The First Year

PART 4

Sarek of Vulcan surveyed the contents of his electronic "IN" box. He could not fathom the volume of work awaiting him. He had only been gone for the weekend, yet it seemed that two week's worth of messages, correspondence, and documents had been logged in that brief period of time. Suppressing a sigh, he decided to simply start wading through the tasks. He suspected that he was in for a very long Monday, possibly even a very long overnight into Tuesday.

He quickly prioritized the items, deciding which required his immediate attention and which could be delegated to his staff. This time he sighed outwardly. The list that he needed to attend to personally was considerable longer than the list that he planned to assign to his aides. After a brief conference, his aides left with their share of the work.

By 10:30 a.m., he had barely made a dent in the backlog, despite pouring a great deal of energy into his work. Standing up, he stretched and walked over to the window. To his surprise, the sun was shining. He had been so engrossed in his tasks that he had not noticed. Unfortunately, he would have no time to partake of the favourable weather. Suppressing another sigh, he turned back to his desk. His thoughts turned briefly to Amanda. Perhaps she would be able to enjoy some time outdoors today in between classes. Stealing one more glance out the window, Sarek took a bottle of Altair water from the cooling unit and returned to his desk.

His comm unit buzzed. Amanda might have had an early break today. "Sarek here," he answered. To his dismay, it was not Amanda.

A young Vulcan looked back at him on the viewscreen. "Ambassador Sarek, an Express package has been delivered for you, marked 'Urgent'. It has been through all of the security scanners, but I have been unsuccessful in contacting your personal aides. Shall I bring it up, Ambassador?" the young man, no more than a boy really, asked tentatively.

"What is your name and position, young one?" Sarek inquired.

"I am Stopak, S'haile," the young man replied solemnly. "First year intern on security rotation."

"Very well, Stopak. I await your arrival."

A few moments later the door chime rang. Stopak must have taken the stairs, Sarek mused, remembering being just as enthusiastic about his duties when he was an intern.

"Come," Sarek commanded. The young Vulcan man entered the room carrying an Express Delivery package that was nearly as big as Sarek's attaché case. Sarek looked up from his work and Stopak handed the package to his superior, his eyes filled with awe. He had never before met the Ambassador. In fact, he had never even been on this floor of the Embassy before. He would definitely have something of interest to tell his parents in his weekly communiqué.

Sarek was surprised by the weight of the package. He deduced that it must be from Moira's shop as he noticed Amanda flipping through the catalog when he emerged from his shower at the hotel. But the package did not contain a return address or any identifying marks and was much heavier than anything he saw at the shop should be. Maybe his wife had ordered several items. Sarek hefted the parcel in both hands and arched an eyebrow quizzically.

"Is something the matter, Ambassador?" Stopak asked. He sincerely hoped that his first interaction with the Ambassador was not going to turn into a disaster.

"No, nothing is the matter. Your work is commendable, Stopak. That will be all," Sarek dismissed him. When the door swooshed closed, Sarek engaged the privacy lock. He had no intention of opening the package in front of anyone.

Finding a red tab along the edge of the wrapping, Sarek pulled it, then peered into the pouch. Inside was a large rectangular object wrapped in plain brown paper. He reached in and cautiously removed the heavy rectangle, along with an envelope addressed to him in Amanda's handwriting. Carefully placing the object on his desk, he opened the envelope and read the notecard.

"Mr. Grayson, I hope you find this to be stimulating, and as enjoyable as this weekend. Thank you for the wonderful getaway. Happy Anniversary---Mrs. Grayson."

Sarek eyed the package speculatively and decided that the only logical thing to do was to open it. Finding the edges of the wrapping, he tore the paper off. Both slanted eyebrows shot skyward. Impossible. He simply could not believe it. After the initial shock wore off, he tentatively reached out a hand and stroked the object.

For'ma'zhi by the Vulcan poet Sorel. Sand. How appropriate. Clearly this did not come from Moira's. Amanda had used the catalog as a ruse and he had fallen for it. He traced his fingertips reverently along ancient runes on the desert-red cover. Unbelievable. His wife never ceased to amaze him.

There were probably only a handful of intact volumes of Pre-Reform poetry in existence, and most of those were in private collections or antique bookstores. To find anything at all written by Sorel himself was quite rare, as Sarek knew from his youthful obsession with the poet. The ancient maverick often recited his verse at public festivals or roadside inns, each time subtly changing his delivery. Occasionally he scribbled his four-line creations on scraps of parchment or animal hide as payment for Vulcan ale or a meal. Sorel had vanished in a sandstorm deep in the Sas-a-shar desert, many of his lyrical musings left unrecorded. Everything Sarek had located during his youth had been disconnected pieces of prose, first recorded by scribes and scholars at least a century after the poet's disappearance. This, however, was a verified writing of Sorel.

Sarek gingerly turned the pages of the ancient tome. The words were in Old High Vulcan, which was very difficult indeed. Sarek had spent every day one summer at the linguistics archive absorbing as much of the dialect as he could from the scholars. His father had sent him there to learn to speak and write Andorian in preparation for his future diplomatic career.

When Skon found out that his eldest son was patently disobeying him, and that it was for some Pre-Reform nonsense, he made arrangements for Sarek to attend a stricter school located high in the Langolan mountains. T'Pau had intervened, however, convincing Skon that a firm knowledge of the ancient classics would make Sarek a well-rounded orator and negotiator, since it was words, and not necessarily logic, that forged alliances. When Sarek had an audience with the matriarch after the incident, she simply shook her head and muttered fondly "so much of your Grandfather in you." To this day, Sarek's command of Andorian was barely passable.

Now the archaic words came back to him haltingly, nearly forty years later. Holding the book, he walked over to the window for better lighting. Finally he found one of his favourite passages about a shooting star in the desert sky. After softly reading the first line aloud, he closed his eyes and recited the rest of the verse from memory, savouring the way it felt to speak the ancient phrases, envisioning the sky over the Sas-a-shar at night. He opened his eyes to regard the uncharacteristically sunny, blue sky of San Francisco. Sighing, he looked at the volume in his hand, then at the mound of work on his desk, then back at the perfect Terran sky. It was not the Vulcan desert sky at night, but perhaps Amanda would enjoy the poem about kahs'khior'I blazing across the heavens just the same, while they shared lunch and a bottle of wine in the park. Tucking the book under his arm, he walked past the pile of unfinished work, out of his office, past the startled expressions on his aides' faces, and then finally out of the Embassy and into the sunshine, heading in the direction of the University.

THE END