[When the Romulan student opened the door, all what she saw was the back of a tall male…

As it happens with all prequels, this story should be read after "The Missing Constant." There it is said that Ambassador Sarek visited Spock Prime at his house in New Vulcan, and they had a long conversation. That is the subject of this long story.

When I read the IDW comics "Legacy of Spock" the last images struck me: 3000 years after Spock Prime's death, a young Vulcan father shows his life size statue to his little daughter and says he was one of the greatest Vulcans. What had he done to deserve that title? Rebuilding a whole society from scratch is a bit more difficult of what appears in the comic book. And there might be something especially important for the girl. As Kirk said to another Spock, 'in every revolution, there's one man with a vision.'

With thanks for the context to Josepha Sherman and Susan Shwartz (their "Vulcan's Soul" novels) and Sunshine (sunshinepiveh) from Archive of Our Own (her novel "Vulcan"). And thanks to the Mud Angels, the specialists and students from around the world that went to help in the rebuilding and restoration of Florence after the 1966 flood.)

A Long Conversation.

When the Romulan student opened the door, all what she saw was the back of a tall male, dressed plainly in grey, who was taking advantage of the Residence's location on higher ground to get a good look at the colony in its entirety. He turned around and then she recognized him: the only Vulcan in the group of officers and officials that had interrogated her for days without end, until finally she convinced them she was neither spy, nor fifth column, nor assassin, nor a mass murderer… that all she wanted was to make it clear that the Star Empire as such hadn't attacked the Federation, and to stop the outbreak of an all-out war due to a madman's actions. The Vulcan hadn't said anything to her. He had just looked at her with as much fear and hate as someone of his kind could express in silence.

"Ambassador Sarek."

The Vulcan ambassador stood by the door, looking at the Romulan woman without any expression, and simply bowed. She was amazed, but managed to keep her composure and replicate the informal greeting.

"Is Professor Selek available?"

"Well, this hour is allotted to study and tutoring, but I am certain he shall be available for you. Please come in."

The ambassador came into the hall, looking around with moderate interest. His communicator beeped. He acknowledged the message briefly and closed it.

"I shall call the Professor. If you do not mind to wait… the study room?

The ambassador proceeded to the room she signaled without more ado. The Romulan student took a quick look outside, and saw there was no one else. The ambassador had come alone, without authority insignia, security detail, bodyguard or staff, just his hovercraft parked by the gate. She could appreciate plain courage when she saw it. It wasn't a quality she related to diplomats. Well, until some time, she didn't relate it to scientists either. Family traits. She smiled at herself as she closed the door.

Her smile disappeared when she came into the room to offer the ambassador some snack. He was standing in the middle of the room as if he were not sure about what to do. He seemed a bit uncomfortable, what for a Vulcan diplomat was a lot. She immediately knew why.

"Sir, can I offer you some tea and refreshments? Will you stay for afternoon meal?"

"Tea will suffice. It shall be a short visit."

She stayed in the threshold for a second more, as considering the options. Then, she bowed slightly and went hurriedly into the interior rooms.

The ambassador looked around. It was more a living room than a study one. Two sofas facing each other with a low table between them, book shelves all around, a few auxiliary tables here and there, some desks with computer terminals by one side, disparate chairs around another table by a corner. It was evident that a disorderly group of young not Vulcan people lived there. That motley crew of alien students, which purpose he didn't understand nor approve. Books, papers and PADDs everywhere, on the tables, computer terminals and seats, some clothes on a chair, a strange gardening tool in a corner; several notices, drawings of alien landscapes and semi Vulcan buildings pinned to a bulletin board, some shoes lying on the floor… there was a plate with food scraps on the low table and a half-eaten alien fruit on one cushion. Unacceptable. How could a Vulcan professor allow such behavior? Actually, it wasn't that strange, considering the enormity of the project Professor Selek was trying to get approved by the New Vulcan High Council. And looking also for Federation and Starfleet's support.

His thoughts and deepest feelings flew toward his son.

Where would he be now? Would he be well? Illogical.

He suppressed that emotional outburst so fast that he didn't even noticed it, but in a conscious level, he kept thinking about his son.

Sarek knew that he was a more than competent diplomat, that he had the ability to negotiate and arbitrate between mortal enemies and achieve accords that thwarted wars, and thanks to what he had learned from his Human wife, he had a superior ability to read other people's emotions while maintaining an ironclad control over his own. His logic was keen and flawless. But when it came to fatherhood, he was like a blind man lost in a minefield.

For a moment in that

(he had no word for it)

transporter room, with his mind still full of what he had rescued from the Katric Ark, he and Spock had been closer than ever. But afterwards, in their subspace communications, after the exchange of pertinent information and polite inquiries about their current state of health and professional affairs, at the end his son just kept silent looking at him, his head slightly tilted, as waiting for him to do something - say something that for his life he didn't know what it could possibly be. They greeted each other as any Vulcan father and son do, the screen went black, and he was left with that distinct certainty of having failed. He couldn't connect with him anymore. With his own son.

No family members, no friends left to ask for advice. No close acquaintances left either, even if he dared to defy tradition to discuss such personal matters with them. Books were useless for this particular case. A mind meld? How could he request it without seeming that he was using his paternal authority to trespass into his son's privacy? And, what would happen if he did, and Spock refused? He didn't want to repeat old mistakes, or commit new ones, and he didn't know what else to do. Sarek hadn't realized how much he had relied on Amanda for those matters until… he arrived at the point of eavesdropping to Human's conversations, trying to catch comments about their parenting issues. Nothing useful that way either. Humans had a fixation with 'happiness.' Above everything, they wanted their children to be 'happy'. What was that? It was beyond his understanding.

And, of course, there was the present issue.

Finally, finally, a young bonded couple had procreated a child. Now everybody was certain they had somehow adapted to the new planet, this new cycle of days and seasons, and their physiology was starting to reassert itself. When Sarek had communicated the good news to Spock, he couldn't but mention that himself would have to consider a new bond, and how necessary was to the colony the presence of every Vulcan who could leave whatever they were doing in the Federation, especially the young ones, the highly qualified in science and technology ones, to spend at least a season there. He hadn't commanded, not even requested, barely hinted, but he knew his son had gotten the message. Why was it that discussing logical actions in a discreet way caused Spock to react as if it were personal coercion? Sarek knew how passionately his son reacted to that, if he thought he was being forced into an unfair situation. Just like himself, except that he was a diplomat, could deal with it not letting himself to be carried away to an emotional outburst, and could do what must be done, logically. Perhaps being a diplomat was detrimental to family relations?

He is as obstinate as you are, my husband.

Sarek took a deep breath and tried to focus in the here and now.

As usual, the ambassador was fully prepared for this meeting. He had read carefully Professor Selek's biographical profile, as given to him by Starfleet, and different sources had informed him already of the prodigious amount of work he had done for the colony in the recent times; however, there was no data about his bloodline or family relationships. For Vulcans, it was necessary to know someone's social standing, but the ambassador knew Starfleet considered it irrelevant. They had never met, but that wasn't strange either, given that since what had happened he barely had spent any time in this place. In New Vulcan.

New Vulcan. Not Vulcan.
Rigelians everywhere. People of Federation's races I myself barely know. Starfleet personnel.
Wherever I go, I shall be a foreigner.

His Control suppressed again that outburst of emotion so efficiently he didn't notice it either. However, since some time, Sarek had been suffering a multitude of minor ailments. Today he was having a headache, which he had dismissed as not important without trying a pain suppression technique or wasting a second in thinking about its cause. Again, he strived to concentrate in what it was real, around and outside himself.

The house was full of unknown smells and slight sounds. Voices, steps, someone upstairs trying to play some alien song in a stringed instrument, unsuccessfully. The echo of muffled laughter. Some closer voices. Apparently, the Romulan woman was giving orders. That was the voice of someone accustomed to be obeyed.

A couple of young students, a blond and lanky Human, and a plump Bolian, appeared at the threshold, looking like they had had little sleep and evidently intimidated, even if they kept an almost Vulcan restraint. Almost.

"Please excuse us," said the Bolian in a passable Modern Colloquial Vulcan, "it will take just a moment."

The two young men hurriedly and quite efficiently picked up PADDs, clothes, shoes and food, and put books and papers in a shelf. Swiftly they made sure the seats were clear and clean, the Bolian picked up the tool, and after a rigid bow, disappeared by the door.

The ambassador got closer to a bow window that overlooked the patio. There was a couple of armchairs there, human in craftsmanship, given their softness. There he was, in a quiet, ample and luminous room, books, and nobody requesting anything from him. He was

relieved

more comfortable, although a persistent sense of

anxiety? Sorrow? Anguish? Illogical.

tiredness kept bothering him. This was such a peaceful place, but there was so much he had to do. He should be at his office.

No time, no time, not even to eat, sleep, to meditate properly, no time.

Perhaps it had been an illogical decision coming here like this, in a bad day after a bad night after a seemingly infinite time of grueling work and troubling discussions.

"Sir, will you present your report about the current Vulcan population to the Federation Council before or after the Coridan representatives present their letters of credence?" "Ambassador, we need to revise the situation of the commercial accords, defense alliances and diplomatic treatises Vulcan had within and outside the Federation, including the Interspecies Medical Exchange. When will you be available?" "Ambassador, is your government disposed to receive back that people your people call 'Vulcans without logic?'" "Ambassador, the answer to your petition to the Federation museums to give back Vulcan archaeological artifacts is negative in a 75%. Will you present a plea for reconsideration?" "Chairman, the report's conclusion is unavoidable: each female of reproductive age should bear children from three different males to ensure enough genetic diversity; what are we going to do?" "Elder, do you condone those females that intend to bear children not being bonded?" "Sarek, do you think is it without risk, both physically and culturally, to attempt the use of hormonal medication to shorten the times between our Times?" "Sir, the use of Vulcan languages is steadily diminishing among youth; they are now speaking Standard not only to each other but also to their elders, and show increasing rebelliousness. Any idea to solve this problem?" "How can you possibly believe that we Vulcans could maintain our status and influence as founder members of the Federation when we are now just a small number of refugees? What is, is."

He shouldn't be wasting his scarce time with this wayward professor who allowed his pupils to behave as if propriety, decorum and logic were foreign concepts to him.

A Vulcan without logic? What if…?

"Live long and prosper, Ambassador Sarek."

The ambassador turned around. A very old, frail looking Vulcan smartly dressed in black, was standing before him, his hand raised in salute. He had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't heard him coming in. He recognized him immediately. He had seen him before, briefly and from a distance, at the Starfleet space port where the Vulcan survivors had been gathered, but now, having the professor in front of himself, Sarek realized he knew him from somewhere else. The professor looked now thinner and tired, but, who among Vulcans in positions of responsibility didn't look like that? After a split second of hesitation, the ambassador responded the salute.

"Live long and prosper, Professor Selek."

"Please have a seat."

The ambassador sat in one or the armchairs, and the professor took the one in front of him. That unusual softness and the warmth of the morning sun, filtered by a vine, gave his tense limbs a much needed break.

The sun of Vulcan was redder, and warmer.

The ambassador focused on his interlocutor. Certainly, this old man wasn't what he had expected. His piercing dark eyes looked oddly familiar. He seemed as restrained and formal as… calm and relaxed. It was even more incongruous that such a man could be promoting such a preposterous project in the name of cultural preservation.

"I was not expecting your visit. I apologize for any inconvenience."

"Unnecessary. I apologize for coming without prior notice. I have a heavy schedule today, but a sudden cancellation gave me this opportunity. I had thought about talking to you since some time ago, so I took it. At least I should have called in advance."

"Thank you for giving me your time. I understand you are an extremely busy man. Congratulations are in order, I would say: Science Academy Chairman, Confederacy of Surak's Ambassador-at-large, Dean of the Diplomatic Corps to the Federation, High Council Secretary, Elder. The youngest among those appointed to that honor."

"That was not an honor, but a necessity. As far as I know, you are the only qualified Vulcan who refused the appointment."

"It was not appropriate from my part to accept the call. I have spent most of my life outside of Vulcan society, and I might have acquired some non-Vulcan behaviors as my own. That is why I am uniquely qualified to deal with this… motley crew of alien students."

The ambassador looked at the professor a bit disconcerted. His mental shields were firmly in place, they hadn't touched each other. The professor was looking at him from behind his steepled fingers with… fascination? Curiosity? Or was it that disconcerting human expression he had learnt to recognize as 'amusement'? 'Amusing,' a concept he had spent years trying to grasp.

And now it was not necessary anymore. There was not enough time. Amanda. Illogical.

So, this old Vulcan had spent many years among Humans. His emotions were easily readable in his face. Too many years, evidently. And yet, Sarek was certain he knew him. It was disquieting not being able to remember from where or when. ¿Were their bloodlines somehow related?

I have to find this out. It is important.

"Before becoming a diplomat, I followed computer science and astrophysics studies. As you are a scientific researcher and hold an A7 computer expert classification, I am surprised I have not met you before, professionally."

"I left Vulcan when I was very young. You did not get to know me."

"Neither have I found your publications."

"I have not any. I worked mostly in applied research, and then I went into teaching."

"Indeed. Your credentials, as were given to us by Starfleet, say it so. You have been a consultant scientist and freelance teacher as far away from Vulcan as it was physically possible, for so long that there was no registry of your activities at the Science Academy's backup archives. You never worked in there."

"There was not a place for me in there."

"Was that the reason why you left Vulcan?"

The professor took a little time to answer.

"It was a personal matter, which does not matter anymore."

The ambassador was aware he was trespassing the limits of politeness toward an older man with this interrogation, but he had the authority to do so if necessary.

"Are you certain we have not met before?"

"Unlikely. You have many responsibilities, and so do I."

"Where was your family from?"

"I fail to see the relevance of that detail to this conversation. Especially after what happened, the past belongs to the past."

"Of course. But perhaps your father was related to my bloodline."

The professor looked at the ambassador impassively from behind his interlaced fingers.

"I could not tell you."

Why the professor does not state his bloodline outright? Should I ask him bluntly? Demand an answer? Why this old man evades to answer such a basic question?

"Your face seems familiar. Your name certainly is."

"My name is a rather common name."

"Actually, it is a common name in my family. I know of several males of the same name in my lineage, although the only one I ever met was a visiting cousin who most fortunately saved my son's life, but I never heard from him again."

"It will be easy for you to remember, then."

It suddenly struck the ambassador that the old man hadn't any bloodline. That's why he didn't want to answer. That could be the reason for his auto exile, and for his reluctance to accept the Elder appointment. It was a logical reason. The child of an unbonded female couldn't have a prestigious social standing, and it should have been a much worse situation by the time of his birth, which had been around…

The Romulan student came unannounced into the room, carrying two jade cups, a tiny mahogany caddy, a small iron teapot and silver accessories on an antique bloodmetal tray. As the Vulcans observed silently, she put it on a nearby table, ceremonially brewed the tea, filled the cups and served them. She had been enjoying the rare event of listening to Golic Vulcans speaking their elegant language without halting or strange accents, but it was about time to interrupt a line of questioning that was becoming way too dangerous. Had she had a phaser she would have done it earlier. A phaser to heat the water, of course. But even at this point the intense aroma of the tea captured the ambassador's attention, as she had expected. Vulcans were more emotional about their spice tea than Romulans about their ale.

Sarek accepted the cup, asking himself from where they could have possibly obtained such a disparate tea set. The only Vulcan thing in it was the tray.

It is an imitation tea. It does not smell quite the same.

The ambassador looked briefly at that Romulan woman, thanked her with a curt head bow, and noticed the professor was practically smiling at her.

"Thanks."

The ambassador blinked before that unabashed expression of affection, and kept staring at the professor.

"Would you need something else?" said the Romulan woman.

The professor took a look at the ambassador before answering, and found his glare. For an instant he hesitated, caught at fault, but then, very calm and pointedly, he turned to his student.

"No, that is all. Is your bibliography ready?"

"Tomorrow, sir."

"You better go to my study and finish it today."

"As you wish. You can revise it tomorrow morning."

"Agreed."

With a formal bow and a slight smile, she retired. Ambassador Sarek kept looking at her as she went away. Then, vaguely hoping this was going to be the last inconvenient thing he would have to deal with in this visit, he tasted his tea. A decent imitation. The professor spoke very softly, all while sipping his tea.

"She is about to finish… her Law grade thesis. A comparison of… forced interrogation methods… in Vulcan versus Romulan justice system."

The ambassador almost choked with his tea.

"Ehem… Indeed… It is a subject…that has never been treated before."

"And her analysis it brilliant. There are dark places in our culture that need come to light… and the Romulan practices are the perfect complement for their understanding. I highly recommend you to read it when it be published."

"I am sure I am going to hear about it when that happen," said the ambassador, icily, "which brings me to the reason of my visit."

Sarek fixed his eyes in his teacup. In all its long history, Vulcans had named some definitive events with specific terms: The Time of Awakening, the Sundering from those who marched beneath the Raptor's Wings. Vulcan had never been conquered, so in their collective memory Vulcans hadn't the concept of a conqueror, but they did have an approximate word for it. What had happened was so inconceivable that the authorities still had not found an official way to name it in any Vulcan language.

"Since the…" the ambassador switched to Standard, "destruction of my world of origin", and he continued in his tongue, "we have become totally dependent from outworlders. The last five days have been extremely difficult; in order to keep our stance as founding members of the Federation, we are too scattered…" and he stopped. What was he talking about? Those were his own problems. Why was he mentioning them to this old professor? They weren't his business.

"Why the last five days? Has something serious happened?" asked the old man, somewhat concerned

Sarek looked at the professor, confused. Then, he let out an un-Vulcan snort of annoyance.

"I apologize. I meant the last five years."

"I see."

"Well. As you know, the New Vulcan Science and History Academy is functioning regularly at last. Currently, we are still holding the sessions in a shelter and via subspace, while the actual research is mostly carried out at the Federation Outpost. The building of the definitive headquarters is taking longer than expected. It has been decided that this house, given its solidity and size would serve to its purposes, therefore, this Residence has to be vacated. Its inhabitants must return to their corresponding places, be the Academy shelter annex, the Starfleet barracks, the town, or their home planets as they prefer, yourself included."

The professor looked around, at the room and the patio, and took a deep breath. Then, leaning slightly forward in his seat, he looked straight at the ambassador.

"The Federation Property and Land Registry put this house under my name, as I was its first inhabitant. According to our laws and customs, that action made me into a freeholder. Under which system do you intend to proceed?"

"It would be illogical having such a big building as the dwelling of one only person. We are certain you can see that. Legal proceedings appear unnecessary."

"If the decision is already made, why did you bother to come here? A messenger with a notice had been sufficient."

"We are aware of the work you and this group of students have accomplished. We are thankful. But this colony is not a refugee camp anymore, in need of social workers tending to us. If we are going to function independently, we must to start at some point, like here and now. We wanted to be certain you yielded to the logic of the situation."

"I see. But I still fail to understand why you came to talk to me. Do you have any doubt about putting an end to this project?"

Ambassador Sarek leaned forward in his seat.

"Not at all. The other ones have raised serious concerns in the High Council. Your 'Vulcan Cultural Heritage Project' is seriously ill-advised. Do you really intend to reveal the full structure of our national government system? Our military story, including what could be cause of reproach? The koon-ut-kal-if-fee ritual as it really is? Deviant behaviors, criminality? Do you seriously intend to expose the details of what transpires during… during that what all males have to go through, to the morbid curiosity of anyone?"

"Do you seriously believe that we could possibly keep all of that as a secret forever? Almost all of it is known already, we just have not admitted it. As for pon-farr, the population here is attended mostly by foreign physicians. The Vulcans who do not live here are in the same situation. Eventually, even if for no other reason than medical concern, that part of our biology must be made known and understood, openly. Or you would prefer to risk even more loss of life?"

"Of course not; but that must be explained only to treating physicians, only when strictly necessary, and under oath of confidentiality. Why to consign all what nobody needs to know about us to Memory Alpha? And then, why shield a planetoid meant to the free exchange of knowledge? Is not that a flagrant contradiction?

"No, it is not. The same as the open sharing of the knowledge about ourselves can make us more approachable and ultimately protect us, it is necessary to protect the knowledge itself. Historically, libraries and archives have been the target of hatred and madness. Memory Alpha could be in the path of some destructive natural phenomena or an aggressive lifeform yet unknown. Losing it for mere improvidence would be a disaster for-"

"I do not think that the Federation or the High Council are going to share your alarmist point of view," the ambassador cut in, closing the debate. The older Vulcan tilted his head, looking at the younger one with sharp curiosity.

"In that case, let us go back to my previous question. Why did you came here?

With an unusual display of irritation, Sarek left the half-drunk teacup on the nearest table brusquely and faced the professor.

"I came here because I do not understand what you intend to achieve with the reckless revelation of our most intimate being. This Alien Student's Residence in this big, solid building while most Vulcans still live here in pre-fabricated Federation houses. It is as if you preferred the outworlders way above Vulcan's. You have worked so much to assure the success of this colony, I know it, but it can be no success if it becomes something that is not a wholly Vulcan society. This is not Terra, nor a Federation free trade frontier outpost. It was meant to be the safe place where Vulcans can live, grow and prosper."

"We cannot do that all by ourselves. We cannot be ourselves if it is not in relation to others, or …"

He looked around at the shelves, left his teacup on the table, stood up with some difficulty and went toward a close one. He picked up a book written in Vulcan and gave it to the ambassador. Then he sat down, with a small sigh of relief.

"I would wish you to read this."

"'The Martian Chronicles' by Ray Bradbury, translated from English? Is this not a work of fiction? Nowadays I have no time to read anything but official documents."

"In that case, allow me to explain the subject. Centuries before they were able to do it, Humans dreamt about traveling into space, and they believed that Mars could be inhabited. These stories are about Humans colonizing that planet, their encounter with the original inhabitants, and how at last they become Martians themselves."

"Do you think that is what should happen here?

"I hope not, because in these stories the Martians fight the Humans, then they become extinct because of a disease brought by the Humans, and later Terra is destroyed by nuclear war. The Martians just scatter like ashes in the wind having shared almost nothing of their culture with the surviving Humans and Mars becomes another Terra in the worst possible way. And some Humans mourned the destruction they had caused, a loss they realized it was also theirs. We have still the opportunity to prevent that from happening to us. Even if we ceased to exist physically, the best of our essence could be transferred into the minds and souls of those who have chosen to come here and become one with us. Take the book, try to read it."

Ambassador Sarek examined the book skeptically. A cheap edition, used and according to certain markings, discarded from some Federation library.

Amanda, with a Terran book in her hand and smiling.

The book was small and light. It would have been impolite to refuse such a modest gift from an older man, even from this one. He nodded in thanks and put it in his pocket. He leaned back in his seat, looking at that strange old man and considering the strange ability he had to throw him off center. He couldn't allow that to happen again.

"You have a keen interest in Human culture. There is barely anything Vulcan in this place. It is as if it were another kind of Federation Outpost, full of well-meant people who want to help the helpless natives teaching them their superior ways, whatever their directives may say."

"Their ways are not superior and they know it; our ways are not superior either, ¿do we acknowledge that? Our present ways are as ancient and elaborate as our writing, so much that we have words in our modern languages that we keep using without ever having changed their millenary meaning or pronunciation; someone who had just met us could think we are impervious to change. You have been here for too short a time as to pass judgement on people who you simply do not know.

"I do not intend to pass judgement, but I cannot disregard what I see. If I had the belief that some culture is superior to others, I would not have chosen the profession I chose nor the life I had led. My late wife was Human, as you possibly know."

"I know. As I worked with Humans for so long I had to deal with their culture, and I confess that at the beginning I did it reluctantly. In time, I learned to appreciate it, which lead me to appreciate others, and strive for their peaceful coexistence and mutual enrichment. I would say that the union of alien races is the very reason of my existence. That is why I am here."

"At the Alien Students' Residence."

"Obviously."

"And that is why you stayed working with Starfleet for so long."

"Precisely. They are very well disposed to accept people from every origin."

Ambassador Sarek rubbed his forehead tiredly.

"Yes, except when they start shooting at those other people. I cannot but deplore there was no civilian official nor diplomat to talk to Nero. So much damage could have been avoided. But because of the way Starfleet works, too many times it disregards the civilian authority from which it supposedly takes its orders and simply does what it wants."

"As I recall from the reports about Nero, the Fleet had no choice but to engage him."

Ambassador Sarek stared at Professor Selek in disbelief.

"Both times? As ambassador-at-large, I have the highest level of security clearance. Like all the ambassadors and government officials I received the full Starfleet report about the related attacks to the USS Kelvin and the one that destroyed my world of origin…"

"Our world of origin…"

"Our world of origin, yes, before it was delivered to the news services. Now everybody knows what happened, except for the classified part, even for me and the senior civilian officials, which will be available for us in 125 Terran years unless Starfleet Commander in Chief deems it still unfit for public knowledge, and the Federation President approved that decision. It is inconceivable that we Vulcans have to submit to such arbitrary waiting period."

Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan could overlook all the times his government or himself as a Federation official had withheld information, but the irony of it was not lost on the professor.

"It is really tiresome to be always doing that time conversion."

"It is that militaristic censorship what it is utterly outrageous. Does not concern you that we are not allowed to learn the most vital part of that report?"

Inadvertently, Ambassador Sarek was raising his voice. The professor glanced at the room's entrance.

"Which part…?"

"The reason. I was there aboard the Enterprise and I do not know more about the reason than yourself. I should have returned to the bridge and demanded an answer. Why that Romulan did that to us? What was he trying to accomplish? What has your student told you?"

The professor raised an eyebrow. Ambassador Sarek's behavior was borderline emotional. He kept bringing up topics that weren't related to the declared cause of his visit, as if he were… in dire need of someone to talk to.

"I have wondered exactly the same thing many times, and no, my student has not told me anything I did not know. But I tend to trust the Fleet's judgement in such affairs. They don't take this kind of measures lightly. There must be an extremely important reason to enforce it."

"I have heard the most unbelievable reasons for it."

"Just rumors. The Fleet crews are sworn to secrecy when the situation entails sensitive matters."

"Really? How do you know that?"

"It is common knowledge. Besides, as I told you, I have worked closely with Fleet personnel. You have a son in there. What does he say?"

"Nothing. Not to me, certainly. Well. Some people, Starfleet or not, have been saying things, which have become widespread rumors. Most of these rumors are fantastic."

"Then, they cannot be true. Nothing unreal exists."

"Of course. But all of those rumors have something in common."

The ambassador leaned forward and whispered so quietly that the professor had to lean forward even more to hear him.

"They say Nero came here from the future seeking revenge for something that the Federation did, or will do against him. I would say, most probably that something was related to Vulcan. That would be the reason why the present time Romulans have no reacted in any way and why he destroyed our world of origin the first."

"It is a very imprecise rumor."

"What about that notion of him coming from the future?"

The professor took a time before answering.

"Given its destructive capacity, it is within the realm of possibility. Romulans have nothing alike in this time. We would have known it long ago."

"The Vulcan Science Directorate maintained for so long that time travel was impossible… the irony of it. Even now, the technical issues to achieve it consistently remain largely insurmountable, not to mention the ethical consequences. Does not concern you that we could suffer another attack from the future, a definitive one, with no means of defense nor knowledge of the reasons as to prevent it?"

The professor leaned back in his seat, his face inscrutable.

"Actually, it does not. Nero's ship was not a warship, given that it did not destroy our world of origin with weaponry. His actions were emotional, not an official mission… if the people of his time could to strike again, they would not have waited years to do so…"

The professor's voice faltered, his gaze was fixed on some point in the exterior, and he seemed having lost track of the conversation. The ambassador noticed he looked not quite well. Maybe some ailment, his advanced age, or maybe one of those brief moments of distraction he sometimes had observed in other Vulcans, when in the middle of a serious conversation or even a trivial information exchange suddenly they became lost and quiet.

The ambassador leaned back in his seat, and followed the professor's gaze to the patio. A bright sun, an agreeable morning, a local vine that would soon be in bloom. He knew that this old scientist's recommendation to Starfleet had been the primary reason for this planet being selected to establish the colony, and he should be thankful for it. It was a beautiful new home. Its general features were very similar to those Vulcan had had. There was no reason to complain. When survival is at stake, sentimental attachment to a particular landscape is illogical.

A physical sensation of pain flashed for an instant in his side, forcing him to close his eyes.

The distant roar of the le-matya in the darkness of moonless Vulcan's night.

When he opened his eyes after that brief distraction, he saw that the professor was looking at him.

"Ambassador? Do you need my help?"

The ambassador saw no cause for that so out of line question. What? The professor seemed… deeply concerned? Frightened?

"It is of no importance…"

"Have you visited a healer since what happened?"

Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan, Head of a Great House, Elder, and some other things, was very aware he hadn't come to this house to get involved in a personal interaction with this unruly citizen, who displayed his emotions for everyone to see almost as if he weren't Vulcan. This was totally unacceptable.

"Such questions pertain to family members. I should not have to remind you the basic notions of Vulcan manners. It is not your place," he said, as if he were talking to an ill-bred child.

The professor straightened up rigidly in his seat, his eyes fixed on the floor, his hands clenched on his lap.

"I apologize. However, if I may be so bold, I beg you to take care of yourself. You are the only family your son is left with, and he is not here to take care of this matters."

His son, his weak point. The ambassador first thought was that this old Vulcan was looking for a sly way to manipulate him emotionally. He wouldn't allow it, and prepared himself for a scathing reply. The professor remained calm, but he seemed… hurt? Sad? And then it occurred to Sarek that perhaps it was him the one who wasn't behaving properly. It had happened before.

I offer you logic. It is you who do not listen. You never listen.

The ambassador took a moment to assess and center himself. He was angry at himself for losing his Control and angrier for being angry and…

Illogical.

An objective conversation should be simple between two Vulcans, an Elder and an old one.

Do not let yourself deviate from the subject again. Control.

He took the cup from the table and drank what was left of the tea. It was cold, and bitter.

It wasn't just that unresolved sense of familiarity that kept bothering him, his headache was becoming too strong to ignore anymore, and this together with all what he should be doing in his office plus the highly disagreeable reason for his visit were driving him to some kind of edge. There is no offense where none taken, and maybe he was taking what probably didn't even exist; so far, the professor had shown only good intentions. It wasn't his place to treat an older man as he had done, no matter how imprudent he could be or unwise his projects; he deserved some consideration from his part.

Among all the hard decisions the High Council had had to make, from all kind of security checks and travel restrictions to the indefinite suspension of the kahs-wan, just one old citizen seemed almost irrelevant in the whole context; he was bound to submit to the authorities ruling for the good of the many, but, if Sarek was going to be totally sincere with himself, he wasn't in full agreement with the Council's decision. He was as much certain as the others that those projects were harmful, but the way to put them to an end, specifically this house, appeared to him as a little too much peremptory. Maybe because he was the only diplomat in the Council. After all what had happened, they were going to dispossess the Professor of the place in which he had lived for years now, a project in which it was evident he had put a lot of effort, maybe even his reason to staying alive. He would never do such a thing. Not to an old man.

For the sake of his conscience, he wanted to be totally certain this professor yielded willingly to the logic of the situation, and that there was logic to the situation. Was it a decision totally fair for everyone involved? Were they being cruel instead of logical? However, he hadn't expected a discussion, much less such a passionate one. Time to expose the justifications he had repeated in his head all the way to the Residence. He left the empty cup on the table and straightened up in his seat. He didn't realize how stern the old man's face had become, still with his eyes fixed on the floor.

"What you have done so far for the colony, is indeed remarkable. But in the present time we must strive for keeping our cultural identity whole, our biological purity strong. Your permanent invitation to aliens to come and remain here, the spreading and mixing of our culture through the Quadrant, is harming us."

The professor didn't look at him.

"If you are so preoccupied about Vulcan purity, why did you take a she-Human as your mate? That was something Elders and Matriarchs frowned at the time, and still do."

Ambassador Sarek was taken aback by the sudden coldness and the harsh terminology, but he had promised himself that he would stay in Control.

"When I bonded to a Human, it was only the life and destiny of one Vulcan male what was at risk, and she was an extraordinary woman, who understood and followed our way, almost always. Now, it is the very existence of the Vulcan race what is in danger. We cannot allow ourselves to be less ourselves. This Alien Student's Residence of yours, we do not see its use. That project of yours of sharing freely the most intimate traits of our being, we do not approve it. There are things that cannot be shared, and we cannot take the risk of mixing our identity with others that neither understand nor value it. Not now."

The old Vulcan raised his eyes and faced the younger one. Sarek looked at him, but he couldn't read the professor's face behind its steely Control.

"And what about your son, the half-bred one? Will not he be considered Vulcan anymore, or not Vulcan enough, by your own standard?"

Half-bred. Sarek blinked in astonishment. How dared this crazy old man use a term from sehlat breeding to refer to his dearest son? Despite his intentions, his Control and his training, his voice shook in outrage when he started to speak.

"My Human wife was not taken for necessity, nor imposed to me by my family's obligations. She was thoroughly my bonded mate, and our son, the fruit of our bond for whom we made the utmost effort in bringing him to life. My son is Vulcan, because I am his father and he chose to follow the Vulcan way. If I were to reduce the worth of his life and his dignity to some biological features, I would not be worthy to be his father, a diplomat or a Surak's follower. He is all what I was left of my wife, whose eyes I can see in him. You do not know me. If you believe that I have ever abode any kind of racial or speciesist discrimination, you are miserably mistaken. But I am an Elder now, I have multiple responsibilities toward my people, the main of which is to make sure that what is Vulcan in essence, do not disappear as the Mother World did."

The old Vulcan was watching him now with something like… challenge? Satisfaction? He couldn't define it.

"So, if for you being a Vulcan goes beyond biology, why are you against this house and the 'Heritage Project'?"

There had been very few instances in his career in which Sarek had found a debate adversary as ruthless as himself. For an incredible second, he found himself fighting the impulse to yell at him. Those bright, dark, piercing eyes, so infuriating.

Where is your logic?

"I am not against… I am grateful to all this people who has come to help us, but I can't disregard they are not Vulcans. In this juncture, our biology has acquired an importance it did not have before. It is an undeniable fact. The long periods between our… Times, which were so adequate to keep our population in balance with Vulcan's ecology, now work against us, and our scientists, the few we still have, are looking for ways to work against them. When survival is at stake, drastic measures must be taken, culturally as well as biologically. Bringing here so many not Vulcans can worsen the biological problem. Spreading our cultural characteristics shall diminish them. Revealing what must not be revealed shall destroy us."

"Or shall save us, in our essence. What it means IDIC? Do not we have anything to learn from others? Do not their cultures have anything of value that can be added to ours? And if our biology finally cannot be modified and our growth rhythm is not enough for our physical survival, will we allow our culture disappear with us? Cannot we explore all the possibilities? If instead of staying away we sum ourselves to others, the result can be greater than just a combination."

"If we abide by our biology, we could become extinct, maybe. But if we do not, we are going to disappear by dilution, certainly, and with your help."

In the last word his voice has trembled, and the professor had noticed it. His old face softened in… what? Understanding? Compassion?

"Ambassador, your concerns are also mine. Do you think that I would not prefer that our race became again what it was in its entirety, cultural and biological?"

"At this point, I doubt it."

"I do, but I cannot forget what I have learnt. I worked mostly with Humans. We baffle them, we irritate them, some of them call us green-blooded hobgoblins to our face, and other call us friends and appreciate our uniqueness, even if most of us treat them condescendingly, and even dismissively. But, after all this years, can you imagine how our life would be without them? We helped them to reach the stars, they helped us to know our own tenets, lost and misinterpreted for so long. We became brothers. Was that destructive?"

A Deltan young man, tall and slender, came shyly into the room, carrying a ka'athyra in his hands. Evidently, he had heard the last exchange of words, and it seemed he wanted to be in any other part of the galaxy, but he couldn't escape. Sarek felt a very strong and quite illogical impulse of presenting him his excuses. The Deltan did it first.

"I ask forgiveness, Ambassador, Professor, but it is time."

With some effort, the professor stood up.

"Indeed. Excuse me, Ambassador, this was previously scheduled."

The professor and the Deltan went closer to the computer terminals and sat in front of one of them. After a nervous glance at the ambassador, the Deltan took a deep breath, turned it on and entered some codes. The old Vulcan squeezed the young man's arm as encouraging him. A group of older Deltans appeared on the screen and greeted them formally in their tongue. The professor bowed and answered in the same language.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I wish to thank you for your commitment, and your willingness to give the exam via subspace. My student has chosen to perform a piece he composed for his improved model of ka'athyra, titled 'Fire Plains.' I leave you with him."

He stood up and went back to the ambassador. The Deltan started to play a piece that sounded hauntingly Vulcan, but with an unusual intensity reinforced by the deep, vibrant sound of his instrument. Ambassador Sarek had never heard anything like that. The professor silently signaled him to get out from the room. They restarted their dialogue in the hall, whispering.

"Please excuse us, Ambassador. He is nervous because he needs to prove his mastery in front of a full commission from his original school to earn a valid academic degree, since here there are not still functioning art academies."

"Why is he here? At this point, New Vulcan has nothing to offer an artist."

"He wants to offer us his art."

They keep listening for some moments. Then, the professor signaled the backdoor at the end of the corridor.

"Let us proceed to the garden. At this hour, we shall not be interrupted, and no one could hear us."

Ambassador Sarek would have preferred to keep listening to the Deltan's exam, but there was no time for such frivolities, not even for the most beautiful melody he had heard in years, so he turned and followed the professor.

Just in time, because his communicator beeped. A bit impatiently, he checked it, punched a couple of buttons and closed it.

"I did not know you have art students here."

"We have a Rigelian mosaic craftsman, a Human actor who is also a playwright, a Tarkalean sculptor… There is an Arcturian young woman who writes songs for children based on Vulcan legends and lore, to more lively tunes. Nobody would fall asleep listening to her version of 'Falor's Journey.'"

They passed by the house's communal kitchen. The Human and the Bolian were there, peeling and prepping what looked like a mountain of vegetables, and seeming not particularly happy about it. The professor looked at them serenely.

"Practicing a movement meditation?"

"Uh… Yes, Professor," answered the Human.

"Carry on."

The ambassador noticed the young men looked at each other and applied themselves in earnest to the task. The professor just kept walking.

The backdoor didn't lead directly to the garden, but to a series of pre-fabricated rooms without doors. Ambassador Sarek noticed they weren't offices nor living quarters, but workshops destined to the practice of several traditional crafts: metalworking and jewelry, glassmaking and pottery, lapidary, textiles, calligraphy. The last room was part test kitchen, part laboratory. Neatly aligned, there were essential oils crystal bottles, incenses and mineral powders boxes, canisters filled with herbs, spices, dried mushrooms and fruits. Sarek remembered that Vulcan old women used to prepare broths, soups and infusions to use as remedies, each one had her own way to scent her family's toiletries… like his grandmother did. A young dark-haired woman was there, stirring what looked like an herbal concoction in a tall glass, following a manuscript in Vulcan. She turned instantly, looked at them and came closer, with the glass in her hand.

"Professor… Is it all right like this?"

The professor greeted her with a nod, accepted the glass from her, tasted it and frowned.

"It is closer, but still lacks…"

The professor noticed she wasn't paying any attention to him, but she was staring at the ambassador, who in turn was looking firmly at the wall and seeming somewhat upset.

Sarek of Vulcan was experiencing a definite sensation of

nakedness

uneasiness under the scrutiny of those immense black Betazoid eyes. She smiled and bowed politely at him, but she couldn't hide her lips were trembling. Then she looked at the professor, as if warning him. He nodded at her in understanding, while giving her the glass back.

"We are going to be in the garden. Warn the others, please."

"Yes, Professor."

And they left her to finish her chores. Once outside the building, the ambassador stopped and took a deep breath, trying to center himself. Betazoids were stronger telepaths than Vulcans, and many times they didn't care to intrude in others' minds. Such rudeness. The professor seemed to sense his annoyance.

"That young woman is particularly psi-sensitive, even by her race's standards. As a medical and psychiatry student, she had been always interested in learning Vulcan mind disciplines to rein her own telepathy and help other Betazoids in similar or worse predicaments, but when she came here, she decided to stay and become a full Healer. She hopes other Betazoids can adapt their telepathy to ours and help us too. Apparently, here there are many undiagnosed cases of mental trauma… It has been very difficult for her to withstand the constant barrage of badly suppressed emotions. She barely could talk to me in the first days; I did not know that I myself was hurting her."

The ambassador turned slowly to the professor.

"And even so, she wants to expose herself to more of that?

"There is more. She talked to her former classmates and has already received several applications. Physicians of any species can treat our physical illnesses, but the mental and spiritual ones… Would the Healers Circle accept her and the others?"

The ambassador shook his head.

"There is barely a Circle to speak of."

"Could you take care of asking them to accept her?"

The ambassador was silent for a minute, considering. He hadn't expected to receive a request in this visit. Much less a request for help. Even less one from Betazoids willing to risk their mental health to provide assistance to traumatized Vulcans.

"I cannot guarantee anything. The healers have always reserved the core of their practices to themselves, but now they are overwhelmed by the needs of the population and they know it. For that only reason, I will try it, and they might accept her."

The professor nodded. There was an understanding.

They started to walk across the backyard. First, a clear space to play sports, with a few little trees around. Behind it was the garden. Just some sinuous paths among drought resistant flowering bushes from several planets, and beyond it there was a kitchen garden, all of it flanked by straight paths.

The ambassador noticed that in a corner of the playing field there were three women seated on a bench under the little shadow of a small tree. One was a red-haired Human, the other, who was taking notes in a PADD, had the delicate features of Asian Humans. The third was a robust middle-aged Vulcan woman, her long braids caught in a snood and wearing no jewelry. The young women called the professor.

"Excuse me, Ambassador."

The professor went to meet the students, who rose up, showed him the PADD and made him some questions; he greeted the Vulcan woman ceremoniously and asked her to remain seated. The ambassador stayed where he was, looking at her. A servant, maybe a cook from a Great House. Very fortunate circumstance, probably it was the reason she had survived. As he could hear, she had been showing the Humans how to discern when a sash-savas was fully ripe, and telling them the tart fruit's origin legend. All the science about thermal conduction and botany was taught at schools, but Sarek was aware that generations of children from the Vulcan nobility had been spared of finger burns, stomach aches and all kind of childhood dangers thanks to the cautionary tales of their peasant nannies and nurses. Himself included.

When the Vulcan woman saw him, she immediately rose up and bowed deeply. She had recognized him, of course. He had no idea who she was. He didn't think in going to talk to her. He couldn't think in anything to say to her. He just nodded briefly at her.

Ashamed. Illogical.

The professor went closer to the women, and said something to them very quietly. They nodded, and headed toward the house. Evidently, the red-haired Human was trying her hardest to keep from laughing. The professor went back to the ambassador, who looked at him questioningly.

"I told them to go help in the kitchen. Those young men have no real knowledge of how to pickle vegetables Vulcan style. Or in any style."

When they were entering the garden, the ambassador turned to take a look at the house. For an instant, it seemed to him the Romulan woman was looking at them from a window. Curious. He examined the building appreciatively. It would be a good place for the Academy. Architectonically, it looked fairly Vulcan, maybe in a lighter, more curved way; the windows were wider and had abstract stained glass border fringes. There was, however, an odd feature.

"Why the building has… gargoyles?

"The climatological studies revealed the possibility of rain. Very unusual, but possible. One of the first students arrived in New Vulcan was a Human architect, from the country of France. She said that Vulcan buildings reminded her of the ancient temples in her homeland. There, the gargoyles usually represent malefic creatures. Not here."

The ambassador took a closer look at those gargoyles, and realized they were stylized figures of sehlats, le-matyas, shavokhs. Like tutelary spirits watching over the house's inhabitants. He felt a tightness in his throat. He had to swallow hard to ease it off, as they continued to walk slowly by the path.

"Is she still here?"

"She is already a professional. She is on the architect's team that designed the Academy building, and the other public offices in development."

It began to dawn on the ambassador that, like the Deltan and the Betazoid, some or most of these students weren't freshmen.

"Since when have you been receiving these students?"

With the tip of his shoe, the professor carefully put a stone back in the path's border and kept walking.

"When the colony was first established, there were just a few of us, still not having comprehended the magnitude of our loss, a contingent of temporary laborers, and a barely manned Fleet outpost. In the following years many others came here, bound by their duty like the Fleet crews, or because of the work opportunity, like the Rigelian contractors. The students arrived by themselves. They helped to build the shelters, to erect the greenhouses, to care for the orphaned children and keep company with the elderly that were left without offspring. That was how I met them: they came to help me. Do you know which was this building's original purpose?"

"I understand that this first large, solid building was meant for a community residence."

"Exactly. It was supposed to be an asylum for the lone elderly, but the students had a better idea: they asked for help from the elderly and those left with no relatives in taking care of the children, and allowed natural affinity to develop; in that way new families were formed, and no orphanage was built."

"Why did not you go into raising some orphan children?"

"Because I am indebted to these students. Most of them, like the foreign workers, did all what they could and left. This group, they came like the others, just a backpack with a few belongings, but all of them brought in it something from Vulcan. A book, a recording, a box of spice tea, some plomeek seeds, and their total disposition to stay, work and help in every possible way without a time limit. They left everything for coming here, their careers, their home planets. How could I tell them to go away? Like your son, they have become Vulcans by choice. And I keep receiving applications from others who want to do the same."

The ambassador stopped and looked at the professor, who looked back at him resolutely. Somehow, it was as if he were looking at himself.

"They are more to you than just students."

"They are my family. As dedicated to this cause as you and me. Do you know a Trill geologist who works in the prospection of planetary groundwater resources?"

"Not personally. I understand he is leading a Starfleet team that is surveying them to determine the best locations for future cities, if we ever get to build them. At any rate, a long-term commitment."

"A lifelong one. He was the first student in this house. He refused joining with a symbiont to stay here unencumbered. Do you know what that means for a Trill? When he left, he told me he hopes to develop a katra, to remain forever among us. He told me that if that does not happen, he wants his bones to remain here forever."

The ambassador kept looking at him. Like his son, this old professor displayed both utmost Control and notable passion, when arguing for a cause he believed to be a just one. And maybe it was. They resumed the walking.

"We did not know anything of this."

"You did not ask."

"Well, I did come here."

"Indeed."

They glanced at each other. The belligerence has disappeared. The ambassador was experiencing something very illogical inside, something he couldn't name in his language.

"Do you still have some of that spice tea?"

"Yes. We keep it in stasis, just for the most solemn occasions. I hope it was to your liking."

The ambassador stopped and kept staring at the professor. This one looked at him back, and shook his head minutely.

"I know. The same happened to me. I did not recognize it either. Maybe, as with many Vulcan things, the memory is in some way superior to what the reality was. Or maybe, simply, it is a different blend from the one that was served at your House."

"Maybe."

His communicator beeped. The ambassador took a look at it and closed it with no answer.

They went closer to the well-kept kitchen garden. Sarek couldn't suppress a feeling of joy when he saw the ripe plomeeks, nor a slight shudder at some vegetables and fruit bushes totally strange to him.

Not a single Vulcan agronomist survived. Not a single one.

Everything was luxuriant, bright and tender red, purple and green leaves and buds, although there was no irrigation system on sight. The ambassador looked interrogatively at the professor.

"Bolians are even more efficient than Vulcans when it comes to irrigation water. Wastewater is recycled for the irrigation system, which is composed of subterranean clay pipes and pots. Not even a drop is wasted by evaporation. The recycling facility is located in that shed."

And he pointed at an outbuilding by the side of the workshops, covered with solar panels. Then he signaled to the other side.

"The water we use in the house comes from a spring in the rocks. It is very pure and sweet. The slope carries it. Allow me to show you."

Before the ambassador could object to that new deviation from the subject at hand, the professor headed through the kitchen garden toward a high rock formation that separated the property's southern limit from the wild hills. As they came closer, the ambassador noticed there was a slit cut in the rock, the entrance to a cave, a dark hollow. The professor went inside, Sarek stopped outside. Something swift and ungraspable surfaced in his mind.

Running for their lives from the Katric Ark while the tunnels were caving in. And then…

The professor's voice brought him back. He didn't know what has happened. Just a very brief distraction.

"Ambassador?"

A silence. Then Sarek made the first question he could think of:

"Do you have some light?"

"Unnecessary. Inside is very level, and the distance is short."

Sarek did his best to master the inexplicable and quite illogical uneasiness that from some time invaded him when he had to get into narrow and dark spaces, and went in.

Yes, the cave floor was very level and the outside light allowed to reach easily a junction leading to the interior spring. In the almost total darkness, his ears more that his eyes informed him that the water fell from a crack in the rock wall in a thin but steady stream into a small pond which probably communicated with some undercurrent. From there, the Bolian ingenuity skillfully canalized it to the house. There were some rounded rocks around. The professor sounded like he was seated on one of them.

"As you have seen, my students keep me busy. Sometimes I come here to enjoy some time of peace and tranquility. Maybe they don't think that an old Vulcan could like a cold, dark and humid place. Maybe they know that if I am here, I require solitude. Take a seat."

The ambassador sensed the professor's presence, found a rock by his side and sat on it. He didn't want to, but running outside would have been both impolite and utterly illogical. He stayed there, listening to the singing water, a sound so cherished by the desert's children, but wishing with all his being for something to happen that give him a reason to get out. Trying his best the professor didn't sense his agitation. Not. Possible.

"Ambassador? Is it something wrong?"

"I have a heavy agenda for the rest of the day. I do not see the purpose of seating here in the darkness and doing nothing."

"You came to discuss important matters with me. We can do it here as well as anywhere."

"I would prefer to do it in a place where I can see you."

"I have found that sometimes darkness allows for a better concentration on the subjects to think about. I have found that, by example, memories, come easily, clearer and more vivid. As, what is the thing you miss the most about Vulcan? I have found that trivial things become more and more important as time passes. I miss a small printed books store near the Science Academy. On the few occasions when I went back to Vulcan, I always went there. The staff that attended it, seemingly for centuries, so knowledgeable… In your case, what it is?"

Sarek's first reaction was reminding that wayward professor that missing, and of all things, a bookstore, was illogical, but his diplomat's mind, trained for finding solutions and give quick answers, couldn't stop from thinking about one, and that was it. A waterfall of memories flooded his mind. All the things and places he had taken for granted, those he had been certain they would be waiting for him after his retirement and now forever lost: the bookstore, he didn't want to remember it, the landscape of The Forge from the high Mountains of Gol he had seen once in his youth, the lake Yuron he had visited so few times and which water never bathed his feet, the luminous Science Academy tea room, his study in which he kept some precious ancient scrolls, his house and the family heirlooms, the bedspread embroidered by his mother, his father's manuscript of 'The Teachings of Surak' translated into Standard, the Public Gardens when the favinit were in bloom, ShiKahr's Old Quarter streets both busy and quiet, the bookstore, yes, he remembered it, Amanda acquiring school books, a new copy of 'Alice in Wonderland,' a Shakespeare translation to Old High Vulcan for him, and her insistence in him reading it before attempting to do it in the original… And his people, his people, all his people, the reason for his being. He didn't want to remember that.

He had been running from reunion to conference to discussion to meeting for five years. Now, he was just seated in the darkness, listening to water. So much tired of running. Unable to hide anymore in some activity, unable to stop the memories or block them with meditation. What is, is, but he hated so much what had happened, wanted that it wasn't true, pain, pain, he wanted to scream in pain, he desperately wished to get out from that darkness, see Mount Seleya golden and red in the sunset, walk along the crowded streets of his beloved city, go back to his home with his family, and rest. Illogical, irrational. That pain he had been hiding from, fleeing, and not controlling it, much less mastering it. Missing is illogical, irrational. It didn't matter how much he missed all what was lost, his world wouldn't come back, she wouldn't come back…

The professor heard short, rough sobs. He sensed that finally, finally, there was a movement, an opening in that thick wall of heaviness he had been perceiving since Ambassador Sarek had turned to greet him, and that had distressed his Betazoid student almost to tears. Hopefully, a beginning of healing. There was nothing he could do to help, except offering his understanding and keeping silence.

After some time (their internal clocks weren't counting the seconds) the professor heard the sobs diminishing until disappearing. Sarek's voice sounded small and strangled, barely audible in the cave's quietness.

"I ask forgiveness."

Sarek heard the professor clearing his throat.

"The cause is more than sufficient. After all what has happened, Surak himself would have cried with us."

"You too…?"

"Yes. Sometimes."

They stayed there in the darkness, just listening to the water. The ambassador's communicator beeped, he pressed some button for shutting it down, coughed, and stood up.

"Time… Time is running out. There are still pending matters between us."

"Of course. Let us walk back to the house."

The sudden daylight that struck Sarek when they got outside almost made his inner eyelids fall over his irritated eyes. Nothing had changed. That sun, so yellow, that slightly colder climate, that landscape that didn't looked like home. His headache had disappeared. He didn't notice that.

They headed toward the house at a brisk pace, taking the other straight path by the gardens' side. It was direct, wider and was flanked by a row of garden pots containing flowering cactus.

The ambassador looked around, picked a small red flower and smelled it. Its scent was sweet, too sweet and too unknown. He threw it to the ground.

"I see your students are well-meaning, but I do not think you should accept more of them for the time being. Currently, and even with all the Federation's support, we are barely a little more than an agrarian society at a subsistence level. The building of the energy grid and mining projects are in their beginnings. Afterwards would come the establishing of more towns and roads construction. Only when - if - our population grows enough we could achieve industrialization, and finally technologization. Be ourselves again, nondependent, as we once were. Then we could admit outworlders freely."

"What are we, but ourselves?"

"Invisible is what we are. The Tellarites have taken charge of keeping our commercial networks active. Once they stop arguing they are trustworthy as rock walls and are asking for nothing in return, but now there are not Vulcan traders in the Federation nor beyond, basically because we have nothing to trade. By the other hand, the Andorians have put their shipyards at our disposition to build new spaceships as soon as we request it, but having all Vulcan crews in them is out of the question for nobody knows how long."

"The Andorians are going to build Vulcan spaceships?"

"Exactly. All these years keeping the mutual espionage tradition are coming to fruition, but not in our favor. They did not even need the schematics. I only hope they remember to set the thermostats to the Vulcan range."

The professor raised an eyebrow, and glanced at the ambassador.

"If they do not, it will not be because they had forgotten it."

The old professor looked for some signal of understanding from the younger Vulcan, maybe a knowing eyebrow. There was none.

"What I have told you about our current situation, it is not even an open secret. Our vulnerability is known broadly inside and out the Federation. Do you realize we have no way to withstand even more attacks? We are too weak now."

"Do you consider this house, the alien students, and the 'Heritage Project,' what…? Attacks?

"In the present context, lethal ones."

The professor stopped. The ambassador walked some steps, lost in his thoughts, until he realized the old man was left behind. He turned around, met those eyes and couldn't hold their gaze.

"I ask forgiveness, but your reaction appears as illogical," said the professor, cautiously. "I recognize that in the present context, my initiatives add to a difficult situation, but not in such a devastating manner. There is something else in your mind you have not told me."

"There is nothing besides what we are discussing."

"May I be of any assistance?"

The ambassador looked at the professor. His automatic, professional and logical answer should be a denial over layers of denials. But, with whom could he talk nowadays? This old man has heard him cry and instead of chastising him he had confessed doing the same, sometimes.

"You are not an Elder, but I would ask from you the service of your advice, as you are older than me and more experienced."

"Your request honors me."

"Please keep what I am going to tell you in the strictest confidentiality."

"Understood."

"There is a growing sundering in our people. What is left of it. The people living here, and those who are dispersed in the Quadrant. They would wish to come here to help rebuild our race, but they cannot leave their posts, as that would mean the actual disappearance of Vulcan as a member of the Federation. Many of those who live here assume that the outworlders… that is how they call them, are avoiding the hard work of reconstruction. And that includes me, and my son. For the other side, the Great Houses' survivors want to reproduce here the same lands distribution from Vulcan. The lesser houses' survivors oppose to that idea and propose a whole new distribution, more in their favor. Illogical as it is, I can understand why all of them want to bequeath their children something more than a cabin and a regular piece of cultivable land, even if there is a spring in it. My own family had vast properties dating from millennia. I cannot allow the rising of that kind of dissension in the very beginning of our life here. All sides are waiting for me to take their side. Whatever I do, I am going to step on someone's perception of things."

"Illogical."

"I know."

"What do the common citizens say?"

The ambassador looked at the professor as if he hadn't understood the question. Then he extended his hands in a vague gesture of confusion.

"So, is this the way you aspire to unite us? Through isolationism? It is not of Sarek of Vulcan to pursue such course of action."

"That is not my intent, but I cannot ignore that for all purposes we are now invaded like never before Vulcan was. We have to fight this, stand on our own, and be united. What else can we do?"

They walked for a while in silence.

"Democracy," said the professor, in Standard.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Democracy. Ancient Greek language, Terra. The term went into other Terran languages, until reaching Federation Standard, almost unchanged. It is not the same concept as in our culture, which would be a Technocracy verging in Aristocracy mixed to Oligarchy with some of Gerontocracy. Since the early times of Vulcan, the decisions have been made by self-appointed or hereditary authorities, as the Clans Chieftains, Kings and Warlords, the Heads and Matriarchs of the Houses, or authorities belonging to a closed circle, like the Healers Circle, the Priestesses and Kolinahr Masters, the High Command, the Science Academy, all manner of Directorates and now the sum of the High Council with the Elders Council. The time has arrived that the voice and vote of each and every Vulcan has the same value."

"I know the concepts," said the ambassador, with a hint of irritation in his voice. "Autocracy, Democracy, Theocracy, and all the varieties. Anarchy, too. The proliferation of warring parties and factions, as it was before Surak. Exactly what I am trying to prevent."

"Not if the whole of the Vulcan people is involved. Not when all of us have the same goal. That is our advantage, we can, almost always, think objectively and consider the good of the many. If anything, this discussion has proved you and I share a same goal: survival, advancement, literally to live long and prosper. We only disagree about the means. I am certain that all of Vulcan has the same goal, and even if we disagree deeply about the means, we are able to reach agreements and make our decisions together, logically."

"What if they decide to reject the alien students, and other outworlders?"

"I do not think that our people would reject people who has come to work and help us, some of them selflessly. But if they did, it would still be their free choice. Besides, whatever decision that it is made can be improved, corrected or changed as time goes by."

"You make it sound so simple. You seem to forget all the issues that extreme ideologies and partisan politics present where Democracy is in practice."

"I am aware it is not simple. I do not say it is a perfect system either. I just maintain it is a better one."

The ambassador turned to look at that very surprising old man.

"I can already hear what the other Elders and the High Council shall say to this proposal. The people are unable to make the great decisions, so, they - us - make them, for their own protection. They have not the preparation, the discipline, in some cases, the education."

"Indeed, Democracy is the form of government that requires the most from the citizens, as they must be aware of the facts and circumstances to make their decisions. We are Vulcans, but that is not enough. Access to education for everyone is fundamental. Some kind of constitution must be agreed upon. Separation of powers. Representativeness and an efficient voting system must be secured. Reliable and independent information sources must be in function, a way of accountability against the possibility of corruption-"

The ambassador raised a hand to stop that torrent of Democracy.

"Would it be worth it? All of that?" he asked, skeptically.

"Please, think of this: when the manual workers, the traders, the nursery school teachers, the lower ranked military, the artists and simple family fathers had a say in anything…? From our ancient warlike roots we evolved as a caste society with almost insurmountable social boundaries, and we called that tradition. The children still are expected to follow the father's profession, so not only it was extremely hard for a peasant's son to be admitted at the Science Academy, if the son of a Head of a Great House wanted to be a Starfleet officer, would not it be still considered a disgrace?"

The ambassador didn't answer to that question. After a moment of silence, he stopped.

"I suppose you want to include the outworlders in this Democracy of yours."

"Of course. Those who have chosen to live here, should have also the right to choose how their lives are going to be."

The ambassador stared at the professor and tilted his head.

"You are proposing maybe the greatest social change in our history, since Surak's times."

"We have had several others since then, and not only survived, but made improvements."

"All of those changes were the authorities' will and were carried out by them, this one would result in the imposition of the populace's will. The High Council shall not accept that."

"The decisions that led to the Sundering were made by the authorities, while it was a lone philosopher and above everything his popular followers which led us to the Awakening. It was the Humans' interference what led to the finding of the Kir'shara, peace with Andoria and our participation in the Federation, not the authorities' will. And so on… It seems to be a Vulcan trait that our authorities accept necessary changes only under pressure."

"As Vulcans, we cherish order, stability, security, tradition, as much as the certainty that logic gives us."

"Freedom has no certainties; will you prefer stagnation? As a diplomat, you represent a people, not just a government; will not you trust your own people?"

The ambassador kept silence. He was trying to absorb that tidal wave of ideas, when, ever so softly, the professor raised a finger.

"Also, we must address the issue of our women are still considered as property subject to the vicissitudes of her betrothed's victory or defeat."

The ambassador, all diplomatic decorum forgotten, went back some steps and raised both hands in stupefaction.

"… What? Do you intend to erase what comes from the time of the beginning without ever having changed…?"

"Our Times are a biological imperative, and yet you mentioned the present need to prevail over them. The koon-ut-kal-if-fee is not. Most childhood betrothals result in satisfactory bonds, but what happens when an insurmountable incompatibility surges in adulthood? Couldn't our women have a way to divorce a betrothed other than declare a fight to the death between two males? Now is not the time to lose lives that way."

"It is the heart, the soul of Vulcan you are talking about. What is, is, as it has always been."

"As I remember, Surak came out from the desert, saw what it was and always had been and proceeded to change it, because it was necessary to save Vulcan. Now we must save what is left of Vulcan in these times of change. Yourself said that when survival is at stake, drastic measures must be taken."

The ambassador resumed the walk, rather hurriedly. The professor followed him, but after a few moments the ambassador realized the old man was staying behind, so he stopped, but couldn't turn to face him. He was as agitated as ever was a Vulcan diplomat.

"I came here to talk about a house, a few students and a scandalous cultural project," he exclaimed. "Then I thought of asking for some advice and I am going to leave with the proposal for a full revolution."

The professor got closer, looking for the ambassador's eyes, with an almost warm smile in his face.

"Just imagine the possibilities if all Vulcans, male and female, make their own decisions freely instead of having them made by an elite or imposed by some archaic custom. Let the younger generation take their destiny in their own hands. Let them take responsibility for the mistakes, obtain approval for the achievements, that way they can learn and make better decisions each time, individually and as a people. They will not live in suffering or grievance against authorities as many Vulcans did, they will not have a cause for preferring exile. Why not to start here and now? This is a new planet, a new society in the building, not a warring clan or a starship. Not everything must be the captain's responsibility."

"I am not a captain."

"Exactly."

The ambassador looked around and allowed himself a deep sigh. Beyond the wall that protected the kitchen garden and flowers from herbivore and possible predator animals, the wide landscape extended as far as the sharp Vulcan eyes could see. Desert-like, not as much as Vulcan, but very alike so. An intact world. He resumed the walk, followed by the professor.

"There is one more thing that I miss about Vulcan. The Fire Plains with the Ancients statues. There have been discussions at the highest levels about the possibility of reproducing them there, in the plain beyond those hills to the North. If ever your idea of a, a government by the people comes to be, someone could propose your statue be added to the ensemble."

The professor raised an eyebrow.

"That would be highly illogical."

The ambassador looked at the professor, who was almost smiling. He recognized that expression.

"Do you find it… amusing?"

"A colossal statue honoring an obscure professor who has caused Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan taking the trouble to come and chide him? Definitely. Although, I must say it is as much stimulating as useful to have an argument at this level with someone like you. I missed that… I am afraid my students tend to agree with everything I say."

"Do you prefer they challenge you?"

"That is a proof that they are listening, and also thinking by themselves."

"Do not you find it disrespectful?"

"Not at all."

As they arrived to the backyard's corner closest to the house, they passed by a shed attached at its shadow, that looked like a warehouse with its door and all the windows wide open. Ambassador Sarek looked inside, and to his (very controlled) astonishment he saw a young Andorian among some bulks and crates, practicing a martial art that looked oddly familiar and unknown at the same time. The professor called for the young man's attention rapping his knuckles on the door.

"We have talked about this already," he said, sternly. "Go back to you room, practice the ka'athyra. Balance."

The young Andorian turned brusquely, looking as much angered as he was embarrassed and hot, his antennae pointed dangerously forwards. Then, he took a deep breath, picked up from the floor a semi-circular blade that looked like a serrated double lirpa with a longer stalk, and went out of the shed.

"I apologize, Professor. I did not realize I had exceeded my practice time."

With a brusque bow and not even a look at the ambassador, the Andorian hurried toward the house. Sarek realized he was, actually, gaping.

"Was that… Suus Mahna?"

The ambassador could read in the professor's face a mix of fondness and worry.

"Yes, it was Suus Mahna what the last master of Defensive Arts taught him before his death, and what he has combined with his people's combat techniques creating something that it is exercise, meditation, and still a martial art… He would need a top-level authorization from the Acting High Command for learning the tal-shaya, and someone who could instruct him."

The professor looked directly in the ambassador's eye. This one seemed uncomfortable, and resumed the walk, rather fast.

"I do not think you are going to obtain that authorization, nor an instructor."

The professor followed him, shaking his head in agreement.

"I keep asking myself whether that is a part of our culture that deserves to be preserved in its entirety… At any rate, he masters classic Suus Mahna, and he can start teaching others as soon as we find a suitable place in the town. Do you know of any?"

The ambassador thought quickly. A corner of the professor's mouth quirked up.

"Perhaps the Starfleet barracks, at midday. Humans usually go out to eat at midday."

"At midday… He would be more comfortable with a personal cooling unit."

"Indeed. How does he manage in this climate?"

"With pure Andorian arrogance. He simply refuses to acknowledge he is hot. He says he is practicing Vulcan Control; it is not totally true… He just does not admit he needs any special considerations. He regards them as pity, the worst of all emotionalisms… Sometimes I think that is very Vulcan from his part."

"Maybe. A cooling unit. That is feasible."

The ambassador noticed the professor kept lagging behind. He waited for him, and together they reached the patio's shady corner, under the vine. The patio furniture consisted of a bench, a table and some disparate chairs.

Is it anything in this house that is not disparate?

The professor took a seat on the bench, with evident relief. The ambassador noticed he seemed somewhat out of breath.

"Are you unwell?"

"At this age, I tire easily… It is of no importance. So… could it be said that an Andorian Suus Mahna instructor can exist in New Vulcan?"

The ambassador took a long look at the house with its gargoyles, the patio with its Vulcan-Rigelian mosaic floor, the garden and the kitchen garden with their mixed vegetation, the combination of multiple talents and hard work that had brought all of that into existence.

"I would say, yes. As much as a Bolian agricultural-hydraulic engineer, a Betazoid healer and the rest of your motley crew of Vulcans by choice and the ones that shall come after them. Evidently, the High Council lacked relevant information before making the decision relative to this Residence and its inhabitants. We accept as an axiom that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, but these few students of yours are in fact giving their lives for the many. To send them away would be counterproductive, and illogical."

"In that case, will the closing of this house be revoked?"

"Perhaps. The Academy does need more space. A temporary cession of some rooms could be arranged? But this property is registered as communal private under your name; to deal with the Science Academy on equal terms it should change its status to communal institutional. That would also preclude a change of purpose by peremptory decree. I suppose your Romulan student of Vulcan law could find a cunning and logical way of doing all that?"

"She did it already. A legacy-donation was registered yesterday morning, under our legal system and Federation's."

The ambassador kept staring at the professor. It wasn't a metaphor that he had a heavy agenda for that day and he had made it clear.

"If that is the case, why have we had this conversation? A decision, even a High Council's one, cannot overrule the right of a freeholder to dispose of his legacy, not by our laws and customs or Federation's."

"I have observed that in order to reach a true agreement, a simple information exchange or a mere show of force are not enough. Sometimes logic is not enough. Circumstances, emotions, can be fundamental. I consider this conversation has been of great value for both of us."

The ambassador had the distinct sensation of being a kal-toh master who had just been defeated by an amateur. A talented amateur.

"Have you ever thought of joining the diplomatic service?"

"Not for the time being. What about the other issues?"

The ambassador almost smiled before that boldness. Well, he had conceded the game already, there was no use in trying to hide it. He turned a chair to face the bench and sat down.

"That shall need more discussion. The shielding of Memory Alpha is a Federation decision; if they decide to consider your observations, we will not contest them, but it can take a long time for the Federation Council to reverse a decision made by unanimity. As for the 'Heritage Project', I will transmit your reasons to the High Council. The parts not relative to delicate matters should be approved, the rest, maybe, in time. The proposition of a totally different system of government, changing our women's legal status and abolishing the koon-ut-kal-if-fee, I have no notion of how they shall take it. That is all what I can say."

"Thank you."

They looked at each other sharing that moment, aware that they had accomplished a small feat of diplomacy. Two irreconcilable parts had find a middle way. Some young students and some old scientists and historians would find a way to work together. Important knowledge would be preserved and shared. New ideas would be introduced and set in motion. It was satisfactory.

The ambassador looked through the bow window at the study room's interior. Apparently the Deltan had finished his performance and the Romulan student was there picking up the teacups, but after catching her quick glance he was certain that she was looking after the professor. And watching over himself.

She protects him.

"That Romulan woman. She is the one who seized a Warbird and…"

"Yes, I know."

"Were it not for the Federation refugee status, the Academy would have not accepted her as a Law student. Very few were disposed to receive anyone of her kind in this planet. Nobody wanted to take them in their homes. Her crew still is working with Starfleet's security and under not quite discreet surveillance. But you did fully accept her."

"She is very valuable. Intelligent. Brave. Honorable, in her so Romulan way. In time, her contributions shall be appreciated."

"As Vulcans, we are committed to logic and IDIC teachings. But we are not perfect in the practice of those values. Maybe you are expecting too much from us."

"If I expected just the minimum from my students, probably I would not get even that. I ask for the maximum and hope for the best. As for her, the wound in the Vulcan heart is deep, and still recent, but in time, they shall accept her and the others."

"She behaves more properly than I had expected. All the students I have met today do. Your work teaching them the Vulcan ways is remarkable."

"With the Romulans' exception, I only tutor them academically. The students listen to the people, that is how they have learned our customs and traditions. And I listen and learn from them."

"When is she going to…?"

A soft flute-like sound interrupted him. Above their heads, a large golden six-winged insect was hovering, perfectly still in midair. Both Vulcans remained quiet, watching it. Apparently, it wasn't afraid of them. It just continued to hover slowly below the vine's flower buds.

"Is this a windsong?" whispered Ambassador Sarek.

"It is," whispered Professor Selek.

"Proposed scientific name, Amanda singer."

"Indeed, I was not aware you cared about the taxonomy project."

"Its first phase is impressive. I had no time to read it, but I checked the indexes. This was the only description I read. The name caught my attention. It was my mate's."

The professor kept silent.

"Did not you know it?"

"I knew it. I hope it is no offensive for you…"

"No, no, it is not."

The ambassador stood up and carefully followed the insect as it kept hovering below the flower buds. Another insect, slightly larger and striped in black appeared in front of him, and repeated the whistle. The smaller insect reunited with it and both took flight past the garden. The ambassador stopped in front of one vine pole, looking as they disappeared in the distance.

"But I wondered about the reason for that name."

"'Amanda' comes from the ancient Terran Latin language, meaning 'worthy of being loved.' As you see, the creature is quite beautiful, strong yet harmless, flies long distances, likes flowers…"

Amanda.

"My Amanda liked to sing, but never in public." Sarek changed to Early Modern English: "'Her voice was ever soft, gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.'"

"I kill'd the slave that was a-hanging thee. King Lear, act five, scene three," the professor whispered.

"She always urged my son and me to read Shakespeare's work in the original…"

Ambassador Sarek grabbed the vine pole with both hands, and turned his head wildly to look at that old Vulcan. Those dark, piercing eyes looking up at him, his head slightly tilted, as waiting from him something that for his life he never had known what it was, to his most intimate despair. Then he looked at the vine's leaves in front of him, and saw them disappear. He couldn't breathe. He felt the planet physically quaking under his feet. He felt himself thrown into darkness, going beyond reality into some alternate timeline or parallel universe. He realized that maybe he was in one already, or had he always been? He felt every cosmology theory falling on his head like a boulder. It wasn't possible, but he couldn't deny anymore what he had known since first looking at this old man. It was something before and above logic, it was the voice of his blood.

He did not go to the Academy nor my office, he never contacted me, he even avoided me. He knew the moment I had met him in public, his secret would have been revealed. A lifetime of discipline would have been washed away in a deadly second.

When he could breathe again and think with some clarity, his trained mind of experienced diplomat recognized the staggering dimensions of the situation. Security concerns, just to start with. Someone wanting to change what had happened could want to force him to reveal how he had travelled, including some Vulcans. Anyone, with intentions ranging from philanthropic to genocidal could want to kidnap someone with a verified knowledge of the future, probably more than a few Romulans. Hiding in plain sight was bold, working at the outskirts of New Vulcan with the alien students was clever, and having a loyal Romulan with military experience by his side was wise. Very illogically, he felt proud about it. But that 'Heritage Project' was attracting attention; even with the solid background that Starfleet had provided, a minimal indiscretion could prove catastrophic. Not even himself could allow himself to risk the slightest security lapse. Maybe he wasn't, and would never be the father his son needed, but there was something he knew he could do for this man: provide protection and keep silence. Ambassador Sarek looked at Professor Selek, Professor Selek looked at Ambassador Sarek, and both bowed slightly. Just two Vulcans, understanding each other.

Ambassador Sarek let go the vine pole and turned toward the professor, with the calm and professional countenance of a diplomat talking the finer points of a life and death situation as if it were a stage play, brought the chair closer to the bench and sat down in front of him.

"The rumors I mentioned previously are increasing with the passing time. Someday someone could take them seriously and try to prove their truthfulness."

"That is something only the Enterprise's crew could confirm. They shall not say anything."

"They are mostly Humans. The most delicate diplomatic missions are - were entrusted to Vulcan professionals for a reason. They seem to be people of good character, but they could be careless, even unintentionally."

"They shall not do it."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Above the regulations and oaths, they would not expose a friend to danger. They are Starfleet, and they are the Enterprise's crew. The finest starship in the Fleet."

"There are secrets that are impossible to keep."

"They will not have to keep it for a long time now."

Sarek looked at the old man, and felt a shiver running down his spine. The memory of his own father in his last days flashed through his mind.

No, it cannot be. Not now. Not so soon. I just met you. I barely knew you.

There was so much he wanted to know. He knew he couldn't ask. A mind meld was out of the question. However, there was a subject he desperately needed to know, which interested himself only and in which this old man could be a unique source.

"I suppose you have met my son?"

"Yes, I have had some contact with him."

"He never mentioned you."

"He can keep a secret, even from his father. In that, he is very Vulcan."

"In that, he is very much himself."

Sarek hesitated, then interlaced his fingers and faced the professor.

"Does he trust you?"

"I would say, yes."

"Can you tell me whether… has he thought about… will he come to stay here?"

The professor's face went somber, imperceptibly for a Human, very noticeably for a Vulcan. He looked into the distance.

"You disapprove what your son has chosen for his life."

"I would prefer to have him here, helping us. His presence would be-"

"Where he chooses to be is his decision and only his, regardless whatever you or me prefer."

"His chosen profession is a dangerous one and-"

"You disapprove of your son."

"Of course, I did, but it was before-"

The professor turned to stare at the ambassador, both eyebrows raised in evident amazement.

"Not anymore?"

Sarek stared back at the professor wondering why he could need an explanation of the obvious. Wasn't it obvious? Obviously, he had never thought of explaining the reason of his actions to his son. But, this man, even being who he was, this man was older than himself and he should respect him, so he just did what it was appropriate for him to do.

"Since his birth, I knew his mixed bloodline would be seen as a blemish by many with power over his career, so, when it was put into question, of course I did not intervene. I could not create a conflict with authorities superior to me or allow a situation that could have made others believe they had to show favoritism toward him, because of me being who I am. He had to prove his worth to everybody by himself, as a Vulcan. He overcame every obstacle, he surpassed all expectations, he was in full Control, not taking offense, so there was none, everything was well. And out of a sudden, he joined Starfleet against my explicit request, by no logical reason he cared to mention. What else could I conclude, but he had rejected his upbringing and disrespected me? It was only after the destruction of our world of origin that I came to know how deeply that harassment could have affected him, how much his emotions could compromise him and direct his actions."

The professor seemed to be… bewildered?

"So, if you do not oppose to him being in the Fleet… why you want him here?"

"A young, healthy male, intelligent and educated, is invaluable for us nowadays. It is only logical to try…"

The professor looked at the ambassador, his head slightly tilted… Sarek lowered his eyes.

"Losing him too would be… unbearable," he whispered.

The professor kept silent. After a moment, Sarek raised his eyes. The old Vulcan was looking at him with… tenderness. Those eyes, the only ones before which he didn't want to keep any more secrets.

"I am aware that if he had stayed on Vulcan, probably he would have perished with all of us, so I am thankful that he has gone away. But I also want to have my son at my side, now more than ever. I want to take care of him, keep him safe. It is purely instinctive, and illogical, but even if everything else has changed, this shall not change. Even if he were an old man, it would be the same."

The professor shook his head minutely.

"Your son is a young man. A son older than the father is a temporal paradox that-"

Sarek straightened in his seat, raised his head, and his voice.

"Young or old, he is my son. Temporal paradoxes or any other cosmological minutiae are irrelevant in that regard."

The professor nodded slowly. Sarek of Vulcan had spoken, and that was final.

"And does your young son know about your… feelings?"

"Of course. He knows. He is my son."

"It is not that simple. Especially if he is half-Human. He might need some open reassurance from time to time."

"That is not our way."

"You will find your own way."

Find his way in a minefield? Sarek doubted it, but if this old man said so, it could be possible. How? He wished he knew. After all, he wasn't different to any parent of any race. Like them, he did his best for his children to have the best in life. For Humans, it was 'happiness.' For Vulcans, it was a long life, prosperity and the most precious thing, the one he didn't have, despite his ability to give it to others. Had this old man from the future found it? Would his son?

If you did not, was it my fault?

"Have you found - are you - will my son find… fulfillment?"

The professor gaze was lost into the distance. 'Fulfillment.' He knew what Sarek meant, he knew Sarek's mind maybe better than this Sarek did, presently. But, how to encompass two universes in just one answer? Was that a question that had any possible answer? He wished being able to give cheap hope with a possible lie, but he was also who he was.

"I have memories, of a Vulcan prosperous and full of life, powerful and respected. My family, siblings, by blood, by kindness and by friendship. A career in which I followed in my father's footsteps more than I had foreseen. My life was fulfilled. However, memories are not destiny. I had a mother whose love and wisdom I cherished until my mature years. As for my father, we never found a way of mutual understanding although I finally knew his thoughts. Your son's life shall be different. At such an early age he has suffered immense losses, but he has a father who is closer to him. And he is in love."

That would have to suffice. Sarek didn't dare to ask anything more. His gaze followed the professor's and stopped in the gardens. He knew how much things had changed, how much himself had changed. It had been him who had resolved not speaking to his son until he yielded to his authority, left Starfleet and came back to Vulcan? It had been him who had been disposed to uphold that resolution for as long as it would take, even against his wife's bereaved silence? What a foolish prideful man could have thought of doing such a thing?

And now, everything had changed again. He wasn't anymore the man that had hopped his hovercraft and left his office without telling anyone. But no, he didn't feel any different now. He felt more like himself. He turned toward the professor and forgot what he was going to tell him. He sensed that in front of him there was a gravitational singularity in which time and logic had no meaning.

"When I left Vulcan as a young man, I thought I had no reason to come back, not even my mother's love was enough to make me consider it. Then, as time went by, even if I made my life elsewhere, I came to realize that it was indeed my home. I am a Vulcan. I am a Vulcan. I never imagined I would be… There is no forgiveness…"

Sarek saw that the professor was crying… and then the old man suddenly rose up and kneeled before him, bowing deeply.

"I beg forgiveness."

Sarek was confused. Didn't the professor say that Surak himself wouldn't be ashamed of crying, sometimes, about…? And then he understood. Not only had this old man come from some unimaginable future, it had been him what Nero was pursuing, somehow, he had been the why of all that devastation. He leaned back in his seat in an instinctive movement of horror and his personal nightmare, the hidden companion that waked him up at night in a silent scream and filled his days with perturbations, came to light and enveloped him.

Running for their lives from the Katric Ark while the tunnels were caving in. And then… and then, the opening to the exterior, the darkened landscape, Amanda, Amanda is too close to the edge, the mountain is collapsing, Spock is screaming, a blessed instant of nothingness, the transporter room lights are so harsh and white, and Amanda, Amanda is not there…

He stood up, and for a vertiginous second he knew what it was to be one of his ancestors. His mind was full of warlike thoughts, curses and fury. His body was ready to do violence. He looked at that enemy kneeling before him, and knew exactly how he would execute him. It would be efficient, merciful even. It would be logical. He looked at that gray head bowed before him, and he remembered who he was… Sarek of Vulcan, a follower of Surak, a diplomat, a father. Yes, this old man had been the cause of the unspeakable, but in his mind and in his heart Sarek knew there was no malevolence in the boy he had raised.

Sarek kneeled in front of the old Vulcan and looked for his eyes. It took him a moment to find his words, but never in his life his voice had been so firm.

"The main reason I wish my son here with me and not in a starship, is that he would never flee from danger if there were other lives at risk. He would sacrifice himself without hesitation. If there was something, absolutely anything he could do to save others, he would. And if he could not, he would blame himself endlessly for not being able to change what is. In that, he is very Human."

The old Vulcan sighed, dried his eyes with his hands and looked at the sky, through the vine's leafs. Then he lowered his eyes to meet Sarek's.

"Indeed."

A rumor caught their attention. A small aircraft crossed above their heads, and they heard it land in front of the house. They looked at each other. There was no time left, but Sarek had something left to give. He took the professor by the arms and helped him to rise up.

"About your advice regarding my son, allow me show you something. My wife taught it to me; it is something we do not do, and I practiced it just once with him, when he was very young. Do you think it would be an adequate action, now, when he is an adult?"

"What are you referring to?"

Slowly and a bit clumsily, Sarek of (another) Vulcan surrounded the frail old man with his strong arms, held him, and let him lean on himself. Spock of (another) Vulcan hold his breath in surprise, and after a second of hesitation, he let himself be cradled. They didn't meld, but they didn't need to. They both knew what the other was feeling. The old man looked at those dark, intelligent and proud eyes, now shining with emotion, saw his small reflection on them and allowed himself a smile, knowing he wouldn't be rebuked for it.

"It would be quite adequate."

The ambassador opened his arms and let the professor move apart from himself, even if he didn't want to. Even if he had noticed that the Romulan woman was looking at them from a door. He wasn't at all abashed of his actions.

"I will come back later."

"It shall not be necessary. As you can see, my students look after me at all hours. Our conversation has concluded, you have many responsibilities, and so do I. And… you do not need to bother about me. I am an old man, my days are about to end, I do not want you to have a single sad day anymore, and even less on my account. You have a son to care for."

This cannot be the end of everything.

"Do not you want to see me again?"

"All what I wanted to see and more, I have seen it."

The ambassador remained standing there as if he had sprouted roots.

I don't want to leave you.

The professor tilted his head slightly, his face perfectly serious.

"Stay in contact with the Residence's activities. The students are quite welcoming. Well behaved, in general. The taxonomy project's second phase will start next month in the equatorial zone. If you were willing to exchange your multiple duties for some scientific work you could be of great help to them, even if running up and down the hills picking rocks, plants, and chasing the local fauna looks very much like to what Humans call holidays. But be warned, the way my students conduct field research includes a communal ritual called a 'singalong.'"

The ambassador felt something light, winged, inside himself. Was that… amusing? His communicator beeped again. This time he took it out and checked it. He raised both eyebrows and sighed. What is, is.

"I… will think of it."

The Romulan student had entered quietly in the patio. She had been keeping the whole New Vulcan waiting for as long as possible, but now she had no choice but to interrupt them.

"Ambassador Sarek. Your aides are ready to escort you back to the town."

Sarek turned at her. It had been his vote which had decided the refugee's status for that Romulan woman and her crew. Other officials and Starfleet officers had called him naïve and a fool to his face, but he stood by the principle that Vulcans couldn't have a new prosperous life in peace if they started it in fear and hate. He was glad and infinitely relieved he had been right. Would she know about…? Of course she did, that little cunning Romulan behind her pacifist façade, probably knew more than all Federation authorities. The ambassador and the former… centurion looked at each other in mutual understanding. She encouraged him with a nod. Of all the difficult things that Sarek of Vulcan had done in his life, this would be one of the hardest. He just turned at him who was (also) his son, and raised his hand in salute.

"Peace and long life, Professor Selek."

"Live long and prosper, Ambassador Sarek."

The ambassador allowed himself that tiny smile he reserved for those closest to his heart. Then he turned around and followed the Romulan woman toward the house's main door, not looking back.

The old Vulcan stayed in his garden, looking at him who was (also) his father as he was going away, until he was out of his sight. He knew him well, the ambassador wouldn't forget this conversation, things would be set into motion. He was aware that mere wishes had no power to effect change, but he sincerely wished Sarek could find what he had given to others so many times, what Sarek had just given to him. Of all the strange and wonderful things that had happened to him in his long life, this would be counted as the one he was personally most grateful for. He could understand what happiness was, and he knew it was a much more fleeting condition that peace, but he could consider himself as happy, that day. This man who had visited him was so unalike from the man in his memory, and yet, thanks to what his own father had shared and Picard had offered him to touch, he knew this other father was in many ways the same one, that at the end they had found each other, again, and this time, wonderfully on time. If there were constants in all possible timelines and universes, Sarek of Vulcan should be one of them.

A constant.

The thought had been in his mind for some time already. Everything around him was different, but also so surprisingly the same. His young counterpart and his crewmates. Starfleet and the Federation, their allies and enemies. This universe, including this very same planet which himself had surveyed so long ago, from his science station in the Enterprise. Something… something caused this parallelism. What it was, what? He knew this to be real, but that intimate certainty needed a firm basis for a scientific explanation, a demonstration, at least, a definition. A name. Words, words, words. Quite a task. Daunting. Overwhelming. Impossible. Fascinating. He had to organize his notes. He looked around.

So, this was going to be his last mission before the end of all things. Or maybe it wouldn't be. In all his time, and this time, he had gone through moments of such sadness and despair he had wished to stop his own heart, but he had known so many more friendships, loves, triumphs, breathtaking space, amazing lifeforms, the joy of discovering, the accomplishment of making peace, the fulfillment of teaching. He even had died once, for his friends, and they had brought him back to life. But, had he really died, when he had placed all what he was in the unwilling yet dependable custody of the good doctor? Or had he just cheated death, as Jim did so many times? He chuckled. Indeed, he would love to discuss that subject with his old friends around a campfire, somewhere. At any rate, all what he had become, all what he knew and was harmless to divulge, he had shared it and it would keep on living in his children. Nothing worthwhile would be lost.

The vine would be fully in bloom in a few days, a murmuration of windsongs was to be expected. Maybe, just maybe, he still would have time to see them, maybe there was still a possibility to find out an answer for the question that could be answered while being alive. He wasn't in a hurry, nor was he worried. The Universe, all of them, would continue to unfold as they should. What would be, would be.