DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Mistress V and is copyright (c) 2008 by Mistress V. Rated PG.

 

September's Song

Mistress V

 

            OK, for those of you who, like me, love to think what if...this takes place a few months after Kanou's victory at Calgary and the big party.

 

            The following September...

 

* * *

 

            "Hey man, can you get the door for me?"

 

            Jim Chapel turned to see a fellow midshipman struggling into the lift with him, his arms piled with luggage. "Sure." It was moving in Sunday at the Academy, and the first year dorm was filled with people.

 

            "Thanks." The new cadet gave his companion a nod.

 

            He was Vulcan. Jim pondered a minute. There were six Vulcans due to start with his class, who was this?

 

            "I'm Jim," he said, not sure if he should give a ta'al or a handshake, then realized his Vulcan Heat knit cap was pulled down against the fog which had descended on the campus suddenly. It was pretty likely the other cadet had no idea of his Vulcan blood.

 

            "Savant." The young man extended a hand and they shook.

 

            "What floor are you on?" Savant? Where'd he heard that name? Jim was certain his mother had mentioned it.

 

            "Eight, I hope the view's nice from there."

 

            Savant certainly didn't sound like any Vulcan Jim had met apart from his father, but that was only when he was teasing his mother in private.

 

            "Me too, looks like we might be neighbors." The elevator doors opened and they exited, trying to determine where their rooms were.

 

            "You from Shikahr?" Jim couldn't resist asking.

 

            "Uh-huh. Don't suppose you've ever been, have you?" An eyebrow raised curiously.

 

            Jim stopped and took off his cap. "Yeah, you might say I have. Actually, I spend part of the summer there every year, have done since I was a kid."

 

            The other cadet's eyebrows shot into his hairline. "You -- you're not -- Admiral Spock's son, are you?" He flushed lime green.

 

            "Well, there aren't many naturally blonde Vulcans running around the Academy, so I guess I am. But don't worry, my dad knows to keep his distance. Mom made sure of that."

 

            "Cool. Um, look, Jim, you might as well know. I'm Savant, son of T'Safa. Ponn Farr T'Safa." Among much of the youth of Vulcan, now free -- but only if so desired -- from the uncertainty of being bonded at the age of seven, T'Safa was revered very highly, though with a rather colloquial if illogical nickname.

 

            "You are?" Jim was impressed. Despite opposition from traditionalists, the doctor's pioneering work was assisting Vulcan in many logical ways. "That's cosmic, man. Thanks to her, maybe our generation won't suffer through...you know..." He'd heard plenty of horror stories during his visits to Vulcan. Funny though, his father never seemed to exhibit any of the symptoms. Maybe that had to do with...never mind, best not to go there. His parents still acted like a couple of thirteen year olds when they were alone together. Yuck.

 

            "So everyone says. Here's my room, 821. Where are you?" Savant opened the door and unceremoniously threw his things inside.

 

            "Just down the hall, 830. But Savant, you don't sound or act like most Vulcans I've met. How come?"

 

            "Let me tell you about my family sometime, that should explain things. In the old days I guess I'd be a Vulcan without logic, but now, I'm just another Academy type." Savant shrugged as if accepting his fate. Jim was beginning to like the other cadet.

 

            "Hey, it's early. How bout we head down to this Moroccan cafe my mom told me about, see if any interesting local talent's there? Uh, sorry, unless you're bonded." Jim was suddenly embarrassed. He'd forgotten himself for a minute. Not all Vulcans were embracing the more modern path of thought.

 

            "Are you joking? Me? The women of the galaxy better put on their running shoes. You're on."

 

            The Cafe Cid was located a few blocks from the Academy. It was decorated as a traditional Moroccan tea salon, with colorful cushions on the floor and intricately carved wooden tables where patrons could play backgammon while they drank sweet mint tea. The cafe was one of the more popular spots for studying, socializing or watching members of the opposite sex. The two new cadets wasted no time in doing just that.

 

            "So, you grew up in Paris? I've heard the Vulcan consulate there is a real architectural marvel." Savant was turning on the charm while Jim mentally scratched his head and wondered just what this guy's family was like.

 

            "Yes, I was born there, actually," T'Sylva replied. "It was my father's first Terran posting and now his most recent, so the family is there. Except for my brother and his bondmate, who live in Kwil'nor and manage the Vulcan diplomatic guest house."

 

            "How did your parents meet, if I'm not being rude?" Jim could not help staring, unobtrusively, at the girl's exotic good looks. Her hair and eyes were Vulcan dark, her ears were delicately pointed, but her complexion was a pale green, as though she was permanently blushing. She was the daughter of Vice Counsel Selak, who headed the Vulcan diplomatic mission in Paris, and his wife Sylvie.

 

            "Everyone asks. My mother was a summer guest worker in Shikahr during her university years, a hostess at an extremely popular nightclub called Delta's Dawn." A pause. "No, not that type of hostess."

 

            The boys exchanged a slightly embarrassed glance. "Sorry," they mumbled in unison.

 

            "No bother. My father, a diplomatic aide at the time, was a frequent patron, as the club was a meeting place for those in the service to conduct unofficial business. When my mother returned for her fourth and final summer's employment, they began seeing each other and eventually bonded. I am actually half Vulcan, a quarter Rigellian and a quarter Orion. You might say my parents are rather an unusual pairing, but their marriage seems to be quite logical."

 

            "Speaking of unusual pairings," Savant said in a low voice as he nodded towards the large picture window.

 

            Jim's heart nearly stopped. There, for all the world to see, were his parents. They were reading the cafe's specials printed on its blackboard. His mother's arm was tucked under her father's, but apart from that they were the picture of decorum. Until his father leaned over and whispered something into his mother's ear. She laughed a little, but that was not what made Jim flush. It was the look that passed between them. Maybe only they knew what it meant, but sheeze. They were...gross sometimes.

 

            "You have not seen the reaction my parents would get in Shikahr sometimes," T'Sylva sighed. "Some of the older generation felt that our race was being diluted with all these offworld marriages. Yet I speak Vulcan, ancient and modern, and have studied all of Father Surak's teaching in both languages. I aspire to join the diplomatic service after my Starfleet career is through."

 

            "Not as bad a reaction as my parents," Savant offered. "They still get called V'tosh ka'tur. You know, Vulcans without logic. Neither one of them has ever done anything even remotely un Vulcan in public, but some of those old hardliners think my mom betrayed our people. As for me, well, I'm glad I could run away to Starfleet until things cool down again. But don't let my, er, Terran style of speech give you the wrong idea. I made my kahs-wan and spent a summer at Gol, learning history and meditation. At least we can go to Gol now to study, not only for Kolinahr."

 

            "Yeah, I was at Gol one summer too. IDIC allows everyone to have an opinion, though," Jim mused. "I'd hate to think what would happen otherwise. I've done my kahs-wan too, and I can quote you poetry in ancient Vulcan, but sometimes the older ones still stare at my blonde hair." He recalled his own father saying he, too, had escaped into Starfleet years ago because he'd been uncomfortable with his mixed heritage. Thank goodness that changed. Jim suspected his mother had a great deal to do with the paradigm shift.

 

            At that moment, the older couple passed by as they made their way to an upper alcove. Not a hint of recognition was offered by either party.

 

            "You don't suppose they're going to spy on us?" Savant asked curiously.

 

            Jim looked after his parents as they climbed the stairs. Sure enough, his father's hand rested on the small of his mother's back, supporting her during the ascent. Or so he always claimed. "Naah," he said, though he decided a hasty exit might be best. "Hey, let's go for a walk in the park while it's still light, huh? Tomorrow will come soon enough, first day of our first term."

 

            From their balcony vantage point, Spock and Christine watched the trio depart the cafe. "Why am I not surprised?" Spock asked his wife as she settled back against the cushions to peruse the menu.

 

            "I don't know, admiral. But I'm not surprised either."

 

            "All I shall say is that young man will have to deal with me and my shotgun should he decide to court Teresa Callie Chapel."

 

            "Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself, sir? Savant hasn't even met Teresa yet." Christine gave her husband an amused glance. Their daughter was already receiving plenty of male attention with her dark Vulcan looks and crystal blue eyes. Spock's reputation for coolly answering the door to potential male suitors was already a legend in the neighborhood.

 

            "He will. And I was once his age, doctor."

 

            "Not precisely. I believe you had two adolescences. One when you were sixteen. The next, when you started..."

 

            Her words were silenced by the kiss Spock gave her in the shadowy alcove, not witnessed by anything except the flicker of the candlelight. Christine slid her fingers under the neckline of his sweater and gave a small tug to the chain he still wore, eliciting a low growl from her husband. Tonight was going to be quite special, that she knew. But then, most nights were.

 

            For them, not much of what really mattered had changed over the years.

 

 FIN