Disclaimer: Paramount owns ALL. I'm not attempting to take over their publishing rights, just playing.
Summary: The Mirror Universe is a dangerous place for a prospective parent.
Archive: Sure, just let me know.
Diehard fans will recognize Saavik's origins as the original plan by the writers of ST:WOK. I've always felt these were far more plausible than McIntyre's version.
*
The Firepot Beast was from his father; a legacy from a world as hot and dry as the coals it burns inside its metal clasp. Strange that Vulcan would be renouned for its heat, yet only one volcano exists. This is the beast of the Living Mountain, and it wears the visage of one of the Guardians of the Volcano God.
The House of Sharien claims lineage from the volcano, and the Volcano entities listen to them; no one else.
But the Warrior that sits by his computer is of his mother's world, and given to him by her direction. Black as polished anthracite, the face is smooth and remote and poised to display menace. Ares, the half-brother of Hephasteus, father of the Amazons, the incongruous God of War that counseled peace, and inheirited his mother Hera's power of regeneration. It is not commonly known that Ares was a defender of women. Ares is aligned with Amanda's family. They burn thyme in His honor. Spock feels the balance between the two in his room. The Firepot Beast rules his sleeping alcove; Ares, his place of thought.
Spock keeps his quarters dark. He can see better in the artifical twilight than fullblood Vulcans, and the difference might mean life or death someday. Against human antagonists, he has more to fear outside his doors. His mother's people are by nature, wary of the unfamiliar, and choose not to fight the lion in its own den.
Simple enough, then, to think out his course of action after Kirk's death.
"A man must have the power." He told the Other Kirk.
And the Other Kirk had obliged.
What mettle was a Kirk, to have the strength to destroy an aspect of himself? Spock is reluctantly impressed at the Outsider's ability to reason. But in the hazel eyes, he had seen flickers of a familiar hardness: this Kirk had judged his twin, and found him lacking. No Kirk could give himself mercy in any form.
*
Spock does expect some kind of acerbity from McCoy. The two humans had served long together before the ENTERPRISE. But the CMO looks merely weary as he takes in the sight of the body. As the new captain watches, the corpse is covered.
"Welcome to the nightmare, Captain Spock." He says softly. "You are now in command."
"Vulcans do not dream, doctor."
"But they obviously aspire once in a while." That is said without rancor, or without much emotion. The physician appears washed clean of spirit. The rough voice goes low, soft. "Maybe you can hold it together. Not many people can."
Spock isn't at all certain what those sentences were supposed to mean.
Sleepless-slanted blue eyes look up from the covering shroud. "You think I don't know what you're on about?" He wants to know. "You aren't the first man to try to change the Galaxy. There've been others before you." In the pregnant silence, he pointedly nods down. "They have *all* been eaten alive."
"And you, doctor?" Spock feels obligated to return the thrust for another thrust. Not logical, but Kirk's death had not made lightly or willingly. A choice was given, and made. Kirk's strength of character could not bear the thought of the necessary change of identity. Not logical to feel regret or guilt. But felt all the same.
"Me?" A colorless chuckle, devoid of hope. "War or peace, it makes no difference what I want."
"You want nothing, then? Every man wants something."
For the first time, a spark in the blue eyes. Spock has pushed too far, somehow.
"They might. But why should that be any of your business? You're going to change the Galaxy, remember? Are you going to do it with the old methods, or stick to your new, high-falutin' ideals?"
McCoy flashes him the salute off his chest, jaw hard, and spins on his heel to leave.
*
Being a captain, Kirk is buried at space under honors. Spock lights the cones of the Stone Pine himself, a scented memorial that was the tradition of Earth back in the days when the Empire was confined to the planet. Before his people joined with the Empire of Vulcan.
Spock listens, and he waits. The ship is restless with nerves; no one knows what the captain's plan is. Easier to live under a master they can predict...or understand.
*
"You are to go to Rigel for me. Once there you will be given a package that must be brought back as soon as possible."
McCoy and Scott say nothing to the captain by way of protest, but they are not happy. Orders like this would make *anyone* nervous. Both must worry about the condition of their departments in their absence, and can only return to a new, possibly worsened political environment.
"I have made it clear," Spock's voice becomes a stone, "that I expect to have the same CMO and the same Engineer serving on my ship, so long as they remain loyal to me."
Protection from a captain is a little odd, but not unheard of. Again, a tradeoff of glances.
"Aye, sir." Scott says at last. When in doubt, revert to protocol.
That night, Spock does not sleep. He meditates before the burning volcano-beast until the low embers become a part of his mind. What is, is, and what was, was...to project one's preferred sense of reality on the unknown future is folly. In the heart of Vulcan, rock still burns. He knows the Empire is doomed to fail, consumed by its own waste. But his responsibilities lie in more than just conquest and overthrow.
A Standard Week goes by; uneasy murmurs float through the two departments that are missing their commanders. Spock has made it very clear to DeSalle and M'Benga that their rank will go no further unless he himself decrees Scott and McCoy unworthy of their posts. But still, old habits die hard, and the men are overdue by 2.346 days. Even for humans, there must have been a delay in their mission.
*A delay....* His long fingers clasp together into knots. Ares looks on his half-alien descendant, remote with the slightest turn of the lip. *Let it only be a delay.*
Spock has given himself free time. Lt. Uhura was placed in command of the shift, and if anyone can keep Sulu off balance, it would be the little woman. Spock thinks the two are more likely to play powergames with each other, than cause trouble aboard the ship against him. Judicious checking with the Tantalus Device proves him right.
Marlena comes to him that night. Not dressed in the gauzy robes of seduction, but her full uniform.
"You have made your decision?" He asks.
She nods. "Another ship would be best." The hot temper has faded under practicality. "If you would prefer, I could sense out the climate of the FARRAGUT for your campaign."
"A kind offer, Lieutenant," Spock says slowly, "But I promised you would be removed to a safe place if you chose not to stay here. That would hardly be a safe activity."
"What is safe?" She asks him puzzledly.
What, indeed?
*
The smell of burnt flesh greets Spock in the shuttlebay. It is coming from a white-faced, stoic Scott who is holding a badly damaged arm to a tight-lipped McCoy's treatment. Acrid medicine hisses in the air. Behind them, a tiny Vulcanoid girl with large eyes watches and gnaws her thumb.
"Saavikaam." He speaks. All Vulcan. All control. There must not be any slip of his personal defenses.
Jade-green eyes look upward. Take him in.
He speaks to the waiting (and expectant) Sulu. "Inform Vulcan we are headed to their space with a hostage."
Sulu smiles slightly, believing he understands at last. "Aye, sir."
Scott glances up, face pale and clammy. He is on the verge of passing out. Sweat soaks his shirt; his Officer's Hollowhilt dagger is missing from its sash. McCoy is wearing a bruise just shy of a black eye and moves gingerly.
"I see you ran into some difficulty." Spock wonders at his ability to be so calm and distant.
"Some." McCoy says dryly. "Nothing we couldn't handle. You know the phrase about youth and skill."
"Actually, I do not know the phrase."
Both men stare up at him, astonished.
"It's always overcome by old age and treachery." Scott supplies.
"How apropos."
"Captain, I don't know who this kid is, but she needs a rundown in Sickbay." McCoy jerks a thumb in the child's direction.
"Consider it done."
The child weighs him with her eyes, and turns her head. She watches the impatiently beckoning guard curiously.
McCoy slowly rises to his feet, stiff and aching. A dark maroon smears his shoulder. "Teig, you can't make a toddler hop-to any more than you can a cat. I'll take her down. Debriefing?" He asks hoarsely.
Spock makes a cautious decision. "Later. For now we must deliver the child to Eridani VI."
McCoy's jaw sets and a sudden rage boils below the surface of the sweating face. He looks away before his expression can get him accused of betrayal. The doctor's sentimentality is usually a source of contempt for Spock, albeit useful in work such as this; he could be trusted to never harm a girl-child.
For the first time, Spock feels the doctor is actually capable of killing. The fury is palpable. He does not like being a tool to manipulate someone small and weak. Push him too far in such a way, and he might damn the consequences and aim his dagger at Spock's heart.
It lifts the Vulcan's estimation of the man.
*Curious* he thinks. McCoy does not come from a background like Amanda's, where women are fiercely equal. In his culture, women place slightly higher in importance than the men do. Not unlike the Matriarchy of Vulcan, but the reasons are because of a disproportionate population. The Old South is still recovering its numbers from the last War; the chivalry that allows them to build up their people is considered quaint and outdated by their neighbors. Not that the doctor would care what others thought of him.
He privately vows to analyze this; it could be useful.
*
"She's physically rather healthy, *if* you consider she's been living rough and ready for several months." McCoy slides the tape on the desk in front of the Ares. "Estimation of the computer says she's about two years old, but I don't think she's more than a Standard year and a half."
Spock blinks, surprised despite himself. "Why would you think so?"
"She's just about to hit her third growth spurt; there are some bone-density deficiencies." McCoy stops and sighs, running his hand through his thick hair. "I suggest Scott return to duty as soon as possible. He may be injured, but going back to his engines will be the best thing for him."
"That would have been my own conclusion." Spock agrees. "The reasons for your being late?"
"The unexpected presence of three heavily armed Romulan Medallion Warriors." McCoy's lips twist. "In themselves, not difficult to avoid...but they did have their friends running around."
"I see. I expect a more detailed report from you and Mr. Scott before your next shift."
The doctor lets his gaze drift to the side, taking in the communion of the Ares. "You have to be careful, captain. I don't say this lightly. Your human elements are small, but significant. And they can be passed down."
Spock too, looks upon Ares. "I will consider your advice."
A pause, a slow breath, and McCoy sets a second tape on the desk. "This might be of use." He comments. Casually. "Just a...list of her genetic makeups. Whoever is going to take care of her should have it."
"Doctor." Spock decided now is a good time for the test.
McCoy stops at the doorway.
"How old is *your* daughter?"
McCoy doesn't ask how Spock knows. Or point out there is absolutely no mention of offspring in his background files.
"Old enough that I shouldn't worry about her...much." Is the wry answer.
Spock lifts one eyebrow.
"Her mother's people have her. She doesn't know who I am. Or shouldn't. Safer that way."
"It usually is." Spock agrees.
*
Spock does not, and probably will never remember Saavik's conception. There were too many things happening. The Fever had been raging in him, harder and faster than his wildest fears. For so long, he had hoped to be spared this. And the hectic celebration of Rumarie on Rigel only sweeps his blood to a quicker tempo, until it races with the same speed as the colorful silk-dancers, the bell-shakers, drummers and bannermen. Four Vulcanoid races converging on one small planet, gathering from all over the sector and giving thanks in their own, ecstatic ways.
Pon Farr would make the most orthodox Vulcan consider diluting his blood with an alien, to spare their children the shame and sorrow that followed.
His total recall is useless. One long, unrelenting area in his mind is without information. That, too, is terrifying.
Amnesia is not the rule with Vulcan males under the fever. But it is very commmon with Vulcans who fit his tightly-enclosed, psychological profile. Humility burns like ash from the Living Mountain on his tongue. How strongly had he denied this possibility, to blank out everything?
Spock has always prided himself on never running. But he had mentally fled from this possibility.
All he can remember is opening his eyes to the dark, muted colors of Charvenek's rented room while the sounds of the Festival rollick the outside streets. Chanters greeting the early dawn. Charvenek...sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, her hair loose and long behind her back. Her expression a cipher: curious, but not disdainful or judging as he might have expected.
"Motherhood is an honor among my people." Charvenek tells him matter-of-factly. "One not lightly granted."
"My behavior is inexcusible."
Her eyebrow slides up, as if he has said something she never expected.
"My actions were without honor." He finds his Dagger, somehow, somewhere, and offers it to her.
Again, her level gaze takes him in. "I'm not planning to skewer your heart." She tells him wryly. "And of course you were not acting with honor. Did you *think* you could reason under the Fever?"
"I had hoped I would be spared it." His confession burns him.
"Because of your Human half? Not unreasonable. But you have always desired to be full Vulcan, have you not? There is consequence in all desires. My people know that well."
"What is your decision, Charvenek?"
"My decision?" She repeats. She chuckles softly. "My decision is, you think far too much."
He is at a loss. The laws of non-consent are clear to his mother's family. Ares was the first being on Earth to be put on trial for murder...the victim having raped his daughter. The precedent had been set. There is no margin for error.
And yet, Charvenek is saying there was no error.
He remembers, vaugely, the call of Vulcan sands, and the effort to return home. Kirk granting leave reluctantly. He remembers waiting impatiently upon Rigel's swarm of celebrating Vulcanoids for the right ship to take him home, to the bells, the sextagons, and to T'Pring.
T'Pring...
Her betrayal with Stonn shakes him to the core anew. He had not loved her, but he had never betrayed the Wedding Trust. *Never* would he betray a sacred trust. She had gone to Stonn hoping he would die from the strain.
Had she carried so much hatred for him?
T'Pau would be searching for him, believing him dead...
He must comm to her. And inform his parents he is alive. Simple enough to give an explanation...if one is requested. But that is quite doubtful. How he survived is his own business. The "results"--what Charvenek calls "consequences" will take care of themselves.
Charvenek swings her feet down and stands, pulling long hair behind her ears. "I will contact you, if there is anything to tell you." She says in her matter-of-fact way.
"Does this not go against tradition?" Spock feels his eyebrow go up against his will. How many Romulan men know if they are fathers or not? Precious few; a simple yet flawless method of controlling marriage through the landowning matriarchy.
Charvenek pauses while braiding her hair back. Her eyes crinkle up at the corners as her lips go up. "Spock," She asks him drolly. "Do you think *I* am all that traditional?"
*
Saavik has eaten heavily twice since entering his quarters, food rich in zinc to compensate for a deficiency McCoy discovered. There are other problems with her biology, but negligible ones, and it is easier to treat them with diet rather than a series of daily injections. Spock himself went through a similar regime until he grew old enough to exercise biofeedback.
She is much like him. And much like her mother. He cannot look at her without wondering about the Commander. Something dangerous had prompted her to send her child into hiding.
He watches as she nods off at the table and without a word, tucks her into bed. She opens large, thick-lashed eyes once, sleepily, and smiles at the sight of the Firepot Beast. Spock feels something strange inside his chest; a mixture of regret and contentment. His parents will be glad to take her in. She will be sheltered.
Saavik has no traditional Romulan father-figure in her mother's brother (dead in battle) or great-uncle (dead of the same) or older male cousin (a sterile line). Spock wonders if the dearth of relatives spurs Charvenek's unusual decision. War is costly. The Romulans suffer greatly under it. As high as the mortality rate is in Spock's Empire, it is much safer for a child to be here, than in her mother's.
*I burned once,* Spock thinks. *But I do not remember at all. Will that happen again?*
Strange to be so completely afraid of what he has no knowledge of.
*It would not be so...upsetting...* His mind casts for a safely bland word, *if there were no consequences.*
Saavik is a fortunate "consequence". The House of Sharien needs an heir, and it has been four generations since a girl was born to it. She has limitless options available to her; T'Pau will deny her nothing.
But things could have just as easily gone wrong. Charvenek could have commanded his atonement by death, and raised Saavik without his parents ever knowing they had a grand-daughter. Or T'Pring's attempt to kill him could have truly succeeded. He is grateful that T'Pau dispensed justice upon her and Stonn. He is fewer two enemies now.
Enemies that might had found another way to attack him, or Saavik. Spock is not sorry about their deaths the way he is with Kirk's. If he is to rise in the Empire, he must be very, very careful. Charvenek has placed upon him a sacred obligation; the welfare of their daughter.
Spock watches the face of Ares as it reflects the glow of the firepot Beast. His counselors.
The End...