Chapter Text
by L. L. MacLeod
Chapter 1
This had to be the worst day in his life. Absolutely. Worse than the day I-chaya had died. Worse than the day they'd taken him up to Daicun to be pledged to T'Pring and he'd known her thoughts. Just when things had been starting to get a little better for him at school, this had to happen. Why did she have to go and do this to him?
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"Here, let me help you."
His wife's hands were trembling so much that she couldn't get her shoulder tab fastened.
"You are entirely too nervous, Amanda. You will do fine and I shall be inordinately proud of you." He tightened the collar buckle. "As always."
"I'm not nervous, Sarek."
"Indeed?" The pleats were crooked. Her Terran contours did not quite fit into a Vulcan robe. "If I had half the energy that you waste in emotional displays, I would be clan chief by now."
"I seem to recall a certain Vulcan gentleman who had a case of nerves that would have put mine to shame."
He pretended to ignore her sly little look. "The cause was more than sufficient, I believe. I had never been a father before."
"And I've never been a teacher."
Ambassador Sarek tugged the errant pleat into place and stood back to admire.
"Indeed?"
She was off, his Amanda, off into the world and out from under his sheltering wing. She was a grown woman of high intellect, but her emotions made her vulnerable and easy to bruise. He was pleased that she had made this decision, had become interested in building a career for herself. But he was concerned for her tender Terran feelings. If others should speak unfairly to her ...
Perhaps he was overly protective. But she had never complained about his hovering about. A Vulcan woman would have ordered him to mind his own business, but Amanda was a Terran and saw his interference as the expression of devotion that it was meant to be. Before they had met, Sarek had never believed that a woman could be his intellectual equal and not be repelled by what his peers would term his unmanly assertiveness where women were concerned.
Even so, he must let her go now just as, if things had been different, he would someday have had to let their own daughter go.
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This teaching thing was going to be very good for her—for them. She'd been hopelessly bored around the house; she spoke Vulcan fluently now, although with an accent, and she read it well enough to have exhausted the pertinent literature concerning Vulcan developmental psychology, as well as anything dealing with the practices of any culture. Spock would be nine years old in only a few months, and certainly needed no constant supervision to give her the excuse to be home. And she was tired of hearing the same old insults about her living on Sarek's money and raising Sarek's child; she knew Sarek was. He'd never said anything to her about it, but he was not that kind.
But what could she do? The career prospects were pretty grim when you took a moment to consider that it was against Vulcan law for an outworlder to own Vulcan real estate or have any interest at all in a Vulcan business. Until Sarek had been named t'yetma, she had had to have a special document drawn up each and every time she left the capital city of ShiKar. The government didn't want unsupervised aliens wandering around the planet. Sarek's first official act as a high level diplomat had been to arrange for a special pass to provide his wife with freedom of movement. To do this, he'd had to hire her on as a member of his diplomatic staff. Oh, the gossip had flown on that one!
No, I don't mind being my husband's employee. No, I don't mind him having a title when I have none. No, I don't care if my husband supports me. No, I don't mind his leaving me to care for his baby. And no, she would not allow anyone to ruin her joy at Sarek's accomplishment.
It was better now between them since he had been named. When the subject had first come up in council about Sarek's rank, Amanda had been as pleased as he was, but as the months rolled by and as they waited for a decision, life had become miserable. Sarek wanted that title more than he would admit, and he grew more and more concerned that his wife and child would do something to jeopardize it, to reflect badly upon him by association. He'd grown sterner with Spock, colder and distant toward her until finally one evening after their son was in bed, she had been unable to hold back the tears and had told him how lonely it was to be kept out of his thoughts, and how she felt that he had been pushing her away from him, shutting her off in a backroom of his life like some poor relation who might commit some horrendous faux pas to embarrass him. This rank was becoming more important to him than she was, she'd said, and he had been appalled at her words. Later, in meditation, he had been able to be honest with himself and had been ashamed of the shabby way that he had been treating her.
But that was yesterday—yesterdays and yesterdays ago. Spock had passed his kas-wan uneventfully, Sarek had his title, and now he had his eye on a Vulcan degree for her and a brilliant research career to follow without delay. Sometimes Sarek behaved toward her as if she were his beloved child: he had already begun to diagram a course of study for her and had made a call to the Mental Research Institute in Mirhansa to make inquiries.
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Amanda looked down at their son. His hair was a deep, deep brown, not black like his father's. "You're very quiet this morning, Spock. What are you thinking about?"
He had been staring out of the window. They had taken a limousine. Everyone would stare. He turned and looked at his mother briefly because it was discourteous not to. "I was contemplating my lessons for school," he said, gripping the tape case on his lap.
"I see."
The limousine had been Sarek's idea. The service came with his title and, frankly, Amanda thought that he was enjoying this toy very much.
The limo pulled up alongside the exercise yard. Children aged seven through thirteen were milling about until drills were called, and they stopped to stare at the state limousine as it hovered to a stop to discharge a passenger.
Before the driver could disembark, Spock had opened the door on the street side and was climbing out.
"Where are you going, dear?"
"I have to stand with my team," he explained in a hurry.
"Oh, well ... all right, then. I'll see you in class."
Her son gave a little nod and closed the door behind him. The driver opened the door on the yard side for Amanda and when the car had moved on, she could see Spock nowhere in sight.
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Spock hurried away from the limousine and waited near the water sculpture until he could fall in step with a group of children approaching from the avenue side and could walk with them to the exercise area. Sepek T'Ardikan was already there. Now that he was eleven, he was no longer in Spock's division and wore a bright blue harness with trim of the same color along the edges of his robe and at the top of his briefs. His older cousin was thirteen and in the white division. She had just given him grief about something at home, so he was looking for a victim.
Spock stayed out of his way and tried to blend. They were all gazing across the schoolyard.
"What's that limo doing here?"
"Looks like a Terran woman getting out."
"What is she doing wearing a ser's uniform?"
Spock faded to the back of the crowd. They were talking about his mother. He did not fade fast enough.
"Oh, look," said Sepek, "it's Spock Amandaikan." He stressed the matronym as if it left a bitter taste in his mouth. "That's his mother. She's coming here to teach us all to speak English..." He drew out the last word so that it sounded like the hissing of a snake.
Once the headmaster had left, Amanda got down to business. She reminded herself to take it easy; this was a Vulcan secondary class. There must be order and serenity at all times, but she would not be stern with them unless she had to.
"Now that I know all of your names, I'd like to know if any of you have heard any English words. You may speak out without bowing your heads if no one abuses the privilege."
They were silent, all looking at her with brown eyes. Certainly, one of them had heard some English before. Proper names and certain concepts did not have Vulcan equivalents—and this was the capital city where the interstellar interface occurred.
Amanda drew her eyes across the faces and tried to remember names. They all had the same dark hair and eyes, the same spindly little bodies.
Sarek had once tried to explain the physical differences that existed between the tribal consolidations, but she had not been able to perceive the subtle distinctions. Sarek had teased her then about not being able to distinguish him from other handsome Vulcan males. Very little chance of that.
"Hasn't anyone heard any English? Down at Space Central Port or at the Import Store?"
Spock's eyes were averted. She could always call on him, but it wouldn't be fair. His spoken English was as competent as his Vulcan, but she didn't want to call undue attention to him since he was her son. It would be hard for any child. Surely, of these twelve, one had heard a hello or good-bye...
A boy stood at his desk to be recognized.
"Yes?"
"I know an English word, but I don't know what it means."
"Well, then—Sepek, isn't it?—why don't you tell us so that I can explain to the entire class?"
The boy paused, shooting a quick glance at Spock.
"Well, Sepek, what is the word?"
The eleven-year-old looked his instructor straight in the eye and said, "Shithead."
Spock was staring at his desktop. The other children waited patiently. Sepek was watching the teacher expectantly. He knew. That rotten little brat knew!
Amanda glared back at him. "Shithead," she repeated in instructive tones, "a compound word made up of two smaller separate ones. The second word, head," she pointed to that portion of her anatomy, "the uppermost part of the body, reputed to house the brain. And shit, a slang term, used to describe animal waste products. When these two words are combined, they form the word shithead, a term applied to those persons whose brain matter appears to have taken on the quality and characteristics of feces." Amanda reached into her case for a tape. "You may take your seat, Sepek."
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When Amanda walked in the front door after that first day at school, she found her husband's carrybag on the entryway table. "Sarek?"
He emerged from the kitchen wearing a work apron.
"Sarek, what are you doing home?"
"I thought that I should be here to greet you. How did you fare at school?"
"All right." She looked once at Sarek and knew that he expected a more detailed report. "They don't trust me yet—but they will. I'm new and alien; they'll have to get used to me first."
Sarek nodded, gazing beyond her into the entryway. "Where is our son?"
"Oh, he had to stay for drills." Amanda fingered her husband's apron. "What are you doing?"
"I thought I would be a man of tradition and prepare a meal for my wife."
"Oh, good. I'm kinda tired tonight, dear."
Sarek's eyebrows lifted. "Well, it will not be good, but it will be nourishing."
She'd spoiled him. But she didn't care. She loved to cook. He didn't. It also gave him ample opportunity to tease her about "playing servant" to him. It was one socially acceptable way for a Vulcan woman to show affection for a man and—what was more important—to declare him to be of equal status with her.
Sarek was gazing at her expectantly. "You must be quite fatigued, my wife," he said quietly, then looked away demurely.
She felt a smile growing, stretched up and let it blossom in the hollow behind his ear. He was dependent upon that; it let him know that all was well between them. She eyed him with a grin. "Terran women are never that fatigued."
"So I have observed."
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He hadn't lied to his mother. He had stayed to practice drills, but he did them alone behind the equipment shed where he would not be seen.
He didn't really need the extra practice. He was very good at physical drills, even weaponry. When the new seresa had announced that boys could be included in weapons classes even though other schools wouldn't allow it until they'd reached their fourteenth birthdays, Spock had been afraid that his father would not give his permission—that he would think it unseemly behavior for a male, or a waste of time to learn a skill that he would never have to use, or entirely too martial a pastime for the son of Sarek of Vulcan. But he had been permitted to take the whole course: an'wun, lirpa, and throwing stick. And he was good, even at an'wun which was a quick weapon and dominated entirely by girls by the time they had reached academy.
The new seresa was also the one who had decided to start an English class for the children whose families were in the diplomatic corps or interstellar trade. And who had hired his mother.
Spock picked up his tape case and strode out from the shelter of the equipment shed, looking to neither side until he was on Abrogn Walk. He would not be teased. No matter what, he would not be teased.
TBC