Disclaimer:



Paramount owns Spock, Jim, Sarek, Picard, Perrin, the universe, etc.

"ch'Rihan" is Diane Duane's name for the Romulan homeworld.  Samuel is

mine, and so are the assorted Spockian relatives (by blood or marriage).





This story takes place approximately 90 years after the TNG

episode "Unification".



If ya wanna archive this, go ahead, as long as you don't go taking my name

or the disclaimer off of it.



-----



	The facts are quite clear.  My father's race has taken to marrying

my mother's.  Once, two hundred years ago, I was the only one of my kind,

half-caste.  Now I am simply the oldest of thousands.

	The trickle of Vulcan/human marriages began after my birth.  It

became a stream with my first pon farr, and a flood when Jim and I had a

child, our son Samuel.  Logic dictates that this should be so: I, the

half-caste, was not only viable, but Vulcan enough to burn, and

well-designed enough to be fertile.

	Still, Vulcans rarely marry outworlders other than humans.  The

half-caste, though--we marry others of our kind and of other races with

the bright fierce joy of our Vulcan heritage.  Vulcan joy burns like

wildfire in the veins--this is the Vulcan heart, this is the Vulcan soul.

	That heritage shows in our children as well, as it shows in

Samuel, only a quarter Vulcan.  I have seen him burn in the pon farr.  I

have seen the light grow behind his eyes when his bondmate, the half-caste

T'San, touches him.

	We, the not-quite-Vulcan, have stirred the blood of the planet.

We are the living proof of the predatory instinct, of the intensity with

which Vulcans can love and crave.  They are a species with flame behind

their silence.  We have become their voice.

	Once, I hid my flame in silence, but no longer.  Jim taught me its

value and Samuel its substance.  My father, as always, disapproved--but

the half-castes feel as intensely as Vulcans and we have inherited more

than our share of Vulcan stubbornness.  In the choice of mate and

philosophy, I simply outwaited him.  According to Picard, when Sarek died

he left his estate to Samuel--even though my third bondmate, T'Kel, is

full Vulcan and we have several children.



	Samuel was the only one of my children who deduced that I was

leaving.  He knows me so well, almost as well as his human father did.

	I was standing in the garden, watching the Watcher.  She drowned

out the stars with her light.  Samuel came up behind me and slipped an arm

around me--a habit he had picked up from Jim at an early age.

	"Where are you going, Father?"

	"Ch'Rihan."

	He was silent for a moment, then said, "T'San will bear me another

son in seven months.  We will name him in honor of your misson: S'task."

	I bowed my head, troubled and touched beyond words.  He pressed

his fingers against the side of my face; a question.  I turned to him and

opened my shields.  This was my farewell to my most treasured child, Jim's

child, our child.  And he, a strong telepath, an almost-human trained as a

Vulcan healer, showed more clearly than ever his Vulcan heritage.  Humans

do not love so fiercely or so wholly--not as a rule, not the way Vulcans

do, as Samuel does.

	The meld left us exhausted, and I learned that night how much more

he is to me than my bondmate, than my other children.  How much he reminds

me of Jim.





Now my work on ch'Rihan is as done as I can make it.  One of my children

with T'Kel, my son Selan, has taken my place in the movement.  He is an

historian, and his bondmate is a mindrules instructor.  They will do well,

better than I have, perhaps.  I do not love Selan, but I trust him.

	The ship Selan came in was small and cloaked.  At times, I am

grateful for my family's wealth; few could afford such a vessel.  I

have taken the ship.  Selan believed that I was going home, and I let

him.  It was true enough.

	There was a package on one of the bunks, addressed to me.  Strange

that Selan did not mention it.  I opened it with trembling hands, telling

myself that it was only age that made them tremble.  A pile of books, many

of them Jim's, or my mother's.  Samuel or T'Kel must have packed this;

only they would know which of my mother's books I did not want Perrin

to have--my favorites, and hers.  Some old-style photographs and

hardcopies of holos.  Many had been my mother's, many more were of Jim and

I, from Starfleet and our marriage.  Samuel was in many of the newer ones,

and his bondmate and children, even the children I have never met.  T'Kel

and our children were in some of them, but I pulled those out and left

them on the bunk.  I have my memories of them; Jim does not need to know.

I tucked the others into an inside pocket of my tunic.  These he will want

to see.

	There was one other thing in the box, a packet of letters.  The

first was from Dr. McCoy, dead many years ago.  It said only, "Good luck,

you green-blooded son of a bitch."  I put that letter in my tunic with the

photographs.  McCoy, my old friend, I thank you for this final gift.  I am

sure he heard me.

	The second letter was from my father.  I could tell, from the

shaky hand, that he died soon after he wrote it.  "My son, I cherish thee.

May logic guide you on the path you have chosen."  Perrin had written an

acid note along the bottom, which I tore off and let flutter to the floor.

The rest of the letter I added to my pocket.

	There was an envelope labelled "From the small fry," in Samuel's

hand.  It must be from his children.  That went into the pocket as well.

	The last letter was from Samuel.  "Father--tell Dad I said 'hi!'

I will drink a toast to the Watcher and ask her to keep an eye on you.

Love, Samuel."

	How had he known?  I wept quietly for several minutes before

adding Samuel's letter to the rest.  I picked up the books and took them

with me to the pilot's console.  I crossed the border from the Neutral

Zone to Federation space, dropped cloak, and began broadcasting my ID.

There would be no interference.  Selan, steady and reliable, had filed

this flight plan months ago.

	A small voice nagged in the back of my mind.  How had Samuel known

what I would do?  I frowned and watched the strange light of stars in warp

flow by.

	I could feel the flame growing behind my eyes.  Age weakens the

pon farr, and my half-caste status weakens it still further.  I have

survived twelve pon farrs without T'Kel.  This one I am saving for Jim.

	I reached out and touched him along the bond.  So strong...strong

enough that I had had to hide it from T'Kel when I married her.  I knew

when Jim went into the Nexus, and when part of him came back out.  I knew

when that part died.  The bond survived.  Jim survived--in the Nexus.

	It occurred to me that perhaps Samuel knew what I would do because

it is what he would do.  In some ways, he is more my son than Jim's.

	I ripped strips of cloth from a spare shirt and bound the

books to my body.  I did not want to lose them.  I transmitted the codes

that will make my will readable, along with a message for T'Kel.  She was

my friend and bondmate, and she deserves at least a farewell.  Samuel will

understand why I do not send anything to him; we said our goodbyes long

ago, under the light of the Watcher.

	The first shimmerings of the Nexus filled me with bright fierce

joy, like the beginnings of plak tow.  I let myself drift into sleep, and

awoke to the echo of chopping wood.  The fire in my veins would consume me

soon.

	I stood and unbound the books from my body.  I could not embrace

him if the books were in the way.  Then I went to find him.

	He had stopped chopping wood, and was staring into the sky.

"Where are you?  Why don't you come?"

	"I am here."

	He jumped, and stared, and smiled.  Oh, t'hy'la--

	And then, over a century since I last held him, he was in my arms.



	I could almost see Samuel drinking a toast to the Watcher, far,

far away, on a world I once called home.



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End