Keeper of the Katra

Chris Dickenson

2284

"Every man hides a secret pain. It must be exposed and reckoned with. It must be dragged from the darkness into the light. Share your pain, share your pain with me and gain strength from the sharing."

Sybok of Vulcan

Scott

"Good work, Scotty," Jim Kirk said as he and Spock materialized on the transporter platform. Whirling to face his first officer, Kirk's relief transmuted into anger. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call Security, have you dragged into Sickbay and--"

"Jim," Spock interrupted gently.

"Three days of negotiations, three days! You knew how tenuous that agreement was. You insulted him. To a Klingon--"

"Captain--"

"Jim!" Leonard McCoy moved out from his place behind the console next to Montgomery Scott to join Kirk and Spock as they left the transporter pads. "What happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened," Kirk snapped. "I'll tell you precisely what happened. My first officer here just erased three days work by refusing to respond to Korrd's farewell salute. All he had to do was respond. Hell, they know he's Vulcan; a simple nod would have sufficed. I saw the look on Korrd's face, Bones. We'll be lucky if he doesn't order Klaa to attack us right here over Nimbus Three!"

"Korrd's not gonna do that, Jim," McCoy argued. "Maybe he was insulted, but he's been around the block a few too many times to let somethin' like this stand in the way of peace."

"May I--"

"Now he wants to talk," Kirk interrupted Spock again, rubbing his temples as if to ward off a building headache. "Down on Nimbus when I needed him to talk, he was carved in Vulcan rubinite."

"I shall offer a complete apology to General Koord," Spock said. "I regret any inconvenience--"

"He stood there like he was in a trance, Bones," Kirk continued. "I had to drag him out of there, apologizing all the way."

McCoy frowned, reaching for his medical scanner.

"Doctor," Spock began.

"Shut up," McCoy ordered rudely as he ran the whirring scanner over the Vulcan. The doctor's color paled, and he looked up into the calm, brown eyes as if pleading for a denial of what he'd just read on his instrument. Spock returned his gaze and nodded his head.

"Dear God," McCoy whispered, stepping back to rest a weary hand on the transporter console. "Here we go again."

Kirk looked between Spock and McCoy, his anger fading into concern. "Bones, what are you--"

"Why didn't you tell us?" McCoy questioned.

"I did not think it was relevant," Spock responded. "Apparently, I miscalculated."

"Would you mind telling me what the hell you two are talking about?" Kirk demanded, exchanging a puzzled glance with Scott, who remained silent.

McCoy leaned over the console, cradling his head on folded arms, and began to laugh. All three of his companions stared at the unexpected display of emotion.

"Bones?"

McCoy continued to laugh, genuine amusement overwhelming his desire to communicate an explanation. The sound of his laughter rose and fell, echoing in the small room until he finally raised his head, controlling the impulse to continue into hysteria. "Sorry...it just..." He looked at Spock and then chuckled. "Not as easy as you thought it was, huh?"

"It is proving an inconvenience," Spock agreed somewhat reluctantly.

"What's proving an inconvenience?" Kirk thundered, completely out of patience.

"Being the keeper of the katra," Spock said softly.

"Katra?" Kirk echoed. "Whose katra..." His voice trailed off as he recalled Sybok's last words to Spock, of the ritual touching of hands in the Vulcan way. Sybok knew he was going to die, just as Spock had known when he joined with McCoy. "Sybok's?"

"Correct."

Kirk sank heavily onto the transporter platform and heaved an exasperated sigh. It just hadn't been a good week.

"I regret--"

Kirk waved Spock's apology aside as he rose to his feet again and strode to the intercom near the doorway. He hit the switch with a practiced flick of his thumb. The switch broke off and flew across the room. Kirk stared at the useless intercom for a moment before swearing under his breath.

"Jim, what are you gonna--"

Moving back to the transporter console, Kirk gingerly opened a line to the bridge. "Mister Chekov, plot a course for Vulcan. Commander Uhura, patch me through to General Koord on Nimbus Three."

McCoy grinned. "First we grovel, then we head to Vulcan?"

Kirk nodded, glaring at Spock. "It seems we have no alternative."

Spock arched a brow, and McCoy pointed an accusing finger at the Vulcan. "Serves you right for tryin' to keep it a secret. Once you make your apologies to Koord, I'm confinin' you to your quarters. God only knows what kind of aberrant behavior you could develop in your condition."

"I shall yield to your expertise in the matter," Spock retorted dryly.

Scott watched the three file out of the transporter room and shook his head as the doors closed behind their retreating figures. "It's a fine pot of haggis we've boiled now," he muttered.

Spock

Spock drew himself out of the light trance. It was useless. As long as he carried Sybok's katra, there would be this barrier to the deeper stages of meditation. He had anticipated that. What had come as something of a shock were the recollections, the memories which flowed over him in waves. His unexpected reunion with Sybok had evoked such strong mental images, remembrances he had thought forever lost due to the inexact refusion of his katra and body.

What played upon his subconscious now were not the dates and facts which had been fed to him by his tutors after the fal-tor-pan, but vivid, startlingly detailed memories of his youth. Until Sybok's appearance, there had been no catalyst for the flood of recollections, and now there was nothing to do, but experience them. Perhaps once he'd replayed them all, catalogued them all in the proper order, he would find peace.

Settling himself more comfortably onto his bunk, Spock searched his mind for the first time he had heard Sybok's name. The memory came immediately, as sharp and clear as the screen on the Enterprise's library computer. But instead of merely viewing the scene, Spock felt himself drawn into it, just as McCoy had been drawn into the re-enactment of his father's death.

He was in the kitchen with his mother, setting the table as she drew an aromatic casserole from her oven.

"I was hoping your father would be home in time to share this with us," she sighed as Spock laid out the cutlery on neatly folded napkins.

"That is illogical, Mother," Spock chided gently. "He is not due at the Space Central shuttle port for another hour, add to that point six seven hours transit time in the flitter--"

Amanda laughed, wagging a spoon at her young son. "You're sounding more like your father every day, Spock."

Spock felt a surge of pride which he immediately controlled, bobbing his head in a dutiful bow. "I am honored."

"Don't be so honored that you forget the knives, I'm afraid I left the balkra in the oven just a little--" Amanda's next words were cut short by a shrill beep from the study.

"Shall I get it for you Mother?"

"Please. I'll be right in."

Spock remembered not to run into the study, and moved sedately around his father's desk to hit the receive button on the BellComm.

The woman who appeared was not known to Spock, but nevertheless she seemed familiar. Thin lips compressed in what he fancied as disapproval as dark eyes bored into his. She was dressed in a simple robe, but her air was that of one born to rule.

"You have reached the residence of Ambassador Sarek," Spock intoned politely as he had been taught. "I am Spock, son of Sarek. How may I be of service?"

"I will speak with Sarek," the woman said, her words accented heavily with the vowels of the Old Tongue.

"I regret that my father is not at home," Spock replied, lowering his gaze respectfully, but glad of the excuse to do so. "My mother, Amanda--"

"I will speak with her." It was not a request, rather an order.

Amanda's hand fell on her son's shoulder as she stepped into camera range of the BellComm. "T'Sai," Amanda paused briefly. "To what do we owe the honor?"

Spock could feel the tension in his mother's body as she stood behind him. Her grip on his shoulder tightened, and he realized that she did not want him to leave.

"Send the child from the room," T'Sai demanded.

"Spock is no longer a child," Amanda replied, unable to keep a trace of motherly pride out of her voice. "He passed his kahs-wan last month. By Vulcan law he is an adult."

"Indeed," T'Sai's tone was doubtful. "Then, Spock is acting as head of the house in Sarek's absence?"

When Amanda hesitated, Spock nodded his head. "I speak for Sarek," he insisted, knowing instinctively that he must stand as a buffer between his mother and this woman.

"So be it," T'Sai said. "Tell Sarek that T'Rea is dead. She died by her own hand. I must know what is to be done with the child."

"Child?" Amanda queried, forgetting that Spock was speaking for Sarek.

T'Sai ignored Amanda, looking instead at Spock. "When is Sarek expected to return?"

"One point six seven hours," Spock responded. "What child, T'Sai?"

"Sybok, son of T'Rea and Sarek."

Spock somehow managed to keep his face expressionless, but he could only guess at the play of emotions across Amanda's. Her grip on his shoulder actually became painful.

"You must be mistaken," Amanda uttered softly. In spite of the extremity of the situation, Spock found himself admiring the control in his mother's voice.

"I realize Humans have an overwhelming tendency to deny that which cannot be denied," T'Sai said blandly. "However your denial does not alter the truth. Sybok is the son of Sarek by T'Rea, his bondmate."

"I am Sarek's bondmate," Amanda countered in a tone which tremored only slightly.

"You are his second bondmate. T'Rea was his first. She had lived here at Gol since the annulment of her bond to Sarek. It was here that she bore his son."

Spock could feel Amanda's rage at T'Sai, and could sense it as it settled into the pit of her stomach. For the first time since he took his kahs-wan, Spock reached through his mental shields to touch his mother's mind, projecting comfort even as he met the piercing gaze of the Kolinahr High Master.

"I shall give Sarek your message upon his return, T'Sai," Spock said softly. "Is there anything else you require?"

"Only Sarek's response...his immediate response."

"I will tell him."

T'Sai cut the connection.

"Spock?"

Spock opened his eyes to see Leonard McCoy standing in the doorway to his cabin.

"Come in, Doctor. I was meditating."

"Both of you?" McCoy queried with a faint smirk.

Spock shifted slightly on his bunk and sighed. "Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I was lost in the past."

McCoy grinned and moved a chair to the foot of the Vulcan's bunk, sitting backwards in it and gripping the molded back. "Now, that I believe. Sybok?"

Spock nodded, steepling his fingers characteristically. "There was much I had forgotten. Much I...had thought forever lost."

"Are the memories yours or Sybok's?"

Spock looked surprised. "Mine. Sybok's katra is contained. There is no mingling of the minds."

McCoy arched a brow in a purposeful imitation of Spock. "Well, that's convenient."

Spock's lips twitched for a moment as he summoned control. "You have never been exceptionally open to telepathic contact."

"Don't change the subject," McCoy insisted. "Why didn't you tell Jim? Hell, why didn't you tell me? And please don't give me any bull about not havin' a common frame of reference."

Spock didn't answer for a moment, and when he did his voice was soft. "Not all memories are pleasant, Doctor."

McCoy sighed, thinking of what Kirk had gone through to reunite Spock's body and soul. "He gave up a lot, didn't he?"

Spock nodded, knowing instinctively that McCoy referred to Kirk rather than Sybok.

McCoy raked Spock with a frankly assessing stare and then rose from his seat. "I just came to tell you that Jim and I are goin' with you."

Spock looked up, surprised. "That is not necessary."

McCoy grinned. "The last time we went up those steps we went together." The doctor turned and headed for the door, pausing just as it opened. "This time isn't gonna be no different. I'm my brother's keeper too, you know."

Before Spock could respond, the door closed behind McCoy's retreating form.

T'Liba

T'Liba's expression was typically Vulcan as she sat between Sarek and Amanda in the Surak family's box in the plush auditorium of the Vulcan Science Academy. The music of T'Rall was among her favorites, and was being faultlessly performed, but tonight she found that she could not enjoy it. Her thoughts were jumbled. She sorely needed to meditate, but there had been no time to do so before the concert. Spock's subspace message had come just before Amanda and Sarek arrived to collect her.

Had it not been her duty to attend this performance, she would have pleaded an illness, anything to avoid going out in public when her mind was screaming at her to make order of chaos. But, as Assistant Curator of the Science Academy Museum, she was expected to attend all Academy functions. Therefore, such a deception would be unthinkable. Sarek was right; her impulsiveness was her greatest flaw, an unseemly characteristic for the wife of a son of the House of Surak.

But are you wife? she asked herself silently. Or are you that which you were intended to be? Spock has recalled the faces of others. What reason is there that he cannot remember you, T'Liba? A man does not forget a wife, but there is no logical reason to recall--

"--accompany me?" Sarek's voice broke into her thoughts, and T'Liba realized that the music had ceased. All around them individuals were heading for the foyer to honor the accomplishments of the musicians with food and drink. Vulcan concerts often lasted in excess of six hours, making a lengthy intermission necessary not just for the performers, but for the audience as well.

Amanda patted T'Liba's hand with motherly reassurance. "Go ahead, child. Keep Sarek company while he pays his respects. I'll have something brought to me here."

T'Liba inclined her head, not just to please Amanda, but because she was thirsty. Her mouth felt as dry as Vulcan's Forge.

Following Sarek down the short flight of steps to the wide aisle, T'Liba kept the respectful distance which modern custom dictated a youth of the house afford its head. Once in the foyer, the crowd made the distance impossible to maintain, and Sarek turned, gesturing that she remain at his side.

Sarek made the necessary rounds, speaking first to the musicians, and then formally greeting the heads of other houses. An usher brought them tall glasses of iced fruit juice, and when Sarek's duties were discharged, he guided T'Liba to a quiet alcove, his dark eyes searching her expression. "The news has unsettled you."

T'Liba lowered her gaze. "I did not intend for it to be visible."

"I think it is only visible to Amanda and myself," Sarek admonished softly. "And only to us because we know you so well."

"It is unseemly for a daughter of the House of..." T'Liba's voice trailed off as she fought for composure. "I...I do not know my place."

"Your place is where it has always been," Sarek reminded gently. "Consort to my son, heir to his properties, keeper of his estate. You are his t'hy'la."

T'Liba looked up at Sarek, the pain in her dark brown eyes speaking eloquently of the doubts she harbored in her heart. "He does not remember me."

"Patience, T'Liba-kam. Did he not send his message to you?"

"To the House of Spock," she amended. "Not to me."

Sarek sighed. "Spock has not yet arrived, and already you have decided that he will not remember you. You have always been impulsive, but in this instance it is imperative that you control your natural propensity to..." He paused, one of Amanda's idioms coming to mind. "...jump the gun," he finished solemnly, his Vulcan demeanor enhancing the subtle humor of his choice of words.

He saw no mirth in T'Liba's eyes, rather, she seemed not to be listening to him. "You are Spock's wife."

T'Liba flinched as if struck by a blow. "I am not a wife. I am that which I was intended to be."

Sarek felt an anger which he had thought long dead wash over him with incredible force. "You have turned dishonor into honor, and you have served my son, and our family as no other could do. In time, Spock will remember all that you have given him. He will remember what you have shared."

T'Liba inclined her head again, her voice barely a whisper. "You honor one who is unworthy."

Sarek looked down at the humble creature who stood before him and remembered the glimmer of joy he had read in her eyes when he returned from Earth with Spock's message to his mother: "Tell her I feel fine." Both he and Amanda had dared to hope that Spock's restored memories would include T'Liba, the young woman who had been given to the family as chattel and become the pride of the House of Surak. Now, he saw only tension in T'Liba's slender frame, and sensed her self-doubt, a residual effect of the years she had spent in T'Pring's shadow.

"In the House of Sindal you were viewed as unworthy," Sarek said firmly, moving close so she could not avert her gaze. "But, you are more than worthy as daughter of the House of Surak. When Spock comes, he will remind you of your worth, not just to him, but to us."

T'Liba and Sarek had never spoken openly of the circumstances which had made her part of his house, but even on the day she and Spock had become one, T'Liba had sensed Sarek's anger at Sofab. This was the first time she had considered that his anger might have been at least partially on her behalf. She could offer no words to adequately thank him for the confidence he had just expressed in her, but she must make some response or seem ungrateful.

"I seek only to serve."

"You have done that and more," Sarek responded smoothly.

T'Liba and Sarek stayed in the lobby until the usher announced that intermission was over. As they made their way back toward their seats, T'Liba remained preoccupied, thinking only of Spock's blank gaze as he had bid her farewell before returning to Earth. There had been no recognition, no remembrance of her as an individual. She was merely a name and a face to him, an unwanted specter of his past.

Still lost in thought, T'Liba climbed the stairs which led to her seat, inclining her head in response to Amanda's welcoming smile.

"Chattel!" A shrill cry pierced T'Liba's consciousness, and she froze in the act of taking her seat, recognizing the voice as one which had haunted her youth.

Below her and to her right, T'Pring rose from her seat in the box reserved for the House of Sindal and pointed an accusing finger directly at T'Liba. All other sounds were suddenly hushed, and the honor guards of the House of Surak moved quickly and silently, one to the aisle beside T'Pring, and another to T'Liba's and Amanda's left side, the deadly blades of their shirpa poised for use.

"You dare to precede the head of your house?" T'Pring challenged, her haughty tone matching the rigid indignation of her posture. "You are now as you have always been: unworthy even as chattel, thoughtless and ungrateful."

T'Liba stared incredulously down at her cousin, realizing too late that she had stepped ahead of Sarek, a breach of Vulcan etiquette. In the privacy of Sarek's home, it was not a custom that was followed, but here it could be considered as a sign of disrespect.

"You will beg forgiveness, chattel," T'Pring commanded. "You were a burden to my father, and now you burden the House of Surak with your disrespectful ways."

Sarek spoke from where he stood, one foot on the first of the steps which led to the family box. His voice, that which many offworlders knew only as the voice of Vulcan, was gentle with genuine paternal tolerance. "T'Liba-kam intended no disrespect, T'Pring. Therefore, none was taken."

T'Liba experienced a rush of gratitude not just for Sarek's diplomacy, but also for his public use of the diminutive suffix and the tone of his voice. Her gratitude mingled in her heart with a very old rage at T'Pring, who even now took every opportunity to humiliate her. Before T'Liba had been given to Spock as T'Pring's replacement, she had actually thought it her due to be treated in such a manner, but Sarek and Amanda regarded her as a part of the family, and honored her as a daughter born to the house.

"You are too forgiving, Sarek," T'Pring argued in the cold, clipped tones which T'Liba knew so well. "For years my father sought to teach this chattel her place. She must be dealt with harshly, or she will commit the offense again, bringing shame to your house just as she brought shame to ours."

"T'Liba has brought no shame--"

"I will see her punished!" T'Pring's haughty demand overrode Sarek's denial.

Amanda rose from her seat, fists clenched, her mouth open to defend the wife of her son against the woman who had spurned him.

"It is not your place to make such a demand, T'Pring," T'Liba blurted, laying a restraining hand on Lady Amanda's arm. The sound of her voice shocked even her, but she continued. "And you shall not address me again as chattel. I am wife to Spock, daughter of the House of Surak."

Now, the entire auditorium was completely silent, not a rustle or a whisper could be heard. The expression on T'Pring's face was a sight to behold. Never before had T'Liba dared to respond to the cruel taunts of her cousin. Moreover, since Sofab's death, T'Pring ruled as head of the House of Sindal. This conflict of wills was symbolic of the battle which had raged between these two houses for decades.

"How dare you speak to me in such a manner?" T'Pring queried when she had regained her ability to speak. She turned to Sarek. "I demand that this female be punished for her impertinence, and I--"

"Kroykah," Sarek's voice was not as loud as T'Pring's, but the force behind it was unmistakable. "The wife of my son has spoken. The matter is settled."

Sarek climbed the stairs deliberately, took his seat, and then inclined his head to indicate that Amanda and T'Liba sit as well. All over the auditorium individuals took their seats in silence until only T'Pring remained standing, her face flushing jade in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. Her consort, Stonn, who had remained silent throughout the entire confrontation, now rose from her side and urged her back into her seat, whispering in her ear as his glance shifted nervously to the armed guard.

Once the usual murmur of voices had recommenced, and the honor guards had returned to their original positions, T'Liba leaned toward Sarek, her voice a tremulous whisper. "I must beg forgiveness, noble father. My behavior--"

"The matter is settled..." Sarek interrupted, his voice once again gentle. T'Liba looked into the ambassador's eyes and saw a reflection of the satisfaction she had experienced at T'Pring's humiliation. "...my daughter."

Amanda's cool fingers brushed against T'Liba's, the clasp of the slender hand surprisingly strong. T'Liba felt her husband's mother's unshielded pride and satisfaction, along with a uniquely Human telepathic observation that could certainly not be translated into Vulcan.

T'Liba fought a smile.

"Honored guests," the conductor addressed his audience, completely unaware that no performance his orchestra could give would rival the scene which had just transpired. "Before we continue with the works of T'Rall, we shall honor the House of Surak with a Terran selection." He bowed slightly. "Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons,' dedicated to the gracious Lady Amanda, wife of Sarek."

T'Liba listened carefully to the first movement, frowning because it did not sound a bit familiar. She had heard music by this Terran composer before, on Amanda's audio tapes. As they commenced the second movement, Amanda leaned to brush her lips against T'Liba's ear.

"Good thing he announced it as Vivaldi, child," Amanda whispered in a voice calculated to be heard only by T'Liba. "Otherwise, I'd never have guessed."

This time T'Liba's battle to control a smile was ineffective.

Spock

Spock was seven years old again, sitting cross-legged on his bed, having just unsuccessfully attempted a deep trance. His parents were in the adjacent study, and his mother's voice rose, breaking the last remnants of his concentration.

"Of course I'm upset. Why didn't you tell me?"

Sarek's tones, although not as loud as Amanda's were still audible if Spock strained to catch his words.

"It was irrelevant."

"It was irrelevant that you were married to this woman for nearly thirty years? Irrelevant that she bore your child?"

"Completely irrelevant."

"How can you sit there and say that?"

"Because it is the truth."

"I suppose thirty years from now Spock and I will be irrelevant, cast aside when you take wife number three?"

"You are becoming emotional, Wife."

"You're damned right I'm becoming emotional. You didn't have to stand here while T'Sai twisted the knife in the open wound. How do you imagine Spock felt, hearing it like that?"

"Spock is Vulcan; he will understand."

"Well, I'm not Vulcan, and if this is what being Vulcan is, then I'm damned glad I'm not! How could you lie to me; how could you?"

"I told no lie."

"You told no God damn truth either! Aunt Roberta told me not to marry you. She warned me--"

"Roberta Grayson has no bearing on this discussion, Amanda. We are discussing Sybok."

"We're discussing thirty years of your life!"

"If you are referring to the time I spent as consummated bondmate to T'Rea, then we are discussing thirty years, two months, five days and six point--"

"Spare me the decimals!" Amanda shouted. "You told me that I was your first wife!"

"I told you that I had no wife before you, and that was true. T'Rea's bond to me was annulled by the Council. By Vulcan law, we were never husband and wife."

"You can't annul a consummated marriage!"

"All Vulcan marriages are consummated, Amanda." Sarek's voice took on the patient lecturing tone he often used with Spock. "Divorce is...impractical. Annulment is uncommon, but it does occur."

"Thanks for the information."

"Perhaps we should discuss this when you are less emotional."

"We'll discuss it now!" Amanda's voice was sharp with barely controlled anger. "I want you to tell me everything, and I mean everything."

"Very well," Sarek's tone was resigned. "T'Rea was what you Humans would call a princess, the only child of her generation, descendant of an aristocratic clan which had survived from Pre-Reform times. Honor dictated that she bond with a male whose family line was equally as impressive. Since I was a son of the House of Surak, and we were born in the same season, we were bonded by our parents as children. We had no common interests, no desire to be together, and we shared nothing more than four cyclic matings. It was a bond of convenience, and she bore no children. After our fourth mating, she petitioned the Vulcan Council to dissolve our marriage so she could become a Kolinahr High Master. Since both the elders and I thought her barren, and since our liaison was purely a sexual one, there was no logical reason for me to oppose her petition. She did not desire to be tied to me, any more than I desired a bondmate who would not share my life.

"But, Sarek, she was your wife."

"She was my bondmate, Amanda. Chosen for me by my parents."

"What about Sybok?"

"T'Rea did not reveal to me or the Council that she was pregnant, and her word was accepted that no fertilization had occurred during our last mating. It was not until after the Council made its ruling that her condition became known. T'Rea's act was incomprehensible even to T'Sai. By dissolving her bond with me before Sybok's birth, she denied him his birthright, and brought such shame on her family that they renounced both her and the child. I had no say in the matter, for by Vulcan law, the child was hers alone.

"T'Sai said that T'Rea died by her own hand."

Sarek sighed. "She was given a choice, and she chose death just as she chose life, in defiance of all traditions."

"I don't understand."

"T'Rea was never comfortable with IDIC. She never fully embraced the teachings of Surak, so some were surprised when she sought to go to Gol."

"But T'Sai resents our union, resents the House of Surak," Amanda said slowly. "In their zest for the absolute state of non-emotion, the High Masters of Kolinahr have forgotten the other teachings of Surak, that the beauty of diversity is the beauty of life."

"Indeed," Sarek's voice was warm with approval. "But what T'Rea sought was as alien to T'Sai and the other High Masters as Kolinahr is to the House of Surak. She sought not just control over her own mind, but the power to control the minds of others."

"T'Rea was a heretic?" Amanda breathed.

"T'Rea was charged with the destruction of the mind of an adept; a crime which has not occurred since the age of reason. She had a choice...banishment from the planet or death. She chose death.

"Sybok has no one to claim him, but me," Sarek continued. "T'Rea's family has renounced him. If I do not claim him as my son, he must leave Vulcan."

"What are you going to do?"

"I shall claim him."

Amanda made no response.

"You are angry."

"Not at the child," Amanda qualified. "But I'm mad as hell at you for not telling me this a long time ago."

There was a long silence, and then Sarek's voice murmured so softly that Spock almost doubted the words.

"It was wrong of me to keep this from you."

"Sarek!" Amanda said, astonishment audible in her tone. "We've been married for ten years, and this is the first time I've ever heard you say that you were wrong."

"It is the first time I have been wrong. Will you forgive me?"

"Oh, Sarek!"

The son of Amanda and Sarek strained to hear more, but there was no more to be heard.

Uhura

Spock's reverie was interrupted by the sound of the door signal, and he rose from his bunk, stretching protesting muscles before calling out to his visitor.

"Come."

Commander Uhura crossed the threshold carrying a tray of food. "I thought you might be hungry." She continued into the cabin, and set the tray down on the small table across from his bunk.

Spock cast a glance over the laden tray, and his lips twitched as he fought a smile. "I carry the katra of my brother, Commander, not his appetite."

Uhura smiled, relaxing. "I also thought you might like some company."

Spock nodded, pulling the chair McCoy had used back to the table, and gesturing for Uhura to take it. He sank into the other chair and inspected the food beneath the napkin, raising a brow in surprise. "Balkra?"

"Your favorite," Uhura murmured, as she filled the plates.

Spock looked up, his eyes thanking Uhura more eloquently than words could ever do. There was only one other person in his life who knew how to make this dish...no, there was another...he had forgotten...

"You remember that which others forget," Spock said softly.

"I remember things that are important," Uhura countered. "The things that stay in my mind are people things. I can tell you the captain's favorite color, what brand of rice wine Sulu likes best, the distinctive plaid of the Scott tartan..." She leaned forward and grinned. "I know enough about the crew of this ship to retire in luxury on extortion fees."

"That I do not doubt."

"But I didn't know about Sybok," Uhura added thoughtfully. "You never spoke of him, yet he was your brother."

"Sybok was my half-brother," Spock explained. "For ten years, he lived in my father's house. We shared...we shared everything brothers share."

"Then, something happened."

Spock nodded. "Sybok's choice to embrace emotion would have been tolerated had he not attempted to seduce other Vulcans into doing the same. Although the teachings of Surak provide for individuality, the passionate emotions which Sybok sought to experience were the same emotions which brought our planet to the brink of destruction. He also subscribed to a mythical explanation of creation which clashed with the logical data of our modern scientists. That, too, would have been forgiven had he not tried to teach it to his students as anything more than myth. Finally, he was given a choice, and he chose to leave Vulcan rather than abandon his belief in the value of emotion and his vision of Sha-ka-ree."

"A passionate man, a great dream," Uhura whispered, her dark eyes sparking with tears. "And Sarek?"

"Sarek, who had claimed him as son when his mother's family denied him, Sarek, father to us both, declared Sybok klee-fah-tu."

Uhura blinked. The term was familiar to her, she'd run across it years ago during her study of ancient Vulcan linguistics. "Klee-fah-tu. I think I understand, a son who doesn't exist can bring no dishonor on his family."

"Correct. When one is declared klee-fah-tu, all references to the individual are stricken from the records, and all members of the family are forbidden to speak his name."

"When you saw Sybok on the hostage tape, the captain said you looked as if you'd seen a ghost..."

Spock raised a brow. "I thought only Vulcans had hearing that acute."

"You were tapping into the comm channel, remember? I heard what you two were saying because you left the comlink open."

Spock nodded in understanding. "I was momentarily...distracted."

Uhura smiled. "That's one way of putting it. Anyway, you agreed with the captain. Did you think Sybok was dead?"

"Not precisely. However, seeing Sybok evoked memories which did not mesh with the biographical information provided by my Vulcan tutors after my death and refusion. Remember, Sybok's name had been stricken from the family records, therefore I was not told of his existence."

"You'd forgotten him?" Uhura queried in disbelief.

"Consciously," Spock qualified. "Once I saw his face, and heard his voice, I remembered. There have been many recollections not covered in my biography, many...memories which I regain only when the individual involved triggers the recollection."

Uhura smiled a little wistfully as she looked up from her plate. "Can you remember the best birthday present I ever received?"

Spock searched his mind for the information, wanting to return Uhura's thoughtfulness with a remembrance which would assure her she was not just a name on his biography.

"I assume, since you ask, the birthday present was one of which I had personal knowledge," Spock said, studying his fork.

"You did," Uhura's voice was guarded.

Spock looked up into sparkling eyes, his expression softening into something dangerously close to a smile. "I am not certain, but at the time you said it was the best--"

"The present?" Uhura prompted impatiently.

"A Vulcan harp. You were thirty-f--"

"I was twenty-nine," Uhura interrupted again with a mischievous grin. "And don't you dare tell anyone any different."

Spock's brow rose. "I do have access to your personnel file, Commander."

Uhura rose from her seat, moving around the table to drop an affectionate kiss on Spock's forehead. "And I have access to your Vulcan heart, Sugah. I'll keep your secrets if you'll keep mine."

Spock tilted his head to meet the Commander's gaze, reading the pleasure and affection in her warm, lovely eyes. It took all of his restraint not to return her teasing smile with one of his own. He compressed his lips into a thin line, feigning disapproval. "Extortion, Commander?"

Uhura laughed delightedly. "It's not like I didn't warn you."

Spock

Spock sat motionless in his cabin. In his thoughts, he was making not the journey to Vulcan, but a journey he had taken as a youth.

The flitter sped across the barren desert toward the red rocks of Gol. It had been a tense, silent ride from ShiKahr, and Spock searched his mind for some topic to ease the silence.

Glancing at his father's stern profile through downcast lashes, Spock quickly stifled the sigh that rose in his chest. Neither of his parents had spoken to him about T'Sai's call since Sarek's return, and he had not the temerity to question them. He knew from overhearing their conversation that Sarek was going to claim Sybok as his son, and this was disquieting to Spock. It was not that he was without compassion for the other son of Sarek, but his very existence had come as a shock. Spock wondered if Sybok, being a full-blooded Vulcan, might somehow become the son Sarek had always wanted Spock to be, displacing Spock as inadequate.

He looked out at the barren scenery, his eyes widening as the flitter glided to its destination. Spock had heard of Gol, of course. It was a self-contained community surrounded by volcanic mountains and a wind swept desert, but usually only those seeking to attain Kolinahr ventured this far past Vulcan's Forge.

Sarek landed the flitter in the flat courtyard of etched stone. Overhead, silhouetted against the setting sun, were terraced balconies carved into sheer red cliffs. Unlike the city of ShiKahr, Gol made no pretense of reclaiming land from the desert. Instead of a lush oasis, Gol was literally rock and sand, as elemental now as it had been in Pre-Reform days.

As Spock followed his father across the wind and sand blasted courtyard, he felt the incredible overwhelming silence of this place. T'Sai approached from the main entrance, more formidable in person, if that were possible. Two steps behind her came the other two Kolinahr High Masters, still subservient to T'Sai as their place in the processional indicated. Ten paces behind trailed four novices. All were garbed in the flowing, hooded robes unique to Gol.

Sarek stopped, allowing T'Sai and her entourage to draw close before raising his hand in the ancient salute. He offered no greeting.

"You have come for the child?" T'Sai queried coldly, returning Sarek's salute.

"My son," Sarek amended.

T'Sai's brow rose. "You claim him?"

Sarek met the piercing gaze. "I take exception to the manner in which his existence was made known to my wife and son, but I claim him nonetheless."

"I am not responsible for the emotionalism of your Human wife and offspring, Sarek," T'Sai responded, her tone condescending. "Your Human son made an inquiry, and I answered it. If you had not been absent I would, of course, have given the message myself."

"T'Pau gave me the Voice of Vulcan for my address to the Federation Council, T'Sai. Even here at Gol such things are known," Sarek paused for effect. "You knew when you called that I would not be there, just as you knew how disquieting it would be for Amanda to hear of T'Rea and Sybok from you."

"I do not concern myself with the emotions of others. I was merely performing a duty."

"I disagree," Sarek argued. "It was not part of your duty to involve Amanda and Spock. It was not logical...vengeful perhaps, but not logical."

T'Sai looked bored. "Vengeance is an emotion, Sarek."

"Let me rephrase, your act was calculated and cruel."

"My act was a duty, nothing more."

"Semantics, T'Sai," Sarek countered.

T'Sai blinked indifferently.

"Where is Sybok?" The ambassador asked.

T'Sai turned and gestured to a novice. "T'Danya will take you to him."

Spock and Sarek followed the robed figure through torch lit caverns. The silent novice glided purposely through maze-like connecting tunnels, led them up narrow winding steps, and through cavernous chambers. Finally she entered a small, dimly lit room. With a nod, T'Danya left them as soundlessly as she had come.

Sitting on a high stool, hunched over a stack of scrolls and ancient books was a slender youth. His head was cradled on folded arms and long, dark hair flowed over heaving shoulders. Spock glanced at Sarek in surprise.

"Sybok," Sarek's voice echoed against bare walls. The youth froze for a moment, then raised his head, wiping damp cheeks with the sleeve of his robe before turning to face his visitors. The expression was dutifully composed, only the dark eyes hinted at what appeared to Spock to be a mixture of grief and surprise.

Sybok's hand tremored slightly as he raised it in greeting. "Peace and long life, Sarek." The voice did not quaver; it was rich and vibrant.

Sarek met Sybok's gaze as the elder returned the salute, "Live long and prosper, my son."

For a moment Sybok was too stunned to speak, his mouth worked and when words finally came out they were a incredulous whisper. "You have claimed me?"

"It is my right."

"I...I did not expect..."

"This is Spock, also my son."

Spock moved to stand before Sybok, raising his hand to greet his half brother. "Peace and long life, Sybok, son of Sarek."

Sybok tore his gaze from Sarek to study Spock. He nodded, dark eyes warm with approval, as his expression softened. "Greetings, my brother."

"Collect your belongings," Sarek ordered. "I shall await you in the courtyard.

"May Spock assist me?"

Sarek looked between the youths, perhaps looking for some familial resemblance. "If he wishes. The decision is his."

Sybok turned back to Spock, the expectant smile in his eyes not quite reaching his lips.

"I shall assist, Father," Spock said, a sleek brow arching in response to Sybok's conspiratorial wink.

Unaware of the nonverbal exchange, Sarek was already proceeding from the room.

Amanda

Carrying her mug of tea out into the garden, Amanda took a seat beside the fountain. The stars were brilliant only as stars of the wee morning hours could be, and she wondered idly how late it was.

Sarek had been meditating ever since they had returned from the concert and viewed the waiting subspace message on their BellComm. Spock's missive to his parents had been brief, but it contained one bit of information he'd omitted in the message T'Liba had played for them before they left for the concert; the reason for his return to Vulcan.

Pulling her robe more tightly about her, Amanda took a sip from the mug, savoring its warmth. It was hard to believe that Vulcan could be so hot during the day and so chilly at night. To Amanda, the contradictions of the planet seemed to be reflected in the creatures which inhabited it. She'd lived here nearly sixty years, but she still could not claim to understand why Vulcans could be so logical one moment and so damned illogical the next.

She smiled, picturing Sarek's denial of that accusation. Her smile deepened as she recalled an incident which had occurred years ago.

Sarek stood before his youngest son, his grim disapproval apparent in his thinly compressed lips. Sybok was at Amanda's side.

"...Sybex could have been seriously injured. When you passed your kahs-wan, you made a decision to follow the Vulcan way. I had hoped that you had outgrown such childish behavior, but apparently that is not the case. Perhaps the fault is mine for not punishing you more severely in the past. Practical jokes are intolerable enough when they are harmless, but if that bucket had fallen on Sybex, or worse, one of your classmates...a blow to the cranium from that height--"

"Father," Sybok began.

"--could have had serious consequences. If he had been looking up, it could have blinded him. There is no excuse for such..."

As concerned as Amanda was by Spock's behavior, a part of her fought a rising giggle. Sybex was the most insufferable Vulcan she had ever met. His disdain for Humans, and his opinions about the purity of the Vulcan race made him a poor choice as an instructor for Spock, but he was also, undeniably the best gymnastics teacher in ShiKahr. Sometimes, in his zeal to give his sons every advantage, Sarek overlooked the obvious.

Sarek was right, of course. It had been wrong of Spock to rig a bucket of plomeek soup over the old-fashioned door to Sybex's office. It was wrong, but it was also damned funny. Amanda forced the mental image out of her mind and put one hand over her mouth to hide the twitching of her lips. Beside her, Sybok shifted impatiently, and tried again to interrupt.

"Father."

"Silence," Sarek ordered, not taking his eyes off Spock. "What your brother has done is indefensible. I am aware that Sybex has been a taskmaster. I am also aware that your performance in his class is less than satisfactory, Spock, but to seek vengeance in such a way--"

"Spock does not have the strength of the other boys," Sybok explained. "To compensate, he makes up for what he lacks in strength with clever technique. Instead of praising him for his ingenuity, Sybex insists that he learn the 'proper' method. He knows perfectly well that Spock can accomplish anything the rest of the boys can, even though his methods may be unorthodox. That, my father, grates on Sybex's preconceptions, so he persecutes Spock in the only way he can--"

This time it was not Sarek who silenced Sybok, but Spock. Not with a word, but with a glance. Amanda turned to take in Sybok's expression as he compressed his lips into a firm line and clasped his hands behind his back.

Sarek returned his attention to Spock, who had offered not a murmur in his own defense. Amanda found her amusement turning to anger. He was just a baby, really. On Earth, the pranks of a seven-year old would never be taken seriously. But this was not Earth, and her baby was now an adult by Vulcan law. He would be judged as an adult.

"...ingratitude for the many privileges we have provided for you. Since you show no appreciation for such privileges, there is no logic in allowing them to continue. I believe that you were planning to accompany your mother when she returns to Earth next month to visit her aunt."

Amanda opened her mouth to object, knowing how much Spock was looking forward to that trip. She had planned it specifically for him to see snow. Not only was Spock eagerly anticipating the journey, but so was Roberta. She hadn't seen Spock since he was a toddler.

Sybok's hand clasped her wrist and Amanda's objection died in her throat as she met his gaze. In the silence that followed, Sarek continued to recite his son's punishment.

"You will remain on Vulcan. Instead of taking a vacation, you shall take private instruction with Sybex, if he will consent to accept you as a pupil. Moreover, you will apologize to him publicly."

Spock's head was bent respectfully. No flicker of emotion crossed his features as he accepted the sentence. "Yes, Father."

"Since Amanda does not care to travel alone, and since Sybok's academic record is without a flaw, he shall accompany her to Mountain View in your place."

Now, Spock cast another glance at his brother. Amanda could not make out the silent message which flowed between them, but Sybok flinched back as if struck by a blow.

"No! I cannot allow you to--"

"Sybok!" Spock's voice was sharp.

"I will not let another take punishment for my crime!" Sybok blurted. "Father, why did the headmaster assume that the prank was Spock's doing? Why do you assume him guilty with no proof other than motive? Is it because of Spock's heritage? Sybex is a bigot, and he has tormented Spock in the guise of teaching him. He has humiliated Spock before the others because Amanda is not Vulcan. You, of all people, should know that Spock's heritage makes him no less a being, and you, of all people, should know that Spock would not seek vengeance in that manner."

"It is noble of you to take the blame for your brother's prank," Sarek began. "However, I do--"

"You don't believe that I did it? Why, because no Human blood flows through my veins? I put that bucket over the door. I did it on my own, and I did it for the satisfaction of seeing Sybex humiliated as he has humiliated Spock. Vengeance is not an emotion alien to Vulcans, honorable Father. Some suppress it better than others. I apologize for the shame I have brought to you by my actions, but I cannot truthfully say, if given a chance I would not do it again."

Spock was shaking his head. "Sybok, I told you that they would not believe it of you. I was willing to take your punishment."

"That is why I could not let you do so, Brother. You adhere more strongly to the ways of our ancestors than I. Indeed, you are a better Vulcan than Sybex claims to be because you can forgive him. I cannot." Sybok turned back to Sarek. "I offer myself to you for punishment."

Sarek looked from Sybok to Amanda, and then back to Spock. Heaving a sigh, he clasped his hands in the contemplative pose he used when meditating and surveyed his youngest son with a severely arched brow. "Spock...I have misjudged you. You did a noble thing."

"Father, I--"

"We shall discuss it further some other time. I wish now to speak privately with Sybok."

Amanda never knew what transpired in the study after she and Spock left the room. But Spock had gone with her to Earth as planned, and Sybok had unwittingly won her undying gratitude for refusing Spock's sacrifice as too great a gift. Never had two brothers been closer than Sybok and Spock.

She recalled the day Sybok left, of the muffled sobs she'd heard from Spock's room far into the night. She knew Spock had pleaded to go with Sybok, and was grateful for Sybok's reciprocation of his brother's selfless gift; his refusal to permit Spock to join him in exile. A tear streaked down her cheek as she thought of the miserable days which followed Sybok's departure, and the painful chain of events sparked by Sarek's refusal of Spock's plea to search for him.

Eventually, Spock had fled Vulcan too, resentful of the way his father had renounced Sybok, and dissatisfied with Sarek's insistence that he take Sybok's place in the diplomatic corps. Starfleet had become a haven for Spock, and now a Starfleet mission had united him again with his beloved brother. Spock was finally getting his wish, he was bringing Sybok home. Amanda knew that this would be difficult enough for Spock considering how close he and Sybok had once been, but the complication of Sybok's status would only serve to make a bad situation worse.

Spock's message indicated that he was seeking kr'alieu for Sybok, a ceremony unheard of for one declared klee-fah-tu. Without Sarek's permission, Spock would be unable to petition T'Lar for Sybok's entry into the Hall of Ancient Thought. Further, if Sarek rescinded his declaration, the High Masters of Kolinahr would challenge Spock's petition. It was very likely that Spock was coming all this way for nothing. Her heart ached for both the sons of Sarek, but it ached for Sarek most of all.

He came quietly from the study, the silver trim of his meditation robe glinting as he approached her. Scooting to one side on the smooth stone bench, Amanda tossed the final dregs of her tea into the fine Vulcan sand. Sarek sat beside her, and for a while nothing passed between them but companionable silence. Impulsively, Amanda reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. Their bond surged between them, and she expressed every doubt, every fear, even her motherly concern without uttering a sound.

Sarek nodded his head slowly. "I understand, Wife. In the past, I have misjudged Spock, and you wonder now if I have been too harsh in my judgement of--"

"I believe that at the time you did as you thought best, Sarek. You did what you did as much for Spock as for anyone, and only I know what it cost you to deny his plea for leniency."

Sarek sighed heavily. "Once again a decision must be made, Amanda. If I deny Spock's request this time--"

"You underestimate our son."

Sarek accepted the gentle jibe with a nod. "What Spock asks of me is illogical."

"A flaw of his heredity?" Amanda teased, squeezing her husband's hand again.

"So it would seem," Sarek responded with a sigh.

Spock

Spock ran his fingers expertly across the strands of his lyrette, the soft chords soothing the frown which crossed his brow. A Vulcan harp had seemed such an appropriate gift for Uhura, since it was the only instrument which could rival the sweet sound of her voice, but he could not take credit for the idea of giving a harp as a gift. That precedent had been set years before he enlisted in Starfleet. Now he remembered...the texture of the moment, the details. It was as if it had happened only moments ago. As he continued to play, nimble fingers picking out a familiar tune, he became lost again in the past.

"Tangaberries, globefruit..." Spock consulted his mother's handwritten list while Sybok roamed the narrow aisles of the fruit market in awe. "Here they are, Sybok. She didn't say how many of each, but globefruit are Father's favorite," Spock's attention was on his assigned task, merely performing a routine duty.

Sybok's eyes were wide with childish delight as he cast his eyes about him at the delicious selections. "So many, Brother," he breathed. "How can you choose?"

"Mother gave me a list," Spock replied patiently as he began selecting globefruit from the pile.

Sybok chuckled, the soft chuckle he used when there was danger of them being overheard. "You take me so literally, Spock-kam. At Gol, they took the joy out of food. They crushed it up and put it in earthen bowls to deny us the hedonistic pleasure of even having something to bite into."

"Crushed or whole, the nutritional content remains constant," Spock replied, discarding a less than perfect specimen.

"There was nothing they could do about the scent," Sybok continued as he took a globefruit and held it up, inhaling the fresh fragrance. "Fruit smells alive, Spock! Vibrant!"

Spock paused for a moment, turning to look at his brother in patient puzzlement. "It is fruit, Sybok."

Sybok's affectionate grin reappeared. Deft fingers snatched two more of the golden fruit, and he tossed them over his head. Spock stared in disbelief as Sybok juggled the fruit in complex patterns. "Alive..." Sybok whispered again when he finally saw a faint glimmer of childish wonder on the face of his seven-year old brother. "...and they wish to dance before they are eaten."

"How did you learn to do that?" Spock queried, trying to follow the path of all three projectiles at once and failing. "It's...fascinating!"

"I taught myself," Sybok replied with a flourish. The globefruit were just a trifle large for such a display and the third one slipped from his grasp, bouncing to the floor and rolling against Spock's sandal.

They both sank down to retrieve the errant fruit simultaneously as the proprietor came around the corner from the next aisle.

"Is there a problem?"

"My brother dropped this globefruit," Spock replied, ignoring Sybok's mischievous grin as he picked it up and added it to the bag.

"It's crushed," Sybok lamented playfully.

"We'll send it to T'Sai," Spock hissed, flushing slightly under the suspicious gaze of the proprietor.

Later as they ate their lunch at the foot of a fountain in Surak's square, Sybok leaned forward, his eyes sparking with curiosity.

"Tell me more about Earth."

"You haven't told me about Gol," Spock countered.

Sybok frowned petulantly. "Sand, rock, oppression...what is there to tell?"

"It is so peaceful there, so apart from everything else," Spock prompted, "so quiet, it fills the soul. Father says concentration is imperative when one wishes to achieve the highest levels of meditation, but my thoughts wander and I am often distracted. At Gol, there are no distractions."

"Distractions are a part of life," Sybok argued. "To spend an entire lifetime in contemplation denies the gift of our existence. Life must be lived; it must be experienced. Meditation was created to enhance life, not replace it."

"I do not seek to replace life with meditation."

"The devotees of Kolinahr do."

"They can't meditate every minute."

Sybok sighed. "They try. Why are you so curious about Gol?"

"The Kolinahr are the ultimate expression of logic. They master their emotions instead of their emotions mastering them. Look at how you can fool Father. He never knows what you're really thinking. What I think is usually written across my face like the pages of a book. Tell me how they do it, Sybok."

Sybok's expression became blank, emotionless. When he spoke again, his voice was a credible impersonation of the High Master. "We meditate. We seek to purge from our katras all emotion, all turmoil...all life. We are living death."

Spock was torn between admiration for Sybok's skill at mimicry, and the knowledge that it was not just disrespectful, but bordered on blasphemy. No matter what his personal opinion of T'Sai, it was irreverent to mock a Vulcan High Master. As Sybok's expression returned to its usual controlled brightness, Spock could not keep his lips from twitching just slightly in spite of his determination to control it.

Sybok grinned. "Ah, a chink in your Post-Reform armor! What would our venerable sire think if he knew you harbored ill will against the dragon lady herself?"

Spock lowered his gaze, and Sybok sobered. "I used to believe her cruelty was unintentional too, Spock-kam. Many of the Kolinahr see compassion as a weakness; after all, is it not a feeling? But T'Sai is different. She is like a le-matya stalking its prey, feeding not just on the body, but on the look of its victim as it draws a final searing breath. She experiences satisfaction when she wounds another. When she pronounced sentence on my mother I saw an emotion in her; jubilation.

Spock looked up, and saw the pain and grief reflected in Sybok's eyes, thinking of the way Amanda had clutched his shoulder in the study. How would he feel about T'Sai if she had forced Amanda to chose between exile and death? A chill ran along Spock's spine as he forced the thought from his mind. Amanda would never commit such a crime.

Seeming to follow Spock's train of thought, Sybok sighed heavily. "She did not do what they said she did, Spock-kam. And even if she had, what T'Sai has done in the name of logic has often been far worse. T'Sai could not silence my mother, nor could she deny the truth of her words, the purity of her vision."

Unwilling to comment on something of which he had no knowledge, Spock neatly folded the packet which had held their lunch and tucked it into the shopping bag. "I grieve with thee," he finally murmured.

Sybok's hand fell on his shoulder, and Spock looked up in surprise. The physical contact brought their minds together in a way that reminded Spock of Amanda. He felt a warm acceptance which flowed through him in pleasant ripples before Sybok pulled away. Spock had never felt such a sensation from a Vulcan before.

"We...we should return home," Spock stammered. "We have our music lessons this afternoon."

"There's time for a final stop," Sybok said, rising to his feet and shouldering the shopping bag. "We have one more purchase to make."

Spock found himself running to catch up with Sybok's long-legged stride as he weaved purposely through the crowd of shoppers. "But we have purchased everything on mother's list."

"Indeed," Sybok said with a cryptic smile. "This way."

Spock followed his brother through the shifting crowd to the far corner of the market square. Sybok paused before a shop which displayed exquisitely crafted musical instruments in all shapes and sizes, and turned to his younger brother, gesturing that he proceed him into the shop.

Spock stopped just beyond the threshold of the crowded shop, the sights and scents overwhelming his senses. One wall from ceiling to floor displayed harps, lyrettes and all manner of string instruments. The aroma of wood and varnish filled his nostrils, reminding him of his grandfather's harp. Sarek played it on occasion, but it was a family heirloom, and Spock was completely forbidden to play it. Whenever he was in the study, Spock's eyes would caress the graceful lines, admire the craftsmanship. The harp he and Sybok took their lessons on seemed as awkward and tuneless as a box with strings compared to Skon's harp, yet it was not his to play.

Sybok drew his brother to a row of harps which bore similarity to the forbidden harp in the study. "What do you think of this one?"

They examined them all, running amateur fingers along strings which Spock could fancy the muses themselves taking delight in. The shopkeeper watched them, nodding in approval as they handled with instruments with the proper respect, but making no comment as they discussed the virtues of each.

The one which had captured Sybok's interest had also captured Spock's. The finely grained asymmetrical surface glistened like brown satin; the tuning knobs glittered like pearls set in silver. The contoured base would rest comfortably against a thigh while the bridge curved gracefully upward into a flourish. Even without turning on the synthesizer, the music that wafted from its strings was full and resonant.

Sybok lifted it carefully from the stand and carried it to the shopkeeper. "How many credits for this one?"

Spock was puzzled. Until this moment, Sybok had shown little interest in music, even less in harps. Why he would spend such an amount on such a luxury Spock could not fathom.

"One hundred credits." The shopkeeper struck the balance from Sybok's account on the small credits card which Sybok gave him.

Spock's eyes widened. That amount of Sybok's inheritance had been allotted to him by Sarek to last the entire season, and he had just spent it on one purchase!

Sybok set the harp gently in the velvet-lined case and closed the lid. When they were back in the square, Sybok carrying his prize and Spock lugging the groceries, Spock could contain himself no longer.

"One hundred credits, Sybok!"

"A bargain," the older boy replied with a smile.

"But you spent all your credits!"

"Yes?" Sybok seemed to be missing the point.

"That was to last you all season."

"And what should I have spent it on?"

Spock didn't know how to respond. He'd never had an inheritance to spend. Sarek provided him with everything he needed.

"The credits gave no joy," Sybok said, as they reached a park bench partially shaded from the afternoon heat by a grove of trees. He sat on the bench and took the harp out of the case. "I've seen the looks you give Skon's harp, felt how much you've longed to play it. Can you put a price on that desire, Spock?"

Spock was staring at the harp, amazed at how much more beautiful it was here in the sunlight. "I do not know."

Sybok smiled, holding the harp out to his brother. "Play me a song."

Spock looked about them, eager to comply, but unsure of the propriety of playing in such a public place.

"Please."

Spock gave in, sinking beside his brother and tuning the harp. It seemed to mold itself against him, anticipate his next stroke. He could hardly believe the lovely sounds it made could be evoked by his touch. He chose a simple melody, a Pre-Reform tune which he had always liked, and played it. When he was finished, he saw tears in Sybok's eyes.

"We...we really should be going home," Spock suggested, feeling awkward at Sybok's reaction and vaguely uneasy, as if he had done something forbidden or inappropriate.

"Yes," Sybok wiped a tear from his eye and held out the case for Spock to put away the harp.

When it was secure and the case closed, Spock bowed his head. "Thank you for allowing me to play your harp, Sybok-kam."

"The harp is not mine, Brother," Sybok pressed the case into Spock's hands. "I bought it for you."

Spock stared at Sybok, and when he finally spoke it was in an incredulous whisper. "For me?"

"I told you the credits brought no joy," Sybok responded also in a whisper, his expression lighting up with delight. "The harp brings joy to us both, in the playing for you and in the listening for me. Two joys for a hundred credits...a bargain, my brother. A bargain indeed."

Spock was still strumming his fingers thoughtfully across his harp when Commander Chekov arrived. Leaning the harp against his shoulder, Spock nodded in greeting, gesturing for Chekov to take a seat.

"I did not wish to intrude," Chekov said, handing him two computer disks. "I heard that you were confined to quarters and thought these might help pass the time."

Spock accepted the disks, turning them over in his hand to read the labels. "Vladimir Levitsky's latest research on immune failure. Is he still on Nova Rodina?"

"Where else?" Chekov responded with a faint smile. "Ludmilla is starting college next year. I believe she's going to follow in her father's footsteps."

Spock nodded. "I'm certain she will. I was unaware that you had kept in touch with them."

Chekov shrugged. "I visit Nova Rodina now and then. I usually stay with Vlad and Ludmilla while I'm there."

If Spock was surprised by that revelation, his expression did not betray it. "Although I have not seen Doctor Levitsky since our mission to his planet, I do try to keep apprised of his work. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and look forward to studying the tapes."

Chekov's polite nod was a mirror image of his mentor's. "Do you remember what you said to me after Katya died?"

Spock remembered the only casualty of Nova Rodina's landing party, a young ensign who had given her life to save theirs. He recollected a lovely face framed by copper colored hair...Katya? Ah, yes...Katharine Hunt, Katya only to Chekov. Now he recalled; Chekov and Hunt had been in love.

"I cannot recall the specific words," Spock said quietly. "You were grieving her sacrifice."

"You..." Chekov paused, swallowing. "You told me that her act was a gift of love, and asked me to accept the gift in the manner which it was given."

"Your pain," Spock's voice was soft with anger towards his brother. "The pain Sybok made you share, it was the pain of losing Ensign Hunt?"

Chekov looked surprised. "No, I grieved for Katya, but there was no guilt. The sacrifice was hers to make, and as you said, the gift was the gift of love. To feel guilt...that would have invalidated the gift."

Now Spock was confused. "I do not understand."

Chekov's eyes focused on the warp perspective out the portal as if searching for his answer in space. It was a long time before he spoke.

"It seems that every woman I love..." He sighed. "Death can be overcome. It is hard, but the pain does fade. Guilt...guilt is another thing."

"Jenkins," Spock said, remembering another of Chekov's unlucky choices. Lieutenant Denise Jenkins, who had turned out to be a Klingon agent. Chekov had killed her to keep her from killing Kirk. It had crossed Spock's mind before that Chekov had more than his share of gruesomely failed romances. It occurred to him now that the guilt Chekov had carried over Jenkins death would overshadow the loss of the others. The taking of any life was traumatic, but to destroy a woman one loves...he suddenly recalled the expression on James Kirk's face as he held McCoy back, allowing destiny to run its course on a New York City street.

"I killed her," Chekov whispered. "And until Sybok took away the guilt I could see only that I had taken her life."

"And now?"

Chekov relaxed, smiling. "I made a choice, a difficult decision, but it was the right one. Now the guilt is gone. I can live with it...I can remember without hurting."

"What Sybok did was wrong."

Chekov shrugged. "Perhaps. But he meant no harm, and he truly believed he was healing us of our pain."

"For his own purposes," Spock added. "He controlled you, made you obey his commands."

"He is gone," Chekov said softly. "And so is the pain. Sybok sacrificed himself to save us all. Like Katya, he gave the ultimate gift. If I had not known he was your brother, I would have guessed it."

Spock looked up, unsure of whether Chekov was teasing him or not. The gleam in the commander's eye told him that he was. Chekov's sense of humor had always been a little dark.

"Self-sacrifice does seem to be a family trait," Spock admitted slowly.

Chekov smiled wryly. "I believe that Sybok wanted very much for you to accept him. Now he is gone, and all that is left is his final gift. Have you accepted that gift in the spirit which it was given, Mister Spock?"

Spock raised a thoughtful brow at the excellent question, but made no other response.

"Good night, sir," Chekov turned and left the cabin.

It was a long time before Spock rose to put the harp away...even longer before he began undressing for bed. Chekov had spoken of gifts. In their youth, Sybok had given more than just material gifts, and he had given not just to Spock. Amanda, who had secretly dreaded Sybok's arrival in her household, had quickly grown fond of him in spite of her fear that he would replace her son in Sarek's affections. In Sybok, Amanda had seen what she longed to see in Spock, a reflection of her own uniquely Human sense of humor.

"'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock--"

The door chime interrupted Sybok's reading, and Amanda rose from the table in the study with a shake of her head. "A day without interruptions...I've yet to have one."

Spock looked up from his calculus homework. A part of his mind had been following the reading; Lewis Carroll was one of his favorites.

"Go ahead, Sybok," Amanda encouraged as she headed for the door to the entrance hall. "Don't stop on my account."

"I think I shall wait for your return, Lady Amanda," Sybok said, slipping a marker between the pages. "Perhaps Spock needs help with his homework."

Spock's denial died as he caught Sybok's glance. Lewis Carroll was Amanda's favorite also.

"Thank you, Sybok," Amanda's smile was genuine. "I hope this won't take long."

Leaving the door behind her ajar, Amanda went to greet her guest.

Spock was about to say something to Sybok when T'Pau's voice rang through the foyer and into the study.

"I will speak with Sarek."

"Sarek isn't here, T'Pau. He had a late appointment at the embassy."

"Is it true what I have heard, that for Sybok he seeks a bondmate from the House of Studan?"

"T'Ariz lost her bondmate in a traffic accident. She's Sybok's age, and her parents are willing--"

"The child comes from an inferior house. The son of Sarek should bond only with a--"

"But T'Ariz is perfect. Every other female Sybok's age has a bondmate. We are fortunate that she's available."

"Thee does not understand."

"I'm not ignorant of the political ramifications of Sarek's choice," Amanda said softly. "How could I be when the same concerns swayed his decision to bond my own son to the daughter of Sofab?"

"The House of Sindal is a powerful voice in the Council."

"A voice which seeks to ignore the truest of Surak's teachings," Amanda countered, her voice quavering with emotion. "Sarek chose T'Pring for Spock in a hope to unite two of Vulcan's most powerful clans. His choice to bond Sybok with the House of Studan will provide the House of Surak with a link to those less powerful. Sarek wants to unite Vulcan, and the surest way to do that is to set an example to the last of the aristocracy. The teachings of Surak--"

"Do not speak to me of Surak's teachings," T'Pau bristled. "Thee are an outworlder, parroting the words of your bondmate who is too young to understand that some ways are not to be questioned."

"If Sarek doesn't question them, who will? I know that you have never forgiven him for taking me as wife, but our marriage is a symbol of Vulcan's future."

"The Kolinahr claim it is a symbol of how far the House of Surak has come toward the brink of destruction. Thee speaks of Vulcan as if it were your birthright, but thou are a stranger to our ways."

"I live by your ways. Where I was born is irrelevant. My husband is Vulcan; my son is Vulcan. My heart claims Vulcan as home, and I have no wish to see Vulcan divided in the way Earth once was."

There was silence, and, in the study Spock and Sybok exchanged a glance of surprise. Sybok grinned. "Our Lady takes her sword in hand, my broth--"

Spock shushed Sybok's whisper as T'Pau spoke. "Thee seeks to change the ways of our people, brought down to us from the time of the beginning."

"Change is the only alternative to stagnation. Look at your beginning, T'Pau. It was every bit as barbaric as that of my ancestors. Look at the Kolinahr, look at the House of Sindal! They don't live in the present with bits of the past affecting them; they live in the past! I know you seek only the best for all of Vulcan. In spite of our differences, we share that desire."

"I believe that thee wants only the best for Vulcan as thou see it, but thy voice cannot be considered in this matter, Amanda."

"My voice is unimportant, T'Pau. It is the Voice of Vulcan to which you must answer."

"I will take my leave of thee," T'Pau responded coolly. "Tell Sarek I wish to speak with him."

"I will," Amanda sighed. "Live long and prosper."

"Peace and long life."

Amanda came back into the study, closing the double doors behind her, and then leaning heavily against them. She cast a glance at the two suddenly studious youths and could not suppress a grin. "Sybok, where were we?"

Sybok took the volume and opened it, removing the marker and laying it aside. He looked up at Amanda, the momentary glimpse of sympathy and admiration in his dark eyes surprising her before he lowered them to continue the reading.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my lady! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird and shun the frumious Bandersnatch!"

Sybok looked up from the book, breaking into a wide, innocent grin. Spock, who had glanced up sharply when Sybok altered the first line to address Amanda, now stared at his mother, awaiting her reaction.

Amanda's lips quivered, and then she smiled. Finally she threw her head back and laughed. Sybok's rich chuckle followed, and soon the both of them were leaning weakly over the table, unable to control their giggles. Spock regarded them both with a mixture of disbelief and astonishment, an unwilling smile coming to own his face almost of its own accord.

Amanda was holding her stomach, a tear sliding down her cheek as she gasped for air and summoned control. "I've...I've called T'Pau a number of names over the years, Sybok, but I've never thought of likening her to a bandersnatch!"

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?" Sybok asked between chuckles.

"Not I," Amanda smiled. "But there is one who will."

Later that evening, Sarek returned home, greeting his wife with outstretched fingers and nodding to his sons as they took their places at the dinner table.

"I have spoken with T'Pau," he began without preamble once he had taken his seat at the head of the table. Amanda froze in the act of unfolding her napkin. "She has agreed with me that Sybok should bond with T'Ariz."

Sybok exchanged a triumphant glance with Amanda, while Spock fought to keep his expression neutral.

"And how was your day, wife?" Sarek queried.

"Frabjous, Sarek," Amanda said lightly. "Simply frabjous."

Sarek frowned, studying first his wife, and then his sons as if looking for an explanation. Amanda met his gaze openly and with a slight, expectant smile, both Sybok and Spock seemed to be taking new interest in their table settings.

Sarek seemed to consider asking for clarification, and then apparently decided it might be best not to pursue it. Once he launched into an account of a situation at the Embassy, Spock dared a glance at this brother, who, unseen by Sarek, winked first at Spock and then at Amanda.

T'Liba

"The warring clans killed the first of the negotiators sent. More volunteered; they in turn were also killed. But Surak's influence had spread throughout the nomadic camps, and soon the wisdom of his words was appreciated by even the most bloodthirsty of our ancestors. The Reformation took centuries to accomplish, a long and tedious process to draw Vulcan out of the darkness of barbarism and into the light of logic. Surak's death served as the catalyst for this wave of enlightenment, his teachings becoming the model for Vulcan society. Not only did Surak, father of all we hold to be true, bring peace to our planet, but he sacrificed his own life so that peace might continue."

A hand rose in the air and T'Liba stepped from behind the lectern and nodded at her pupil. "Mister Donner?"

"Being Human, I liken your Surak to Earth's Christ. There are many parallels. The way he lived his life, his commitment to peace, the nature of his sacrifice. The chronicles of Surak's life seem almost mythical. How much of what you teach is substantiated by evidence?"

"Vulcans do not teach myth, Mister Donner," T'Liba responded, opening the case she had brought with her to the lecture hall. Removing a large, leather-bound volume from within, she set it on the lectern. "There are written records of that time, some of which are housed in the Academy Museum. This," she rested one hand on the volume, "is the most treasured of those records, the personal journal of Surak himself. Within these ancient pages is the blueprint for our current civilization. More questions? Teress?"

A female Andorian rose from her seat. "Which of Surak'ss teachingss iss conssidered by modern sscholarss to be the mosst important?"

"An excellent question," T'Liba allowed herself a slight smile, "one which shall surely appear on your final test. The answer is that there are two opposing factions of modern Vulcan society. One believes that Surak's worship of logic is the sole key to self-understanding and enlightenment. The Kolinahr are the personification of that faction. Their pursuit of logic in its purest form results in a cleansing mastery. Most students, adepts and masters of Kolinahr choose a life apart from modern society, attempting to emulate as closely as possible the desert existence Surak and his followers embraced. Another school of thought contends that although logic must be a guiding force in everyday life, that the truest of Surak's teachings is his concept of IDIC."

"Which sschool of thought do you favor?" Teress asked.

"The lectern is not the place to promote personal preference, Teress," T'Liba's gentle tone took the sting out of her words. "Are there any further questions? Very well. Your final exam is next week. Please have your research material turned in prior to the exam. You are dismissed."

The offworlder students filed out of the small amphitheater, and T'Liba collected their assignment disks. Today a small group of students lingered about the lectern for a closer look at Surak's journal. The daughter of a Federation diplomat smiled brightly as T'Liba opened the fragile book to reveal the handwritten pages.

"You're not behind the lectern now, T'Liba. Which school of thought do you favor?"

A half a dozen young faces upturned in expectation as T'Liba lowered the journal gently back onto the protective leather binding. T'Liba liked and respected her offworlder students, enjoyed the challenge of teaching Vulcan history to beings who constantly questioned the dogma of her race. She found their curiosity appealing, their point of view refreshing, and their intellect surprising. Few Vulcan instructors taught Overview of Vulcan History for more than a semester. T'Liba had taught it for nearly a decade.

"Consider for a moment what you know of me," T'Liba said softly. "Surak taught that example is the greatest teacher of all."

"You believe in IDIC," Evan Briggs said, his voice ringing with conviction. Briggs, a young Human male, had decided early in the semester that T'Liba was the best discovery since Cochrane's warp drive. His crush on her did not inhibit his studies, rather it seemed to enhance his performance. T'Liba found his blind devotion amusing, since she was old enough to be his mother.

T'Liba inclined her head. "IDIC is our past, and it is also our future." Her gaze settled on her students; Terran, Andorian, Tellarite, children of a dozen colony worlds. Her class truly personified the melting pot of the Federation. "It is what ties this journal to Vulcan's seat on the Federation Council. Appreciation of diversity is the keystone for growth."

"Well spoken, child," Amanda Grayson said from the doorway. She entered the room accompanied by a tall, slender Vulcan female who wore a pale blue uniform, a ShiKahr Medical Center insignia glinting from her breast pocket.

"Lady Amanda, T'Ariz, greetings."

Amanda nodded her head.

"Greetings, T'Liba, greetings students of T'Liba," T'Ariz said. "Class is over, is it not?"

The students stared openly at the two women. Amanda Grayson was well-known on Vulcan as the wife of Ambassador Sarek. The vibrantly attractive woman at her side, however, was an enigma. T'Liba noted with amusement that Briggs seemed to be reconsidering his loyalties.

"Class is over, we were merely discussing Surak's journal."

"Your students are fortunate to have the opportunity to see such a priceless artifact," Amanda said with a tolerant smile. "T'Ariz and I had hoped to catch you before you returned to the Museum, there is a private matter to be discussed."

The students took the hint and left the room. Briggs brought up the rear with a final curious glance at the three woman who remained.

T'Liba waited till the door had closed behind him before speaking again. "You are looking refreshed, T'Ariz."

T'Ariz, intent upon the journal on the lectern, was reverently leafing through the beautifully inked pages.

"T'Ariz?" T'Liba repeated, exchanging a tolerant glance with Amanda.

T'Ariz's eyes were riveted to the slightly yellowing pages, her fingers trailing along the immaculate margins as she scanned the flowing Pre-Reform script.

"It is impressive," T'Liba said softly. "A reminder of all we once were."

"And the promise of what we may yet become," Amanda added. "T'Ariz?"

T'Ariz, who had seemed oblivious to Amanda and T'Liba as she examined the journal, now looked up, blinking. "Pardon, my lady, were you speaking to me?"

Amanda smiled. "T'Liba was saying that you looked refreshed. I must agree. I think perhaps the trip to DahhanaKahr made a nice vacation for you."

"The symposium schedule was light, but I found the presentations most beneficial. Also, it was gratifying to meet so many long distance colleagues in person."

Amanda smiled, leave it to a Vulcan to describe a weekend getaway as beneficial and gratifying.

"Was the weather in DahhanaKahr temperate?" T'Liba asked.

"Quite," T'Ariz said primly.

Amanda watched the formal exchange between T'Ariz and T'Liba, marveling at the Vulcan reserve which belied the close relationship between them. Listening to two Vulcans talk like this was a field study in an unspoken dialect. Words exchanged on a seemingly casual level hid a deeper divulgence of self. Only after years of exposure had she become aware of the nuances of such a conversation. Most Humans never comprehended it, hence the myth that Vulcans did not develop friendships.

T'Liba and T'Ariz stood here as claim to the contrary, if one were observant enough to see the signs. As daughters of the House of Surak, the only two of their generation, they had grown closer than most biological sisters. Their common backgrounds, what T'Pau would scathingly refer to as "being lowly born," had only intensified their close bond.

"We bring news from Spock, child," Amanda said softly, thinking of another sibling bond, and the reason she had brought T'Ariz with her.

"Proceed," T'Liba replied, her expression composed.

"Spock bears a katra," T'Ariz said. "He returns to Vulcan to seek kr'alieu for the one he brings with him."

"I see," T'Liba's calm response betrayed no outward sign of what she might be feeling, but Amanda could guess at her disappointment. She knew T'Liba had hoped Spock was returning because he had remembered her.

"Spock has asked Sarek to rescind his declaration of klee-fah-tu," Amanda said gently. "He bears the katra of one whose name I may not speak."

Now T'Liba's eyes widened as she met T'Ariz' steady gaze. "I grieve with thee."

T'Ariz inclined her head in acceptance of the ritual words of condolence.

"Does the head of my house request my presence to greet Spock?" T'Liba asked of Amanda.

"Sarek will leave the decision to you, child."

"I...I think perhaps it would be best that you and Sarek greet him alone," T'Liba said. "Spock may not wish to see me. If I await him in our home, the decision will be his, as is proper."

"Spock does not consider you--" Amanda's eyes were filled with a reflection of the anguish she sensed in the heart of the younger woman.

"T'Liba-kam, I must beg your indulgence," T'Ariz interrupted softly.

T'Liba nodded, eyes downcast.

"You have listened too long to the illogical rantings of one who speaks only from spite. T'Pring wishes to humiliate you to repay the slur your contentment casts upon her excuse for kal-i-fee."

"Her excuse for kal-i-fee was untruth. Spock's mind is every bit as powerful as Stonn's!" T'Liba responded impulsively, her posture stiffening as she defended her husband.

Amanda's lips twitched into a smile and even T'Ariz looked amused.

T'Liba flushed. "I was...imprecise. I have no personal knowledge of the power of Stonn's mind--"

"And I am certain you have no desire to obtain it," T'Ariz finished. "He is T'Pring's burden now, and I can think of no other more deserving."

"T'Ariz is right, T'Liba," Amanda insisted. "Only T'Pring sees you as chattel. In the eyes of all others, you are wife to my son."

"What others believe is unimportant," T'Liba responded, her voice tightly controlled. "I concern myself only with Spock's view of my status. He has called me wife, yet he has not petitioned the Council for my freedom."

"A formality," T'Ariz admonished. "A man does not allow chattel to manage his property. He does not--"

"A man does not forget a wife," T'Liba interrupted, her tone quietly decisive. "I am a stranger to my hus--to my master."

"He will remember you!" Amanda insisted. "But you must give him time."

"I shall give him eternity, my lady," T'Liba said softly. "Wife or chattel, I belong to him, and I will serve him. But until Spock frees me, I cannot claim to be his wife. I am bound by Vulcan law, brought down from the time of the beginning."

"Less than twenty-four hours ago, you declared yourself a daughter of the House of Surak before half the population of ShiKahr!" Amanda reminded impatiently. "Now you're calling yourself chattel?"

"I spoke impulsively at the concert," T'Liba said softly. "The claim was not mine to make. T'Pring was--"

"Don't you dare say she was right!" Amanda interrupted. "And don't you dare say my son sees you as chattel."

"I would not presume to speak for Spock, my lady. Even a wife would not do that."

Amanda exchanged an exasperated glance with T'Ariz, watching the younger woman's expression settle into stern disapproval. In spite of the fact that T'Ariz did not agree with T'Liba's logic, she made no further comment. Amanda recognized the stubborn tilt to her daughter-in-law's chin and also decided to let the matter drop. For now.

Spock

Spock awoke from a particularly vivid dream, sitting up abruptly in his bunk. The dream, one that had been recurring since his death and refusion, unsettled as always. In the past, he had simply meditated the peculiar uneasy sensation away, but he knew that would not be an option now. Until Sybok's katra could be put to rest, Spock could engage only the lightest of trances.

Methodically, he showered and dressed, planning out his day. He would view the research tapes Commander Chekov had given him, then he would...

Spock met his own gaze in the mirror, losing the train of thought as he sought to reconcile the contradictory images which swirled in his brain like the mist from San Francisco Bay. Three years ago, pon farr had come again. He had returned to Vulcan to be with T'Liba. T'Liba was his bondmate, his consort, the keeper of his property.

He remembered Amanda presenting her to him after his refusion. T'Liba was Commander Uhura's height, petite for a Vulcan. Her figure was pleasantly symmetrical, her pale olive skin flawless. He supposed that by Human standards she was attractive, perhaps even beautiful. Her thick black hair had been pulled back from her temple and twisted into a braid which trailed down her back. Beneath arched brows, T'Liba's dark eyes seemed perpetually downcast; her long lashes fanned her cheeks. The one time she had met his gaze, the intensity of it seared him like a phaser blast. At that moment he'd experienced a recollection of her, unclothed, curled seductively beside him in a large bed and whispering things Vulcans did not speak of openly. Before he could grasp the memory to examine it, another woman appeared in his thoughts. She, too, was naked, but her head was cushioned on a Starfleet field jacket. He remembered the feel of her beneath him, and how she had cried out when he...

He stared at his reflection, at the unspoken accusation in his own eyes. The dream which had haunted him all these months, was more real than a dream, he knew. No dream was that vivid, no forbidden fantasy could be so detailed.

In his dream he was engulfed with the blood fever. He burned with an illogical flame more elemental than Vulcan's Forge. In his dream he returned to Vulcan, to T'Liba. She was waiting for him. No servant greeted him at the door for she had sent them all away. The house which had always seemed so forbidding now welcomed him. He had taken the stairs, found her as he knew he would, in his bed. The first time was quick, not pleasurable, but necessary. Twice more he had taken her in succession, grateful for her eager responsiveness to his violent need. It was only later, after they had both rested that he experienced the strong urge to pleasure her. He reached out to stroke the curve of her back. She stretched and sighed, rolling into his arms, her face upturned to receive his kiss. T'Liba, consort, wife...t'hy'la.

But the dream did not end with memories of the leisurely passion which followed. Instead he found himself in a strange place, a cave which quaked in rhythm to the pulses of pain which ran through him. Taut with need again, he drew himself into a miserable ball and moaned. This time the woman came to him, her touch cool against his burning flesh. She spoke to him in calm, reassuring tones, stroked the robe from his body, removed her own clothing as he fumbled awkwardly. She guided him, encouraged him, and whispered his name over and over as he took her, the litany becoming a first a breathless gasp and then finally a cry of release.

"Saavik," he said, no longer able to meet his own gaze in the mirror. The woman who had eased his need in the cave was Lieutenant Saavik, his ward, the child he had rescued from Hellguard. Saavik, ward, daughter...t'hy'la? Spock closed his eyes, unwilling to accept what his mind was telling him. He cast about for something to distract his thoughts and found himself recalling a conversation with his brother, an exchange so innocent and bittersweet that it brought a half smile to his stern features.

"Does it feel different?" Spock asked, breaking a long silence.

He and Sybok were stretched on cushioned seats in the gazebo. It was pleasantly cool here. The drooping branches of a small grove of shade trees blocked out not just the afternoon sun, but the view of the house behind them as well.

The house was to have been Sarek's, separated from his parents home by an expansive courtyard and ornamental garden. Sarek, however, had never occupied the house, preferring to live in the home where he had been raised. No one but Amanda dared to accuse him of sentiment, since the house had been built as the home of an ambassador, and Sarek had taken on his father's duties as an ambassador after his death. The empty house, part of the family's estate, was used now only on rare occasions when there were more guests than Sarek's home could accommodate. To Spock, it had always seemed oppressively silent and lonely.

The gazebo, however had become a favorite refuge for the two brothers, more favored even than Amanda's garden. Spock often brought his harp here to play, and Sybok listened, sometimes for hours. When Spock's fingers cramped and could no longer work easily over the fine strings, they talked. It was here that they spoke of things often unspoken by adults; it was here that they shared the secrets and revelations of their young souls.

Sybok rolled over onto his stomach, propping his chin on folded arms as he considered his brother's question. "Yes," he responded thoughtfully. "I feel something. Not her thoughts, not now, but a thread of consciousness. It's difficult to describe, and rather distracting at first, but I'm getting used to it."

Spock sat up, crossing his legs beneath him. "What does it feel like, the bonding itself?" Spock knew what he was asking was considered private, only his growing anxiety over his own bonding and his security in Sybok's acceptance could prompt such a personal inquiry. Sybok had made it look so easy, but then, Sybok made everything look easy.

Sybok sighed. "I felt...it was strange, euphoric...no, more than that...it's...it's difficult to describe."

"Could you hear her thoughts?"

"No, it wasn't a telepathic conversation," Sybok frowned, concentrating. "More a union of our minds, a blending of our diversities. I could sense her, experience her. It was pleasant." He grinned. "Very pleasant. Rather like..." His voice trailed off as he studied the eager expression of his younger brother. "Pleasant." He finished lamely.

Now Spock frowned, his curiosity undaunted. "What were you about to say?"

"When you play your harp, what do you feel?"

"I do not understand. Music and bonding are two different things."

"Ah, but when you play, you look so happy, so contented. No one derives more pleasure from music than you, Brother."

"I suppose that it's because I like to play," Spock said slowly.

"That is a feeling," Sybok said. "Now, imagine multiplying that feeling--"

"By what number?"

"It's unimportant."

"If you wish to be accurate--"

"You're missing the point! When T'Ariz and I bonded, for a moment I felt something similar to what you must feel when you play your harp."

"Similar, but not precisely," Spock said, shaking his head. "You are not telling me everything."

Sybok smiled affectionately. "I have been told that each bond is unique. What T'Ariz and I felt may not be what you and T'Pring will feel. Also, T'Ariz and I are older. I am seventeen, Brother. Ten years--"

"I ask only to prepare myself," Spock pleaded. "I...I fear failure."

Sybok raised up to echo Spock's position, legs crossed beneath him. "Why?"

Spock lowered his gaze. "I am only half-Vulcan. What if my mind is not strong enough to accomplish the bond?"

"That sounds like something T'Sai would say! Spock, you don't really believe that, do you?"

"I am what I am, Sybok. There are those who challenge my claim as a true Vulcan. I thought should I pass my kahs-wan that the matter would be settled, but I see now I still have much to prove."

"You have nothing to prove. You're more Vulcan than any Vulcan I know! Why, you're more Vulcan than I--"

"My mother is Human."

"A wonderful advantage," Sybok assured. "You should try to be more like her. Lady Amanda is a remarkable woman."

"That only makes it more difficult," Spock said, emotion creeping into his voice. "I honor both my parents, respect the cultures of both their worlds, but I have chosen to be Vulcan. I do not wish to fail."

"You will not fail. I have faith in you, Brother...faith you do not yet have in yourself."

"Then tell me what to expect. Tell me everything."

Sybok could not resist another smile. "You are persistent."

Spock waited patiently as Sybok searched for the words to explain.

"You may not sense it in T'Pring," he began. "But when I bonded with T'Ariz I felt her desire."

"Desire? A desire for what?"

"Haven't you ever...?" Sybok raked Spock with an appraising stare. The innocence he saw in his expression made him want to laugh and groan both at once. He settled for another sigh. "No, probably not."

"What?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"I would."

Sybok opened his mouth and then closed it again. He shook his head bemusedly. "I...I cannot explain."

"Please, Sybok!"