Part 4 (1/2)
Almost, Spock thought. Spock thought. There it is. Almost. There it is. Almost.
”If you would clarify, Minister, the nature of the 'disadvantage' to which you are referring?”
Not a hint of emotion was present in the minister's voice as he replied. ”Your human mother, of course.”
The conflict that boiled forth within the applicant did not manifest itself visibly. Only the glance he threw in his father's direction hinted that anything other than rote acceptance was present within the young man's mind. Ever the consummate diplomat, Sarek said nothing. His eyes widened slightly: suggestion or command, it did not matter. As the councillors were preparing to rise and disperse, Spock made the first spontaneous decision of his life. He did not feel entirely comfortable with it, but it felt...right.
Even if it was not entirely logical.
”Council, Ministers-I must decline.”
Preparations to return to other daily duties were instantly forgotten. Confused looks gave way to cold stares. His colleagues on the Council left it to the science minister to respond. Where previously his tone had been complimentary and welcoming, now it was flat with disbelief. But, of course, not with anger.
”Are we to understand that you are refusing the honor that has been granted to you? No Vulcan has ever declined admission to this academy.”
Completely at peace now with himself and his decision, the applicant replied coolly. ”Then, as I am half-human, your record remains untarnished.”
Sarek had held his peace as long as he was able but, confronted with his son's astonis.h.i.+ng demurral, could no longer remain silent.
”Spock. You have made a commitment to honor the Vulcan way, even in the face of unreasoning prejudice.” At this the councillor who had made the pivotal comment shot a look in the diplomat's direction. Sarek ignored him.
”At the moment, Father, I can think of no greater way to honor our species than to attend Starfleet as its first Vulcan. Given a choice between 'firsts,' I have decided to opt for that one.”
The councillor who had spoken last raised his voice without altering his tone. He did not have to. His choice of words was sufficiently accusatory.
”Why did you come before this council today? Why did you waste our time? Are you playing at some sort of irrational game? Or was it to satisfy your emotional emotional need to rebel?” need to rebel?”
Spock betrayed not a hint of what he was being accused of displaying. He was as calm and collected as if addressing a group of close friends. ”I came with the intention of enrolling, as my father wished. However, your...” he hesitated long enough that no one could fail to get the point, ”...'insight' has convinced me that my destiny lies elsewhere. You have persuaded me that for the foreseeable future at least, my life does not lie in the pursuit of pure academics. Therefore, the only emotion I wish to convey is...grat.i.tude.” He nodded ever so slightly. ”Thank you, ministers and councillors, for your consideration. Live long and prosper.”
No emotion in those words, not even in the last few. But just a hint, perhaps, of a nonverbal suggestion best exemplified by a distinctively human digital gesture with which those on the Vulcan High Council were not familiar.
As he turned, Spock's eyes met those of his father. Sarek's disappointment was evident in his expression. Yet in addition to the disappointment there was a trace of something else, of something more. As he departed, head high, Spock could not be at all sure he had interpreted it correctly. His uncertainty was understandable.
It was not customary for Vulcans to take pride in any kind of repudiation, whether propounded by themselves or by those whom they love.
IV
There were bigger dives in Storm Lake, with better music and cheaper booze. Some attracted construction workers, others engineers, still others visiting suits from Was.h.i.+ngton and Moscow and Beijing. The s.h.i.+pyard bar was the favorite of the majority of cadets.
The young East African woman entering now had a back as straight as an arrow, black hair done up in a contemporary coif, legs that would not quit beneath a short skirt, and calves tucked into high black boots. The combination drew appreciative stares from every man present who saw her, from a few women, and even from a couple of visiting non-humanoids-there being a certain universality of physical aesthetics that in exceptional instances transcends species. Nodding and smiling to those she recognized, she ambled up to the old-fas.h.i.+oned bar and leaned gloriously toward the bartender.
”Habari and hi. Any recommendations tonight?” and hi. Any recommendations tonight?”
The bartender smiled a greeting. ”How about a Slusho Mix? A little powerful, though.”
She nodded agreeably. ”Sounds intriguing. I'll give it a try.” As the bartender nodded, admiring both her smile and her capacity, a nearby voice more admiring than accusatory commented cheerfully.
”That's a h.e.l.luva drink for a woman wearing those kinds of boots. Or is that where it all ends up?”
The face of a young man leaned toward her. Not a cadet, she saw immediately. A welder, maybe, or a driver. Possibly even younger than her. He had nerve, if not brains. Typical ladies' man, she decided: muscular, handsome, stupid. His grin confirmed it. She straightaway banished him from her reality.
”And a shot of Jack,” she finished instructing the bartender, ”straight up.”
Kirk turned toward the barkeep. ”Make it two-her shot's on me.”
”Her shot's on her. her. Thanks but no thanks.” Thanks but no thanks.”
He made a face at her. ”I don't hear 'no' very often.”
She replied politely and without smiling. ”Then it's evident the universe is out of whack and I have to take it upon myself to redress the imbalance. When I say 'no,' I mean it.”
A woman who could respond with more than a nervous giggle or an outraged slap. One who could construct a coherent sentence without having to engage in a conference call with friends. He liked her already. ”My name's Jim. Jim Kirk.” A great echoing lack of response ensued. It threatened to continue until the sun winked out. ”If you don't tell me your name,” he finally prompted, ”I'm gonna have to make one up. I can be pretty inventive, but I doubt it'll be as appealing as the real one.”
She stared at him, wis.h.i.+ng her order would arrive. He remained where he was, the same silly grin on his face, and she wished she had opted for a less complex drink. Had she done so she would by now be on her way and free of him.
”So-what's your name?”
She replied without looking at him. ”Uhura.”
”Uhura?” His lower jaw dropped precipitously. ”No way. way. That's exactly the name I was gonna make up for you.” His smile returned. Practiced, charming, usually irresistible-until now. ”'Uhura' what?” That's exactly the name I was gonna make up for you.” His smile returned. Practiced, charming, usually irresistible-until now. ”'Uhura' what?”
”Just Uhura.”
He looked dubious. ”They don't have last names in your world?”
She sighed. ”Uhura is is my last name.” my last name.”
Kirk didn't miss a beat. ”They don't have first first names in your world? Wait, let me guess. Is it 'Jim'?” names in your world? Wait, let me guess. Is it 'Jim'?”
Where is my drink? she wondered. The guy was good-looking and playful rather than overbearing, but the conversation was growing as tiresome as it was predictable. She had heard variations of it a hundred times before, in bars and shops from Dar-es-Salaam to Des Moines. she wondered. The guy was good-looking and playful rather than overbearing, but the conversation was growing as tiresome as it was predictable. She had heard variations of it a hundred times before, in bars and shops from Dar-es-Salaam to Des Moines.
”I could tell you my first name, but you'd forget it by the time you're halfway through your next shot and then I'd be insulted.”
Lowering his voice, he did his best to edge closer. ”Baby, I will never never forget anything you tell me. In fact, I remember the first time you rejected me. Remember that? When we first met?” forget anything you tell me. In fact, I remember the first time you rejected me. Remember that? When we first met?”
She smiled in spite of herself. He was still intrusive, still goofy, but...charming. As long as he didn't get physical...
Where was was her d.a.m.n order? her d.a.m.n order?
”Okay, so you're a cadet,” he was saying. ”Studying, preparing to go...,” he waved an indifferent hand skyward, ”out there. That-away. What's your focus?”
”Xenolinguistics.” If she expected that to draw a mask down over his eyes, she was mistaken. Surprisingly, he didn't blink. ”Lemme guess: you don't know what that means.”
”Let me me guess. Study of alien languages: phonology, morphology, syntax, variability in different mediums of aural conveyance, symbology...” He broke off, smiled afresh. ”It means you've got a talented tongue.” guess. Study of alien languages: phonology, morphology, syntax, variability in different mediums of aural conveyance, symbology...” He broke off, smiled afresh. ”It means you've got a talented tongue.”
She pursed her lips, regarding him in at least half a new light. ”And for a moment I thought you were just a dumb hick who only has s.e.x with farm animals.”