T’Syra’s responsibility was the monitoring and recording of every radio wave that emanated from Earth even at this distance, and her listening posture would vary little in the hours ahead.
The comet’s trail created a great deal of static, disrupting the frequencies T’Syra had been monitoring. Before Selik could inform her of the cause of the disturbance, T’Syra acknowledged with a gesture. Communication between these two required no words.
It had been Prefect Savar’s thought from the beginning that consort should accompany consort on long space voyages, not for human reasons of shared physical intimacy—such was impossible with any degree of privacy under conditions of scoutcraft travel, and the Vulcan required it with far less frequency than humans—but because two minds locked together since childhood could all the more readily intermesh with the minds of others within command structure. Hence Selik and T’Syra were paired, as were the somber helmsman T’Preth and the robust musician/ sociologist Stell, who, sight unseen from the living quarters, offered the contemplative strains of his ka’athyra for the diversion of his crewmates.
Ironic, T’Lera thought, that both the initiator of the consort principle and his offspring should themselves always journey alone. What had estranged Savar from her who was her mother was not her concern, and as for her own divorcement from Sotir, it was something she no longer permitted to enter her thoughts. And Sorahl was too young to concern himself with his duties toward his betrothed for some time.
Sorahl. His mild expression, his mother knew, masked a fiercely contained excitement as, his studies forgotten, he sought the first blue glimmer of Earth on the forward screen.
His hair wants cutting, T’Lera thought, seeing it curl over his collar. But were these a commander’s thoughts or a mother’s?
“Time, Helm?” T’Lera thought, not because she needed to know, but to distract herself from her distraction.
“Five minutes—mark, Commander,” T’Preth replied.
“Acknowledged.”
Running on impulse engines, their craft would not reach Earth for hours yet. Officially T’Lera should have been midway into her requisite five-hour sleep cycle, but she had never yet missed this crossing and would not do so now. She could have left the center chair at any time since they’d stopped down from warp speed just outside the system, could have given the conn to Stell who was rotation crew for this ten-day stint, or to any crewmember for that matter. All of their roles were interchangeable; any of the seven could run the duty stations in an emergency, and each had specialized gifts as well.
T’Syra was a registered healer and xenobiologist. Both Stell and Sorahl held engineering degrees and could literally dismantle and rebuild the entire vessel. T’Preth was linguist, artist, and artisan, though the Vulcan made no distinction between the latter categories. Selik was third-ranked navigator in the entire Offworld Service and a member of the High Council; should this be the vessel that made first contact with humans, he would act as spokesman. And T’Lera, their commander, who would give no order she herself would not obey, was to some degree all of these things.
This too had been part of Savar’s thinking from the first. It scoutcraft crews were to be the first other worlds saw of the Vulcan, they must also be the best.
“Crossover effected, Commander,” T’Preth announced softly.
“Acknowledged,” T’Lera said again, and, though as commander she need not say it, added: “My gratitude.”
There was no other acknowledgment. A human crew might have cheered. A Vulcan crew went on about its work.
At last T’Lera rose from her chair and entered the privacy-screened living quarters. Here in one of the sleeping niches—whether meditating or only asleep, only those who knew him well could be certain; the old one seldom closed his eyes for any reason
The comet’s trail created a great deal of static, disrupting the frequencies T’Syra had been monitoring. Before Selik could inform her of the cause of the disturbance, T’Syra acknowledged with a gesture. Communication between these two required no words.
It had been Prefect Savar’s thought from the beginning that consort should accompany consort on long space voyages, not for human reasons of shared physical intimacy—such was impossible with any degree of privacy under conditions of scoutcraft travel, and the Vulcan required it with far less frequency than humans—but because two minds locked together since childhood could all the more readily intermesh with the minds of others within command structure. Hence Selik and T’Syra were paired, as were the somber helmsman T’Preth and the robust musician/ sociologist Stell, who, sight unseen from the living quarters, offered the contemplative strains of his ka’athyra for the diversion of his crewmates.
Ironic, T’Lera thought, that both the initiator of the consort principle and his offspring should themselves always journey alone. What had estranged Savar from her who was her mother was not her concern, and as for her own divorcement from Sotir, it was something she no longer permitted to enter her thoughts. And Sorahl was too young to concern himself with his duties toward his betrothed for some time.
Sorahl. His mild expression, his mother knew, masked a fiercely contained excitement as, his studies forgotten, he sought the first blue glimmer of Earth on the forward screen.
His hair wants cutting, T’Lera thought, seeing it curl over his collar. But were these a commander’s thoughts or a mother’s?
“Time, Helm?” T’Lera thought, not because she needed to know, but to distract herself from her distraction.
“Five minutes—mark, Commander,” T’Preth replied.
“Acknowledged.”
Running on impulse engines, their craft would not reach Earth for hours yet. Officially T’Lera should have been midway into her requisite five-hour sleep cycle, but she had never yet missed this crossing and would not do so now. She could have left the center chair at any time since they’d stopped down from warp speed just outside the system, could have given the conn to Stell who was rotation crew for this ten-day stint, or to any crewmember for that matter. All of their roles were interchangeable; any of the seven could run the duty stations in an emergency, and each had specialized gifts as well.
T’Syra was a registered healer and xenobiologist. Both Stell and Sorahl held engineering degrees and could literally dismantle and rebuild the entire vessel. T’Preth was linguist, artist, and artisan, though the Vulcan made no distinction between the latter categories. Selik was third-ranked navigator in the entire Offworld Service and a member of the High Council; should this be the vessel that made first contact with humans, he would act as spokesman. And T’Lera, their commander, who would give no order she herself would not obey, was to some degree all of these things.
This too had been part of Savar’s thinking from the first. It scoutcraft crews were to be the first other worlds saw of the Vulcan, they must also be the best.
“Crossover effected, Commander,” T’Preth announced softly.
“Acknowledged,” T’Lera said again, and, though as commander she need not say it, added: “My gratitude.”
There was no other acknowledgment. A human crew might have cheered. A Vulcan crew went on about its work.
At last T’Lera rose from her chair and entered the privacy-screened living quarters. Here in one of the sleeping niches—whether meditating or only asleep, only those who knew him well could be certain; the old one seldom closed his eyes for any reason
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