All of the Empire is coming and going today. The market square, the bustling hub of the arcology, is as crowded as I've ever seen it with people making their Planetfall festival preparations. Every provisioner's stall overflows with fruits and flowers, symbols of the tropical abundance that greeted the first refugees from Surak's parched and barren world. One can hardly walk a meter before being brought to a standstill by knots of people clustered around jugglers or musicians or conjurers. The express trams to the nearby planetary shuttleport offer only standing-room, and queues of arriving and departing passengers spill out of the terminus and into the square. In a little while, if things go as they're meant to, Spock and I will join one of those queues, and we'll be on our way to Remus.
Spock moves serenely through the chaos as if following some inner guidance system; but then he knows who he's looking for, or at least where he wants to go, and I don't. I'm not even sure I'd recognize any of the unificationists out of context, especially aboveground and in the light of day. I hold on tight to his hand so that we don't get separated in the crush.
At least we're anonymous in this crowd. Dressed in the loose, casual clothing favored by holiday-makers, with our traveling-bags slung over our shoulders, we look exactly like what we're supposed to be: a middle-aged married couple off to celebrate the festival with friends and family. And since the chances are small that we might encounter any of my own colleagues among these throngs, I'm actually able to relax a little and enjoy the spectacle.
Spock comes to a halt in front of a wine-merchant's stall. "Let's go in," I say to him. "We should get a visiting-gift for our host on Remus, whoever he or she is--"
"No visiting-gifts, my lady," says a familiar voice behind me. "I won't allow it."
"Good morning, D'Mel," Spock says. "I thought you might be the one to come."
"Happy festival to you both," says D'Mel, smiling his eye-crinkling smile. His arms are filled with containers of food--fruits and salads, breads and cheeses--and two bottles of wine. "These are for you, to tide you over during the flight, and I won't hear a refusal."
"You honor us," Spock says gravely.
D'Mel turns to me: "If it weren't for you, my sister's farm might have failed. But now she'll be able to sow a healthy miala crop in the fall, and--well, things are going to be good for her again. She wants to repay you for what you've done, and so do I."
"But I can't claim credit for--"
"Yes, you can," says D'Mel. "And you can claim my sister's hospitality, for she's so eager to give it she can't talk of anything else. Her farm is right next to a lake--a real freshwater lake like you'll never see on Romulus, and warm enough for swimming even at this time of year. And there's fruit right out of the trees, and a little herd of hreinn for sweet milk and butter like you've never tasted--" He sighs. "Sorry. I do get carried away when I think of home. Here, let's pack all this up."
Between them D'Mel and Spock manage to fit most of the largesse into Spock's traveling-bag; the overflow goes into mine, and the smell of the crusty bread makes my mouth water.
"Here are your tickets for the shuttle." D'Mel pulls from his pocket two encoded data chips. "An hour from now was the earliest departure we could get. Senya and I will hold your places until--well, whenever you're ready. Now I've got to run. Senya's buying some gifts, and she'll need me to help carry. Jolan tru!" With a smile and a wave he disappears into the crowd.
"Am I to understand," I say to Spock, "that D'Mel and Senya will be accompanying us to Remus?"
"Apparently," he says.
"And it wouldn't be very logical for them to stay anywhere but at D'Mel's sister's farm, would it?"
"It would seem not."
"So we'll be enjoying their company for the duration. Did you know about this?" I'm trying not to laugh, and failing.
"I did not. I knew arrangements were to be made, no more."
"Hmm."
"I was told that Senya took quite a liking to you the night you dined at the Velvet Mantle--in fact, that she smiled at you. Many found that an event worth remarking."
"I remember. Venn said the same thing." Venn, my old friend--
Spock hitches my traveling-bag higher on my shoulder. "Are you all right, beloved?" he says softly.
"Yes, beloved. Everything's all right." I take a deep breath. "Those queues at the terminus aren't growing any shorter. Maybe we should find our places now--"
"Aerlyn," Spock says, taking my hand in his, "I must make one more stop."
"Didn't your parents train you to go before you left the house?"
"Not that," he says, smiling. "Just across the road there, at the fabric-merchant's." Through the link I sense a sudden rush of feeling--a tension that's not anxiety, exactly, but something closer to anticipation. And then he's shielding completely.
"Spock, what is it? What's wrong?"
"Nothing, beloved. I want to show you--" He tugs me along the busy pavement, past a brace of jugglers and a musician whose Barolian voicewind wants tuning rather badly.
"Show me what? The fabric-merchant's shop? I don't need anything from there."
He doesn't answer, only propels me across the road.
Like every other shop in the square, the fabric-merchant's premises are decorated for Planetfall. Arrangements of fruits and flowers occupy all available surfaces, and swathes of Capellan velvet and Delphinian silk in rainbow colors are draped on walls, over chairs, and across cutting-tables. The proprietor is ladling out a sparkling orange-gold punch to her visitors; when she looks up to greet us, I recognize her as the old woman who first welcomed me in the maglev tunnel.
"Happy festival, Mirias," Spock says politely.
"The very same to you and yours," she says with a glance in my direction. "May I offer you a refreshment?"
"Thank you," Spock says, and accepts the cup she's holding out.
Now what is this all about? While I'm still staring at him in surprise, Mirias hands me a cup. "Happy festival, my lady," she murmurs. "I'm honored that you chose to visit my little shop."
"The honor is mine," I reply automatically.
"Please have a look around," says Mirias. "We've just received some new brocades from the mills on Darda. They're very popular. Over there, you see? My apprentice is showing them to a customer now."
"The colors are unusual," says Spock, who must surely care as little as I do about brocades or anything else this shop has to offer.
I have no wish to be discourteous to Mirias, however, so when she leads Spock and me to the back of the room I try not to show my impatience. Her apprentice is displaying bolts of gold-shot brocade to the customer, a woman close to my own age. The stiff, heavy fabric is indeed lovely, but far more suited to the woman's bearing than to mine: she's as tall and shapely as I am small and slight.
Mirias beckons to her apprentice. "Come and help me carry out some more flowers," she says. He gratefully abandons the bolts of fabric and trots after his mistress.
The customer looks up from her examination of the fabric. "Happy festival, my friends," she says, and smiles at Spock and me. Then, tilting her head as if she's about to ask a question, she extends her open palm and offers me a handful of ivory-colored pyramids engraved with Vulcan characters. "Ha'tha ti'iu, s'thora," Saavik says with a catch in her voice. "I came to return these to you."
* * *
Mirias has offered us her private sitting-room and provided us with tea, cakes, and a carafe of the potent orange-gold punch. That last has gone a long way towards assisting me in the regaining of my equilibrium.
Saavik is some twenty years younger than I; between two adults of vulcanoid stock that span makes no more difference than five years would to adults of a shorter-lived species. And yet the hardest thing for me to grasp--harder than, say, her illegal presence on the homeworld of an enemy power, her willingness to communicate with someone who failed to spare her the unspeakable horror of Hellguard, her acceptance of Spock's embracing the culture that she's hated and publicly repudiated all her life--is that, in every way that matters, we are contemporaries.
In the woman's face I see the child's curiosity, in the woman's eyes her fierce intelligence. In the woman's body I see the child's restless energy, subdued by will rather than by time. And though the dark hair that's cut short in Romulan fashion is threaded with silver just as my own is, I can't suppress the same protective urge I felt for her on Hellguard. Spock and I would have had a daughter not many years younger than this ...
Spock gives a succinct account of the events of the last few days. When he tells Saavik of Sarek's death, that turns the conversation to the more distant past.
"After Khitomer," Saavik says to me, "when Spock began to form a strong friendship with Senator Pardek, our own friendship nearly ended." She glances towards Spock as if for confirmation. "I couldn't accept his bringing a Romulan into his life--not when he knew what Romulus had done to me. I was bitter and resentful then, and after Tomed I was beyond reaching."
"I grieve with thee, Saavikam. My husband was killed at Tomed too."
"I know," she says, reaching across the table to touch my hand. "I grieve with thee, s'thora. I found out about Commander Tal when I searched Starfleet's intelligence records." At my look of surprise she adds, "That was a long time after Tomed, when I was trying to find my way back."
Back from where? I want to ask. Back to what? But I know her story will come out as and when it must.
"It's a long story," she says, as if she's heard my thought. "But I had help from those who cared for me, and in the course of things--" She turns to Spock again.
"In the course of things it was your friend Dr. McCoy who made the difference," Spock says to me. "As he has in many other lives. He despaired of my ability to help Saavik after the loss of her husband at Tomed; in fact, he thought I was largely to blame for her problems because I had attempted to guide her in the Vulcan way." Spock exchanges a look with Saavik. "McCoy put it somewhat more colorfully than that. In any case, he gave Saavik what can only be called a talking-to. That was something no one else had done for her, least of all I."
"McCoy offered to share what he called 'home truths' with me," Saavik says, "and though I declined his offer he proceeded to do so regardless. He assessed my various character defects. He informed me that I lacked compassion and empathy, that I was judgmental and unforgiving. He said that those were the very worst attributes of Vulcans and though it pained him to admit it they were not shared by Spock, so where the hell had I picked them up anyway. He said that if I wished to avoid damaging my son by my example I would do well to--in his words, to get in touch with my Romulan half."
"Gods of Remus."
"Yes, that was my reaction, more or less. We--our discussion went on for some time, with both of us growing angrier and more careless in what we were saying. He said that I was the worst kind of bigot for condemning an entire race, including Spock's good friend Senator Pardek, for the actions of a few, and that he happened to know that a Romulan had sent the message that led to my rescue from Hellguard."
Spock, who is sitting next to me, takes my hand in his.
"That was too much to bear," Saavik says. "I called McCoy a liar. But Spock confirmed that Sarek had received a message that brought the rescue party to Hellguard. Spock didn't know who had sent it, but he knew it had come from Romulus."
"At the time," Spock says quietly, "I did not know who sent it. I do now."
Saavik must catch the meaning in his voice, for her eyes grow wide. "You, s'thora?"
"No one knew you were there, Saavikam." It's all I can do to get the words out. "The groundquakes--the eruptions--they were engineered to destroy Kharsalen and all its inhabitants because someone feared the outcome of the genetic research that was being conducted there. Our battalions were sent off on a sham errand, and when we returned we were told that no one in Kharsalen had survived. But a salvor's ship found lifesigns three years later. I--I took a scoutship and confirmed their findings, and sent a message to Sarek."
I can almost see the learned Vulcan control mechanism snapping into place. "Indeed," Saavik says. "I did eventually come to suspect something like that might have happened. Starfleet's intelligence files made some references to the kinds of projects that had been funded by your praetor."
Spock looks surprised at this, but says nothing.
"Kaiidth," Saavik says, and the Vulcan mask disappears in the warmth of her natural smile. "McCoy probably wouldn't be surprised to learn that it was you who sent that message."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you were also the subject-matter of his tirade to me. After informing me that I was a bigot, he spoke of the young Romulan commander he had had the honor of knowing for a short while, and of her intellect and courage and wit. I wanted to throw up," she adds, lifting her eyebrow. "He also spoke of the great lady who was the Romulan ambassador to the Federation at the time. He said that she was the epitome of everything that Vulcans might be if they didn't insist on keeping their heads in an inappropriate place."
Beside me Spock sighs heavily. "McCoy understood Saavik in a way I did not," Spock says to me. "He maintained that what she needed was not Vulcan control, to which she was not conditioned from birth, but--"
"Light and air," Saavik says. "He said the things that were causing me to damage myself and others could only be exorcised by light and air. That I had to lift up the rocks and let everything beneath them run out into the sunlight, so they would dry up and blow away. It took me some time to realize that he was speaking metaphorically."
"What happened?" I ask. "Was McCoy able to help you?"
"McCoy and Spock together--one in his Terran way, one in his Vulcan way." She smiles at Spock. "Although I often thought that each of them had assimilated some of the other's methods. But eventually Spock did something only he could do--he enabled me, as McCoy said, to look Hellguard in the eye."
"The mind touch?"
"Yes. And that was when--" She stops, takes a breath, begins again. "That was when he saw my memory of you."
"It would be difficult to overstate the extent of my surprise," Spock says.
"Once Spock explained that you were the flagship commander who was involved in the Enterprise incident, it was easy to make the connection. My s'thora, McCoy's Romulan commander, Spock's--well, I wasn't sure what you were to Spock, but I could make a reasonable guess. From that point on I used my connections in Starfleet Intelligence and kept track of your whereabouts as best I could. I imagined that I might somehow be the instrument of your reunion with Spock--a childish fantasy, really, but I wanted to see Spock happy. When he finally married, I thought--" She breaks off suddenly and looks at Spock.
"It's all right, Saavikam," he says gently.
"I was sure he would be happy forever. But soon he was alone again, and I--I thought it best not to bring up the subject. And then I ran into McCoy one day, just after he'd come home from touring a starbase. The only thing he could talk about was his stopover on Argo, and you." Saavik regards me curiously. "Do you know the rest? Has Spock told you? McCoy said, in essence, that if Spock didn't go to Romulus to find you then McCoy would be certain of what he had often suspected--that Spock's head was in the same inappropriate place I referred to earlier. When Spock made his decision, I made mine. I would accompany him."
"But, Saavikam--you weren't at any of the unificationists' meetings. How did you--"
"Spock introduced me to Mirias when we first arrived. We knew we couldn't risk communicating openly until Spock's safety was assured. So we agreed to come to the market square at the third hour whenever we could. We would wait in or near Mirias's shop, and eventually we would both be here on the same day. A time-honored way for spies and fugitives to make contact with one another, yes? And as for the other unificationists--" Another glance at Spock, as if to apologize for a story too often repeated. "I don't share Spock's dream of reunion, s'thora. I've seen enough of Vulcan to know what frightens it. This" --her gesture manages to encompass not only the shop with its profusion of flowers and rich fabrics, but the crowds outside, the musicians, the food, the drink, the noise, all the joyful, rowdy tumult of Planetfall-- "would terrify it. Not the things themselves, but what they represent."
"Saavikam," Spock says. There's only the barest note of reproach in his voice.
"I don't say Romulus isn't equally terrified of all that Vulcan represents. I only know that these two peoples will never be reunited."
"On this," Spock says, "we must agree to disagree."
My head is spinning with so many questions that I don't know which one to ask next. Fortunately, Saavik knows which one to answer.
"Why am I here, s'thora? Well, I had some property of yours I wished to return." She indicates the small pyramids collected in my lap. "I'll tell you that story someday when we have a good long time to spare. I also wanted to be sure that Spock reached Romulus safely. But mostly I'm here so that I can look this world in the eye."
"Saavikam--"
"Consider the logic," she says. "My son is married, my career in Starfleet is over. And since McCoy is still of the opinion that I should locate my Romulan half--as if he thinks I'll find it lying in the street somewhere!--I may as well take this opportunity to do so. Mirias has invited me to stay with her. I'll earn my keep by helping her in the shop."
"But your son--"
"Ah, my son. Now if anyone proves me wrong about reunification, it will be Taran. Despite McCoy's fears, he's grown into an uncommonly open-minded and outward-looking young Vulcan man. He knows where I am and why, and he understands. He and T'Mela will keep my secret."
Spock gets to his feet and turns to me. "We must go now," he says. "D'Mel and Senya will be waiting at the terminus. I wanted to bring you here before we left for Remus."
"You should have told me, Spock." You should have trusted me--
"It was my choice, s'thora," Saavik says. "I wanted to surprise you." The child I remember is so vital and so present in this moment that it's all I can do not to gather her into my arms.
"You're the most welcome surprise I could imagine," I say. "And, Saavik--I would be honored if you would call me Aerlyn."
* * *
If they've changed at all, the queues for the trams to the shuttleport have grown longer rather than shorter.
D'Mel and Senya have saved our numbered places. They can't shout out our names, of course, so they're waving madly in our direction. Spock waves back in acknowledgment, and is rewarded with a happy nod from D'Mel, who is immediately obscured by the shifting tide of people.
"Come with us, Saavik," I say impulsively. "Come to Remus with us, and we'll have all the time we need to talk--"
"Well, Spock?" Saavik's grin is entirely Romulan. "Would you like me to come along? Then you can go to bed by yourself while Aerlyn sits up all night listening to my stories."
"It is my wish," Spock says with infinite dignity, "that Aerlyn listen to your stories whenever she likes and for as long as she likes. After we return to Romulus."
"Agreed," Saavik says, laughing. "Go safely, my friends. I'll be here when you get back." She raises herself on tiptoe and looks in the direction of the terminus. "I can't even see your traveling-companions," she says. "Are you sure you can find your way through the crowd?"
Spock's hand tightens on mine, and once again we share the memory before either of us can speak the words:
A perilous journey, but we will make it together.
Write to Kathleen Dailey
© 1999, 2000 Kathleen Dailey. All rights reserved.