Disclaimer: I am not a gozillionaire so I will never own Star Trek, nor do I own An Illogical Woman. The events and characters in this story, although based upon the work of the lovely Candace, do not necessarily reflect the true path of her characters. I am merely kidnapping borrowing them for a spell and putting them through the Teresa AF Effect, which always involves: melodrama, crying, yelling, screaming, more crying, misunderstandings, and finally, kissing. For me, this is going to be a very “restrained” story. BTW: you will need to be on top of your Star Trek: Original Series trivia; for I take no prisoners. Sorry, that’s just the way I roll.
ETA: When I was writing this, this was the actress that I was channeling as Makeda.
The More Things Change
An Illogical Woman Divertissement
“May I ask you a question, Uncle?”
“Have you ever heard of a book called Sense and Sensibility?”
Spock and Makeda where making their annual climb together up Mount *Rau-Tor. It wasn’t a particularly steep ascent. Spock had chosen the path for the relative safety it provided to his young companion and for the lack of challenge to his aging body.
“Sense and Sensibility,” he began, reciting the list of relevant data known to him in a general sort of way, “by Jane Austen, published in 1811 by Edgerton, in old London. For that era, it brought the author the considerable sum of…”
“No, no,” she cut in, exasperated by the stream of facts he was presenting about the book instead of the commentary on the story she wanted to hear. “Have you ever read the story?”
“I have read many things, so you must forgive me for not recalling the particulars.”
He paused on an outcropping of rocks and reached down to give his step-daughter, as he sometimes thought of her, a hand up.
Now standing beside him she took the opportunity to drink from her water bottle. As the cooling liquid moistened her parched throat, she folded the brim of her hat back and studied the rocky landscape. She loved these times that she spent with her uncle up in the mountains, just the two of them without her mother’s constant grumbling for her to clean up her room and without her father’s constant questioning concerning her lessons. Spock as her uncle was definitely a lot easier on her than having Spock as her father.
Clipping the bottle back onto her utility belt she spread her arms wide and breathed deep.
“Is there a felicity in the world superior to this?”
Spock sat down and studied Makeda for a moment. At thirteen, she was at that curious stage of human development: old enough to provide interesting conversation and young enough to say, on occasion, some rather silly things.
“Am I correct in assuming that you find our hike most enjoyable? Curious, for your mother insisted that your mood of late has been, shall we say, contentious.”
She groaned, throwing her head back in frustration. Taking a few steps away from him to look over the edge of the precipice, she mumbled, “Et tu, Brutus.”
Hearing this, the corner of Spock’s mouth quirked. “My, my; quoting Jane Austen and William Shakespeare and here your father led me to believe that you read nothing more then insignificant romance novels.”
“My father finds fault with everything I do!”
His tone was skeptical. “Everything, Makeda?”
She took the opportunity to sit down next to him on the rocks, laying her head on his shoulder.
“My room is never clean enough, my face is never washed thoroughly, my hair is never combed properly, my homework is never done correctly, and I argue too much with Tuven.”
“And these circumstances, of course, are never true because–?”
She chose to ignore the jab for the moment. Her forehead furrowed.
“I was thinking, Uncle, that since the school break is approaching and since I’m not doing anything remotely interesting, that maybe… perhaps…”
His lips quirked again; she was obviously building up to something.
“I mean, you’re getting really, really old and I thought that I could come to your house more often so that I could read to you.”
He drew back to look at her fully, an eyebrow raised. “As ancient as you choose to find me, I assure you, my eyesight is still quite excellent.” He tugged down the brim of her hat to shield her from the sun’s relentless rays.
“It’s not only that,” she said, scratching nervously at the top of a pointed ear, “ I thought—you see, if we could only spend more time together–we could talk about stuff.”
The slight hesitancy in the voice of such a usually blunt girl, immediately gave her away. He now knew that whatever it was she was building up to, it was obviously something of a delicate nature. He thought it best to play along.
“What sort of… stuff?”
“Oh, I don’t know: things.”
“And what are these things?”
Makeda huffed impatiently; her uncle had never been the sort to drag things out interminably; he was clearly teasing her now.
“Well, you have never told me anything, really, about certain things in your timeline; about the Enterprise missions or about living on Romulus or about you and… my mother.”
He became thoughtful, carefully choosing his words. While it was true that he never went into specific details about his previous life, he had always made sure that she understood the he and her father, though the same biologically, were very different people with different thoughts and requirements.
“I believe I have explained that particular situation many times before. There was no “me” and your mother; I thought you understood. In the former time line, we were simply good friends; nothing more.”
“But I was thinking that mother’s situation, in your time, could possibly be a lot like what happened to Elinor.”
“Pardon me; who?”
“Elinor Dashwood, in my book; you know, Sense and Sensibility. It’s almost like you could be Edward and my mother, I mean, my mother as you knew her, could have been like Elinor.”
“Forgive me, but I do not follow.”
“You see, Elinor loved Edward but she couldn’t tell him that she loved him because of Lucy.”
Placing his hands upon his knees, he leaned forward slightly. “Lucy?”
“Yes! And I was thinking that perhaps mother, not my mother Nyota, but your Nyota, didn’t tell you that she loved you because perhaps you had a Lucy of your own, but in this case your Lucy’s name was actually Christine.”
“You know, Christine Chapel… Uncle Leonard’s nurse… onboard the Enterprise… don’t you remember?”
“Of course I remember who Miss Chapel was, I mean is, I mean—Makeda, I would very much like to know what it is that you think you know about Miss Chapel?”
“Well, when Uncle Jim visited Papa last week he asked my father who made better Plomeek soup, mother or Nurse Chapel. But Papa said that he never had soup made by Nurse Chapel. Mother didn’t seem to like that question for some reason, so when she asked Uncle Jim to explain himself, he said that he was only teasing and that he gets confused and that he sometimes forgets which Spock he is referring to and I thought that perhaps, in this timeline, if Papa only ever ate mother’s Plomeek soup and if in your timeline you only ever ate Nurse Christine’s soup, then I assumed, logically of course, that in your time line, you might have liked Christine instead of liking Mother and that’s why I think of Nurse Christine as a Lucy and my mother as an Elinor” She finally took a breath. “You see, Tuven and I are creating a chart.”
Spock took a breath of his own, amazed that he was able to follow her thought processes so easily, although there was still one thing more he needed to know.
“Tell me about this chart”
“We’re calling it a time shift chart.”
“A time shift chart?”
“Yes, for the science fair.”
“Except Tuven is being a total idiot about the entire thing! He thinks the time shift chart should only contain substantiated evidence and empirical data and all sorts of useless quadratic, algebraic equations on wormholes and spatial anomalies and the space-time-continuum.”
Folding his arms across his chest, he nodded.
“And you disagreed, no doubt?”
“Only because he is being stupid!”
“Can I conclude that you have a much less stupid time shift chart in mind?”
“Of course! I think that the time shift chart would be much more interesting if I compared your life to my father’s life based on the choices that you each made, but in order to do this, I need to do a lot more research. That’s why I need to know all about you and Nurse Christine.”
Spock stood up. “I am very sorry to disappoint you, Makeda, but there was never a “me” and Nurse Christine.”
Makeda huffed. “Are you sure? Uncle Jim was so certain.”
“In this instance your Uncle Jim is wrong and I am quite certain. And while we are on the subject, I am also quite certain that I do not wish to be the subject of a science fair.”
“Well, that’s disappointing. Tuven said you wouldn’t like it.”
“Then it appears that Tuven is wiser than his years. Shall we continue with our hike?”
As he began to lead the way up the rest of the mountain he glanced back down. Makeda was following him slowly and quietly, yet by the serious, thoughtful look on her face, he knew immediately that she was changing strategies.
“May I ask one more question, Uncle? Don’t worry; it’s not for the chart.”
He nodded, a bit apprehensive about the new subject she wished to discuss. He did not have to wait long.
“Who is Leila Kalomi?”
“Yes, Spock, who is Leila Kalomi?” asked Nyota, coming out of the kitchen balancing two serving bowls in her hands.
“Nyota,” replied her husband, following from behind and gently setting a dish of sesame noodles on the table, “your curiosity has always done you credit, however, I am at a loss as to what context your question portends.”
Nyota dropped the dishes of sliced tomatoes and sauteed spinach unceremoniously next to the noodles. “Stop avoiding the question, buster; you know what context I’m talking about.”
Spock sighed quietly and tilted his head to one side while he thought for moment.
The elder Spock had never meant to be the instigator of marital discord. He merely wished to relay the topics which he and Makeda had discussed earlier that day to make certain that her parents were aware of her sometimes keen, leaning towards the inappropriate, curiosity. But now, to remove himself from the line of fire, he sat down at the dining room table and prepared to consume his lunch.
“While the name does indeed sound familiar, I can not be certain that—”
“Leila Kalomi,” stated the elder succinctly, wanting to both move quickly to put an end to the animated discussion and to give a gentle hint, “when I first knew her, was a graduate student in the botany department at Starfleet Academy. Perhaps in this time, Spock, you may have worked with her in some scientific capacity.”
Over these last few years, as the elder, he always felt that the more personal aspects of his own past relationships were best left unsaid. He hardly ever elaborated, for further elaboration would eventually lead to a ridiculous discussion about spores and the second time he had encountered Leila. And the less said about that second time, the better.
Now struck by something, the younger Spock now seemed to recall her. “She presented an interesting paper on the biodiversity of the planets in the Omicron Ceti system. I attended the forum where she presented her findings before Starfleet’s pre-colonization sub-committee.”
“And?” asked Nyota, glaring at her husband, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“And, I congratulated Miss Kalomi on her success and we parted ways; she, back to the academy to complete the requirements for her doctorate, myself on to the U.S.S. Constitution for my first assignment.”
Nyota merely shifted her glare from one Spock to another; clearly communicating by the incredulity reflected in her eyes that she expected a different kind of answer. Ambassador Spock now felt obligated to say something more.
“Leila Kalomi and I—.” Here he stopped himself, wanting to put the emphasis squarely on himself. “I developed a certain… appreciation for her company. It was long ago.”
Nyota may have heard the words come from the elder, but all of her annoyance was directed at the younger.
“What?” asked Spock, lifting his hands helplessly when he saw the way she was glaring at him.
The elder thought it best to change the subject.
“Are not my niece and her companion meant to be joining us?”
“Those two and their science fair project!” exclaimed Nyota impatiently, forgetting that she was annoyed with her husband in order to focus upon this new subject. “They talk about it all day to the distraction of everything else. They don’t have to present for another four months, but you would think that it was due next week by the way they go on. I, for one, will be glad when it’s over as they have been arguing about it for weeks now.”
Spock, the younger, gave the elder a slight shake of the head, clearly communicating that one of the children was doing all the arguing, while the other, all the listening.
Spock went back into the kitchen and Nyota went to the end of the passage and called out the children’s names to inform them that lunch was ready. When they appeared the elder Spock had to suppress the urge to smile; the two of them were locked in a battle of wills. Sometimes, he thought, Makeda and Tuven where just a reflection of Nyota and Spock.
“That won’t work, Tuven; Uncle Scotty says matter and anti-matter should never be mixed!”
“Makeda, you are aware, of course, that I am well acquainted with that fact. I was merely speculating that it would be a fascinating phenomenon to observe from a purely scientific standpoint.”
“Oh, there you go, reminding me, yet again, that you received the highest marks in class on your particle physics paper. Every chance that you get to brag, you take it.”
“I do not brag,” he replied calmly and evenly. A second later, his posture grew straighter and he glanced away, not wishing to meet her eyes. “This is another example of your suppositions being highly—”
“Don’t you dare say it!”
“This is another example of you being that word that I am not allowed to use in your presence.”
The elder Spock merely looked the question at Nyota and she silently mouthed the word: illogical. He nodded once then shook his head in dismay.
Tuven moved to stand before the Ambassador. Raising his right hand, he gave the traditional Vulcan salute and bowed his head. “Forgive my late arrival, sir; it could not be helped.” His eyes shifted towards his betrothed and Spock, the elder, could have sworn he detected the slightest of sighs from the tall, stoic youth.
Makeda chose to ignore Tuven’s near emotional lapse and forged on ahead. “Have you ever observed a matter/anti-matter reaction, Uncle? I am correct about the not mixing part, right?”
Spock, in the middle of finding the youngsters argument humorous, nearly missed the question.
“Ah–yes, indeed, Makeda; and I agree with you: matter and anti-matter should never me mixed.” Makeda flashed Tuven a triumphant little smile which the two Spocks always said was a perfect imitation of her mother’s; a smile which disappeared completely when the Ambassador then added, “And you are correct in your assumption, as well, Tuven; it is a fascinating reaction to behold.”
Before the children could sit down, Nyota gripped the top of her daughter’s head. “Did you two wash your hands?”
“I did, *Mama Nyota,” replied Tuven in the affirmative.
“And you, Makeda?”
She sighed. “I’m going, I’m going.”
As she disappeared down the hall, the elder addressed his step-daughter’s betrothed.
“I take it, then, that the search for a new science fair project is proving difficult.”
“Indeed. I have tried to impress upon Makeda the need to perform an experiment that is both logical and original.” He then lowered his voice. “However, between you and me the exploration of time shifts in relation to a comparison of lifecycles was always impractical at best.”
“I can hear your thoughts, Tuven,” came Makeda’s loud, indignant voice from somewhere down the corridor.
“There’s no need for yelling, young lady,” Nyota yelled down the hall.
Spock, the younger, having returned from the kitchen, was setting down a large glass pitcher of juice when Makeda ran back into the dining room and slid back into her chair, jiggling the table in the process and nearly upsetting the liquid.
“I was thinking, Uncle,” she asked, excitedly, “since you do not wish to be the actual subject of our science fair project, I was wondering if you had any good ideas for one? I mean, you have probably seen some really weird and freaky stuff over the years.”
Sitting down, Nyota covered her eyes with her hand and shook her head over her daughter’s use of language; coupled with the probing personal questions to her uncle, Makeda had obviously spent entirely too much time in the company of James T. Kirk of late.
“Yes, I have had several interesting adventures, but, I doubt if one of them would make a satisfactory science fair project for someone your age.”
“Will you tell us all about the most interesting mission?” Makeda asked, scooting her chair slightly closer to her uncle’s.
Spock sat back, steeped his fingers before him and was thoughtful for a moment.
“There was the time that I once piloted a shuttlecraft into a massive living amoeba just as the cell was about to divide.”
Tuven, on the opposite side of the table from the two, was hanging on every word. The mention of a giant amoeba had caught his particular attention and he blinked only once: this was the only allowable expression of excitement for so young a Vulcan.
“Ambassador, when you say massive, would you please clarify?”
“The entity measured 11,000 miles in length and it had a width of up to 3,000.”
Tuven’s eyes widened minutely. “And did you observe the chromosome bodies within the nucleus?”
“Fascinating!” He regarded Makeda and with his thoughts, wondered how they could procure a giant amoeba for themselves.
“No!” exclaimed Makeda, before telling Tuven with her own thoughts that they were not going to study amoebas, giant or otherwise. She turned back to her uncle. “What other sorts of things did you experience?”
“There was once a molten rock creature—well, come to think of it, there were actually two: one who I initiated a meld with and another who introduced me to Surak.”
Makeda’s eyes had brightened upon the mention of molten rock creatures, but she slumped back in her chair in disappointment at the mention of Surak. Her father and Tuven, however, both looked up and regarded the Ambassador with wide-eyed astonishment.
“Surak? You have actually met Surak?” asked Spock, the younger, setting aside his fork and giving his older self his full attention.
“What was he like,” asked Tuven, also forgetting his food for the moment and coming to the edge of his seat.
And Spock would have told them both all about Surak if not for the immediate barrage of questions.
“What methods and circumstances transpired to conjure Surak from his time?”
“Was a wormhole utilized to cut through the fabric of the space-time-continuum?”
“Perhaps Surak employed the break-away slingshot effect? No, that would not be possible for his era. This requires very careful consideration and computation.”
“Did you observe any ill effects on Surak’s person as a result of time travel?”
Nyota watched as the Ambassador attempted to answer each and every one of their questions, only to be cut off when the other thought up a better one. She could only shake her head in amusement. Clearly Tuven and her husband had forgotten their manners in their excitement, although, neither one of them would care to admit to having the emotion.
“Boys, boys! Why don’t we let Spock eat in peace before his food grows cold?”
Spock and Tuven reluctantly returned to their own plates, eying each other, both calculating who would be the first to garner the elder’s attention after the meal.
Nyota had other plans, however. “I was thinking, after everyone is finished eating, what do you say to walking down to the town green together? I hear that a traveling interstellar market has come to town.”
“The space market! It’s been ages,” cried Makeda, excitedly.
The Interstellar Market consisted of individuals from all over the galaxy, coming to the planet every year, setting up shop just for the day, and selling all manner of interesting objects; it was one of her favorite pastimes.
The three Vulcans turned to look at Nyota and Makeda as if they had both grown second heads.
“Oh, Makeda,” exclaimed Nyota, bobbing in her seat, “Remember, that was where we bought your antique Kal-toh game. I hope that the seller is there again this year. I would like to find one of those for your cousin back on Earth.”
“And mother, we also have to find that woman who sells the Bajoran jewelry! I want to get a pair of silver earrings just like yours!”
The three Vulcan’s sat listening to the two human’s effusions of delight. Shopping at a crowded marketplace was not one of Tuven’s nor Spock’s favorite things. They had both envisioned sequestering the other Spock in a corner somewhere to gain as much information from him about his time spent with Surak.
“The interstellar market,” added Tuven, with a look of pure Vulcan superiority on his young face, “is nothing more than questionable individuals selling questionable wares of questionable quality.”
“They are not!” cried Makeda, vigorously, coming to the defense of a favored activity.
“Yes, they are. The logic of such an event escapes me and I will not accompany you on this particular outing.”
“I believe I have given you a reason already for I expressed myself quite clearly.”
“I do not understand why you can’t do this one thing with me, Tuven.”
“And I do not understand why you assume that I never do the things that you wish to do. I estimate that I acquiesce to your desires 99.5 percent of the time. In this instance, I choose not to participate.”
She huffed heavily and toyed with the food on her plate. A long moment passed where all anyone could hear was the usual sounds accompanying eating, until Makeda’s temper reasserted itself.
“You know, Tuven, Mother and I spend all of our time surrounded by everything that is Vulcan! When other cultures come to this planet don’t you ever think that as humans we would like to go just to be with them to have some real fun for once? You’re coming with us and that’s that!”
The two Spocks looked at each other, the elder leaning in and whispering.
“Emotional, isn’t she?”
“She has always been that way.”
“Indeed. I wonder where she gets it from?” A small grin appeared on a wrinkled and weathered cheek, but he dared not look in Nyota’s direction.
“OK, guys,” replied Nyota rolling her eyes, hearing their commentary on the children’s fight and feeling that she was being bombarded from all fronts. “That’s enough for today. Makeda, if Tuven does not want to go, he doesn’t have to come.” She reached over wither left hand and patted the boy’s arm. “We will miss your company, Tuven, but it will be fine; it looks like it will just be the four of us, then.
Spock, the younger, felt compelled to speak, knowing instinctively that he would have to tread lightly.
“Why don’t you and Makeda go alone, Nyota; I am sure the Ambassador and I would also find the activities of the marketplace unappealing.”
Nyota scoffed, but could say nothing. She had just urged her own daughter to give Tuven a pass; how would it now look if she would not grant her own husband the same consideration. She merely communicated to her husband through their connection all of her displeasure.
“Very well, then,” she replied tightly. “If you truly think you are going to be bored to death by such frivolous human activities, then it is fine by me.” Spock looked as if he would say something else, but before he could, she turned to her daughter. “If you are finished eating, sweetie, run along and get your hat; I’ll meet you out front.”
After Makeda exited the room, Nyota left the table with her plate. Spock sat quietly for a moment or two, staring down at the tabletop, before arising, then bowing apologetically to Tuven and Spock, and hurrying off after her.
The elder did not mean to listen. His hearing, like his eyesight was excellent and he heard the couple’s entire heated debate. Words very similar to Tuven’s and Makeda’s were repeated several times before a exchange took place where Nyota told her Spock, very emphatically, that in his next alternate reality he might want to consider taking Leila Kalomi as his mate.
After that, their discussion grew much quieter which the elder attributed to the possibility of it being moved to the opposite end of the kitchen. He then switched his attention to Tuven. The youngster’s focus was only on his noodles; apparently, after seven years being bonded with Makeda, he had grown used to the illogic of communicating with human females long ago.
Before too long, Spock the younger, apparently the victor, emerged from the kitchen.
“If we are all finished, perhaps, the three of us could continue our discussion on Surak in my study. I will join you both in a moment; Nyota, before she left, requested that first I clean up and do all the dishes.”
The elder Spock suppressed his urge to smile; apparently Spock was not the actual victor after all. What was now needed, he surmised was something to provide a distraction.
“What do you say to letting Tuven and me give you a hand, Spock? And while we clear away, I will tell you both a very fascinating story about the time that I died.”
After an hour of telling the other two about his more interesting adventures, the elder Spock noticed that his younger self and Tuven’s attention was starting to waver.
“Everyone, including myself, had to don protective goggles when he beamed aboard.”
The younger version of himself busied himself by glancing over at a holopic of Nyota every few minutes, while Tuven kept rubbing at his left temple as if trying to extricate some troublesome memory or burrowing parasite.
“So, I stared directly into the eyes of the Medusan until I grew quite insane. It was a fascinating experience.” He got no reaction to his attempted jest, so he tried the direct approach. “Gentlemen, am I correct in assuming that since you no longer have any interest in my stories, we will now make our way to the marketplace without delay?”
Without another thought, Tuven, his equanimity thoroughly compromised by whatever thoughts Makeda was bombarding him with through their link, was the first on his feet, running directly for the door with the younger Spock hard upon his heals.
“Spock,” said Spock almost laughing as he grasped the younger by the shoulder before he could make his escape. “Are you not forgetting something?”
“Forgetting something; what am I forgetting?”
“You are forgetting your wallet; I hate to have to tell you this, but I am afraid that since an entire hour has passed, the purchasing of gifts is now required.”
He had long since lost sight of Tuven and Spock. Both had wondered off somewhere together either in search of their respective mates or in search of gifts, he did not know where. So he explored the stalls alone, taking in the colorful atmosphere and the fascinating display of cultural diversity all around him.
At contemplative times such as this he could not help but wonder what his life would have been like if he had chosen to start a family of his own. There had just never been the time. His life had been so devoted to Starfleet and to the Enterprise and to James Kirk that the women who randomly entered his life simply got in the way.
How strange and fleeting he thought of the women who he had let slip through his fingers. Yet the one woman, the one constant through all those times had remained a mere friend. She was never Nyota to him; she was simply Uhura: the bold, the strong, the charming, and the beautiful.
If only… if only…
“There you are,” exclaimed the vision from his ruminations. “Now,” she said, glancing all around, “we only have the children to find and then we can go home.”
She turned to look up at her husband, smiling that smile of hers that was known to him so well. It was obvious that in the interval the two had made their peace, for his younger self had that look of calm contentment about him now that he himself had never learned to master until he was far too old to care.
“I believe I see them,” said her husband, glancing over the tops of heads as he turned and began to make his way through the crowd.
And now alone, she looked up at him again. “Spock just gave me these,” she said smilingly, modeling a pair of new earrings, “Aren’t they just beautiful.”
“Lovely,” he said, reaching out to brush his fingers across the jade green hoops as familiar to him as air; the very same earrings he had seen her wear on the other Enterprise in another time, a thousand lifetimes ago. “Spock has very good taste,” he smiled, bitter-sweetly, not even attempting to fool himself that his words referred to the jewelry.
“What,” she asked softly, grasping his hand and thinking that she saw something very warm and very familiar reflected in his eyes.
“Just a foolish old Vulcan and his memories; pay me no mind.”
“It is impossible not to mind; you know that you can always tell me anything, right?”
Makeda’s little speech from earlier that morning immediately leapt to the front of his mind.
“Elinor,” he whispered through his smile.
He reached out slowly and drew a long finger across a blooming cheek. “Ask me again some other time.”
He watched as Nyota tilted her head to one side and opened her mouth to respond, but she was prevented by the happy shouts coming from somewhere behind her.
“Look, Mama, look! Look at what Tuven got me! Can I keep it, can I keep it? Papa says I can if you say that it’s alright.”
Spock, the elder, looked on fondly as the little family closed quarters and gathered around Makeda, the three of them looking down at whatever it was the girl had cradled in her arms.
“Ooo, isn’t it just adorable,” said Nyota reaching out then drawing back her hand. “It doesn’t bite, does it?”
“Mr. Cyrano Jones assured me that they are harmless. I would never give Makeda anything dangerous.”
That statement, while it earned Tuven a chaste kiss upon his lips, earned a blink of unfathomable astonishment from the Ambassador.
“Tuven, did you say Cyrano Jones?”
Spock blinked again. Could it be? Cyrano Jones? Here, on this planet?
“I want my Uncle Spock to see him,” cried Makeda happily. “Look, Uncle Spock! I would bet that you have never seen something so cute before in the whole course of your life.”
The group parted to admit him within their little cluster and Spock registered the second wave of shock in as many seconds. He had seen this creature before; he had seen many, many of them before.
“And Makeda,” added Tuven, “I thought we could study the creature for our science fair project. We could research its evolutionary development, study it for signs of intelligence, and we could also observe its eating habits. It is disappointing that I did not have another ten credits to procure another one; it would have been interesting to monitor the animal’s reproductive habits.”
Nyota laughed as she took the small furry animal from her daughter’s hands to nuzzle it underneath her chin before holding it out to her husband’s ear.
“Listen, Spock, it’s purring.”
“Can I keep him, Mother, please? Please?”
Nyota’s smile broadened. “Oh, I don’t see why not. Something so loveable will hardly be any trouble at all.”
For Spock, the thought of Makeda keeping it was simply out of the question. The family had no idea what they were in for, but he was at a complete loss as to how he was going to explain. And so far, he had been the only one of them never to have come in contact with Makeda’s ire. Yet, it was incumbent upon him to inform them all that this newly acquired pet would be tantamount to a plague on all their houses. So many times he had been thought of as a hero, and it was now time to experience what it was actually like to be considered the villian.
“Makeda,” he said, bracing himself for what was about to come, “about the Tribble…”
*I had Tuven call Nyota, Mama Nyota; it seems such an African thing that Nyota just might have him do. (This is a me thing and not a Candace thing).
*In my own story, Heart’s Guardian, I call the Vulcan Colony Rau-Tor. It means Haven or Shelter; apropos, I think.