STAR TREK - TOS - 44 - Vulcan's Glory
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“YOU HAVE A WAY OF
ASKING DIFFICULT QUESTIONS,”
SPOCK SAID ...
T’Pris nodded, quietly acknowledging the fact. “So my parents said, and so said my husband. But now I
amT’Sai T’Pris,Aduna Sepelkiran. For humans, a widow. For Vulcans, free to choose a new mate.”
She turned to look directly at him. “Or a lover.That is a difficult question to consider.”
“I am betrothed,” he said softly.
“But not wed,” she said as softly. “Not yet.”
Spock studied her for a long moment, considering what he knew of her, what he felt for her, the
surprising emotions she called up in him. And he remembered what he knew of T’Pring, what he felt for
her. The only emotions T’Pring brought forth in him were duty and obligation laid on him by others.
Slowly, he reached out his hand to T’Pris.
Lightly, gently, almost fearfully, their fingers touched and caressed.
POCKET BOOKS
New York London Toronto Sydney Tokyo
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
AnOriginal Publication of POCKET BOOKS
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New
York, NY 10020
Copyright © 1989 Paramount Pictures Corporation. All Rights Reserved.
STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures Corporation.
This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc., under exclusive license
from Paramount Pictures Corporation.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
ISBN: 0-671-65667-8
First Pocket Books printing February 1989
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
POCKET and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.
Printed in the U.S.A.
For Herb Wright
and David Gerrold,
with love and thanks
for being there.
Contents
Chapter One.7
Chapter Two.11
Chapter Three.16
Chapter Four20
Chapter Five.24
Chapter Six.31
Chapter Seven.36
Chapter Eight42
Chapter Nine.49
Chapter Ten.55
Chapter Eleven.61
Chapter Twelve.68
Chapter Thirteen.75
About the e-Book.80
Chapter One
THE SUNSET ATKa’a Beach was glorious. Pink streamers and golden-bottomed cumulus clouds
floated serenely above the orange glow that still tinged the distant dark horizon line of the sea. Thick
tropical foliage in a range of vibrant green tones cloaked the flank of the steep mountain that rose behind
the secluded beach, and several birds soared lazily on the gentle breeze off the ocean. The waves were
soft, surprising for a late December day; and they crept in ever-extending laps farther and farther up the
sand as the golden sunset slowly began to fade.
Spock ignored it all, sitting on the beach staring at his naked toes half-buried under the yellow-white
sand. His boots, socks carefully folded inside, stood primly beside him. He had come to Ka’a for its
quiet and its privacy, both of which had been zealously protected by Kauai’s local government. The
northernmost gem of Hawaii’s necklace of islands maintained[10]its right to preserve its natural beauty
and had managed to do so for three centuries. Spock had been drawn to the Garden Island by its
extreme contrast to his home planet.
He pulled his Starfleet jacket more closely around his shoulders as the wind off the sea rose slightly. He
disliked cold weather of any kind; indeed, his personal quarters were always kept well above levels most
humans appreciated. Vulcan would never experience such a cool wind as the one that now ruffled his
hair. No lush vegetation ran such a riot of natural growth as on this tropical island, untended by nurturing
hands. There were wide parklands around every Vulcan city and town, carefully maintained by squads of
volunteer gardeners who felt a truly civilized society must spend some time among the tranquillity of
growing things. But every tree, plant, vine, grass, and flower that grew in the parklands had been either
botanically created by careful mutation and hybridization or imported from off-world sources.
Much of his planet was desert, relieved only by the ragged hulks of mountain ranges and the great
blood-red oceans. Hardy succulents, gnarled and tiny-leavedisuke bushes, andkaranji —similar to
Earth’s barrel cactus—constituted much of the wild flora of Vulcan. The flame-leavedinduku trees
clustered in the oases that had originally dotted the deserts—except, of course, on Vulcan’s Forge.
Nothing grewon the Forge, that immense blistering range of hellish sand and rock into which no
one—not even the most toughened and experienced Vulcan—ventured willingly, or for long.
Spock reflected briefly on his own taste of the Forge,[11]images flickering in his mind of the ritual
kahs-wan ordeal every Vulcan child underwent on his or her tenth birthday. It was a rite of passage, an
endurance and survival test of the individual’s strength, courage, and logic. (A tiny, ironic smile tugged at
the corners of Spock’s mouth. Intelligence was a foregone conclusion for a Vulcan child.)
There had been so many peculiar incidents tied up in his ownkahs-wan that he sometimes thought of it
as the single most important turning point in his life. He clearly remembered every event leading to and
involved in his test, including the fact that he had set off for it unauthorized, alone, and ahead of schedule
in order to prove himself a true Vulcan and not—not—an Earther.
He recalled his stubbornly determined march into the Forge, an impulsive act brought on by his father’s
stern admonition that hemust learn to behave like a Vulcan. Spock had known Sarek was correct.
Spock was subject to anger then, often fighting with Vulcan boys who taunted him about his half-human
blood, and even giving way to tears of disappointment and frustration. It was a weakness that would not
be tolerated in an heir by his noble clan. Spock had known he must conquer it, and forcing thekahs-wan
had been his solution—even though doing so in such an impulsive way was another demonstration of his
human heritage.
Fat old I-chaya, his petsehlat, had lumbered after him into the Forge, refusing to turn back even after
Spock had firmly ordered him to go home. And it had been a good thing the loyal old beast had followed
him[12]so relentlessly, because I-chaya had saved Spock from an attackingle-matya. The agingsehlat
had charged and parried thele-matya’s attempt to get at the boy, until Speck’s cousin miraculously
appeared to finally subdue the great tigerlike beast with a skillfully applied neck pinch.
His cousin Selek had had an explanation for how he had discovered Spock had gone alone into the
Forge and how he had followed the boy. It had seemed plausible at the time, and Spock had been
desperate to get help for I-chaya, who had been wounded by thele-matya’s poisonous claws. There had
been Spock’s anxious hurry to reach and persuade a healer to come to I-chaya’s aid, his grief over
I-chaya’s terrible suffering, and, finally, the decision required of him—to allow the healer to ease the
sehlat ’s agony by a painless and merciful death with dignity. Somehow, thinking back on it, Spock had
never been quite certain of the logic of Selek’s explanations. His parents’ relief and pleasure over
Spock’s passing of thekahs-wan had diverted his attention from it, and Selekhad shown him exactly
how to execute the Vulcan neck pinch, a technique that had eluded Spock to that point. Still, he looked
back every now and then and pondered the unusual set of coincidences that had provided him with such
a perceptive cousin exactly when he needed him. Several years later, Spock had idly investigated the
many branches of his family tree, but he could not seem to find exactly the right combination of “distant
relatives” with those names who had a son named Selek. Somehow the information never seemed to be
urgent enough for him to launch a thorough search,[13]and in time he was far too busy to think about it.
The most important thing thekahs-wan had accomplished was that it left Spock with the firm resolution
that he would follow the Vulcan way, as his father and tradition demanded.
Spock sighed and shook his head. Denying his human heritage was a denial of his mother, and he could
not dishonor her that way. Instead, he had gone on to strengthen those human qualities most like a
Vulcan’s and had learned to sublimate the more embarrassing ones.Mostly learned to sublimate, he
reminded himself. He still remembered I-chaya proudly, but always with a swell of grief that put a lump in
his throat.
Spock wiggled his toes. It had been an impulse to remove his boots and socks and sink his feet into the
warm, fine sand. His mother had told him she had always enjoyed doing that. “Walking on a beach in
your shoes is a joyless experience, Spock,” she often said. “Put yourself in touch with the land ... feel its
life .”
A soft hiss and slap of water on the sand brought his head up. The tide had lifted a gentle froth of white
foam nearly to his feet, leaving a dark, moist mark as it slid away again. Dusk was already pulling down
the shadows, darkening the tropical growth behind him. Above the last faintly glowing light of the sun on
the horizon, the stars had begun to appear, glittering with icy white and pale blue points. Spock freed his
toes and brushed his feet free of sand. Quickly pulling on socks and boots, he managed to scramble out
of the path of the next wave before he got damp. The[14]temperature had dropped farther as the wind
rose again. He pulled his jacket edges together and sealed them with a brush of his hand up the join. As
he started to walk back toward the path through the undergrowth to the road, he realized he had not
gotten all the sand off his feet. The grains shifted and bit into his flesh as he strode along toward the
parking area where he had left his ground car. He ignored the discomfort but mildly cursed the impulse
that had caused it.
The short-hopper whisked Spock from the Lihue shuttle field to Honolulu’s spaceport. He carried only a
light trip valise containing the few items he required for brief stays, plus two uniforms and a traditional
Vulcan robe. Captain Daniels had ordered him to take some R&R after he signed off theArtemis, and he
had gone with few possessions. Everything else would be forwarded automatically to his new ship.
“Spock, you work too hard,” Daniels had said. “You’renot always on duty. It’s a commendable attitude
for a young officer, but it’s not practical.” The captain had softened the remark with a smile. “Take the
time to get away before you report to theEnterprise. Relax. Enjoynot having to tend to duty.”
“I do require some time to review theEnterprise’s expedition logs and equipment specifications,” Spock
had replied thoughtfully. “Especially the library computer and science station. I have not made a complete
study of the ship’s systems. ...”
“That’s not what I meant,” Daniels snapped.
Spock had raised an eyebrow quizzically, the rest of his face perfectly composed. It was his best way of
[15]responding to anything that amazed, amused, or puzzled him. “Sir?”
Daniels stood up and leaned on his knuckles on the desktop. He put firmness in his voice and bit off
every word clearly and sharply. “This is an order, Mr. Spock. You will go somewhere beautiful. You will
take no research information with you in any form, nor will you access said information from Starfleet
sources. You will relax. Swim. Walk. Ride. Lie on a beach if that’s what you fancy.But do not work.
Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir. I am ordered to relax.”
“Excellent.”
“Sir?” Daniels swiveled a wary look at him. “Captain Pike has a reputation as a taskmaster—”
Daniels interrupted sharply. “Chris Pike is hard but fair. Remember it.”
“Of course, sir.” Spock remembered everything. Automatically. Without effort. “However, I believe he
will expect his new second officer to know something more about his vessel than its basic specifications.”
“What are you getting at?”
“How many days am I ordered to relax, sir?”
“Ah.” Daniels gave the question a few seconds’ thought and then gravely replied, “You have two weeks.
Ten days should be sufficient.”
“Yes, sir. Ten days’ relaxation. Is that all, sir?”
“Not quite.” The captain held out his hand. “You’ve been an excellent third for me. I was happy to
recommend your promotion, and I was even more happy to hear of your posting to theEnterprise. She’s
a fine ship commanded by an excellent captain. Good luck, Spock.”
[16]“Thank you, sir.” Spock shook Daniels’s hand quickly, exerting an acceptable amount of pressure.
Then he dropped it, promptly clasping his hands behind his back, his usual stance when in the presence
of senior officers. He had never been comfortable with the human custom of shaking hands. He much
preferred the ancient ritual greeting used by Vulcans: “Live long and prosper.” It was both formal and
courteous and at the same time offered respect and good wishes. Spock considered it a prime example
of Vulcan efficiency to convey so much in such a brief salutation.
The landing of the short-hopper at the spaceport interrupted his musings about the start of his leave. He
collected his trip valise from the overhead storage bin and hurried out into the bustling port. He hadn’t
been scheduled to return here for another four days. Events had conspired to interrupt the ordered
relaxation period the afternoon of his sixth day on Kauai. The subspace radio message had been relayed
to him at the hostel via theArtemis: “Return to Vulcan immediately. Urgent matters require your
attention.” It was succinctly signed “Sarek.” Daniels had attached a brief message of his own: “Sorry. I
believe his orders supersede mine.” Spock had sighed and gone to arrange for his return to the Honolulu
spaceport, a connector shuttle to Armstrong Lunaport, and a reservation on a fast passenger ship to
Vulcan.
Now, as he scanned a status board to confirm that his connector shuttle would leave on time, Spock
wondered again what possible matters could be so urgent that only he personally could deal with them—
[17]and which also required his presence on Vulcan instead of being transacted by subspace messages.
It was remarkably convenient that the order from Sarek (and Daniels was correct; it most definitely was
anorder from Spock’s father) should have arrived at exactly the time Spock was free to respond.
Of course, it would have taken very little effort on Sarek’s part to discover that his son had received a
promotion to full lieutenant and been transferred to theEnterprise, with an accompanying amount of
leave time before being required to report. A Federation ambassador (even one not currently on
diplomatic assignment) had more than enough Starfleet contacts to know every movement in his son’s
career. Not that Sarek personally would have sought out the information. He would have delegated the
chore to an aide and would expect to find the data reported on his library computer with continuous
updates. Sarek might never refer to it, but woe betide the unfortunate aide who failed to ensure that the
most recent facts were there if wanted.
Yes, Spock decided, Sarek had known exactly where he was and that he could easily return to Vulcan
for whatever “urgent matters” required him. Sarek would never interfere with Spock’s duty by
demanding that Spock take a personal-time leave. But he would not scruple for a second about
interrupting Spock’s official leave.
The connector shuttle was on time, and Spock turned toward the ticket counter where a reservations
robot would confirm his place on board. Spock had hesitated briefly and then obeyed the summons from
[18]his father. Not to do so was unthinkable. Still, he wondered with just a twitch of uneasiness what it
was all about. Sarek of Vulcan had not communicated with his son by written or spoken word for eight
years—and they could have been light-years, so great was the philosophical distance between them.
The afternoon was getting on, and the hard yellow light of Vulcan’s sun stretched long shadows across
the courtyard, running in wavy ripples over the carefully raked ridges of the sand garden. As Amanda
watched, the slim shadow finger cast by the candlestick tree touched the base of the highest rock in the
group of three clustered together in the center of the garden. She could tell the hour almost to the exact
moment as the dark line slowly lifted toward the rock’s center.
Sarek would be home soon. And Spock—she sighed heavily—Spock would return to Vulcan in two
days. She knew Sarek had planned it out very carefully, calculating all the parameters and possibilities.
Two days was the maximum time it could possibly take for their son to receive the message, debate it,
resist it, give in, and take transport to Vulcan. But come he would. Then there would be the confrontation
between Sarek and Spock—not face to face, of course. Sarek had already arranged that, and Amanda
had had to agree to his plan. Her title wasT’Sai Amanda,Aduna Sarek—rendered inadequately but
closely enough in English as the Lady Amanda, Life Partner of Sarek. She had accepted the role, but the
choosing had always been Sarek’s. She had wanted him more[19]than anything else in any world that
could be named, but it had to behis choice of her that made them life partners. Amanda had given
everything she could to fulfill that role, and what Sarek had asked of her this time she would also do—but
reluctantly.
She heard the outer door slide open exactly when she expected it. The candlestick tree shadow had
touched the top of the highest rock in the sand garden. She turned toward the spacious foyer of the
house, a smile automatically lifting her lips in spite of the sadness that rode her shoulders.
The tall figure of her husband moved against the brightness of the skylit foyer, a dark silhouette until he
stepped into the large, cool main room. He wore plain, somber clothes as always, a deep forest green
suit today, the only highlight the heavy gold ring on the index finger of his left hand—the clan ring worn by
the ranking male family member.
Sarek saw her moving toward him, and his brown eyes lit with warmth. “Amanda.”
His rich, vibrant voice stirred her as it always did, and her smile brightened her face. “You’re on time.”
“I would have notified you if I were to be delayed.”
“I know. I’m teasing.”
The light in his eyes grew warmer. “A human characteristic I have never been able to fathom, my wife.”
“Perhaps not, my husband,” Amanda said lightly. “But you do let me indulge in it.”
“Analyzing it is a fascinating hobby.” Sarek lifted her hand in his, sobering quickly. “I have received
word that Spock is on his way. He has left the[20]Honolulu spaceport and will depart Armstrong
Lunaport for Vulcan at five o’clock Earth time.”
“Then he’ll arrive in two days, just as you said.”
“Of course.”
Amanda turned away, pulling her hand from his. “Why are you forcing this now, Sarek? You know it
doesn’t have to be now.”
“We have gone over the matter before, Amanda. Spock has obligations. It is his duty to fulfill them. The
family, the bonds that are in place, the traditions he has sworn to uphold as a Vulcan—alldemand he
respond now in the accepted manner.”
Sometimes Amanda hated the traditions, hated the narrow line of action they forced Vulcans to follow.
But she had accepted them herself when she accepted Sarek’s love and proposal of marriage, had
accepted the Vulcan role of life partner, had birthed and raised a child whom she knew must also abide
by the same traditions. She had made a promise to the man she loved and the house into which she
married that she would do so. She kept her promises—her own human tradition—but that didn’t mean it
was easy. This was another one of the times when it wasn’t going to be easy.
She turned back to her husband. “He has obligations to Starfleet, too, Sarek. Even you acknowledge
that.”
“What he must do here is acceptable within Starfleet. It has no relation to his duties.”
“I think you are not seeing the two in relation to each other, Sarek,” Amanda said firmly. “They are two
differentthings, and I do not believe Spock can[21]fulfill both duties simultaneously. We used to have an
old Earth saying, ‘Something has to give.’ It is very possible that Spock will have to considernot meeting
one obligation or the other.”
“Then that will be his decision. I am certain he will choose the correct one.”
“The correct one by whose lights?” Amanda asked. “Yours or his?”
Sarek stared at her, not answering for a moment. Then he turned and walked toward the corridor
leading to the bedrooms. “I will be in meditation,” he said quietly. “I assume supper will be at the usual
hour?”
“Of course, my husband,” she said formally. She watched him until he disappeared down the hall, then
she turned away toward the formal sand garden again. She slid aside the door that led to the patio and
stepped out.
Vulcan’s twilight heat pushed at her, not uncomfortable now in the winter of its year. There were times in
the summer when she could not even look out at the glare from the surface of the sand garden, but now it
lay soft and pleasantly shadowed in the last light. She sat down on the stone edge of the patio, pulled off
the light sandals she wore, and burrowed her bare toes into the warm sand.
There.In her mind, she went back through the years to the Carmel beach where they had honeymooned.
Typically, he had brought work with him, and after breakfast the first morning he settled himself at a
computer console to tend to it. She had kissed the tip of his ear, laughing, and gone down to the beach.
She[22]was on her knees at a tide pool, examining the microcosm of life assembled there, when she
glanced up and saw him approaching along the beach. He was determinedly trudging along—wearing
boots, of all things—stopping now and then, apparently to study the seaweed and kelp, the shells, and
the stones tossed up on the tawny beach sand by the waves.
She realized suddenly that she was probably “a sight,” as her mother would have put it—dirty feet,
disheveled hair, no makeup. He had never seen her like that, even in bed. Because of his innate formality,
she had taken care always to look as perfectly groomed as possible. Later, he told her he thought he had
never seen her look so lovely—slim as a gazelle, dark hair tossed by the wind, and beautiful blue eyes
that looked at him with open candor and honesty—and love.
She had chided him lightly, teasingly, about the boots. A beach like this was half wasted if one walked
on it in boots. She never did persuade him to remove them and wriggle his toes in the sand. Vulcan
dignity simply did not descend that far. She began to realize then that the traditions observed by
Sarek—by all Vulcans—were not subject to human influence, even in so light a thing as informality in
leisure time. Certainly the greater traditions that governed their lives were untouched by contact with
humans.
Her son was bound, and tied, by those traditions. Sometimes, not often but sometimes, she felt guilty
about Spock’s half-human heritage. She knew it troubled him, gave him pain, caused him grief, all of
which he buried behind a stoic Vulcan bearing. But would she have said no to Sarek’s wish for a child?
She[23]shook her head and smiled ironically. Of course not. She had desired Spock’s birth as much as
Sarek had. She wiggled her toes again in the warm sand of the garden’s edge and sighed. She had never
persuaded Sarek to go barefoot. That would have been too human.
Chapter Two
THE CITY OF SHIKAHRglittered in the heat of midday as Spock’s ground car approached. Behind it,
the black, forbidding range of the Llangon Hills thrust upward and formed a perfect and dramatic
backdrop for the sparkling city. The banding strip of parkland around it softened the transition from harsh
and arid desert to the attractive geometric shapes of the city buildings. Architecture was very carefully
controlled so that no new structure was in disharmony with any of the established buildings. The streets
were designed wide, with grass or trees running down a center strip and on the verges. There were no
slidewalks—Vulcans preferred to walk—and pavement frequently gave way to paths that wound under
the carefully planted nonnative trees that offered shade.
Spock left the ground car near the eastern gate, closest to his parents’ home, and entered the city. This
area was entirely residential, and few of the buildings were more than one story in height. Most of the[25]
homes were enclosed within walls of one kind or another. As a child, he had liked most the home of a
neighbor whose garden “walls” were carefully trimmed climbing rose brambles. In summer, the high
hedge bloomed with luscious blossoms in a pastel combination of pink and white and pale silvery
lavender. As he approached it, he noticed that the wall of his parents’ garden had acquired a vinelike
plant that grew over much of it. Here and there, a delicate trumpet-shaped blue flower peeked out of the
dark green foliage that clung to the wall. He thought that would have been his mother’s doing. His father
favored the symmetry of the sand garden, beautiful but severe.
The gate was unlatched, and Spock let himself in. Dutifully he had sent ahead a message that he was
coming as ordered and giving his arrival time. The gate made no sound, and he knew he hadn’t, either,
but the front door of the house instantly slid open, and his mother stepped out, smiling.
“Spock.” She held out her hands to him.
“Mother.” He strode to her quickly, dropping the valise. He took her hands in his, squeezing them
tightly.
She freed a hand to touch his cheek, knowing it was a human gesture, knowing he would permit it only
because it was she who did it. “Five years since I saw you at your graduation from the Academy. I’ve
missed you, son.”
“I know. You say so when you write.”
摘要：
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“YOUHAVEAWAYOFASKINGDIFFICULTQUESTIONS,”SPOCKSAID... T’Prisnodded,quietlyacknowledgingthefact.“Somyparentssaid,andsosaidmyhusband.ButnowIamT’SaiT’Pris,AdunaSepelkiran.Forhumans,awidow.ForVulcans,freetochooseanewmate.”Sheturnedtolookdirectlyathim.“Oralover.Thatisadifficultquestiontoconsider.”“Iambetr...
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