"Good evening, Miss Grayson," he said as he moved forward to stand next to her.
"How are you, ambassador?" she asked, her voice suddenly hoarse.
"I am in good health," he responded.
"That's good," she croaked.
She stared straight ahead and pretended to read the billboard menu behind the counter with intense devotion. Her mind flashed through the events of their last meeting and she hoped the shaky, nervous feeling would go away.
"Miss Grayson?"
"Hmmm?" she asked, finally breaking her straightforward gaze to look at him.
He was watching her, but said nothing.
"I'm sorry," she admitted, "I'm… my mind was somewhere else. Did you say something?"
"I asked if you were also well," he replied.
"Oh, yes, I'm fine."
"That is an ambiguous expression."
"What is?"
"Fine."
"I suppose so," she murmured, looking forward again and feeling her cheeks grow hot.
"If you want to go sit down, I'll bring this out to ya," Vinny called from the kitchen.
"Ok," she replied.
It suddenly occurred to she was facing a peculiar social situation. Was he eating here also? Would it be presumptuous to assume she could sit with him, or rude to insist on sitting by herself?
"Were you dining in also?" she asked Sarek, attempting to shift the decision-making to him.
"I had not intended to. Perhaps he has incorrectly made the assumption we came in together," he said.
More silence. She shuffled toward the nearest booth and sat down with her back toward him. She flipped the top of her shoulder bag open to retrieve her PADD, more as a means of distraction than out of actual necessity.
"May I join you?" Sarek asked from just over her shoulder.
"Sure," she blurted, cringing from awkwardness but relieved that he had resolved it as she motioned for him to sit across from her.
She folded her hands in her lap and looked across the table, her eyes adjusted at a downward angle.
"Do you come here very often?" she asked.
"Intermittently."
"Oh."
Seconds passed like hours and she bit her lip. Her PADD chirped and she quickly pulled it from her bag, hoping it was from her father. It was a message from Vera, asking if she had any sour cream. She frowned, wondering what Vera would do with sour cream, considering she'd never seen her cook so much as a piece of toast. She was about to reply back to her friend when she realized it would horribly rude to engage herself in her PADD in the company of her dinner guest so she promptly clicked the device off.
"Sorry," she said, almost as an afterthought, motioning to her bag.
"I do not understand," he said.
"For messing around with that," she explained. "It's rude not to give you my attention."
"I see."
"I'm just expecting an important message from my father," she added, feeling a strange compulsion to explain further. "He's been out of contact and the circumstances are kind of unusual. It's very… well, anyway, never mind."
She suddenly felt very foolish telling him about her father, figuring that he had no reason to care about her personal problems and she didn't know him well enough to confide in him anyway.
"You said you father was a surveyor," he mused. "That is a profession which would no doubt keep someone from communicating with his or her own home world regularly."
"True," she conceded, "and I had thought of that. The last time I really talked to him, he had found a lot of helium on Zetar. He surveys planets for rare elements and minerals."
"Helium isn't exactly rare," Sarek countered.
"No, it's not," she admitted with a blush, feeling rather ignorant on the subject and sorry to have brought it up. "It's some isotope of helium."
"Perhaps you meant helium-3," he suggested.
"Yes, I think so," she said, relieved at the mild degree of his correction. "I don't really recall the difference: chemistry was never a strong suit."
"Helium-3 is a common isotope of helium and widely prevalent throughout the universe and even in space, but not often found in significant concentrations to be useful without substantial expense," he noted. "Class J planets possess it in moderate quantities, but retrieving much of it without destabilizing the planet eludes current mining and engineering techniques. I believe your moon once had a modest supply but it was quickly exhausted through your planet's use of cryogenics and nuclear fusion proclivities."
"Wait, if it's a simple helium isotope, couldn't it just be manufactured through fusion in a reactor?" she asked, some of her brief science education coming back to her.
"Through the decay of tritium, yes, and older techniques could produce tritium readily through deuterium or lithium but it is a low-yield, inefficient, and expensive process and requires deuterium and lithium, which have significant technological uses as well. Mining large deposits of helium-3 directly allows for better concentrations at a fraction of the time and expense."
"What is it currently used for that we'd need so much of it?"
"Primarily terraforming, experimental propulsion prototypes, and large class weapons systems."
She was about to ask what he meant by "large class weapons" when she spied Vinny approaching with two large, shallow bowls in hand. She focused her attention back to Sarek, realizing their relationship existed in an odd intermediate where she always felt extremely awkward upon first encountering him but together they always found a way to fall into seamless conversation.
"Here ya guys go," Vinny said, setting down their bowls of vegetable minestrone with a gentle clank on the stainless steel counter. "Sorry it took so long. I got a little distracted watching the election coverage."
"How's it looking?" she asked.
"About like everyone expected, except for that guy Molineaux. He's actually leading but there's only 12 percent of the votes in and some of the polls up north haven't closed yet, so we'll see I guess. Didn't you used to know that guy?"
"Yeah," she groaned, giving him a death glare.
He caught the hint well enough, clapped his hands together, and proclaimed, "I'll leave you two to it. Actually, I bet you guys will be thirsty; you want a pitcher of ice water?"
"Um, actually, room temperature water should be ok," she suggested, looking over at Sarek.
He gave a single nod and added, "That will be suitable, thank you."
"Hey, whatever ya like," Vinny said, shuffling back to the kitchen.
"I had thought you preferred to drink chilled water," he said.
"Well, I might not have retained as much from science class as you, but I do seem to recall you dislike ice water," she said cordially.
She picked up her spoon and took a bite of her minestrone, enjoying the warm sensation of broth tickling her throat. She noticed he was watching her and she sat up and asked, "Is everything alright?"
"Another point of clarification: how is it possible that you 'used to know' someone? Either you know an individual or you do not."
"That's… literally true, I suppose," she said, stifling a smile. "I guess people use that expression when they were acquainted with someone and no longer remain in touch with them… for whatever reason."
"I see," he said, picking up his spoon and closely examining it before dipping it into the thick soup.
She was unaware she was staring at him; her head tilted a faint degree to the side. Vinny returned with two clear glasses and a wide-rimmed stainless steel pitcher. She poured herself a glass and sipped from the lukewarm water and Sarek did likewise.
"So, what is Vulcan food like?" she asked after she sipped a few more spoonsful.
"Much like this, though with milder flavors. Most Vulcan cuisine is dominated by items you would refer to as soups or stews, but it also includes raw fruits, vegetables, and grains. By habit, Vulcans do not consume animal flesh."
"I didn't know that, but it makes a lot of sense," Amanda replied.
"Specify," Sarek pressed.
"Um, well I'm not exactly a scholar of Vulcan philosophy, but it seems to be based largely on pacifist tenets, which could extend to all forms of life, not only sentient ones, if I understand the broader aspects of Kol-Ut-Shan correctly," she explained.
"That is the broad interpretation, yes," he said. "But it is sufficient to understand the principle. The man who served us referred to you as a vegetarian. Why do you abstain from consuming animals when so many of your race do not?"
"For reasons a lot less noble than yours," she admitted, taking a sip of her drink.
"You should not hold your motivations up to another's standard," he argued.
"I don't mean to compare them, I guess. I just sort of fell into vegetarianism when I was younger after watching my cat play with a baby bird that fell out of its nest," she said, her voice trailing off.
"Explain."
"Ok, so, growing up we had this longhaired cat that liked being outside. One afternoon I came home from school and he was on the back porch playing with a fledgling bird," she began.
She was unsure of how much detail to go into with this story and wondering why she was even telling it. She didn't want to explain that she had cried or that she had begged her mother to do something.
"It's a stupid story," she mumbled.
"I am intrigued. Please continue."
Her eyes flickered at him and she sighed. "Well, he was playing with this bird."
"From what I understand of domesticated cats, predation is in their nature. I believe you own such an animal even now, do you not?"
"I do have a cat, and I know it's just the way they are. I mean, I know that now. But back then, I watched my cat torture this little bird and I felt…" she bit her lip and looked at him and tried to think of the least emotional word to convey her point, "disappointed that my sweet pet cat would do that to something like that. I guess I always sort of knew cats did that kind of thing, but being confronted with it made it hard to ignore. Over time when I really thought about it, I came to the same conclusion you already pointed out: predation is in their nature. Predation is nature. But I had a conscious choice to do something else."
"That shows a curious amount of introspection I've not often associated with human youth," he said looking at her directly, which when added to the compliment made the sensation of self-consciousness bubble up inside her.
"I don't think it makes me unique," she argued. "I think it just makes parents who prefer to keep their children sheltered in innocence common."
"Clarify," he insisted.
She closed her eyes for a moment and thought of how to best compose what she was trying to say without sounding sanctimonious.
"Well, life is hard, and I think many parents, that is to say human parents, find comfort in being able to make the world a little less cruel for their children, at least for a while."
"It is difficult to see the value in shielding a child from a truth that he or she is cognitively able to comprehend," Sarek interjected.
"I agree with you," she admitted. "But I would say my perspective is tainted by adulthood. I look at my students and I realize that children are a lot more resilient than we give them credit for. When I think back to my cat and the bird or other harsh realities I would eventually encounter as I got older, I think I would have preferred to accept a hard truth from the start than a reassuring lie that would fade over time."
He said nothing but made eye contact with her, which caused the flood of nervousness to return. His eyes seemed to be searching her out and she felt vulnerable in a peculiar way. He turned back to his minestrone and she did also. They ate in silence for the rest of the meal and as her anxiety abated she conceded there was a subtle naturalness to the quiet.
She continued to unwittingly observe him and the startling realization that she enjoyed his company began to emerge. The more she considered why that was, the more sense it made. He was direct but never impolite, intelligent but willing to learn, and possessed a wholly unique perspective that she enjoyed exploring as well. What if Vera had been right?
Her thoughts began to scatter and become less coherent as she contemplated that possibility. He was nice; that was all. He was interesting, so what? Maybe she did like him, but perhaps not in a romantic way. Even still, she'd had fleeting, harmless little crushes before. Surely it didn't mean anything.
She set her spoon down in the empty, white porcelain bowl, finished the last of the water in her glass, neatly tucked her hands under the table into her lap and did her best to reign in her thoughts. All of the other patrons were gone and it was just the two of them sitting in silence. She noticed he was already finished with his meal and was watching her with a look she struggled to interpret.
"Are you going back to the embassy?"
"No," he replied.
"Well, are you ready to go?" she asked, rising from the booth.
He stood also and they walked over to the counter together. They could hear the rumble of an industrial food particle cleaner and indiscernible noise from a portable holo projector in the kitchen.
"Vinny?" she said, leaning over the counter and craning her head into the kitchen to see him leaning back onto a food preparation table with his arms crossed, entranced by the news.
"Oh, sorry sweetheart," he said jumped up and moving toward her. "This is the wildest election I think I've ever seen. Explains why no one's here. They're all down protesting at the campus."
"Describe what you mean by wild?" she laughed.
"It looks like that Molineaux guy is gonna win, along with a handful of those people from that Earth First Party. Everyone said they didn't have a chance. I didn't vote for those clowns. Excuse me," he said, waving his hands apologetically at Sarek. "It's rude to talk politics with customers."
She frowned at his news before sheepishly asking, "How much do I owe you for the meal?"
"Were you guys together or separate?" he asked, pulling out a service PADD and adding up their order.
"Separate," she said hastily.
"I do not mind purchasing your meal," Sarek said..
"Oh, you don't have to do that," she begged, almost putting her hand on his arm to stop him before realizing how strangely personal that was.
"I am uncertain of your customs in this matter," he said.
"Well, it depends," she said, trying to figure out if anyone fully understood the rapidly evolving rules behind splitting or sharing a check. "We both came here separately and the fact that we ate together was just a random bit of serendipity."
"I am unfamiliar with that word," he said, straightening.
"It doesn't translate well," she mumbled.
"I tell you what, it's on the house," Vinny said, growing cheerfully impatient with the pair of them.
"On the house?" Sarek asked, turning back the deli owner in puzzlement over his expression.
"He means he doesn't want to charge us for our food, which is nice, but unnecessary," she explained, turning back to Vinny.
"Look, I've never seen this place so dead and I'm glad at least two people came in for my grandma's famous vegetable minestrone. Let me do something nice for a few loyal customers."
"Thank you for your generosity," Sarek said graciously.
"Ya welcome," Vinny said with a huge smile, slapping the counter with his palm.
"Yes, thank you," Amanda added, a little more quietly.
"Say, I don't know if you're takin' one of the shuttles home or what direction you're headed, but ya might want to avoid Archer Park. There's some pretty angry people down there right now," Vinny said as they turned to leave.
"Thanks," she replied.
Whenever she walked home she often cut through either the park or the nearby college campus. Her usual shuttle bus also went right by there and she started to consider alternate routes home. She assumed Vinny was referring to protesters, but how bad was it down there really?
"Do you have a safe means of transportation home?" he asked as they exited the deli.
"It's a nice night and I was thinking of walking but I normally go through Archer Park. I guess I could go all the way down to 19th street and double back around," she said, thinking to herself as she spoke.
"I can send a car to take you home," he offered.
"Oh, that's very nice, but you don't have to do that," she said, feeling flustered.
"I do not understand the human need to repel offers of assistance," he said, placing his hands behind his back in a stance she was beginning to associate as being distinctively his own.
She opened her mouth to speak and felt a grin developing as well and despite her efforts to control it, laughed.
"I don't understand it either," she finally admitted, shrugging innocently. "I guess it's considered polite, maybe?"
"It seems more typical of the nearly universal human requirement of independence," he said with a miniscule flicker of his eyebrows.
"It seems to me that Vulcans pride themselves on self-sufficiency," she challenged.
"Your point is irrelevant, as I was speaking specifically of your race," he said.
"But you speak of such a character trait in humans as if it's a flaw," she explained.
"That is an incorrect assumption on your part," he said, tilting his head slightly toward her. "Which has led you to an illogical conclusion."
"That independence is a flaw of humanity or that it even exists in Vulcans?"
"The former."
"But how can you-" she stopped and looked from the pavement to his face, finding his expression wholly calm. "Has anyone ever won an argument against you?" she asked, crossing her arms and tilting her head as well.
"Certainly."
"Recently?" she asked, unable to keep the grin from sneaking onto her face.
"Define your parameters."
She uncrossed her arms and looked beyond him to the traffic light, which had begun flashing yellow. She smiled and looked back down at the ground, trying to think of what to say. She sighed, and looked him in the eye and said, "It doesn't matter, because I don't think I've got a chance of ever winning one against you."
"How will you know unless you make an attempt?" he said.
It seemed like he was goading her, but reasoned that such behavior was probably illogical and therefore probably just in her imagination. Their eyes were still locked and she instinctively wanted to look away but found herself unable. Vera was probably right.
"How do you plan to get home?" he inquired.
"I really can walk," she replied, shuffling her feet, "but thank you for your offer to call a car for me."
"Will you permit me to escort you to your residence then?"
"Oh, you don't have to-" their eyes briefly met again and she smiled, this time rather demurely. "That would be nice of you."
They set off on foot down the wide sidewalk, side by side. Amanda perused her thoughts and feelings, wondering why he would offer to walk her home. Perhaps he was just concerned for her safety. She glanced around, noting both the foot and vehicle traffic was lighter than usual. They walked together quietly for four blocks before turning left onto a small, two lane street that would take them back to her apartment without cutting through the park.
"Your society does not seem to handle regime changes well," he noted eventually.
"You're talking about today's elections?" she asked, surprised by the break in the quiet.
"I am."
Her eyes darted over toward him and she wryly said, "Maybe we just happen to like riots and revolution. Like forest fires, you know?"
"Are you implying sporadic destruction is beneficial for long-term growth?"
"No, but it's how we seem to like to handle things," she said with disappointment. "Tell me, what are Vulcan elections like?"
"Specify," he said, looking over to her.
"Well, I sort of imagine candidates don't call each other names or accuse one another of unsubstantiated sleights, hypocrisies, or crimes or build entire campaigns on exploiting minor fears into major panics?"
"No."
"So what do they do instead?" she asked.
"They merely publicly defend their positions on issues they consider to be of wider significance and-"
He stopped midsentence and Amanda followed his line of sight. The indiscernible noise of the city had morphed into shouting. Up ahead, she saw a few people running both in the direction they were headed and away from it. She looked back at Sarek, uncertain about what to do.
"Perhaps we should consider another route," he urged.
She looked around to get her bearings and said, "If we can go up one more block, we can go down 3rd Avenue and hopefully move around this."
They continued in the same direction and quickly began to encounter more people. She was more curious than afraid, and tried to make sense of the din of shouting voices she could hear. They were coming upon the street she had suggested when she heard the sound of shattering glass and turned in shock to see a man defiantly standing in the middle of the street with both fists raised. He had a black balaclava around his face and she realized he had just thrown some heavy object through a storefront display. She was frozen in confusion, mesmerized by the sight of something so brash and it seemed like all the shouting faded from her consciousness. She was unsure how long she stood there looking at the offender but eventually she became aware of a hard tugging on her arm.
"Amanda," Sarek yelled forcefully over the increasing noise. "Let's go."
Panic struck her with the force of lightning and she realized they were standing in the middle of chaos. More people were running around them in no particular direction. Sarek reversed course and they hurried in the direction from which they had originally come. He hadn't let go of her arm and though she was glad, she wondered if he could feel her shaking amid their jerky strides.
"That one's Vulcan," she heard a man shout from behind them.
She tried to turn and identify the speaker, but Sarek wheeled them both into a poorly lit, narrow alleyway. The alley fed out into a parallel street about 20 meters away but she could see even more throngs of angry people swelling at the opposite end. She looked at Sarek, who seemed as calm as he ever was and she felt completely mystified. She could hear more voices approaching from the street they just left and she shut her eyes, wondering what was about to happen. This had all happened so fast.
"Miss Grayson, stay in the shadows. Walk that way and don't look back," he ordered, nodding at the alley.
"You want me to leave you?" she cried, dumbfounded.
"I do not have time to explain-"
"Hey, over here!" croaked a raspy voice.
Down the opposite side of the dark alley, she noticed a glint of something and identified it as a piece of jewelry catching the streetlight from the main thoroughfare. She could just make out a tiny woman standing in a darkened doorway, motioning them forward.
The sounds of the riot grew closer and a few people sprinted in front of them in the alley, oblivious to their presence. Echoes of shattering glass and fighting rang through the narrow passage. She wheeled around to look at Sarek.
"Come," Sarek said, leading her forward by the elbow and into the darkness.