Sarek gestured at the chair at the edge of the courtyard where it was shaded. "Sit. Your mother is quite busy this evening so we will have a late dinner. I would have us use the time to talk."
The den beside the garden was warm but Spock's heavy robes were still cool. He accepted the seat. A lizard darted out of the brush and paused, statue-like in the middle of a paving stone.
Sarek loosely clasped his hands. His voice was low, but sounded loud in the quite house. "You succeeded with Q'Pan. I would hear the details. She can be rather difficult if she perceives you are not predisposed to her point of view."
Spock weighed how much to say while the breeze rustled anything tall enough to reach above the roofline.
Sarek said, "Perhaps another level of discussion. Is there a reason you are reluctant to share?"
"I am not accustomed to decision making that is purely based on logic."
"That is a matter of practice. I expect you will gain that quickly enough."
Spock sat in stillness for a few breaths. He said, "Q'Pan does indeed disapprove of you. Something I am reluctant to state because I cannot measure how injurious it is to do so."
"I am well aware of her opinion in as much as she expresses it to me directly. You need not shield me."
Spock nodded thoughtfully. "Possibly that is what I am doing. And I know that is an insult. Hence my inability to speak. Every avenue of discussion presents difficulty."
"I have indeed harshly judged your previous efforts to protect me. But it is merely an outgrowth of your desire to avoid harm to those around you. I should more properly regard it in that way. It is not based on logic but is part of your inheritance from your mother."
"Zienn insists emotion has a logic of its own."
"I am not surprised to hear that is his belief." Sarek sat back and his heavy robes settled around him. On the glaring hot stone, the lizard turned its head a few degrees. "My political position is not as strong as it once was and your interactions while representing me are subsequently more important than they would be otherwise. How were you treated at the offices of the Science Academy?"
Spock studied his father's profile. His violet-shot gaze was fixed on the sun-glare.
Spock said, "From the assistants there were protracted delays and offhanded manners. It was no matter. When I was shown to her office Q'Pan attempted to undermine me. I simply outlasted her. Or that was my intent." Spock's hands rested in his lap, relaxed. There was energy deep in his mind that longed to clench them. He studied this energy. It was there but could not touch his body, therefore his body could not touch him in return.
"If you would elaborate." Sarek studied his clasped hands, shoulders relaxed. He was giving Spock space he never would have previously.
Spock said, "Once her attempts at intimidation failed and, it came down to logic, the discussion concluded."
"You were unaffected by her? She is unsettling to many."
Spock studied Sarek's face more closely. "Does that include you? If I am not out of line to ask."
"In the past, your mother has accused me of using battles with her to exercise anger I could not use against others."
"I see."
The lizard darted away, disappeared into the loose leaves piled at the base of the earth plants.
"Father, I suspect that Q'pan releases deep-seated but subtle distress in the mind of her adversaries. It is distress one might expect to experience and is therefore mistaken for something generated internally."
Sarek turned, but sat staring beyond Spock for a time. "She is not using telepathy, I would be aware of that."
"It is a manipulation of the deeper mind. I do not know the exact method. But it is as if she vibrates loose a deep-set self-loathing. I expect many give in to get away, or to get her approval."
Sarek sat taller. "Did she harm you? Is that why you sought Healer Zienn upon returning?"
Spock pulled himself to the present. "No father. She was harmless. Merely a curious experience."
Sarek considered. "Your theory is an interesting one. I dislike her presence immensely and have never developed a viable theory as to why. She did not have this reputation eleven or twelve years ago. It is recent."
"It is possible that the technique is unconsciously learned. The effectiveness of it was its own teacher."
Sarek studied Spock closely. "That is a generous assessment."
"I have too little information to make a legitimate conclusion."
"I should not deter you from remaining logically uninvolved, even if I cannot." Sarek sat forward and placed a hand on the arm of Spock's chair. "But you succeeded in the tasks I gave you. I am pleased by that. And I believe that attending a course with your fellow Starfleet members will allow you to experience your two worlds in combination."
Spock puzzled these words. His father had become far gentler with him, strangely open with his thoughts. It left Spock with no memories to draw on for a response.
Sarek went on, "On another topic, Healer Zienn is departing in a leased ship with Sten as a—most appropriate—servant. The Healer does not have fixed plans for returning. There is an additional open Science Academy course commencing after this one, or we can hire tutors for you to make other use of your time. Even meditation tutors if that is your preference."
"I do not have an opinion on what would be best."
"I will enquire with Starfleet Academy in that case and bring in what they recommend."
"Even powered weapons and tactical training?" Spock wondered where those words had come from. It wasn't an emotion that had generated them. It was more that he was experiencing a rising logical conflict and wanted to add data to better understand it. Provocation always produced the best data.
Sarek's brows rose, but then he relaxed. "You did speak with James earlier today." He nodded once. "If that is your preference. Or are you testing my limits right now?"
"It would be politically difficult for you to procure such training for me," Spock said.
"It would be an open admission of what we have sent you off to become, which has a certain logic to it, even though it would be politically provoking." Sarek sat back, resting his hands on the arms of his chair. "Vulcans used to be warriors. But so long ago the weapons we use to recreate their arts are ancient. That is an accident of history. Our ancestors would have used phasers if they'd had them."
"I would not turn down such training as I know for a fact that I stand out for my lack of knowledge. But I will consider my options and let you know. If that is acceptable."
"That is of course acceptable. And I will query the Academy as well. We should be interfacing with them regularly in preparation for your return."
###
Spock arrived just as the First Hall was being aired for the day. Memories and emotions layered over each other. The best instructors coerced into encouraging Spock to attend. Spock for his part doing his best impression of a Vulcan so as to not embarrass his Father. Spock and the instructors had one thing in common back then. They were equally unimpressed with each other.
The ceiling of the First Hall gave the impression of sitting under a giant upside down flower. The windowed edges of the petals floated overhead, alight in the hazy air. The place did not intimidate Spock now. The hall seemed merely functional, designed to filter in cool light and draft away the worst of the heat.
Spock sat in the last row of the visitors' section, a block of maroon to the front left side of the dais set apart in an amphitheater of tans. He sensed attention on himself. He wore formal family robes, heavy, pleated and enveloping. His mother's unstated alarm at his thinness made Spock estimate that others would repeat this uncomfortable observation. Logically, he wished to simply blend in, although his robes identified him as T'Pau's grandson. Something which could not be helped.
Vulcan students glided in, murmuring low if talking at all, this faint hum increased until human voices burst in from the outside hall. Vulcans paused and half turned. The visitors, speaking low for them but unaware how loud they were, stopped in the arched doorway and took stock of the hall. Two Andorians in their usual crinkling silver clothing stepped inside followed by six Starfleet members, brightly colored in the muted room. Their eyes passed over Spock as though he were a part of those behind him in the general student area.
The humans—a lieutenant, two ensigns, and three crewmembers—shushed each other and shuffled in, scuffing and banging far more than they realized. Spock felt a stirring of an emotion he'd never expected to experience at the Vulcan Science Academy: amusement. He looked down at his hands, at the fine needlework on the ribbing of his sleeves. Odd, this emotion slipping through when nothing else could.
The course began with one lecturer, an incredibly elderly Vulcan who introduced the topic she herself had invented two hundred and two years ago. Then a younger Vulcan took over with a haughty air. She lectured rapidly about surface mapping of n-degrees via nth dimensional transformation matrices. She lectured without pausing for questions, unlike her mentor.
The subject was beyond Spock's learning and there was insufficient time to catch up before the assessments. Spock floated lightly and listened with no padd for notes. Perhaps some little understanding would find its way in the way it did at the temple.
Four hours to the second the lecture broke up. The room relaxed. The lieutenant, a human male in his mid-twenties with skin the color of ivory and hair the color of the Vulcan sands, made his way to the side of the dais where the visitor liaison stood ready to serve. The lieutenant asked about lunch, was explaining that his team wasn't finding much to eat since arriving two days before and he was responsible for them.
The liaison looked directly at Spock and gestured subtly. Spock rose and made his way over.
To Spock, the liaison said, "You will know of an appropriate place, I estimate." At Spock's nod, he turned away and left Spock to care for the visitors.
The hall was refilling for the next lecture. Spock gestured for the group to follow and led the way across to the side entrance. At the outside doors he turned to find a contingent of humans behind him looking strained but hopeful. The lieutenant wore his leadership face. He nodded for Spock to continue on. Spock did so, keeping to the shaded walkways. It was noontime. And the humans groaned and gasped during the brief stints of full sun.
They reached the shaded entrance to a covered arcade that lead to his mother's favorite earth-style restaurant. Spock paused and the group except its commanding officer went on ahead through the airwall, sighing audibly or even crying out in relief.
The lieutenant stepped around to face Spock. "Look, I realize we're loud and despite some rushed extra training, are not catching the social cues." He exhaled a frustrated sound. "I noticed that you were randomly given this assignment. And if you'd just tell us the destination, we can find it. I don't want you going out of your way like this."
"I am all right with this errand, Lieutenant," Spock said.
The man tilted his head, raised a brow.
"My name is Spock. And I am a cadet at your academy, Sir. That is likely why I was assigned this task by the liaison. It was not random."
Amusement and interest overtook the man's narrow face. He looked Spock up and down, although Spock estimated it was an honest assessment, not an insult. "You're a Starfleet cadet?"
"Yes, sir. I am on leave completing Vulcan training my father required of me."
The lieutenant stood taller. "I'm Polus Fletcher, Cadet, Lieutenant First Grade. Any chance I can lean on you for cultural help? We're under a lot of heat to not mess up even a hair during this visit. Given how things are between Starfleet and Vulcan . . . But. Anyway, I have a hungry team that are already hard to corral. Shall we? If you'd lead the way. Cadet?" He smiled, tried to force it down, and smiled more through a formal expression,
The restaurant's proprietor, Surnam, was a rare Vulcan in that he had extra weight around his midsection that strained the arm holes of his robe. He observed the humans coming down the staircase to his below ground establishment with an estimating eye. When he spotted Spock trailing behind he straightened and raised both brows.
"Small young Spock, welcome," he said, fortunately in Vulcan.
The humans discussed the lecture. With the exception of one ensign, the visitors had understood more of it than Spock had.
"The use of mathematical contradictions themselves as an operator set to transform the vector space of overlapping quantum field effects is a new one on me."
"It's one of those tricks you wish wouldn't work."
Spock ordered his mother's favorites and because this was an informal place for families, he fetched water jugs and glasses and set them on the table.
Fletcher, with a sly smile, said, "Thank you, Cadet."
"Cadet," One of the crew scoffed. "You recruiting, sir? I don't think anyone's going to like that."
Fletcher poured himself water and drank it all down in two enormous gulps. "Why not?"
Spock counted out a stack of napkins and pot holders and put those on the table. He had forgotten how much humans fascinated him. They disseminated, deflected, and disguised their emotions rather than suppressed them. Then they balanced out this behavior with acts of open emotional risk and courage.
The crewmember hemmed aloud. "I just don't think they will, sir."
The food began arriving. Spock took the seat on the end and explained each dish.
"Not earth food," one of the ensigns said with furrowed brow, then sat back as if regretting speaking.
"I apologize, sir. Authentic earth food is not available for reasonable expense. This should be pleasing, however, as it is prepared specifically for human senses."
Spock ate one small bowl quickly and asked to be excused. His mother had urged him take his time, but he knew she wanted his company and he did not want to miss Kirk's comm attempt.
Fletcher swallowed the hearty mouthful he had just shoveled into his face. "You need to go? Can I talk to you after the lecture tomorrow?"
"Of course, sir. As well, tomorrow there is a well-regarded market in the square near the Academy you may wish to attend. I can show you the way."
Fletcher wiped his mouth and waved with the napkin. "Thank you, Cadet. Go on."
Surnam raised a brow from the doorway to the kitchen. Spock nodded to the unspoken question that these were his guests.
Meal finished, Fletcher patted his lean belly and sat back. "We should be getting to our rooms and do a real review session before getting bombarded with more lecturing." He turned to Surnam. "That was really good. Different. But good." With stiff movements, he stood up. "What's the damages?"
Surnam clasped his hands together. "I do not understand that colloquialism."
"Sorry. I need the bill."
"It has been paid already."
Fletcher became more alert, "By whom?"
"By the family of T'Pau. Whose scion you were treating like a common servant."
Fletcher blinked. "Who? Where do I know that name?"
One of the crewmembers cleared her throat. "Federation Council member."
Fletcher tilted his head almost like a corkscrew. "I'm sorry. What are you saying?"
"You were the lunch guests of Shikahr's most powerful family." Surnam spoke more slowly as if to someone slow of mind. "I cannot put it into terms more rudimentary than that."
Fletcher blushed and grumbled half-swallowed curses. A crewmember snorted, cleared their throat.
"Everyone up. Let's get going. I don't know how the day took this turn. Let's try and rein it in from here. Please."
###
Spock sat before the half dome of his old childhood study unit reviewing the lecturer's original mathematical treatise. It was less comprehensible than the lecture which was likely fine-tuned over the years. He should feel shame. He should feel a dread of looming embarrassment for the assessment of his learning. He felt nothing. Logically, he would do poorly in this subject, especially without the proper preparatory understanding.
He queried the computer for tutorials on the preceding mathematical theories this one built upon. Even with a low likelihood of final success, he should make the best use of this effort at learning. As he reviewed he concluded that he was having more difficulty with thinking mathematically than previously, as if his mind had lost the capacity for it. Their family had a predisposition for the priesthood, and now it seemed his mind had over-specialized for that, leaving less room for other learning.
Spock's bedroom door chimed and his mother stepped just inside. "A Lieutenant Polus Fletcher is here. He asked to speak with you."
Fletcher stood alone on the slate floor of the entryway eying the furnishings and the glass doors to the garden across the open rooms. His strained expression relaxed upon seeing Spock approach. Spock had changed into a ragged meditation robe, and this garnered a confused once-over.
"Cadet. If I may speak to you."
Amanda gestured at the first sitting area. "Please, have a seat, Lieutenant."
Fletcher bowed. "I really don't want to take up your time, Ma'am."
Spock said, "It is quite all right, sir. My mother appreciates visitors. Especially humans." Spock mimicked Amanda's gesture. "Please."
Fletcher looked between the two of them as if needing to further adjust to new information. But he didn't move.
Amanda bowed graciously and said, "I'll leave you two alone."
Fletcher watched her glide away, then came around Spock's other side to speak in the other direction. "Spock. I got spanked by that restaurant owner for making you act the servant. And it turns out you're the grandson of a member of the Federation Council?"
"I am. But I do not see why it is relevant."
Fletcher scrubbed his hair back with his fingers. "Spock. I'd hoped you'd keep us out of trouble. That's what I meant by asking for cultural help. You're getting us into more trouble. The kind way over my head."
Spock began to speak but was interrupted.
"This isn't wandering out without wearing scent neutralizing spray, or laughing loudly. This is political trouble, Spock. I'm a newly minted lieutenant. I don't have the ability, the chops, or the connections, to deal with that. You don't know how much pressure there is back at command right now."
Spock looked up at his father approaching with a dignified slow step, head tilted, hands clasped inside his robes. Spock twitched a left brow at his father and his father came fully up to them.
Fletcher brushed his mussed hair back stood straighter and gave an awkward Vulcan salute. "Greetings."
Spock said, "Lieutenant Polus Fletcher, this is my father."
Fletcher exhaled hard, sounding further doomed. "The Ambassador to the Federation, I have been informed. Sir."
Sarek said to Spock, "Do you require assistance?"
"I do not require assistance, Father," Spock said. "But the Lieutenant believes he is in some difficulty."
Fletcher stood taller, but sighed and lost ground on his emotions. "Where to start. It's like this. Your fellow Vulcan, Surnam, accused me of treating your son poorly . . ." Fletcher struggled. "I didn't intend any offense . . ."
Sarek said, "As I understand it, my son's status in your organization leaves him subject to a great many others' whims and instructions. As far as our family is concerned, Spock is subject fully to the outcomes of his freely-made choices. We have no intention of interfering in that."
"Oh." Fletcher stood straighter still. Sweat was beading out from under his hairline. "In that case, sir, I do have another problem in that I understand you, or someone related to you, paid for lunch. We can't accept gifts of that kind. It is strictly against regulation. Only as part of a formal invitation that we get pre-approved for as part of a cultural exchange. That's the only way we could we ever swing that."
"I see." Sarek dropped his hands to his sides, making his sleeves swing. "You understand that as my son's guest you are by extension our guest and to act otherwise would be an insult?"
"Yes. Yes, I see that. But I have crazy strict rules on my side I can't change. I hope you understand and accept that we don't perceive any insult in paying for ourselves." Fletcher cleared his throat then swallowed hard.
"In that case, I will inform Surnam that he can alter the charges appropriately." Sarek looked at Spock who nodded his thanks. "Is there anything else I can assist with?"
Fletcher glanced down the hall where Amanda had departed. Sarek rotated that way and turned back.
Sarek said, "In the interest of increased cultural exchange, perhaps we should have you and your colleagues for dinner before this special course ends."
Fletcher drew in a breath. "Your offer is really too much… I'm realizing how inadequately we've been prepped for this visit. I fear the outcome of that on top of everything else."
"I assure you my wife would be greatly pleased to host, no matter the preparations you may or may not have. Also, my son requires more opportunity for interacting with his peers in Starfleet since he is isolated from them at this time."
Fletcher struggled for an answer.
Spock leaned closer. "As your cultural advisor, sir. I suggest you accept."
Fletcher shook his head. "In that case. Yes. Thank you, sir. Ambassador."
"Perhaps you can see the Lieutenant back to his quarters, Spock," Sarek said.
The neighborhood around the estates was unfortunately unshaded. Fletcher stopped for a third time to mop his brow.
"Would you like me to call you a groundcar, sir?"
"No. No. I need to get used to this. To everything," Fletcher said. "I don't do well with diplomacy. I've already let things go off the rails and treated you too commonly without even thinking about it."
"May I speak to you freely, sir?"
"Sure. Why not at this point."
"I do not wish to be a Federation counselor's grandson or an ambassador's son. I wish to be myself, a member of your organization. Nothing more. And nothing less."
Fletcher smiled ruefully. "You want me to keep ordering you around like the plebe you are?"
Spock nodded with a dignified air. "If you would, sir."
###
Kirk chuckled at Spock's description of Lieutenant Fletcher coming to the estate.
"I'm glad to hear you are still making trouble."
Kirk was sitting slouched outside in the stark shade of a ship's landing gears and gantry that left slices of sunlight across his upper body. He wore a tight undershirt speckled with puckered holes. The transmission was labeled as having gone through an anonymizer and the ship could be parked on any of dozens of worlds with suitable atmosphere. Although the precise spectrum of the sunlight would likely narrow it down.
Kirk went on, "Someday your trouble will be my trouble to deal with but until then, I'm going to enjoy it."
"I am not going to do well in the Science Academy course."
"You don't have to be good at everything, Spock. People will like you better if you aren't."
"I see. Illogical."
Kirk laughed again, then lowered his brows. "My connection time is almost up." He sighed. A breeze came and took the sound away. "I miss you." His mouth moved, then he bit his lips.
"We will be extensively occupied until our respective activities are completed."
"That doesn't help as much as one would hope." Kirk's gaze fell dark and he sighed again. "Given Zienn's going off planet maybe I'll have another chance to catch you before you return to the temple. I'll let you know. I wish I could plan ahead with you, but there's always a blackout on info."
"I understand, James. You will be safe, I assume."
"I'll do my best."
The connection cut off as Kirk was reaching for the controls and for a moment, a frozen image held on Spock's padd of Kirk's coarse hand half blocking the camera.
###
The long formal table was set with an extravagant amount of tableware. Amanda finished lighting the candles and smiled at Spock affectionately before shuffling off to the kitchens.
Sarek stood to one side looking at the table as if deep in contemplation of it, or of some memory it sparked. This dinner, this invasion of their home by the organization Sarek had long professed a dislike of, had been suggested by Sarek himself. Despite the paperwork overhang it generated, despite the political difficulties it would cause among the powerful families, Sarek had reallocated his staff to this event at the expense of other deadlines. He persisted in this even after learning Spock had scored only thirty one percent on his course assessment.
Spock also contemplated the table in case some understanding could be found there. It had grown harder to understand his mother in this emotionally neutral mode. That would be expected. But it was also more difficult to understand his father, which was unexpected. Now that Spock matched Sarek's lack of emotion, his father's logic should be more accessible.
"May I ask a possibly out of line question, father?"
Sarek turned himself toward Spock and waited.
Spock straightened his shoulders. "Are you. Adopting some of Zienn's philosophies?"
"Adopting would be a strong word. I would state rather that I find myself questioning whether he has a point about some things."
"It would be unwise to assume one has all the answers," Spock said.
"It would be illogical as well. But it is nevertheless common among our people."
This was an admission that required time to absorb. Spock finally said, "You have not expressed any opinion on my performance in the course. Is this part of said philosophy?"
"I made it clear from the outset that my expectations would be met through your participation. You need have done no more."
"Q'Pan insisted I be graded. Otherwise I would have deferred. I would not have brought shame upon you in this way, willingly."
"An even better reason to ignore the grade."
This strange acceptance and openness had no precedent, no clear logic. Spock thought back through the previous moments to check if he had somehow projected onto his father the way he had upon Q'Pan, had set loose something that was altering Sarek's mode of thinking in Spock's favor. That would at least be some kind of explanation for a great deal of Sarek's recent behavior.
The door chimed. Sgroud hurried out of the study and approached the door, waited for a signal to open it.
Spock said, "The Lieutenant was quite nervous about causing cultural issues."
"He has no need for that concern."
"I was not successful in conveying that. Perhaps given your higher authority…"
"I will re-iterate it." He signaled for Sgroud to open the door.
The humans padded softly in wearing brand new desert shoes which contrasted humorously with their black uniform pants. Lieutenant Fletcher spied the table and appeared to brace himself. Amanda appeared, graciously put everyone in a seat, herself and Spock alternating with visitors, Sarek at the head.
The first course came and went with the guests apparently cowed by instructions to remain demure. Amanda finally teased more interesting conversation out of the crewmembers around her, made their faces forget themselves and brighten.
Under the cover of their voices, Sarek said to Fletcher, "You may relax here. We are all quite familiar with human behavior."
Fletcher nodded. He glanced around the table, meet Spock's gaze then turn back to Sarek. "When I went up the chain for permission there was a bit of surprise." He spoke quieter through his napkin. "People seemed to think you were poking the bear inviting us."
"I do not know why they would think that. I am married to a human. I spend three quarters of my time on earth. My son is in your organization. The bear, as you say, is permanently poked."
"Your call, of course, Ambassador. We certainly appreciate this. It's a good cap on our visit."
###
Sten grumbled again about the rented ship and stood up in his hunched manner. Zienn had seated himself on the deck in the back of the bridge, head down. Looking out at the moving stars was unsettling his already difficult to settle mind. He could have retreated to one of the small berths, but found isolation caused him a cascade of strange reactions as if to things that were not present.
Sten stared at Zienn. "It flies itself. It insists on flying itself. A pathetic vessel."
"I see."
"We're still a twenty point three zero hours from j4509-3, which is an empty rock reasonable to sit on for a time in full gear. Unless you change your mind."
"Why would I change my mind?" Zienn asked, further undone because his mind was changing without his conscious effort and here was Sten, the nearly mind-blind, speaking this inner truth aloud before Zienn even fully recognized it.
Zienn calmed himself again, floated. Somewhere inside himself was some new truth. Accelerated by leaving Vulcan, but not caused by it. At least Spock was not present to witness this strange witlessness.
"If I were to change my mind, would it inconvenience you?"
Sten shrugged in a mockery of human shrugging. Zienn recognized the layers of communication with ease due entirely to his exposure to Spock.
"Is it possible to locate a particular Starfleet vessel?"
"If it's near a base or on a central spaceway where reporting is mandatory."
Zienn nodded slowly. "So it is possible."
"Which vessel?"
"The U.S.S. Apollo."