Chapter One: Don't Look Now

Disclaimer: The Vulcan teens are the only ones I own....and no one really owns a teenager, do they?

"Don't look now," Nyota Uhura says, "but we are being watched."

Without missing a beat, Spock dips his spoon into his soup and says, "We have been under observation for the past 16.45 minutes."

He looks up at her and says, "If you were unaware, perhaps you should consider brushing up on your surveillance protocols."

Nyota's eyes crinkle slightly—she knows when she is being kidded—but she betrays no other emotion. She reaches for the small roll on her plate and breaks off a piece.

They are sitting across from each other at a table in the mess hall during a late afternoon lunch break. Only a few other crewmembers are present, and none of them are paying much attention to her and Spock.

Indeed, in the two months since the Enterprise began her official shakedown cruise, the crew have noticed and then pointedly ignored the fact that she and Spock are often together on their off hours. She hasn't heard much ship scuttlebutt about their relationship—not that they do anything publicly to attract attention aside from sharing a meal or an occasional visit to the recreation lounge.

That they come and go from each other's quarters is no one's business—or at least no one has made it their business to comment within hearing distance.

Today the observations in the mess hall are not from the Enterprise crew but from several of its passengers, a small group of Vulcan teenagers and their teacher, recently picked up from the remote outpost where they have been living and doing individual experiments.

The Vulcan education requirements have always included a large project in the final year of school—tracking seismic activity, for example, or conducting botanical surveys and preparing scholarly papers for a formal presentation as part of the entrance interview for the Vulcan Science Academy.

This group of twelve teens and their instructor had been off planet during the Vulcan genocide; they had elected to remain on the outpost until their research projects were completed—but now, two months later, they are headed to the Vulcan colony where three will rejoin their families and the others will be forced to either share housing with friends or they will have to petition the provisional government for a place to live.

Nyota knows all this because she and Spock have talked of it often—she is particularly concerned about the orphans with no one waiting for them on the colony. Since they beamed aboard yesterday she has watched them quietly--"You would not see it if they were distressed," Spock has assured her—but apparently they have been watching her, too.

"That tall boy," she says, breaking off another piece of her roll, "wants to say something."

"He is free to do so," Spock says, finishing his soup and putting his spoon in his bowl. "The captain did not restrict their movement on the ship."

"The captain didn't," Nyota says, lowering her voice, "but I don't think their teacher likes the idea."

Of medium height and slight of build, the Vulcan teacher is of indeterminate age—she might be 50, or more likely, twice that old, considering how slowly Vulcans age. Like the students, she wears heavy, unrevealing clothing and keeps her long hair pulled up away from her face. Up close, Nyota can see that her hair is flecked with gray and her face is creased with fine lines.

Nyota and Spock had both been in the transporter room when the Vulcans had beamed aboard—Dr. McCoy asked them to be available just in case some of the students were more comfortable speaking Vulcan than Standard—and Nyota had gotten the distinct impression that the teacher resented their presence.

After their beam up the teacher—T'Nara--was the first one off the transporter pad, her students standing silent, apparently waiting for her signal to move. Spock had stepped up then, his hands behind his back, and he had greeted her quietly. From behind him Nyota had watched closely.

T'Nara did not speak but nodded at Spock briefly. As if on cue, the students on the pad stepped forward and moved to the side of the room so that Scotty could beam the others aboard.

No one spoke.

When the second group had materialized on the pad, T'Nara turned and walked past Spock and Nyota towards the exit. Nyota considered rushing forward to show them where to go—surely they could not know their way around the ship already—but as she made to move, she felt a warm spark cross her forearm as Spock touched her. She stopped in her tracks and let the students pass.

That had been yesterday. She and Spock had followed them to the sickbay where they had undergone physicals and mental health reviews. Although all of the students appeared to be fluent in Standard, Nyota stayed behind to be available if anyone did need her.

From her chair in the corner of sickbay, Nyota thought that the teenagers looked tired—and unusual for Vulcans, their clothes and the few effects they carried were shopworn and tattered. They moved deliberately but slowly, their voices barely above a whisper. Perhaps in a day or so they would appreciate a conversation in their own language—or a guided tour. She made a mental note to run the idea by Spock later.

When she looks at them now in the mess hall, she feels abashed that she had imagined they would welcome some shallow distraction. Even to her unpracticed eye, they are grieving—and suffering the same peculiar sensation that Spock has been unable to articulate to her but which she senses when they are together in private.

Not just sorrow, or shock, or grief, but a feeling of being disoriented—as if Vulcan the planet had anchored them somehow, and now its loss has left the survivors in freefall.

As they finish their lunch Nyota looks at Spock's face closely and sees that he is tracking something with his eyes—the Vulcan teacher passes by their table with a student on the way out of the mess hall, and Nyota feels more than sees some chill come over Spock. She tries to meet his gaze but he looks down at his empty bowl instead.

"Would a conversation be an intrusion?" a female voice says from behind Nyota's left shoulder and she turns to see one of the teenagers standing politely as if at attention. Her eyes are unusual for a Vulcan—light green and large—but in every other way she looks like the other girls in her group, slender and lithe. The tall boy Nyota has noted before is standing beside her, and she says, "Please. Have a seat."

"I am expected on the bridge," Spock says, standing up, and Nyota darts a glance at him. They are on the same shift today—their lunch break has another 20 minutes to run—but she says, "I'll be there shortly, Commander."

A human would have answered, "don't rush," or "don't worry."

Spock turns and leaves without a word—Nyota doesn't expect anything else, though from time to time she reminds him that human niceties serve a purpose—"people work better if you acknowledge them in some way" she has said more than once.

She looks up as the Vulcan boy and girl move around the table and sit side-by-side facing her. The tall boy is very dark—his skin a shade lighter than her own, his eyes and hair black. Although his gaze is direct, Nyota has trouble reading his expression. The green-eyed girl, on the other hand, is unusually expressive—and more talkative.

"I am T'Sela," she says, " and this is Saril."

Nyota smiles at T'Sela's almost maternal attitude toward Saril. If he minds her speaking for him, however, he doesn't show it.

"I'm Lieutenant Uhura."

"We know," T'Sela says, and for a moment Nyota is taken aback. But of course, the students have access to the computers, and ship personnel are listed.

"Well," Nyota says, "what can I help you with?"

"In your work as communications officer," T'Sela says, "do you have occasion to research the language acquisition of newly sentient creatures such as the Torvok people of Anglis Encephi?"

Both T'Sela and Saril are looking at her seriously, as though the answer to this question is of grave importance. Nyota, however, recognizes their earnestness for what it is—intense Vulcan curiosity—and she laughs.

"I've only been communications officer for two months—we are technically on a shakedown patrol—a test flight—and our primary task is to test the capabilities of the ship, not do actual research."

Neither teenager changes expression, but Nyota has the impression that they are disappointed.

"But we will, of course, soon. You are interested in studying language acquisition?"

Saril answers.

"That has been the area of my study until now, but I am more interested in speculative fiction and mythology, particularly of Terran origin."

"I didn't know," Nyota says, "that Vulcans were interested in fiction and mythology. I thought you preferred science, or math—"

T'Sela folds her hands in front of her on the table and says, "A common misperception."

Before Nyota can answer, Saril turns to T'Sela.

"It is not a misperception if it is generally true."

"But generally true is not the same as absolutely true."

"The Lieutanant did not appear to be speaking in absolutes but was offering an opinion--"

"Which I deemed uninformed," T'Sela says. "If you were speaking in generalities, my apologies," she says, looking at Nyota.

The back-and-forth between the two young people is so swift that Nyota is startled when T'Sela seems to be waiting for a response from her.

"Oh, uh, I meant no offense," Nyota says, and both Saril and T'Sela say in chorus, "None taken."

At that Nyota laughs, and the Vulcan teens watch her curiously.

"And what about you?" Nyota say, turning to the young girl. "What are you studying—or rather, what are you interested in?"

T'Sela answers promptly.

"My project was writing an algorithm that effectively predicts and tracks asteroids in the Beta Quadrant—the current program doesn't allow for expected drift. But my interest is in human psychology."

"What?"

"Perhaps that is not the correct terminology in Standard? The study of human motivations, emotions, actions, behaviors?"

Nyota takes a sip of her water before answering.

"How interesting!" she says. "I had no idea Vulcans were so curious about humans—"

"We are curious about most things," T'Sela says, "but limiting our area of focus is logical."

"And how did you come to find humans so….fascinating?"

"Human history is known to us," T'Sela says, "but you are the first human I have spoken with at length. Since I have been aboard the Enterprise, I have found observing human behavior a worthwhile pursuit."

"So this is a recent interest?" Nyota says, smiling.

"She thinks you are not sincere," Saril says to T'Sela, and Nyota is disturbed that she has been so transparent.

"No, no," she says, extinguishing her smile. "I'm…delighted that you find humans worthy of study. I find Vulcans equally….fascinating."

T'Sela and Saril do not change expressions, but their posture shifts in an almost imperceptible way that Nyota interprets as a tacit acceptance of her apology.

"Do you know many Vulcans?" T'Sela asks suddenly, and Nyota shakes her head.

"Only a few," she says, thinking of Sarek and the other elders who had been rescued by the Enterprise after the loss of Vulcan.

"You and Commander Spock are bond mates?"

T'Sela's voice is matter of fact, her face guileless, but Nyota is startled.

"Why do you ask?" she says before she can stop herself.

"You are physically intimate with each other," Saril says, and then, as if to offer evidence, he adds, "I saw you. In the transporter room."

For a second Nyota frowns but then she remembers Spock's touch on her arm when the students had first arrived. Such an innocuous thing for one human to do to another—but suggestive coming from a Vulcan, of course.

She takes a breath and says, "No, we are not bond mates. Not the way you mean."

T'Sela tips her head and Nyota smiles, it is so like Spock's mannerism. The Vulcan teenager is about to speak when the teacher re-enters the room. Instantly T'Sela and Saril rise and move toward the group of students who are putting their trays away and gathering near the door.

Just before the group leaves the room, T'Sela and Saril both turn back and look at her. An invitation—she's sure they are disappointed to have their conversation—such as it was—cut short. She will have to find time to chat with them again before the ship drops them off at the transport relay in several days.

And then, because she is still looking in their direction, she sees the Vulcan teacher turn to her and say in strongly-accented Standard, "Please do not approach these students again."

A/N: I was all set to write about Spock and Chris Pike's time together before the Enterprise launched--but then these Vulcan teens showed up and demanded some attention. Typical!