Disclaimer: Copyright 2006
Mistress V.
Winterludes
Mistress V
"Holy smoke!" Christine said as she surveyed the bathroom of their accommodation for the next two weeks.
"Is something wrong?" Spock, ever mindful of his spouse's recently weakened condition, was quick to join her. He raised an eyebrow as he viewed his wife.
"Is this a bathtub ... or a swimming pool?" Christine lay back against the smooth surface of the sunken tub. "I could do laps in this!"
"The interior designer of the penthouse suites was a Deltan," he admitted as he joined his wife in the empty tub. "It was designed for ... enjoyment, I would surmise. Worf mentioned luxurious accommodation at this hotel, and now I see what he meant." He slid an arm around her shoulders. "It is, as you Terrans say, quite hedonistically decadent."
"That's an understatement. You could have a Roman orgy in here!" She flushed. "Not that I'd want to, though."
"Perhaps a Vulcan orgy?" he replied as he drew body closer against his own. "With just two participants?"
"Now? We'll be late for the pre-opening staff meeting. There's no time." Christine struggled uselessly, enjoying the fun of their banter, something she'd been afraid of lately. A hot Vulcan kiss added to her reminiscing.
"There is always time for a snack," Spock replied rather matter of factly. But the sensual smile on his face said it all.
* * *
"Hey guys," Stark said as the two couples, and Sierra, met in the corridor of the penthouse. "We're all just in time for the staff meeting."
Christine and Spock nodded a greeting, then the doors opened. The ride down to the lobby was uneventful but for Sierra's sighs.
Stark and T'Lara's hair was noticeably damp, despite the fact it was 10:00. The couple had a very recognizable look about them ... provided one knew what to look for.
Christine raised an eyebrow. She definitely knew just where to look.
*What IS it with you Vulcans and water?*
"Chris? You ok?" Stark asked a moment later when a strangled "oooh" escaped the doctor's lips.
"I'm ... fine. Just a muscle spasm, I guess." Her tone was neutral, her expression as emotionless as possible.
*As I recall, Doctor, that particular contact made for quite an enjoyable ... muscle spasm on Majoricia.*
*Not now ... please?*
*Then most definitely later, my love.*
The elevator doors opened and the group headed off to the winter sports complex and the historical event awaiting everyone there.
* * *
Christine's Day
Sixty children from across the quadrant were attending the sportscamp. The age range for participation had been set at 7-10 in order to ensure that any talent discovered had ample years ahead to be refined, should that be the path the child wished to take. And the participants had been culled from worlds where there was either very little opportunity for winter sports (places like Fuega and Vulcan) or no organized opportunity for the activity. As a result of Stark and Ambassador Sarek's careful study of the applications, thirty boys and thirty girls were now set for the two weeks of their young lives.
Christine was setting up her office space. The sports facility had state of the art medical and physical therapy facilities. Three other healers were also there: a Vulcan, a physician from Polaris who had served during the last winter sports fest, and one of the InterGalactic Sports Union's own staff doctors. The participants were assured of being in good hands.
At the moment, the youngsters were being put
into the groups they would remain in for the camp's duration. Then everyone would have a medical exam and a
preliminary sporting assessment. The
opening ceremony had been quite entertaining.
Ambassador Sarek welcomed everyone on behalf of Vulcan, Stark and T'Lara
and Sierra told everyone hello with Sierra and Sierra demonstrated her latest
trick, a wave. Then the T'sai T'Ser
spoke as Minister of Sport and Culture with an anecdote from her
"Dr. Chapel?"
Christine turned to regard the speaker, the Vulcan healer. She was about her own age, in Vulcan years.
"I am T'Safa, a pediatric healer from the
"Thank you, T'sai. Yes, I am. This will be quite a...fascinating two weeks, I should think."
The Vulcan woman was looking discretely at a
large double framed set of holos on her desk.
One showed Christine figure skating on the
"I felt it might be ... logical for the camp participants to know that I also do these types of activities. Sort of what we call an 'icebreaker'." Christine felt her face flush a bit. Vulcans rarely made small talk, but children were children everywhere, you had to bring them out of themselves at times.
"Indeed, that is quite logical." The healer indicated a large glass jar filled with colorful oval shapes, marked "RX" in large blue letters. "Does not RX mean prescription? Are those drugs?"
Christine took the jar down and opened the top. "In a way," she replied. "These are Terran jellybeans. I prescribe them for homesickness. Kind of a reverse psychology."
"Were you trained in juvenile psychology, then? A fascinating approach." T'Safa was definitely intrigued.
"Not exactly, just was a homesick child myself when I was younger." Christine handed over some tongs and a small paper container. "Do try some, please."
"Which flavor would you recommend?"
"I like the violet colored ones. They're plum, and the taste is very similar to the fruit." Christine pointed out the bean.
A moment later the healer's face registered pleased surprise. "These are quite an unusual treat. I ... would hope to try some other varieties during the course of the camp's duration, if that is allowable?"
"Of course," Christine said with a barely suppressed soft laugh. "There's an old saying, 'Physician, heal thyself,' and I firmly believe in it."
The conversation would have continued had not a small scale pandemonium been heard approaching the medical offices.
"But your worshipful gloriousness," a wheedling voice entreated.
"Ellat." A youthful tone was firm in its reply.
"Your gloriousness, I do not understand!"
"At this place I am known as Ellat. Not your highness, your glory, your exalted. For two weeks I am asking that you address me as such. I am an ordinary participant of this event, not to be treated differently from any of the others."
Christine and the Vulcan exchanged a mirrored raised eyebrow. This must be the Dauphin of Troyius. They scurried to take up their posts.
The Troyian delegation was waiting in the reception area. Spock was at the rear of the entourage and gave Christine his own special eyebrow raise of the long-suffering variety. She could almost feel his hrrmph. Clearly, things were ... trying.
"Your, er, dau, er, El..lat, I do not see why your personal physician cannot perform this examination in the privacy of your own room," the obnoxious voice, belonging to an even more obnoxious looking bodyguard type, continued. "Must you subject yourself to this humiliation?"
The Dauphin, a surprisingly slight, tall young man of perhaps ten, held his ground. He looked up at his protector and firmly shook his head. "I shall be examined by a staff physician. Then I must be assessed by the hockey coach." He turned to the four doctors. "This one," he said coolly.
Christine gulped. Of course he'd choose her. Finagle's laws and all their variations were in force even here on Vulcan. She acquiesced graciously and a moment later his holiness was seated on her diagnostic table. His own personal doctor was left to chafe at the illogic of the situation in the outer offices and proceeded to pour his opinion of the situation into Spock's unfortunate ear.
"You seem to be in good health," Christine said as she ran the scanners over him. "How would you prefer I address you?"
"I am Ellat, ma'am," he replied, looking at her nametag. "Dr. Chapel? You met my mother, did you not?"
"I did," she replied, surprised he would know this.
"Mother has spoken of her days on the
"Dr. McCoy is here on Vulcan for a few
weeks, and Captain Kirk will be attending the closing ceremonies with the rest
of the
"She is very well, thank you." Ellat looked over at the photos. "You partake of sport then?"
"Sometimes," Christine told him. "Ellat, I would like a copy of the prescription for your eyeglasses, in case we need to get you another pair should these break. Does your physician have this? Should we make sports goggles for you?"
The Dauphin looked a trifle embarrassed. After a long moment, he spoke. "There is no prescription. My eyesight is quite prefect."
"Then why do you wear these?" The glasses were extremely old fashioned, almost archaic in their design.
"I wish to be a physicist someday," the boy answered. "And in my studies of history, it appears that many famous scientists wore glasses. Have you seen the old holo 'Independence Day' perhaps? I wear the same spectacles that the scientist at Area 51 wore, custom made for me."
Christine recalled the film. She and Spock watched it on occasion, enjoying the early special effects and the rather unusual, though quite illogical, storyline. What was that actor's name? Brent Spiner.
The exam concluded, the young man was whisked away by his minders for his hockey assessment and Spock, somewhat reluctantly, brought up the rear.
*Later, dear.*
*Later, indeed.*
* * *
"NuqneH," Christine told the young woman.
"You ... speak Klingonese?" The girl's voice registered surprise. She answered in accented but excellent Standard.
"A little bit. You are Kanou?" Christine proceeded with the exam, thankful Kala managed to get her some medical holotexts through her father. So far as she knew, she was the only physician in the area who had even a small handle on Klin anatomy.
"I am." The girl's eyes watched Christine with undisguised curiosity.
"Your Standard is excellent, Kanou. Far better than my Klingonese."
"My grandfather, Kluth, insisted I learn. He said I will go far in my sport and would need to know this language. But you, how do you know our tongue?" She watched Christine scan her foot, where a purplish blue bruise showed near her toes.
The hockey coach. Of course, this was the prodigy she'd heard of. "My friend Kala's father is Klin. And have you met Mogh? He and his parents were at my wedding ceremony. So I know a few phrases." She pointed to the injury. "Your trainer takes very good care of your feet, Kanou. But is this a stress fracture?"
The girl looked blank for a second, then pulled out the handheld translator all participants had been given. She recognized the phrase and nodded, speaking in her own language for a moment. "Yes, for some reason this area of my...foot seems to be injured regularly." The device translated her words instantly for Christine to see.
Christine kicked off her clog and brought her foot up onto the table, making certain her own translator was at the ready. She touched her top instep and spoke slowly. "I got fractures here because my arch was so high. We had to make a special insert for my skate. It looks like...the back of your foot is more slender than the front and you injure yourself because of that. The trainers here can hep. Would you like that?"
"Yes, I would." Kanou had switched back to Standard. "Did you skate?"
"I still do, for my own enjoyment" Christine said as the girl prepared to leave. "But long ago, I competed, just as you will."
"What ... are those?" Kanou was pointing to the jar of jellybeans.
Christine took the lid off and allowed her to have a sniff. "A special Terran treat. Would you like some?"
"May I have enough for my roommate and I to share? What is the name of this?"
"Of course. They are called a jellybean. It is a type of candy." Christine watched the young woman scoop out a small handful and put it into the paper container.
"Jelly bean." Kanou rolled her tongue around the word. Then she gave Christine a smile and headed out the door.
A young Vulcan girl was waiting there for her and Christine watched as Kanou held out the unfamiliar foodstuff. They both inspected the candies thoroughly, then each took one and tried it. The reaction was exactly the same, though the Vulcan only smiled with her eyes. In a moment, nothing remained of the treats but the empty container.
Christine recognized T'Mara. That was an interesting pairing, she thought, glad she and Spock had discussed this thoroughly when it was known T'Pring's daughter would be attending the camp.
A moment later the two, who appeared to be thick as thieves already, rushed off to their next activity.
* * *
Christine inched her way into the tub with a sigh. Spock was still at the hockey staff meeting so she had a blissful hour or so to indulge herself in the swimming pool masquerading as their bath. T'Jen assured her earlier that although it still seldom rained on Vulcan, its scientists now knew how to manufacture enough potable water so that agriculture and tourism no longer suffered as they had years before. A luxurious bath was no longer viewed as a waste of water. And this particularly gargantuan bath was half full.
The scent of the herbal salts Kala had sent
from her
A little while later she heard the door to their suite open.
"In here," she called out, not opening her eyes. She felt his raised eyebrow even without looking. "I'm drowning in relaxation."
Her husband disappeared into their bedroom where, Christine presumed, he'd meditate. But it felt as though he'd already done so. In that case, what was he up to?
A loud splashing brought her out of her reverie. Through her almost closed lids she saw Spock slide under the water's surface and begin slithering along the tub's bottom, looking for all the world like a gigantic Vulcan flounder. He could hold his breath underwater far longer than a human, so he circumnavigated the tub's perimeter, as a shark circles its prey. Christine willed herself not to react, not even when she felt a nip at her ankle. How did he do that? This was going to be too much fun. His amusement and lustful thoughts were coursing across their bond nonstop.
After a few minutes, she surreptitiously observed as he surfaced and flipped over onto his back. In a smooth movement he crossed his arms across his chest and started his imitation of a comatose Vulcan. This was part of their game. Make me react. Out Vulcan me.
Christine picked up her vidphone and pretended to dial out.
"Hello, T'Jen? Dr. Chapel.
There's a problem. Well, rather
unusual, I fear. It looks as though the
Creature from the
The barest shudder coursed across his abs. Christine continued talking to herself.
"I believe it probably slimed up through
the drain." A
pause. "No, of course I have
no idea why it's here. Maybe the poor
thing took a wrong turn at
A snort escaped her husband, however quietly.
"Well, I think it has expired. It looks to be quite dead and I certainly
don't want a rotting carcass polluting our living quarters. Do you think the
Splashes rippled toward her but still no discernible activity. Christine pulled out all the stops. She'd missed this playfulness with her husband and was determined to make up for lost time.
"Perhaps it could be stuffed and put on display at the museum." Another pause, then she moved closer on her knees. "Distinguishing features? Hmmm. Just a shade under two meters in height. No body fat, quite muscular. There is a large lovebite just above the creature's left hipbone. And he's hung like a--"
At this Spock lunged up and captured his wife in a watery embrace. The forgotten vidphone flew from her grasp to bounce off the bathroom floor.
Fortunately, such items had long ago been made quite indestructible.
* * *
Take My Brother...Please!
Ice. Real ice rink ice, not a holodeck version. Christine took a deep breath of cool air and skated out.
It was 06:00. The facilities manager said she could have an hour every morning at this time, after Selek and T'Lea finished their early workout and before coach Daragan started his own hockey runthrough. The idea of an hour to herself each day, just her and the ice, was something Christine appreciated very much.
She cued "The Wishing Tree" and began
to glide across the silence. Here she could
express her true feelings, yes, emote, without having to answer to anyone, not
even Spock. Although Christine knew he
genuinely enjoyed watching her workout, and regularly skated with her on the
How could a race without visible emotion so readily embrace sport and the arts? Selek and T'Lea were galactic champion ice dancers, and to get there meant showing a wide range of feelings during their routine, yet off the ice, they quickly slid back into their familiar Vulcan character almost as though a switch was thrown. The same for the numerous performing artists she'd come to learn of in the past year. Their passion for their discipline was very apparent when they were performing. But once the curtain was down, it was business as usual.
Of course, Spock did that on a regular basis with her. When he was on duty, on board, or in the requisite situation, he was still the Vulcan everyone knew, if just a whisper less ... staid. Then when they were alone together, he also switched into another mode, one he clearly enjoyed. She smiled as she remembered last night's game of wits in the bath. He'd dared her to make him laugh -- and she did, without any fear of remorse later. Even after hours of fun last night, she'd still had to pull herself out of bed this morning to be here and clearly felt his reluctance to let her leave.
Her husband, however, was hardly the typical Vulcan, and those they'd encountered aboard the Xir Tan, well, that was best forgotten. Christine looked forward to these weeks on Spock's home planet so she might observe its people on a day to day basis. And there was plenty of time each morning to mull over her observations.
As she finished her workout, Christine was aware of an audience. There on the sidelines sat Kanou and T'Mara. She nodded to them. An older gentleman, the hockey coach Valeri Daragan, was speaking to both the girls and Kanou appeared to be making an introduction. Christine busied herself changing out of her skates and quite forgot the matter. It wasn't until she was leaving that she glanced back at the rink. The Zamboni was beginning its first cleanup of the day, and there, at the controls, was the hockey coach himself. Seated next to him were Kanou and T'Mara and both were clearly enjoying the ride.
* * *
"S'haile Spock?"
Spock and his wife looked up from their after midmeal iced mochas to see a group of small girls standing there. Two were Vulcan, two were humanoid. One of the Vulcan girls was obviously the spokesperson.
"Yes, ladies?" he replied politely.
"May we ask you something?"
"Certainly. What do you wish to know?"
"It is about...." The girl stopped for a moment and looked around. "Klingons," she said in a low voice.
"Very well, what about Klingons?" Spock's tone was smooth. He'd been answering cultural questions since the camp began, but this was the first inquiry about things Klin.
"Is it true they live in caves?" asked one girl.
"And are cannibals?" said another.
"They do not bond? They cannot read nor write?" one of the Vulcans dared to ask.
"Is this so? We have heard such things ... in passing." The group's leader was a tad concerned lest she be accused of gossip.
Spock exchanged a Vulcanly amused glance with Christine then began speaking.
"It is not so, no." He indicated Kanou, who was seated a few tables away, working on her PADD while her roommate T'Mara did the same thing. "That young woman also has a mother and a father who cherish her. She resides in a house with them much as you all do, be it in the city or in the country. And she attends school the same as all of you."
The girls were silent but their curious stares begged for more confirmation.
"Her parents are married, as your own are," Christine continued. "And while the food eaten on her homeworld may not be the same as you know, no, Klingons are hardly cannibals. They don't eat other humanoid beings. Their culture is historied with honor and tradition, as are all of ours, but it too is a bit different to what we know. Kanou is simply another young girl here to learn about sport."
"But how do you know this?" one of the Vulcans asked.
Spock unobtrusively pointed out Mogh, who was seated with a large chattering group of boys of all races. "Do you see that Klingon boy, Mogh? He was at our wedding ceremony not long ago, with both of his parents. They are agriscientists. Did you know his favorite game is what the Terrans call 'Frisbee'?"
"Really?" This was interesting news.
"Yes, really," Christine said with just a hint of a smile. "Why not go over to introduce yourself to Kanou and ask her about where she is from? I'm certain she'd tell you."
They watched the small group cautiously make its way towards the unusual pair.
"Let us also seat ourselves nearby," Spock suggested. "Lest there be any issues that surface."
"Yes, Commander. Why not just admit it, you're just like your father when it comes to being nosy?"
Spock merely lifted the corner of his mouth as he led them to a seat nearer the impending social interaction.
* * *
"Hello," Kanou said in reply to the greeting she'd been given. "I am Kanou. This is T'Mara." Her Standard had made a quantum leap even in so short a time. She'd just been calculating how long it would take to get a vidmessage to her mother, via the border intermediary station.
Introductions were made.
"So where are you from?" asked one of the Terran colonists.
"What's it like there? Do you have a big family?" said another.
Kanou hit some buttons on her PADD and pulled up some images. "This is my mother," she said slowly as the pictures scrolled past. "And my grandfather."
"And your papa?" one Vulcan girl timidly asked, using the Terran term.
"My father was a warrior, he died bravely in battle when I was two of your years." Kanou's expression was sad yet proud.
"Ohhhhhh." Sighs of sympathy and meaningful glances came from the girls. They all sat down and continued to watch the slideshow.
"And this is our home in the capital city." Kanou pointed to more pictures. "And our garden. And the rink where I skate."
"Och, who's that?" Fiona, a sturdy young snowboarder from the Scots-settled colony of New Inverness, indicated the next holopic. The image was of a young Klingon man, splendidly attired in his hockey uniform, a gold medal adorning his neck. He held a hockey stick like a bat'leth and gave a serious, proud pout to the camera.
"OOOOH! He's dishy!" added Ginny, a figure skater from Terra.
The other girls crowded around the PADD, oohing and aahing, or just looking (in the Vulcan way) admiringly.
Kanou was perplexed. "That is my brother, Kando. And what means 'dishy'?"
"Your brother?" squealed one girl. "He's so cute!"
"Cute? Dishy?" Kanou repeated the unfamiliar phrases while she stared at her translator, not wanting to believe what she was seeing. "You think my brother ... my brother is ... pleasing?!"
The group nodded.
*We should leave, Commander. Kanou is obviously able to take care of this herself. It's rude to eavesdrop.*
*Patience, my wife. Let us remain a bit longer. And I am not eavesdropping, I am perusing my notes for this afternoon's matches.* Spock returned to his own PADD and studied it intently.
*What are you *up* to?*
*I never had a sister. This discussion fascinates me.*
"My BROTHER?" Kanou made a universal face and uttered a word that was familiar in any language. It meant "yuck." Then she indicated her translator, invited the others to use theirs, and began a scathing diatribe in Klingonese.
"My brother is a cadet in the defense corps who happens to play on the hockey team. He is an oafish lout who, when he is not practicing his sport, sits in our home and consumes all the food while playing holovid defense strategy games. When his friends come to visit, it is worse. They laugh at me and call me names. My mother usually takes me for a walk or shopping when this happens. His living space resembles a ... trash heap! Why would you think he is ... cute?"
Spock had also turned his translation switch on. He and Christine read the words silently, but inside, both were amused.
"No!" Ginny was aghast. "I always knew it! My brother's a Klingon!"
Kanou looked at the translation and shook her head. T'Mara leaned over to say something and a moment later, Kanou's face broke into a smile. "Is your brother so much like mine?" she asked, curious.
"Worse. And his friends are slimy slugs."
"My brother refuses to allow me to sit next to the window in our vehicle. It is illogical to say, but I do not like this."
"My brother tracks manure into the house from the fields and never cleans it up!"
"My brother consumes the last bit of my mother's best plomeek soup before he asks if another would like some."
The conversation was clearly headed in a familiar direction.
"Come along, Commander." Christine stood up to leave.
"But I was not yet finished with my ... studies."
*If you don't haul your posterior off that chair right now, I will go ask those Vulcan girls if Vulcan boys have cooties!*
*Cooties, Doctor? I am not familiar with that term.*
*Then I'll go teach them its meaning. Move it. NOW.*
They were out the door before the brother bashing session took an interesting turn.
"Wait!" T'Mara looked almost distressed.
"What is wrong?" Kanou asked, worried her friend had been somehow insulted.
"If brothers are such an ilk, then I am not certain I would welcome the one my mother says will join our family in the spring."
"Your mam's having a baby? Och, that's great news. You'll be a big sister! Of course, brothers aren't all that bad. Mine plays chess with me."
"No one has explained physics so well to me as my own brother."
"Mine takes me for ice cream."
"Kando skates with me sometimes and we speak about things."
At the end of the lunch break, it was decided that while brothers had their bad points, they also had an equal number of good points. A logical conclusion for all concerned. T'Mara was given sage bits of wisdom from everyone as to how to assume her special duties as a big sister.
* * *
"You certainly do that unobserved observation very well," Christine remarked as they headed back to their duty posts down the still quiet hallway.
"Indeed, I have had a great deal of
practice on board the
"You have? Where, precisely?"
"Here and there."
"Cut the Vulcan doubletalk, mister, where is here and there?"
Spock shook his head. "That would be telling, Doctor, as you constantly say."
Christine's face turned scarlet as she got a fleeting vision of him at the pool, in the arboretum, in the messhall, at sickbay. All in the early days of their relationship, before any formal declaration of intent had been made on his part. In each case he appeared to be blithely going about his duties. Only now she knew better.
He suddenly found himself being yanked into the medical suite, which, fortunately, was still empty for the lunchbreak.
"You voyeuristic Vulcan pervert! I always wondered why you were hanging around the pool every time I went swimming!" Christine's eyes were bright with humor.
"As science officer it is my duty to ascertain the pH level of the pool's water." Spock held his ground, but was enjoying this as much as she was.
Christine snickered. "Sure, three times a week at exactly 20:00? I'm surprised you didn't check the life support in the yoga class."
"I had considered it, but thought perhaps that would be a bit too obvious." His eyebrow climbed to its usual seductive position. "I do so enjoy viewing you in your sports attire."
A noise in the outer offices indicated the camp's schedule was about to start up once more. Spock turned to leave, but not until he'd whispered an earful of promises to her for later.
* * *
"The word you were seeking is pronounced 'Ti'a-chu'."
Christine put down the Vulcan medical holotext she'd been studying and looked over at Spock, who was burrowing into the bedcovers next to her.
"What?" she asked. "Ti'a-chu?"
"You asked if there was a Vulcan equivalent for that quaint Terran term you refer to as a 'cootie.' It would appear that there is." He drew his wife close and allowed his amusement to envelop her.
"Vulcan girls think Vulcan boys have cooties? You're making this up!"
"I assure you, it is fact. The sexes do not appreciate each other at such a young age and feel the other harbors some heinous pollutant. You constantly remind me that children are much the same across the galaxy, and this is merely confirmation of the fact. Now do you believe me when I say that Vulcans are not created in a laboratory fully grown but are born and grow up just as Terrans, and others, do?" He traced a lock of hair that was determined to stay on her forehead.
"You mean they're allowed to be children?" she said softly.
"Yes, my love. We play, skin our knees and get into trouble at times with our parents just as you must have."
"So, did the girls say you had ti'a-chu?" Christine giggled at the thought of a Vulcan girl saying the words to Spock.
"Not precisely, no, I never heard the term as a child. But I do know of its existence." His reply was rather vague.
"How do you know of its existence?" she asked, knowing this was bait he was dangling in front of her.
"I asked ... T'Lara." Spock expertly dodged the smack aimed at his head and diffused the situation in a familiar way.
* * *
T'Lara looked up from her attempts at teaching Sierra to put her paw on her nose. "Stark, what precisely is a ... cootie?"
Stark dropped the PADD he was holding and raised an eyebrow. This was going to be quite a fascinating night.
* * *
It's All in the Perception
And so the sportscamp continued its wintry curve towards the Christmas break. The days and nights were filled with so many diversions it was almost hard to keep track of the passage of time.
The morning of December 22, the camp's fourth official day of activity, began like any other. There was the usual energetic tussle at 05:30, where Spock would do his best to convince her to stay in bed and dispense with her skating. Christine always pretended to acquiesce, then would bean her husband one and escape to the shower. His revenge, however, was that he then demanded half of her chocolate spirulina goats milk protein shake (not as disgusting as it sounds!) as a security deposit to ensure she would return to his bed later that evening. A pleasant compromise.
Skating was her own blissful time and she cherished it. Selek and T'Lea were usually just finishing up when she'd get to the ice, and watching their fluid grace together was always an inspiration to behold. Christine's music varied according to her mood; today was Copland's "Appalachian Spring." The old moves came back easily, but not without her share of crashes and burns. Halfway through her routine, T'Mara and Kanou would usually appear and watch her, but why, Christine was never sure. Today, she thought, she'd find out why they rode the Zamboni every morning.
After skating, then breakfast with 60 chattering youngsters, it was time to become doctor on call. The med facility was active from dawn will dusk with the usual juvenile complaints common to those active in sports keeping all four physicians busy, and the physical therapists were likewise engaged, soothing the knots out of muscles unused to such intense ministrations. Christine's supply of jellybeans was healthily diminishing, though some of the candies were disappearing during her sessions of kal-toh with T'Safa. The healer offered to teach her this Vulcan game of logic and Christine was a willing pupil in the hopes of surprising Spock, who never mentioned that he played.
Evenings were as active as the days, with a wide array of entertainments on offer to please the camp's broad spectrum of cultures. Vid games, holos, and the ever popular arts and crafts hummed with the conversations of many languages as the youngsters learned to understand each other's words. Spock was still busy answering cultural questions, though the pre-camp informational holovid each participant had received seemed to be working in that no major cross cultural faux pas had yet happened. Bedtime was painlessly enforced -- all the participants were happily exhausted at day's end.
Jimmy Sanchez, from Christine's hometown area, was an avid kite flyer back in California and had quickly engaged many of the boys in constructing kites that reflected each maker's unique culture. A grand kite flying session was being planned for Christmas morning, before the festive winter holiday party at the Terran Embassy that afternoon.
Mogh and Loki were blending in very well, as was Kanou. Christine realized that the discussion about brothers probably was her ticket of entry into that special intergalactic sisterhood which felt the male species was positively horrid. Oh well, she thought as she botched another double loop attempt, give it a few years.
Benny Childress was indeed the son of Evie and Ben Christine had met during her visit to Fuega, but since then, he'd shot up like the proverbial weed and was reveling in the wintry activities and enthralling his fellow participants with stories about the lava streams on his homeworld. He informed Christine that his parents would be journeying to Vulcan to collect him and would be at the grand New Year's Eve gala celebration which would close the camp. That was a pleasant prospect.
Christine did miss her friends. The
"Good morning, ladies," she said to her two observers.
"Good morning," they both answered simultaneously.
"Are you finding the insert to your skate comfortable, Kanou?" she asked as she unlaced her centuries old styled traditional boots.
The Klingon girl nodded, not needing her translator. "My foot does not hurt any longer when I ... land ... my jumps." She gave a smile. "Qat'hlo, Doctor," she added.
"You are welcome." Christine noticed both girls staring at her painted toenails.
"Is that the ... natural coloring ... T'sai?" T'Mara ventured. "It is ... blue. Your are perhaps half Bolian?"
"No, I'm all Terran," she replied. "The women on my home world, and some others too, color the nails on their hands and feet for ... glamour?"
"Ah, as our women..." Kanou looked down at her translator and spoke to it softly. "They ... put paint? On their faces for festive occasions."
"It is called makeup on my world, Kanou. Terrans also follow this custom." Christine was astonished at how quickly the girl's Standard was improving. "And what is on my toes is called nail polish."
"Makeup." T'Mara was thoughtful. "Yes, my mother sometimes colors her lips when she and my father must attend a special event. But this seems most illogical, is it not uncomfortable?"
"When you young maids are a little older, I don't think either of you will find the idea illogical." Christine gave them both a smile. T'Mara's eyes smiled back, matching her friend's quirky sideways grin.
"Good morning, ladies!" An accented male voice interrupted the history of cosmetics lesson. The hockey coach stood there, his eyes twinkling merrily. "You are learning well from your teacher, I think!"
Kanou rose and turned to Christine, speaking slowly and carefully. "Doctor Chapel, may I present his honor, hockey coach Valeri Daragan."
Christine graciously extended her hand, which the coach kissed in the old world style. "Oochin priyatnya," she murmured. (Pleased to meet you)
He looked surprised. "Vooy gavaryetye pa Russki?" he asked. (You speak Russian?)
"Nyimnozhka. Mooi droog, Pavel Andreiovich, ohn Ruski." (A little. My friend Pavel Andreiovich ... he's Russian)
"Harasho! (Very good!) I am also honored to make your acquaintance! Kanou speaks of you."
"His honor and my grandfather are very old friends," Kanou said proudly. "His honor brought hockey to our world many years ago."
"And I still insist on driving the Zamobni in my old age," Coach Daragan added with a wink. "Only I can get the ice just the way the players need to have it."
Christine raised an eyebrow. "He brought hockey to the homeworld? Kanou, would you tell us about this, perhaps at lunch today? I very much want to hear the story, as would my husband."
"I will be pleased." Kanou's smile was positively luminescent.
"Come along, ladies," Coach Daragan said, indicating the Zamboni parked at the edge of the rink. "You must show my old eyes the places I miss!"
* * *
The afternoon hockey session began with a bang...and a whimper.
His Highness Ellat, though he steadfastly refused to be called this, was just getting into his goalie routine when he collided head on with a Silok, a Vulcan, who was trying to sneak the puck into the corner. He fell to the ice headfirst with a smack.
Despite centuries of improvement of the game and ultra modern safety equipment, hockey, as well as many other sports, still produced its share of rough and tumble injuries, even in the professional ranks. Ellat's nose began to bleed olive green, which mixed with the blood dripping from a cut on his forehead. His eyes look dazed.
Spock, who was refereeing the match, swiftly gathered the Dauphin in his arms while Coach Daragan herded the other players away with soothing assurances that such events were extremely normal in the sport. The cries of Ellat's bodyguards could be heard, but for some reason, they decided to cross the ice at midrink instead of traversing the barrier. They were almost comically sliding around the ice in their attempts to reach him.
"Ellat?" Spock's voice was soft as he lifted the young man's right arm and folded it behind his head. He'd studied the aspects of Troyian/Elasian anatomy at Christine's suggestion and now was extremely glad of that. Ellat's heart was on his lower right side, where the human stomach normally sat.
"Ellat, look at my hand. How many fingers do you see?"
"One?" Ellat's voice was calm but Spock could sense his fear.
"Very good. Now, can you watch my finger as I move it?" Spock slowly passed his index finger in front of the boy's eyes and was relieved to see him following the movement.
"Am I going to die?" the boy asked. "My head -- it hurts."
"Of course not, though you have sustained a blow so that is why you have pain. I am certain you shall spend time in the sickbay this afternoon. But do not worry."
At this point the Dauphin's personal physician arrived and gave Spock a grateful look as he began talking quietly to his charge.
After a few moments, Ellat spoke. "I shall walk to the sickbay."
"Your Highness!" one bodyguard began, but the boy's withering look silenced him. Spock, on the other hand, groaned inwardly, as he knew he would be hearing about this for some hours yet from the two minders.
Ellat rose on shaky legs, assisted by Spock and his physician, and the three of them headed off the ice, followed by the clearly steamed personal bodyguards.
* * *
Christine was in the middle of a game of kal-toh with T'Safa, while relating the improbable tale of how hockey came to the Klingon homeworld to the interested healer, when a thought pulsed across her bond to Spock.
*Be prepared, the Dauphin has sustained a minor injury.*
Some moments later the entourage appeared. Ellat was pale but walking unaided. His physician quickly guided him into one of the examination rooms and indicated T'Safa and Christine to accompany him.
Fortunately, the young man was not concussed, and his nosebleed was quickly under control. The Troyian was about to close the wound on the boy's forehead when the sound of squabbling, which had been percolating all along, now threatened to boil completely over. Christine heard Spock trying to diffuse the situation to no avail.
"Please." Ellat's voice was softly pleading. "Make them stop."
"My husband is attempting to do so," Christine replied, holding the boy's hand reassuringly.
"They won't listen to him. You go."
"Me?" Christine looked over at the Troyian doctor for an explanation. "Why me?"
"It is true, the women of our world are warrior like, very strong willed. Much like Ellat's mother, as the Elasians and the Troyians have many similar traits. The bodyguards mean well, but will not listen to your husband, doctor. You must speak to them." He turned to his patient. "No scar, you are most fortunate, and I can heal the bruising around your eye as well with no visible marks."
"Really?" Ellat asked. "No scar? Could you not allow the bruises to show a bit?"
Christine was about to giggle when the argument in the lobby ratcheted up several notches. She shrugged. "OK, I'll go, but what do I say?"
"Be forceful. Aggressive even? But be completely stern and accept no excuses. It is our way, I fear." The physician obviously knew what he was talking about.
"I can't do that, we're on Vulcan....er..." Christine flushed and looked apologetically over at T'Safa.
"But the situation is not between Vulcans, Doctor, nor are you yourself Vulcan. Such events may seem illogical, but often happen, and at times, a firm hand is necessary. These things, they do occur." T'Safa's tone was neutral but Christine sensed she was giving a tacit approval to her potentially distasteful showing of emotion, and without judgment.
So she prepared to venture into the battle zone but paused to send a thought to her husband.
*Don't say or do anything.*
Stark was just hurrying into the outer offices as Christine rounded on the bodyguards. She motioned him towards the examination room, then took a deep breath. Spock was watching her every move even as he was caught between a stereophonic litany of imagined transgressions.
"Such a FLAGRANTLY hostile action against His Glory. Why, it might even be construed as an act of war," one of the Troyians was blathering.
"KROYKAH!" she hissed venomously.
The minders turned towards the vocal rifle shot.
"This is a medical facility," she continued, folding her arms across her chest like iron bands."and we have patients to attend to here. I have never seen such blatantly juvenile behavior from grown men in my life. Ellat is attending a sports camp. Injuries in sport are common, not the basis for threats of war. Shame on you both for such ridiculous notions concerning a boy. Either stop your petty bickering at once, or take it outside. Must I summon Ambassador Sarek here? I do not think he would be pleased."
One of the men opened his mouth to continue, but Christine raised her hand.
"I SAID kroykah! Enough! Now be silent as the young man needs a quiet place in which to recuperate. If you behave, you may remain. Otherwise, you must leave." And with those words, she turned and strode back into the examination room, wondering what Spock and T'Safa would think of such outrageous behavior.
"Well done," Ellat's physician beamed. "I must apologize again for those two ... imbeciles. They truly mean no harm, but were not precisely selected for their intellectual abilities."
Christine reached for her jar of jellybeans. "I believe we could all use some of these," she said with a smile.
* * *
"Was that not your wife?" One of the minders was shaking his head in admiration.
"It was," Spock replied in a bored tone, now realizing what Christine had meant.
"Does she perhaps have some Elysian blood? What a splendid example of a female." The second minder gave Spock a knowing look.
"No, she is Terran, although that race does have its emotional moments." Spock was quite intrigued at the sudden change of moods.
"Let us be seated and await the physician's pronouncement," the first minder entreated. "After all, the young man needs a restful environment in which to convalesce, as your wife said."
Spock wondered how his father would have handled the situation...or, more correctly, his mother. Fascinating, he thought.
* * *
Upon learning that Ellat would remain at the medical suite for observation until dinnertime, Spock bade his farewells and started back to the ice rink. He nearly ran into Silok, who was hovering in the doorway.
"S'haile Spock? May I speak with you?" the boy asked.
"Certainly." Spock led the youth into Christine's office and closed the door.
"Is...Ellat recovering?"
"He is fine and shall be joining you all for endmeal," Spock answered soothingly, noticing the distress which was enveloping the boy.
"That is good." Silok looked down at his hands. "Am I to be punished?"
"Punished? Whatever for?"
"I struck a member of the Troyian royal family. Perhaps such a transgression is a serious offense on his world and I must pay for my crime against Ellat." Silok was now looking straight at Spock, showing he was unafraid of what lay ahead, yet likely fearful inside. Spock knew the look well, he'd had it often enough at that age.
"Of course not, Silok. You are sportsmen and sportsmen have accidents. It is all part of competition. You shall not be punished. In fact, I speculate that Ellat will tell you to forget the matter entirely."
"You are certain? How do you know this?"
"When I was younger, I also played hockey,
for the
"What happened?"
"I broke his nose. But he cared not a bit, in fact, he claimed the injury was a sure sign of his athletic prowess." And a magnet for women, Spock thought a bit wryly.
"I felt dismay when I realized I had injured Ellat. Is that not contrary to Father Surak's teachings?"
At last Spock realized what was really troubling the boy.
"Showing concern for a fellow creature is normal. It is what makes sentient beings what they uniquely are and should not trouble you. As you grow older you shall see that to think such a thought is nothing to be ashamed of." He stood up and indicated the door. "Shall we return to the ice rink, Silok? You can then inform your teammates of Ellat's prognosis. I am certain they, too, are concerned for his welfare."
* * *
Some hours later, Ellat's physician decreed the boy fit to return to the camp, and to hockey the next morning. This greatly relieved Ambassador Sarek, who, along with Leonard McCoy, had stopped by to visit the Dauphin. Ellat was used to attention but clearly wished he was elsewhere from the look on his face.
Christine wandered out to the waiting area to inform his minders that he would be joining them and stopped short at what she was. Stark and her husband were sitting on one of the couches surrounded by a group of boys. She recognized Mogh, Loki, Jimmy Sanchez and Benny Childress as well as several others. Sierra also held court and was reveling in several simultaneous belly rubs.
"And I flew right off the halfpipe," Stark was recalling. "Landed flat on my back with the wind knocked out of me."
"What happened?" one of the boys asked.
"I got up, was checked out, and went back down the run again. You have to do that. Show the pipe it can't conquer you."
"S'haile Spock," Silok said, "tell us again how your blood and that of the admiral's son froze in a puddle on the ice!"
"Yeah!"
"Gross, yeah!"
Christine cleared her throat discretely. "I believe Ellat is ready to return to the camp," she announced.
Ellat appeared in the doorway and was descended upon by his fellow group members.
"Hey Ellat, you're better! Cool!"
"Look at that shiner! It's GREEN!"
"Ug-lee! Man, you look cosmic, Ellat!"
"Mogh got the chefs to make some of his special pizza for dinner! Let's go, you must be starved!"
"Silok has a great new idea for a your kite, you've gotta see it!"
"Hurry up before the girls eat all the pizza!"
Ellat was caught up in the throng and all but carried out the door, followed the adults and the dog.
"Dr. Beaker and I will look after Ellat tonight, Chris," McCoy said. "Take the night off. Doctor's orders." He and the Troyian physician hurried after the departing pack.
"Christine?"
She turned to see her father-in-law standing there. "Yes, Ambassador?"
"You did well today, from what I hear. Perhaps you should consider a career in the diplomatic field?"
"Oh, that." Christine was still uncomfortable about the blatant display of public emotion on Vulcan."
"Sometimes, Christine, logic itself demands an occasional act of illogic." Sarek gave her an astonishingly similar expression to one her husband used at times of amusement. "You handled the Troyians the only logical way to do so -- in the manner they would best understand. I commend you."
There's a first time for everything, Christine thought.
* * *
Finally, the day was quiet. Christine was alone and set about closing down the medical offices. She figured Spock would be busy handling his worship's homecoming so thought ahead to catching up on some reading in the bath. Len was right, it was still too early to push herself.
"Doctor?" Spock was standing in the reception area. "May I buy you dinner? My father recommended an excellent sushi bar down in the diplomatic compound. Perhaps an evening to ourselves might be pleasing?"
"Yes, Commander, you may buy me dinner. I would be delighted." She took his arm and they headed towards the sports complex exit.
"I was not prepared to convince you so easily," he replied. "I was fully prepared to offer to make you breakfast as well."
"To make me breakfast? Or to make me for breakfast?"
His ears flushed that delightful shade of chartreuse right on cue.
She was tired, but not that tired.
* * *
Breakfast
"Let me out of this bed, Commander."
"I plan to do so, Doctor. Just not at this particular moment."
"But I'll be late!"
"Most assuredly, you will not. If you would glance at the chronometer?"
04:50.
"You re-set it, didn't you?"
An eyebrow raised seductively.
"You Vulcan ******* machine! Wasn't last night enough?!"
"Woman, why must you constantly restate the obvious? Yes!" (thrust) "I re-set the chronometer. Yes!" (thrust) "I am a Vulcan ******* machine! NO!" (thrust) "Last night was not nearly enough. I intend to send you onto the ice with an extremely satisfied expression on your face."
"Sorry, Commander, my human nature is showing."
Spock flipped onto his back, taking his wife with him, still joined. He grinned up at her as the dance continued. "Do not apologize for what you are, my love. That was who I fell in love with in the first place."
"Is there a Vulcan translation for ******** machine?"
"Perhaps there is, yes."
"Tell me?"
"No."
"Please?"
"I shall consider your request."
"Ohmyblessedlord..."
* * *
In a
Frisky.
That was how she feLt. Frisky, wanton, still pulsing with sexual energy. Damn him. Not only had Spock set the chronometer alarm early by almost an hour, he'd had a second helping of breakfast in the shower and she barely escaped to the ice in time. Of course, the sight of him, clad in just a towel, convincing her to stay behind and return to bed for some more sexual frolics had been guilt-inducing seh-lat at its best.
But she refused. She had to hand over almost all of her protein shake to seal the deal, though.
Not that she was complaining, mind you. The horrific events of the past few weeks had faded into a sealed loop of memory, and the wonderfully healing, amusing nature of their marriage surged back like early spring rains. Oh yes, things were almost back to normal again.
So her warmup today had been active. Jumps, spins, step sequences. Very little emoting, just using up excess energy. But now it was time to do a routine, and she started to think about what music to select.
It was December now in
"Computer. Cue Prelude and Symphonic
Dances --
If any musical piece could allow her to blow off steam and show the entire range of emotions, from passionate to romantic to angry to sad, this was it. She thought of Kala one more time and started her routine. Vulcan be damned, though she really didn't mean that precisely.
* * *
As she skated back to the sidelines, Christine noticed the filmmakers Somm and T'Annu doing some interviews at rink's edge. They were speaking to the hockey coach Valeri Daragan and his wife, Liudmilla, who was here as a figure skating instructor. Selek and T'Lea were also part of the cast. A little ways further, their daughter, T'Ann, was interviewing Kanou and T'Mara with another camera crew. A major documentary was planned about this first sportscamp and the crews had been unobtrusively filming all week, much to the consternation of the intergalactic press corps, who had to make do with a daily briefing and limited access to participants, most particularly, Ellat.
She was just heading back out to the hotel when she heard her name called.
"Dr. Chapel?"
Christine turned to see Selek and T'Lea, the Vulcan champion ice dancers, just behind her.
"Would you not join us for some breakfast here in the sports complex lounge?"
* * *
"You skated then, in your youth, Christine?" T'Lea asked as they started in on their pain au chocolates. She was tiny, as competitive skaters were, but far from delicate, and sparkled with positive, though Vulcanly subdued, energy. Her look was that of a gamine ingenue, like the princess Audrey Hepburn portrayed in that classic "Roman Holiday." The couple, however, had been skating for nearly twenty years together, and were just now in their competitive prime.
"I did, T'Lea, yes. Until I was twelve, then the growth spurt kicked in and that was the end of my competition days," Christine admitted. They'd immediately agreed to address each other by their first names.
"Ah. The laws of physics still remain stubbornly unalterable," Selek observed. He was the grounding wire to T'Lea's ethereal energy, the pair's cornerstone. Taller, more muscular and much more reserved, but behind the image Christine could see an enthusiasm not dissimilar to that of his partner.
"So our chief engineer constantly reminds us." Christine started to giggle but quickly forced herself to swallow the humor. "Excuse me, I apologize."
"Why would you apologize? We do not find your actions offensive,"
T'Lea told her reassuringly. "After
all, not only do we train most of the year in
"Though with the opening of this facility, we may now spend more time training here on Vulcan, and perhaps assist with the grooming of the next generation of skaters," Selek said. "Does Spock also skate with you on occasion? I have seen him most adeptly refereeing the hockey matches."
"He does," Christine replied. "Very well too, considering most hockey players refer to figure skaters as 'sissy booters' or similar." Spock had made that remark once. Only once. "We are planning to attend the event here on Christmas night that Stark and T'Lara are hosting." An adult skate was planned for the holiday.
"We too shall be there."
"So forgive my curiosity, but how did two Vulcans become champion ice dancers?"
The pair traded a slightly amused glance. "For that we have our parents to thank. Both of our families were posted to the
Vulcan consulate in
"Those who recognized talent soon
approached our parents," T'Lea continued.
"And asked that we be allowed to learn the ice
dancing discipline, since we were quite suited to this, or so they thought. Their perception was correct. We remained in
"And we bonded formally just three years ago," Selek added. "Although it was logically apparent from the first time we skated together we would not only be competitive partners, but life partners as well."
"You have already made quite a reputation for yourselves," Christine said. "Even if you were robbed at Polaris." A reference to the pair's last minute change to their free dance, a sexy new number which had costumes so scandalous the judge's deduction for this may well have cost them the gold.
"What can one do? It is the nature of our sport to push the competitive and artistic envelopes," T'Lea sighed. "Even if the wrath of the judges is all that you receive in recognition." For all the improvements over the centuries, the judging of artistic sports still had its problems.
"We are not unlike the Canadian French
pair, Isabel and Paul Duchesnay. Their first
major outing at
"They were something else," Christine agreed. "'Missing' is one of my favorite routines of all time. Such purity of expression of a controversial theme."
"Ours as well, " T'Lea agreed, a shade more enthusiastically than most Vulcans Christine had met, her own husband notwithstanding. "We strove to emulate them in much of our work, as well as Torvill and Dean and Rakhamo and Kokko, all more...forward thinking in their skating styles."
"OK, I must ask this, so please excuse my impertinence," Christine began. "How can you come to terms with the fact that your discipline requires the expression of emotion so openly? How do Vulcan performers balance this with their nature? It would seem to be almost impossible. Do you unplug yourselves once you leave the ice?"
"A logical question, one we are asked on a regular basis," Selek said matter of factly. "And you are not impertinent, Christine. You are naturally curious, which is a trait Vulcans also possess."
"The coaches told us early on that to succeed, which we wished to do, this would be a necessary part of our competitive routines. So we discussed it with our parents. Both of us were perhaps twelve, an age when competitors make a decision about where their future lies. We wished to compete on an intergalactic stage so knew that there would be issues to overcome." T'Lea paused. "And we asked to visit the holy ones at Gol for their counsel."
Christine's face registered surprise. "Gol? Is that not for the purging of emotions altogether? The way of Kolinahr?" She shivered a bit involuntarily. Spock had very nearly completed the training. Had he done so, this scenario would not be taking place. As illogical as it seemed, she thanked his ancestors for the interruption of his pursuit, feeling they would understand. And as a second thought, she thanked her own personal saint, Jude, the patron of lost causes, for helping out as well when all seemed surely lost.
"It is," Selek admitted. "But not always. The masters met with us and we spoke openly of the fact that to do what we wished meant at least an outward appearance of impropriety. This concerned us, but the holy ones reassured us. They stated that father Surak taught the control of one's emotions in favor of logic, but not the obliteration of it altogether. A performer in any discipline, be it sport, the arts, or even a diplomat, must on occasion show what