In Determined Pursuit of the Swing - Latent_ST_Tendencies (2024)

Chapter 1

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Being harried was not something Amanda wished to admit to, being anathema to Vulcan logic and calm efficiency, but truth be told, that was exactly what she was right now, flinging dresses, gowns, coats and accessories to match onto her bed, preparatory to packing them for the rushed trip to Tellar. Less than 72 hours ago Sarek had been redirected from his usual ambassadorial duties to sub in as the lead trade negotiator for the upcoming Vucan-Tellar-Andor Technology Trade Conference. His long and varied professional career, first as a computational astrophysicist, then migrating to the computer sciences, eventually becoming Chairman of the Department of Computer Sciences, Architectures and Engineering at the Vulcan Science Academy, then finally into the diplomatic corps, as his father Skon had always intended for him, made him a well-suited interim substitute. What was not said, was that his stubborn nature was just the thing needed to assert Vulcan’s interests against Tellarite bellicosity and Andorian duplicity.

It now fell to Amanda to assume those hostess duties as befitted the spouse of the highest ranking Vulcan representative at the conference. Furthermore, it was a matter of protocol and decorum that she attend the numerous tours, demonstrations, recitals and events that were of a more cultural nature that had been planned as adjunct events to the conference. How, she wondered, did the Vulcan High Council feel about the fact that an earth woman was representing all of Vulcan to the Tellar and Andorian socialites? Oh well, Sarek and I come as a package deal, she thought in amusem*nt. Amanda, just wait until you have your first encounter with the First Lady of Tellar. That will wipe the smirk right off your face. The schedule was packed, the pace would be hectic and nowhere was there any place for a beyond toddlerhood, but not quite self-sufficient four year old. Spock would have to remain behind on Vulcan.

Amanda was not happy about leaving her young son and going off planet without him, but it was the only logistically feasible thing to do. As soon as she and Sarek had come to that decision, Sarek had tried to contact his own parents, but found them tending to the affairs of the ancestral plantations on the southern continent. They could look after Spock if Sarek could get him to them, but there was just no time to make the transfer before the Surak’s departure. He then turned to the younger sister of his deceased first wife, T’Rea. T’Rachal was younger than her older sister by fourteen years, and was herself the grandmother of a five year old, and most conveniently, lived in close proximity in ShiKahr. Since the birth of her grandson, Kyr, she maintained a child-safe home, with a child’s bedroom always prepared and waiting—made tempting with art supplies, logic games, learning devices and a decor that would appeal to a juvenile sensibility. T’Rachal was a respected civil engineer who worked for Vulcan’s largest engineering consortium; one that provided technical design expertise and services on a galaxy-wide scale. She frequently worked from her home office, so when asked, she graciously insisted it was no burden at all to take in Spock and I-Chaya, and care for them at her home while his parents were away. Spock had made her acquaintance before, so she was not a complete stranger to him. T’Rachal may not have been Sarek’s first choice, but Amanda was especially comfortable with her because of the kindness with which she had been treated by the busy engineer, whose demeanor Amanda found to be unusually warm for a Vulcan woman. It made the pain of leaving Spock without either parent planet side as tolerable as it could be. So off she bundled Spock, the family pet and all the necessities, packing them into the family skimmer and making the short trip across town to decamp on T’Rachal’s doorstep.

Chapter 2

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The door to T’Rachal’s home swung open mere moments after Amanda chimed. Standing at her door were Amanda, Spock, one very large and old sehlat and a skimmer tailgate doing dual duty as a floating anti-grav sled piled high with a jumbled mound of travel bags and pet paraphernalia. Spock’s large, liquid brown eyes were taking everything in, but with a bit of apprehension evident in them. For the most part he had calmly accepted his mother’s explanation of the need for him to reside with T’Rachal for the duration of his parent’s trip, and her reassurance that T’Rachal would treat him just as kindly as if he were her own grandson. Amanda was certain that he was somewhat comforted by the fact that I-Chaya was to come along as well. Attending to the needs of his pet would be a good way to keep him occupied and distract him from becoming lonely or missing his parents over much.

“Greetings and come in,” T’Rachal said warmly in Federation standard, in deference to Amanda, as they trooped into the entryway. She was tall, as was common for Vulcan women, her long plait of salt-and-pepper hair caught up by a beautiful hair clasp of polished inlaid stones. Her face was a touch weather beaten, and her fingertips a little roughened and red-stained from time spent tending her garden, which Amanda knew to be a source of pride, as they shared this common interest in gardening and horticulture.

T’Rachal bent down and ruffled I-Chaya’s thick neck fur, letting the animal sniff her and come to the realization that her smell was known and one well remembered. After all, I-Chaya had been Sarek’s pet before Spock came along, and T’Rachal had been Sarek’s sister-in-law for many years. She and the sehlat were well acquainted. The home was, of course, smaller than the S’Chn T’Gai ancestral home that Spock was used to, but then not many families had a domicile of that size and opulence. T’Rachal’s home was more compact, but no less richly and tastefully appointed. It was still spacious enough to contain several sleeping chambers, a meditation alcove and a home office and workshop. A patio was connected to a generously sized garden that was not climate protected as was Amanda’s, and therefore all the plants were Vulcan native. Mature specimens of jasserian and poisonous white-tipped quill vine were creeping over a trellis, providing meager shade, with youb-youb thistle and fire-gourd providing some of the ground cover. Various species of desert succulents artfully edged the winding pathways. Hanging from a sturdy beam of the trellis was a child size swing.

After giving them the brief home and garden tour, T’Rachal brought them all back to the entryway, where their belongings awaited them. Although it was not the Vulcan way to offer profuse gratitude, Amanda wished to express to T’Rachal just how much her assistance was appreciated. “Thank you for opening your home to Spock. You really have helped us out in a bad spot. Sarek and I are certainly in your debt. And I am sorry about this,” her hand waving toward the sled. “I was really too rushed for precision packing,” Amanda laughed. “I promise, we’ll take it all back. If you come across some strange clothes choices, please forgive me. I know better than to let a four year old pick out his own clothes, but he was trying to be helpful. Is Sendir here now or still off-planet?”

“He is still on Maygor supervising the fusion energy project. It is, in truth, a very complicated production facility, but Sendir is satisfied with the progress. In two year’s time he is permitted an extended leave, and it is our plan to have the visit back to Vulcan coincide with Kyr’s Kahs-wan. Kadiith. Come, let’s put your things in your bedroom, Spock,” T’Rachal commanded. The anti-grav sled was pushed down the hall, and the belongings were deposited into the room, which held a single, narrow bed. There was a desk and child sized chair, with nearby shelves stocked with learning devices. A bit surprisingly, there were numerous pictures of dinosaurs on the walls and even one figurine on a shelf. They looked to be Terran Jurassic period dinosaurs, which Amanda wondered at. Nowhere in Vulcan’s pre-historical record had the bones of such behemoths been recorded. Was this perhaps a fascination of the grandson, or perhaps T’Rachal’s bondmate, Sendir? Knowing her son as she did, Amanda was certain T’Rachal was just setting herself up for endless questions from a very inquisitive young house guest, who was sure to be fascinated by the depictions of these long extinct beasts.

True to her prediction, Amanda had to wrest Spock’s attention away from the wall posters and help him with the task of putting away his clothes into drawers, his shoes into the closet and his toiletries into the bathroom as she gave him last minute instructions and admonishments. “Ask your ko-kuk where I-Chaya’s bag of feed is to be stored, then see it gets there. She will show you where his food and water bowl go, and how you are to clean up after him. You understand what while you are a guest in her home, it is up to you to take care of I-Chaya? That is not her job.” Amanda instructed.

“Yes, Mother, I will look after him,” Spock replied very seriously, while his pet snuffled about the room.

“Also, you must help with household and meal preparation chores as she assigns them. She will supervise your lessons and help you with your clothes and getting ready for bed. You are to be a help to her, like you are to me at home.” Amanda looked over to T’Rachal—“he can stir kreyla dough, don’t let him tell you otherwise. Spock, be particularly careful of the garden plants—be very mindful of any she tells you not to touch as some are very dangerous. And respect that she is working. If she needs for you occupy yourself while she takes a comm in her office, your room is filled with things for you to investigate. If you ask her very nicely, I am sure she could be talked into reading some very interesting bedtime stories. Maybe even stories about dinosaurs.”

Spock’s eyes grew a bit wide at that suggestion, and Amanda exchanged a look with T’Rachal and saw a raised brow that indicated her hidden amusem*nt as well.

“Also, as a guest in Ko-kuk T’Rachal’s home, which is a fully Vulcan home, in what language are you to conduct your conversations?” Amanda had him consider.

Spock immediately dropped out of speaking Standard, and switched to fluent Vulcan. “I will speak only in Vuhlkansu, as you instruct, Mother,” he reacted as if he had been sightly scolded for some previous thoughtlessness, although he had only been speaking as the two adults had been.

“Spock, if you wish to have I-Chaya stay in your bedroom, why don’t you place his bed into the corner. I need to discuss a few more things with your ko-mekh. And neither you or I-Chaya are to go into the garden yet. There are a mating pair of teshku lizards, and we have to make sure he does not harm them or they him, as they can bite. And what your ko-mekh said is true, I will teach you how to be safe around the garden plants, but you are to avoid them until then. Do you understand?” T’Rachal fixed him with a momentarily stern look, so that he would know her warnings were to be taken seriously. He nodded his understanding, then made his way back to his assigned bedroom, with I-Chaya in tow, Amanda and T’Rachal repaired to the kitchen.

“Thank you again for your great kindness in allowing us to impose on you like this,” Amanda spoke in her charmingly accented Vulcan to T’Rachal. “I feel we are overtaking your home. I hope it won’t be too much of a bother to have a four year old underfoot. Unfortunately mundane or repetitive tasks tend not to occupy Spock for long—his curiosity starts to get the better of him. Just dangle something scientific and intriguing in front of him if you need to keep him busy for a few hours. If necessary, he can be tasked with more workbook lessons. Just be firm and direct if you need to set some behavioral limits for him.”

“Really, Amanda, it is at your risk that you are leaving Spock within the home of two engineers for eight days—do not be troubled by the thought that this is in any way an inconvenience to me. Sendir is off planet and I care not that the lizards will be displeased with me,” T’Rachal said with her usual insouciance.

Amanda laughed again, at the thought of the lizards shooting dagger eyes towards their keeper who was allowing a snuffling, monstrous furred presence into their garden oasis. Then the two women turned to more serious matters and checked to see that all the information transferred over the home comm link—the necessary details that Amanda liked to think of as “housekeeping.” She made sure T’Rachal was in possession of the emergency subspace comm codes for the Vulcan delegation while on Tellar as well as how to reach other of Sarek’s relatives and Spock’s medical providers. She left a statement granting T’Rachal the power of decision making in the case of a medical emergency. She even included I-Chaya’s animal healer information.

Amanda went on, “ Spock should be able to eat anything you eat. We have only found one food that truly disagreed with him, but it is a Terran food, not available on Vulcan. I don’t always have great success tempting his appetite, so maybe you’ll do better than I. He can get distracted while eating and at times needs a little prodding to finish his meal. And he may be a little more physical than what you are used to with your grandson. Sarek and T’Lara gang up on me over this, but I can’t resist allowing a cuddly four year old to climb into my lap when he feels he needs or wants to. He’s still so young. Although already he won’t do it in Sarek’s presence. My husband really does not know what he is missing.”

“Indeed he does not. Foolish man,” agreed T’Rachal. “And say no more of T’Lara. May you have fortitude, Amanda.”

This was one of the things that endeared T’Rachal to Amanda. Not only did she eschew the need to be constantly and coldly stoical, at least around a kindred spirit like Amanda, but she was unapologetically maternal. She had shared child-rearing stories and advice with Amanda in the past, and had made light of the chaos that having young children in her home once again would entail. Amanda had never felt any censure from her for her own position as Sarek’s human wife or their hybrid son, unlike many Vulcans Amanda had encountered, unfortunately some in Sarek’s own extended family. T’Rachal also seemed to not take Sarek over seriously, occasionally pricking at his masculine arrogance in ways both serious and playful. She had that puckish sense of humor and Amanda was sure Spock would get along well with her—lately Amanda had begun to see flashes now and again of a sly sense of humor from Spock himself.

“Spock, come say good-bye to your ko-mekh,” T’Rachal called out to him. Amanda knelt down and gave Spock a fierce hug. Spock put his arms around his mother, but his gaze flicked up to meet T’Rachal’s eyes, as if judging her reaction to this openly physical display between himself and his mother. It was if he was weighing the decision if he should act around T’Rachal as he did around his own mother, or comport himself as he did around his fully Vulcan father.

“Spock, your father and I will be back in eight days. We will miss you so much. See that you take good care of I-Chaya and are a respectful guest so that ko-kuk will have you back again.” Amanda detached herself from her son, gave T’Rachal one last grateful nod and left, quickly bringing the anti-gravy sled cum tailgate back to the skimmer, reattaching it, and heading back home to finish her packing before her and Sarek’s departure time from the Vulcan Space Central spaceport.

Chapter 3

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Wanting to deflect Spock’s attention away from thoughts of his departing mother, T’Rachal asked, “So, shall we see if Mr. and Mrs. Kahless can get along with I-Chaya in the garden. Then I believe it will be time for mid meal.”

“ Your lizards are named Mr. and Mrs. Kahless?” Spock looked a little puzzled.

“‘Don’t you think they have the skin of Klingons, Spock? Dry and furrowed and scaly?”

“I have never met a Klingon, I do not know. I don’t think Father would know either.” Spock replied.

“Well, shall we request that your father make that comparison when he finally meets one?”

Spock was confused by her statement, thinking she was not meaning to be serious, however he was not sure. He had struggled to understand the mysterious concept of a “sense of humor,” which his mother assured him T’Rachal possessed. Was this an example? He briefly wished an adult human were about, for they would know.

Coming out onto the patio, they all stopped short of continuing on into the garden. T’Rachal transferred I-Chaya’s leash to her own hands, not trustful of how the large but elderly sehlat would react to the two lizards residing there—ignore them, or see them as possible prey to be stalked and attacked, as his predator instincts would tell any sehlat to do. The two lizards who were up on a beam of the trellis swiveled their heads in unison to fixate on the shaggy figure below them. I-Chaya sniffed at the air, catching their scent. He became excited and lunged against the chest harness, growling low in his throat, clearly desiring to get at the lizards.

“No, I-Chaya,” Spock castigated, dismayed by what he saw as his pet’s misbehavior. T’Rachal pulled on the leash to restrain I-Chaya’s pulling. The lizards slithered away from the commotion, moving higher into the jasserian vines, but keeping their eyes swiveled on the predator in their midst.

“I do not think it will be safe to let I-Chaya have free access to the garden. On the Forge, a teshku lizard would be natural prey for a wild sehlat. We will partition the patio from the garden and give Mr. and Mrs. Kahless their peace. For now, Spock, I-Chaya is to stay on the patio side by the house.” T’Rachal loosened an accordion fence and drew it across the garden, from its attachment to the wall of the house, across the edge of the patio, to lock it to its fitting on the the outer wall bordering the enclosure. It was high enough that the sehlat could not jump or climb it, but it effectively shut away the access to the tempting swing.

Spock was regretful—he very much wanted to swing on that swing. It had been a little over a year ago that he had traveled with his parents to Earth. One afternoon, just he and his Grandfather Grayson had gone to a park where they sought out the park’s swing set. Once his grandfather had been assured of the natural strength of his grip, he was no longer restricted to the toddler swing, and instead was allowed to use the tall swing meant for much older human children. His grandfather’s strong hands had pushed against his back, sending him higher and higher. The sensation of flying and the cool, thick air ruffling his hair had granted him a sense of freedom, so much freedom that he had laughed in delight. Hearing his pleasure, Grandfather Grayson had himself chuckled to hear such glee from his otherwise reserved and quiet grandson. Wishing to feel the sensations of swinging again, Spock regretted I-Chaya’s aggressive behavior toward the lizards that was the cause of the swing being denied to him. He started to think of what could be done to remedy that situation.

T’Rachal beckoned to him “Let’s go in for mid meal, now.”

T’Rachal prepared a cold meal for both of them, and gave Spock the responsibility of moving the heavy earthenware plates on, and off the table again, when the meal had been finished. He seemed very quiet, and could not easily be coaxed into conversation, but T’Rachal was not concerned. It would take a little time for him to become more accustomed to her and feel comfortable enough to engage as freely with her as he might with this own parents. She saw no logic to being impatient with the process. From her past observations of him, he had seemed to be a little on the shy side and far more introverted than her own grandson, Kyr.

After lunch, T’Rachal moved into her office, needing to get some work done. She asked Spock if he had done his lessons for the day and he indicated that he had not—his mother had been too busy before in her packing to supervise him. So he sat on the couch in her office, legs dangling, and set to work on his padd, writing stylus in hand.

“How many pages are you to work through every day, Spock?” T’Rachal asked him.

“I am supposed to work through fifteen pages before mid meal and ten more pages before end meal every day that I am here.” Spock replied matter-of-factly.

“No days off?”

“Father said that was not permitted.”

“Ah, then we shall do as your father requests. You will set a good example for me, Spock. If I am good like you and do all my workbook lessons, then maybe I will grow up and become smart too.”

Spock looked up at T’Rachal, uncertain of her absurdist comment. This had the feel of that “sense of humor” thing again. He perceived she was being silly, but did not know what to say back to her, but somehow it was starting to please him.

After she had observed an hour of steady and quiet work, T’Rachal arose from her own desk and peered over Spock’s bowed head to see how he was coming along. She was already quietly impressed by his concentration in that he, as a mere four year old, could sit perfectly still for the entire hour and stay on task. She glanced at his padd and was surprised at the work he was doing, seeing written questions that would require reading skills and mastery over a reasonably large vocabulary to complete. Somehow seeing his capabilities both troubled and delighted her. Was Sarek already driving his son to be an academic automaton, chained at the neck to the anchor of unreasonable academic expectations? Or was his and Amanda’s young son a vessel of wondrous capacity, into which one could pour and pour and pour, yet never overfill the brim? Once finished he set his padd down on the edge of her desk, carefully laid down the writing pen and asked permission to go out with I-Chaya to look at the lizards. After he was told he was free to go, he skipped out with a burst of pent-up energy, calling for his pet to follow.

Later, when she had reached a good stopping place in her own work, T’Rachal made her way to the patio door. She gazed out and found Spock sitting on the ground near the partition, one of his hands up on the side of I-Chaya’s face and his other arm around the large, furry neck of the sehlat, looking for all the world like he was conducting a meld with the animal. Just a few feet away but still safely on its side of the partition was one of the teshku lizards sunning itself unconcernedly, despite being just a few feet away from a dangerous predator, were they to encounter each other in the wild. T’Rachal looked carefully at Spock—was he playing or pretending or was he, in fact, in telepathic communication with his pet? That most certainly would be beyond the capability of a four year old. This merited further observation.

Presently, Spock and I-Chaya came inside. It was near to end meal, and his cheeks were a little warm and flushed after being out in the Vulcan mid-afternoon heat under the filtered shade of the patio covering. But he had all sorts of questions now that he had been able to study the lizards more carefully.

“What do Mr. and Mrs. Kahless eat, ko-kuk? Do they have young? Do they have a nest? How long do they live? Where do they go to shelter when a sandstorm hits?"

T’Rachal suppressed a small smile. His shyness starting to recede a bit— Spock, the pint-sized inquisitor, was starting to emerge.

“I will make a deal with you. If you help with end meal by setting the table and washing these greens, then after dinner I will help you to research about lizards. We will find the answers to all your questions. Are you in agreement?”

“I would like that very much,” Spock replied.

So after the evening meal, where Spock had rather delicately picked through the offerings on his plate, the dishes and kitchen were cleaned up. T’Rachal led them to the living room and sat down on a couch, patting the spot next to her to indicate to Spock he was expected to join her so they could do their investigations of desert dwelling lizards. Spock eagerly got onto the couch, but held himself carefully away from her body. But as the information on the padd became ever more engrossing, he leaned in for a better view and crept closer and closer until his small body began to brush against hers, then finally was pressing into her side. After the topic of the lizards had been exhausted to his satisfaction, he launched into questions about the likely path of his parent’s shuttle to Tellar, straightening up so he was no longer touching her.

“If they left our planet at noon, then where would their shuttle be? Do you think Father piloted the shuttle? How many light years to Tellar?”

“11.63 light years to Tellar. The Surak has a primary pilot, but I am sure your father will likely take a turn to give the pilot a rest. And to calculate their distance, what other variables do we need to know?”

Spock looked up at her, “Warp speed and whether the shuttle’s speed has been constant.”

“And if they departed on time, but otherwise you are correct,” T’Rachal told him. “Now it is time for bed. Did you observe which drawer your mother placed your nightclothes in?”

Chapter 4

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The next morning T’Rachal prepared them a breakfast of krat’lik porridge sweetened with mashed gespar fruit, along with a small serving of cut-up yon-savas. Afterwards Spock was proud to be given the task of handling a knife all by himself to chop up all the fruit peelings and put them in the composting receptacle. He deflated a bit when he was told his next tasks were to sweep off the patio flagstones and see to I-Chaya’s feeding.

T’Rachal then joined Spock at the accordion fence, opening the gate and letting them into the garden, and pushing back I-Chaya when he attempted to follow. T’Rachal wanted to take steps to make sure the child could safely play in the garden, and discern which plants were harmless, and which were edible, and which were poisonous and could produce a paralyzing venom if processed properly.

“Spock, do you know why it is important to know of the desert plants?”

“Ko-kuk, it is because when I am seven Father said I am to join the other clan children for a ten day stay out in the Sas-a-shar. He said I may have to eat some of them.”

“Yes, Spock this is true, Do you see this hest’kut succulent? It is a plant that would be acceptable to mash with your teeth and suck on if you found yourself very thirsty.”

“Would it taste good?” Spock asked with the natural concern any child would have over a potential food they were expected to put into their mouth.

“Spock, remember what Surak teaches us: In times of famine, do not question that which sustains us, or those who would grant it. Be humble in your acceptance, and know in your heart gratitude for such providence as may sustain you. That also applies to the providence that comes from the desert soil.”

“Yes, ko-kuk,” Spock replied with a down-cast gaze. That was an adult’s way of saying that the hest’kut would not taste good at all.

T’Rachal was now satisfied that Sarek was at least starting to talk to his son about the Kahs-wan rite, even if the boy was a bit fuzzy on the details of how solitary of an excursion it was to be. She could proceed with her teachings in a matter-of-fact way, without having to worry that Spock was hearing of it for the first time. However, she would proceed cautiously into an explanation of just why a seven year old might be wanting to be in possession of an extremely poisonous elixir out on the desert sands . . .

Upon returning inside the house, Spock settled into his morning workbook assignment. T’Rachal had him work at his bedroom desk as she needed to place some calls to her colleagues and did not want the conversations disturbing Spock’s concentration. Soon however, a set of inquisitive brown eyes were peeping at her from around the edge of the door to her office. When she glanced up, he quickly pulled back, but a short time later was back again, enveloping her in his observant gaze. T’Rachal got up from her desk and looked outside her office to find Spock and I-Chaya patiently sitting in the hallway. She quickly came to a decision that at the speed he habitually worked through his lessons they were not going to keep him busy for long. T’Rachal could have easily assigned him more work pages, but judged that a poor reward for his diligence. Spock usually was so reserved and now that his visit to her home was granting him a brief reprieve from his father’s repressive influence, she judged that unfettered playtime was called for, the more imaginative and carefree, the better.

“Spock, I want you to take I-Chaya out for his exercise before it gets any warmer. Follow me and I will tell you where and how far you are to walk him.” They went to the front door and T’Rachal knelt down to his level and gave him instructions as to the path he was to take his pet out along on, This was far more autonomy than his mother had here-to-fore granted him and he was secretly delighted and fairly thrummed with impatience to be off. “Are you capable of controlling him if he sees a valit and wants to chase it?” she asked him.

“Yes, I will tell him not to chase, and if he doesn’t do that, my mind will tell him not to chase,” Spock informed her with the seeming confidence of a young master not understanding the preposterousness of his flat declaration. T’Rachal looked at him, surprised that his statement seemed to confirm what she had witnessed yesterday on the patio. Spock either really was, or thought himself to be in telepathic communication with his pet. Could he really control his pet’s actions, against the beast’s natural predatory instincts? T’Rachal would have to see more proof of this before she believed any of it, but his seeming confidence intrigued her.

Spock took the leash and secured it to I-Chaya’s chest harness. They departed the house, with Spock coaxing his pet. T’Rachal went back to her office and took down a large box of wooden construction models from a high shelf, scattering quite a few onto the floor. These were left over scale representations from one of her own previous projects, replete with generators, recirc towers, turbines and a multitude of colored dowels that represented pipes. She kept this box for the times when her grandson came and was in need of diversion. If his fascination with these were anything to go by, T’Rachal was sure her little house guest would likewise find them a plaything worthy of a few hours absorption.

Spock let himself back in, and took I-Chaya to his water bowl. Then the pet padded down to the bedroom and slumped down heavily on his bed and closed his eyes. Soon T’Rachal was aware of inquisitive child eyes peeping around her door again, their gaze riveted to the tempting architectural block shapes littering the floor of her office.

“Ko-kuk, may I come in? What are these things on your floor?”

“Yes, Spock you may come in. Let’s ask them, shall we?” T’Rachal picked up a tower shaped block, looked at it and said, “What are you, and what are you doing lying on my floor?” Then she held the block close to her ear, pretending to listen carefully as it spoke. She pulled the block away and looked directly at the incredulous Spock. “It says it is a civil engineering construction representation block, but is very sad because no girl or boy has come to play with it for at least three months. It feels purposeless and dispirited, so that is why it is limp and lying all over the floor.”

“No, it did not say that,” Spock looked at T’Rachal searching her expression for the humor he was sure was behind the nonsensicality. He was certain, this time, that she was teasing him. “So may I be permitted to touch them?” he asked in perfect son-of-an-ambassador politeness.

T’Rachal reassured him, “Of, course you may play with them. I give you the responsibility for improving their temperament. I only require that they are returned to their box before bedtime this evening, and the floor left clear. Would you like to see how they were used in the design for the industrial power plant?”

Spock came over to her at her desk, and stood about a foot away, waiting for her to open the appropriate file. After a few moments T’Rachal came to a decision, and she lifted him up to sit on her lap so he could better see her desk-top screen. He initially tensed, then fractionally relaxed as her arms snaked around him to rapidly call up a schematic of a hydro-power plant from Kavian She pointed out the various buildings, the piping structure and the flow of water into the plant and how that powered the turbines. She tried to make sure it was an age appropriate explanation, but realized she was not entirely certain where that fell for Sarek and Amanda’s son. He had stared in rapt attention, questioning her until he seemed satisfied that he knew what the small-scale models were meant to represent.

Soon Spock squirmed down off her lap and knelt down to inspect the fascinating architectural block shapes. He corralled similar shapes together then began trial arrangements. So deep was his absorption that he did not seem to notice T’Rachal’s departure to prepare the mid meal. He only put the blocks aside when she called him to the table. After the meal and helping to clean up, Spock dutifully returned to his workbook lessons, that afternoon’s being mathematics. In a very short time he presented his padd to T’Rachal and impatiently rocked back and forth on his feet, while she looked over his work, eager to get back to his semi-assembled power generation compound. T’Rachal was a bit surprised to find no mistakes in the ten pages she “graded.” Just as surprising was the level of concepts he was mastering. Sarek, she was sure, was behind this. T’Rachal was secretly amused to have given his son a near infantile activity in comparison—playing with blocks on the floor, albeit structurally specific blocks that had a real life purpose in civil engineering project design. But enabling Spock to have some fairly unstructured and undemanding play time somehow satisfied T’Rachal’s desire to get back at Sarek’s pompousness in a small and harmless way.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

T’Rachal and Spock soon fell into a comfortable, domestic routine. It seemed best to walk I-Chaya in the relative coolness of early morning, so that became Spock’s first task of the day. Then he and T’Rachal had first meal together, then various household chores as she assigned them, and then the workbook lessons on his padd. His speed of working through his instructional material increased when the temptation of something new to investigate was there, waiting for him. T’Rachal indulged his great curiosity by moving on from the architectural blocks to a box full of electronic components, then on to showing him how things worked in her home. First, they looked at the plumbing fixtures, water and sewer systems of the house. Next was the sonic shower mechanism and on to the food stasis unit, Spock watching in fascinated attention as she opened control panels and explained the parts and their functions. Soon he became impatient with merely being an observer and asked her to let him handle the tempting tools and perform some of the disassembly tasks himself, under her supervision, of course. All this tinkering and hands-on activities seemed to be the greatest of fun. He was soon asking her to show him the inner workings of the comm unit and vid screen. T’Rachal was secretly pleased to be expanding the horizons of her little house guest, beyond observations of the natural world. She praised the inventors and design engineers of the household devices at every turn. His intellect and strong desire to understand the mechanistic underpinnings made him a natural for the engineering profession in her opinion. She felt like a professor at the front of a classroom of one, but with the most rapt and capable student imaginable. Oh, how Sarek was in trouble now—no home device would be safe in the S’Chn T’Gai household from now on.

Nighttimes were spent in perfect contentment, sitting side by side on the couch, reading page after page of information on the dinosaurs. All the facts and theories—where and when they lived, what they were thought to look like, and how heavy they were estimated to be, what they ate—were endlessly fascinating to the little boy.

On the third day, T’Rachal noticed that I-Chaya no longer lunged or strained to get at the lizard pair. He watched them, but behaved himself, even if they were right next to the partition. She had Spock keep control of I-Chaya while she retracted the accordion fence. The large sehlat looked once up at his young master, then laid on his belly, unconcerned with the reptiles close by. With T’Rachal’s permission Spock dropped the leash on the ground and skipped over to the swing, glad to be claiming his prize at last. He wasted no time sending himself into dizzy spinning as he wound up the swing’s rope, and let it unfurl and spin him delightfully about. His sense of enjoyment was infectious, and after a minute of observing him, T’Rachal came up behind him and granted him some strong pushes, sending the modest trellis swing as high as it could go, testing his resolve not to laugh, as he had when on Earth, but granting him a great deal of pleasure, nonetheless.

While pushing him, T’Rachal’s analytical mind pondered the cause of the sehlat’s changed behavior. Had he just gotten used to the teshkus or was Spock’s claim of managing to impose control on I-Chaya’s innate animal instincts really true? T’Rachal decided it was time for a little experimentation. She would ask a favor of her work colleague and long time friend, T’Prielle, a woman whom Spock had never met, and knew nothing about.

T’Rachal was busy in the kitchen as it drew time for the dinner guest to arrive. Earlier Spock had been given the tasks of stirring the sh’rr t’falek dip for the kreyla crackers, then setting the table, and then collecting four blossoms of the d’lechu succulent to grace the table. Once he had completed his tasks to her satisfaction, he was excused to busy himself with a padd and drawing stylus, working on a rendering of a properly proportioned Vulcanodon, his favorite dinosaur. He looked up when T’Rachal came to introduce him to T’Prielle.

“I would like you to meet our dinner guest, T’Prielle. We are long acquainted, and yet when invited, she still comes to brave my cooking. Anyone who does that is a most agreeable dinner companion.” The self-deprecating, and untrue, comment about her cooking let Spock know that he was not the only one subject to T’Rachal’s sense of humor. He promptly got to his feet and extended a ta’al to the evening’s guest. I-Chaya got to his feet, and raised his nose, sniffing the scent of the new stranger in the house—was this a threat to his young master or his old she-master?

T’Prielle nervously observed the large sehlat, and the slender child standing behind his pet. She noted his delicate eyebrows were perhaps not quite as sharply upswept as a typical Vulcan child’s would be, and the dark chestnut brown highlights in his hair spoke of a divergence from purebred Vulcan genetics. But the shape of his mouth and chin as well as the cant and sweep of his ears was pure Sarek.

“This is Spock, Sarek and Amanda’s son. While they are off planet on Tellar, he has been keeping me company and training me in the ways of studious habits.”

“Has he made a dent in your habits of sloth and procrastination as well?” T’Prielle teased back. She knew T’Rachal to be one of the most productive, efficient water systems engineers at the corporation, whose reputation as a workaholic was well deserved. That she had such a charming and elfin distraction in her home, taking her away from her heavy workload for a few days was a welcome state of affairs as far as T’Prielle was concerned.

“Has your time with T’Rachal been instructive, Spock?” T’Prielle asked of the small boy.

“Ko-kuk T’Rachal is a very satisfactory substitute for Mother, “ Spock said with a child’s complete lack of guile. “But she does talk to construction blocks. And I am sure I will never be able to come back unless I agree to become an engineer when I grow up .” Both women completely swallowed their mirth, and only kept their faces impassive with effort.

The two women chatted companionably together, catching up on the affairs of work. They partook of the end meal, with T’Rachal, for the first time, placing the food on Spock’s plate. She was wanting to see what would happen when she selected the amount for him to eat. T’Rachal was counting on his innate politeness to not fuss over the amount of food he was being served in the presence of the dinner guest, T’Rachal felt Amanda had been right—the boy could stand to gain some weight, and since this sojourn with Spock made her the mother-in-absentia, she would do her part to encourage a more robust food intake.

After dinner, T’Prielle and T’Rachal went to the home office. They started to look over the cost analysis of the current water project. Spock finished his drawing of the Vulcanodon, then started one of his second most favorite—a stegosaurus. T’Rachal judged it was time to initiate her plan—confirming a suspicion about little Spock and what had transpired with I-Chaya and the garden lizards. T’Prielle had agreed to play a crucial role in their surreptitious investigation of his nascent mental capabilities.

“Spock, come look at the stegosaurus in Soto’s Book of Dinosaurs. Let us see how accurate your drawing is.” T’Rachal pushed back from her desk, silently inviting Spock to view the enticing dinosaur illustration on the desk vid. At first he just stood there, but soon leaned in closer to be able to see the detail better and without resistance he accepted her help as she swept him up and onto her lap. He no longer seemed wary of the close contact with her that he had shown earlier in his visit, causing T’Rachal to feel a sense of maternal accomplishment at Spock’s willingness to loosen his previously strict boundaries. She brought up several different illustrations and made comparisons with his drawing, letting him know where he could improve his rendering.

Intuiting that Spock would be fascinated by the workings of a vehicle, T’Rachal asked of him, “Would you like to look at drawings of a skimmer? We could see what systems we can take apart and reassemble.”

That offer got Spock’s immediate attention. “Yes, I would like that very much.”

“Then let’s play a little game. I will ask you a question and every correct answer is another part of the skimmer we will take apart and examine. T’Prielle has agreed to be the source for the answers. For the first question, can you tell me the name of T’Prielle’s bondmate?”

He looked up at her perplexed. “Did you want me to just ask her this question? Do you not know yourself?” Spock queried, his brows furrowing in puzzlement.

“Of course I know his name, but can you find out, the same way you told I-Chaya how to behave around Mr and Mrs. Kahless? T’Prielle has agreed to your touch.” She set Spock down off her lap and tried to gauge his willingness to touch the mind of a virtual stranger, not just his familiar and well-loved pet. Just how far would a promise of investigating the skimmer parts tempt him?

“Is it acceptable that I do this, ko-kuk?” Spock asked uncertainly.

“Yes, it is a skill I wish you to demonstrate, just like drawing the dinosaurs or solving your math problems.”

“If you are sure?” Spock said, still hesitant, looking back and forth from T’Prielle to T’Rachal for confirmation. The dinner guest unconcernedly nodded encouragement and permission to Spock, proffering her left hand. He made his way over to stand next to T’Prielle and rather tentatively encircled her left wrist with both of his small hands. Spock had a few moments of intense concentration, then spoke plainly, “ Spelfur is your bondmate.” He looked to T’Prielle for confirmation that the information was correct, and T’Prielle met his eyes and nodded serenely that indeed Spock had extracted the correct information from her mind.

Then Spock dropped her wrist and called I-Chaya, “Come, ‘Chaya,” and led his pet to the outside patio, now cooled and made pleasant by the setting of the suns. T’Rachal looked after him, puzzled by his abrupt departure, but he soon returned, ready to resume “the game.” T’Prielle had been silently impressed—this four year old was already in possession of a telepathic strength that had easily batted down her light mental shielding as he gained the information that he sought, and some he wasn’t looking for. And he had had the politeness to sequester his pet when he had read in her mind her fear of sehlats. As well as the tact not to say anything to T’Rachal about her slightly shameful but very real trepidation about the large, fanged animal.

Returning close again to T’Prielle’s side, he inquired, “Is there further information you wish me to obtain? A skimmer has many parts.”

“Yes it does, Spock. What are the names of my two children?” T’Prielle’s shield strength was set a good deal higher against this next incursion.

Again the look of inward turned concentration and Spock offered, “ Seldet and T’Shayne.”

“Correct again. That is an impressive skill that you posses, Spock. Can you determine the name of my father?”

Privately astounded at the ease of Spock’s extraction of this information from her mind, T’Prielle ratcheted up her mental shields yet higher again. But despite her determination that he not retrieve this information easily, she again felt the powerful, but unschooled and blunt thrust of Spock’s inquiring mind push past her mental defenses, seeking and discovering the name.

“Stelek,” Spock said softly, looking up at T’Prielle with a penetrating gaze, silently questioning if he had gone too far—if he had broached some adult wall of propriety that was forbidden, despite the encouragement of the two women for him to extract the information in order to “win” at the game they had all been engaged in. He dropped his hands from her wrist and stepped away, so he was no longer touching her.

He seemed suddenly tired and his shoulders slumped a little. “If it is permitted, I will go to my room now, ko-kuk.”

“Of course, Spock. We will have a busy day tomorrow taking apart at least three systems of the skimmer. You were merciless. I will join you shortly for your bedtime preparations. You may bid our guest good night.”

Spock offered T’Prielle the ta’al again, and spoke the ancient politeness, “ May you live long and prosper, T’Prielle.” He gave a brief nod and quickly left the room, going back to the patio to bring I-Chaya to heel. Once he had left, T’Rachal and T’Prielle exchanged looks, mirrored eyebrows raised in what amounted to restrained Vulcan amazement.

“I take it you did not easily offer up the name of your father, T’Prielle?” T’Rachal inquired.

“Perhaps not the strongest mental shielding I am capable of, but not far from it. In fact, I made each retrieval subsequently harder but it posed no obstacle for his mind.” T’Prielle absently rubbed her wrist where Spock’s small hands had rested. There was a snapping, lingering tingle that she wished to dispel. “It is my opinion that when he grows up, his skill will be formidable. It is already strong, but unstructured and scattered. He would benefit from training, even now.”

“T’Rea always said that Sarek had very strong psi-abilities. It is said telepathy is especially strong in the S’chn T’Gai bloodline. I think we have seen that tonight. At first I did not believe Spock could exert control over his sehlat, but our experiment tonight shows me that, in fact, he did. His mother, Amanda, is probably completely unaware.” T’Rachal had a sudden thought. “She had better be careful. Should she have an amorous night with Sarek and hug her son the next day, she would be giving Spock an education he is not ready for.” Both T’Rachal and T’Prielle had tiny upward curls of their lips—a subdued expression of Vulcan humor at the mental picture of that scenario.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

The next morning, T’Rachal awoke later then was normal for her. She had meditated long into the night, reflecting on how she had manipulated little Spock, via her surrogate T’Prielle, into revealing his nascent abilities with the promise of something as mundane as skimmer electronics. Had delving into his psyche to that degree been logical or had it crossed the line into shameful prurience? No, no Vulcan home would want an unsuspected thought thief in their midst, and she felt Amanda should be made aware. As for herself, the knowledge had been invaluable for informing her own decision about just how strong her personal mental shields should be when around the perceptive child.

And what of Sarek? Was he aware of his son’s impressive telepathic gifts? Did he know, or had he already discounted the possibility due to the child’s mixed lineage? T’Rachal had her suspicions as to which way the answer to that question lay. More darkly, she reflected, had the genetic engineers foreordained this or was it merely happenstance?

She found that Spock was up and already out of the house, having taken I-Chaya out for his exercise while the morning was still pleasantly cool. As they came back into the house, T’Rachal looked curiously at what he was wearing. Instead of one of his Vulcan softsuits, he had on close-fitting trousers made of a heavy, dark blue fabric, with front and back pockets, and rivets and belt carriers. On his feet were boots of what looked to be real Terran leather. T’Rachal was completely intrigued by the highly unusual clothes— at least by Vulcan standards.

“Spock, your pants—are those what are called jeans? May I see them?”

He came closer so that she could inspect them closely. The weave was unfamiliar, and she saw that areas of constant wrinkling and abrasion were causing a loss of the dye. There were double lines of stitching done in an uncoordinated color with an exterior tag that announced the brand affixed to the waistband, something never seen on Vulcan attire.

“Yes, these are my jeans. And I have my boots to wear with them.” He proudly put out a foot and lifted up the hem of the pants so she could see that his ankle was fully covered by the boot top. “Mother says these are good for sand walking. They will protect me against the bite of a d’mallu.” Spock answered her questions unconcernedly, not recognizing that the Terran clothes to which he was completely accustomed to wearing would be an utter rarity on Vulcan, nor a source of some fascination to his ko-kuk.

“Shall we get a horse so that you can ride it and be a cowboy?” T’Rachal gently teased, not certain at all if Spock had ever heard the arcane term “cowboy,” much less what it meant or its historical associations to animals and the Terran wild west.

“No I don’t want to be a cowboy. That would mean I have to round up cows. I do not wish to kill and eat cows.”

T’Rachal reflected that, of course, this whip-smart child knew what cowboys were, although he seemed to have not made the connection between cows and his fine leather boots—a conversation better left for another day, she reasoned. But she couldn’t resist questioning him a bit further, “But if you were a cowboy, where would you ride your horse and round up your cows?”

“I would do it in Wyoming. But it would be very cold there.”

T’Rachal nodded sagely, as if in complete agreement with him, although in reality having no idea what or where “Wyoming” was. She felt sure that if she researched it, she would find that little Spock was completely correct. When T’Rachal agreed to babysit Spock she had been concerned with how to entertain him. In truth, she had never anticipated how much he would entertain her. How wondrous it must be, she mused, to have parents from two different planets that would teach him the history and ways of those worlds. To be completely fluent in their languages, to eat the foods and know the music and wear the clothes of two separate and wholly different cultures. To be like his outfit today—a Vulcan tunic paired with Terran jeans and boots.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

On the morning of the fifth day his visit, T’Rachal told Spock that today they would do something different. They would be going together to Pesh’kal Market and Festival. At this twice-a-year event they would take mid meal and choose from the multitude of vendors selling exotic and seasonal foodstuffs. There would be juggling and musical performances and Batai Man-elakh performers would demonstrate their feats of strength and balletic grace on their dual suspended ropes. There would be a petting area with baby sehlats and kittens of domesticated Ra’axal Mountain cougars for the children. A collection of desert dwelling reptiles would be on display. T’Rachal was sure all of this would fascinate and stimulate young Spock, and it was indeed fortuitous that it coincided with his visit. Spock readily agreed, and set to finishing both his morning and afternoon lessons in record time so that they could set out on the special excursion.

T’Rachal deftly settled the skimmer into position on the parking field. Spock and her were dressed in their desert suits, knowing they would be out-of-doors for most of the day, although large tents would protect many of the vendors from the intense Vulcan sun. They first made their way to the reptiles enclosure. There, in various cages and terrariums, were a multitude of the Vulcan lizards—bearded ones, beautifully scaled, rare walking snakes of the T’Goru Valley and tegus and geckos. A Vulcan woman was walking among the cages, educating the onlookers as to the reptiles displayed in their cages, most somnolent and taking no apparent notice of the visitors watching them avidly. Next T’Rachal and Spock made their way to the petting area. Month-old baby sehlats were frisking about. Young children were kneeling among them, petting and playing with the animals, while under the eye of an adult monitor. In another area, small, gold and black-spotted kittens were there for petting and Spock gently scooped one into his hands and stroked its fur down the length of its back. The air was filled with excited voices of Vulcan children enjoying the interactions with the animals.

Soon a little Vulcan girl was eyeing Spock and his kitten, clearly impatient to take her turn with the animal. When he did not immediately relinquish it she huffed in displeasure. When she felt that he had had long enough with the kitten she took matters into her own hands and pushed at his shoulder to let him know his time with the kitten was up. Her anger jolted into him, and he pulled away from her touch, and carefully set down the kitten. He sent a scowl her way and left the petting area. Spock went to find T’Rachal, and she led them away to a pia-savas juice vendor, buying a cooling drink for each of them. While they were sitting on a low, stone bench, an elderly Vulcan woman of casual acquaintance approached, with an even more elderly man in tow. T’Monel was the wife of one of the senior engineers in her division and T’Rachal knew her to be the caregiver for her father, unfortunately in the last stages of Bendii Syndrome.

“Greetings, T’Rachal, “ the friend said. “Oh, I see you are here at Pesh’kal with your grandson. Have you been enjoying the animals or did you perhaps see the jugglers, Kyr?”

T’Rachal calmly and unobtrusively bent down and grasped Spock’s left hand. She was not entirely certain he would “hear” her projected thoughts, but she did not want him to dispel her friend’s misapprehension as to who he really was. Sarek’s decision to marry a Terran, much less sire a hybrid child was not welcome in all quarters of Vulcan society. Uncertain of T’Monel’s political views on the matter, she thought it for the best that it was not advertised that this child was currently alone on Vulcan, with neither parent within ten light years of the planet. T’Rachal had a momentary qualm about what was essentially a lie, but judged safeguarding Spock’s identity merited the breach of ethics.

Silence! Do not correct her. It is for your own safety. T’Rachal swiftly sent the mental admonishment to Spock, hoping he would be receptive to her message. When she detected, from the corner of her eye, his sudden and sharp upward glance at her, she was sure he had received her mentally projected directive. T’Rachal did not look in his direction, but instead maintained eye contact with T’Monel and her elderly father.

T’Rachal answered for them both, “Yes, we did stop at the petting area. The Ra’axal kit . . .”

Suddenly the old man yelled out, “Sekal—didn’t I tell you that you can’t come to the market before getting your chores done? Didn’t I tell you that boy? You are lazy and disobedient, and . . .” The old man had roughly clutched at Spock’s shoulders and shook him, as anger, confusion and dementia-caused fury swirled into Spock. His half-finished drink smashed to the ground. T’Rachal’s startled friend came immediately to his defense.

“Sa-mekh, stop this this instant. Let him go. This is not your great grandson!” T’Monel reached out, taking a firm grip of Spock’s upper arm and another of the elderly man’s wrist and forcibly separating the two. Her emotions of disgust and embarrassment were nearly as powerful and transmitted as forcefully to Spock as those of the demented father. The elderly man continued to glare harshly at Spock, still believing him to be his errant and misbehaving family member. Spock had tensed up in surprise at the unexpected physical contact. but could not move away, as he was trapped between the bench behind him, T’Rachal to his left, and the elder in front of him.

T’Rachal’s friend was immediately apologetic. “My apologies. I thought I could take Father to the market, but I see I am mistaken. Please forgive that intrusion. Kyr, I trust you are uninjured?”

Spock nodded silently, but in truth the pulse of out-of-control emotions from the old man and T’Monel herself had flooded into his receptive mind, taking up an unwelcome residence and setting in motion the start of a pervasive mind pain. He swallowed down his discomfort and refrained from complaining, as was expected etiquette from a Vulcan child, but was silently glad to be away from this disagreeable couple when they departed his and T’Rachal’s company shortly thereafter.

After that unsettling episode, T’Rachal felt that some music would be soothing, and she wanted to move the two of them to a calmer atmosphere as she thought that Spock still seemed a little shaken. They next found seats in the music arena, rather crowded with people under a heat-shielding tent. A quartet, composed of four highly proficient musicians playing two stringed and two wind instruments, was performing. The music was sharp, angular and a bit discordant to Spock’s young ears, nothing like the piano music he routinely heard his mother play. Even his father’s playing of his own ka’athyra seemed more tonally melodic than the style of music being played here by the ensemble. Rather than being soothing, the music and faint mind emanations of the press of the audience compounded his headache.

As they were leaving the music enclosure, T’Rachal encountered another acquaintance of advanced age—the former music teacher of T’Rachal’s mother and her sister. T’Nellin trained students on the Terran harp and was much respected for the quality of her music instruction. She asked them what they had thought of the quartet’s performance, letting it be known she found their contemporary style not to her taste.

Eyeing her carefully, Spock stood in respectful silence by T’Rachal’s side. The conversation moved on to the topic of the difficulty of finding a suitable match for one of the seven-year-old girls of T’Nellin’s clan, and T’Rachal commiserated with the plight, knowing of the anxieties surrounding making so monumental a choice for one’s children or grandchildren. The elderly acquaintance went to take her leave, and before departing reached up and briefly rested her hand on Spock’s silk-soft hair, in a gesture of affection. He wished to jerk away from her touch, but didn’t dare perform such an act of discourtesy to an elder in front of his ko-kuk.

“Young man, you have been very patient and well-mannered, letting two old ladies have their time of gossip. Really, T’Rachal, you are to be envied. You have such a fine, handsome grandson. Too bad he is not seven. You could let him eat more shu’vah, though. Or he will never attain his father’s size.” She was well meaning and kindly, but her thoughts descended upon Spock rather like a heavy brick compressing a spring. He reached up and rubbed at his temple, trying to scrub away some of the pain that was steadily intensifying.

They next wandered down the small kiosks and stalls selling foodstuffs. T’Rachal stopped to purchase some put’alik incense, finding a new fragrance that intrigued her. She got some muti nut flour, Voroth sea salt and early season youbash. Spock shuffled beside her, silent and withdrawn. T’Rachal finally noticed his lethargy thinking to blame it on the fact they had gone too long past the time for a meal for him. She took them to a booth selling wraps of roasted pelgar with mt’lek greens and asked him if he was ready to eat.

“No, ko-kuk. Please, I do not want to eat anything. Can we go now, please?” Spock pleaded in a small voice, actually reaching up to take one of her hands and tug on it. T’Rachal took a scrutinizing look at the child, and realized that something was definitely wrong. He looked pale, and distraught, with a tightness of the skin around his eyes. Quickly she brushed fingertips along one temple and felt the echoes of the intensity of his headache.

“Spock, are you feeling unwell?” she asked with concern. Spock looked up at her and nodded weakly in affirmation.

“There is too much mind noise,” he said miserably.

“Why did you not say something to me? Then we will go at once.” T’Rachal kept hold of his hand while setting her own mental shields as high and impenetrable as she could make them, so as not to compound his distress. She already had her suspicions as to why Spock had arrived at the market seemingly in good health, but now was withdrawn and all but wincing in pain, although he was trying to put a brave face on it. She regretted the incident with T’Monel and the father, but neither of them had been able to avert his touch in time. And as to T’Nellin, who had patted Spock’s head in a friendly manner—she must have assumed, by his age, that a brief touch would not discomfit him in any way. And, if it had been Kyr, even at a year older, the assumption would have been true. Early-onset telepathic development was rare, but not unheard of. Spock had been able to project his controlling thoughts to his pet sehlat, but was this a two-way street—leaving him just as susceptible to others projecting their thoughts and emotions onto him?

Once she had settled Spock into the skimmer, and stowed her purchases, she turned to look at him and made the decision that it was for the best if he were seen by a healer. T’Rachal was fully cognizant that she was the responsible adult here, and taking him to an event that should have been fun and engaging for him had resulted in just the opposite outcome. While she was confident in her ability to take care of fully Vulcan children, she was not so sure about Spock. She did not have a maternal bond with him, and had a concern about his hybrid nature. What if there were some hidden, unknown susceptibility or adverse outcome if given standard Vulcan pediatric medicines? It was not logical for her to take the chance when there was a trio of Vulcan healers Amanda had named as being responsible for his healthcare needs.

“Spock, I think it best that you are seen by one of your healers, so they may help you to feel better.”

“No!” he interjected immediately, distress clearly in his voice. “I don’t want to see them, any of them. Please, can we just go home?” he desperately begged.

“It is logical to get their assistance. Your mind is unsettled and in pain, and I am sure you wish to feel better. They will help you.”

“No they won’t! They are terrible to me. They will stand aside and not care about any pain I have,” he insisted, surprising T’Rachal with the vehemence of his rejection of help from his own healers.

“Spock, that is not true. Your healers would only seek to make you feel better. Why do you not think that to be the case?” What had he meant by the phrase, they are terrible to me? It was such an odd assertion for him to have made.

“Because I know,” he said miserably, rubbing again at his temple, looking ever more ashen and distressed, and now agitated at the thought of being taken to see healers he clearly wished to avoid.

T’Rachal considered for a moment, not wanting to add to his agitation, and came to a decision. “Then I will have you seen by someone else, someone who will care about your pain,” she informed him. She knew this might not sit well with Sarek and Amanda, but she would do as she thought best for their child. Did they know of his fervent dread of these healers? What was the basis for his strident wish to keep away from them? Amanda had said nothing of the sort to her. T’Rachal looked back at Spock, but his eyes were closed, and he was slumped in his seat, his hand still pressing against his forehead.

She activated the on-board comm device. She connected with the office of the healer that had attended to her own two children, and now her grandson. Spock’s ill health might be far from an emergency, but the child was in pain, and T’Rachal implicitly trusted the skill of this man—the esteemed pediatric healer, Storrn. He was unfailingly gentle with his young patients, and easily discerned when a mind ailment was in play, as had once been the case with her own daughter. T’Rachal had no doubt he would be good with Spock, as she was certain his pain went beyond the mere physical manifestation of a human headache. Healer Storrn would be at her house within the hour, so she flew the skimmer on home.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Storrn appeared on her doorstep within an hour, as promised. He was wearing his familiar “uniform” of a scarlet robe, edged with silver piping, worn over a black shirt with a high crossed collar—a garment that connoted his position as a healer, and one who was “on duty.” His once black hair was thinned and silvery grey now, his wise face deeply lined. His countenance had an aura of serene calm that T’Rachal well remembered from his visits to her own children. He had long-fingered sensitive hands that T’Rachal has seen work wonders with very young, and not very cooperative child patients.

To answer her door, T’Rachal had put Spock down from her lap and he now was lying on the couch in an apathetic heap, curled in on himself, and gently rocking. He evinced little interest in the new visitor that came upon him, rubbing the palm of one hand into an eye socket, but to no effect against the pulsing pain in his head. I-Chaya was at the edge of the couch, snuffling anxiously and trying to nuzzle Spock’s leg—sensing that his young master was ailing and trying to aid him as his protective animal instinct told him to do.

Setting herself down on the couch next to him, T’Rachal tried to be reassuring, “Spock, this is Healer Storrn. He is someone who will care about your pain and help you. There is no reason to fear him.” Spock pulled himself back onto her lap, laying his head heavily against her chest, clearly seeking maternal protection and any measure of comfort he could derive from sitting within her embrace.

Storrn was puzzled as to why T’Rachal would say this to the child. Usually Vulcan mothers calmed their children through the maternal bond before seeing a healer. He was not used to children fearing him to any great degree. The experience of pain lead to fear, and a pediatric healer’s interaction with their young patients should always be to subtract any such pain, never to add to it or cause it in the first place. Routine procedures like immunizations and blood draws had ceased to be pain-causing over a century ago. Healers used their telepathic abilities as much as their own physical manipulations to come to the aid of an ill child, gaining their trust in the process. What had previously occurred that this child had to cautioned against fearing him?

“T’Rachal, whose child is this? Spock did you say? I had assumed I was to see Kyr when you indicated it was a young child. Tell me of the events that have led to this behavior.” Storrn was referencing Spock’s obvious signs of distress—the rocking and the fact that he was attached limpet-like to her, with dulled and incurious eyes.

T’Rachal explained, “No, Healer Storrn, this is the son of Ambassador Sarek and Lady Amanda. You may recall, my sister T’Rea was Sarek’s first wife. I am caring for their four year old while they are off planet at Tellar. They have granted me permission to make medical decisions for him in their absence. Today we went to the Pesh’kal Market. He was fine at first, but the market was quite crowded, and he was jostled a bit, and touched twice while I was speaking with friends. They were brief touches only, but it apparently bothered him and he asked to leave at the time we were to partake of a meal. He told me there was too much ‘mind noise.’ It is my judgement he is suffering from kashek mau-tan—being mind overwhelmed.”

Storrn retorted in a tone which was rife with skepticism, ”In a four year old, with a psi-null mother? Child, I am going to touch you very lightly. This in no way will hurt you or cause you any further pain.” Then Storrn, with the lightest of touches, brushed two fingers across Spock’s forehead. He carefully studied the boy’s face while he did so. Spock peeked at him with fear nakedly apparent in his eyes, his spine stiffening with coiled tension, T’Rachal tightened her embrace of him, attempting to soothe his apprehensive trembling. His fear seemed to be far beyond the mistrust that a four year old would have of a stranger.

“You are correct about the fear, T’Rachal,” Storrn confirmed, with concern. “And he needs to have this pain alleviated.” Storrn next drew out of his pouch a small fabric pad, shot through with fine metallic strands, He gently coaxed Spock to reposition himself on T’Rachal’s lap, so that he was facing the correct way for the healer to reach his right side. Storrn lifted the edge of Spock’s shirt and wrapped the pad around his right lower abdomen, where it would rest over his heart.The slight stickiness of the pad caused it to adhered lightly to his skin. Storrn took out his hand-held analyzer and studied the results being sent remotely from the diagnostic body wrap. His brows drew together in slight puzzlement as he checked over the readings, one eyebrow quirking up. He gently peeled it off of Spock’s skin, then reapplied it to his right wrist. After a moment, it went back to the pouch, and Storrn pulled out a smaller, thinner pad and applied it gently to Spock’s forehead, moving his fringe of dark hair carefully out of the way. Spock was studying him warily the whole time, but remained silent and stiffly guarded. Finally Storrn placed his electronically augmented stethoscope against his back and asked him to take a few breaths.

“Spock, do you trust that I mean you no harm? We must now find out what caused the headache and work together to cast out this pain. Will you place your hand right here on the back of my hand?” Storrn indicating the back of his right hand. Spock very tentatively placed one of his hands where Storrn had indicated, feeling no mental intrusions when he did so. Storrn lightly pressed his other hand over Spock’s small one and praised him,”That is acceptable, child. You have done as I have asked. Now will you place your hand here?” Storrn indicated the inside of his right wrist. Spock moved his hand to the wrist, where again Storrn covered it with his other large, adult hand. Next he had Spock touch the side of his neck. T’Rachal could see that carefully and methodically Storrn was getting Spock used to touching him. He was trying to gain the apprehensive child’s trust and setting the stage for what was Storrn’s real intention—getting the child to cooperate with a healing meld by making the boy feel as if he were a participant in the procedure, not just something being done to him and thus out of his control.

Next Storrn dropped to his knees right at the edge of the couch, withdrawing from his pouch a sheet of small annular adhesive stickers. He asked Spock to show him how wide he could spread the fingers of both hands. He turned Spock slightly in T’Rachal’s lap, so he had both hands free for what Storrn was planning next.

“Spock, I will place these stickers on my face and you will place the fingers I tell you on the centers of the rings of the stickers. You will have to place your hands side by side and spread your fingers, as you did before.” He placed the first sticker at the edge of his jaw, then at the base of his nose, right above the brow of one eye, and up on his temple, He guided four of Spock’s fingers to each of the ring stickers, effectively having Spock make connections with his psi-points. T’Rachal had see him do this with her own daughter once when the cause of her illness was not readily apparent. She admired his skill in gaining the complete cooperation of little Spock. Once the last of his fingers was in place, Storrn again covered Spock’s small fingers with one of his own hands and placed the other hand on the child’s back, near his neck, seeking certain neuropressure points and kneading out the tightness held in his neck and upper back muscles. Spock’s eyelids momentarily grew a little heavy and he blinked a few times as if internally distracted and very shortly it was clear that nothing in the physical world in front of him was registering.

After a few minutes, Storrn removed his hand from over both of Spock’s and told him he could take his hands down. Storrn pulled the stickers off of his own face. He examined Spock intently, but saw what he expected to see—the tightness of the skin around his eyes gone, and a relaxation of the boy’s neck and shoulders. Spock made no move to rub his head and his eyes were regaining their brightness.

“T’Rachal, is there a scale available in the house? Would you kindly weigh this young gentleman, then have him put on his nightclothes and see that he uses the toilet. I will prepare some spice tea and have it waiting for you, Spock Do you think you could also eat some vegetable cake with your tea?”

“Yes, I think that I can,” Spock softly answered, finally allowing the healer to hear his voice. He was set down from T’Rachal’s lap and they went together to the bathroom where she left him to have some privacy, while she went to her own bedroom to retrieve the scale. After Spock made his way to his bedroom T’Rachal had the scale set on the floor, ready for him, and took note of his weight. Then she bid him dress himself for the night and return to the living room, where some food would be awaiting him.

T’Rachal returned alone to the kitchen, where Storrn had made himself at home, setting some water to boil and fetching down three cups from the cupboard shelf. Informing the healer of the scale’s reading, she searched her stasis cupboard, retrieving a piece of shu’vah and enhancing its flavor with mashed gespar, like she did his morning porridge, in an attempt to make it more tempting to Spock’s uncertain palate. She placed the food and a child sized jom’ir on a small plate, in readiness for Spock’s return.

Healer Storrn spoke in a very low voice, while he partook of his cup of spice tea, not wishing Spock to overhear what he was about to say. “Your maternal instincts, T’Rachal, are as sharp as ever. That child was in complete mind overload and it was the cause of his headache. Spock has a telepathic strength rarely seen in one so young, and without the ability to shield, a crowded market is a place of danger for him. He would have no defense if strangers touched him. Sarek has not started mind discipline training for him, as far as you know?”

“No, not to my knowledge. Spock does not speak of it, and I was not asked to take him to any lessons. Perhaps Sarek’s only concern is the academic attainment of his son, and he cannot be bothered with things that take affectionate touch to discern,” T’Rachal scoffed, recalling some of the unflattering things her sister, T’Rea, had occasionally told her about being Sarek’s bondmate. “Do you know that Spock used his mind to control his pet sehlat and keep the beast from harming my two teshku lizards? At first I could not believe him capable, but I saw it for myself. But I did not logically connect his capabilities of projection with this vulnerability to reception, especially to such brief touches. Had I known, I would not have taken him to market or subjected him to a crowded environment. Amanda did not warn me against this. I regret my actions caused the child this pain.”

“It was Sarek’s responsibility to know this, T’Rachal, not yours. Especially since his bondmate is a Terran woman. I will speak to him myself, if you will grant me the information for contacting him. Such inattention to one’s own child is inexcusable,” Storrn stated with some indignation.

Hearing Spock’s soft footfalls, T’Rachal and Storrn returned to the living area when the boy padded into the room, now dressed in his soft, comfortable nightclothes. Not bothering to conceal anything from Spock, Storrn withdrew two vials from his pouch and loaded first one, then another into an injector, drawing in the proper dosages of the medication. He then injected the contents into the tea and stirred them in. He encouraged Spock to settle himself back onto T’Rachal’s lap—clearly a place where he felt some sense of security. He was handed his tea, and T’Rachal held his small plate of food for him. After eating only half the food on his small plate, Spock’s eyelids started to grow heavy. Storrn indicated he wanted all of it consumed, so T’Rachal prodded him awake, and pestered him until he finished all his tea and the small helping of shu’vah. He had barely put the jom’ir down after his last bite, when his eyes closed again and he became more deeply asleep within T’Rachal’s arms. She set the dishes aside and smoothly stood up, his weight being no burden to her Vulcan woman’s strength. She cradled him securely and his head lolled on her shoulder. Then Storrn walked behind her and brushed his fingertips across the boy’s forehead one last time. He nodded assent to T’Rachal who carried Spock down the hall to his room, and laid him down with the greatest of care, making sure his limbs were comfortably arranged and covering him warmly with the bed’s blanket.

I-Chaya followed and sniffed at the form in the bed confirming that it was his young master. He might have been puzzled by the early hour, but placidly accepted that if young master was in bed, it was proper for him to be on his bed as well. The lights were turned off and the door left slightly ajar. Storrn and T’Rachal quietly made their way down the hall. Storrn glanced into the home office, seeing the little industrial park complex composed of the blocks, with the precise piping connecting the tanks, factories, turbines and buildings—a scene of play with a purpose. He silently approved.

“Doing your best to turn your young guest into a future civil engineer, T’Rachal?” he said with the faintest glint of humor. “As adept as he will be, I think being a healer is his best career choice. I can see I am already at a disadvantage to your persuasions.”

‘Oh, you are way behind, unless you plan to come back here tomorrow and surrender over all your medical devices and explain their mechanics in great detail while he disassembles them right in front of you.” Then T’Rachal grew serious again. “Do you expect him to sleep until morning, Healer?” T’Rachal inquired, given that the time was only early evening.

“He was given a mild sedative, as well as an analgesic, so I do not expect him to awaken before morning.” Then Healer Storrn paused for a moment, considering his statement.
”Forgive me, T’Rachal, I have erred. I am uncertain as to this child’s physiology, so it is improper to assert that as truth. A fully Vulcan child would be affected that way, but with this child—his reaction is unknowable. Hmm, he is certainly intriguing,” Storrn mused, thinking back to Spock’s vitals readings, recalling that at the time he had been unnerved by the fact that he hadn’t known if they were actually normal for the boy or not.

“When he awakens, if you sense any further problems, I wish to be contacted at once. Now if I may receive Sarek’s subspace messaging codes, I will be on my way. I know you may wish to, but it is not logical for you to incur the expense of subspace messaging to Tellar when it is my responsibility to speak with Sarek about his son. And when I talk with Sarek, he will be paying for it anyway,” Storrn said with a slight smirk. He gave her a polite nod as she bid him good-bye at the door.

T’Rachal retreated to her kitchen, making herself a quick end meal, before going to her office. She carefully stepped over the “industrial park” and made her way to her vid screen. While regretful about the aborted shopping opportunities at the marketplace, T’Rachal was nonetheless grateful for the opportunity of undisturbed work that Spock’s peaceful slumber was affording her.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

Sarek consulted his internal time sense, and knew it was mere moments before he could expect the subspace communication with the Vulcan-based healer to begin. This pediatric healer, Storrn, had previously made it clear that there was no emergency, or even urgency at this point, but he desired a consultation about Spock. Sarek was still garbed in his heavy and ornate gala-appropriate ambassadorial robes. The fete, hosted by the Supreme Tellar Leader and his wife, had gone on late into the night. Upon getting to their rest chamber, Amanda had taken off her jewelry, her make-up and gown, threw on her nightgown, then literally dropped into bed and was asleep within minutes. But Sarek had elected to stay dressed as he was, rather than changing into more casual robes, and then changing yet again into nightclothes before retiring. So he had simply left his ceremonial robes on, although it made him wildly overdressed for something as mundane as a subspace home call. It was one am in the morning on Tellar, but the local time on Vulcan was five am, so both participants to the subspace call were a little inconvenienced. Sarek was fully aware he was courting her displeasure, but he had not disclosed the subspace communique to Amanda, wishing her to get as much rest as possible, given her evident exhaustion from the whirl of activities and the near constant effort it took to swallow the offense and maintain polite discourse in the face of Tellarite belligerence. He would speak with the healer first to see if there were any valid concerns to be shared with his adun’a.

The comm screen lit up with the visage of a distinguished silver-haired male Vulcan, already attired in his distinctive scarlet robe of an on-duty healer, despite the early hour. He lifted his hand in the ta’al and greeted Sarek promptly, noting but brushing aside the lavishness of Sarek’s attire. Sarek returned the greeting.

“Healer Storrn, allow me to thank you for deferring this communication to accommodate my schedule here on Tellar. Finding time to attend to personal affairs is not always easy on assignments such as this.”

“Your service honors Vulcan, and the early hour is of no concern. I examined your son yesterday afternoon, and he is now well past any acute discomfort. I was called to attend him by T’Rachal when he fell ill while at the Pesh’kal Market. He was reportedly fine at the beginning of the day, but being in crowded surroundings caused a change of temperament within a few hours of attending Market. Have you seen this pattern of behavior before?”

Sarek was slightly puzzled, “Please specify. What is meant by ‘change of temperament’, Healer?”

“I mean talkative to silent, active to quiescent, acting independently to becoming dependent, withdrawing, perhaps wanting to be held or comforted, and a loss of appetite.” Storrn responded.

Sarek considered the question and he actually did recall such a scenario. It had occurred last year, when Spock was three, almost four, and had been on his first trip to Earth. They had been at a restaurant to meet and share a meal with the members of Amanda’s extended family. The engaging toddler, understandably, had been a source of some fascination to his human relatives, some of which asked to hold him and carry him around. Spock had started out seemingly fine, but grew quiet and withdrawn during the meal, finally fussing to be held by his mother in her lap, and refusing all food thereafter. Amanda had thought him ill from a reaction to something he had been fed, and it had taken two days for the boy to regain his appetite and return to his previous robust level of curiosity and activity. At the time, it had worried everyone greatly and they had been on the cusp of having him seen professionally, but dealing with his Vulcan-dominant, split-species physiology would have been a considerable challenge, perhaps insurmountable, for any Earth-based physician and that fact had stayed their hand.

“Yes, in fact there was a similar pattern while Spock was on Earth last year. My wife, Amanda felt it came about from an adverse food reaction. Did Spock eat something to which he reacted poorly at this market?”

Healer Storrn’s look indicated his disdain, and he rather brusquely queried Sarek, “And when is the last time you have held the hand of your child, or allowed him to touch you? When have you last had skin-to-skin contact exceeding casual brushing against one another? When have you last felt his thoughts or judged his ability to feel yours?”

Sarek was not expecting that question, and felt the the discussion was about to veer wildly away from food and food allergies. Furthermore he was disinclined to answer the man’s invasive inquiry, although his mind snapped to the real answer—not in the past 5.3 months. “I do not see how the answer to that question is of relevance in this situation, healer,” he said rather haughtily. “He frequently receives prolonged physical touch from his mother. She employs Terran-derived methods of child rearing, and it is not within my power to change her behavior towards our son.”

Storrn shook his head, dismissively, Sarek’s non answer telling him everything he needed to know. “ Your son is far too young to be deprived of parental touch, especially that of his only psychically active parent. I make no apology for being blunt, especially when confronted with parents who are misguided in their child rearing practices. Sarek, your son had no food allergies, he fell into pain because he was in a state of kashek mau-tan. Most children manifest their telepathy by age six or seven, but your son is an outlier. You, yourself, are of the S’chn T’gai bloodline. Did you not think this a possibility? You would have perceived this if you had only the merest of mind touches with him. When at the market, even brief physical contact became overwhelming to him and that was the cause of his rather severe mind pain. T’Rachal is an excellent caregiver and recognized this and appropriately called me to attend him. It was a simple enough matter to alleviate the pain and restore calm to his mind. But as Spock possess a high degree of telepathic receptivity it is vital he begin his training in mental shielding. I do not speak of emotional control yet, although that time is fast approaching for your son, but shielding techniques. “

Sarek paused to consider the healer’s words, and the unspoken damnation of his own ignorance of Spock’s capabilities. “Are you certain of his level of proficiency, Healer?”

“I am certain of it, for I perceived it in the healing meld. To assist a child so young, I commend T’Kehr N’Keleth. He is most expert in teaching these mind rules to ones of this age. T’Kehr N’Keleth himself had very early-onset telepathic skills as a child, just as Spock has, and suffered because it was not recognized. N’Keleth did not wish to see other children suffer as he did, so he made it part of his life’s work to develop the methods to teach very young children how to assert their mental barriers. He has helped me with other patients as young as three, to very good effect. These children, so trained, can go about their lives without the worry of oppressive thought intrusions. Do not think to take this upon yourself, Sarek You clearly have insufficient time to devote to such training. If Spock does not become proficient with mind shielding by the time he commences school, he will suffer from bouts of kashek mau-tan again, and I think we can both agree we do not wish this for your child. With your permission, I will inform N’Keleth of the referral.”

Sarek’s face remained completely composed, but he was displeased to be reprimanded and lectured to by this healer. How had he missed Spock’s burgeoning powers? Had he been too quick to acquiesce to Amanda’s style and methods of child rearing? Of course his wife could not be expected to be aware of Spock’s level of telepathic development. It was Sarek’s opinion that his wife lavished too much physical attention on their son, and he saw no reason to add to that overabundance, but now he was being called out for the consequences of his own paternal avoidance of touch. Oh what a prickly subject child rearing could be between a husband and wife.

“During the healing meld with Spock, I was able to sense his great fear of myself in the role as healer. It was an unusually strong reaction and I did not wish it to impede the work I was attempting to do, I sought its cause. Has your son recently been subject to an extensive physical exam or medical procedures, entailing several tissue biopsies, if I am correct?”

“Yes, as a three year old, shortly before turning four.”

“This was physically necessary?” Storrn continued to question Sarek.

“Not physically, but contractually necessary.”

“Contrac . . .?”

Sarek cut off Storrn, reigning in his anger at being made to explain the situation to this virtual stranger. “Yes, by the outworlders who enabled my wife and I to have a child such as he, in the first place. They periodically return to Vulcan and assess his development. I do not pretend that such examinations are a pleasant experience.” Sarek did not wish to speak of it to an utter stranger—it was of a deeply private nature, and Sarek never spoke freely of it, except to those persons who had a need to know, or who had been involved with the process. He knew Amanda’s pregnancy and the subsequent birth of their son had been the subject of much fascination among some members of the ShiKahr medical community—how had an apparently healthy child come into being as the product of two species of differing blood chemistries and even more challenging, unequal chromosome pairings? Who in the galaxy dared to bend chromosome manipulation to their will to produce a sentient, self-aware being? Not even habitual Vulcan reticence had been able to contain the rampant speculation. Sarek had done his utmost to quash the gossip, always firmly deflecting inquiries that were too personal, too invasive. His legendary stubbornness was employed in the protection of his family’s privacy.

Suddenly, much was made clear to Healer Storrn. Sarek had been obligated to allow the original team of . . . what? geneticists? researchers? experimentalists? to have access to the boy to monitor the maturation of his hybrid physiology in exchange for their help in the first place. Storrn appreciated the rigor of such scientific curiosity, but to leave a young child in pain after a biopsy was unconscionable. Where, in all this, were the best interests of the child being looked out for? Storrn understood Sarek’s difficult position, but he could not condone nor stay silent about this treatment of the boy.

“Sarek, if these outworlders are viewing your son as a fascinating research subject, then they must be reminded he is a young and exceedingly vulnerable child. That he was left in pain, and without adequate and appropriate pediatric analgesia was absolutely unacceptable and it must not be repeated. You must defend his best interests against such callous treatment in the future. I am at a loss to understand how your son came to be in this situation. Spock was in utter terror that I would also hurt him in that way, and it took considerable effort on my part, during the healing meld, to recast his thoughts as to what a healer’s function is in service to their patients. Why was he not better cared for?”

Sarek bristled at the insinuation that he did not adequately care for his son, because it was patently untrue, and this meddlesome healer was making less than fully informed assumptions.

“At times, my wife and I have to make difficult decisions for our son. What is worse, the pain of a tissue biopsy that will fade after a few mere days, or the misery of unrelenting nausea and emesis from analgesics unsuited to his body’s biochemical processes, and providing little relief anyway? That situation can be as distressing, if not more so, for a young child to endure. It is illogical for you to accuse me of not caring for my own son. Healer Storrn, perhaps you would be wise to be more certain of your facts before making such a baseless accusation against me” Sarek icily retorted. He was satisfied when he saw a tightening of the expression on the healer’s face, when he leveled the ultimate insult of illogical behavior against the man.

“I see I did make that statement based on incomplete information. My apologies,” Storrn was only faintly contrite. He was also thinking back to the medications he had made Spock consume, a little over twelve hours earlier. He would contact T’Rachal immediately after this call. He had to make sure he hadn’t inadvertently been the source of further distress to this child.

Sarek and Storrn stared at each other, across the subspace link, each suspicious and rigidly disgruntled with the other. Sarek considered that he would have words with T’Rachal when he saw her back on Vulcan. What had possessed her to summon this pompous healer to attend to Spock? He was glad that Amanda was asleep and not privy to this conversation. As much as Sarek found this healer to be brimming with accusatory and righteous indignation about Spock’s treatment, Storrn’s determined defense of their son would surely appeal to his wife. She might be tempted to insist on Storrn as Spock’s healer and place him under his care rather than the trio of specialists that regularly attended him at the Pediatric Pavilion of the ShiKahr Regional Hospital. Better for Amanda to not make Storrn’s acquaintance.

After a long moment of coldly staring, Storrn finally broke the silence between them. “Lastly, Spock is underweight for his age. He is not dangerously so, but it would benefit his health to gain at minimum two to three kilograms. He will need more body fat to increase his margin of safety for his time on the Forge. If your wife seeks to fatten him up a bit, please indulge her. I take it that the investigations of these researchers have not turned up any malabsorption syndrome or serious problems of the . . . biochemical processes of his alimentary system?”

“No they have not,” Sarek responded. “Your advice is noted, Healer Storrn. You may so inform T’Kehr N’Keleth I will contact him upon my return to Vulcan. Now, if there is nothing further to discuss, then it is of quite a late hour here . . .”

“Then I bid you good night, Ambassador,” Storrn nodded. He had thought to offer his services as healer to Spock, as the precociously gifted boy intrigued him and he could not conceive that a better tolerated formulation of a pediatric pain reliever was not possible, but dealing with the secretive and imperious Sarek was not appealing, so he remained silent. After all, when attending to pediatric patients, you sometimes dealt with the parents as much as, if not more so, than you did the child. And he already had had his fill of “dealing” with Sarek.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

The day after the Pesh’kal Market misadventure was spent quietly at home. T’Rachal had attempted, during first meal, to try to coax Spock into eating much of anything. It was only later in the morning that he had admitted to her that he had awoken well before dawn, not feeling very well, with an unsettled stomach. He muttered something about, “not wanting to be made to drink chemicals in the future.” Upon hearing that, T’Rachal had immediately felt guilty because when Healer Storrn’s comm had come in, Spock’s hadn’t been in the house, having taken I-Chaya out for his walk, so she had assumed that if he felt well enough to be out and about with his pet, there were no lingering problems. She could see she had been mistaken to make that assumption, and give assurances to the healer that all was well.

Spock’s appetite improved somewhat by the mid meal. Afterwards he took himself to his room, and when she peeked in on him, Spock was soundly asleep on the bed, wound tightly into the covers, the first time he had napped since being at her house. The rest seemed to do him good, as he appeared to be fully recovered by end meal and was full of curiosity, and wanting to delve into more information about the new desert reptiles he had come across at the Pesh’kal Market.

After tucking Spock into bed for the night, a little later than usual due to his extended nap, T’Rachal retreated to her meditation alcove, and reflected on how caring for this child had thoroughly re-invigorated her protective maternal instincts. When she had agreed to watch Spock as an act of kindness towards Amanda she hadn’t known the boy very well. But bit by bit he had worked his way very firmly into her affections. It was not so much the sharp intellect or insatiable curiosity about all things scientific and mechanical, but his most vulnerable moments—when he had climbed into her lap in a trembling, miserable heap looking for the closest thing to maternal comfort he could find, that had endeared him to her. After T’Rachal had witnessed Storrn’s indignation over Sarek’s parental ignorance, she felt a remote, but very real, obligation for his future well being, even though she was no longer a member, by marital affiliation, of the S’Chn T’Gai clan. Little Spock was dependent upon only one parent with psi abilities, not the usual two. T’Rachal considered that she should be more direct and forthcoming with advice and counsel for Amanda, on how to raise a telepathic child. The earth woman had always seemed receptive to her, and they got along very well, at least far better than Amanda did with Sarek’s mother—the cold and remote matriarch T’Lara.

Yes, upon their return, T’Rachal would have a conversation with Sarek and Amanda; a de-brief if one wanted to couch it in military terms, she thought with a bit of humor. Spock’s developing telepathic abilities were now obvious and known, and it meant it was time to start to train him on how to protect himself. Sarek would understand the ramifications of exceptional psychic proficiency, but would Amanda? It would impact everything from their son’s choice of a career to the eventual bondmate chosen for him, as it was a trait highly prized by the Vulcan people. Her own parents had valued that in Sarek. Then T’Rachal would make them aware of the poor regard Spock had of his own healers. It would be a cruelty, in her opinion, to force him to ever see them again. Healer Storrn had gained the boy’s trust with his gentle and considerate treatment, and would be an excellent and logical replacement for the healers Spock so disliked.

T’Rachal thought of what lay ahead for the boy—sometime during his seventh year of age he would face his own Kahs-wan ordeal out on the burning sands and crags of the Sas-a-shar. It was beyond dispute that Amanda was a warm and loving mother and brought a whole cultural exposure that would so enrich Spock’s life path, but if one were honest, having a human mother was an utter handicap for the work that needed to be done to ensure a child was ready for their time out on the Forge. T’Rachal realized that it mattered, it greatly mattered to her that he survive his test. She felt she now had a rapport with the reserved child, and he had shown he would readily accept her instruction. Her Vulcan-native garden, unlike Amanda’s, could teach valuable lessons about the defensive properties of native plants against dangerous desert predators. Furthermore, she judged it an excellent idea to have Kyr and Spock make each other’s acquaintance, Having an older child to emulate in the training of desert survival skills would be beneficial for Spock. It would probably not be Amanda who she had to convince, but Sarek. But what choice did he have? HIs own elderly mother? It was only logical that he accept this offer of help from a Vulcan woman who had herself survived the ordeal and trained her own two children to do likewise.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

At the sound of the door chime, Spock raced to T’Rachal’s front door and threw it open. He had been restless and fidgety all day long in anticipation of his parents’ return. News had come from the space port of the shuttle’s safe landing, so T’Rachal and Spock both knew their arrival was imminent.

As soon as she saw him, Amanda knelt down and swept Spock into her arms, only releasing him when she had had her fill of the reassuring press of his small, warm body against her own.

Sarek moved behind his son and placed his large hands upon Spock’s shoulders. “Spock, my son, you are well?” Then in typical blunt, Vulcan style he got right to the essence of the issue he wished to discuss. “ I understand it is felt that it is time for you to start mind training. You understand the necessity?”

Spock twisted round and looked back and up to his father, meeting his eyes, momentarily stunned into silence at the prolonged touch, and the feel of the assertive but neutral brush of his father’s mind against his own. What ailed his father?

“I do not wish to become sick with kashek mau-tan again, Father.”

Seeing this atypical, for Sarek, touching of his son, T’Rachal was pretty sure she knew where this was coming from. Healer Storrn would not be one to back down from the challenge of “correcting” Sarek’s behavior. She was privately glad of it for Spock’s sake.

T’Rachal offered, “We found other activities of an engaging nature to participate in yesterday, did we not, Spock?”

“Father, Mother, yesterday I went out to the Forge with Kyr and ko-kuk for desert training. We found a d’mallu and killed it and separated its fibers to weave a netting. He let me use his g’hedrat knife, and we practiced making spear points and coated them in the venom. May I go again in two week’s time when Kyr comes to ko-kuk’s house?”

Amanda was taken aback at her son’s evident excitement over these dangerous activities. Sarek looked up from Spock and met T’Rachal’s quietly amused eyes. He gave her the briefest nod of gratitude.

“Yes, my son, I think that can easily be arranged.”

The End