I have been conferring with T'Pau. She concurs with my conclusion that
we will have to meld with the Andorians in order to teach them first
reading, then the elementary sciences, and finally, the practical
sciences such as computing skills.
We do not speak of why we wish to do this, not aloud. None of us knows
what Hiroko will say or do, and we do not wish to risk our child any
further. But it is intolerable that she be sold as chattel some day. It
is imperative that we find ways to prevent it.
I know Hiroko is trying to give us as much autonomy as she can. I must
not allow my feelings for her, even those of gratitude, to intrude on
my disciplines. T'Pau herself is beginning to become more like her
counterpart, even though she herself has never walked the path my
grandmother took in her youth, when she aided the overthrowing of the
same council that in this universe cost Vulcan not only its soul but
its very independence. I had read the history and heard it from my
grandmother's own lips. It was the tale of how she found the Kir'Shara,
aided by a human friend, and had restored Surak's own teachings to
Vulcan, the very words I had been schooled in all my life. This woman
had not done that. Yet she is fast overtaking my own mastery of the
Mind Disciplines. She has become the teacher, and I the pupil. I am
humbled.
I must, and will, make my control deeper.
Yet, we cannot entirely put our Mistress at a distance. She ultimately
holds power of life or death over all of us. What we do is not for
personal gain, however. We must restore T'Khasi, and I must get
home. So I dare not antagonize Hiroko by withdrawing completely. In
addition, the mind melds take much out of both of us. It is imperative
that we do not form a permanent link of any type with the Andorians.
So it becomes the job of T'Pel to be a go-between, to try to make our
mistress understand why T'Pau and I are each carefully shielding
ourselves from close contact.
If I were on Vulcan, I would not encourage T'Amanda's closeness with
the emotionalism of this human woman, but I am not on Vulcan. T'Amanda
is of the age where it is more important that she get close physical
contact with her parents and with other adults than it is that she
be taught the simplest of the disciplines. This will come later. Even
Vulcan children are freely held and played with when they are infants,
even though T'Pel and I are already helping lay down some of the neural
pathways that in a few months will be activated, allowing her to begin
to control her emotional impulses.
I have learned to change diapers by touch. T'Amanda herself aids me,
lying still while I cleanse her and put clean clothing on her body. She
says she wants to learn to control her body functions, but I explain
this will come later. For now she is satisfied to let me or her mother
know when she needs to be cleaned.
Hiroko spends a good deal of time playing with her, as well. She wants
to buy her toys, and I encourage her to procure books and puzzles which
will train and occupy her mind, as well as toys that will help increase
her motor skills. She has already shown she is not interested in the
human made infant's toys. I have suggested some made for older human
children. Perhaps an early computer memory module that she could
deconstruct, which would resemble something more innocuous such as
those linking toys human children seem to enjoy, in case a visitor sees
them. Something that will not look like complex learning tools would be
useful.
Hiroko has said she will commission some, supposedly for gifts for nieces and nephews.
Hiroko comes to me and tells me that she is trying to rectify some of
the damage done to us, by amending her will and making certain that any
heir will be required to take care of us. She is leaving money to her
brother, but not her slaves. I do not think she understands that none
of this is any guarantee of our safety. If we live a normal lifespan we
will outlive her, certainly, and possibly her heir. How can I allow my
daughter to know what I have known or what her mother has known? How
can I save her if some human who has power over her decides she is
desirable?
Sooner or later they want to possess us, hurt us, sunder our families. It must not happen.
I must unravel this conundrum before we are further scattered. I must
not allow fear to cloud reason. Any problem is solvable, given time and
tools. I must reason through to the answers.
Hiroko is starting to rethink her ingrained attitudes, or so she says.
It is not But she has asked me to speak with her, and has informed me
that she is converting some of her assets to jewelry, easily carried
and easily convertible to cash without drawing undue attention, and she
is making day trips to her other relatives, as she says, to see how
they treat their slaves. She has told me that she wants to purchase a
starcruiser, something like a luxury yacht, with room for each and all
of us. She has asked me to look for places we could all go that might
be out of reach of the Imperial government. I do not know if she
understands that the only place that is likely is in rebel territory,
in the Badlands systems, possibly, and even they are no guarantee of
safety. They certainly would not be a guarantor of hers. Humans are not
likely to be welcome in any refuge of former slaves.
I do not know if she understands this.
Partly in order to test her, though, I have asked for an assortment
of electronic parts and some tools. I would like to work on
something that
would neutralize the collars. She has not asked me what I
am doing, but she has procured the parts I requested. In the absence of
a collar to disassemble, I can only speculate on the technology used,
but it seems reasonable that it is related to some of the devices used
by the Klingons and the Orions in our own universe. Such devices
operate entirely on the pain centers of the brain, while stimulating
the nerves of the body, and generally change frequency during use,
making the usual Vulcan pain disciplines unusable. Again, this is
treason. I have constructed a hiding place inside a moisture vent
outlet in my chamber. I hope that if it comes down to searching the
house, that I would bear the brunt of any charges. Likely, however, all
adult slaves would be killed. I can only hope that Hiroko gives no
reason for Imperial scrutiny.
Hiroko has asked that we, T'Pau and I, meld with her. She wants us to
see what is in her mind, to know that she means only to help us. I have
asked T'Pau to be the one to perform this meld. It is too dangerous for
her to see what is in my mind. I do not believe she knows the extent of
the sedition of which I fully intend to be guilty. When I was by
myself, I was content to wait, but I can not do so now. Tes, Deezen,
T'Pau, T'Pel and T'Amanda all depend on me in some sense for their very
lives. Yet in the larger sense I am still as helpless as before. I do
not know how I will get any of us to safety. If Hiroko truly intends to
help us, it may yet be in her hands.
She is equipping the ship she has bought with a smaller console like
the one I am using in her house. I have asked if she will allow Tes and
Deezen inside to carve out hiding places within the bulkheads and
venting systems for small amounts of datachips. Eventually we shall
have to put some of our research into hard copy. She has assented. And
T'Pau has said that she is sincere.
I still think it safest not to expose her too much to what I know, and what I am doing.
T'Pel has come to my bed again. She says T'Pau has taught her the
women's biofeedback; that she will not conceive again; I know of this.
It is the provenance of women among our people because infertility is
much easier to arrange for them than it is for males.T'Pau has told me
that she wished no other children after her son was taken from her, and
made certain not to conceive again, and then Skon died, and she did not
have to worry again. I cannot say that I am not relieved. Contraception
for slaves is not allowed at all; we are expected to produce our
replacements. If T'Pel had not been raised by an outworld foster parent
then her mother might have taught her, and T'Amanda might not exist. It
is not optimal to produce children under such circumstance, but the
biological imperative is a powerful one, which is undoubtedly why
Vulcan slaves have such a low birthrate, though they have not opted for
suicide as a species.
I try to make myself available to her and to please her. As her
husband, it is certainly my duty, and should not be an onerous one.
But I find my experiences have changed me. I cannot initiate intimate
contact. She says she understands, but I am not so certain that she can
understand, not even with our Bond. Some things transcend even the
mating bond. There are areas of my mind that though I do not shield
from her, neither do I encourage her to look, and she herself keeps my
privacy inviolable. I would not wish to fail her as I have failed
myself. Yet illogical though it seems to be, there is emotional
residue. I must strive to eradicate it.
I am again monitoring StarNet chatter; official channels are awash with
rumor. The war with the Rihannsu does not go well. I tease open my
backdoors in security, and concentrate on what I am hearing from the
highest levels. If what they are saying is true, we do not have much
time to get offplanet. If Imperial edicts fall into place,
interplanetary traffic among civilians will be curtailed within a few
months. There is no telling how long such a state may last. If we are
already en route with filed travel plans, we may be able to continue on
our clandestine path. If not, we are stranded here and now--and there
may be no opportunity to flee.
I inform Hiroko, and she allows me access to the starcruiser, to
configure the computer console that will likely be my lifeline to
information. And we begin loading supplies, some of them under cover of
night. We need to take enough to minimize necessity for restocking at
Imperial outlets. Hiroko has installed a safe for her jewelry and has
configured it to open to me, via DNA and fingerprint recognition. "Just
in case," as she says, "anything should happen."
And finally, we are as ready as we can possibly be. All that is left is
to file innocuous sight seeing flight plans. She plans an itinerary
that is a common one among tourists, but that will also take us near
the last known location of some rumored rebel outposts. Hiroko has had
a pilot's license most of her adult life, so all the permits are filed,
including our immunizations. As chattel, we have to be duly registered
for flight. If anything goes wrong, we all will be listed by name even
as the Sarek of this place was listed as killed with his master.
I take a last turn around the house, making certain that the equipment
and supplies for the device I am trying to manufacture--thus far with
limited success--is duly secreted on the starcruiser, and I sit
down for the last time at the home console and program it to destroy
its own databanks, as if from internal logic circuits and power
failures. There will never be any way to look here and see that
sabotage was committed and there will certainly be no way to find
anything on any of the system's drives.
But as we are all boarding, Hiroko tells me, "We are missing something. We have not named our ship."
Even Vulcans named their vessels in my world. Without thinking, I say, "Rok". I rest my hand on the plating, near the airlock.
"Rok, Spock?"
"Forgive me, Mistress. It is a word in my language which means, simply, 'Hope'. I believe it is appropriate."
Hiroko pulls my hand to her face so I can feel her smile. "I'll have to
use the Standard, of course, but it's a good name. We do have to stop
at Starbase 324 on our way out. I'll have it painted on, then.
T'Pau--can you fetch me some champagne?"
I hear footsteps. Something heavy is pressed into my hands. I feel its contours--it is a bottle.
"It's customary to break it on the prow, Spock. Since the name is your idea, it should be your privilege to inaugurate her."
"I, Mistress? Very well, although I do not know any customary words. This is a human custom, after all."
"Okay." She takes my hand and leads me to the prow of the ship. "I, Hiroko, in the name of Amaterasu the Golden, do hereby name
thee 'Rok', or Hope. Break the bottle, Spock."
At this prompt, I touch the prow, getting my bearings and swing the
bottle by its neck. There is a sound of shattering glass, and I hear
the splash of the beverage. It is an illogical waste of moisture, but
Hiroko seems satisfied. We enter Hope. May her name be justified.