STAR TREK - TNG - Unification

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Star Trek - TNG - Unification
Chapter One
ADMIRAL RUAH BRACKETT had a secret.
Not a terribly profound one, and nothing that would ever interfere with her duties as a fleet admiral of
Starfleet Command. But it was a secret nonetheless and she enjoyed keeping it. There was something
titillating about indulging a private idiosyncrasy that was known to no one.
She felt a momentary twinge of guilt as she and her young aide strode into the transporter room of
Starbase 234, for her mission was of such importance that she should not be thinking of her personal
pleasures. The message she carried had been deemed too important to risk on subspace and was to be
delivered only in person. The security of the Federation might be at stake--and yet the foremost thought
on her mind was her anticipation of the next few moments.
"Well, Lieutenant, shall we do this?" She addressed her young aide, Severson, who was looking a little
pale under the freckles which dusted his face. Lieutenant Severson, she knew, wasn't looking forward to
the experience of transporting from starbase to starship; he claimed it was altogether unpleasant and in
fact made him queasy. He suffered it stoically because as her aide there was no way to avoid the
process, and after having garnered this plum assignment, he wasn't about to risk it because of transporter
nausea.
"Yes, Admiral." He waited until she had taken her place on the pad, then stepped on beside her. They
made an unusual pair--the tall, regal admiral with her close-cropped brown curls and the smaller,
carrotheaded young manrebut in fact they worked effortlessly together, and for that Brackett was willing
to tolerate his frailty with the transporter.
"Let us know when you're ready, Chief," she said to the transporter engineer, a seasoned veteran from
the planet Nason Barta. He was remarkably fast at entering molecular codes because of the ten digits on
each of his appendages.
"I am prepared, Admiral Brackett. Please give me your command." Brackett smiled. The moment was
here.
For the secret was that she loved being transported.
She knew most people found that it produced no response whatsoever, physical or emotional; others,
like Severson, became queasy or disoriented and felt it actively unpleasant.
For Brackett, it was a transcendent experience. The conversion of her molecular structure into a
subatomically dissociated matter stream created a sensation that was rapturous: a mystical- spiritualsexual
experience all wrapped up in one powerful phenomenon. Her consciousness remained intact during the
transport, of course, and in that breathtaking instant of dematerialization and materialization she sensed
that she brushed against something unknowable, some mysterious, powerful force that existed only in that
brief and sublime moment. She often felt she was a breath away from grasping, from understanding
it--but then it was over and she arrived at her destination. And always, she longed for the next time.
"Thank you, Chief. Proceed." Severson tensed beside her, and Brackett closed her eyes, focusing on the
intense experience that was to come. A roaring sound in her ears signaled the beginning of the
dematerialization process, and there was the brief, flashing swirl of light and then the sensation of
swooping into a void--then blackness.
A second, a fraction of a second--how long was it?
Majestic feelings overwhelmed her; was she soaring?
Tumbling? Ascending? There it was, that unknowable something; she was reaching out for it, a second
more and she would touch it.
"Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Admiral Brackett.
It's good to see you again." She looked into Miles O'Brien's cheerful Irish face and smiled automatically.
It seemed as though she were swimming up from a dark crystal pool, and she preferred to remain within
its remarkable depths. But of course she had business to attend to.
"And you, Chief O'Brien." She looked around lYansporter Room Three, still light-headed, getting her
bearings. And there was Picard.
She smiled as she saw the familiar face. Jean-Luc Picard was an incredibly attractive man with
handsome, chiseled features; he had some time ago lost his hair, except for a closely trimmed fringe
around the sides, and as far as she was concerned the baldness added to his virile image. She admired
and respected him--but she was also deeply drawn to him on a feral, primitive level. Maintaining the
bearing and reserve of a superior officer was always difficult around this man, though she was sure he
was unaware of that fact.
"It's good to see you again, Captain." "And you, Admiral Brackett." "Shall we?" she asked, and he
gestured her ahead of him through the transporter room door; they exited, followed by Severson, who
was as pale as a ghost and drawing deep breaths of air to keep from throwing up.
When they had reached the bridge and entered the captain's ready room, she turned to Severson.
"You're excused, Lieutenant." The matter she had come to discuss was not for anyone's ears but
Picard's.
The captain moved toward his replicator. "Would you care for refreshments? Tea, perhaps?" She smiled.
She knew this man, knew what was going on inside him, knew what he was truly feeling in spite of his
remote, detached manner.
"You're a cool one, Picard," she said.
He turned to her, quizzical, an eyebrow lifted, his look asking the question for him.
"I know you well enough to know that you're burning with curiosity about this summons of mine.
And yet you almost manage to convince me that your only concern is a cup of Earl Grey." "And I know
you well enough to know that you'll only tell me what you want to in your own good time.
So we might as well have tea." She smiled as he held her look. They were old friends; they'd had these
fencing matches many times before. In fact their first encounter--when they were both cadets at Starfleet
Academy--had been on the debate team. They delighted in opposing each other with vehement
arguments, and then switching sides and going at it again. During the course of their careers they had
continued the friendly rivalry and Brackett always found herself looking forward to the match.
So if Jean-Luc Picard wanted to pretend nonchalance, she understood the gambit. But she held the
upper hand this time; she knew the startling reason for this meeting, and perhaps she would make him
wait for a few moments before she revealed it.
"I apologize for the mystery, Captain," she began, "but we must attempt to contain the information I'm
about to reveal to you--at least as long as possible." He regarded her calmly, waiting with no perceptible
indication of curiosity.
"Three weeks ago, one of our most celebrated ambassadors--an adviser to Federation leaders for
generations--disappeared. He left no word of his destination." And still he waited, gazing at her patiently.
She moved toward his desk and quickly activated the computer console there.
"Eight days ago, intelligence reports placed him on Romulus--and I assure you it's an unauthorized visit."
She keyed an instruction and then said, "Computer, initiate linkage between this terminal and Starbase
computer system alpha-two-nine." "Linkage complete," responded the computer voice pleasantly.
Brackett busied herself for a moment with computer instructions, wondering if Picard would interject a
question. When he did, it was minimal. "A defection?" he queried, in the most even of tones.
"If it is, the damage to Federation security would be incalculable." She tapped a few more times and then
gestured for him to look at his monitor.
A blurry image appeared on the computer screen-- it seemed to consist of several figures but none was
distinguishable. Picard leaned in, trying to decipher it.
"Taken on Romulus, by long-range scanner," said Brackett. "Computer, enhance image in section
fourdelta." The computer whirred and the blurred images began to come into focus. The peripheral
images were still fuzzy, but the central figure gradually came into sharp relief.
Admiral Brackett looked for Picard's reaction as he found himself looking at the unmistakable image of
Spock of Vulcan--dressed in Romulan clothing.
Spock, a revered figure in Starfleet history. Spock, the renowned ambassador. Spock, venerated
architect of peace in the galaxy. Was he a defector to the Romulans?
Picard stared at Brackett in astonishment, and she could not resist a wry smile.
At least now she had his attention.
Chapter Two
COMMANDER WILL RIKER was so wrapped up in his thoughts as he strode the corridor of Deck
Eleven that he ran right into Ensign Gretchen Naylor. Their shoulders bumped and he snapped out of his
reverie to find the tall brunette with pale green eyes looking at him in surprise.
"Excuse me, sir, I should have been more careful--" "It's my fault, Ensign. I was a million light-years away
and I wasn't watching where I was going. You okay?" "Just fine, sir." She smiled and held his gaze with
her amazing eyes, and the tall, bearded officer found himself wondering if Ensign Naylor had engineered
this little mishap. He realized he had been noticing her quite a bit lately, though always in the most
innocuous of circumstances. She had been in Ten- Forward, the ship's lounge, a few times when he was
there, and in Engineering when he had held a consultation with Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge.
She wore a gold uniform and might be assigned to any area of ship's operations; he realized he had no
idea what it was she did.
"What's your post, Ensign?" No reason not to familiarize himself with the crew of the ship; that fell well
within his duties as first off~cer. It was only Naylor's green eyes and her generous, full-lipped mouth that
made him feel as though this were a more personal inquiry.
"Security, sir. I work with Lieutenant Worf in R and l--recon and intelligence." Her smile was direct and
straightforward, lacking any hint of innuendo.
Riker liked that smile. His mind shot forward to the two of them in Ten-Forward, heads bent together in
quiet conversation, Naylor's mouth parted as she listened, little tendrils of dark hair falling forward as she
leaned toward him.
"Very well, Ensign. Carry on." Riker heard himself dismissing her and saw a momentary flicker of
something--disappointment?--in her eyes. He nodded and walked on, wondering if she stood and stared
after him, perplexed by his abrupt departure. He didn't look back to find out.
Now was not the time to indulge in a shipboard flirtation. He knew himself well enough to know that his
feelings were particularly vulnerable at this point, and an innocent friendship might rocket out of control.
That was dangerous on a starship, a small community where everyone knew everyone else. An intense
love affair could go wrong, leaving an uncomfortable residue; on a ship millions of light-years from port
such a situation could create the kind of friction that spread like the Circassian Plague and undermined
morale and efficiency. Riker had learned iron self-discipline in order to avoid such troublesome situations.
For he was feeling restless again. That was the most precise term he could find for the vague miasma that
overcame him from time to time. It wasn't intense, it wasn't dire, it wasn't profound. Just unsettling.
The first thing he always noticed was a slight tendency to become distracted. Sitting on the bridge,
hearing the routine cadence of orders given and received, he would find that he had missed a few minutes
of activity because his mind was in an Alaskan wood, hearing the crunch of his footsteps on icy snow.
Craving for certain foods was another symptom. He would be almost overcome by longing for hot
oatmeal with cinnamon, a bubbling potato casserole, or steaming split-pea soup--all warm, filling dishes
that his father used to make on cold winter nights.
And then, inevitably, his mind would turn to thoughts of his own command.
It was a matter Riker thought he had resolved, and it annoyed him that it kept creeping back, like an
irritating sound that can't be completely blocked. His decision to stay on the Enterprise as first officer was
a conscious choice that completely satisfied the rational part of his mind. His reasons were sound and he
had comfortably come to terms with them.
Why, then, this nagging refrain? Why this occasional lapse into introspection and doubt? Riker liked
tidiness in his life, and this refusal of his feelings to be neatly compartmentalized distressed him.
What he needed was an adventure. His own adventure. They were even now racing through space
toward Vulcan, hoping to discover the events leading up to Ambassador Spock's strange disappearance.
But that was the captain's mission, and though he would do everything he could to support and abet that
mission, it was not his.
Riker stopped outside Holodeck Two, his mind still tumbling with these unwelcome thoughts. The
holodeck had been his destination, for he often came here when he was feeling restless, and usually found
some measure of satisfaction in an hour or two of music. Music had the power to quiet his mind, to
restore his serenity, and to rejuvenate his enthusiasm.
It made the difference in his life.
What program would he choose tonight? He'd often lost himself for hours playing trombone with a
simulated New Orleans jazz group. But ever since the appearance of the remarkable female holofigure
Minuet in that program--and her reemergence in the elaborate scheme of the alien child Barash--the
purity of that music had been compromised.
"Earth," Riker found himself saying after he had keyed instructions to the holodeck computer.
"Memphis, Tennessee. Year, 1925. A honky-tonk called Stumpy's." "Program complete," came the
dulcet tones of the computer, and the doors to the holodeck slid open.
The noise and the smoke greeted him immediately.
The babble of happy voices was welcoming; the smoke not so. It was necessary background for a bar
on Earth in the twentieth century, of course, and holodeck technology had long ago found the means to
re-create the smoky atmosphere without injecting dangerous particulates into the air. Still, Riker found it
incomprehensible that people long ago had systematically occluded their lungs with the foul-smelling stuff
and considered it a mark of sophistication.
He walked into Stumpy's--a tiny place crowded with tables--and saw a room of smiling faces turn
toward him. There were welcoming calls and a smattering of applause and encouragement as Riker
walked toward the piano standing on a makeshift platform.
"Willie... tinkle them things, Willie..." This from a gravel-voiced black man with white tufts of hair over
each ear.
"They'd rather hear you, Stumpy." Riker smiled at him. "I'm not in your league." "Naw, naw... you got the
licks, man." Riker sat down at the piano and let his hands drift over the keys for a minute, getting his
bearings, letting himself absorb the atmosphere. This was where the blues was born, and he was now a
part of that energy and excitement, the unique creativity that spread throughout the South of the United
States in the early part of the twentieth century.
His hands came down on the keys and the patrons of Stumpy's became quiet. Riker started slowly,
gently, letting the music come from inside, not imposing anything but simply letting it happen. His pain, his
restlessness became part of the music and were lifted out of him and into the air of the funky little club in
Memphis. The people listening absorbed the music, sensed the intensity of the feeling within it, let it wash
through them and reflected it back until everything was one huge, shared experience, music and hurt,
music and longing, music and aspiration turning and twisting with one another-- "Captain to Commander
Riker." Riker opened his eyes as the clipped tones intruded into the holodeck. It was always the rudest
of awakenings, the invasion of the outside into the fantasy experience, but it was the price one paid for
serving on the Enterprise.
"Freeze program," he instructed the computer, and the patrons of Stumpy's became instantly stilled. He
touched his communicator. "Riker here, sir." "Could you join me in the conference lounge?" "Right away,
sir." Riker rose from the piano and cast one last glance around the honky-tonk. So much for the
restorative powers of nmsic. He would summon the discipline to function as he must, providing his best to
his captain.
Of course, there was always the possibility that the captain's summons might signal the beginning of an
adventure. His adventure. Something difficult and mysterious that would test his mettle, summon his
talents and hone them in rarefied challenge.
There was a new spring to his walk as he left the holodeck and hurried toward the turbolift,
contemplating these possibilities.
But the next hour with the captain was spent helping him trace through intelligence reports detailing
Ambassador Spock's last two decades of activity.
Negotiations, mediations, arbitrations--there was a well-chronicled history of Spock's ceaseless efforts
as an architect of peace. If there were seeds in his public behavior of a defection to the Romulans, they
were well buried.
Riker enjoyed these meetings with the captain. He respected the well-honed process that Picard brought
to any endeavor: Picard would examine thoughts, tumbling them around in his mind like a gem polisher,
extracting something here, buffing something there, until he could put them all together into a codified
whole. It was always stimulating, and always challenging, to interact with him.
But it was a demanding process. Riker stretched his legs and then looked at the captain, realizing that he
had been at this for hours even before Riker arrived.
Weariness hung over Picard like a veil. "We'll be coming into orbit around Vulcan in less than an hour,
sir," Riker said. "You may want to get some rest." "Yes, yes, of course, you're right." But he didn't move.
Riker saw the captain's eye caught by another padd on the table, and knew that, although Picard was
tired, his mind was still churning.
"We should notify Sarek's wife of our plans," suggested Picard.
"All taken care of, sir. She'll be waiting for your signal to transport on board." Riker had talked with
Perrin, Sarek's human wife, by subspace. "And Sarek?" "She says he is too ill to join her." "Not
unexpected. The man is dying." There was an undertone of sadness to the words. Riker recalled the
meeting of those two several years ago, when Sarek, suffering from the rare affliction Bendii's syndrome,
came aboard the Enterprise and created havoc by inadvertently projecting his emotions onto the crew.
Riker almost smiled as he remembered himself and the captain snapping and snarling at each other, and
the patrons of Ten-Forward engaging in a barroom brawl. The outcome of that experience, of course,
had been a mind meld between Sarek and Picard, which allowed the venerable ambassador to maintain
control of his emotions long enough to complete an important negotiation. The mind meld had linked
Sarek and Picard in extraordinary intimacy, and Riker had no doubt that the captain was carrying some
residual effects of that liaison.
"And I have the... honor," Picard continued, "to bring him the news that his son may have betrayed the
Federation." Riker sensed, from instincts developed after long association, that the captain wanted to talk
further.
He needed a sounding board to reflect his thoughts and feelings. It was a role Riker played comfortably
and well. "How well do you know Spock?" he asked.
He waited patiently as Picard rose from the table and paced toward the windows, gazing at the
spectacular sweep of the stars as the Enterprise raced by them at warp speed. "I met him only once.
What I know of him comes from history books and of course the mind meld with his father." "That must
cover a lot of ground." Riker couldn't imagine what a mind meld would be like, but it had to have given
the captain a source of insight into Spock.
But the captain smiled wryly, and said, "Not as much as you'd imagine. Sarek and Spock..." He
hesitated, and seemed reluctant to go further.
Then he looked at Riker and said, simply, "Well, sometimes, fathers and sons..." "Understood,"
answered Riker. He knew Picard was aware of his own tortured history with his father.
He had no difficulty imagining other strong-willed men having similar difficulties. But he couldn't help but
wonder what problems of Spock and Sarek the captain was privy to.
Picard finally rose, and Riker was glad he was taking the time for a break before they reached Vulcan.
They were at the door when Picard suddenly turned back, as though remembering something, and
picked up a padd.
"There was one other thing," he said. "Take a look at this." Riker took the padd and scanned its contents
briefly as Picard continued, "Something that turned up during the intelligence sweep on Spock. What do
you make of it?" Riker absorbed the succinct report. "Metal fragments, possibly disassembled
components, identified as Vulcan--recovered from a downed Ferengi ship..." "And the crates they were
in were marked as medical supplies." Riker raised an eyebrow. "Contraband?" Picard simply shrugged
his shoulders as he started toward the door. "They've been sent to Vulcan for identification. Starfleet has
requested we lend them a hand." And he was gone.
Riker stood in the empty room, holding the padd in his hand, rereading the information, hoping to
discover in it something that promised an adventure.
But all he saw was a mundane investigation.
Identifying metal fragments. Hardly the stuff to challenge the mind and electrify the sensibilities. But it was
better than nothing.
Chapter Three
JEAN-LUC PICARD SMILED as he entered Transporter Room Three and saw Miles O'Brien at his
post. He liked O'Brien immensely. O'Brien was the kind of man who wore well, like old leather,
becoming more comfortable over time. Picard had seen him move from amiable bachelor to loving
husband and now, within recent weeks, to fatherhood. Molly Miyaki Worf O'Brien had been born in
Ten-Forward during a catastrophic event on the Enterprise, and Picard was sure that O'Brien's life was
now topsy-turvy. In fact, as he approached the ruddy, curly-haired transporter chief, he was sure he
could see dark circles under his eyes, testifying to lack of sleep.
"Hello, Chief. How are Keiko and the baby?" "Very well, sir. Molly's got an Irish set of pipes, that's for
sure. And she uses them, all night long." "I thought you were looking a little peaked." Picard's warm smile
eliminated any hint of chastisement.
"It's amazing to me, sir. She seems to wake up the minute I go to bed. She sleeps soundly all day long,
never fusses, nurses well. But no matter what time it is I try to go to sleep, she starts squalling. Do you
think they do these things on purpose?" Picard had no idea what babies might or might not do and had no
particular interest in finding out.
Babies were strange, burbling little creatures that others might enjoy fawning over; he was content to
observe them from afar. "I'm afraid I'm not the right person to ask, Mr. O'Brien," he responded. "You
might speak to one of the pediatric nurses." "Oh, I'm not complaining, sir. I think she's just being a baby.
And I wouldn't have it any other way." "Is our guest ready to come on board?" Enough of this talk of
babies; he was here for a purpose, one that had galvanized his energies as no mission had in a long while.
Visions of Spock haunted his mind and invaded his dreams. He had become possessed by the mystery of
Spock's disappearance in a way that was overwhelming and disturbing. And he had no doubt that it all
had to do with his mind meld with Sarek.
"Aye, sir, I can bring her on any time." "Then let's do it." Picard moved toward the transporter platfornl
as O'Brien keyed commands into his console. There was a brief silence, and then the sparkling effect of
the transporter beam began to form on the platform and coalesce into a woman's body.
An instant later Perrin stood before him, lovely and gracious as ever, her graceful features tranquil and
composed. Only her eyes mirrored the pain she carried from dealing with Sarek's illness.
"Captain Picard." She walked toward him, two arms extended. Her warm, honey-blond hair was artfully
done, as always, and her hazel eyes radiated compassionate gentility.
"Perrin." He lifted his hands and she grasped them firmly, pressing a generous greeting.
"It's good to see you again." "And you. How is Sarek?" Her face clouded slightly as they moved toward
the door of the transporter room. It was a remarkably expressive countenance, the play of her emotions
reflected in subtle ways, like the drift of sunlight and shadows on an ever-changing sea. Living with a
Vulcan must have taught her control, and there was always a certain reserve to her behavior; nonetheless
her humanness had not been suppressed, merely distilled. Picard had found her, from the moment he met
her, an enchanting woman. So much so that he dared not think of her often, and then only with the firm
reminder that she was wife to Sarek. And to what extent these feelings resulted from his mind meld, he
was not at all certain.
"Sarek has good days... and bad days. More and more they're bad." They exited into the corridor and
proceeded down the corridor toward a turbolift.
"Then the disease has progressed?" "It is a cruel killer. Sarek deserves a noble death.
Instead, he is trapped in this lingering madness." "It must be very hard for you." When he uttered those
words, Picard saw Perrin's head swing around to him. He realized that she was unused to anyone
thinking of her feelings, her needs, and was caught somewhat off guard. She was silent for a moment
before she responded.
"Every day I can share with him is a gift. The pain will be in losing him." "I hope that time will not be
soon." "There's no way to tell. At times I think he won't make it through another night, and then it seems
he's strong enough to live for years." The two walked quietly for a moment, Picard heavily aware of her
presence next to him, catching a faint scent of something fresh and floral. His next words came out
unbidden, as though they had somehow bypassed his conscious mind. "Perrin, I admire your strength
more than I can tell you." Again, he felt her sidelong glance, but he was careful to keep his eyes trained
straight ahead. She did not respond, and the two walked the rest of the way in silence.
Perrin stared out the windows of the conference lounge at the dusky red of the planet Vulcan. She had
traveled in space many times, but was always struck by its awesome beauty. It was cleansing, she
thought, to view her world from above; it changed perspective and allowed her to free herself for a while
of the burdens that afflicted her when she was on the surface.
Burdens? Had she thought that word? ttow had it crept into her mind? A wave of guilt swept over her for
an instant as she acknowledged that Sarek's illness had become a burden to her. He was her husband,
she loved him beyond all things, she owed him so much-- she mustn't think of his dreadful malady as an
encumbrance.
It was Captain Picard's unexpected solicitude that had triggered these feelings, she was sure. His caring
statement, acknowledging that the situation was difficult for her, had tapped into emotions that she had
tried hard to keep quiescent, and now, as if through a tiny hole that keeps ripping larger, everything was
trying to spill out. Well, they might try, but she would push those feelings right back where they belonged.
She had become good at that.
"Perrin?" Picard's voice caused her to spin around, and she saw him standing before her with two cups of
steaming tea. She smiled and took one, deeply inhaling the vapor.
"Mint tea--it's been years since I've had it. Vulcans have some strange concoction they call 'mint,' but you
wouldn't recognize it." She sipped at the fragrant liquid and turned back to gaze out at the stars. If only
she could stand there for hours, sipping this lovely tea and gazing at the glories of space.
"Perfin, you know why I've come to Vulcan." Picard's voice was gentle, but it grated on her nonetheless.
She knew the purpose of this visit and she had no desire to go into it. She knew it was inevitable and that
the captain didn't have the luxury of avoiding it.
Still, it was so calming just to look out, see Vulcan as a huge orb, hazy and florid, just one planet among
millions and millions.
"I must ask you about Spock." Now she turned, bitter feeling welling up in her, threatening to overcome
her precarious control. "He didn't even say good-bye to his father before he left." She saw Picard's warm
eyes gazing at her, saw his instinctive understanding of her feelings, his effort to make this easier for her.
She was grateful.
"Is it possible he was abducted?" "No. He wrapped up his affairs very carefully. He knew he was going."
Looking back, in the weeks since his disappearance, Perrin had realized what a calculated move Spock's
departure had been. His estate, his lands had been provided for in the form of a manager; his diplomatic
functions had been brought to resolution. It made his behavior even more reprehensible to her.
"Do you have any idea why he might have disappeared like this?" Perrin drilled him with a look. How
could one ever know why Spock did anything? A more closed and private man she had never met.
Sarek, by comparison, was voluble and communicative. She strained to keep her voice dispassionate as
she answered. "Captain, as far as I'm concerned he disappeared a long time ago." She saw Picard's
surprised look and realized the bitterness in her voice had suggested more harshness than she intended.
Everything had been difficult about her relationship with Spock, right from the beginning. She had frankly
not been prepared for life among the Vulcans. She thought she knew them well; at Skidmore University
in upper New York State, she had Vulcan friends and always found their cool reserve comforting. Her
own mercurial personality was balanced by the unflappable calm of her Vulcan companions, and she
found it a pleasurable combination.
She was still not prepared for the impact of Sarek upon her life. She had traveled to Vulcan as a youthful
historian, eager to become his amanuensis. The morning she met him she fell in love with him, a great lion
of a man, powerful and urgent. That he apparently felt the same way about her still seemed a miracle.
When she married Sarek, his son Spock was approximately four times her age.
She had no idea what Spock thought about her. He was polite, solicitous, and deferential. He could not
be faulted for any of his behavior toward her. Yet for all she knew he might loathe her, so absent of any
emotion was he in her presence.
Did he feel resentful that she had taken his mother's place? Amanda had died years before, in old
age--her human life span woefully shorter than the Vulcans'.
Any child feels the loss of a parent, and Perrin feared she might be the natural recipient of any residual
feelings Spock might be carrying about the absence of his mother. She had even tried to talk to him about
it, hoping to clear the air and pave the way for a relationship that was comfortable, if not warm. But
Spock had shut her off, clearly unwilling to discuss such intimate matters with her--politely, of course, but
definitively. It was the last time she tried to have a personal conversation with him.
She could never even define the role she might play with him. "Stepmother" seemed almost grotesque for
a child so much older than she. "Friend" had seemed a worthwhile goal, but she felt Spock precluded
that.
In the end, there was no definition that suited whatever it was they were to each other; she was simply
Sarek's wife.
But when Spock had disappeared, a wellspring of anger within her was tapped. For she was left behind
to see what that unexplained departure had done to Sarek.
As though reading her mind, Picard turned back to her and said, "Would it be inappropriate to ask what
happened between you and Spock?" She stared at him, emotions surging, wondering if she should simply
stay silent and leave. Much more of this and she would be in tears. She drew hard for air.
"Not between us. Between Spock and his father.
They had argued for years; that was family. But when the debates over the Cardassian War began, he
attacked Sarek's position--publicly. He showed no loyalty to his father." It had been a terrible time. It all
came back to her now, Sarek's quiet pain, his refusal to condemn his son, her own anger toward Spock.
"I was not aware," said Picard carefully, "that Sarek was offended by Spock's position." '7 was
offended. And I made sure Spock knew it." Had she been wrong to do that? Had she in some way even
widened the break between father and son? She had tried to temper her response, even then, but every
time she saw Sarek's wounded eyes, her fury rose anew. "I am very protective of my husband. I do not
apologize for it." A silence hung in the air. Picard apparently decided to move away from that charged
subject. "Would Sarek have any idea why Spock might have left?" he asked.
摘要：

StarTrek-TNG-UnificationChapterOneADMIRALRUAHBRACKETThadasecret.Notaterriblyprofoundone,andnothingthatwouldeverinterferewithherdutiesasafleetadmiralofStarfleetCommand.Butitwasasecretnonethelessandsheenjoyedkeepingit.Therewassomethingtitillatingaboutindulgingaprivateidiosyncrasythatwasknowntonoone.Sh...

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