"I know. But I do not believe that is necessary. Our bond will not be
the same as that shared by a Vulcan couple, but I believe it will be as
lasting, as deep, in its own way." The Vulcan raised his hand slowly,
ceremoniously. "Will you let me try, my wife-to-be?"
"Yes," Amanda said, evenly, though he could see her pulse jump in her
throat. She took a deep, final draft of the cup, then set it aside.
Sarek gave her the faint smile that he reserved for her alone, pleased
by her courage. "It will seem strange to you," he warned. "My mind will
merge with yours, in a very deep meld. It may feel ... invasive. But I
would never harm you, Amanda, remember that."
"I will," she said, her voice still calm--but she licked her lips, as
though her mouth had gone dry.
Holding out two fingers, Sarek extended his hand toward his wife-to-be.
Slowly, steadily, she raised her hand to meet his.
Sarek sent his consciousness questing outward, and felt his mind brush
Amanda's. He shared her awareness of him, of the first stages of the
meld; the heat of his touch against her hand ... the seeking tendrils
of his mind touching the outer fringes of her thoughts.
He went deeper, cautiously, carefully, anxious lest he cause her pain.
Her love and trust surrounded him. She opened to him, like some alien
flower spreading its petals to the sun. Slowly ... very slowly ... he
eased deeper, strengthening the meld.
Raising his other hand, he spread it against the contact points on her
face, feeling her cool flesh against the warmth of his. Deeper ...
deeper ...
Amanda was now aware of him stirring in her mind, coming to life, the
fibers of his being joining to hers, linking, bonding, melding her mind
was becoming sealed to his in a joining so profound that it could only
be broken by a High Master--or death.
Sarek could feel her instinctive need to pull back, away--and could feel
her fighting it, forcing calmness and acceptance.
He send a wordless reassurance that she would not lose her individuality
by this bonding, then felt her relax. He felt a wave of pride; she was
brave, this woman he had chosen. Such a deep meld was enough to make
even a Vulcan resist ... but she strove for wholehearted joining.
Surrounded now by her mind, Sarek experienced Amanda's goodness, her
intelligence--and her heartfelt love for him. The awareness moved him as
nothing ever had. The bond he had shared with T'Rea had been a pale
shadow compared to this, a travesty of intimacy.
Now he was completely within her, and the sharing they experienced was
more intimate than anything either of them had ever known. He felt the
last of her fear melt away, experienced her joy in their union. Amanda
had longed to be one with him--and now, after so many months, she was.
Her happiness suffused him, bathing him in unaccustomed emotion--but
Sarek did not retreat from that emotion, here in the privacy of their
joined minds. It was appropriate for a bonded couple to share such
closeness ...
Their mental sharing was so complete, so total, that by the tim e Sarek
withdrew his mind, his fingers encountered
moisture. Tears streaked Amanda's face, and she grasped his hand tightly
when he moved it away. "Oh, Sarek ..." she whispered. "That was ...
wonderful. Will it be this way from now on?"
He nodded. "It will," he promised. "We will always be conscious of one
another. We will be together as long as we both live."
Raising his hand to her lips, she kissed him gently.
"Thank you," she said, softly. "I wanted to be part of you ... and now
I am ...
She shook her head, put her hands up to her temples. "So many images,"
she murmured. "Things I never saw before are now in my mind. Those are
your merv, ories, aren't they?"
"Yes. The infusion may be ... chaotic ... at first, but it will sort
itself out, given time."
"Faces ... conversations.. so much to absorb ..." she whispered softly;
"There's an image ... Sarek, who is she?" she demanded, in a tone that
brooked no opposition.
The Vulcan had an uncomfortable notion that he knew what she was talking
about, but he said only, "To whom are you referring, Amanda?"
"This woman. The one in your mind. Lovely, delicate features, masses of
black hair. You ... desired ... her. It's in your mind. You ... you
..." She groped for a word.
"You were intimate with her." Amanda's eyes flashed cobalt.
Sarek sighed. "T'Rea," he said. "My first wife."
"You were married? And you didn't tell me?" She sat bolt upright,
furious. "How could you?"
Sarek regretted his lapse. Amanda's temper was not one to be trifled
with. "Yes, I was married to T'Rea. Briefly. But she divorced me."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because, to explain how she became my wife, I would have to reveal
something so private to Vulcans that it is never spoken of to
outworlders. But you are my wife-to-be,
so I must tell you. I had intended to wait until after the marriage
ceremony, however "He spread his hands upward.
"Explain, then," Amanda said, waiting. launched into a fairly composed,
concise explanation of the Vulcan mating drive, and how a Vulcan couple
in the throes of pon fart could mate, and yet have little interaction in
each other's lives. He concluded, hesitantly, "Amanda, there is one
final thing you must know. I never ... shared ... with her, what I
experience with you. Understand that.
My marriage to T'Rea was not a marriage in terms of what you and I will
experience as a married couple. We have agreed to share our lives
together, which is far different than the brief encounter I experienced
with T'Rea when my Time came."
"I see," she said, finally, thoughtfully. "And will you experience this
... pon farr again? When?"
"I cannot tell," Sarek said, honestly. "But I believe that I will, and
that it will be soon. My Time with T'Rea was almost seven years ago,
now."
"What a honeymoon," she murmured, shaking her head. "Oh, Sarek, I wish
you had told me all this before!"
"I explained--I could not speak of it to anyone except my wife. No
outworlder must know."
"I understand," she said, finally.
Just then, the ship's intercom chimed, informing them that they were
about to enter Vulcan orbit. Amanda jumped up from the couch, clearly
flustered. "Oh, dear. I have barely an hour to make myself presentable
for the wedding!"
"You should assume the traditional garb," Sarek said. "But your
appearance is ... everything that could be desired, Amanda."
Meeting his eyes, she flushed. "What a lovely compliment," she said.
"Now I know why you're such a successful diplomat. But my hair ..." She
peered at the mirror in his cabin. "I must run," she said. "I will see
you in an hour."
"In an hour," he promised ...
Remembering his wedding, Sarek turned the page to see what Amanda had
written aloout it.
September 16, LATER l am so tired, and yet before l allow myself to
close my eyes, I must note down my thoughts, my feelings, lest they slip
away by morning's light.
I am sitting here at a small table in the corner of the bedchamber.
Vulcan beds are hard, barely yielding, but I suppose I will become
accustomed to that with time. I am writing by the light of my pen, clad
only in my lightest nightgown--because, despite Sarek's having
air-conditioning installed specially for me, it is hot. By midnight,
Sarek assures me, the temperature will have dropped, as it does in
desert climates.
My husband is asleep. I can hear him breathing, lightly, slowly. I
wonder if any Vulcans snore? Thank all the gods that ever were, Sarek
does not/
The ceremony went well, all things considered. It was held in a
stone-pillared and rock-walled sort of natural amphitheater that Sarek
told me was the traditional marriage site for his people for many, many
generations.
It reminded me of Stonehenge. 40 Eridani hovered just above the horizon
as we spoke our vows, staining the red stone even redder. I managed to
follow Sarek's cues without any horrible gaffes, and though the few
words of Vulcan I managed to speak probably sounded like nothing ever
heard before on the planet, no one reacted.
The marriage rite was presided over by two Vulcan women--T'Kar, the
oldest female in the family, a wizened old creature who seemed to be
halfasleep during the entire ceremony, and the person who actually
oiciated, named T'Pau.
I don't quite understand T'Pau's exact relationship to Sarek--Vulcan
kinships are complicated, and somewhat differently structured than
humanfamilies--she is something on the order of his eldest great-aunt, I
believe.
T'Pau is some kind of matriarch, either by right of
blood, or natural authority. Her word is, apparently, law. I suspect
she's not exactly thrilled at having a human join her family ... but
she could teach Emily Post a thing or two about tradition and
cutting-edge etiquette!
Fortunately, the ceremony only took about fifteen minutes--if it had
been any longer, I'd have dropped from the heat, I'm sure. We then
boarded ground transport and returned to the ancient family enclave,
where the reception was held.
I gather that many receptions are held outside, in the gardens, but this
one, in deference to my human constitution, was held in the central
hall. The temperature controls had been adjusted downward a few degrees.
All the Vulcans were wearing jackets and shawls, while I could hardly
wait to shed my outer robe, light and gauzy as it was/)
Earth's ambassador, Eleanor Jordan, was the only other human present.
She offered a typical human toast to the wedded pair, which all the
Vulcans courteously drank.
As soon as was decently possible, Sarek touched my arm, and we slipped
out. He led me through stone corridors opening onto chambers filled with
ancient furnishings, down a winding staircase to a transporter pad
installed in the basement of the building--it looked so anachronistic
set into that millennia-old red stone floor!
Sarek's house is located in Shikahr, and is quite nice.
Sparsely but impeccably furnished. It was long past sunset when we
beamed here, so I received only a hazy impression of the outside. Sarek
says there are gardens, which pleases me immensely. I brought some
desert plant seedlings with me, in the hopes I can coax them to grow and
thus have some touches of Earth here on my new home.
Even while he is asleep, I can sense Sarek mind brushing mine.
Today, before the ceremony, Sarek enlightened me
about Vulcan sexual drives. Very different from a human's libido! It
seems that Vulcans undergo something he called pon farr ... much like
the heat cycles experienced by some Terran creatures. Vulcans are
capable of mating and conceiving at other times, but, during pon farr
they must mate--if they don't, they can diet Sarek, my husband ... I
can scarcely believe it, even after tonight. It seems too wonderful to
be true, that we can now share the same bed, and that I will wake up
next to him tomorrow, and tomorrow, and for all the tomorrows we will
have together ...
Sarek closed the journal with a sigh, unable to read any more. Resting
his head in his hands, he strove to mealirate, but images of Amanda
intruded, filling his mind. Amanda, he thought, feeling grief fill him
anew. Amanda ... that was the happiest night of my life, too.
Valdyr watched Karg salute her uncle, then exit, leaving them alone on
the cloaked warbird's small bridge. The last thing Karg did before the
doors slid shut behind him was give her a long, promising leer.
I can wait for our wedding night, his expression said, for my wait will
not be long.
Valdyr glowered at him, touching the hilt of her dagger, and her gesture
was just as suggestive. His very presence sent her blood boiling with
passion--but not the passion he wanted. You will wait, Karg, she thought
with murderous hatred, until Qo'nos's polar caps melt. Unfortunately,
with the destruction of Praxis and the subsequent environmental problems
the Klingon homeworld was facing, that might not be very long indeed.
If she could only talk her uncle out of this disastrous plan of his! She
turned to face the ambassador, who was absorbed, watching the
surveillance screens.
"Uncle," she said with a firmness she did not feel, "we must talk."
He glanced at her, then went back to watching the image on the screen. A
lone human male lay curled in an embryon ic position on the narrow,
shelflike bunk. "Niece, come see your charge."
Valdyr moved closer to him, staring at the silent, unmoving human. She
could detect no movement, not even breathing. Was the prisoner still
alive?
"He will be your responsibility," Kamarag reminded her.
"The warbird's crew tells me that young Kirk has eaten nothing in the
five days since his capture. He only uses his food to ask questions, and
spell out his name, rank, and some meaningless number. Wo rse than that,
he has drunk only a small amount of water. For the last day, they said,
he has not moved at all."
How grotesque, Valdyr thought, to just curl up and surrender.
This is what her uncle thought was an honorable prisoner?
"Typical," Kamarag remarked, studying the prisoner and shaking his head.
"Most humans, it has been my experience, are a weak, spineless lot. I
regret that this one will probably not afford you much amusement,
niece."
In Klingon society, guarding prisoners of war was traditionally women's
work. And, for the most hated prisoners and humans certainly qualified
for that category), the female jailers took delight in administering the
be /oy '--the ritualized "torture-by-women."
In a world controlled by Klingon warriors, a woman could release much of
the frustration engendered by the male-dominated society on a strong,
healthy prisoner.
"It is critically im
portant that this man live and be healthy, do you
understand, my ' ?"
intruded on her thoughts. niece. Kamarag's order Valdyr scowled. She
would have to nurse this feeble weakling? Klingon prisoners were not
usually coddled. A touch of hope glimmered in her breast. Was her uncle
finally realizing the magnitude of his actions? Was this his way of
softening the offense? Yes, that had to be it. He would strengthen the
dying human so as to have a healthy hostage to return in exchange for
Captain Kirk. It could, perhaps, salvage some honor in the end.
"He must be strong, so that when Kirk comes to claim
him," Kamarag explained in his most rational, ambassadorial voice, "this
sniveling weakling can endure a good, lengthy bejoy'--while his uncle is
forced to watch!"
aldyffs color deepened and her eyes widened against her will. Where was
the honor in that? There was no craft in this plan, no politics, just
duplicity and cruelty. The shame of it made her glower at the
deckplates.
"Don't worry, my dear niece," Kamarag said comforting ly, giving her a
congenial hug, "that task will be yours as well. A reward for the
distasteful work ahead of you--guarding this stinking alien, this blood
kin of va Kirk! His torture will be my wedding gift to you--something to