Part 3 (1/2)

Star Trek Alan Dean Foster 87910K 2022-07-22

Chastened, his lower lip swollen, Spock sat on a bench in the exterior corridor of the learning center and tried not to look up as his parents stood at a distance away from him. They were arguing. Or at least his mother was arguing. His father was discussing. Another difference between them, Spock knew. One that he had difficulty reconciling. One that, when it occurred, he always tried to avoid.

Except this time he could not avoid it because he was at the center of it.

”Where I'm from, when someone hits you,” his mother was insisting, ”you hit back. How is that logical logical? As far as I know, masochism does not exist in Vulcan society. They pick on him, they tease tease him, every day.” him, every day.”

Sarek was unrelenting. To his wife, he was simply being stubborn. ”Spock had no reasonable reasonable expectation of being physically injured. The instructors arrived to separate them before any real harm could be inflicted.” expectation of being physically injured. The instructors arrived to separate them before any real harm could be inflicted.”

”He's a child, child, Sarek! We can't expect him to be Sarek! We can't expect him to be reasonable. reasonable. Especially given the uniqueness of his situation. Doesn't logic allow for any exceptions, even for personal defense? It's not a Especially given the uniqueness of his situation. Doesn't logic allow for any exceptions, even for personal defense? It's not a reasonable reasonable state of affairs.” state of affairs.”

”Which is precisely,” her husband replied with infuriating composure, ”when reason must guide his actions above all. The more serious the situation, the more vital it is to be able to control one's emotions in order to render the best possible decision and ensure the most efficacious outcome.”

Turning away, she shook her head in frustration. ”I want him to embrace Vulcan, you know that. But he has to be himself. Which means occasionally being human. When Vulcans get disgusted with each other, they never just walk away, do they?”

”No!”

She glared at him. ”Well, humans do!” she said back over her shoulder. ”Here-in case you've forgotten, I'll show you how it works!”

Turning, she marched off in the opposite direction, to disappear through an open portal that closed tightly behind her. Sarek followed her departure, then exhaled softly. He stood there for a long moment, until his wandering gaze eventually encountered that of his son looking back at him. Spock hastily dropped his eyes, but not quite fast enough. When next he looked up, it was to find his father peering down at him.

”I did not mean to create conflict between you and Mother,” the boy murmured in his customary soft tone.

Sarek gazed down a moment longer. Then he blinked, seemed to slump slightly, and sat down behind his son. There was no anger in his expression. Of course. No clue to what he was feeling. Or rather, thinking. He tried to explain.

”Do not take that which you have just witnessed to heart. It is a common and natural thing not to be feared. In marriage conflict is...”

”Constant?” the youngster ventured hesitantly.

”Natural. You will learn that emotions run deep within our species, though it is far less in evidence than it is in humans. Long ago, such emotions nearly destroyed us. That is why we decided to follow the teachings of Surak. The result is the calm, controlled, and contented civilization you see around you. Had we not changed, perhaps we could have accomplished more. But general content would not have been among those accomplishments. Now, you you must choose.” must choose.”

Insofar as he was able-or allowed-Spock looked alarmed. ”Between you and Mother?”

Sarek almost smiled. ”Never, my son. Though the universe suddenly collapse in upon itself and all living things be faced with extinction, I promise you that is one choice you will never be required to make. But you may choose for yourself the ethic of logic. This offers a serenity humans seldom experience. It is not the absence of feelings, but control of them. So that they do not control you.” you.”

The boy started to protest. ”They called you a traitor. You suggest I should be completely Vulcan-and yet you married a human. Why?”

It was not a question Sarek had antic.i.p.ated, and it took him a moment to properly formulate a reply.

”As Amba.s.sador to Earth my duty is to observe and understand human behavior. This led to a deeper involvement on my part than either I or anyone else on the council expected. Given the depth of that involvement and the personal attraction I developed to...” He hesitated, gathered himself. ”Marrying your mother was only logical. It was a decision that, to my own surprise, I was capable of making for myself.

”What you are are fully capable of is choosing your own destiny. Despite what you may think, you are old enough to do so. The question you are faced with is which path you will take. That is something only you can decide.” Reaching out, Sarek put an arm around his son's small shoulders. It was an entirely physical gesture. Logical, in fact. fully capable of is choosing your own destiny. Despite what you may think, you are old enough to do so. The question you are faced with is which path you will take. That is something only you can decide.” Reaching out, Sarek put an arm around his son's small shoulders. It was an entirely physical gesture. Logical, in fact.

”No one can make that decision for you, Spock. Not your mother, not I, not your peers. Not all of Vulcan or all of Earth. Only you.”

As he sat silent and contemplative by the side of his father, Spock did not reply, the two of them gazing together down the corridor. Thoughts, however, he could not suppress.

But...I'm eleven...

The Corvette was old, red, and well preserved. It was not cherry. Time and loss had required the replacement of missing or nonfunctional parts with more modern components. But thanks to loving modifications, it looked right, felt right, drove right.

The hands that picked the dripping wet sponge out of a nearby bucket and slopped soap and water against the gleaming fibergla.s.s did not belong to the owner of the cla.s.sic car. For one thing, they were too small. For another, their actions and the motivation behind them were indifferent to the work at hand.

The Iowa sun was hot, and he was glad of the cool water as he worked. He would far rather have been out playing. But in Frank's household, his word was law. Unfair law, unreasonable law, but at Jim Kirk's age there was little he could do except suffer under it. His stepfather, Frank, was not a particularly benign dictator.

More evidence of this arrived in the form of the loud disputation that was currently emanating from the nearby farmhouse. The irritated voice of his stepfather soared to a peak of exasperation.

”Big man, huh? Go, then! Have a nice life out there! Run away! You know I could give a d.a.m.n!”

As Jim looked on, the front door slammed open and his brother emerged. Not walking. Stomping. As the younger boy looked on, George shouldered his backpack and headed right past him, down the driveway and out onto the empty country road. Dumping the sponge back in the bucket, Jim followed.

”George, where are you going?”

”Going away. Anywhere but here. Far as I can get.” His brother spoke without looking down. ”I can't take it anymore. Frank, I mean.”

Jim had to struggle to keep pace with his brother's longer stride. ”But...leaving for where?”

His sibling seemed not to hear. ”Gives me orders like he knows who the h.e.l.l I am! That's not even his car you're was.h.i.+ng. That was Dad's Dad's car. And you know why you're was.h.i.+ng it?” He finally looked around to meet his anxious brother's gaze. ”Because he's gonna sell it! Without even telling Mom!” car. And you know why you're was.h.i.+ng it?” He finally looked around to meet his anxious brother's gaze. ”Because he's gonna sell it! Without even telling Mom!”

”You can't leave.” Jim was growing increasingly frantic. The thought of him being left behind was bad enough. The thought of being left with his mother and stepfather...”We can talk to Mom about it.”

His brother whirled on him. ”You can't talk to Mom about Frank! I can't take another five minutes!” It was then that he saw the apprehension in his younger brother's eyes. ”Look,” he continued rea.s.suringly, ”you'll be okay. You always are. Frank-he pretty much ignores you. You're not like me, Jim. Always doing everything right, good grades, teachers' pet, doing everything you're told.”

From the house a distant and angry voice reached them. ”When you're done with the wash I want a nice coat of wax. You hear me, Jimbo?”

The younger boy looked pleadingly at his brother. ”George, don't go, please!” He held out a floating disk. ”You can have my flo-yo!”

A hand slapped it away. ”Sorry, Jim.” Looking back, George squinted against the sunlight. ”This isn't about toys. It's Frank. Mom has no idea what he's like when she's not here. D'you hear him talking like he's our dad dad?” He shook his head. ”You can't be a Kirk Kirk in this house.” in this house.”

Spinning back around, he lengthened his stride. Behind him his younger brother slowed, stopped-lost. Then George whirled and hurried back. A quick, hard, guilty hug. Jim clung to him, until at last George pulled away and resumed his march toward the utterly flat horizon. Nowhere to go, lacking any options, Jim watched until the older boy was almost out of sight. Then he turned and ran back toward the only home he had ever known.

He took it out on the Corvette, shoving the sodden sponge against the paint as if he could scrub away the recent memory of his brother's departure along with the dust and grime. Front hood, front doors, winds.h.i.+eld-he was leaning across to wipe away the suds from the latter when a glint of metal caught his attention.

The keys were in the ignition.

It was possible that Frank heard the metallic whirr of the Corvette's specially customized replacement engine as it started up. It was possible that the sound caused him to rise from where he had been sitting engrossed in the real-time transmission of the big game from Cairo. But he did not emerge in time to see the costly vehicle blast out onto the road and fishtail as it roared away from the isolated residence. Even if he had stumbled out of the house early enough to watch the big red road machine vanish into the distance, he still might not have seen the driver.

After all, that individual was awfully short.

As determined as he was panicky, Jim Kirk clutched the wheel in a death grip as he steered the Corvette down the empty, ruler-straight road. The longer he drove, the faster he went, and the faster he went, the easier it became, until it felt almost...natural. Reaching down, he activated the radio and let the channels spin until the add-on insert settled on a stream of heavy music the likes of which Uncle Frank rarely allowed to fill the house. A verbal command cranked the volume up, way up. As exhilaration replaced fear, he nearly lost control of the machine. A moment away from Not Being, he floored the ancient accelerator. A huge grin spread across his face as the car's updated engine responded. What do you know? What do you know? he thought delightedly to himself. he thought delightedly to himself.

Going fast was...fun.

Fun, but confining. He knew that the roof slid back-somehow. There were mechanical fasteners of some kind. With one small hand still manipulating the steering wheel, he reached up and undid first one roof latch, then the other. The roof retracted, all right. The wind ripped it right off its rear mounts and sent the aerodynamic sheet of fibergla.s.s flying like an out-of-control kite. Wide-eyed, the car's young driver managed to look back in time to see it smash into the road far behind him. For a moment he was despondent.

But there was wind in his hair now, the bright sun illuminating the car's interior, and speed-the overwhelming sensation of speed.