CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As part of his community service, Tammas Garcia, son of Leonard, biologically speaking, found him self doing community service on the Vulcan Star base, Planar. He was working a communication station inside Space Traffic Control, at the upper most section of the base. His primary function was to record and update AIDAS messages, alerting traffic to potential hazards such as solar flares and magnetic variances, but he also took incoming calls not dealing with navigational issues. After years of amateur sub space radio, directing communication to and away from Vulcan was a piece of cake, and he really didn’t mind the monotony because it usually meant he could multitask. The communication service mostly took care of itself and he just monitored. A monkey could do his job, some might say, but he always added, “Sure, provided that monkey was genetically altered and tied to a chair in front of a terminal all day.” During low volume hours, he could answer emails or compose stories, but mostly he observed the other workers and learned everything he could about Space Traffic Control, or STC.
Tammas tried not to think about his identity but he found it difficult not to examine every nuance of his behavior and thought patterns, looking for some abnormality that might identify him as Kelvan. He was only Kelvan in an esoteric sort of way, for genetically speaking, Tammas was as human as any human, minus the Vulcan genes he had inherited. “I am not my genes,” he kept trying to remind himself, a variation of his “I am not my grade point average.” But he was, wasn’t he? Sure, he could get metaphysical and think of himself as the sum of his biochemistry and psychological makeup, but couldn’t it all be reduced back to his genes? To some degree, yes, because that was the way the rest of the world still looked at it. Just saying you were the son of McCoy would make people look at you differently, as if being the child of a legend meant you were destined to be a legend. But for all his human qualities, he was also Kelvan. If people knew he was descendant of Kelvan, they would really think him strange, and scrutinize his behavior much more closely than it was even now. True, he didn’t even qualify as a modified Kelvan, since his mother was human, and McCoy came from a long line of humans, as far back as humanity on earth could be traced given the state of technology.
His mother, Lorena, was human by birth, tracing a line back to the first modified Kelvans over a hundred years ago, mixed with the genetic material stolen from the Enterprise crew. In order to continue to create genetic diversity, Lorena had been directly inseminated with genes stolen from Leonard McCoy. Because of all the unauthorized use of genetic material, Tammas could actually claim a genetic heritage relating him to four of the original Kelvan colonist, including Kelinda, Rojan, Raya, and Hanar, whose bloodline mixed with combinations of James T Kirk, Spock, Montgomery Scot, Uhura, Sulu, Chekov, Rand, Chapel, Martha Landon, Lt. Masters, Mira Romaine, Dr. M’Benga, Marlena Moreau, Mr. Kyle, Ann Mulhall, Carolyn Palamas, Lt Watley, Angela Martine, and Yeoman Thompson. McCoy had been a witness to Yeoman’s Thompson’s death, and so in a way he was happy to hear that she was not totally lost, that her genes live on in the Kelvan colony. Her death had been senseless. The Kelvans had killed her in an attempt to break Kirk’s spirit, dehydrating her to her essence, and then crushing the remains and throwing her dust to the wind. The fact that McCoy had found tracers of her genes in Tam’s genome suggested that the Kelvan had taken the necessary reproductive cells from their victims long before the Enterprise had even sent down an Away Team to investigate.
The thought of someone being reduced to their essential essence, a dehydration process utilizing the Kelvan transporter technology, brought back vague memories. He believed he had witnessed such events, but beyond K7 his memory was clouded. It gave him a headache to even try and remember his early years. Perhaps it was just another one of those dream stories of his, no doubt a fake memory which he had picked up vicariously through telepathy, or reading fiction off the IS-Net.
The Kelvan’s goal had been to increase their population size as fast they could. One of the problems was there were only five remaining members of their original crew, two of which were women. That’s one reason why they borrowed from the gene pool aboard the Enterprise. Further, they were forced into creating artificial wombs to start the first couple of generations, working towards the goal of eventually creating a Kelvan Human hybrid. Though the Kelvan intelligence could reside in the human body with minimal loss of capacity, that small loss still came with a price, human elements they had not been prepared for, such as emotions, desires, and physical vulnerabilities. The Vulcan emotional suppression seemed like a good counter defense to the emotions donated by the human factor, but Spock was the only sample of Vulcan blood they had. They could, of course, easily adopt a Vulcan form as opposed to a human form, and did so to get enough genetic material to get started, but they weren’t as pleased with the results. It took them fifty years, but they did finally get a stable population with a large enough genetic diversity to remain viable, without having to have more outside infusion. Still, by this time, a culture of multiple partners had been established, and old habits were hard to break. In other words, Kelinda was not only his grandmother, but also his great grandmother twenty times removed. Genetic markers for Raya came up four times in his genome map. There were also specific patterns that suggested couplings of specific genome pairs. Examples of specific coupling were noted between Spock and Chapel, and Chekov and Landon. A combination for Scot came up twice: once with Palamas, and then again with Romaine.
Tammas didn’t remember his mother. He only knew what McCoy had been able to tell him, which is everything he learned from Guinan. She had been killed, along with her mate. Tammas wondered if he would have called him father, had there not been a war, or did they not use those types of pronouns. This man may have even been a clone of McCoy, for no one could say with any degree of certainty that he came about through artificial insemination, or artificially through cloning. His grandmother, Kelinda, was possibly still alive, but there was no way to determine that since the Kelvan had not been in communication with the Federation since the war started. Given his age, and the fact the war seemed to be over, based on the fact no one had heard anything from the Kelvan in the last ten years, everyone in the marriage party, including T’Pau seemed to agree that he was no longer a threat to the Kelvan society, what ever was left. It was further decided that it was no longer necessary to conceal his identity, but even so they didn’t go flaunting it. And in this regard, Tammas couldn’t have been happier. There was no way in the world, in any world, that he would willingly disclose his genealogy. First, no one would ever believe it without a DNA scan to prove it. Second, people already treated him like a freak, so it wouldn’t help him win any friends. In fact, it would probably create even more animosity. Third, though there was no evidence of genetic manipulations, given his intelligence and the genealogy, there would always be that suspicion.
Tammas also learned that his original name was Jude Kelinda, Kelinda in recognition of his formal line started way back when the Kelvans first colonized. He had no intentions of ever going by the name Jude, so he promptly dismissed it. Besides, he had gone by Tammas for so long that he thought of himself as Tammas, not Jude. He had no conflict about who he was. All those years of building appropriate psychic boundaries had paid off, in that respect, he decided.
“Hey, Tammas.”
Tammas looked up in time to see Melinda as she reached out to brush his shoulder with a hand as she continued towards her station. She had a little bounce to her walk, which he suspected she did on purpose to attract his attention
“Hey,” Tammas responded, watching her as she took her post. He would have watched her without the bounce, he thought.
Melinda Ortiz was Star Fleet, assigned to Vulcan STC division. From the perspective of Space Traffic Control, the Vulcan Solar System was basically divided into quadrants, with an upper and lower division. The upper division handled incoming traffic, while the lower section handled out going traffic. On top of that, there were STC personnel for Vulcan prime, which also included the Star Base, as well as personnel that controlled space around a number of lesser stations throughout the Vulcan system. Melinda was in control of upper section A.
Tammas could do his job in his sleep, and, consequently, he had increased the frequency ranges that he monitored, without permission, just to prevent himself from dozing. He tuned into Melinda’s frequency to monitor her station, sending the audio to his headset. He found that the headset he wore was much more comfortable than the standard earpiece. The weight of the earpiece had always bothered him, and so he had chosen the headset because of its comfort, but also, because of its sleek design. He could usually handle more than one call at a time, using one channel for his voice, and sending text messages using his implant, leaving his hands free to surf the net, or change frequencies. Most of the humans found his station dizzying with the amounts of information dancing across his monitors, where as most of the Vulcans considered his work average.
Melinda was one of his “multitasking” priorities, which made work bearable. He saw a small block at the lower left hand side of his screen start flashing. He touched it and it grew to a window, showing a text message from Melinda.
“I thought you told me you were going to the Science Fair,” Melinda said. “I didn’t see you.”
“I’m sorry. I got caught up in a story and forgot all about that,” Tammas wrote.
“I’m beginning to think you’re avoiding me,” Melinda wrote.
“I would never do that,” Tammas assured her.
So,” she wrote. “Did you pass the STC test?”
“Yes,” Tammas wrote back. “A perfect score. I earned a class one rating.”
“That’s great!” she wrote, including a little animated icon that exploded into party hats and confetti. “So, did you apply to Vulcan STC?”
“Yes,” Tammas responded.
There was a pause while Melinda waited for more, and then she finally wrote, “Well, what’s the word? Queue that, stand by one,” she wrote.
Tammas delayed transmitting his response as he listened in to the chatter. On days when she was extremely busy, they kept the chat to a minimum. Typically work frowned on the chat, but here it actually helped to keep people alert and so was tolerated to some degree. Arriving ships would drop out of warp and hold at the heliosheath, the boundary of where the solar wind became virtually undetectable. It was an arbitrary declaration of where interstellar space began and the solar system ended. From there, ships would signal STC of their arrival and request computer guidance into the system. In heavy traffic system like Vulcan, STC was essential for facilitating ship traffic through the system. In truth, the computer controlled all traffic, but most races still demanded a sentient being as an interface, so they could have personal attention and potential overrides, everyone hoping to have their passage to and fro expedited. The computer’s flight path recommendation was overruled by the incoming ship on Melinda’s screen, forcing Melinda to give pause to her chat window in order to deal with the customer.
“This is Vulcan Center,” Melinda said. “Go ahead AND2245.”
Tammas ran a check on the call letters and an animated graphic of the Andorian Freighter appeared in a small window on his screen. It was registered to an Andorian pilot by the name of Bisten. He was bringing in raw dilithium ore to a processing station.
“I had requested a faster flight path,” the pilot said.
“Yes,” Melinda answered. “But you are four minutes over due, and the window for that path has closed. The computer controlled orbital path you have is the quickest routing available at this time.”
“This flight path will take an hour. I request a more direct route,” the pilot returned.
“You are welcome to hold until a more direct route is available,” Melinda informed the pilot. “But hold times are currently at fifty minutes. Your window for this orbital path will be closed in one minute thirty seconds.”
“The price of ore will drop two tenths of a percent before I get there,” the pilot complained. “You are unfairly influencing economic exchange in your favor.”
“STC is a division of Star Fleet and is an unbiased organization…”
“Damn it, Vulcan, give me a faster route,” the pilot said.
“I will not tolerate verbal abuse,” Melinda told him. “Do you want this routing or not?”
“I accept,” the pilot said, grumbling something which Tammas would have to use deciphering programs to fish out the meaning.
“Great. Please release your ship over to our computer guidance system.”
“I will fly it manually,” the pilot said.
“Okay,” Melinda said. “Report to Ore Station on frequency 340, at 900 KM out. Good day, AND2245.”
The pilot repeated the information back, and waited to within five seconds of his window closing before accelerating along his flight path. Had he waited past his window, Melinda would have politely asked him to hold until the next window became available. The next ship that reported in accepted the computer flight path and control, and began its descent sunward towards Vulcan without any aid from Melinda. None the less, she gave her signature approval, accompanied by her personal welcome to Vulcan Center.
“Okay,” she wrote back to him.
Tammas released his answer to her last question. “They told me the same thing that Star Fleet Academy said: apply again after you’re off probation.”
A frowning face icon popped up. “How long do you have left?” she asked.
“Three years, seven months, one week, two days, three hours, seven minutes, twenty two seconds, mark,” Tammas replied. “But who’s counting?”
“LOL,” Melinda wrote.
Tammas leaned back and pivoted his chair in order to view Melinda at her station. She was not laughing out loud, as suggested by the messenger vernacular. Her posture was just as strict as any of the Vulcans working STC. The floor supervisor didn’t approve of slouching. “Well, my shifts up,” Tammas wrote. “If I hurry, I can catch the shuttle down.”
“Why don’t you just use the transporters like everyone else?” Melinda asked.
“Didn’t you hear?’ Tammas asked.
“Hear what?” Melinda asked.
“The 22nd highest cause of death is transporter accidents,” Tammas reported.
“Whatever,” she typed.
“CYL,” Tammas typed, which was catch you later.
“Hey, wait,” she typed. “I noticed your name at the holosuite the other day. You go there a lot?”
“I’m heavily addicted to gaming,” Tammas admitted. No one that was really addicted ever admitted they were addicted, so he felt he was safe telling her. He justified his addiction by telling himself, “it’s better than drugs.”
“Really?” she typed. “I have some time scheduled tomorrow afternoon. Would you like to join me?”
“Sounds like fun,” Tammas said. “Email me.”
“Alright. It’s a date,” Melinda typed. “Better not miss it.”
Tammas closed out his windows and looked up to see his shift replacement waiting. He smiled at the Vulcan who still hadn’t volunteered his name. Tammas could have easily learned his name but he was giving the Vulcan his privacy. Tammas caught the shuttle down and took the tram over to his home, only stopping to get food for Sparky, and an assortment of vegetables for dinner. Sarek and Sparky were both waiting for him when he arrived. It was not unusual to see Sarek petting Sparky. Sarek stood as Sparky rushed over to greet Tammas.
“I have heard you turned down the invitation to visit the planet El,” Sarek said.
Tammas frowned and headed towards the kitchen, trying to avoid a conflict. Sarek followed, waiting for a confirmation of the statement. Tam felt like he was having more and more conflicts with Sarek, and consequently was trying to avoid him. He had considered moving to a place of his own, but as soon as he would leave the house, he felt much calmer and so always decided to return to the only home he had known since moving to Vulcan. Tammas began unpacking the groceries, ignoring Sparky’s whining.
Sarek said, “I would appreciate a response to my question.”
Tammas realized he wasn’t going to get away with practicing the Vulcan silent treatment. He forced himself to breathe, wondering what the source of his anger was. It wasn’t like Sarek was being unreasonable in his questioning.
“I didn’t exactly turn it down,” Tammas said, sighing.
“Explain,” Sarek said. Tammas set the can of dog food down hard on the cabinet. “I spoke to my probation officer to get permission to go. I explained how important this was, and that I would be representing Vulcan and that I would only be gone two weeks. Six days to get there, six days back, leaving me two days for the entire ceremony, which includes a hike up a mountain and down a mountain, so it’s not like it’s a complete pleasure trip.”
“And?” Sarek asked.
“L’Nora, my probation officer, quite politely informed me that as a criminal, I should not be receiving any awards, to say the least about representing planet Vulcan,” Tammas explained. “So, I sent El my apologies, and thanked them for the invitation.”
“I will speak to T’Pau concerning this matter,” Sarek said, turning to walk away.
“No, grandfather,” Tammas said, following as far as the entry to the kitchen. “You will not.”
Sarek turned to face Tammas, raising an eyebrow.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Tammas said, wishing he hadn’t raised his voice. “It’s not that I think L’Nora is being reasonable in this matter. Very few people get called to El to climb the Sacred Heart and touch the Living Rock. Since their induction into the Federation, how many Vulcans have been called? Two? And maybe one human? I understand how much of an honor this is and what a tremendous opportunity is being lost.”
“Then why won’t you let me speak on your behalf?” Sarek asked. “Most of my life I have been an Ambassador, a negotiator. Let me do this for you. The Ambassador of El has asked me to convince you to go.”
“No,” Tammas said. “Please. I do appreciate it. I really do, and I know you can’t feel that, but you have to understand. Every time you or McCoy steps in to help me I loose credibility as a person. People think I have it easy, that everything is just given me. Why do you think I keep such a low profile when it comes to the success of my music and my lines of fiction? Why do you think I don’t brag about my intelligence and my academic standing? People get strange ideas in their heads about people like me and they treat me different. I don’t want to give them reason to believe that’s true.”
“It is illogical to allow what other people think rule your life,” Sarek said.
“I agree,” Tammas said. “And I don’t care what people think. I care what I think. I just want to live as normal a life as I can manage.”
“You are my blood,” Sarek said. “I want to help.”
“You help me every day, grandfather,” Tammas said, wondering if Sarek thought his voice as whiny as he imagined it to be. “Do you know there is gossip about me staying here, under your protection?”
“My reputation is solid,” Sarek said. “You should not be concerned about gossip.”
“None the less, I’m aware of it,” Tammas said. “I’m legally an adult and should move out on my own. I stay because I like the feel of family I have here.”
“Perrin is worried about you,” Sarek said. “You do not get out enough. You are not on house arrest.”
“I get out,” Tammas said.
“Yes,” Sarek nodded. “The holosuite. This is not significant social interaction.”
“So?” Tammas said. “I interact with people at the Academy and at work.”
“You need to interact with real people,” Sarek said. “Outside of the academic field. Outside of your work at the animal clinic and STC. It is normal for humans to have friends.”
Tammas dished out some food for Sparky, waited for Sparky to give a paws up sign. Tammas rewarded the sehlot with petting before putting the bowl down.
“I interact with people all the time on line,” Tammas said.
“Again, I say you should interact with real people, not virtual,” Sarek said. “Pen Pals are good, but it is no substitute for personal interaction.”
Tammas nodded. “I got an email from Selar.”
“How is she?”
“Apparently, she has adjusted quite well to the Enterprise,” Tammas said. “She’s made some new friends.”
Sarek nodded. “As should you.”
“I’m going out with Melinda, a girl from work tomorrow. Human, fleet,” Tammas said.
“You can bring her home to meet us if you like,” Sarek said.
“I’ll invite her,” Tammas said.
Sarek nodded.
There was a call and Sarek excused himself to answer it. A moment later, Sarek called Tammas to the family room. On the screen was T’Pau. Tammas bowed.
“The Elanian Ambassador on Vulcan has come to visit me,” T’Pau said. “I would like to compel you to accept their invitation. You will travel as my personal envoy and deliver tokens of my esteem to Chancellor Drosh. ”
Tam’s mouth dropped and he looked to Sarek. Sarek indicated that he had nothing to do with this, with an almost human shrug. With a personal request from T’pau, there would be no way he would miss the El opportunity.
“Of course, T’Pau,” Tammas said, bowing. “It would be an honor to serve you.”
“I’ve asked L’Nora to personally accompany you to ensure that you do not violate the terms of your probation,” T’Pau said. “She will not beam down with you, of course, as she has not been given an invitation, but she will see that you arrive and return safely.”
Tammas sucked in air. L’Nora would not have been pleasant company in the best of circumstances, but with T’Pau compelling her to travel, no doubt as punishment for her wrong decision, she was going to be a bear. And Tammas was not about to argue with T’Pau. He nodded.
“My personal shuttle is awaiting your arrival. Can you be ready to go in ten minutes?” T’Pau asked.
Tammas looked to Sarek. Sarek didn’t have to say the words. He would care for Sparky in his absence and he should jump when T’Pau spoke. Ten minutes was a courtesy, but she meant immediately. Tammas turned back to T’Pau. “I am of course at your disposal even this instant.”
“Very well, stand by to beam up,” T’Pau said. “My shuttle has your coordinates. Travel safe, Tammas Garcia.”
“Live long and prosper, T’Pau,” Tammas said, and she nodded, lifting her hand, echoing his sentiments. Garcia turned to Sarek. “Grandfather…”
“Live long and prosper,” Sarek said.
Once on board, Tammas was shown to his quarters. The shuttle Sarran left shortly after he arrived. The only reason for its delay was that L’Nora had not been as willing to depart empty handed as Tammas had been. She had preferred to gather some personal affects, and she might have had more time to do so had Tammas requested a few minutes to gather some things of his own. The way Tammas saw it was that the ship’s replicators would supply him with everything he needed for the trip, so why waste time packing? Besides, he could not carry any personal affects with him to the top of the Sacred Heart, so it would be illogical to waste T’Pau’s time. L’Nora simply had not anticipated Tammas being so logical, which only further antagonized her.
As Tammas had guessed, L’Nora was not a pleasant companion. They met each morning for breakfast because that was the way she wanted it. She read from the news displayed on her PADD as she drank her Keta, more similar to hot chocolate than coffee, but a refined Vulcan drink. Sometimes Tammas would talk to T’Pau’s cat, who lived on the Sarran. T’Pau’s pilot had adopted the cat while ferrying T’Pau’s personal envoy to Earth, or, as the pilot spoke of it, the cat had adopted them. L’Nora hated the cat, especially hated the fact that T’Pau gave it free range over the Sarran, letting it come and go as it pleased. Apparently, T’Pau considered it to be a good omen to have been chosen in such a manner and by such an animal. L’Nora considered it archaic, magical thinking at its worst.
“I don’t know,” Tammas told her, two days out from Vulcan. “I think the cat likes you. Haven’t you wondered why it always comes up to you?”
“No,” L’Nora said, trying to focus on her morning rituals.
“Cats like Vulcans, in general,” Tammas explained. “They’re attracted to calmness. If you attend a party, and there’s a cat present, they always tend to go towards the cat haters. This is because they’re the only ones not speaking to it, or waving their hands trying to attract it. Cats prefer the quiet types.”
“If you don’t mind, I am trying to read this article on the kidnapping at Betazed,” L’Nora said. “I don’t care to understand the biopsychosocial behavior of cats.”
“What kidnapping?’ Tammas asked.
“Perhaps if you spent less time in the holosuites you could devote more attention to the news,” L’Nora said.
“I read the headlines,” Tammas said.
“Then you should know that two months ago there was a mass kidnapping on Betazed. There are still no clues about the abductors, nor have there been any ransom demands,” L’Nora said.
“I hadn’t heard about it,” Tammas said. “What do you mean a mass kidnapping?”
“Perhaps the cat will tell you about it,” L’Nora said.
Is it any wonder, Tammas thought to the cat, that I prefer the company of animals to people? The cat looked up from the chair it was occupying, before returning to its nap. The Sarran arrived at El after six days of travel at warp eight. Tammas beamed down, where he was immediately greeted by Chancellor Drosh. Tammas paid his respects and passed along T’Pau compliments and gifts. The Chancelor seemed pleasantly surprised, and asked Tammas that he return to visit with him after his journey, so that he could send some tokens of his esteem back to T’Pau.
Tammas wasn’t completely prepared for the climb up the Sacred Heart, but he made it before the sun set, which was one of the requirements. A monk greeted him, brought him to a designated spot where the mountain was weathered and the internal stratum was exposed. There was a small ceremony where the monk officially welcomed him to the Heights, a ritualized hand cleaning, and then the monk instructed him to place his hands on the rock, with fingers spread and his palm towards the rock. It was as if he were to initiate a mind meld with the mountain itself.
Tammas touched the rock without hesitation, or concern. With all the drama that it took to get him here, he wasn’t about to return with this task uncompleted. Touching the Living Rock, as it was called, was like touching an electric fence, only marginally more pleasant. The sensation was sustained, as opposed to cycling. And he was surprised that it was more comparable to a mind meld than he had expected. His mind interfaced with the living rock just as easily as it could to a computer using his neural implant. He now understood why he had been summoned to meet the Rock, and for a moment he wondered if it was a giant computer. It was just hard for his mind to get around the idea that a rock might be alive, but then, the Federation had encountered such before. Kirk and Spock had encountered a species of living rocks, well, they were more lava than rock, but they could somehow solidify into rock and still maintain their living status. If he wasn’t mistaken, President Lincoln was also involved in the incident. Star Fleet histories were often quite unbelievable, he thought.
“We are related,” the Living Rock responded to Tam’s mental tangent. “We all are. Even you, mostly water and carbon, are essentially rock. Dust to dust, as your Earth saying goes. The elements that comprise us both are merely bones of dead stars.”
Those thoughts were very clear, but other thoughts that Tammas felt emanating from the Living Rock were a bit more nebulous. Apparently it had heard a sample of his music from a previous guest and so the Rock had wanted a direct sampling. Tammas saw his life from the perspective of the rock, and to it, Tam’s whole life was a song, a story still unfolding, and his story would now be woven into the rock. The mind meld left him with such peace that he had to be guided away by the monks. He woke the next morning, refreshed, but without a clear memory of what had transpired between him and the mountain. When he tried to think on it, he just remembered an easy little tune. On seeing him awake, a monk presented him with breakfast. When he had finished eating, he was given two items. One was a piece of the Living Rock. It was warm to the touch, but he could discern no apparent heat source, and it was not, he later discovered, radioactive. He was instructed never to let the stone be transported. It was wrapped in a ceremonial cloth and placed in a leather pouch, similar to a Native American medicine bag. The other item they presented him with was an Elanian Singer Stone. He touched it and was pleasantly surprised by the tonalities it emit