Chapter Text
Sarek sat down in his private workspace. His wife Amanda was busy that early evening, and so he now had an uninterrupted moment for his habit—a habit he concealed from her. For logical reasons, of course. It would only unnecessarily upset her, and besides, she usually received the contents of more serious messages anyway (albeit with a certain delay), so Sarek always had time to prepare something to lessen the blow.
This habit, which he had maintained for nearly 20 years—more precisely, 19.74 years—was inherently logical. For as one of Vulcan’s official representatives, both in his role as a diplomat and as a member of the distinguished S'chn T'gai clan, he naturally had to take an interest in the other citizens of Vulcan—especially those in danger, those off-planet or outside Vulcan organizations, particularly those serving in Starfleet. And so he logically arranged for all official reports from the starships and stations on which Vulcans served to be sent to him. Reading all these reports, of course, took a great deal of time—which, as an ambassador, he could ill afford—and therefore he logically selected two ships, now only one, whose reports he read personally, leaving the others to his deputies. Logical, isn’t it?
Sarek did not read the Fleet reports out of curiosity. He did not read them because he longed for understanding or for re-establishing a relationship with his son. That would not be logical. No—such behavior would be that of a human. And Sarek was not human. His wife, however, was.
Sometimes, when he walked through their home, he heard her speaking. Her voice was soft, gentle.
“Spock, I hope you are taking care of yourself. Is it safe there?”
Silence.
“Oh, I know you’ll tell me there’s no reason to worry… but you know I’ll ask anyway.”
Amanda was talking to Spock. And Spock replied. Not often, not at length, but he replied.
Sarek never paused to listen. He went on, always with an unwavering step, as if her words held no meaning. And yet they gnawed at his mind. But he never mentioned the reports from his son. He never asked for details. And Amanda, in turn, never inquired whether he wished to read or listen to Spock’s messages.
Perhaps because she already knew the answer.
It was not logical to ask about something so obvious. Sarek had not supported Spock’s decision to join Starfleet. Sarek did not speak with him. Sarek had never shown any interest in what his son was doing. It was not logical for him to care when Spock had essentially been phased out of his life.
But… he was interested.
And that very interest brought him back, time and again, to the Starfleet reports.
Was it logical?
The Fleet reports were formal, direct, devoid of emotion. And yet, within them, he could see fragments of his son—not in the written words, but in what lay behind them.
Sarek closed his eyes.
Amanda received letters. She received personal messages. She received the opportunity to hear the tone of Spock’s voice, the chance to feel his words—even if only indirectly.
He did not.
Not because he could not. Not because Spock lacked the means to write to him.
But because Spock knew that a reply would never come.
He did not want to hear Spock’s words. He wanted to know the facts. What missions he was undertaking. What threats he faced. What dangers surrounded him.
With his carefully aligned fingers, he placed them on the pad’s control interface and opened the document containing the report from the recent activity of the USS Enterprise.
**Stardate 3287.2**
**Subject: Incident on Deneva**
“The starship _USS Enterprise_ arrived at the planet Deneva after detecting an emergency signal. At the scene it was discovered that the colony’s population had been nearly wiped out by an aggressive parasitic organism.
**Classification: extremely dangerous biological pathogen.**
The parasitic organisms discovered on Deneva were classified as unintelligent, yet highly adaptable forms of life, which infiltrated the central nervous system of humanoid hosts. They were large, amorphous beings resembling flat, amoeboid structures that moved by their own muscular contraction and were capable of attaching themselves to a victim’s skin. Once attached, they immediately sent neural fibers deep into the host’s nervous system and took control of its motor and mental functions. (See detailed report by CMO L.H. McCoy.)”
For a moment, Sarek ceased reading. In his life he had encountered a myriad of life forms, yet he had not seen one like this—and a small part of him was astonished by something so utterly bizarre. However, his scientific curiosity was very quickly subdued as he continued with Captain Kirk’s report.
**“Commander Spock was infected by the parasitic organism during the survey.”**
An almost imperceptible shiver spread through Sarek like a cold wind sweeping across a barren desert. It was a slight impulse, almost non-existent—but it was there.
“Despite extreme pain, he resisted being overtaken.”
The ambassador set the pad aside and rose from the table, moving to the window and spending several minutes simply gazing at the twilight of the day. Logic urged him toward calm; the report was several hours old, and a significant amount of time had passed since the original stardate. Starfleet would have informed him if something had happened to Spock… Yet he could not resist, and he allowed himself to be slightly reassured that the familial bond with his son still existed. He retrieved the pad from the table.
“After extensive, unsuccessful attempts to eliminate the parasitic entity from the host organism, it was found that the creature reacts to intense light. The method of high-frequency illumination proved to be the only option for eradicating these parasites. Officer Spock volunteered as a test subject.”
Sarek straightened up slightly.
Voluntarily?
“A system emitting extremely high levels of visible light was activated in an isolated laboratory. The intensity of the photon radiation exceeded the level that, under normal circumstances, would have caused irreversible damage to the optic nerves. The experiment was successful—the parasite was completely destroyed. **However, as a result of this procedure, Officer Spock lost his sight.**”
Sarek slumped back in his chair, clenching his hand into a fist. He tried to keep his thoughts under control, his breath catching in his throat. He felt an unusual pressure on his chest.
Blind.
His son was blind.
Once again, he turned his eyes to the glowing screen and continued with the report, which included findings that the parasites killed only a portion of the light spectrum—that it was not necessary to expose his son to the risk of losing his sight. At that moment, Sarek stopped reading once more.
“Kaiidth,” he whispered after a while, as he tried to rein in his rising emotions.
“After 72 hours, it was found that Spock’s eyes possess intrinsic protective mechanisms. Vulcan physiology includes an internal eyelid, which absorbed part of the photon radiation. The gradual recovery allowed for the restoration of visual functions. After ten days, full regeneration was diagnosed.”
Sarek exhaled. The feeling of relief was logical. The outrage that his son’s doctor had discovered such a basic fact as the existence of an internal eyelid only after three days was also entirely logical. After reading the entire report, he immediately sent a message that would lead to a thorough inspection and review of the doctor who held his son’s life in his hands.
“CMO L.H. McCoy repeatedly points out the insufficient information regarding Vulcan physiology in Starfleet’s medical database.”
The ambassador paused and decided to verify this information; after a few minutes of searching, Captain Kirk’s report confirmed it—thus, the inspection would not be directed at that particular doctor, but at Starfleet’s Medical Department. Sarek knew very well that some information needed to be kept to oneself; other races would not understand it—or worse, they might misuse that knowledge. But something like an internal eyelid?
He refocused on the report, but found nothing significant left in it. The Enterprise crew had cleansed the planet of parasites and had called in the rescue teams needed for the colony to cope with the aftermath of the infection. Everything was standard procedure in cases of epidemics and natural disasters.
Sarek quietly closed the USS Enterprise report. His hand lingered on the control panel for several seconds as his mind processed the information he had just read. It was deeply disturbing how often Starfleet operated with insufficient knowledge of Vulcan physiology. The incident on Deneva had painfully confirmed this.
For a moment, he gazed into emptiness before beginning to write a message for his deputy. He ordered him to review all available Starfleet medical reports that might indicate gaps in the databases regarding Vulcan anatomy, physiology, and responses to treatment. He demanded a thorough analysis and summary that could be presented to the Vulcan Council.
In the conclusion of his message, he explicitly insisted that the Vulcan representatives in the Federation immediately draw the necessary consequences from this situation and implement appropriate measures. It was unacceptable for such a situation to recur. The lack of information was not only a scientific failure—it was a direct threat to the lives of his people.
Once he sent the message, he slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes for a brief moment. Emotions were irrational, and yet a faint echo of unease still resonated within him.
Spock was blind. For a full three days.
Sarek caught himself as his mind wandered to a most bizarre and illogical thought:
If Spock remained blind… would he come home?