication link to Voris first at the consulate. After 10 seconds, a voice answered, "Ambassador Sarek, there has been an incident. I cannot discuss it with you over an unsecure network."
"I understand," Sarek replied. "I approximate it will take me 10 minutes to arrive at the consulate," he said, terminating the connection with the usual Vulcan efficiency that lacked what most humans would consider politeness.
He donned his shoes and his cloak and departed for the consulate, arriving at the back entrance of the Vulcan embassy building to meet Voris, the consular adjutant, Kuvak, and two human men wearing black suits, one quite young and the other perched on the apex of middle age.
"Ambassador Sarek," Voris said, motioning to the two men, "Detectives Voorhees and Whitlock."
Sarek nodded in deference to them and the younger one that Voris had identified as Voorhees started to extend his hand for a handshake but caught himself at the last second and retracted it. The older man, Whitlock, shook his head at his partner and stepped forward.
"Ambassador, we're with the Federation Investigation Service. Sorry to drag you out here over the weekend, but this is a matter of some urgency. Can we speak privately somewhere?" Whitlock asked in a thick Northern accent.
"Of course," he said, ushering them inside. They took the lift to the third floor of the building where his senior staff offices were, along with a secure conference room.
The three Vulcans and two humans entered the room and Voris shut the door from a panel on the wall. They seated themselves in the large, high-backed chairs that faced into a large, oblong conference table. Sarek folded his hands on the cold, smooth surface and examined his company.
"Uh, Mr. Ambassador," Whitlock began, "We're with cybercrime investigations."
"I see," Sarek replied.
"I think it goes without saying that the conversation we're about to have is confidential and doesn't leave this room," Voorhees added with a distinctive drawl.
Sarek and Kuvak exchanged subtle looks. Sarek considered both men and the information about themselves they had just revealed. Human lines of questioning were often chaotic and unstructured as a means of getting people to confess, and human suspects were often illogical enough to confess to things they had never even done, when the wrong questions were asked the right way. Though he knew better than to make faulty inferences, he had far less faith in humans to avoid the same errors.
"I cannot necessarily agree to your terms," Sarek replied.
"Huh?" Voorhees murmured in surprise, clearly taken aback by his frankness.
"As I do not know what you are about to disclose to me, I cannot say whether or not it is of significant import to Vulcan or its people. If it is, as ambassador, it would be my duty to take that information out of this room and relay it to my superiors on Vulcan," he explained.
"But you don't…" Voorhees trailed off in confusion over the rebuke to his position of authority.
"This is the Vulcan Consulate," Kuvak finished. "Surely the ambassador is willing to answer your questions, but Federation law affords many exceptions to those in diplomatic service, as I'm sure you know."
"This is a serious matter," Voorhees argued. "Who do you think-"
"Out," Whitlock barked, cutting his junior partner off and pointing at the door.
Voorhees opened his mouth to protest but common sense quickly prevailed, his face flushed slightly, and Voris opened the door for him to exit without another word. After it was closed, Whitlock turned to the three Vulcans and apologized for his younger colleague's inexperience with interplanetary investigations.
"Look, I'll be straight with all of you," Whitlock said, gesturing wildly with his hands. "On Friday night, we believe the embassy complex control system was remotely accessed and certain files were removed. I want to make it clear that you aren't a suspect, nor is anyone in your office."
"I wish to confirm that I am able to communicate certain parts of this interview with the appropriate outside parties, if necessary," Sarek insisted.
"I would prefer that you didn't, but I also have no doubt that you, that is, all three of you, understand how to handle sensitive information and would do your utmost to protect that information if it put the security of the Federation at stake."
"Am I correct in assuming that my refusal to agree to complete confidentiality will result in your withholding information from me?" Sarek asked.
"Yes," Whitlock replied without taking his eyes off the ambassador.
"Very well," Sarek said. "If that is how it must be."
"Can you tell me what time you left the building?" Whitlock asked, finally looking away from Sarek to jot down notes on a large PADD with a digital stylus.
Sarek recounted the events of Friday night patiently, understanding that Whitlock already had the information but was simply corroborating it.
"Did you see anyone else that night after the outages occurred?" Whitlock asked.
"Only one other person. Amanda Grayson."
"Ok, and did you talk to her?"
"Yes, I encountered her running across the open expanse between the consular buildings and approached her to ascertain whether she possessed information regarding the power failures or had made contact with anyone from the administration. She did not and had not."
"She was running?" Whitlock asked. "Like away from someone?"
"It was raining," Sarek explained. "The storm was severe. Due to the outages, we were unable to find a point of reentry but she managed to access the back entrance of the school building."
"But you were still safe inside the Vulcan embassy and surely knew you would have gotten locked out if your access card was still inside the office; why risk going out into the storm?"
Sarek reflected for the briefest of moments: the detective was correct in implying his decision was illogical. He'd mulled it over himself during a respite in his meditation the day before.
"As I said, she was the first individual I had encountered since the outages began. It was logical to make contact with her."
"Ok," Whitlock said, pausing to collect his thoughts. "Do you know what Ambassador Sulak was working on before he died?"
"He was an ambassador and was working on many things. I assume from your open-ended question that you have a response in mind. If you could specify what answer you seek, I could tell you more readily," Sarek replied.
"I'm assuming he kept files in your databases…" Whitlock probed.
"Of course he did," replied Sarek.
"Has anyone accessed them recently?"
Sarek and Voris exchanged looks.
"No, as of Friday night, Ambassador Sulak's files had not been accessed for fifty-one days. The last people to access them were from the Federation Investigation Service," Voris answered, his eyes falling on the badge Whitlock wore around his neck on a lanyard.
"Can you think of anyone who might have been interested in retrieving his personal logs?"
"Your question is vague," Sarek responded.
"What about your own files?" Whitlock continued, looking up from his PADD to meet Sarek's eyes.
"What are you attempting to imply, Detective Whitlock?" Kuvak asked.
"I'm saying that we think that whoever breached the embassy's computer systems had specific targets in mind. We believe your database was a target of interest," he finished, banging his hands on the table for emphasis.
"What information gives you cause to think so?" Sarek asked.
"That's what I'm here to find out," Whitlock sighed.
"This is a consulate, or as you prefer, an embassy. A great amount of information is exchanged within this building, transmitted over our frequencies, and stored in our databases each day. Without further information as to whom you suspect or what you suspect your suspects were looking for, I am unable to help you. If you can provide further information, I or my staff will assist you in whatever way we are able," Sarek said, rising to his feet to signal the conversation was at an end.
"Did you know the Starfleet Chief of Staff was found dead in his home yesterday morning?"
"What does this have to do with the Vulcan consulate?" Kuvak interjected.
"I can't speak about that ongoing investigation, but don't you find it a little odd that someone hacks into the embassies on the same night Admiral Winters is killed?"
"I was apprised of his death yesterday evening. I had not been informed it was murder," Sarek said.
"Who said it was murder?" Whitlock probed.
"You implied it when you mentioned he 'was killed,' unless you were referring to the killer as being some non-sentient object or event," Sarek countered.
Whitlock scowled before saying, "Well, he is dead, and I will say the circumstances are not so different from Ambassador Sulak's death."
"I thought you investigated computer crimes," Voris said.
"I do, but this investigation is now falling under a joint task force, and my scope of investigation is as wide as it needs to be," Whitlock explained.
"Then perhaps your colleagues would have been a better place for you to begin your investigation," said Sarek. "Do you have any further questions?"
"Uh, your staffers tell me you're going back to Vulcan soon?" Whitlock added quickly.
"Yes, I am due to return eight days from now. The late Admiral Winters was to accompany me along with a handful of delegates from Earth to discuss a number of important matters directly with the Vulcan High Council."
"Do you still plan to go?"
"Yes. I planned to speak with Admiral Winters' replacement tomorrow morning, a man by the name of Maxwell Bentham. I believe it is in his interest to go and I imagine he will," Sarek explained.
"How long will you be gone?"
"The trip is planned for nine days. We will return on the tenth."
"Ok," Whitlock said, scribbling notes on his data PADD. "If I need to reach you with any other questions, will that be possible?"
"If you contact my office, my secretary, Mr. Giles Marcus will assist you."
"One more question, if that's ok," Whitlock urged.
"Of course," Sarek said.
"Well, don't you find it all strange?" he prodded. "The previous ambassador dies under mysterious circumstances, then a few months later the embassy is hacked on the same night the head of Starfleet dies in a similar manner to the Vulcan ambassador, and right before he was due to go to Vulcan? Excuse me if I'm wrong, but it seems like Vulcan is the least common denominator here."
"I imagine you wouldn't have to look very hard to find many commonalities between the three occurrences," Kuvak answered.
Whitlock scribbled a few notes on his PADD before clicking it off and saying, "No, no, certainly. Thank you, gentleman for your time. Sorry it had to be a Sunday. I'll contact your office if I have anything further. Safe travels."
Sarek gave Voris a look, and Voris took the cue and escorted Whitlock from the conference room. Kuvak glanced at Sarek.
"What are your impressions, Kuvak?" Sarek asked.
"I am not certain I have enough information to form any at this time," the adjutant answered. "It is entirely possible the Admiral's death and the attack on the embassy computers is coincidental."
"I agree: humans are often very quick to jump to the most convenient conclusions. However, I will inform the High Council. There is little we can do here until tomorrow, as most Earth-dwellers avoid working on Sundays."
"I intend to stay and review what we know of the case," Kuvak told him.
Sarek nodded but said nothing. They stood and exited the conference room. Sarek went to his office after he met with Voris and instructed him to cooperate with the computer systems engineers to determine the extent of the database infiltration. He shut and locked the door, and opened a secure channel to the Vulcan High Council and informed them of the recent events. At the transmission's conclusion, he resumed the tasks he had been working on Friday evening. After several hours, his door buzzed.
"Enter," he said, clicking the button to unlock the system from his desk.
Giles stepped in. He looked exhausted. "Do you need anything, Ambassador Sarek?"
"No," Sarek replied, unsure of what prompted his question.
"Well, it's getting late and if you have nothing for me, I'm going to head home," he said.
"Very well," he replied, turning back to his computer console.
"Ambassador," Giles began slowly, "I just wanted to say, I'm glad you're alright."
"Why would I not be?"
"I guess after Ambassador Sulak's death and then Admiral Winters last night, I-" he stopped himself and shook his head a little. "Well, this morning was the first time I was ever unable to reach you for more than about twenty minutes. I was about to send the police over to your quarters."
He turned back towards Giles. It hadn't actually occurred to Sarek that others would be concerned for his safety.
"Thank you, Mr. Marcus," Sarek said. "I believe it was premature to worry, but your concern is appreciated. This morning Miss Grayson was kind enough to give me a tour of the hanging gardens and I neglected to take my PADD."
"Oh," said Giles quickly, before adding in confusion, "What?"
"I intend to keep it on my person at all times in the future," Sarek replied.
"Oh, your PADD, right," Giles faltered. "Amanda Grayson?"
"Yes," Sarek replied. "I am aware the two of you know each other. It was you who recommended I apologize to her after the conference last month."
"Yes," Giles said. "I didn't mean to seem like I was trying to pry into your private life."
"There is nothing in which to pry," Sarek answered. "She simply gave me a tour."
"Of course," Giles said. "Anyway, I'm going to get home, if there's nothing else."
"No, nothing," nodded Sarek.
Two days later, Amanda sat in the basement of the embassy, working on a new project for Rosetta. She had completed all of the assigned Romulan syntax generation matrices and was now working to integrate them across the better-known Federation languages.
The day before, a pushy detective named Voorhees had met her in her classroom at the end of the school day and asked her general questions about where she was and what she had been doing in the embassy complex on Friday night. Much of the interview centered on Ambassador Sarek, which left her with several very strange impressions. She was about to tell the detective she had been with him all morning on Sunday, but he didn't ask and she didn't feel inclined to bring it up. It had made her want to contact Sarek, but after the awkward way their meeting had ended she was unsure if it was appropriate.
Adding to her problems was her worry that she still had been unable to reach her father. To be fair, five days without speaking was far from a record. Several years ago when he was surveying the moons of the Laurentian system she didn't speak to him for nearly six months, but then again, several years ago he hadn't sent her a eerie message before falling off the radar either. Last night she almost broke down and called her mother to ask if she knew anything, but came to her senses and promised herself to give it a full week. She loved her mother, but wasn't eager for an interrogation about her romantic life.
Today at least gave her an excuse to take her mind off of her problems. It was Election Day on Earth, and all the months John had spent campaigning amounted to this. After their breakup, she had paid a little more attention to politics and felt disgusted with herself for ever seriously considering John Molineaux and even more confused that he had ever been attracted to her. He was still a member of the Conservative Party, but members of the Earth First Party had endorsed him despite his promises to continue to seek interspecies diversity on Earth. Paying attention to politics only made her realize why she mostly ignored it before but it troubled her that Earth seemed to be heading for a return to an isolationist mindset. They had come a long way since the Romulan War.
For a long time it seemed like John didn't have a chance of gaining the speaker position he was campaigning for; the events at the conference had hurt him badly. He had dropped thirty-three points in the polls that weekend and since then had fought tooth and nail just to pull even with his opponent, a moderate called Phillip Parsons. Amanda had voted for the latter without hesitation.
She glanced from her computer console at the central holographic projector in the middle of the room at election update coverage now and again. Not even preliminary results had come in, so she knew it was foolish to pay such close attention so early in the night. The truth was, it was a pleasant distraction. Her mind wasn't really in her work between her father, the investigator, and Ambassador Sarek.
She looked from the holo projection back to her console. She input a few lines of code and tested them against her dictionary. They failed. She tweaked the code and tried again, and failed again. She was about the scrap the whole thing and start over when she heard a familiar voice behind her say, "Hey stranger."
"Giles, I haven't seen you down here in ages," she said, turning around with a smile on her face. "At least not since the twins were born."
"Yeah, my wife went to visit her sister in Tulsa for the week and it went from being utter chaos at my house to total silence. I couldn't take it anymore."
"You look like you have about five years' worth of sleep to catch up on," she admitted.
"Well, kids, you know. I keep hearing they're supposed to sleep through the night by six months and I think, hasn't it been that long? But as it turns out, no, those little tots aren't even two months old."
Amanda laughed.
"No, I'm only joking really," he continued. "Some days I wish they would grow up a little so my wife and I could get some sleep, but other days it's like I can't believe how fast they've grown already. I spend so much time here at work and I feel kind of bad that I'm not there to help Celeste more."
"Is you boss really that much of a slave driver?" she teased.
"He's Vulcan. I don't think he takes days off. And speaking of my boss... I heard you went out on a date with him," Giles poked.
"What? Who told you that?" Amanda said in a shrill voice.
Giles crossed his arms and looked at her playfully but said nothing.
"It's not true," she snapped, trying to keep her voice down. "And where did you hear that?"
"From him," Giles said, crossing his arms and smiling.
"He told you that?" she said, her voice more of a hiss than speech by that point.
"Well, not exactly. He said you gave him a tour of the hanging gardens in Palo Alto," Giles confessed. There was a twinkle in his eyes that made Amanda cringe.
"Well, that's all it was. We just went for a walk together," she insisted.
"Oh, yeah, sure, just a walk. No one's getting defensive over your 'not a date' or anything," Giles smirked.
"It was a nice day; he's a nice person… What else did he tell you?"
"That was pretty much it. He's my boss. My Vulcan boss, not my best friend. We don't sit up all night gossiping and braiding each other's hair."
"Well, did he seem… what did he… he didn't say anything else?" Amanda asked, unsure of exactly what she was looking for.
"I don't know if you've realized this, but he's Vulcan. He doesn't often seem like anything. He could probably watch his family get autopsied with a straight face. But you seem awfully concerned with what he thinks about you, for it not having been a date."
"I just, I hope- I didn't want to make a bad impression," she stammered.
"What did you do?" Giles said, seriousness blending into his expression.
"Well, do you want to know how it went?" Amanda groaned. "Let's see, I almost fell down the stairs, he found out I'm scared of geese, and-"
"You're scared of geese? Like 'honk honk'? Like those geese?"
"Shut up," Amanda snapped. "But it gets worse. As we were leaving, I accidentally told him, in Vulcan, that I wanted to impregnate him instead of simply saying 'thank you.'"
Giles' face was motionless for about five seconds before he burst into raucous laughter. Several people in nearby cubicles glanced over in annoyance but Giles continued to almost writhe in mirth. After a while, his laughter was reduced to fits of sporadic giggling and he said, "Thanks, it's been a rough day. I really needed that."
"I'm glad one of the most embarrassing moments of my life could be there to pick you up when you were low," Amanda sneered, turning back to her console.
"Oh, don't take it the wrong way," he said. "We're both linguists. Hell, my first assignment out of the Academy, I stopped into a restaurant on Tellar Prime and asked the waiter for directions to the bathroom, but mixed up the words 'bathroom' and 'pockets.' He seemed so confused, and I tried to politely explain that I needed to relieve myself, the whole time completely unaware I was implying that I wanted to do it in his pockets. I got kicked out and told not to come back."
It was Amanda's turn to laugh.
"Well, do you often go to restaurants on Tellar Prime? I doubt it. I come to the embassies every day," she said through giggles.
"Look, I doubt he cares or even gave it a second thought. Vulcans don't feel embarrassed and he's been an ambassador for a long time; I'm sure he's probably heard worse," Giles said.
"True," Amanda replied, propping her head up on her right hand. "I think I'm actually going to call it a night. I haven't been very productive and I don't think my cat even recognizes me anymore."
"Ok," Giles said. "And I mean it, every linguist worth his or her salt makes at least a few completely humiliating mistakes."
"Yeah, thanks," she said as she put her PADD and a few reference tables in her shoulder bag and headed for the door. "See you tomorrow?"
"Yeah, I'll probably be here all week," Giles said, taking over her workspace. "And I'm never going to let you live the geese thing down."
"Great, thanks," she said with a groan. "See you tomorrow."
She travelled her usual maze of turbolifts and access points out of the embassy complex until she found herself on the street level. It was an unseasonably warm night and she walked toward the bus stop but changed her mind halfway there when her stomach growled. She thought of the deli four blocks away and recalled that Tuesdays they offered a delicious root vegetable minestrone. She smiled to herself, turned on her heel capriciously, and headed in that direction.
She walked into the deli, which was unusually quiet for a Tuesday night and wandered up to the counter. She enjoyed the old-style feel of the place, complete with linoleum floors and vinyl booths and a little bell above the door that chimed as people came and went. The deli's owner, a middle-aged Brooklynite import called Vinny, completed the effect by possessing a loud personality and an impeccable memory for all of his regular customers. Amanda came in about once a week, which was not nearly as often as a lot of people at the embassy, but he was quick on the bounce and had treated her like family within a month of the first time she stepped foot in his deli.
"Amanda! Mandy, as I wish you'd let me call you. You have a face like a Mandy. I tell you that every time, but it never stops being true," Vinny called as he stepped around to the front from the kitchen.
"How are you, Vincent?" she teased.
He insisted on calling her Mandy despite her protests, so she often resorted to calling him by his given name, which usually set him straight.
"Let me guess, it's Tuesday, you're a vegetarian… you're here for my minestrone."
"It's like you read minds," she laughed. "Yes please, and for here."
"Of course, of course. And what can I get for you, sir?" he asked to someone standing behind her.
"I shall have the same."
Amanda's heart skipped a beat. She knew that voice.