Star Trek FanFic: S’oren Daughter of Saavik – Chapter Three

I’m often asked why I write FanFic. I’m a professional writer and I don’t need to rely on another person’s creativity to create characters. Fair enough. So why?

Because I enjoy it and who the heck are these people to question what I do with my free time? 

There is often such an unkind stigma attached to FanFic writing and writers. I don’t understand this. If someone wants to paint awful pictures or dance like they’re the victim of demonic possession, no one really cares. But if your hobby is to write FanFic, then you open yourself up to ridicule and derision.

This makes no sense to me.

Creative expression is creative expression. By putting pen to paper and letting the imagination soar. This is how a writer is born. By trial and error and experimentation. Writing is writing. No one would tell someone they didn’t have a right to draw or paint if they took their inspiration from Matisse or Picasso. 

Chapter Three – Incommunicado

When the transmission with S’oren was suddenly cut, Surak could have put his fist through the console. Not a very Vulcan response, but then he wasn’t wholly Vulcan. He’d found a balance between his Betazoid and Vulcan halves and it generally worked for him. Publicly he was the perfect Vulcan. Stoic, controlled and appropriately emotional. Privately he wasn’t much different, but different enough that he didn’t have to repress half of who he was.
He’d never resisted his bond with S’oren on two fronts. As a Betazoid being bonded from birth was the norm. As a Vulcan being betrothed from childhood was expected. It never occurred to him to question the place S’oren had in his life. She was also like him. Not wholly one thing or another. His parents had done well for him when they agreed to his pairing with S’oren.
“Who is she?” Nilani demanded.
“My wife,” he said leaning back in his chair and pulling on every ounce of his being to find calm.
“Since when are you married?” Nilani continued her inquisition.
“Since I was twelve years old,” he said. “I’m Vulcan and Betazoid and you’re not stupid. You had to have realized that I had a wife.”
“Well I didn’t.”
“You’ve been attached to the Trill Embassy here on Vulcan for more than two years. Do you truly expect me to believe you know nothing about Vulcan culture?” He stood up from the console and moved to walk past Nilani into his bedroom. He needed to contact S’oren, but he would probably have a better chance at reasoning with her if he had clothing on.
Nilani barred his path as she stared at him silently although her mind screamed out at him.
“Our relationship is finished,” he said shutting off the sound of her silent indignation. There was a time he found the energy of Nilani’s mind to be exuberant. At that moment he just needed silence. “You need to leave now.”
“I think I have the right to an explanation.” Outrage rippled off of Nilani like waves on a beach.
He looked at her for a moment. “No,” he said. “You don’t. You knew perfectly well what you were doing when you interrupted my conversation.” Her thoughts were as clear to him as if she were speaking them out loud. “You knew I was speaking intimately to a woman and you wanted to cause perturbation. It was with purpose and intent you interrupted what was a very important conversation. Now leave.”
“Two years and now you’re just going to dismiss me like that.”
“Nilani,” he said. “You are a smart woman who has lived four lives already. If you would like to pretend you had no idea what you were doing then that is a fiction that is all of your own. It is obvious to me that it pleases you that you’ve cause disharmony between my wife and me. I hope you find solace in that. Now please leave.”
Nilani stomped back to the bedroom careful to make a great deal of noise as she dressed and made ready to leave. He hadn’t exaggerated to S’oren when he told her he knew people. He activated the comm and was nearly immediately put through to his half-sister at Starfleet command.
“Ensign Marcus’s file is tagged as classified and only command level officers can gain access,” Sabin said.
“Can’t you access it?”
Sabin laughed. “I’m a counselor,” she said. “No Surak. I cannot. Even if I tried I’m sure that someone would notice and wonder why I was attempting to access information on a Starfleet Intelligence officer that I only have a personal connection to. Why can’t you just contact S’oren directly? I assume that if you truly needed to reach her that Starfleet would put you into contact with her directly. You would be listed in her file as her spouse.”
“Okay,” he said. “If I needed to contact S’oren, as her spouse in case of an emergency, how would I do that?”
“You’d go through Starfleet Headquarters. I’m going to put you through.”
“Do that,” he said.
“I will,” Sabin said. “But first you must promise me that you will contact me after you’re done speaking with her. Something is the matter and I am here for you to talk to.”
“I will,” he said. “Now please put me through.”
Spock stood in the torpedo bay with Dr. Elbrun, Mr. Mulvey and Chekov.
“God speed Ensign Marcus,” Chekov said as the torpedo shoot off into space.
Dr. Elbrun spoke up from a console. “Her readings are all within the normal parameters. She’s in perfect hibernation.”
“The capsule readings are all nominal,” Mulvey said.
“Well done,” Spock said evenly. “Please continue to monitor Ensign Marcus’s progress until she falls out of sensor range.” With a tip of his head to Chekov, the two left the torpedo bay.
“She is very much like Admiral Kirk,” Chekov said when they were alone.
Spock considered his response before he spoke. “In many ways, she is. But I have always thought the resemblance between S’oren and Saavik to be noteworthy.”
They entered the turbo lift to go to the bridge as the comm chirped.
“There is a priority gamma transmission from the Vulcan home world for Ensign Marcus,” the communications officer informed them politely.
Spock activated the comm. “Have it put through to my quarters.”
Chekov halted the turbo lift and he made his way to what security and privacy a room on a star ship could offer.
He sat at the computer station then activated the comm. He had been prepared to see just about anyone sitting on the other side of the view screen, but the face of Surak, S’oren’s betrothed
“Surak,” he said simply in lieu of a greeting.
“Spock,” Surak returned the greeting in kind. “I was expecting to speak to S’oren.”
“S’oren is unavailable.”
“I must insist,” Surak said betraying no emotion.
“I am not attempting to dissuade you,” Spock said. “I am merely stating a fact. S’oren is unavailable.”
For a brief moment Spock saw irritation flash through Surak’s black Betazoid eyes.
When it had come time for S’oren to be betrothed, Saavik had desired to marry her only child to the son of two Vulcan mathematicians. The boy showed great promise to follow in his parents footsteps. Although the parents found S’oren to be a less than ideal choice, they had wanted to use the connection the marriage would make to aid their eldest daughter into securing a place at Starfleet.
Spock had objected to the union knowing Saavik would listen to him. Instead, Spock offered up Surak as an option. His parents, a Vulcan and a Betazoid, had not anticipated that their son would make a match with a child associated with such a high placed family. They had, in fact, assumed their son would never make a traditional betrothal.
When S’oren had been offered to their family as a bride, they accepted her immediately. Surak’s musical ability and his mixed parentage seemed right for S’oren. Spock knew that Surak would understand S’oren on a deeper level than a full-blooded Vulcan would ever hope to. His empathetic abilities combined with his telepathic abilities would bring the two closer than perhaps even he anticipated.
“Spock,” Surak said. “I just spoke with S’oren. Our communication ended abruptly. I understand she is probably not predisposed to continuing our conversation, but I must speak with her.”
“In intelligence parlance,” Spock said. “S’oren is incommunicado.”
“Are you saying she’s already gone?”
“That is precisely what I am saying,” Spock said. “I was unaware that you and S’oren were in contact. The time for your joining has not as of yet been determined.”
“When will S’oren be reachable?” Surak ignored his implied question which pleased Spock. Surak, unlike many other suitors for S’oren, had no fear of him.
“It will be quite some time if all goes to plan,” Spock said. “I can contact you when there is word from her, if you wish to be present when she returns from her mission.”
“Do that,” Surak said.
“Surak,” Spock said. “My congratulations on winning the All-Vulcan Music Competition for the fourth year in a row. A noteworthy accomplishment.”
“Thank you,” Surak said. “Surak out.” The face of the gifted young man was replaced by the Starfleet emblem.
“Curious,” Spock said. “Very curious indeed.”
Surak had managed to pull on a shirt and permanently remove Nilani from his apartment before contacting his sister and subsequently making his failed attempt to reach S’oren. She was gone. The mission that had frightened her so much he had somehow become the only person he could turn to was underway. He’d failed her. The first time S’oren had turned to him, he’d failed her. He was not such a defeatist as to believe conclusively that she was lost to him forever, but he certainly had done very little to ensure their first forays into their life together would go smoothly.
He fixed tea for himself and watched the sunrise over the mountains. Somewhere in the universe the red haired child with the bright blue eyes whom had matured into a beauty beyond his expectations was going into a situation where her life would be in danger believing him to be a cad that cared little for her. That was not something he could have.
He returned to the comm and contacted his sister. Instead of reaching his sister, the Starfleet communications officer that had first received his signal had put him on a seemingly never ending hold. When the blue Starfleet emblem was replaced by a human being, he was not looking at his sister, but rather a distinguished woman of middle years.
“I think there’s been an error,” he said.
“Surak of Vulcan,” the woman said in a melodious voice that sang of the fact she had musical ability. “I am Captain Uhura of Starfleet Intelligence.”
“Again,” he said. “I believe there has been some sort of error. I was contacting my sister.”
“Surak,” Captain Uhura said. “I can answer the questions you have, but you must meet with me in person.”
“Fine,” he said. He knew there was no way to reason with the behemoth of bureaucracy that was Starfleet if they did not wish to be reasoned with. “Where can I meet with you?”
“There is a Starfleet ship in orbit of Vulcan. It is scheduled to leave for Earth within the hour.”
“Am I to assume that if I want information on my wife that I am to be on that ship?”
“Your assumption would be correct,” Captain Uhura said with a pleasant smile. “I look forward to meeting you Surak. I am a musician myself.”
“I’ll bring my lyre,” he said trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
She smiled at him again and gave a nod. “Uhura out.”
Surak packed what he needed to get him to Earth which was not much. He would stay with his sister and he never carried much more than his lyre and some clothing. There was no need to bring anything else.
His comm chirped just as he finished speaking to the woman that booked his performances. The USS Gagarin was waiting on him. In a matter of moment he went from his apartment to the transporter platform of the USS Gagarin.
“I’m Lieutenant Commander Gav,” a female Tellarite officer said. “Welcome on board the USS Gagarin.”
“How long until we reach Earth?” he asked immediately dismissing any potential small talk.
“We are currently scheduled to arrive in nine days,” she said. “Guest quarters have been made ready for you. Captain Gervais would be pleased if you would dine with him this evening.”
“Which would be in how many hours?” Time was relative. Just because it was morning where he lived on Vulcan didn’t mean it wasn’t the early evening on the ship.
“Six,” Gav said.
“I’ll join the Captain. My quarters?”
The trip to Earth took fourteen never ending days. The USS Gagarin had been sidetracked when they’d received a distress call from a freighter that had encountered an unexpected ion storm and was limping along until help arrived. At first he’d preferred the solace of his quarters, and then eventually made his way out of the room surprised to find he desired the company of others. That was the Betazoid in him. There was comfort in the community on board the ship and it didn’t take much for him to be coaxed into performing in the lounge of the Galaxy class starship. Music comforted him.
Surak also found that for the first time in his life, his daily Vulcan meditation practice offered him more than a centered mind to better engage in his music practice. He came to the conclusion as he waited to arrive at Earth that he had lead a relatively stress free existence. Music had always come easily to him. He’d never had to worry about his future because there was his music and S’oren. Life had been good to him. Women liked him. He was respected by his peers. What more could he want?
A wife that didn’t risk life and limb in the name of preserving peace throughout the galaxy. That was something he wanted. She said she wanted a quiet life. He would give that to her.
As he stood at the window he watched the watery globe of Earth expand before him.
The comm chirped before a voice intruded on his silence. “Surak,” the captain’s voice said. “We are about to dock at spaceport. We are within transporter range of Starfleet command.”
“Thank you Captain,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“The pleasure has been ours. Gervais out.”
Surak made his way to the transporter room, walking past the line of refugees from the freighter they’d towed on board who were waiting to be transported down to the planet. He wasn’t intentionally being rude. He just didn’t imagine that he needed to wait along with them.
When he reached the front of the line he was escorted directly to the transporter platform. Moments later he was standing on a second transporter platform while the bright yellow sun of Earth shone down on him through the glass dome of the atrium he’d been beamed down to. Three familiar faces greeted him. His half-sister Sabin, as always ignoring his inbred Vulcan restraint, stepped forward and embraced him. He didn’t mind. He’d learned to balance his two unique heritages long before. He was a Vulcan that hugged and a Betazoid that practiced discretion. It was the best of both worlds.
When she released him he turned to Spock. “Spock,” he said raising his hand in the Vulcan salute.
“Surak.” Spock returned the greeting then gestured to the woman next to him. “I believe you have spoken with Captain Uhura.”
“Captain,” he said turning his attention to the tall, beautiful, ebony skinned woman. “You have answers to my questions?”
“I do,” she said in her sing-song voice.
“Surak,” Sabin said. “I’m going to leave you to it. When you’re done, we’ll have dinner tonight. You’re staying with me?”
“That was my plan,” he said to his sister.
“Good,” Sabin said. She walked off with a smile and a wave.
“Where is my wife?” he asked Uhura.
“S’oren is technically not your wife,” Spock said. “She is still your betrothed until you are wed.”
“Do not attempt to mitigate my claim to S’oren. She is my wife and unless she calls for koon-ut-kal-if-fee then there is no reason to assume that she will not be my wife.”
“I am not attempting to challenge your claim,” Spock said. “I was merely pointing out a technicality.”
“If she had not been sent on this mission, then our union would have been completed weeks ago. My parents agreed to wait until she completed Starfleet Academy. Not until she returned from some mission in the Neutral Zone. I did as tradition demands and stayed away until she was ready to be bound to me. When I spoke with her, she was more than ready and had no interest in completing this mission.”
“This sounds like a family matter,” Uhura said diplomatically. “Shall we go to my office and discuss the particulars in private?”
He nodded then allowed himself to be escorted by the lovely Captain Uhura out of the atrium. Whether she knew it or not, she hummed with music. “Captain,” he said. “You mentioned that you are a musician.”
“Captain Uhura,” Spock said. “Is a most talented musician.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Uhura laughed. “Although I will admit I have been practicing my Vulcan lyre since I knew you were coming.”
She knew S’oren. “You know S’oren,” he said. “You were present at our betrothal.”
“How sweet of you to remember,” Uhura said. “I have known S’oren since she was just a baby.”
“Captain Uhura is a great friend to Saavik and me,” Spock said. Surak felt the familiarity and almost familiar joviality between Spock and Uhura. They’d known each other a very long time and he was being given a favor by Uhura in her taking the time to speak with him.
“I look forward to playing with you Captain,” he said. Music had always been a key to open doors. Accommodating Captain Uhura would be to his benefit.
“Here we are,” she said ushering them into a well-lit office. The door closed behind them with a swish as Uhura gestured to chairs around a desk.
“Where is S’oren?” he asked when he was seated.
“That’s classified,” Uhura said. “But, as she has already told you a great deal that she shouldn’t have, then there is nothing to be gained from playing games.”
“How do you know what she said to me?”
“I watched the recording of your conversation,” Uhura said without apology.
“You violated our privacy,” he said. The Vulcan in him felt the deep burn of anger as Vulcan’s experienced the emotion.
“Your conversation cost lives,” Uhura said. “The Romulans have listening buoys along the border to the Neutral Zone. Your conversation was intercepted and the Romulans knew that an agent was being inserted into the Neutral Zone. S’oren should have known better, but it was a rookie mistake and one that will have to be forgiven.”
“Where is she?” he asked again.
Uhura looked at him then sighed a little. “We don’t know. She was not amongst the list of prisoners the Romulans sent. What we do know is that if she had been captured by the Romulans, they more than likely would have used her as a bargaining chip. A dead agent does them little or no good. A live agent can be exchanged for a Romulan agent.”
“What are you saying?” he asked feeling a pinch of dread deep in his soul.
“I’m saying,” Captain Uhura stared deeply into his eyes. “That I do not know where Ensign Marcus is. The ship that was supposed to retrieve her capsule from space was intercepted by the Romulans.”
“You have to find her,” he said.
“What do you propose?” Captain Uhura asked. “That we send ships into the Neutral Zone on a rescue mission? Contact the Romulan Ambassador and tell him that our agent has gone missing and that you would really appreciate knowing where it is she might be? I am sorry Surak, truly I am, but at this point in time all we can do is wait for news and hope for the best.” She was not lying. She truly felt genuinely sorry for him.
“There is nothing that can be done,” he stated. “There are no contacts within the Romulan Empire? I find it singularly hard to believe that there is nothing that can be done.”
“There is nothing that can be done without placing more agents at risk,” Uhura said. “I promise you Surak, the very moment there is news from her, and I will let you know. Until then, if there is anything I can do for you…” She held out her open palms in a gesture of offering. “Please let me know.”
He felt a great weight of helplessness press upon him. There was much he understood that he hadn’t even considered before. When he was twelve, old for a Vulcan child to be betrothed to his mate, a mind meld had been performed between himself and S’oren. At the time it meant only that his future mate had been secured and he would spend very little time thinking of her over the following thirteen years. His parents spent more time discussing S’oren than he did.
But then he saw her and heard her voice. A fuse ignited in him and he wanted to be near her. It was then that he understood why they were meant to stay away from each other after puberty set in. He’d feared that pon farr would come on him so great was his desire to be with S’oren. It hadn’t which was one thing to be grateful for. He suspected the fact he’d never looked back after his first experience with pon farr and never denied himself the pleasure of the opposite sex since probably contributed to his ability to remain in control. But still, the pull to be together had come strongly to him and he wondered if she felt it too.
He looked at Captain Uhura. “What am I to do?”
“Wait. Learn patience.”
“I am already a very patient man.”
“Learn a new sort of patience.”
“You know S’oren. You know her well.”
“I do.” Again, the kind smile that spread to her eyes. “I know her well. Since she was a little girl.”
“Why has she spent years avoiding our joining and now – when it’s too late – does she contact me?”
“Would you like to have lunch with me?”
“Lunch?” How was an offer to join her for a meal going to help the situation?
“The meal between breakfast and supper. Lunch. I think we should sit down like civilized people and have a chat.”
“If that is what I need to do to get answers, then that is what I shall do.”
“Do you want to know what I think?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I think that not so deep inside of you is a desperately charming young man that is deeply worried about someone that means more to him than he realized. So. Lunch?”
“Okay.”
She made him chat about the voyage from Vulcan to Earth as they walked to a dining room. They sat at a table together and she ordered for them.
“Ask me your questions.” Uhura gave him a smile as she folded her hands in front of her.
He felt suddenly shy. What questions could he have that would be appropriate to ask?
“Why did she contact me?” That was what he truly wanted to know. Why me? Why of all the people she had to know, did she turn to him.
“You will have to ask her that.”
“Am I going to have that chance?”
“Let’s hope so.”
Surak did not know what to do after lunch. His sparse luggage had already been removed to his sister’s home. He had nothing but time to wait for news on his hands. Uhura’s suggestion that he return home and to his concert schedule did not sit well with him. He didn’t want to go home. He wanted to discover who S’oren Marcus was and why, after years of passing the message through her mother that she was not ready to marry him, did she turn to him when she needed help.
So he wandered the streets of San Francisco. For days he wandered. He found places he liked to sit and watch the world turn. He found the kernel of anger that roiled around in his guts and observed it.
Anger as a rule wasn’t part of his emotional spectrum. He’d felt anger, but in truth he’d lived a charmed existence.
He was angry and there was no denying it.
The list of people that were the focus of his anger was surprisingly long. But at the top of it was himself.
Here’s a fact. He was a grown man. If he really wanted his marriage to go forward, he could have pushed. He didn’t want his marriage to go forward. He liked being single. He liked the women. And there were a lot of women.
Everywhere he went there were women.
They were universally into the whole deep, moody, musician thing.
He understood this was the Betazoid man in him coming to the surface. He got that. This is what having mixed parentage could do. He might have been half-Vulcan, but he was also half-Betazoid with the accompanying sexual drive.
The idea of marrying S’oren appealed to him in a general intangible sort of way. Like a concept more than a real thing. Having a wife had gotten him out of more than one awkward situation.
But actually having a wife might create more problems than it was worth. He really didn’t know her enough to have an opinion about what kind of wife she’d bed.
His greatest fear – which turned out to be unrealized – was that she was just like her mother.
Not even a little like her mother.
And now he was angry. Very angry. Mostly because that option he assumed would always be available to him was gone. Not dead gone, but simply out of his reach.
Worst part of all – he wanted her back and he was fairly certain he’d go to some not very Vulcan extremes to make that happen.

Star Trek FanFic: S’oren Daughter of Saavik – Chapter Three

I’m often asked why I write FanFic. I’m a professional writer and I don’t need to rely on another person’s creativity to create characters. Fair enough. So why?

Because I enjoy it and who the heck are these people to question what I do with my free time? 

There is often such an unkind stigma attached to FanFic writing and writers. I don’t understand this. If someone wants to paint awful pictures or dance like they’re the victim of demonic possession, no one really cares. But if your hobby is to write FanFic, then you open yourself up to ridicule and derision.

This makes no sense to me.

Creative expression is creative expression. By putting pen to paper and letting the imagination soar. This is how a writer is born. By trial and error and experimentation. Writing is writing. No one would tell someone they didn’t have a right to draw or paint if they took their inspiration from Matisse or Picasso. 

Chapter Three – Incommunicado

When the transmission with S’oren was suddenly cut, Surak could have put his fist through the console. Not a very Vulcan response, but then he wasn’t wholly Vulcan. He’d found a balance between his Betazoid and Vulcan halves and it generally worked for him. Publicly he was the perfect Vulcan. Stoic, controlled and appropriately emotional. Privately he wasn’t much different, but different enough that he didn’t have to repress half of who he was.
He’d never resisted his bond with S’oren on two fronts. As a Betazoid being bonded from birth was the norm. As a Vulcan being betrothed from childhood was expected. It never occurred to him to question the place S’oren had in his life. She was also like him. Not wholly one thing or another. His parents had done well for him when they agreed to his pairing with S’oren.
“Who is she?” Nilani demanded.
“My wife,” he said leaning back in his chair and pulling on every ounce of his being to find calm.
“Since when are you married?” Nilani continued her inquisition.
“Since I was twelve years old,” he said. “I’m Vulcan and Betazoid and you’re not stupid. You had to have realized that I had a wife.”
“Well I didn’t.”
“You’ve been attached to the Trill Embassy here on Vulcan for more than two years. Do you truly expect me to believe you know nothing about Vulcan culture?” He stood up from the console and moved to walk past Nilani into his bedroom. He needed to contact S’oren, but he would probably have a better chance at reasoning with her if he had clothing on.
Nilani barred his path as she stared at him silently although her mind screamed out at him.
“Our relationship is finished,” he said shutting off the sound of her silent indignation. There was a time he found the energy of Nilani’s mind to be exuberant. At that moment he just needed silence. “You need to leave now.”
“I think I have the right to an explanation.” Outrage rippled off of Nilani like waves on a beach.
He looked at her for a moment. “No,” he said. “You don’t. You knew perfectly well what you were doing when you interrupted my conversation.” Her thoughts were as clear to him as if she were speaking them out loud. “You knew I was speaking intimately to a woman and you wanted to cause perturbation. It was with purpose and intent you interrupted what was a very important conversation. Now leave.”
“Two years and now you’re just going to dismiss me like that.”
“Nilani,” he said. “You are a smart woman who has lived four lives already. If you would like to pretend you had no idea what you were doing then that is a fiction that is all of your own. It is obvious to me that it pleases you that you’ve cause disharmony between my wife and me. I hope you find solace in that. Now please leave.”
Nilani stomped back to the bedroom careful to make a great deal of noise as she dressed and made ready to leave. He hadn’t exaggerated to S’oren when he told her he knew people. He activated the comm and was nearly immediately put through to his half-sister at Starfleet command.
“Ensign Marcus’s file is tagged as classified and only command level officers can gain access,” Sabin said.
“Can’t you access it?”
Sabin laughed. “I’m a counselor,” she said. “No Surak. I cannot. Even if I tried I’m sure that someone would notice and wonder why I was attempting to access information on a Starfleet Intelligence officer that I only have a personal connection to. Why can’t you just contact S’oren directly? I assume that if you truly needed to reach her that Starfleet would put you into contact with her directly. You would be listed in her file as her spouse.”
“Okay,” he said. “If I needed to contact S’oren, as her spouse in case of an emergency, how would I do that?”
“You’d go through Starfleet Headquarters. I’m going to put you through.”
“Do that,” he said.
“I will,” Sabin said. “But first you must promise me that you will contact me after you’re done speaking with her. Something is the matter and I am here for you to talk to.”
“I will,” he said. “Now please put me through.”
Spock stood in the torpedo bay with Dr. Elbrun, Mr. Mulvey and Chekov.
“God speed Ensign Marcus,” Chekov said as the torpedo shoot off into space.
Dr. Elbrun spoke up from a console. “Her readings are all within the normal parameters. She’s in perfect hibernation.”
“The capsule readings are all nominal,” Mulvey said.
“Well done,” Spock said evenly. “Please continue to monitor Ensign Marcus’s progress until she falls out of sensor range.” With a tip of his head to Chekov, the two left the torpedo bay.
“She is very much like Admiral Kirk,” Chekov said when they were alone.
Spock considered his response before he spoke. “In many ways, she is. But I have always thought the resemblance between S’oren and Saavik to be noteworthy.”
They entered the turbo lift to go to the bridge as the comm chirped.
“There is a priority gamma transmission from the Vulcan home world for Ensign Marcus,” the communications officer informed them politely.
Spock activated the comm. “Have it put through to my quarters.”
Chekov halted the turbo lift and he made his way to what security and privacy a room on a star ship could offer.
He sat at the computer station then activated the comm. He had been prepared to see just about anyone sitting on the other side of the view screen, but the face of Surak, S’oren’s betrothed
“Surak,” he said simply in lieu of a greeting.
“Spock,” Surak returned the greeting in kind. “I was expecting to speak to S’oren.”
“S’oren is unavailable.”
“I must insist,” Surak said betraying no emotion.
“I am not attempting to dissuade you,” Spock said. “I am merely stating a fact. S’oren is unavailable.”
For a brief moment Spock saw irritation flash through Surak’s black Betazoid eyes.
When it had come time for S’oren to be betrothed, Saavik had desired to marry her only child to the son of two Vulcan mathematicians. The boy showed great promise to follow in his parents footsteps. Although the parents found S’oren to be a less than ideal choice, they had wanted to use the connection the marriage would make to aid their eldest daughter into securing a place at Starfleet.
Spock had objected to the union knowing Saavik would listen to him. Instead, Spock offered up Surak as an option. His parents, a Vulcan and a Betazoid, had not anticipated that their son would make a match with a child associated with such a high placed family. They had, in fact, assumed their son would never make a traditional betrothal.
When S’oren had been offered to their family as a bride, they accepted her immediately. Surak’s musical ability and his mixed parentage seemed right for S’oren. Spock knew that Surak would understand S’oren on a deeper level than a full-blooded Vulcan would ever hope to. His empathetic abilities combined with his telepathic abilities would bring the two closer than perhaps even he anticipated.
“Spock,” Surak said. “I just spoke with S’oren. Our communication ended abruptly. I understand she is probably not predisposed to continuing our conversation, but I must speak with her.”
“In intelligence parlance,” Spock said. “S’oren is incommunicado.”
“Are you saying she’s already gone?”
“That is precisely what I am saying,” Spock said. “I was unaware that you and S’oren were in contact. The time for your joining has not as of yet been determined.”
“When will S’oren be reachable?” Surak ignored his implied question which pleased Spock. Surak, unlike many other suitors for S’oren, had no fear of him.
“It will be quite some time if all goes to plan,” Spock said. “I can contact you when there is word from her, if you wish to be present when she returns from her mission.”
“Do that,” Surak said.
“Surak,” Spock said. “My congratulations on winning the All-Vulcan Music Competition for the fourth year in a row. A noteworthy accomplishment.”
“Thank you,” Surak said. “Surak out.” The face of the gifted young man was replaced by the Starfleet emblem.
“Curious,” Spock said. “Very curious indeed.”
Surak had managed to pull on a shirt and permanently remove Nilani from his apartment before contacting his sister and subsequently making his failed attempt to reach S’oren. She was gone. The mission that had frightened her so much he had somehow become the only person he could turn to was underway. He’d failed her. The first time S’oren had turned to him, he’d failed her. He was not such a defeatist as to believe conclusively that she was lost to him forever, but he certainly had done very little to ensure their first forays into their life together would go smoothly.
He fixed tea for himself and watched the sunrise over the mountains. Somewhere in the universe the red haired child with the bright blue eyes whom had matured into a beauty beyond his expectations was going into a situation where her life would be in danger believing him to be a cad that cared little for her. That was not something he could have.
He returned to the comm and contacted his sister. Instead of reaching his sister, the Starfleet communications officer that had first received his signal had put him on a seemingly never ending hold. When the blue Starfleet emblem was replaced by a human being, he was not looking at his sister, but rather a distinguished woman of middle years.
“I think there’s been an error,” he said.
“Surak of Vulcan,” the woman said in a melodious voice that sang of the fact she had musical ability. “I am Captain Uhura of Starfleet Intelligence.”
“Again,” he said. “I believe there has been some sort of error. I was contacting my sister.”
“Surak,” Captain Uhura said. “I can answer the questions you have, but you must meet with me in person.”
“Fine,” he said. He knew there was no way to reason with the behemoth of bureaucracy that was Starfleet if they did not wish to be reasoned with. “Where can I meet with you?”
“There is a Starfleet ship in orbit of Vulcan. It is scheduled to leave for Earth within the hour.”
“Am I to assume that if I want information on my wife that I am to be on that ship?”
“Your assumption would be correct,” Captain Uhura said with a pleasant smile. “I look forward to meeting you Surak. I am a musician myself.”
“I’ll bring my lyre,” he said trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
She smiled at him again and gave a nod. “Uhura out.”
Surak packed what he needed to get him to Earth which was not much. He would stay with his sister and he never carried much more than his lyre and some clothing. There was no need to bring anything else.
His comm chirped just as he finished speaking to the woman that booked his performances. The USS Gagarin was waiting on him. In a matter of moment he went from his apartment to the transporter platform of the USS Gagarin.
“I’m Lieutenant Commander Gav,” a female Tellarite officer said. “Welcome on board the USS Gagarin.”
“How long until we reach Earth?” he asked immediately dismissing any potential small talk.
“We are currently scheduled to arrive in nine days,” she said. “Guest quarters have been made ready for you. Captain Gervais would be pleased if you would dine with him this evening.”
“Which would be in how many hours?” Time was relative. Just because it was morning where he lived on Vulcan didn’t mean it wasn’t the early evening on the ship.
“Six,” Gav said.
“I’ll join the Captain. My quarters?”
The trip to Earth took fourteen never ending days. The USS Gagarin had been sidetracked when they’d received a distress call from a freighter that had encountered an unexpected ion storm and was limping along until help arrived. At first he’d preferred the solace of his quarters, and then eventually made his way out of the room surprised to find he desired the company of others. That was the Betazoid in him. There was comfort in the community on board the ship and it didn’t take much for him to be coaxed into performing in the lounge of the Galaxy class starship. Music comforted him.
Surak also found that for the first time in his life, his daily Vulcan meditation practice offered him more than a centered mind to better engage in his music practice. He came to the conclusion as he waited to arrive at Earth that he had lead a relatively stress free existence. Music had always come easily to him. He’d never had to worry about his future because there was his music and S’oren. Life had been good to him. Women liked him. He was respected by his peers. What more could he want?
A wife that didn’t risk life and limb in the name of preserving peace throughout the galaxy. That was something he wanted. She said she wanted a quiet life. He would give that to her.
As he stood at the window he watched the watery globe of Earth expand before him.
The comm chirped before a voice intruded on his silence. “Surak,” the captain’s voice said. “We are about to dock at spaceport. We are within transporter range of Starfleet command.”
“Thank you Captain,” he said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“The pleasure has been ours. Gervais out.”
Surak made his way to the transporter room, walking past the line of refugees from the freighter they’d towed on board who were waiting to be transported down to the planet. He wasn’t intentionally being rude. He just didn’t imagine that he needed to wait along with them.
When he reached the front of the line he was escorted directly to the transporter platform. Moments later he was standing on a second transporter platform while the bright yellow sun of Earth shone down on him through the glass dome of the atrium he’d been beamed down to. Three familiar faces greeted him. His half-sister Sabin, as always ignoring his inbred Vulcan restraint, stepped forward and embraced him. He didn’t mind. He’d learned to balance his two unique heritages long before. He was a Vulcan that hugged and a Betazoid that practiced discretion. It was the best of both worlds.
When she released him he turned to Spock. “Spock,” he said raising his hand in the Vulcan salute.
“Surak.” Spock returned the greeting then gestured to the woman next to him. “I believe you have spoken with Captain Uhura.”
“Captain,” he said turning his attention to the tall, beautiful, ebony skinned woman. “You have answers to my questions?”
“I do,” she said in her sing-song voice.
“Surak,” Sabin said. “I’m going to leave you to it. When you’re done, we’ll have dinner tonight. You’re staying with me?”
“That was my plan,” he said to his sister.
“Good,” Sabin said. She walked off with a smile and a wave.
“Where is my wife?” he asked Uhura.
“S’oren is technically not your wife,” Spock said. “She is still your betrothed until you are wed.”
“Do not attempt to mitigate my claim to S’oren. She is my wife and unless she calls for koon-ut-kal-if-fee then there is no reason to assume that she will not be my wife.”
“I am not attempting to challenge your claim,” Spock said. “I was merely pointing out a technicality.”
“If she had not been sent on this mission, then our union would have been completed weeks ago. My parents agreed to wait until she completed Starfleet Academy. Not until she returned from some mission in the Neutral Zone. I did as tradition demands and stayed away until she was ready to be bound to me. When I spoke with her, she was more than ready and had no interest in completing this mission.”
“This sounds like a family matter,” Uhura said diplomatically. “Shall we go to my office and discuss the particulars in private?”
He nodded then allowed himself to be escorted by the lovely Captain Uhura out of the atrium. Whether she knew it or not, she hummed with music. “Captain,” he said. “You mentioned that you are a musician.”
“Captain Uhura,” Spock said. “Is a most talented musician.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Uhura laughed. “Although I will admit I have been practicing my Vulcan lyre since I knew you were coming.”
She knew S’oren. “You know S’oren,” he said. “You were present at our betrothal.”
“How sweet of you to remember,” Uhura said. “I have known S’oren since she was just a baby.”
“Captain Uhura is a great friend to Saavik and me,” Spock said. Surak felt the familiarity and almost familiar joviality between Spock and Uhura. They’d known each other a very long time and he was being given a favor by Uhura in her taking the time to speak with him.
“I look forward to playing with you Captain,” he said. Music had always been a key to open doors. Accommodating Captain Uhura would be to his benefit.
“Here we are,” she said ushering them into a well-lit office. The door closed behind them with a swish as Uhura gestured to chairs around a desk.
“Where is S’oren?” he asked when he was seated.
“That’s classified,” Uhura said. “But, as she has already told you a great deal that she shouldn’t have, then there is nothing to be gained from playing games.”
“How do you know what she said to me?”
“I watched the recording of your conversation,” Uhura said without apology.
“You violated our privacy,” he said. The Vulcan in him felt the deep burn of anger as Vulcan’s experienced the emotion.
“Your conversation cost lives,” Uhura said. “The Romulans have listening buoys along the border to the Neutral Zone. Your conversation was intercepted and the Romulans knew that an agent was being inserted into the Neutral Zone. S’oren should have known better, but it was a rookie mistake and one that will have to be forgiven.”
“Where is she?” he asked again.
Uhura looked at him then sighed a little. “We don’t know. She was not amongst the list of prisoners the Romulans sent. What we do know is that if she had been captured by the Romulans, they more than likely would have used her as a bargaining chip. A dead agent does them little or no good. A live agent can be exchanged for a Romulan agent.”
“What are you saying?” he asked feeling a pinch of dread deep in his soul.
“I’m saying,” Captain Uhura stared deeply into his eyes. “That I do not know where Ensign Marcus is. The ship that was supposed to retrieve her capsule from space was intercepted by the Romulans.”
“You have to find her,” he said.
“What do you propose?” Captain Uhura asked. “That we send ships into the Neutral Zone on a rescue mission? Contact the Romulan Ambassador and tell him that our agent has gone missing and that you would really appreciate knowing where it is she might be? I am sorry Surak, truly I am, but at this point in time all we can do is wait for news and hope for the best.” She was not lying. She truly felt genuinely sorry for him.
“There is nothing that can be done,” he stated. “There are no contacts within the Romulan Empire? I find it singularly hard to believe that there is nothing that can be done.”
“There is nothing that can be done without placing more agents at risk,” Uhura said. “I promise you Surak, the very moment there is news from her, and I will let you know. Until then, if there is anything I can do for you…” She held out her open palms in a gesture of offering. “Please let me know.”
He felt a great weight of helplessness press upon him. There was much he understood that he hadn’t even considered before. When he was twelve, old for a Vulcan child to be betrothed to his mate, a mind meld had been performed between himself and S’oren. At the time it meant only that his future mate had been secured and he would spend very little time thinking of her over the following thirteen years. His parents spent more time discussing S’oren than he did.
But then he saw her and heard her voice. A fuse ignited in him and he wanted to be near her. It was then that he understood why they were meant to stay away from each other after puberty set in. He’d feared that pon farr would come on him so great was his desire to be with S’oren. It hadn’t which was one thing to be grateful for. He suspected the fact he’d never looked back after his first experience with pon farr and never denied himself the pleasure of the opposite sex since probably contributed to his ability to remain in control. But still, the pull to be together had come strongly to him and he wondered if she felt it too.
He looked at Captain Uhura. “What am I to do?”
“Wait. Learn patience.”
“I am already a very patient man.”
“Learn a new sort of patience.”
“You know S’oren. You know her well.”
“I do.” Again, the kind smile that spread to her eyes. “I know her well. Since she was a little girl.”
“Why has she spent years avoiding our joining and now – when it’s too late – does she contact me?”
“Would you like to have lunch with me?”
“Lunch?” How was an offer to join her for a meal going to help the situation?
“The meal between breakfast and supper. Lunch. I think we should sit down like civilized people and have a chat.”
“If that is what I need to do to get answers, then that is what I shall do.”
“Do you want to know what I think?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I think that not so deep inside of you is a desperately charming young man that is deeply worried about someone that means more to him than he realized. So. Lunch?”
“Okay.”
She made him chat about the voyage from Vulcan to Earth as they walked to a dining room. They sat at a table together and she ordered for them.
“Ask me your questions.” Uhura gave him a smile as she folded her hands in front of her.
He felt suddenly shy. What questions could he have that would be appropriate to ask?
“Why did she contact me?” That was what he truly wanted to know. Why me? Why of all the people she had to know, did she turn to him.
“You will have to ask her that.”
“Am I going to have that chance?”
“Let’s hope so.”
Surak did not know what to do after lunch. His sparse luggage had already been removed to his sister’s home. He had nothing but time to wait for news on his hands. Uhura’s suggestion that he return home and to his concert schedule did not sit well with him. He didn’t want to go home. He wanted to discover who S’oren Marcus was and why, after years of passing the message through her mother that she was not ready to marry him, did she turn to him when she needed help.
So he wandered the streets of San Francisco. For days he wandered. He found places he liked to sit and watch the world turn. He found the kernel of anger that roiled around in his guts and observed it.
Anger as a rule wasn’t part of his emotional spectrum. He’d felt anger, but in truth he’d lived a charmed existence.
He was angry and there was no denying it.
The list of people that were the focus of his anger was surprisingly long. But at the top of it was himself.
Here’s a fact. He was a grown man. If he really wanted his marriage to go forward, he could have pushed. He didn’t want his marriage to go forward. He liked being single. He liked the women. And there were a lot of women.
Everywhere he went there were women.
They were universally into the whole deep, moody, musician thing.
He understood this was the Betazoid man in him coming to the surface. He got that. This is what having mixed parentage could do. He might have been half-Vulcan, but he was also half-Betazoid with the accompanying sexual drive.
The idea of marrying S’oren appealed to him in a general intangible sort of way. Like a concept more than a real thing. Having a wife had gotten him out of more than one awkward situation.
But actually having a wife might create more problems than it was worth. He really didn’t know her enough to have an opinion about what kind of wife she’d bed.
His greatest fear – which turned out to be unrealized – was that she was just like her mother.
Not even a little like her mother.
And now he was angry. Very angry. Mostly because that option he assumed would always be available to him was gone. Not dead gone, but simply out of his reach.
Worst part of all – he wanted her back and he was fairly certain he’d go to some not very Vulcan extremes to make that happen.

Star Trek FanFic: S’oren Daughter of Saavik – Chapter Two

Why do I write in the Star Trek universe?

Because I LOVE Star Trek. I love it. I love the Romulans, I love the Vulcans and I love this amazing world that Gene Rodenberry birthed and JJ Abrams and Rick Berman made soar. I grew up watching Star Trek TNG. I preferred the quiet interior life in my own head even in high-school and this wonderful universe build by these amazingly creative people spoke to me.

I started writing Star Trek FanFic back in those days. I imagine buried somewhere deep in my mother’s house is a box filled with composition books filled with Star Trek stories.

If I ever got the call to come and write for a new Star Trek series I’d drop everything and get on the next flight to Hollywood!!!! 

Chapter Two – Into the Breach

S’oren left the small cabin which had been her home during the trek from Earth to the edge of the Neutral Zone. She walked to the bridge running a hand along the smooth seamless wall of the passage. Second doubts had formed the topography of her inner landscape. But that was her secret.
Did her grandfather ever doubt? Or was he one of those rare people that could charge fearlessly into the breach without a care for his own ass? Was the Kirk blood in her so diluted that she no longer possessed that inbred recklessness so many people assumed she had to have? Or did she have that core of grit and only needed to be tested?
For certain she would be tested in the coming months. Pass and she would be returned to her life within the confines of the Federation. Failure would equal death. That was the cold cold truth of it. Life or death. Why had she agreed to do this? It was insane.
The doors slid open revealing the bridge with all of its lights, sounds and the click and churn of well-trained officers going about their individual tasks making the whole perform better than a sum of its parts. Spock stood with his back to the door and his hands clasped behind him looking out of the view screen at the large expanse of universe in front of them.
Pavel Chekov sat in the captain’s chair of the U.S.S. Maori looking at the same black carpet filled with white stars that held Spock’s attention.
“The Neutral Zone,” Spock said without turning to look at her.
Chekov tilted his head around to look at her. “We have reached the objective location,” he said. “There are no Romulan patrol ships on our sensors. The sooner we are away from this area, the better chance we stand of remaining undetected. When you are ready, we are go for insertion.”
She stood next to Spock. Her body tall and her neck long. Taller than most human women – shorter than most Vulcan women. She assumed a standing position that mimicked his. “I’m ready.” Confidence she didn’t feel came through her words. This was the Kirk in her. Maybe that was the secret of her grandfather. People followed him into the breach willingly and repeatedly. What he did – crazy, foolish, wild, or reckless – he did it boldly.
“Mr. Mulvey?” Chekov asked turning his gaze to the tactical officer.
Mulvey’s fingers tapped across the console in front of him before he nodded. “All systems are nominal,” Mulvey said. “The target coordinates are laid in and the torpedo is go on your mark sir.”
Chekov nodded and rose. “Mr. Mulvey. Dr. Elbrun. You’re with us.”
The Betazoid doctor rose from her chair and followed them onto the turbo lift. Few people that knew of her mission. Chekov, Dr. Elbrun and Lieutenant Mulvey knew the basics out of necessity. The basics being she was a Starfleet Intelligence officer being inserted into the Neutral Zone. But of them only Spock and Captain Uhura of Starfleet Intelligence knew all of the details. Chekov might have been like family, but he wasn’t on the list of people that needed to know the details. Truthfully, S’oren suspected that not even she had full knowledge of the mission. She was a small cog. The Federation was a big machine.
In the turbo lift, they split into two groups. Chekov and Mulvey continued to the weapons bay while S’oren was accompanied to sickbay by Spock and Dr. Elbrun.
Dr. Elbrun led her to an examination bed where two medical assistants had laid out the web of sensors which would be attached to her skin. Without being asked to, she stripped down to her skin and let the team do their job. Dr. Elbrun ran the beeping and blinking tricorder in a pattern around her bare skin as the sensors were pressed into place.
“And?” Spock asked.
“Everything checks out fine,” Dr. Elbrun said. “You’re medically sound and fit to perform your mission.”
S’oren had a mental hiccup of fear and worried the doctor had sensed it. One of the assistants held open the body of the black jumpsuit which made up the base layer of protection she required during her voyage into the Neutral Zone. She slipped her feet in one at a time then stood allowing the assistant to pull the garment up her body.
“Admiral,” Dr. Elbrun said. “How long do you need to perform the meld?”
“A few moments,” Spock said. “The ensign and I have melded before.”
“Then you can spare the ensign and I a few moments to speak in private,” Dr. Elbrun said.
“Is there something wrong?” Spock asked without concern.
“No,” Dr. Elbrun said. “I only wish to speak to my patient privately.”
“I’m good,” S’oren said. “Really. I’m just fine. You just said I was medically sound and fit to perform my mission.” With a slight push of pressure on a sensor imbedded in the fabric of her sleeve her jumpsuit molded around her body like a second skin.
“Admiral,” Dr. Elbrun said with a nod of dismissal. “Just a few moments please.”
“Time is of the essence doctor,” Spock said. “Please be brief.” He left the medical bay taking the assistants with him.
“I’m fine,” she told Dr. Elbrun. Betazoids. Nothing but trouble. She moved her arms and stretched her limbs until the skin of the black jumpsuit she wore melted seamlessly against her body.
Dr. Elbrun nodded. “You are physically and mentally fit. You have a healthy amount of fear and apprehension locked up tight behind your Vulcan reserve.”
“So?”
“Who is Surak and what is it you want so badly to tell him?” Dr. Elbrun asked.
S’oren sighed. “That is really nothing. I don’t know why I thought of him and honestly I don’t appreciate the intrusion into my inner thoughts.”
“I don’t think it’s nothing. I’ve read your personnel file. I know who Surak is. I was just being polite asking. As for intruding on your inner thoughts, I have to practically block them from bombarding me. You are far less easy than you would like anyone to believe about going on this mission. Now. How about a bit of honesty. Is there an issue with Surak that should be resolved before I clear you to go on this mission? Because I will, despite the assuredly overreaching consequences, flag you as unfit. I don’t know what your role is, but I know that Starfleet Intelligence would rather back off and regroup rather than send in an agent that could comprise a whole lot of other agents already in play. So… Surak?”
“Fine. Surak is my husband. Sort of. In that Vulcan way of doing things he’s my husband. The funny thing is, I haven’t thought of him for…” she paused and thought. “A very long time. But for some reason he popped into my head not long ago and I haven’t been able to get him out.”
“You’re betrothed to him,” Dr. Elbrun said.
“I am,” she said. “I guess.”
“Do you want to speak to him? Send him a message? You might be surprised at how effective saying goodbye might be.”
“I…” S’oren shrugged. “I don’t know anything about him. He’s a stranger to me. What could I possibly have to say?”
“Goodbye? Don’t wait for me? Wish me luck?”
“He’s Vulcan,” S’oren said. “They don’t believe in luck.”
“He’s also part Betazoid,” Dr. Elbrun said. “His father.”
“How do you know that?”
“Your file,” Dr. Elbrun said. “Would you like to contact him?”
“Yes,” she said. She did have something to say to Surak.
Dr. Elbrun led her to an office. “You’ll have privacy here.”
“I really don’t think I have time for this,” she said.
“You’re about to risk life and limb for Starfleet. The least they can do is let you make contact with your betrothed. Just don’t take too long.”
“I have no idea where to find him. The Federation is a vast place.”
“Start at home. Work your way out. You can’t spend hours tracking him down, but you can give it a few minutes.”
She sat at Dr. Elbrun’s desk as the doctor activated her comm. “Open a channel to Vulcan,” she told the communications officer. “Priority Theta.” Medical emergency. S’oren was an intelligence officer, but she was trained in communications. A theta message would slip seamlessly past the usual checks. Sneaky.
“Go ahead doctor,” the communications officer responded.
Dr. Elbrun left her alone.
The screen flickered and a uniformed Vulcan communications officer appeared. “I urgently need to contact a Vulcan by the name of Surak,” she said. “He’s from Tat’sahr province.”
The Vulcan stared at her for a moment then responded. “There are three thousand two hundred and seven Surak’s registered as residing in Tat’sahr province. Please be more specific.”
“He’s a half Vulcan half Betazoid lyre player and his mother is T’Pol…”
“I am connecting you,” the Vulcan said. The screen switched to a Vulcan IDIC symbol and she waited. The temptation to cut the communication almost overcame her, but then the screen switched and before her sat a man lit only by the light from the screen shirtless with tousled black hair and the shadow of a beard on his cheeks.
“Yes,” he said groggily. “I’m Surak.”
He looked distinctly un-Vulcan – she’d never seen a Vulcan that could be described as disheveled before. The solid black irises were familiar. She’d found the man she was looking for.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Were you sleeping?”
“As it is the middle of the night,” he said. “Yes. I was sleeping. Who are you and why are you contacting me with a medical emergency from Starfleet? Do you by any chance have me confused with Surak the virologist of the Vulcan Science Academy?”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m S’oren Marcus. Ummm… well this is rather embarrassing and I am so sorry to have caught you in the middle of the night…”
He raised a silencing hand. “Stop talking. What do you want?”
“We’re betrothed.”
“You?” Surak’s head tipped slightly to the side as he studied her.
“Me!” She tried to smile brightly and felt rather clownish. “S’oren. You’re wife.” Nothing seemed to help remove that look on his face. “Could you say something…? Maybe…? Anything…? I’m sorry…”
“Why are you sorry? What do you want?”
“Uhhh…” The smile dropped away from her face. “Do you know who I am?”
“Of course I know who you are,” he said. “Why are you contacting me with a medical emergency in the middle of the night? You scared the hell out of me. I thought something was really wrong with someone I cared about.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How about you stop apologizing for waking me up and just get to the point so I can get back to sleep?”
“I’m…” She had no idea what to say to the disheveled stranger she was legally connected too and had irritated by intruding on his life. “I’m done with school. I have my first assignment.”
“I know. I was going to come to your Starfleet graduation, and then I was told you had already accepted your first assignment and wouldn’t be going through with the ceremony.”
“You were going to come to my graduation?”
“You’re done with Starfleet. Your mother is finally prepared to let you go. It was time for us to move into our life together. It would have been a good moment for us to begin to make plans for the future.”
“Just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “My mother is finally prepared to let me go. My mother let me go the second I was separated from her body. You really don’t know anything about me do you?” She knew she sounded crazy and in a way just wanted him to end the transmission so she didn’t have to continue on with the awkward conversation.
“S’oren,” he said running that hand through his hair again. What kind of Vulcan looked disheveled? “It’s the middle of the night. I had a concert last night at the Trill embassy which went much later than I would have liked it to. I’m exhausted and quite honestly a little shocked to be getting woken up by a medical emergency that isn’t actually a medical emergency…” he paused and stared at her. “You’re not unwell or dying right?”
“No. I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Good. How about you tell me what it is you are contacting me about?”
“I’m going on a mission,” she said. “I may not be back for a very long time. I just wanted to tell you that I don’t expect you to wait for me.”
“Are you calling for kal-if-fee?” he asked raising an eyebrow.
“No!” She practically shouted. “No, no, no. Even if I was, I assure you there is no one that would want to fight you for me. I’m just telling you that I’m going to be gone for a long time and that I don’t expect you to wait around for me.”
“Are you asking me to release you from our bond?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I’m telling you that I’d understand if you wanted to be released. I’m going to be gone. I don’t know when or even if I’m going to come back. You don’t have to wait around for me and you don’t have to feel guilty about moving on.” What did she really want from the black eyed man that lived on the periphery of her life? Probably more than she’d ever get from him. She wanted him to beg her not to go. To make an impassioned plea to fly to him at warp speed. Or something like that. S’oren had never been on the receiving end of a big romantic gesture. She kind of wanted to be just once. But that didn’t look like it was going to happen.
“You’re frightened,” he said. “You’re worried you won’t be able to perform your mission if you leave any loose ends untied.”
“What makes you say that? I’m not frightened.”
“You’re frightened,” he said. “It’s so very obvious to me.”
“Because you’re half-Betazoid?”
“Yes. Partially. More than that. We have a bond. I can sense how afraid you are. What is happening really? You didn’t contact me to tell me to get on with my life without you. You want something from me that you truly think only I can give you. What is it?”
“I don’t want anything from you.” He gave her the answer she needed more than the one she wanted. “I just don’t think it’s very fair to make you wait. You know it’s hard to be kept waiting. What’s even worse is to be kept waiting and not know if the person you’re waiting for is ever planning on showing up.” S’oren didn’t know who had control of her mouth, but she just wanted whomever it was to stop making her sound like an idiot.
“Honesty is very important in relationships S’oren. I’d rather we didn’t start out with you lying to me. I can tell you’re frightened. It’s in your eyes and in your voice. You contacted me for a reason. You know it is right for you to turn to me. Tell me what’s the matter S’oren, and I’ll do whatever I can to fix it.”
“My fear is well controlled,” she said. The conversation wasn’t going how she’d anticipated it would. Not that she’d had many expectations. “This is all happening very suddenly. I just wanted you to know that I would be gone and I might not come back. You deserved to hear it from me and not my mother.”
“You’re lying to me. I can tell. You’re not very Vulcan are you?” He smiled ever so slightly which took S’oren aback.
“Neither are you,” she said. “Vulcan’s don’t smile.”
“I think you have a great deal to learn about Vulcan’s,” he said. “You’ve spent your life with humans and you have a lot of human misconceptions. I think you are in for a surprise or two for what life with me is going to be like. Keep in mind, I’m like you. I’m not exactly Vulcan. I’m also Betazoid and that part of me if telling me that you are afraid and you don’t want to do whatever it is they are telling you to do. You want me to tell you not to do what you’re about to do. You want to know that if you refuse that I’ll support you.”
“I don’t think I want to do this,” she said. “The mission they’re sending me on. I’m frightened. You’re right. I’m very frightened and I just don’t know if I can do it. I know you don’t know me, but no one really does know me. I don’t have any friends. Well I have Melinda, but she has a boyfriend. Do you have a lot of friends?”
“I have a few,” he said. “Some of them are pretty important. S’oren if you don’t want to do this thing you’re supposed to do, then don’t.”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “It’s all planned. People are in place. Everything is in motion. I can’t disappoint so many people.”
“S’oren,” Surak said leaning into the screen. “You do not have to do this if you do not want to do it. Just tell your handler no. They can’t force you. Come to Vulcan. We’ll consummate our bond and then no one can ask you to leave Vulcan for at least a year. Not even Starfleet would dare challenge Vulcan marriage customs. Come and be with me S’oren. I know people. I can protect you.”
S’oren wiped at her eyes not caring if Surak witnessed such an obvious display of emotion. “I don’t want this. I just want a quiet life. I wanted to be a diplomat or a linguist, not a spy.”
A quick flash of movement across the screen caught her eye and for a moment she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. Then her eyes focused.
“Who are you?” a Trill woman who had stuck her face between a Surak and the screen asked. “And why are you contacting us in the middle of the night?”
The woman’s intrusion happened so quickly S’oren wasn’t sure what she was looking at for a brief moment. Then the truth hit her like a cudgel. Surak was attempting to move the intruding woman out of the way as he spoke in harsh and rapid words to her. S’oren tried to find her voice, but couldn’t.
“S’oren,” Surak said. “Ignore her. She’s no one. You’re what matters to me. You’re my wife and you have been in my heart since our betrothal. Whatever you need, I’ll give to you. Just tell me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” the Trill woman demanded. “Who is she?”
“I’m nobody,” S’oren said. “I’m so sorry Surak. I won’t bother you again. Computer end transmission.”
S’oren considered putting her fist through the console, but instead channeled her anger and embarrassment into action. She was ready. She didn’t know what had come over her during her talk with Surak, but it wasn’t her. She was a highly trained member of Starfleet Intelligence and she had a mission to perform to the best of her capabilities.
With a brisk flick to her hair and a quick step, she exited the office and headed out of the medical bay with the doctor following.
“Your conversation did not go as anticipated,” Dr. Elbrun said.
“As I had no expectations, then your conclusion would erroneous,” she said.
“You’re angry,” Dr. Elbrun said.
“I would appreciate it if you would mind your own business,” she said continuing her stride unbroken.
“I’m not going to send an agent into the field that I believe is emotionally compromised and unable to keep perspective,” Dr. Elbrun said.
S’oren stopped shortly without bothering to turn to the doctor. “If you must know, it was my intention to release Surak from his bond. The conversation did not end as I hoped it might. I didn’t have to bother releasing him from his bond, as he already had replaced me with a Trill. If you must know, I am not angry so much as my ego is bruised. What woman wants to learn that not only is she not irreplaceable, but that she has already been replaced?”
“No woman wants this,” Dr. Elbrun said placing a sympathetic hand on S’oren’s shoulder. “You are very young. There will be other men. Are you certain you can go through with your mission?”
“My head is clear and I have no ties left to sever. Now if you don’t mind, I am ready to complete my mission.” She continued her march to the launch bay where the capsule that would take her into the Neutral Zone and to her rendezvous point awaited.
Spock, Chekov and Mulvey were alone in the torpedo bay when S’oren entered. Mulvey ran a tricorder over the slick black torpedo shell that looked eerily like a coffin. S’oren knew on an intellectual level that every precaution had been taken and that she would not be the first living being to be placed into a torpedo and shot on a carefully plotted trajectory through space. The facts didn’t change the feeling of absolute dread that facing the torpedo produced in her. It wouldn’t be her first time in a torpedo, but the previous journeys she’d taken had been under controlled conditions with teams of Starfleet personnel on hand ready to intervene if anything went awry.
The circumstances were not even remotely similar. She would be getting into the torpedo and would be shot on a trajectory landing her well inside the bounds of the Neutral Zone. From there a cargo ship of such little note and importance as to be invisible, but manned by a crew of intelligence operatives would pick her up like so much space debris. From there she would be taken to a Romulan outpost where she would simply blend in and move deeper into the Romulan Empire and closer to her objective.
“S’oren,” Spock said. “It is time.”
She looked up into the face of her mother’s husband and felt the twinge of regret. Spock had made more attempts at creating a bond between them than she had ever given him credit for. He had taken the time to teach her to control her emotions, to understand what it meant to be Vulcan and to find peace with who she was.
“No,” she said. “I’ve changed my mind about the meld.”
“As is your right,” Spock said. “If you believe you can perform the mission without going under deep cover, then that is your prerogative.”
“I can do it,” she said. “I need to have my wits about me.”
“Very well then.” Spock dipped his head imperceptibly. “Mr. Mulvey?”
“We are good to go Admiral,” Mulvey said. “Time to suit up.”
Mulvey and Dr. Elbrun helped her into the middle and outer suit that would add an extra level protection beyond what the habitat controls built into the torpedo would provide during the time she would spend in stasis. Her greatest fear wasn’t bouncing into a star or flicking off a comet, but rather becoming lost. Space was enormous and one little two-meter long box was a spec of sand on a beach. The engineers that had designed the capsule had informed her during the technical briefing that, under even extreme circumstances, the torpedo would protect her and keep her in suspended animation for a minimum of twenty-thousand years. That terrified her.
As the engineers extolled the virtues of the virtually impenetrable shields and the pure perfection of the life support system, the only thing S’oren had been able to imagine was waking up in some far off future having left all she knew behind thousands of years earlier. She’d rather die in a whisper than live out her life eternally sleeping. “Like Sleeping Beauty,” she whispered.
“What was that?” Dr. Elbrun asked as she adjusted the controls on S’oren’s suit.
“Nothing,” she said.
“You are like Sleeping Beauty,” Dr. Elbrun said quietly. “You are certainly very beautiful S’oren whether you realize or not. Surak will perhaps realize the error of his ways by the time you return.”
“It doesn’t really matter does it?” she asked the doctor looking into the solid black irises of her eyes.
“It does,” Dr. Elbrun said. “If nothing else, when he comes begging you to take him back, you’ll have the pleasure of telling him to take a hike.”
S’oren nearly smiled in spite of herself. Dr. Elbrun returned the small grin spoke to Spock. “We’re ready,” she said.
Mulvey handed over her bulky black helmet as Spock gave her final instructions.
“Keep to your cover,” Spock said. “This mission is not about gathering intelligence so much as it is about establishing your cover. You know the protocols. When you are ready for extraction, make contact with your handler. I will be there when you’re brought out to debrief you.”
Her helmet sealed with a sucking intake of air. Captain Chekov offered her a hand as she stepped into the padded interior of the torpedo. She laid down and just let Spock, Mulvey, Dr. Elbrun and Captain Chekov complete the final checks. Before the lid came down and her body went to sleep, Spock raised his hand with fingers spread into a V. “Live long and prosper, S’oren Marcus.”
She returned the salute then gave Mulvey thumbs up in response to his raised thumb. The lid came down. Sleep was instant and total. With a shot of propulsion, she was launched into the darkness of space.

Star Trek FanFic: S’oren Daughter of Saavik – Chapter Two

Why do I write in the Star Trek universe?

Because I LOVE Star Trek. I love it. I love the Romulans, I love the Vulcans and I love this amazing world that Gene Rodenberry birthed and JJ Abrams and Rick Berman made soar. I grew up watching Star Trek TNG. I preferred the quiet interior life in my own head even in high-school and this wonderful universe build by these amazingly creative people spoke to me.

I started writing Star Trek FanFic back in those days. I imagine buried somewhere deep in my mother’s house is a box filled with composition books filled with Star Trek stories.

If I ever got the call to come and write for a new Star Trek series I’d drop everything and get on the next flight to Hollywood!!!! 

Chapter Two – Into the Breach

S’oren left the small cabin which had been her home during the trek from Earth to the edge of the Neutral Zone. She walked to the bridge running a hand along the smooth seamless wall of the passage. Second doubts had formed the topography of her inner landscape. But that was her secret.
Did her grandfather ever doubt? Or was he one of those rare people that could charge fearlessly into the breach without a care for his own ass? Was the Kirk blood in her so diluted that she no longer possessed that inbred recklessness so many people assumed she had to have? Or did she have that core of grit and only needed to be tested?
For certain she would be tested in the coming months. Pass and she would be returned to her life within the confines of the Federation. Failure would equal death. That was the cold cold truth of it. Life or death. Why had she agreed to do this? It was insane.
The doors slid open revealing the bridge with all of its lights, sounds and the click and churn of well-trained officers going about their individual tasks making the whole perform better than a sum of its parts. Spock stood with his back to the door and his hands clasped behind him looking out of the view screen at the large expanse of universe in front of them.
Pavel Chekov sat in the captain’s chair of the U.S.S. Maori looking at the same black carpet filled with white stars that held Spock’s attention.
“The Neutral Zone,” Spock said without turning to look at her.
Chekov tilted his head around to look at her. “We have reached the objective location,” he said. “There are no Romulan patrol ships on our sensors. The sooner we are away from this area, the better chance we stand of remaining undetected. When you are ready, we are go for insertion.”
She stood next to Spock. Her body tall and her neck long. Taller than most human women – shorter than most Vulcan women. She assumed a standing position that mimicked his. “I’m ready.” Confidence she didn’t feel came through her words. This was the Kirk in her. Maybe that was the secret of her grandfather. People followed him into the breach willingly and repeatedly. What he did – crazy, foolish, wild, or reckless – he did it boldly.
“Mr. Mulvey?” Chekov asked turning his gaze to the tactical officer.
Mulvey’s fingers tapped across the console in front of him before he nodded. “All systems are nominal,” Mulvey said. “The target coordinates are laid in and the torpedo is go on your mark sir.”
Chekov nodded and rose. “Mr. Mulvey. Dr. Elbrun. You’re with us.”
The Betazoid doctor rose from her chair and followed them onto the turbo lift. Few people that knew of her mission. Chekov, Dr. Elbrun and Lieutenant Mulvey knew the basics out of necessity. The basics being she was a Starfleet Intelligence officer being inserted into the Neutral Zone. But of them only Spock and Captain Uhura of Starfleet Intelligence knew all of the details. Chekov might have been like family, but he wasn’t on the list of people that needed to know the details. Truthfully, S’oren suspected that not even she had full knowledge of the mission. She was a small cog. The Federation was a big machine.
In the turbo lift, they split into two groups. Chekov and Mulvey continued to the weapons bay while S’oren was accompanied to sickbay by Spock and Dr. Elbrun.
Dr. Elbrun led her to an examination bed where two medical assistants had laid out the web of sensors which would be attached to her skin. Without being asked to, she stripped down to her skin and let the team do their job. Dr. Elbrun ran the beeping and blinking tricorder in a pattern around her bare skin as the sensors were pressed into place.
“And?” Spock asked.
“Everything checks out fine,” Dr. Elbrun said. “You’re medically sound and fit to perform your mission.”
S’oren had a mental hiccup of fear and worried the doctor had sensed it. One of the assistants held open the body of the black jumpsuit which made up the base layer of protection she required during her voyage into the Neutral Zone. She slipped her feet in one at a time then stood allowing the assistant to pull the garment up her body.
“Admiral,” Dr. Elbrun said. “How long do you need to perform the meld?”
“A few moments,” Spock said. “The ensign and I have melded before.”
“Then you can spare the ensign and I a few moments to speak in private,” Dr. Elbrun said.
“Is there something wrong?” Spock asked without concern.
“No,” Dr. Elbrun said. “I only wish to speak to my patient privately.”
“I’m good,” S’oren said. “Really. I’m just fine. You just said I was medically sound and fit to perform my mission.” With a slight push of pressure on a sensor imbedded in the fabric of her sleeve her jumpsuit molded around her body like a second skin.
“Admiral,” Dr. Elbrun said with a nod of dismissal. “Just a few moments please.”
“Time is of the essence doctor,” Spock said. “Please be brief.” He left the medical bay taking the assistants with him.
“I’m fine,” she told Dr. Elbrun. Betazoids. Nothing but trouble. She moved her arms and stretched her limbs until the skin of the black jumpsuit she wore melted seamlessly against her body.
Dr. Elbrun nodded. “You are physically and mentally fit. You have a healthy amount of fear and apprehension locked up tight behind your Vulcan reserve.”
“So?”
“Who is Surak and what is it you want so badly to tell him?” Dr. Elbrun asked.
S’oren sighed. “That is really nothing. I don’t know why I thought of him and honestly I don’t appreciate the intrusion into my inner thoughts.”
“I don’t think it’s nothing. I’ve read your personnel file. I know who Surak is. I was just being polite asking. As for intruding on your inner thoughts, I have to practically block them from bombarding me. You are far less easy than you would like anyone to believe about going on this mission. Now. How about a bit of honesty. Is there an issue with Surak that should be resolved before I clear you to go on this mission? Because I will, despite the assuredly overreaching consequences, flag you as unfit. I don’t know what your role is, but I know that Starfleet Intelligence would rather back off and regroup rather than send in an agent that could comprise a whole lot of other agents already in play. So… Surak?”
“Fine. Surak is my husband. Sort of. In that Vulcan way of doing things he’s my husband. The funny thing is, I haven’t thought of him for…” she paused and thought. “A very long time. But for some reason he popped into my head not long ago and I haven’t been able to get him out.”
“You’re betrothed to him,” Dr. Elbrun said.
“I am,” she said. “I guess.”
“Do you want to speak to him? Send him a message? You might be surprised at how effective saying goodbye might be.”
“I…” S’oren shrugged. “I don’t know anything about him. He’s a stranger to me. What could I possibly have to say?”
“Goodbye? Don’t wait for me? Wish me luck?”
“He’s Vulcan,” S’oren said. “They don’t believe in luck.”
“He’s also part Betazoid,” Dr. Elbrun said. “His father.”
“How do you know that?”
“Your file,” Dr. Elbrun said. “Would you like to contact him?”
“Yes,” she said. She did have something to say to Surak.
Dr. Elbrun led her to an office. “You’ll have privacy here.”
“I really don’t think I have time for this,” she said.
“You’re about to risk life and limb for Starfleet. The least they can do is let you make contact with your betrothed. Just don’t take too long.”
“I have no idea where to find him. The Federation is a vast place.”
“Start at home. Work your way out. You can’t spend hours tracking him down, but you can give it a few minutes.”
She sat at Dr. Elbrun’s desk as the doctor activated her comm. “Open a channel to Vulcan,” she told the communications officer. “Priority Theta.” Medical emergency. S’oren was an intelligence officer, but she was trained in communications. A theta message would slip seamlessly past the usual checks. Sneaky.
“Go ahead doctor,” the communications officer responded.
Dr. Elbrun left her alone.
The screen flickered and a uniformed Vulcan communications officer appeared. “I urgently need to contact a Vulcan by the name of Surak,” she said. “He’s from Tat’sahr province.”
The Vulcan stared at her for a moment then responded. “There are three thousand two hundred and seven Surak’s registered as residing in Tat’sahr province. Please be more specific.”
“He’s a half Vulcan half Betazoid lyre player and his mother is T’Pol…”
“I am connecting you,” the Vulcan said. The screen switched to a Vulcan IDIC symbol and she waited. The temptation to cut the communication almost overcame her, but then the screen switched and before her sat a man lit only by the light from the screen shirtless with tousled black hair and the shadow of a beard on his cheeks.
“Yes,” he said groggily. “I’m Surak.”
He looked distinctly un-Vulcan – she’d never seen a Vulcan that could be described as disheveled before. The solid black irises were familiar. She’d found the man she was looking for.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Were you sleeping?”
“As it is the middle of the night,” he said. “Yes. I was sleeping. Who are you and why are you contacting me with a medical emergency from Starfleet? Do you by any chance have me confused with Surak the virologist of the Vulcan Science Academy?”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m S’oren Marcus. Ummm… well this is rather embarrassing and I am so sorry to have caught you in the middle of the night…”
He raised a silencing hand. “Stop talking. What do you want?”
“We’re betrothed.”
“You?” Surak’s head tipped slightly to the side as he studied her.
“Me!” She tried to smile brightly and felt rather clownish. “S’oren. You’re wife.” Nothing seemed to help remove that look on his face. “Could you say something…? Maybe…? Anything…? I’m sorry…”
“Why are you sorry? What do you want?”
“Uhhh…” The smile dropped away from her face. “Do you know who I am?”
“Of course I know who you are,” he said. “Why are you contacting me with a medical emergency in the middle of the night? You scared the hell out of me. I thought something was really wrong with someone I cared about.”
“I’m sorry.”
“How about you stop apologizing for waking me up and just get to the point so I can get back to sleep?”
“I’m…” She had no idea what to say to the disheveled stranger she was legally connected too and had irritated by intruding on his life. “I’m done with school. I have my first assignment.”
“I know. I was going to come to your Starfleet graduation, and then I was told you had already accepted your first assignment and wouldn’t be going through with the ceremony.”
“You were going to come to my graduation?”
“You’re done with Starfleet. Your mother is finally prepared to let you go. It was time for us to move into our life together. It would have been a good moment for us to begin to make plans for the future.”
“Just like that.” She snapped her fingers. “My mother is finally prepared to let me go. My mother let me go the second I was separated from her body. You really don’t know anything about me do you?” She knew she sounded crazy and in a way just wanted him to end the transmission so she didn’t have to continue on with the awkward conversation.
“S’oren,” he said running that hand through his hair again. What kind of Vulcan looked disheveled? “It’s the middle of the night. I had a concert last night at the Trill embassy which went much later than I would have liked it to. I’m exhausted and quite honestly a little shocked to be getting woken up by a medical emergency that isn’t actually a medical emergency…” he paused and stared at her. “You’re not unwell or dying right?”
“No. I’m perfectly healthy.”
“Good. How about you tell me what it is you are contacting me about?”
“I’m going on a mission,” she said. “I may not be back for a very long time. I just wanted to tell you that I don’t expect you to wait for me.”
“Are you calling for kal-if-fee?” he asked raising an eyebrow.
“No!” She practically shouted. “No, no, no. Even if I was, I assure you there is no one that would want to fight you for me. I’m just telling you that I’m going to be gone for a long time and that I don’t expect you to wait around for me.”
“Are you asking me to release you from our bond?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “I’m telling you that I’d understand if you wanted to be released. I’m going to be gone. I don’t know when or even if I’m going to come back. You don’t have to wait around for me and you don’t have to feel guilty about moving on.” What did she really want from the black eyed man that lived on the periphery of her life? Probably more than she’d ever get from him. She wanted him to beg her not to go. To make an impassioned plea to fly to him at warp speed. Or something like that. S’oren had never been on the receiving end of a big romantic gesture. She kind of wanted to be just once. But that didn’t look like it was going to happen.
“You’re frightened,” he said. “You’re worried you won’t be able to perform your mission if you leave any loose ends untied.”
“What makes you say that? I’m not frightened.”
“You’re frightened,” he said. “It’s so very obvious to me.”
“Because you’re half-Betazoid?”
“Yes. Partially. More than that. We have a bond. I can sense how afraid you are. What is happening really? You didn’t contact me to tell me to get on with my life without you. You want something from me that you truly think only I can give you. What is it?”
“I don’t want anything from you.” He gave her the answer she needed more than the one she wanted. “I just don’t think it’s very fair to make you wait. You know it’s hard to be kept waiting. What’s even worse is to be kept waiting and not know if the person you’re waiting for is ever planning on showing up.” S’oren didn’t know who had control of her mouth, but she just wanted whomever it was to stop making her sound like an idiot.
“Honesty is very important in relationships S’oren. I’d rather we didn’t start out with you lying to me. I can tell you’re frightened. It’s in your eyes and in your voice. You contacted me for a reason. You know it is right for you to turn to me. Tell me what’s the matter S’oren, and I’ll do whatever I can to fix it.”
“My fear is well controlled,” she said. The conversation wasn’t going how she’d anticipated it would. Not that she’d had many expectations. “This is all happening very suddenly. I just wanted you to know that I would be gone and I might not come back. You deserved to hear it from me and not my mother.”
“You’re lying to me. I can tell. You’re not very Vulcan are you?” He smiled ever so slightly which took S’oren aback.
“Neither are you,” she said. “Vulcan’s don’t smile.”
“I think you have a great deal to learn about Vulcan’s,” he said. “You’ve spent your life with humans and you have a lot of human misconceptions. I think you are in for a surprise or two for what life with me is going to be like. Keep in mind, I’m like you. I’m not exactly Vulcan. I’m also Betazoid and that part of me if telling me that you are afraid and you don’t want to do whatever it is they are telling you to do. You want me to tell you not to do what you’re about to do. You want to know that if you refuse that I’ll support you.”
“I don’t think I want to do this,” she said. “The mission they’re sending me on. I’m frightened. You’re right. I’m very frightened and I just don’t know if I can do it. I know you don’t know me, but no one really does know me. I don’t have any friends. Well I have Melinda, but she has a boyfriend. Do you have a lot of friends?”
“I have a few,” he said. “Some of them are pretty important. S’oren if you don’t want to do this thing you’re supposed to do, then don’t.”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “It’s all planned. People are in place. Everything is in motion. I can’t disappoint so many people.”
“S’oren,” Surak said leaning into the screen. “You do not have to do this if you do not want to do it. Just tell your handler no. They can’t force you. Come to Vulcan. We’ll consummate our bond and then no one can ask you to leave Vulcan for at least a year. Not even Starfleet would dare challenge Vulcan marriage customs. Come and be with me S’oren. I know people. I can protect you.”
S’oren wiped at her eyes not caring if Surak witnessed such an obvious display of emotion. “I don’t want this. I just want a quiet life. I wanted to be a diplomat or a linguist, not a spy.”
A quick flash of movement across the screen caught her eye and for a moment she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. Then her eyes focused.
“Who are you?” a Trill woman who had stuck her face between a Surak and the screen asked. “And why are you contacting us in the middle of the night?”
The woman’s intrusion happened so quickly S’oren wasn’t sure what she was looking at for a brief moment. Then the truth hit her like a cudgel. Surak was attempting to move the intruding woman out of the way as he spoke in harsh and rapid words to her. S’oren tried to find her voice, but couldn’t.
“S’oren,” Surak said. “Ignore her. She’s no one. You’re what matters to me. You’re my wife and you have been in my heart since our betrothal. Whatever you need, I’ll give to you. Just tell me.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” the Trill woman demanded. “Who is she?”
“I’m nobody,” S’oren said. “I’m so sorry Surak. I won’t bother you again. Computer end transmission.”
S’oren considered putting her fist through the console, but instead channeled her anger and embarrassment into action. She was ready. She didn’t know what had come over her during her talk with Surak, but it wasn’t her. She was a highly trained member of Starfleet Intelligence and she had a mission to perform to the best of her capabilities.
With a brisk flick to her hair and a quick step, she exited the office and headed out of the medical bay with the doctor following.
“Your conversation did not go as anticipated,” Dr. Elbrun said.
“As I had no expectations, then your conclusion would erroneous,” she said.
“You’re angry,” Dr. Elbrun said.
“I would appreciate it if you would mind your own business,” she said continuing her stride unbroken.
“I’m not going to send an agent into the field that I believe is emotionally compromised and unable to keep perspective,” Dr. Elbrun said.
S’oren stopped shortly without bothering to turn to the doctor. “If you must know, it was my intention to release Surak from his bond. The conversation did not end as I hoped it might. I didn’t have to bother releasing him from his bond, as he already had replaced me with a Trill. If you must know, I am not angry so much as my ego is bruised. What woman wants to learn that not only is she not irreplaceable, but that she has already been replaced?”
“No woman wants this,” Dr. Elbrun said placing a sympathetic hand on S’oren’s shoulder. “You are very young. There will be other men. Are you certain you can go through with your mission?”
“My head is clear and I have no ties left to sever. Now if you don’t mind, I am ready to complete my mission.” She continued her march to the launch bay where the capsule that would take her into the Neutral Zone and to her rendezvous point awaited.
Spock, Chekov and Mulvey were alone in the torpedo bay when S’oren entered. Mulvey ran a tricorder over the slick black torpedo shell that looked eerily like a coffin. S’oren knew on an intellectual level that every precaution had been taken and that she would not be the first living being to be placed into a torpedo and shot on a carefully plotted trajectory through space. The facts didn’t change the feeling of absolute dread that facing the torpedo produced in her. It wouldn’t be her first time in a torpedo, but the previous journeys she’d taken had been under controlled conditions with teams of Starfleet personnel on hand ready to intervene if anything went awry.
The circumstances were not even remotely similar. She would be getting into the torpedo and would be shot on a trajectory landing her well inside the bounds of the Neutral Zone. From there a cargo ship of such little note and importance as to be invisible, but manned by a crew of intelligence operatives would pick her up like so much space debris. From there she would be taken to a Romulan outpost where she would simply blend in and move deeper into the Romulan Empire and closer to her objective.
“S’oren,” Spock said. “It is time.”
She looked up into the face of her mother’s husband and felt the twinge of regret. Spock had made more attempts at creating a bond between them than she had ever given him credit for. He had taken the time to teach her to control her emotions, to understand what it meant to be Vulcan and to find peace with who she was.
“No,” she said. “I’ve changed my mind about the meld.”
“As is your right,” Spock said. “If you believe you can perform the mission without going under deep cover, then that is your prerogative.”
“I can do it,” she said. “I need to have my wits about me.”
“Very well then.” Spock dipped his head imperceptibly. “Mr. Mulvey?”
“We are good to go Admiral,” Mulvey said. “Time to suit up.”
Mulvey and Dr. Elbrun helped her into the middle and outer suit that would add an extra level protection beyond what the habitat controls built into the torpedo would provide during the time she would spend in stasis. Her greatest fear wasn’t bouncing into a star or flicking off a comet, but rather becoming lost. Space was enormous and one little two-meter long box was a spec of sand on a beach. The engineers that had designed the capsule had informed her during the technical briefing that, under even extreme circumstances, the torpedo would protect her and keep her in suspended animation for a minimum of twenty-thousand years. That terrified her.
As the engineers extolled the virtues of the virtually impenetrable shields and the pure perfection of the life support system, the only thing S’oren had been able to imagine was waking up in some far off future having left all she knew behind thousands of years earlier. She’d rather die in a whisper than live out her life eternally sleeping. “Like Sleeping Beauty,” she whispered.
“What was that?” Dr. Elbrun asked as she adjusted the controls on S’oren’s suit.
“Nothing,” she said.
“You are like Sleeping Beauty,” Dr. Elbrun said quietly. “You are certainly very beautiful S’oren whether you realize or not. Surak will perhaps realize the error of his ways by the time you return.”
“It doesn’t really matter does it?” she asked the doctor looking into the solid black irises of her eyes.
“It does,” Dr. Elbrun said. “If nothing else, when he comes begging you to take him back, you’ll have the pleasure of telling him to take a hike.”
S’oren nearly smiled in spite of herself. Dr. Elbrun returned the small grin spoke to Spock. “We’re ready,” she said.
Mulvey handed over her bulky black helmet as Spock gave her final instructions.
“Keep to your cover,” Spock said. “This mission is not about gathering intelligence so much as it is about establishing your cover. You know the protocols. When you are ready for extraction, make contact with your handler. I will be there when you’re brought out to debrief you.”
Her helmet sealed with a sucking intake of air. Captain Chekov offered her a hand as she stepped into the padded interior of the torpedo. She laid down and just let Spock, Mulvey, Dr. Elbrun and Captain Chekov complete the final checks. Before the lid came down and her body went to sleep, Spock raised his hand with fingers spread into a V. “Live long and prosper, S’oren Marcus.”
She returned the salute then gave Mulvey thumbs up in response to his raised thumb. The lid came down. Sleep was instant and total. With a shot of propulsion, she was launched into the darkness of space.

Star Trek FanFic: S’oren Daughter of Saavik – Chapter One I am S’oren Marcus

You ask me and I will deliver (if I can) – I’ve had a few requests to put chapters of my Star Trek fanfic on my blog. I’m going to catch up over the next couple of days and starting on Monday, I will post the latest chapter of my fanfic on my blog as it goes up on FanFiction.Net.

Chapter One I am S’oren Marcus

“I am S’oren Marcus.” S’oren stopped speaking with a gasp of held breath as her finger pad popped against a kill switch on the computer in front of her. The screen which had held her image a moment earlier went dark leaving a reflection of herself in the black surface and off to the corner the reflection of her mother’s husband. “I don’t know what to say,” she said keeping her voice calm.
“Speak the truth,” Spock replied that tone of voice which was annoyingly comforting.
S’oren captured her bottom lip in her teeth and thought for a moment. Her abused lip was released with a sigh. “This is idiotic,” she said. Logic wasn’t her strong suit, but that didn’t mean she was without it.
“As are many things we must do in life S’oren,” Spock replied with only the smallest flick of his fingers held aloft like the steeple of a church. He sat off to the side of her in the small quarters which had been assigned to her when she’d reported to the USS Maori for her first assignment as a Starfleet Intelligence officer. Spock was to accompany her to the edge of the Neutral Zone. Then she was on her own. “What you find to be idiotic, I find to be necessary. Your words spoken by you. Consider it a…” he paused and looked at her through the reflected surface. “A favor.”
“So you can unscramble me if you need to?”
“Precisely.” He nodded ever so slightly.
S’oren turned her attention back to the screen as it came to life once again with a touch of her finger. The mirror image of her face stared back in silent wonder. She was Alice about to go down a whole new sort of rabbit hole. Her first – and only boyfriend – Ajay Singh had told her she was beautiful. She suspected he had been more motivated by his desire to bed her than by any real belief that her hair was as glorious as a sunrise or that her eyes were as blue as a spring sky.
The infamously immovable Saavik had informed her that she lacked discretion and that her ability to judge the worthiness of companions was suspect. Ajay was dismissed unceremoniously from her life via a firmly worded missive from the desk of Captain Saavik informing him in no uncertain terms she was not available to him with the underlying implication that she knew people and he would never be missed.
The post script was firm and final and informed the young human that S’oren already had a husband. It had taken more effort than it was probably worth to convince Ajay that her “husband” had made a practice of pushing off the ceremony that would bind them together something of a habit. It was a wonder she had any friends at all when she factored in her mother’s frequent and unwelcome interjections. Fortunately for her, S’oren had learned that what her mother didn’t know didn’t hurt her.
Ajay wasn’t the first person that entered her life only to find themselves being ejected by Captain Saavik. He had reluctantly come around eventually, but she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted him back when she had him again.
In fact, after a month of being a couple again, post her mother’s unnecessary interference, S’oren wanted out. Breaking up was harder than she imagined and took more courage than she could summon. Being offered a mission that risked life and limb to get out of a relationship seemed like a reasonable trade-off. This was the sort of coward she was.
She’d kept up her relationship with Ajay until she’d taken the easy way out a week earlier. She sent him a Dear John message blaming the end of their relationship on her mother, her “husband” Surak, her love of Starfleet and her determination to make a name for herself as an Intelligence field agent.
All lies and subterfuge.
A succinct description of her life.
Which was why it was so very hard to make that recording of herself. She had absolutely no idea who she was beyond the wants and desires others had pressed upon her.
“I am S’oren Marcus. I was born on Vulcan on stardate 8398.9. I am a Starfleet Intelligence officer with the rank of ensign. I speak eighteen languages. I am the current defending Starfleet champion in fencing. I have been bonded to Surak of Vulcan since the age of seven. It is my desire to join the diplomatic corps and one day become an ambassador. As a person of mixed human, Romulan and Vulcan ancestry, I am confident…”
“S’oren,” Spock interrupted her. “You already have the job. There is no need to practice for your interview.”
“What am I supposed to say?” She looked at Spock who stared back at her.
“Who are you S’oren Marcus?” Spock asked.
“I…” She paused, turned and looked at herself and the shadow of her mother’s husband out of the corner of her eye. “I… I have nothing else to say. I am S’oren Marcus. Listen to Spock. He’s never lied to you.” With a flash of her finger, the screen went dead. “Okay?” she asked Spock’s reflection.
“Thank you,” he said simply. “I have never lied to you. I have told you truths you may not have wanted to hear, but I have never lied to you. Nor will I ever.” He unfolded his long body from the chair then took two steps in the direction of the door. “I believe what you need is privacy. When you are finished, I will be on the bridge.”
The door swished open then closed, leaving her alone with only the white noise of the ship traveling at high warp humming in the background.
“I hate you,” she said without malice or even any enthusiasm at the door Spock had exited through. She didn’t hate him. She didn’t always particularly like him, but he had never lied to her. He had never been unkind, or malicious, or mean. He had also never been warm, loving or a replacement father. He was more than a neutral presence in her life, but less than an active one.
She turned back to the screen and brought it to life again. “I am S’oren Marcus. I was born on Vulcan on stardate 8398.9. My mother is Saavik.” She watched her eyes flicker and narrow slightly as her lips pursed at the sound of her mother’s name. “Saavik means “little cat” in Romulan and it’s a name that suits her perfectly as mother is like a cat. Emotionally distant and completely self-serving. I am a profound disappointment to my mother.” S’oren paused. “Just as she is to me.”
It was as if a mirror had cracked or a veil had been lifted. S’oren felt released from constraint and let her words fumble out. “My father was Dr. David Marcus. He died on the Genesis planet at the hand of the Klingon Kruge. I never knew him…” she looked at her reflection. “But I have his eyes. Or so my mother tells me. I also have his recklessness, his impetuosity and his emotion. I disappoint my mother on many levels. Not the least of which is my humanness.”
S’oren bit her bottom lip again and watched herself being recorded. “I think she thought I would be like Spock in my humanness,” she said. “But I’m not. He was raised as a Vulcan by a human mother that found her place among the Vulcans. I might as well have been raised by wolves.” She rolled her eyes in a brief shock of shame. “That’s not exactly true. I love my grandmother Carol very much and she has always taken very good care of me. She wanted me. She loves me. She thinks I’m going to serve on a communications outpost somewhere out on the edge of Cardassian space. The perfect cover for a person that needs to be gone for a long period of time. Spock may not lie, but clearly I do. I’m not going to man a communications outpost. I’m going to go and do something far more reckless and far more dangerous. That’s the Kirk in me. This innate ability to pull the most asinine, bold, brave and courageous stunts, because quite simply, no one else is either dumb enough to not be afraid or stupid enough to say yes. That I get from my father who got it from his father. You’d think it would have been breed out of us long before, but we Kirks tend to reproduce before fate comes along and demands we cash in our chips. I’m taking a great deal of comfort in the fact I have yet to have any children which improves the probability I will probably survive this maelstrom of idiocy I’ve been talked into.”
She paused and looked at herself as her fingers absently pushed her hair which was in fact the color of a sunset off of her smooth forehead. The familiar gesture ended with her hair being pushed behind her pointy ears. “My ears don’t bother me,” she said. “I rather like them and they are mine. Not my mother’s or my father’s. Mine alone. I never knew my father, but no one will ever let me forget who he was. He wanted to go down in history, but I seriously doubt any scientist ever wants to go down in infamy for being the example of what not to do. My father, a man I never met but who gave me his all too human fallibility, was a failure himself. Mind, not just any kind of failure, but the kind that they teach entire seminars at Starfleet Academy about. Arrogance and Hubris, an Understanding of the Methods and Mistakes of Dr. David Marcus.” S’oren thumped her fist against her chest. “That hits right here. If anyone wants to know why I never went into the sciences, there you go. Think about it.” She thought for a moment. “Actually no, I don’t want to think about it.
“So my father was a man that I never met, but that my mother clearly had liked enough to engage in coitus with. Not that she’ll ever admit that. That she liked him. Not the coitus part. You’d think I was the result of something other than consensual sex by the way she despises the humanness in me. It’s like an affliction to her. I asked her once why, when she knew I was David Marcus’s child and not Spock’s, why she didn’t terminate her pregnancy. Her answer: my question was illogical.” S’oren both felt and heard a small growl rise out of her throat as she glared at the screen for a moment before moving on.
“Spock…” She rolled her eyes again. “It’s always Spock, the peacemaker, the negotiator, that smooth’s these things over. He told me that my mother had a great affection for David Marcus. I find that singularly hard to believe, but then again, Spock has never lied to me. Whatever the reason, here I am. A half human, a quarter Vulcan and a quarter Romulan. I’m not my mother’s dark secret so much as I am that person that she is forever linked to.
“I’ll never forget when I went to Starfleet Academy for my admittance interview. Admiral Pike knew who I was, he was a great friend of my grandfather and I’ve known him since I was a child, but the other members of the board that I faced were more than a little stunned when they put it together who I was. I will never forget that Andorian captain with her icy white hair and her blue skin staring at me. ‘You’re Captain Saavik’s child? Why I had no idea Captain Saavik had a child.’ I wanted to punch her in her blue mouth.
“There was a lot of throat clearing and paper shuffling after that. I think the reason my interview was so brief, was simply because they all wanted to get me out of the room. I don’t know if it’s because I make people uncomfortable, or because my mother makes people uncomfortable, or the fact my mother has actually procreated at one point in her miserable, cold, empty existence makes people uncomfortable, but regardless, people are uncomfortable with something where my mother and I are concerned. Very few people know Saavik is my mother, but everyone knows I’m David Marcus’s child. I considered changing my name to Kirk, but I was already notorious enough as it was when I arrived at Starfleet. Not that that stopped anyone from figuring out who my grandfather was.
“Being the only grandchild of James T. Kirk carries its own interesting burdens and blessings. I have inherited his former crew as my protectors. Whether I want them to be or not,” she said between clenched teeth. “It is extremely difficult to get into mischief when you have so many people with so much combined authority looking over your shoulder. Not that I’m complaining, but still. Imagine what it’s like going out with the few friends you have and then when you’re late for your curfew, instead of getting an angry call from your grandmother, you’re beamed up to the ready room of the Saratoga where Captain Sulu gives you a twenty minute lecture on the need to be mindful of deadlines. It’s unreal sometimes.
“Anyhow I digress. This is supposed to be a little video reminder of who I am just in case Spock can’t mentally reboot me when I’m done proving to everyone how useful a mongrel can be. So the facts are: I am S’oren Marcus. S’oren is Romulan for pain. Lovely. Pain. Who names their child pain?” She shook her head a little. “I asked my mother once why she gave me such an awful name. She told me that it was her choice. Then I got the stare. The subject was not to be broached again.
“Almost immediately after my birth I was given to Amanda Grayson who cared for me until my paternal grandmother Dr. Carol Marcus came for me then returned to Earth to raise me. I’ve tried to understand this, but I cannot. I do not understand why my mother turned me over to a human woman to raise, then finds my humanness so distasteful. My mother…” S’oren paused. “I have no idea what my mother was doing at that time.” She shrugged a little. “Not raising me. I don’t know. My grandmother raised me until the time I was five. I spent a great deal of time with my grandfather James T. Kirk. I have never felt anything so profoundly in my life as the loss of my grandfather when I was eight years old. I loved my grandfather very much. Just as he loved me. Computer pause.” S’oren felt her eyes fill with hot, wet tears which she didn’t wipe away. She let them run down her face and fall to the table in front of her. She dabbed at one of her tears with the tip of her finger then smeared it on the smooth top. With a deep sigh, she pulled herself together.
“Computer resume. When I was five my mother informed me that I would be going to Vulcan to be schooled. It was hell. I never fit in. I truly did try, but I just never managed to succeed. They say Vulcan’s are a logical emotionless bunch, but personally I like to think they’re a bunch of sociopaths. Healthy people are not as joyless as the Vulcan’s. They’re not. This is the moment of my first failure in my mother’s eyes. I failed to be Vulcan. I wanted to please her so much and I did try. I stayed at the Vulcan school until the death of my grandfather after which I was inconsolable. The Vulcan’s didn’t know what to do with me, so she returned me to my grandmother on Earth then left me.
“I always wonder why she’s surprised at how human I am considering I was raised by humans. Boggles the mind. Maybe if she’d left me with Vulcans I’d be more Vulcan. I am happy she didn’t leave me with Vulcans. I am very happy she returned me to my grandmother. I don’t know if it was intentional or not on Saavik’s part, but that one time she truly did the right thing for me. Spock tells me that logic can be learned, but that humanity is a gift.” She paused for a moment. “Whatever.” She took a deep breath and let out a long sigh.
“What else?” She clacked her fingernails against the console in front of her. “I have no friends except for my friend Melinda who has a boyfriend she spends all of her time with, Syran who is my Romulan tutor and confident. The lovely Nyota Uhura who is just so fabulous. I want to be like her. Have it all together. For a very long time Saavik, Spock and Nyota chose to believe I was unaware of the…” S’oren paused for a moment looking for the right word, “let’s just say arrangement, the three of them have worked out over the years, but I’m neither blind nor naïve. I am now also older and wiser and know better than to ask three adults about their private lives. I get that this works for them. Fine. Saavik in typical her fashion, started a relationship with my martial arts teacher.” S’oren stared at herself as if her reflection might have an insight in to the mind of her mother that she lacked. “Honestly, what could she have been thinking? You don’t date your child’s coach then find it unfathomable that said child finds it icky.” Another snort of disgust slipped out. “Anyhow… they’re happy and they have their own thing going on while Nyota and Spock have their own thing going on, and the truth is I really don’t want to know what goes on behind closed doors.
“I just don’t get what Nyota, who is the most beautiful, talented wonderful woman in the world next to my grandmother of course, sees in Spock. I just don’t get it. I made the mistake once of asking Nyota about this… thing of theirs. She laughed and told me that one day when I was married to Surak I’d understand what it was about Vulcan men that made them so appealing. You know I’m just going to stop thinking about this.
“Moving on. I’m nearly always immediately labeled a bit odd, by anyone that meets me. I’m too Vulcan to be a human and too human to be a Vulcan. I don’t relate to females and men…” she shrugged. “I’m already betrothed to Surak. This is incredibly convenient when I need it to be.
“When I was seven I was betrothed according to Vulcan customs at a ceremony attended by my family and Surak’s relatives. He’s half Vulcan and half Betazoid. I think the reason we were matched up was because we’re both a couple of square pegs in a galaxy of round holes. I imagine I am still betrothed to him, as no one has told me any differently. That’s Vulcans for you. Assume nothing has changed unless you are told differently.”
The visual memory S’oren had of Surak came to her mind as vividly as if the moment of her betrothal had just passed. He was a child in her memory. A child that desired to devote his life to playing the Vulcan lyre. She knew he’d grown up. There had been a moment a few years back at the start of her time at the academy when she’d felt the need to be rescued from her life and wished Surak had been there. It was against the rules of their betrothal, but she’d spent more time than she should have researching him on the computer. He’d become the lyre player he’d aspired to being and had made a career out of his music. He had grown up and out of her reach.
“As a byproduct of the mind-meld with Surak, I developed the ability to play music. My grandmother took me for lessons and I learned to read music. If I try to play music by reading it from a score the sound is something akin to scratching on a chalkboard. But if I listen to music and then just replay it from memory…” she shrugged. “It’s like magic. Not my magic. His magic. He just gave me a drop of it. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to have that kind of talent. I wonder if I gave him anything.” She paused for a moment and considered what she had that was equal to what he’d given her. The answer was nothing.
“I have no interest in marrying Surak.” That was a lie and she knew it, but sometimes lies became truths. “I haven’t physically laid eyes on him in fifteen years and wouldn’t know him if he walked into this room.” Another lie. She knew she’d know him anywhere. “Will I marry him? The sad thing is I probably would if his family had expressed any desire for me to marry him, but they haven’t and I won’t. In fact the two times that I’m aware of the issue being raised, a postponement was arranged for. The very sad thing is, regardless of his obvious desire to not move forward with the arrangement is that I would. I’d do that and more to please my mother.”
S’oren paused the recording. “Computer. Show me anything you have on Surak.” It was an exercise she hadn’t performed in several years, but she knew what to look for.
“Surak,” the clear familiar female voice of the computer responded. “Nomenclature. Vulcan male.”
“Computer.” She interrupted. Her computer in her tiny apartment in San Francisco would have responded directly, already knowing what it was she was looking for. This one needed more prompting. “Surak the Vulcan lyre player. He’d be about twenty-seven human years old. His parents are T’Pol a Vulcan sculpture and Tam the Betazoid poet laureate.”
“Surak,” the computer responded. On the screen before her was the image of a Vulcan male as he sat playing the lyre. It was him. He was in a concert hall filled with stern faced silent Vulcans. Pale skinned with dark hair, S’oren thought he was actually very handsome and that his black Betazoid eyes were mesmerizing. Looking at him again stirred the same feelings of want, regret and rejection that she always felt when she looked at him. “Why didn’t he want me?” she asked the air. The air had no answer.
“Notable accomplishments…” S’oren cut off the computers voice with a flick of her finger. Instead she listened to his music and wondered if Surak had any appreciation for the beauty of the sound he created, or if to his ears all he could hear was the perfection of the tone and the mathematical harmony of the notes. She didn’t want to marry a Vulcan. She wanted to be happy. She was certain she’d make Surak miserable if that were possible. “If he is capable of feeling misery, I would make him miserable,” she said. “Things are better this way. Computer. Find Gad-keshtan.”
“Gad-keshtan,” the computer replied in perfect Vulcan. “Vulcan language. Meaning – dawn.”
“No,” she sighed. “Find Surak playing Gad-keshtan. Most recent performance.”
An image of Surak appeared immediately on the screen. The information in a box on the bottom of the screen told her he was performing on Risa at a venue on the Suraya Bay. The night was clear and beautiful and the moon was full overhead. He had not yet begun playing as he turned to the crowd. “Gad-keshtan,” he said. “Written by me for my wife S’oren.” There were a large number of shouts and calls from mostly women in the audience offering to take her place as S’oren felt her jaw drop. He hadn’t forgotten her. “This piece was first performed at our betrothal.” She listened to the performance a half-dozen times before the shock she was feeling started to dissipate. He hadn’t forgotten her. So what was the holdup? She checked the time stamp on the recording. It had been made weeks earlier. He hadn’t forgotten her. “How extraordinary,” she whispered.
The comm bleeped intrusively on her revelation that Surak thought of her. “What?” she snipped.
“We are coming up on our target location,” Captain Chekov informed her. “Are you fine?”
“I’m fine,” she replied. “I’m almost finished.” She cut the comm without waiting for a response. As a Starfleet ensign, it went against her training to treat a starship captain with such little regard. As S’oren Marcus who had called Pavel Chekov rather than her mother to get her out of a situation on Risa when she was supposed to be doing terrain training on Mars, she felt she could take a liberty or two.
“Computer continue recording.”
“I joined Starfleet Academy at the usual age and have progressed through my final year a wholly unremarkable student. My most notable accomplishment is my ability as a fencer. I began receiving instruction from Hikaru Sulu at the age of four. My ability as a fencer was the only skill I brought to Vulcan that was considered noteworthy. For the record, Vulcans make terrible fencers. They’re too technical. They have a hard time grasping the fact that most species are unpredictable and will not make the most logical or appropriate move.” She allowed herself a small smile.
“For my first assignment as a newly minted ensign, I will be infiltrating a Romulan slave trading outpost and with any luck making the first of what those in Starfleet Intelligence hope will be a series of connections which will eventually lead to my being assimilated into Romulan society. I will be posing as a member of the servant class with no familial associations. Because of my age, my lack of pure Romulan blood and my sex, it will not be perceived as unusual or noteworthy that I am without an extensive history. It is my understanding that a well-placed member of the V’Shar has already created the necessary administrative footprint of my unremarkable life. No one notices a poor girl with no family and no one wonders why she would seek employment in the home of a member of the ruling class.
“In essence, I am embarking on a mission that will, as those in Starfleet Intelligence predict if I am successful, take up the sum and total of the next fifty years of my life. I am in essence to develop the persona of a sleeper agent that can be put into play when the need arises. If I’m any good, I may just become a double agent. My mission will be implanted deep into my conscience that I will believe my cover story as if it is my own. I will never doubt the veracity of my words. Neither probe nor torture will break through the mental barrier that Spock will raise.
“It is my intention to go to the Romulan home planet of Romulus. There I will make contact with a highly placed member of the Romulan senate by any means necessary. I am to deliver a message. The message is: ‘Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.’ I don’t understand the message, but that is not the point. The point is that I am a messenger and only a messenger. He may or may not give me a response to return with. At that time I am to contact my handler who will arrange for my extraction. I have been told that if I’m lucky, I’ll be back in Federation space in a year. Possibly longer if my contact chooses to use me as a resource. That is his option. As Nyota said when we discussed my mission, I am a pawn in a game of kings.”
S’oren stared at herself for a long moment wondering who it was that stared back at her. “I think sometimes that I would like to be a person that lives a quiet life. A mother. Maybe somebody’s wife. Somebody that I choose for myself that is capable of loving me. In a house near the sea with a garden filled with roses and a view of the ocean. But that’s not who I am. Who am I really? The truth is I don’t know who I am. I’ve spent my entire live up to this point trying to please so many people that I’ve forgotten myself in the equation. I know what I do and I don’t like, but I don’t know where I begin and the influence of others drops off. One moment I’m brave and the next I’m a coward. I try to please everyone by being everything they could want and am never true to myself. I make my decisions with the thought always first of what it is my mother would want or what would make my grandfather the most proud of me. I’m so terrified of continuing my father’s legacy that I never take risks that haven’t been sanctioned by others. Like this mission. I always wait for permission and never act on impulse. I’m so afraid of failing that it makes me fear taking a risk.”
Again she paused the recording. There was no need to playback what she’d recorded. The simple truth was there was a very real possibility she might not return and the last thing she wanted to leave for her family to remember her by was a collection of gripes and a lot of petulant whinging about her lousy childhood. That wasn’t who she wanted the universe to see her as. “Computer erase the recording. New recording.”
She sat up straight, pulled her shoulders back and flicked her hair behind her ears. Her face assumed the blank, neutral expression that her grandmother Carol frequently let her know made her look just like her mother. She cleared her throat then began.
“Computer mark the date and time of this recording and authenticate my identity.” She paused and waited.
“Recording marked and dated,” the computer responded.
“I am S’oren Markus. I am a Starfleet Intelligence officer. I will willingly undergo a mind-meld with Admiral Spock during which he will create a barrier in my mind behind which my true identity will be shielded. The persona of S’oren Hfai, a member of the servant class with no formal name, is a fictitious creation. This is not who I truly am. I am S’oren Marcus. I am a spy.”