Mestral’s Legacy: Chapter 24

December 12th, 2119
Vulcan Consulate
San Francisco
1:53 am

Alaia’s pace slowed as she approached the Vulcan consulate. She wanted to get this over with and yet she was dreading it and wishing that time would stand still. Her dinner was a lump of ice in her stomach. She tried to rekindle the anger that had sustained her the last few weeks, but couldn’t manage more than a flicker of the emotion. Instead the air felt thick and heavy, a weight in her chest making it difficult to breathe. Hurt mingled with worry as she trudged down the street, her footsteps muffled by the blanket of snow as she passed from light to dark and back again under the street lights.
The clan ring Vorak had given her was like an ember hanging between her breasts; she had known that something was bothering him the day that he had given it to her but hadn’t been able to get him to tell her what it was, his mind being unusually closed to her. She had not pried, trusting that he would tell her in time. It wasn’t until he failed to show up the next week, and then the week after that, that she realised what he had been trying to tell her: Goodbye.

The bed creaked beneath their weight, small wonder, laying as they were together on her single bed. It was rare to have time alone in her room; her roommate was out carousing and wouldn’t be back for hours, still there was the watchful eye of the motherly Violet who always eyed Vorak with suspicion, even more so since they had returned from the mountains almost three months earlier. They were fully clothed on the narrow bed; the flimsy lock on the door didn’t offer them enough privacy to think of being otherwise, besides she was sure Violet would find some way to interrupt.

He had been stroking her arm in the Vulcan way, but it was different. Usually it was a prelude to other activities, but tonight it was as if he were trying to memorize the very curve and length of her, every swell, every dip, every nuance of her body. Her breath caught as his hand passed over her belly but she released it as she realised that he did not know. She had had cramps again that morning; better to wait awhile yet before telling him.

She looked at his face, but it was completely impassive. She should have known that something was wrong; there was always some flicker of emotion on his face if you knew what to look for; today there was nothing at all. Meeting his eyes she thought she saw something but it was gone before she could name it. She reached up to stroke his face and was surprised to have her hand deftly intercepted.

“Want to talk about it?” she asked gently. He held her hand for a long time then, lost in thought. She could see the ring on his finger, a thick band of copper coloured metal surrounding a rectangular gem that resembled a pale green opal studded with shimmering flecks of white. Several thin bands of the metal crossed over the gem keeping it in place. It was ornately carved but she had no idea of the significance of the engravings. It was a clan ring passed down from father to son. She had asked once how old it was once and he could only tell her that it went back at least 12 generations.

He let go of her hand and pulled her close to him, her back to his front. The heat of his body was comforting; snuggling closer, she found herself drifting off to sleep. She was always tired lately. She remembered him pulling his cloak to cover both of them and that was the last she had seen of him.

When she had awoken, her roommate was back and Vorak was gone. When she got up she felt the weight between her breasts and looked down to see that he had threaded his ring onto the necklace she always wore with the pendant of her spirit guide.

Her face prickled with heat at the memory and the thick snowflakes clinging to her face melted. Wet and heavy, the snow blanketed everything on the street and she was starting to feel the chill despite her thermal jacket. The coat had been borrowed from a friend but it wasn’t quite big enough to close in front and she was way past the point where sucking in her belly had any discernible effect. She stopped to adjust the fastenings as well as she could; it was a tight squeeze, but it kept most of the wind and snow out. It didn’t do anything to quell the hollow feeling in her chest, but there was nothing she could do about that. She hadn’t seen him in two months.

The consulate looked the same as it always did: out of place and isolated. The lots next to it had been vacant for years; no one wanted to be that close to the Vulcans; it was bad for business. She hadn’t been here for almost ten months. Once they had agreed on a regular meeting place for tutoring there had been no need. She wasn’t sure, but she thought that Vorak might not have wanted the others knowing what he was doing on Wednesday evenings. It hadn’t bothered her, there wasn’t any other Vulcan that held any interest for her in any case.

Things had been different since they had come back from the cabin in July. They had kept their regular sessions, but hadn’t always spent them the way that they did before. Neither of them was really sure of what they were doing, but Alaia had trusted that it would work itself out until Vorak stopped showing up.

There had been no warning, no hints of any kind, no apologies. He had just not shown up one Wednesday in late October. He wasn’t there the next week, or the week after that. She had tried contacting him on the comm, but she was always put off with some excuse or other that he wasn’t around. She had not managed to speak to him, until last night.

She had been laying in bed, concentrating on him with her mind. She didn’t know it would work, but sometimes she could hear him when she was sitting across from him and found that they had lapsed into silent conversation. She was just drifting off to sleep when he answered. He hadn’t wanted to meet, but in the end he gave in.

Now she stood across the street in the shadows as he had told her to do and called him again. It was two o’clock in the morning. The wind howled along deserted the street, but other than that the street was quiet. Go to the northeast corner of the consulate. We have ten minutes.

* * *

Vorak stood in the shadows and watched her round the corner. She was wearing a bulky winter coat. Pulling his cloak around him, he wished that he had worn something warmer but that would have looked suspicious to the guard stationed outside of his room. He was allowed to wander the consulate freely as long as his shadow accompanied him. Monotony had led the guard to leave him after Vorak had spent several hours in the library and showed no signs of leaving. Usually he found the guard back in front of his room when he returned. Normally Vorak did not deviate in his routine, something the guard unwisely counted on. Now he watched her approach the other side of the fence that separated the Consulate, sovereign Vulcan territory, from the Terran street.

“Where have you been?” He was startled by the sound of her voice on the otherwise quiet street. He glanced towards the front gate, but there was no increased activity to indicate that she had been heard.

We need to speak quietly. He watched her through the fence and ignored the desire to reach out to her.

Then answer the question! She was glaring at him, and he could feel her confusion and anger. He hadn’t expected seeing her again to be this painful.

There has been a misunderstanding. I am confined to the Consulate grounds for the moment. He cringed at the lie, but it was better if she did not know the truth.

I have been trying to contact you for months, and no one will let me talk to you. What kind of misunderstanding? What is going on? She gesticulated furiously even though the conversation was a silent one.

You need to stop trying to contact me. Better yet, you need to forget about me, Alaia. It is for the best.

“What?” Forgetting their efforts to be silent, she spoke aloud.

“It would be best if you forgot about me, Alaia. Please,” he whispered urgently.

“That’s going to be a little difficult, don’t you think?” A particularly fierce gust of wind whipped down the street. The strained fastenings of her coat let go, allowing the wind to whip through her sweater.

Perhaps if you wore fewer sweaters, you would have less difficulty with your coat. His amusement faded as he felt a swirl of emotions from her.

I’m only wearing one sweater. He frowned. He had assumed that the bulkiness around her waist was the result of layered winter clothing. Sensing his confusion, she stepped closer to the fence and ran her hand over the rounded mound of her belly. He reached out reflexively to touch her only to be stopped by the fence between them.

“That’s not possible,” he said hoarsely. forgetting the need for silence. The Vulcan Science Council has determined that conception between Vulcans and Terrans is impossible, he thought, knowing even as he did so that they were quite obviously mistaken.

Yeah, well I imagine that’s a little easier to say when the impossible child isn’t sitting on your bladder. She fastened the coat again while he tried to come to terms with this development.

“If you didn’t want anything to do with us you could have just said so instead of pulling this disappearing–,” she said stoically, trying to reign in her jumbled emotions.

“I did not know that you were with child,” he said quietly. He looked at her, standing on the other side of the fence; so close and yet a world away, and he could not bear the thought of what she would tell their child about him if he left things the way he had intended to. He hadn’t wanted her to know, but the idea that she thought that he would willingly abandon her and their child was unbearable.

“I am being deported.” The statement hung in the frosty air for a moment as she tried to process it.

“What?”

“The Terran government has agreed to allow the Vulcan High Council to convert the Terran charges against me to Vulcan ones, and deport me to Vulcan.”

“What charges? What are you talking about?”

“I have been charged with committing a crime against a Terran.”

“That’s ridiculous, what could you possibly have done?”

“Rape.” His physical discomfort increased at the look on her face.

“I thought your Pon Farr was over.”

“It is,” he said, unable to meet her eyes, “I am accused of raping you.”

“What? That’s not what happened. Why didn’t you just tell me? All they need to do is talk to me.”

“That would not be helpful, your condition would only prove that I am guilty.”

“But–”

“Did you know that it is possible, under your laws, to commit rape even if the encounter is consensual? It is called–”

“Statutory rape,” she finished for him, finally understanding.

“You know of it,” he said accusingly.

“Well, it’s not like you had time to wait a couple months for my birthday to roll around, is it? How did they know?” He looked at her blankly.

“I assumed that you had told them.”

“Of course not!” Her cheeks flushed, and he frowned, believing her.

“In that case, I do not know.” They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. “What will you do?” He asked quietly, indicating her belly.

“Go home,” she sighed, “to my family.”

“Will they not cast you out?” He asked, surprised. She gave him an odd look. The idea had not occurred to her.

“They’re my family,” she stated firmly. Seeing that he was unconvinced an unsettling thought occurred to her.

“Wouldn’t your family take you back?” She asked tentatively.

“No,” he said readily, “but it would be biologically impossible for me to return to my family in your condition. It is therefore a hypothetical problem only.” She blinked several times, trying to figure out whether he was joking or being literal.

“I meant for fathering a child with a Terran,” she clarified.

“No,” he admitted reluctantly, “they would be unlikely to take me back.” It was a reality of Vulcan culture, to shun that which deviated from the norm: ideas, objects, Vulcans. He had not questioned it before though he had often made his choices in spite of it. At present he found it shameful in comparison with Alaia’s people. Or perhaps it was she who found it shameful, he was unaccustomed to having another’s thoughts intertwined with his own. They stood there in silence for several moments watching the snow fall and sorting through their thoughts.

“What of our child?” he asked, filling the silence. On Vulcan such a child would be shunned by both family and community even if the parents were accepted. It was intolerable to contemplate such a fate for his offspring.

“What do you mean?” She asked, oblivious to his concerns.

“Will our child be punished for his lineage?” He asked, looking at her intently, pleading for the right answer.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly, for the first time her answer was uncertain. “Not by my family,” she said confidently. She hadn’t thought that far ahead, there were so many more immediate issues to deal with, and now there was his imminent deportation to Vulcan and likely imprisonment since there was little doubt that he would be convicted of his so-called crime.

“What’s a Vulcan prison like?” She asked curiously, unable to imagine such a concept on a planet supposedly populated by logicians though she was becoming disabused of that notion the more she learned about Vulcans and their culture. Logic seemed a thin veneer at the moment.

“It resembles what you would call a mental hospital,” he explained, “since it is only a mental defect which would allow you to commit a crime,” he added dryly.

“How long do they make you stay?”

“There is no set sentence. ‘Patients’ stay until they understand the flaws in their logic.”

“So you could just tell them what they want to hear and get out?” She asked hopefully.

“It is more complicated than that. They have ways of determining whether or not you truly believe your logic was flawed.” She glanced over at him but he didn’t meet her eyes. She shuddered to contemplate what those ‘ways’ might be considering what he had already taught her about the Vulcan mind arts.

“What if you don’t think your logic was flawed?” There was a protracted silence before he answered, and when he did his voice was completely devoid of inflection: “Then you never leave.”

“You don’t believe your logic was flawed, do you?” She asked softly.

“No.” After a moment, he asked thoughtfully, “Do you?”

“No.” She could feel tears running down her cheeks that no amount of self-discipline would arrest. Maybe it’s hormones, she thought in frustration.

“What if you went to a prison here?” she asked. The thought of him locked up with criminals made it difficult to breathe, but at least he wouldn’t be locked up for life.

“Aisha,” he said quietly, “I would not survive a Terran jail even if the judicial system would allow it. It is late, and cold,” he said gently. “You should return to your lodgings.”

Her fingers had gone numb and she was tired, but she could not bring herself to go. She had come expecting a confrontation–a resolution. She had not counted on his having stayed away unwillingly or his being imprisoned. Without warning, nausea overcame her and she retched on the pavement.

“Aisha, are you all right?” he asked urgently, trying to reach her through the fence. She nodded miserably as the nausea passed.

A voice called out of the darkness from the direction of the consulate. His absence had been noted. He looked out on the street and saw movement in the shadows behind her.

RUN! He startled her, but she could see the guards behind him and feel his urgency. She turned to run, straight into the path of a Vulcan centurion who grabbed her arms and started dragging her towards the gate of the consulate.

Alaia! He saw her struggling as she was dragged away. He heard a Vulcan curse and then the sound of someone running. As he strained to get a better look, he felt a pressure at the base of his neck and then the ground raced towards him or he towards it. He did not have time to figure out which it was before he lost consciousness.

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