Amanda held the midnight black outer robe up to Spock's front and considered the effect over the reddish-gray undergarment intended to hang out beneath. She took it back again and used a needle and thread to tack the new calligraphy collar down in another spot.
"I want it to lay just right," she said as she worked. "These were your best robes, and they fit you perfectly…" She held the robes up again. "…right now." She smiled pleasantly at him. It was not restrained at all. "You look the proper grandson of T'Pau I would say."
"I am only going to apply to a short course, Mother."
"Sarek mentioned that you are representing the family. That is the more important part of your errand. As much as I think you should take the course." She collected up her sewing things. "Put those on and go and see your father before you depart."
Spock did as instructed. The robes were unnaturally heavy and at a temperature that sucked at his body heat. Meditation robes by comparison were weightless and insulating.
Sarek and three of his aides were deep in conversation when Spock came to the open doorway. Sarek dismissed his aides with a raise of his chin. "I have only two minutes for you. But wave the door closed."
Spock did so and approached the desk. He was being given a great deal of priority.
"You are back to your poised self, I trust?" Sarek said. "I would not normally ask this so bluntly but I will not send you if you are not."
Spock had spent the first half of the night sleeping, suffering snippets of surreal dreams with no continuity between them, then the second half in deep restful meditation. After his long training meld with High Priestess T'Rio, he had accidentally discovered this was the fastest way for him to recover from a high level of mental strain. He no longer measured himself as less-than for this need to let his human mind work itself out. He could not change it. And it could be construed as a strength if he made logical use of it. Many things about him that were not normal could be construed as a strength if put to use.
"I am well in control now, father. I estimate that you were disappointed given your praise just hours before."
"You estimate incorrectly." This came out sharply. A voice from the past, but speaking in opposites.
"I do not entirely understand that."
Sarek withdrew into himself. It was clear there was something he wished to say but was restricting himself. He looked Spock over in detail, including his formal robe set.
"It is difficult to convey this in Vulcan. In your mother's language I would say something with less precision, such as: because it is known you have weaknesses, your strengths stand out more. I am more pleased as a result, which is just as easy to say in Vulcan, interestingly enough."
Spock dropped his gaze. This behavior of his father had little precedent, so he had no memory to fall back on. To respond he had to put thoughts together that didn't usually go together.
"I am well aware that I am doing considerably better at meeting the expectations you have laid out for me. But confirmation is useful. Father. Thank you." There was a pause where they considered each other. "But you are busy and I am taking your time."
There was a flicker of something behind Sarek's eyes. As if Spock had said the wrong thing. Which wasn't logical. Efficiency had always been important. Lack of romantic notions had always been important. The disturbance vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
"I expect you will do well with T'Pan," Sarek said. "When you return, then." And he gestured for Spock to depart.
- 8888 -
The entrance to the Vulcan Science Academy rose as two towering clamshells resting lightly together at the topmost point. The curved inner walls reflected and heightened every sound within. The main hall's vast floor contained patterns of metallic ore and stone mined from the system's asteroid belt. It appeared surprisingly whimsical even at is conveyed a number of standard equations where the color variance and stone size represented third and fourth dimensions. Spock knew all of this from past tours intended to enamor him with this place. Tours that had failed.
But with the light slanting in through the high peak and students milling about, conversing very low and walking in soft desert shoes and wearing consistently dark colors, Spock considered it wasn't that different from Starfleet Academy in the way it presented itself to the outside world.
The interlocutor standing beside the broad welcoming stone looked beyond Spock until Spock was directly in front of him. He was perhaps ten years Spock's senior, with a chiseled face and boxy forehead.
Spock bowed slightly and informed the interlocutor that he was on an errand from his father and had been sent to speak to Q'Pan in person. The interlocutor did not react to this beyond growing sterner. Spock settled into a patient, easy mode while the other considered his response.
Students flowed around them, many turned to consider Spock standing there, revealing flickering curiosity, before moving on.
"Follow through the brass hangings to the main courtyard and beyond the silent area. Repeat your request there."
Spock moved into the flow of students heading for the main lecture halls, cut across them to pass through a curtained archway and into the courtyard.
A sand sculture gently turned, creating a shushing sound like water. Through the open wall beyond was a shaded area of meditation stones, none in use in the heat. Beyond another curtained doorway stood another welcome stone, a stone intended to be unwelcoming by virtue of existing but being slight.
Expecting this was the boundary to the administrative areas, Spock waited there.
A figure emerged from a side room, perhaps the older cousin to the assistant in the main hall. Spock repeated his request. Without responding, the figure stepped away.
Spock waited again. Put himself into a mode that did not track time. The sand sculpture made this an easy task. Time was itself a dimension like the noise: unceasing and uncaring where one exited and entered it.
The figure reappeared. Gesturing or speaking would have raised Spock's importance. The figure instead turned and walked away and Spock followed. Spock's errand did not require he be honored, just that he deliver his message and obtain a place.
The guardian brought Spock to a cool vestibule. Spock waited there, pleased for air that would recharge the weight of his robes for a return to the heat.
Another figure appeared, an old vulcan walking with a staff. "It is as the guardian says."
Spock realized a beat later that she was speaking to someone else he could not see.
"Come then," she said and moved more rapidly with the staff then expected.
Spock followed, estimating that he was succeeding in his task so far.
The extremely elderly Q'Pan sat in a square-sided carved chair, long ago painted in mute colors but mostly worn away to black. The room was sparse. The desktop held only two padds and a speaking dome. Scrolls rested in diamond shaped carved holes behind her.
She stared at Spock and he had the disconcerting impression that she was withholding an insult too great to speak. An insult about his parentage. Specifically about the illegitimacy of his father's choice of his parentage.
This mental disturbance was only a fraction of what occurred in a group mind exercise when a realm opened and the participants all adjusted their own way. Spock resteadied himself into his divesting and stood serenely, although he puzzled the odd impression. He'd not had an experience of this sort since he last saw his brother.
Q'Pan continued to stare. "Sarek sends such to deliver a message. What is the message?"
"My father wishes to reinforce that he supports the Science Academy's opening up to outsiders. He—"
"Appropriate that he sent you, then."
Spock stopped. The impression was there again, this time accompanied by a poisonous loathing. Spock was already far from his automated body and it rolled around him harmlessly. He reached back to his physical self, keeping apart from it with ease. "I was not sent to debate that point, Honored Q'Pan."
She stared at him differently this time, brow lower, as if studying something fetid.
Spock fell back less on his parents' lessons in etiquette, and instead relied on what he'd learned being a lowly first year at Starfleet Academy. He bowed slightly. "If I may relay my message, Honored Q'Pan. I am certain you have important tasks to return to and I do not wish to delay those."
She sat without moving, eyes locked on his. "Keep it efficient, then," she said.
Perhaps she had no more material, Spock thought. Humans and other races were so much more skilled at tiered insults intended to fully tear someone down.
He tilted his head to the side to indicate he was continuing where he left off. "In the spirit of publicly supporting this important endeavor I am applying officially to you to attend the lectures on field mathematics that commence tomorrow. If you would see to this arrangement. My family would be grateful."
"You wish to suffer grading?"
"It is unnecessary. I will merely attend."
"You will suffer the grading."
"As you command, Honored Q'Pan."
Her eyes narrowed. The glare was gone, replaced by spidery wrinkles of scrutiny.
Spock wondered what her reaction would be to him asking what discipline she had employed. There was something minor, yet deep, here as unVulcan and poisonous as Sybok. She had retained this position far longer, and to a far greater age, than any of her predecessors. This skill would explain her unexpected hold on it. It would be interesting to posit that, even obliquely. It would shift the balance of power in the conversation. But it would undermine his father's instructions to represent him.
Her chin went up and her eyes moved to just beyond Spock's right shoulder. Spock floated additionally while wondering if he'd accidentally projected something distressing upon her in turn. He had just observed an easily copied demonstration moments before.
Spock waited for her to consider her options. He could no longer hear the sand in the courtyard. So he remained present while lightly puzzling things. He did not wish to be like her any more than he wished to be like his brother.
Her fingers tapped on the table top before her. Another assistant came in. In clipped tones Q'Pan told the assistant to register Spock.
"I trust that is all," Q'Pan said.
"It is. Thank you." Spock bowed deeply this time. "I will dismiss myself if allowed."
A bit of fire returned to her reply. "Do so."
- 8888 -
Spock returned home still mired in circular thoughts. His father had one assistant working in his study, both of them silently reading. Sarek looked up and moved to dismiss the assistant.
Spock said, "If I may, father, speak to you after consulting with Healer Zienn."
This brought Sarek's attention even more sharply onto Spock.
"I did not intend to concern you, father. Q'Pan has registered me for the course."
"Go and speak to Healer Zienn. And we will talk this evening when there is more leisure to do so."
Spock sought out his teacher, who likely was spending the day in the old meditation room.
The room was nicely cool but also dusty. Spock knelt before Zienn as he did at the temple.
Zienn eventually rose up out of meditation. His eyes still held distant deep distraction even as he focused on Spock.
Spock said, "I would ask you for a meld, but I sense you have other demands on your attention."
"I am wishing to explore other worlds. I am no longer satisfied with the power of this one. But what is your concern?"
Spock spoke very low. "I fear I have another skill like my brother's that is nascent but waiting for me to use it."
Zienn very nearly shrugged. "It is possible. You are still young." His fingers came up to Spock's temple and Spock closed his eyes.
The rush of Zienn's mind held more affection than it should, then it pulled back to the usual steely neutral. The high priest examined the memory of interacting with Q'Pan and withdrew from the meld as seamlessly as always.
"It is difficult to discern. You loathe the possibility and that is all you require at this time. Control will be easy if it is needed. Someone at Kipraro will know what this is."
He returned his hands to steepled. Spock rocked back. "I was perhaps too aggressive in seeking you out."
"I prefer you be so. But I request time alone."
Spock stood and stepped back. "I am grateful for your assistance."
Zienn was already re-entering meditation by the time Spock had backed through the crooked doorway.
- 8888 -
Orbital Basestation Epsilon, where footsteps rang out, echoed, caused suspended walkways to hum. Everything was temporary. Everything was borrowed from somewhere else. Nothing was repaired in a way that would last. It exemplified the exact opposite of the values of Starfleet.
Kirk left Aux Hanger Bay C after all their gear was personally checked in and tagged by his crew. He'd finally gotten everything procured that they needed and was not going to lose even so much as a pant leg restrainer.
He replied to Spock as he walked, speaking into his helmet, which was under his arm. This helmet and his armor he didn't trust to any storage but his personal locker. In the message he estimated he'd be available for a chat in two hours, but wasn't certain, would message again when he had a better estimate.
He should feel excited, and he did. He dearly wished to see Spock. But he couldn't identify the part of himself that would feel more alive after being fed that excitement.
It was the perfect mood to steep himself in the nastiest dive bar on base.
The Jump Jet was housed in the commercial area, on the top deck which suffered the most rumbling from the orbital impulse engines. The bar's hatch was welded permanently open using scrap that showed the distinctive bubbled glassing from a warp core explosion. The bar was busy. There were only three tables and those were shoved against the bulkheads. The air was hazy with marginally regulated mind-altering inhalants.
Kirk rubbed his nose and stepped inside, scanning for Joplin. He spotted him at the end of the bar, still surrounded by his skuttle crew, plus what appeared to be two others. Kirk wondered at his disappointment at this. He shouldn't care that the man couldn't deal with him one on one. Kirk waited at the entrance, observing through the crowd. Three crewmembers from Team B stopped by Joplin's group to say something, slaps on arms were exchange, then they moved on past Kirk to the door.
Kirk had to assume he'd been spotted. He jostled his way through the layers of patrons. He leaned on the bar and when he had the robot's attention, held up a credit chit and said, "Get him a beer and me one as well."
Two beers appeared in mugs that had been cut and welded from a coolant pipe. The robot slid one to Joplin between the bulky arms of his crew.
Kirk toasted him and drank.
Joplin spun the mug on the bar. It left watery rings. "I'm sure I don't know you. I'm not the brightest they tell me, but I never forget a face, or a not-face when that matters."
Kirk took another swig. The beer wasn't bad, served at near zero like it was. "You probably tried to forget. Starfleet was too late to make much of a difference. I'm sure it wasn't an easy mission."
Knowing looks were exchanged. The kind where underlings silently ask if they should be taking out the trash.
Kirk put his beer down. Eyed each of them in turn. "I'm just one little 'Fleet member here." He spoke nicely but he really wouldn't mind a real fight where he could put every last bit of weight behind each and every punch. Where he could do justice to this endless dirty mission with its hacked together habitats that insulted the name of Starfleet. Five on one, no one would reprimand him as long as he didn't make the first move.
Kirk would normally never refer to Tarsus IV in company where he wasn't sure everyone wanted it to be brought up. But he'd just spent six months busting his body and mind to accomplish something he was pretty sure this man was profiteering off of.
"I was just a skinny, half starved kid," Kirk said while staring over his beer mug.
"As opposed to now?" Someone said, and they laughed.
Kirk failed to react. He had more physicality now than he'd ever imagined possible. And he did wonder what punching bareknuckle with these arms would feel like. He sipped his beer and waited for quiet while looking bored. Nothing like knowing the worst possible outcome is your secret desire to keep one detached from a situation.
Joplin tapped the arm of one of his crew that was still snorting and the man quieted.
Kirk watched the robot waiter work. It had twelve arms on swivels, , three sensor arrays, and used all of it at once. It was higher tech than the skuttles.
Kirk said, "You had a beer in your pocket. You gave that to me thinking I needed it more after cheating the death squads."
Joplin slowly raised the gifted beer and sipped it. Kirk didn't look at him, just watched out of the corner of his eye. Back in his teens he had woven some kind of idealization of this man into his idealization of Starfleet, and he needed to extract that.
Kirk swallowed the rest of his beer, set it down on the bar with a thud. He faced Joplin, who was looking narrow eyed and thoughtful, as if he knew what Kirk was thinking, that he wasn't what a doe-eyed kid would be proud of.
"Now we're even," Kirk said.
He turned to go, but one of the underlings grabbed him by the arm. Kirk turned, looked down at the hand on him, then up at the crewmember. He wanted to hit him. But he had to wait for something more overt. He waited, tried not to look hopeful.
Joplin slapped the crewmember's arm with the back of his hand. "Don't be stupid." He looked at Kirk. "NOW we're even."
And Kirk wondered if Joplin was still reading him. If he knew he was badly disappointing him both on the upside and the down. In Kirk's experience, truly disappointing people tended to be the most aware of their effect on others. Kirk was released with a jerk on his arm that didn't jostle him much.
Kirk tugged his sleeve straight. "Stay safe out there," he said, and walked off.
- 8888 -
The two other team leaders stood with heads down. Kirk watched Commander Nueng instead.
Nueng was part Rigellian, part Wootin, so he had flowing purple hued black hair and horn stubs at his temples and high on his brow. The three longest fingers of each hand ended in triangular horny material. He rapped these on the tabletop.
"We should not be having this much trouble eliminating enemy as ill equipped as these are. We're the biggest baddest group here and it seems like we lose ground each review. What is happening here? This shouldn't be hard."
"I think it's that we're getting a better sense of the true picture over time, sir," Kirk said.
"Then our intel is shaming us. Everything about this mission is shaming us. What's the point of calling ourselves the Federation if we can't ensure simple security of member worlds?"
Lieutenant Tyro started to speak, then stopped.
"Yes?" Nueng snapped.
Tyro was a tall, warm-skinned, earth humanoid who had grown up in the cities near where Kirk had grown up on a farm. As a result Kirk felt chummy with him even though they'd barely exchanged two dozen words in total. Tyro didn't look like anything should intimidate him, but he shifted his foot rather than answer.
Kirk said, "If I may, Commander. I think it's worth pointing out you've only been here nine weeks."
The rest of the room fell still. Nueng glared at Kirk, who gazed easily back. Nueng shook his purple mane and snorted, which Kirk had learned was more like a sigh for him.
Nueng sat back. "I don't want to get as complacent as the lot of you."
"Understood, sir."
"Your record is all kinds of mixed, Kirk. You do speak your mind, as notes about you indicate."
"I hope I don't ever say anything that is not useful, sir. That is not my intent."
"You're the only one who talks straight around here."
"On that note," Kirk said. "I have a question I'd prefer to ask in private."
"Is it personal?"
"No."
"Then ask it. I'm the type who likes transparency. As well as progress. And success. But absent the rest, which are impossible apparently, I'll take transparency."
Kirk stared at the perfectly cleaned and steam-pressed uniform of the being across from him. "I am concerned there is at least one team that is undermining the mission for personal gain. But all I have is suspicions. And a sour interaction with them that at least indicates poor morale. I don't have anything concrete."
The other team leaders were staring openly at Kirk.
"What question are you asking me here?" Nueng asked.
"If you want me to name the team to you."
Nueng's face twisted. "Why the hesitation?"
"It's is a team that a lot of others owe. I don't want to do anything that puts my people at risk." Kirk believed what he said at the same time as he felt something decaying inside himself for saying it.
"That's a problem all right." Despite these words Nueng reached across his desk for a padd.
Kirk said, "You could work out the identity of this team, and others if they exist, by running simple mission stats. Who isn't where they should be a bit too often. Who has too much high end personal equipment they shouldn't be able to afford."
Nueng scratched his chin. "If we had decent location stats we'd be done clearing these systems already. But. I do see your dilemma. I'll ask upward what the best plan of action is. Let them do the analysis." He looked at the others. "I assume you two can keep this little bit to yourself? Kirk here is doing all the hard work here with the boss. Something happens to him, you'll have to learn to speak up."
- 8888 -
Spock sat curled in his reading chair, wearing earpieces, holding his new padd. As the connection came up, Kirk's expression was hard, but it quickly melted into something open and affectionate. He appeared to be wearing a heavy jacket over another layer and he sat in a shadowy narrow space propped on pillows.
"Hey," Kirk said.
Spock had a lot of memories to draw on for this. "James. You are well?"
Kirk put his arm up behind his head, and Spock understood then that he wore only a thin, long sleeve workout shirt. What Spock had understood as clothing layers was actually bulky muscle.
"I'm pretty good. How has your training gone?"
"I composed a long message to you with a great deal of information, but have not yet sent it. It was rather dry, I estimated."
"I'd love to read it."
"My mother believed that to be true, but I was uncertain."
Kirk smiled painfully. "I want to know what you're doing. And I already know from experience that you are going to hold back when we talk like this."
"I see."
"Zienn is treating you well?"
"He is exceedingly conscientious with me. He has begun reaching out to the other priests and priestesses to expand my training."
"And that's going okay?" Kirk sounded overly caring as he said this, as if feeling pain himself.
"It is. I do not want you to be concerned."
"I am incredibly relieved to hear that." Kirk shifted his body around, propped the padd up on one knee. "It goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway. I miss you dearly."
Spock nodded, looked down.
"My Vulcan," Kirk said. "On Vulcan no less. It's okay. I'm not fishing for anything. I just have to say that."
Spock nodded again. There was a great sea of emotional potential there. He sensed it like one senses a distant lightning storm. But he had no will to suffer it if Kirk had no need of emotion from him.
Kirk said, "I worry you are having to get by on your own too often. I regret not being there for you. Not that I could be, really. Where you are. It's good to hear you're finding your own way with the help available."
"I have the assistance I need. As well, my mother is unusually unrestrained. And my father is strangely pleased with me and informs me of this."
Kirk smiled almost shyly. "Everyone wants you to do well."
"Tomorrow I begin an open short course at the Vulcan Science Academy. I do not expect to do well. But I will attend."
They talked of the course for a time. They talked about Vulcan opening to outsiders. About who Starfleet might send to such a course. Previous times the two of them had talked over video they had engaged in intimate activity. Kirk seemed uninterested this time. Perhaps he knew it would be extremely difficult for Spock to ensure himself that level of privacy. But he did not even allude to it.
Spock said, "You cannot speak of your mission, I know. But perhaps you can say whether you are getting what you expect out of your assignment."
Kirk's expression darkened. He looked away from the camera. "I used to have no trouble with the idea of performing my role even if it came to nought. That might not be true anymore."
"You are still learning though?"
"Yes. But different things now." Kirk sighed. "I wish I could talk to you more about it. There isn't anyone really to talk to. I can't risk the morale of those in my teams, and I outrank most of the other team leaders. Those above me don't understand the reality of things in the right way."
"That is difficult. You lack for peers."
"That's it exactly." Kirk looked away. Even his neck was more muscular. "Maybe I should try harder on base to find someone more in my position. There must be someone." He turned back to the camera. "No risk your learning has slowed I expect."
"It has only accelerated. And I am also learning things I did not expect to."
Kirk's lips wrinkled. "Learning about yourself?"
Spock nodded. "Indeed. It is different to be appreciated. But logically that should not change who I am."
"No. That can change a lot about who you are. And you deserve to experience that."
"And you?"
Kirk shook his head and looked away again. "I might not be the starry-eyed idealist if reality beats me down long enough."
Spock tilted his head. "That is unexpected. Your stubbornness must be waning, in that case."
Kirk smiled all the way to his hazel eyes. "Great Bird, I miss you. Listen. Let's save some connection time for tomorrow. I'll make time for you. I think I have to."
"I will be able to report to you regarding the Vulcan Science Academy in that case."
Kirk's smile held. "All right, my Vulcan love. We'll do that."