Chapter Text
The gold sparkles of transport cleared, only to replaced by smoke and flame. A woman in protective gear ran up to Amanda and Birdie, shouting, “What are you doing down here? You need to get up to the ship with the other survivors!”
“Not without Michael Burnham,” Amanda said firmly with her last breath of ship air. She inhaled, and immediately her eyes began to water and she coughed, lungs full of the acrid chemical residue of burning plasteel and ceramacrete.
“Ma’am, there’s no one left alive. We’ve searched everywhere.”
Birdie grabbed the woman by the shoulders. “There is an eight year old girl alive down here and we’re going to find her. Now shut up and get us some breathing apparatus.”
The woman stared up at Birdie, who certainly knew how to be tall at people when she needed to be, then ran a few yards to a silvery tent to speak to a pair of officers also outfitted in heavy duty uniforms and wearing face masks. She returned with two masks in hand. “Put these on. I’m Lieutenant Gua. Who are you and why did you beam down here?”
Amanda pulled on her mask before speaking. Best to be direct. “Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan’s wife. My son has a telepathic link to a child who was on the planet’s surface at the time of the attack. She is not listed among the survivors, but he would know if she died.”
The woman shook her head, her facial expression hard to read behind her mask. “Sounds like some kind of superstition to me. Nothing to risk your life over. This is not a safe place to be.”
“It’s even less safe Michael, then,” Birdie responded, her voice muffled slightly by the faceplate of the mask. “You’re not getting rid of us, so I’d suggest you help, and then we can get back to the ship that much faster.”
Lieutenant Gua took Birdie’s arm. “Lead on, then,” she said, her voice sharp with impatience. Amanda picked her way through the remains of their home. And it really had been a home, even if it was only part time. She caught a glimpse of warped playground equipment through the billowing smoke. Her shoes were far less than ideal for picking through rubble. She debated taking them off after one stumble that left her ankle aching, but the ground was scorched and in some places hot enough to make the soles of her shoes shiny with incipient melt, and broken glass and plasteel littered the ground. It was hard to orient herself to the streets with the familiar landmarks distorted at best and missing at worst.
The town was small and compact to prevent undue damage to the planetary ecosystem and only had a few hundred inhabitants—she had to stop thinking about it for a moment, the flash of grief a physical heat in her chest, a burn from the inside. They wandered the wreckage for almost fifteen minutes, unable to find the Burnhams’ home.
“If there were life signs, we’d see them,” their guide insisted. “It’s time to go.”
“No. If she were dead, Sol would know.” She turned to the woman, trying to find the right words. “It’s not superstition or mysticism. My husband and son’s abilities are no less reliable than your eyes or ears, or this!” She grabbed the woman’s gloved hand and squeezed, hard.
“So then, let’s think this through. If she is here and alive, but she can’t be sensed, then her life signs must be blocked somehow,” Birdie said. “What did we have in the colony that would block sensors?”
“Does it matter what it was?” Amanda asked.
Their escort caught on. “Scan for regions of sensor opacity. Start in town, at ground level and report your findings as soon as you get them,” she said into her comlink.
They waited, surrounded by small fires, drifting smoke, and person sized lumps on the ground, covered with bright blue tarps that fluttered in a light breeze. Amanda turned to Birdie. “The shipping containers for the Vulcan bedding plants,” she said. “With the extra layer of rad shielding.”
Birdie nodded. “Jeff never could throw anything away. What did he make out of them?”
“That block of cabinets in the living room.”
“The game cabinet? I always thought that thing was an ugly piece of engineering, even for him.”
Their escort interrupted them. “Ship’s sensors detect and area of opacity 1.2 by 2.4 by 0.8 meters square 112 meters northeast of our position. If you will follow me.”
They picked their way as quickly as advisable, maybe a little more quickly until they came upon one of the more intact little houses. Most of the identifying features had been burned or blasted off, but once she approached the warped front door frame, the door missing, she could see on the ground a small clay plaque with a handprint pressed into it, broken in several pieces but still recognizable. She stepped inside, Birdie behind her.
A weighted blue tarp covered something—someone—just inside the door. She skirted around it to plant a foot in the broken glass that used to be a shell pink vase full of now-wilting flowers. The Burnhams’ belongings had been tossed about the room and left in piles. She could just see a flash of bright blue tarp through the doorway to the kitchen. She took another step, and their escort held up a hand to stop her. “You’re not dressed for all this glass,” she said.
Gua crossed the room, her heavy regulation boots crunching on the remnants of the Burnhams’ lives. The burnished silver cabinet dominated the back wall of the room, though it was partially obscured b a burgundy lace cover. Gua pulled the cabinet door open. It looked empty, but there was a segment of cabinet that had to be reached into, as Jeff, frustrated by the difficulty of cutting through the shielded material, had cut only one small door into the long, low cabinet. Gua reached back as far as she could, and pulled out a small, limp body.
Michael lolled against the officer, eyes half closed, lips tinged slightly blue. Her breath came in a faint rasp. Gua flipped her comlink. “Four to beam directly to sickbay. I have a survivor here in critical condition. Respiratory compromise.”
Amanda’s molecules dissolved.
They reappeared in Sickbay, which was crowded now with survivors from the colony. Doctor Simriti scooped Michael out of Gua’s arms and carried her away around a corner. She didn’t see the rest of her family anymore. A nurse took her and Birdie gently by the shoulders. “Right now we need to clear sickbay of all but critical patients and staff. I’m sorry,” she said, steering them toward the door.
It took the whole of Amanda’s self-control not to argue with the nurse. Where were her husband and children? She walked carefully through the hallway outside sickbay to ensure she didn’t step on anyone. Eli leaned against the wall, arms and legs crossed, face pointing at the floor. He looked up. “Did you find her?”
Birdie pulled him into a hug. “She’s with the doctors. Where’s Lala?”
“I left her with one of Sol’s new friends. She’s still fast asleep.” He pulled one arm away from Birdie to gather Amanda in, then walked with them both down the hall a little, away from the crowd. “Sarek is with the kids. Malkie and Spock are in serious condition, heavily sedated. Sol is critical. T’Yeht just arrived from the Geretaya to see if she can stabilize him and to…” he paused to take a breath and ended up collapsing back against the wall again, this time pressing his hands to his forehead and staring up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. “To try to help Malkie survive the loss if she can’t.”
“Sarek?” she asked.
“Helping the Healers. Not that he’s in any condition, but you know him. They’ve got four broken marriage bonds to deal with.”
Amanda nodded. She fell back against the wall next to Eli and slowly slid down it until her knees were crushed up against her chest. “Sarek tried to warn us,” she mumbled into her hands.
“We all did the best we could,” Birdie told them. “You two stay here. You need a break, and don’t tell me you don’t Amanda, you’ve been doing the heavy lifting all day with the kids and as Sarek would remind you, your human brain isn’t wired for it. I’ve still got a little left in me so I’m going to see if they need me to help with first aid.”
Eli acknowledged her with a tired wave. “I ought to get up and help, too.”
Amanda grabbed at his hand and pulled him down to crouch beside her. “Stay, would you? I don’t think I want to be alone right now.”
Eli nodded. “I suppose now is not the time to remind you that disaster is not in my job description?”
“You’re a librarian and an English teacher, not a—whatever we’re trying to be now?”
“Exactly.” He dropped his head onto her shoulder.
Amanda let him stay, grateful for the not-quite-embrace. “Birdie’s not going to be jealous seeing us cuddled up like this, is she?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Eli’s chuckle turned into a sniffle half way through. “She knows you’re not my type. Sarek?’
“He knows me better than that, Eli. Sol’s tough. He’ll be…” she almost said okay, but didn’t think she could quite justify that level of optimism. “He’ll make it. And so will Michael.”
“And what about Michael? Do you know anything about the Burnhams’ plan B?”
Amanda thumped the back of her head against the wall a couple of times, not hard, just enough to make a sound. “We’re their plan B, Sarek and me. It’s all right, we’ll make room. Sarek and I had intended to have more children before it became clear it was going to be hard to get Spock through his childhood alive. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret having him for a minute.”
“It seems like once you have kids, all you do is worry about them.”
“Yeah.” It was more an abortive sigh than a word.
A nurse was walking toward the two of them. “T’Yeht wishes to see you,” she told Amanda. “You are Michael’s legal guardian, correct?”
Amanda hauled herself to her feet. “Yes, and Sarek.”
“Sarek has been required to rest.”
Amanda pursed her lips. “Had to knock him out, didn’t you.”
“T’Yeht insisted he enter a healing trance as soon as it was clear Solomon and Michael were stable.”
Amanda’s breath left her body in a whoosh. Stable. Sol would live. She scrubbed tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands, reached back, and pulled Eli to his feet. “I’ll check on Malkie and get back to you. Go take care of Lala. And get some rest if you can.”
He threw his arms around her in a tight, very human hug. “Call me,” he said. “Make Birdie take a break and give her my love.”
“I’ll do number two. I can’t promise number one.” She turned back to the nurse. “Lead on.”
The hallway had been largely cleared of walking wounded, so they made their way quickly back into Sickbay, where a slight, dark skinned Vulcan woman inclined her head in a brief greeting and led them through Sickbay and, oddly, out a back door and toward a cabin door. “We placed the children in a separate suite, for their protection. Fortunately, the Sun Tzu carries additional biobed panels.”
She keyed into the door, where her entire family, including Michael, lay scattered across the three biobeds and the floor. Sarek was propped in a corner crosslegged, clearly having fallen asleep while attempting to meditate. Adding to the crowding of the room was the great bulk of I-Chaya, his head propped on the bed nearest the viewport, snuffling at Spock’s feet.
The nurse crossed to Michael first where she lay on her own biobed, tucked under a warming blanket. “Michael suffered hypoxia and lung damage due to her proximity to the fire and hypoglycemic damage due to the length of time your son maintained an expanded link with her during the battle.” T’Yeht paused. “She will recover, but it is not yet safe to attempt to determine the extent of any brain damage that might have occurred.”
“I understand.”
“She will remain in an induced coma until her intracranial pressure returns to normal, at least twenty-four hours.” T’Yeht moved to the next biobed, where Sol and Malkie had been placed together, Sol flat on his back and far too pale, Malkie on her side, one arm wrapped around his chest and one leg draped across his at the knees. “Solomon requires more advanced care than I am qualified to provide. I have sent word to Healer Sovar and the Lady T’Pau on Vulcan.” The fact that she had allowed (prescribed?) Malkie to lie wrapped around him was telling.
Spock, for his part, was curled up tightly on his biobed in his upset bean baby position, arms and legs tucked tight underneath his body, face in his hands. I-Chaya nuzzled miserably at his unresponsive toes. “I have lightened his sedation somewhat, in hopes that his bond with you might improve his condition. Arrange yourself to your comfort and I will assist.”
Amanda shook her head slightly. “I am…emotionally compromised. I would only make it worse.”
“The child is in pain from broken bonds and transference from everyone here. We are all emotionally compromised. He requires contact with a family member, and Sarek must remain in the healing trance for a minimum of four more hours.” She gestured to the biobed.
Amanda lay down on it, drawing Spock against her so that the top of his head was tucked under her chin. She felt, then, as if she had been holding herself taut against grief all this time so she could function and it all crashed down around her at once. Sobs ripped out of her throat. I’Chaya crept forward so both paws were on the bed along with his head. He worked his way up the bed, dark eyes flicking toward T’Yeht as though daring her to object, until his nose and paws rested at Spock’s bellybutton. Amanda reached out one hand to rest in the soft fur, shaking and ashamed at her loss of control in front of the Healer, but abruptly realized that it was not all her own grief, or even her own shame. “I will assist,” she heard T’Yeht say.
She nodded her assent, her eyes too bleary with tears to see. The Healer’s calming touch did nothing to quell her grief. The cause is sufficient, she heard, not sure whether or not the words were spoken, nor whether they were for her benefit or her little boy’s. She allowed herself to be guided into light meditation and felt Spock following with the aid of the Healer. Another presence, dark and old and wise, drifted with them. There was a brief sense that Spock’s state was being entrained to Amanda’s, that her experience might guide him to some sense of safety. Unable to do otherwise, she drifted between sleep and wakefulness for a time she could not count, until the Healer returned, pronounced them sufficiently stable, and pushed them both further into sleep.
*
It took four days for the Sun Tzu to return them to Vulcan. Spock had improved, though he and Michael were both quiet and listless, consenting to be fed and read to, but having little initiative. Amanda finished The Phantom Tollbooth and Alice in Wonderland and was starting on Through the Looking Glass, not sure whether the stories themselves or the cadence of her voice was keeping the kids together. Michael had not yet spoken and there were indications of mild neurological damage in the way she moved, too slow and too careful for her age. Spock had backslid on the potty training, so she had him back in diapers for the time being. He projected a dull shame when she changed him, but was not sufficiently motivated to make it to the bathroom consistently and she wasn’t sufficiently motivated to take him there every half hour.
Malkie stayed glued to Sol’s side, save the necessity of ensuring she arose from her stupor at least hourly during the day to replace fluids and keep her blood sugar up. She allowed the doctors and Healers to turn him, clean him, and change his feeding tube, but refused even to turn her back when the healer adjusted his catheter. He responded only to deep pain and telepathic contact, both of those dimly. T’Yeht limited the depth of her melds with him in order to avoid releasing the entity to do damage, preferring to leave such hazardous work to Sovar and T’Pau. Plans to return to Earth had been scuttled by Sol’s need for specialized care and Sarek’s recall to Vulcan to discuss the increasing Klingon threat with the High Council.
Vulcan, red as Mars if somewhat more hospitable, turned outside the window. Spock stood at the window, watching. “I want to go home,” he said.
“This is home,” she said, willing herself to believe it.