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A million thank yous to mhgood and AtanaM for betaing this so quickly, for looking out for renegade prepositions and lack of details, and loving my sentences. Also, thank you to Elizawriter, for being a lovely friend.

Sybok sighs, slightly disappointed that he is right—these talks are boring, already wholly less interesting than the interlude he had with the Vulcan girl in his room. Of course, she was no Lieutenant Uhura, but it was no matter. He would have Uhura soon enough.

Speaking of the delectable Lieutenant, she accompanied the Captain, not Spock, into the library, where Sybok had instructed the three to meet him, in order to talk. The library is a spacious room that is mostly ornamental, rather than academic. There are books, lots of books. Books on Vulcan philosophy, books by Orion courtesans. There are translations of Terran classics, the epic poetry standards of every civilization. Sybok has read all of these books, yet it would be incorrect to call him a scholar, or even remotely studious. These books are meant to impress, to intimidate intellectually; they are not for the sole pleasure of reading a book.

Sybok instructs them to seat themselves along the carved, wooden conference table. There are leather executive chairs that have the ability to recline, a faculty which Kirk took full advantage of. Sybok almost expected the human to start spinning in the chair at any moment. Jim Kirk was an adolescent, more than likely Sybok would enjoy his presence at a party, but only for a small duration of time.

Uhura sat to one side of the Captain, Spock to the other. Sybok raises his eyebrow, surprised his brother does not insist sitting next to her. His brother sits ramrod straight, his face even more expressionless than usual, staring straight ahead. Uhura steals glances at him, her heart racing as she does so. Sybok wonders if they had another argument. He tries to devise some way to touch her, to descern what had happened in the hour before the talks. There is, of course, the added benefit of enraging his brother.

“You said you are aware of the destruction of Vulcan,” Jim begins.

Sybok sighs, sizably annoyed by the distraction that Jim presents. He tries to stifle it, though he is only partially successful, disguising slightly as a cough.

“I am aware, yes.”

“Then you are also aware of the plans to form a new Vulcan, with assistance from the Federation.”

Sybok nods. “Do you plan on telling me anything new, Jim?” he asks, disguising his condescension with a teasing tone. “I'm hoping to have a party in honor of my guests.”

Kirk perks up at the mention of a party. “A party?”

Sybok wonders if the Captain parrots everything he hears. “Yes,” he says slowly, drawing out the word, as if he was talking to a child, “a party. I personally love to have fêtes, and I cannot think of a better reason for a celebration than to welcome members of Starfleet.”

“Sybok, I hardly think now is the time for festivities when our people are suffering,” Spock interjects in Vulcan.

“On the contrary, brother, I can think of no better time to celebrate,” Sybok responds in the same tongue.

“Are you, as the Terran expression goes, fiddling while Rome burns, Sybok?” Spock questions.

The anger in his voice in unmistakable, coming out as a growl given Vulcan's gutteral nature. It sends shivers down Uhura's spine. She is accustomed to Spock's gentle, cultured cadences and even his dry, brittle wit during their intellectual disagreements. This is different, this is emotion. Savage, pure, undiluted emotion, it scares her—but it is a good scare, a scare of rollar coasters and ghost stories. She wants to hear this toneagain and again. In her bedroom. Growling her name.

Sybok's eyes flick to Uhura. He takes in her dilated pupils, can almost feel the warmth of the blood rising beneath the surface of her cheeks. She smells different and he knows exactly what he would see in her mind and feel if he touched her.

She likes it when they talk in Vulcan. Fascinating. It's something he'll have to remember.

He grins at his brother. “Of course not. What I mean to suggest is that Vulcans cannot mourn forever; to do so would be...illogical,” his smile widens to a grin. “We should celebrate our heritage, should we not, Spock? Besides, as a son of an ambassador, you should know how essential social functions are.”

“What do you know of logic, brother? Your mind is compromised by emotions you cannot control, that you have no wish to control. Do not talk to me of logic!”

Kirk leans over to Uhura. “Is Spock going to get Vulcan thrown out of the Federation?” His tone is joking, a jest to lighten the tenseness in the room.

She is tempted to bat him away, she is too engaged in the verbal fencing match unfolding before her. Then she remembers her duties, her function as an interpreter. She paraphrases the conversation for Kirk, who gapes.

“Damn.”

Sybok looks over to them. “Spock, we are neglecting the Captain and the lovely Lieutenant, along with being woefully off-topic.”

Kirk has only seen the look in Spock eyes once before-while Spock nearly chocked him to death.

“Why don't we take a break?” Kirk suggests.

The brothers stare at each other—Spock's murderous gaze meeting Sybok's bemused one.

“No,” Sybok answers, not breaking his brother's gaze. “I have other affairs to attend to today. We will at least make headway in these 'talks'.”

Kirk nods slowly, turning to Uhura. “Is there any language that both you and Spock know but Sybok wouldn't?” he whispers in her ear.

Uhura nods, not trusting herself to speak when she is fully aware of Vulcan superior hearing.

“Get him out of here,” Kirk told her.

She stands up, walking over to Spock. Kirk didn't think it was possible, but Spock straightened his posture even more.

“Spock, Kirk is worried about you,” she says in Swahili.

“I am fine,” he murmurs in Arabic. “Please tell the Captain I will not present a problem during negotiations.”

“What is the matter? You've been acting strange all day. Something is bothering you. Come, Kirk can handle this, let's get out of here. Let me help you,” she whispers in French. She touches his shoulder, hoping to calm him, to take away his madness.

“Surak's teeth, woman, I am perfectly well! If I require your services, believe me, you'll be the first to know!” he yells in Swahili.

“If you two are done talking in a Rosetta stone, I would like to get back to these proceedings,” Sybok says in a bored tone.

“Of course,” Spock says, his voice suddenly calm.

Nyota sits back down, the anger radiating off of her. She feels like slapping him, an action she is seriously considering doing at a later time. Right now, she must sit.

But she can still be livid.

They haven't been intimate, not yet. Their relationship was still very, very new when the distress call from Vulcan came and since then Nyota had given him space to mourn and get used to being in a relationship. She didn't take sex lightly, a fact that had both appalled and intrigued Gaila, who equated sex with clubbing. Nyota wanted to be with Spock, she had fantasized enough about it, but she wanted it to be special, to mean something.

If I require your services...

The sexual implication of his words took away all the meaning she had bestowed on lovemaking between them-changing it from a powerful demonstration of their emotional bond to baseless fucking, making her feel like nothing more than a prostitute, a whore.

Well, well, well. Sybok's eyes glinted, he suppressed a grin. Spock had made Uhura angry. Sybok smiles, watching his brother's careful countenance and Uhura seethe. She is really rather emotional. He would even dare to say she is fiesty.

How interesting. It is irksome hearing them talk in what he surmised to be various Terran languages but now Uhura is mad at his brother. This could prove very fortunate.

For him, at any rate.

He notices Kirk's voice, speaking again of frivolous matters.

He drowns out Jim's words, refusing to pay any more attention to this charade of diplomatic negotiations. Perhaps he would have fireworks at his party. Fireworks were fun and he would need at least five cases of the finest sparkling wine made on the planet. That might prove a problem. The grape crop wasn't nearly as good as he wished it to be.

“The location of a second Vulcan has not been resolved, the council is still in search of a planet similar to Vulcan in atmosphere and climate.”

The mention of a second Vulcan snaps him out of his reverie. The Captain has managed to surprise him, coming up with frankly preposterous ideas.

“Jim, if you are suggesting that Vulcans would be able to find a home on this planet, I'm afraid you are sadly mistaken,” Sybok replies, the chill in his voice unmistakable.

Uhura gasps. Spock stares.

“You are aware of the...differences between my planet and Vulcan?”

“Sybok, I didn't mean-”

“This is a place for people who know how to feel, Jim. Not those willing to suppress their emotions to fit society's mores. I do not think Vulcans would like it here,” he looks pointedly at Spock.

“If you'll let me finish, Sybok, then you would know that was not what I was suggesting at all. I was, in fact, suggesting helping the High Council find a suitable planet, even help them financially,” Jim interrupts, his own voice starting to show some tension in tone.

Sybok sneers. “You have a lot to learn of Vulcan culture, Jim. While the High Council and I don't exactly see eye to eye, Captain. I'll will be more than willing to welcome any Vulcan that has realized there is more to life than the teachings of Surak. But I cannot, I will not, work in conjunction with the same High Council that cast out my mother and I from Vulcan.”

Nyota didn't think it was possible to contain so much hatred in a face. Sybok's eyes glint like obsidian, his mouth set in a firm line. From what little Spock has told her of his childhood, she knows how harsh and cruel Vulcan society can be. She almost, almost feels bad for Sybok.

Kirk leans back in his chair, tenting his fingers on his chest like a Vulcan trying to center himself. It is a subconscious gesture, an indication that on some level Kirk knows that things are starting to go terribly, terribly wrong. “What happened, Sybok?”

“Vulcans do not take kindly to bastards, Jim. Nor do they take kindly to those who think differently from them. Both my mother and I were expelled from Vulcan, we were considered dangerous to society.”

Kirk turns to Spock. “And this is a common practice on Vulcan?”

“The minority who are a threat to the majority are removed. It is logical, Captain. Terran judicial codes are founded on the same logic.”

Jim presses his lips together. “This has been...informative, Sybok. Thank you. I apologize for any duress we caused you.”

Sybok waves his hand. “Not at all, Jim. I do hope you'll stay for the celebration.”

Jim grins. “Of course.”

Sybok claps his hands together, his smile returning, the storm that was threatening within him had disappeared. “Good, then we're done here. The palace is yours to explore and enjoy—I am afraid I have business to attend to and will be unable to entertain you today.”

“Actually, I wanted to take a look around the colony,” Kirk says.

“ Well, I would show you around myself, as I said, I have other matters to attend to,” Sybok hedges.

Kirk shrugs. “That's okay.”

Sybok shakes his head. “I strongly advise you to stay inside the palace, where you can be under my protection—the colony can be dangerous at times.”

“I'll take my chances,” Kirk replies, undeterred.

“Do you wish for a tour guide?” he asks politely.

“Nah, I think I'm okay. I want to get an authentic feel for the city.”

Sybok shrugs. “As you wish.”

He bids them goodbye. He does sincerely hope that nothing will happen to Jim but it will all be c'thia-the way things are.

Description
A million thank yous to mhgood and AtanaM for betaing this so quickly, for looking out for renegade prepositions and lack of details, and loving my sentences. Also, thank you to Elizawriter, for being a lovely friend.

Sybok sighs, slightly disappointed that he is right—these talks are boring, already wholly less interesting than the interlude he had with the Vulcan girl in his room. Of course, she was no Lieutenant Uhura, but it was no matter. He would have Uhura soon enough.

Speaking of the delectable Lieutenant, she accompanied the Captain, not Spock, into the library, where Sybok had instructed the three to meet him, in order to talk. The library is a spacious room that is mostly ornamental, rather than academic. There are books, lots of books. Books on Vulcan philosophy, books by Orion courtesans. There are translations of Terran classics, the epic poetry standards of every civilization. Sybok has read all of these books, yet it would be incorrect to call him a scholar, or even remotely studious. These books are meant to impress, to intimidate intellectually; they are not for the sole pleasure of reading a book.

Sybok instructs them to seat themselves along the carved, wooden conference table. There are leather executive chairs that have the ability to recline, a faculty which Kirk took full advantage of. Sybok almost expected the human to start spinning in the chair at any moment. Jim Kirk was an adolescent, more than likely Sybok would enjoy his presence at a party, but only for a small duration of time.

Uhura sat to one side of the Captain, Spock to the other. Sybok raises his eyebrow, surprised his brother does not insist sitting next to her. His brother sits ramrod straight, his face even more expressionless than usual, staring straight ahead. Uhura steals glances at him, her heart racing as she does so. Sybok wonders if they had another argument. He tries to devise some way to touch her, to descern what had happened in the hour before the talks. There is, of course, the added benefit of enraging his brother.

“You said you are aware of the destruction of Vulcan,” Jim begins.

Sybok sighs, sizably annoyed by the distraction that Jim presents. He tries to stifle it, though he is only partially successful, disguising slightly as a cough.

“I am aware, yes.”

“Then you are also aware of the plans to form a new Vulcan, with assistance from the Federation.”

Sybok nods. “Do you plan on telling me anything new, Jim?” he asks, disguising his condescension with a teasing tone. “I'm hoping to have a party in honor of my guests.”

Kirk perks up at the mention of a party. “A party?”

Sybok wonders if the Captain parrots everything he hears. “Yes,” he says slowly, drawing out the word, as if he was talking to a child, “a party. I personally love to have fêtes, and I cannot think of a better reason for a celebration than to welcome members of Starfleet.”

“Sybok, I hardly think now is the time for festivities when our people are suffering,” Spock interjects in Vulcan.

“On the contrary, brother, I can think of no better time to celebrate,” Sybok responds in the same tongue.

“Are you, as the Terran expression goes, fiddling while Rome burns, Sybok?” Spock questions.

The anger in his voice in unmistakable, coming out as a growl given Vulcan's gutteral nature. It sends shivers down Uhura's spine. She is accustomed to Spock's gentle, cultured cadences and even his dry, brittle wit during their intellectual disagreements. This is different, this is emotion. Savage, pure, undiluted emotion, it scares her—but it is a good scare, a scare of rollar coasters and ghost stories. She wants to hear this toneagain and again. In her bedroom. Growling her name.

Sybok's eyes flick to Uhura. He takes in her dilated pupils, can almost feel the warmth of the blood rising beneath the surface of her cheeks. She smells different and he knows exactly what he would see in her mind and feel if he touched her.

She likes it when they talk in Vulcan. Fascinating. It's something he'll have to remember.

He grins at his brother. “Of course not. What I mean to suggest is that Vulcans cannot mourn forever; to do so would be...illogical,” his smile widens to a grin. “We should celebrate our heritage, should we not, Spock? Besides, as a son of an ambassador, you should know how essential social functions are.”

“What do you know of logic, brother? Your mind is compromised by emotions you cannot control, that you have no wish to control. Do not talk to me of logic!”

Kirk leans over to Uhura. “Is Spock going to get Vulcan thrown out of the Federation?” His tone is joking, a jest to lighten the tenseness in the room.

She is tempted to bat him away, she is too engaged in the verbal fencing match unfolding before her. Then she remembers her duties, her function as an interpreter. She paraphrases the conversation for Kirk, who gapes.

“Damn.”

Sybok looks over to them. “Spock, we are neglecting the Captain and the lovely Lieutenant, along with being woefully off-topic.”

Kirk has only seen the look in Spock eyes once before-while Spock nearly chocked him to death.

“Why don't we take a break?” Kirk suggests.

The brothers stare at each other—Spock's murderous gaze meeting Sybok's bemused one.

“No,” Sybok answers, not breaking his brother's gaze. “I have other affairs to attend to today. We will at least make headway in these 'talks'.”

Kirk nods slowly, turning to Uhura. “Is there any language that both you and Spock know but Sybok wouldn't?” he whispers in her ear.

Uhura nods, not trusting herself to speak when she is fully aware of Vulcan superior hearing.

“Get him out of here,” Kirk told her.

She stands up, walking over to Spock. Kirk didn't think it was possible, but Spock straightened his posture even more.

“Spock, Kirk is worried about you,” she says in Swahili.

“I am fine,” he murmurs in Arabic. “Please tell the Captain I will not present a problem during negotiations.”

“What is the matter? You've been acting strange all day. Something is bothering you. Come, Kirk can handle this, let's get out of here. Let me help you,” she whispers in French. She touches his shoulder, hoping to calm him, to take away his madness.

“Surak's teeth, woman, I am perfectly well! If I require your services, believe me, you'll be the first to know!” he yells in Swahili.

“If you two are done talking in a Rosetta stone, I would like to get back to these proceedings,” Sybok says in a bored tone.

“Of course,” Spock says, his voice suddenly calm.

Nyota sits back down, the anger radiating off of her. She feels like slapping him, an action she is seriously considering doing at a later time. Right now, she must sit.

But she can still be livid.

They haven't been intimate, not yet. Their relationship was still very, very new when the distress call from Vulcan came and since then Nyota had given him space to mourn and get used to being in a relationship. She didn't take sex lightly, a fact that had both appalled and intrigued Gaila, who equated sex with clubbing. Nyota wanted to be with Spock, she had fantasized enough about it, but she wanted it to be special, to mean something.

If I require your services...

The sexual implication of his words took away all the meaning she had bestowed on lovemaking between them-changing it from a powerful demonstration of their emotional bond to baseless fucking, making her feel like nothing more than a prostitute, a whore.

Well, well, well. Sybok's eyes glinted, he suppressed a grin. Spock had made Uhura angry. Sybok smiles, watching his brother's careful countenance and Uhura seethe. She is really rather emotional. He would even dare to say she is fiesty.

How interesting. It is irksome hearing them talk in what he surmised to be various Terran languages but now Uhura is mad at his brother. This could prove very fortunate.

For him, at any rate.

He notices Kirk's voice, speaking again of frivolous matters.

He drowns out Jim's words, refusing to pay any more attention to this charade of diplomatic negotiations. Perhaps he would have fireworks at his party. Fireworks were fun and he would need at least five cases of the finest sparkling wine made on the planet. That might prove a problem. The grape crop wasn't nearly as good as he wished it to be.

“The location of a second Vulcan has not been resolved, the council is still in search of a planet similar to Vulcan in atmosphere and climate.”

The mention of a second Vulcan snaps him out of his reverie. The Captain has managed to surprise him, coming up with frankly preposterous ideas.

“Jim, if you are suggesting that Vulcans would be able to find a home on this planet, I'm afraid you are sadly mistaken,” Sybok replies, the chill in his voice unmistakable.

Uhura gasps. Spock stares.

“You are aware of the...differences between my planet and Vulcan?”

“Sybok, I didn't mean-”

“This is a place for people who know how to feel, Jim. Not those willing to suppress their emotions to fit society's mores. I do not think Vulcans would like it here,” he looks pointedly at Spock.

“If you'll let me finish, Sybok, then you would know that was not what I was suggesting at all. I was, in fact, suggesting helping the High Council find a suitable planet, even help them financially,” Jim interrupts, his own voice starting to show some tension in tone.

Sybok sneers. “You have a lot to learn of Vulcan culture, Jim. While the High Council and I don't exactly see eye to eye, Captain. I'll will be more than willing to welcome any Vulcan that has realized there is more to life than the teachings of Surak. But I cannot, I will not, work in conjunction with the same High Council that cast out my mother and I from Vulcan.”

Nyota didn't think it was possible to contain so much hatred in a face. Sybok's eyes glint like obsidian, his mouth set in a firm line. From what little Spock has told her of his childhood, she knows how harsh and cruel Vulcan society can be. She almost, almost feels bad for Sybok.

Kirk leans back in his chair, tenting his fingers on his chest like a Vulcan trying to center himself. It is a subconscious gesture, an indication that on some level Kirk knows that things are starting to go terribly, terribly wrong. “What happened, Sybok?”

“Vulcans do not take kindly to bastards, Jim. Nor do they take kindly to those who think differently from them. Both my mother and I were expelled from Vulcan, we were considered dangerous to society.”

Kirk turns to Spock. “And this is a common practice on Vulcan?”

“The minority who are a threat to the majority are removed. It is logical, Captain. Terran judicial codes are founded on the same logic.”

Jim presses his lips together. “This has been...informative, Sybok. Thank you. I apologize for any duress we caused you.”

Sybok waves his hand. “Not at all, Jim. I do hope you'll stay for the celebration.”

Jim grins. “Of course.”

Sybok claps his hands together, his smile returning, the storm that was threatening within him had disappeared. “Good, then we're done here. The palace is yours to explore and enjoy—I am afraid I have business to attend to and will be unable to entertain you today.”

“Actually, I wanted to take a look around the colony,” Kirk says.

“ Well, I would show you around myself, as I said, I have other matters to attend to,” Sybok hedges.

Kirk shrugs. “That's okay.”

Sybok shakes his head. “I strongly advise you to stay inside the palace, where you can be under my protection—the colony can be dangerous at times.”

“I'll take my chances,” Kirk replies, undeterred.

“Do you wish for a tour guide?” he asks politely.

“Nah, I think I'm okay. I want to get an authentic feel for the city.”

Sybok shrugs. “As you wish.”

He bids them goodbye. He does sincerely hope that nothing will happen to Jim but it will all be c'thia-the way things are.