Chapter Text
Stardate 2228.04
The Federation was calling it an interstellar policy conclave.
Five days.
Eleven member worlds and a couple who were weighing admission.
An orbital station in a neutral zone.
As she looked over the notes Sarek had written for her in the margins of an official agenda, Amanda wondered whether all diplomats prepared their spouses this thoroughly.
Andoria wanted permission to act independently if threatened, putting her at odds with Vulcan; Tellar Prime was requiring stronger guarantees against being scapegoated for security failures; Alpha Centauri sought assurances that piracy and sabotage would not be tolerated; Earth wanted all of it to hold together long enough for the idea of a United Federation of Planets to be worth the investment.
And so it went, down the page.
“We will be docking shortly,” Sarek said from the seat opposite hers. “Do you have any questions?”
“It seems pretty straightforward. Jurisdictional authority during multi-planet crises, standardizing trade corridor enforcement, further clarification of Starfleet’s authority in civilian zones.”
Sarek looked out the window as he said, “yes,” but his tone was heavy and she understood the subtext.
They were approaching a tinderbox.
One mis-step, one misunderstanding, and the Federation - barely sixty-seven years old - could splinter before the week was out.
Her husband rose from his seat as the landing hangar depressurized. “Are you prepared?” he asked, folding his hands beside his back.
She gave him a wan smile. “For the horse and pony show, or for being looked at the way your people tend to look at me?”
Sarek’s eyebrows lifted fractionally as the hatch opened. “Both.”
Beyond the Starfleet honor guard, a Vulcan delegation waited, and Amanda fought a shiver as she recognized S’Torak.
As the human wife of a Vulcan, she was part novelty, part anomaly to many. Something of an inconvenience to Sarek’s staff, but too important to ignore. S’Torak, however, was something of an outlier. A veteran of the diplomatic world, he was politically savvy and not easily dismissed. He operated at the limits of politeness, casting judgement her way with every glance and gesture. Just enough to rattle her without drawing ambassadorial ire.
He made her skin crawl.
“Amanda, attend.” Sarek’s voice was calm and immediately grounding. “Your presence here is neither improper nor subject to evaluation. Do not internalize provocation, it ill becomes you.”
She walked behind him as they exited the shuttle, and together they inclined their heads at the men waiting for him.
“The station meets acceptable standards,” S’Torak said before Sarek could ask, his gaze resting on Amanda a few heartbeats longer than felt necessary. “Your consort is .. present.”
Amanda drew a breath as unobtrusively as possible, and purged her voice of all emotion. “I trust the Ambassador’s quarters also meet acceptable standards.”
Sarek’s eyes flicked from the delegate to her and back again, and S’Torak bowed his head stiffly.
“They have been prepared in accordance with protocol.”
Separate rooms. The Vulcan obsession with privacy.
Sarek’s eyes softened slightly as they returned to her. A reassurance that he would not be separated from her at day’s end, and an acknowledgment of the composure she was maintaining.
Bolstered by his silent vote of confidence, she turned her attention back to the older Vulcan. “In that case I would like to be escorted to my room. I imagine you have much to discuss with my husband.”
Drawn into conversation the moment the words left her lips, Sarek stepped aside to allow a minor aide to fall into step beside her.
As the young Vulcan guided her through the space station, Amanda’s eyes took in the details with the focus of a diplomatic wife. Everything was bland. Muted color palette, evenly spaced doors, lights calibrated to illuminate without glare. No music, only the ambient sounds of the space station’s ventilation system underscored by footsteps echoing in the corridors.
They had gone to a lot of trouble to avoid offending cultural sensibilities.
Even the air smelled neutral.
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Several hours later, the opening reception was underway.
Voices overlapped in a dozen languages as Amanda fussed with her robe and looked around the atrium for friendly faces.
There were none.
A few summits back, a Tellarite consort had challenged the wife of a senior Centauran aide over a throwaway comment. The former had leaned in, energized by the exchange and completely impervious to the other woman’s discomfort, until the Centauran had left the conversation mid-sentence to avoid an incident. Several ambassadors had started to leave their wives at home after that.
Sarek had never given her the option. She suspected that knowing where she was at all times allowed him to set aside concern for her safety and attend fully to his duties, but would not embarrass him by asking.
He appeared at her elbow a moment later. “You are being observed more closely than usual. I am unsure why. You may withdraw from this public function if—”
“No. That would only confirm whatever assumptions they’re making.”
“Your assessment is .. logical.”
But she could tell he was displeased.
“I’ll be fine. Go, Sarek. Standing here with me when there are people waiting to talk to you will do neither of us any favors.”
As he walked away, she accepted a glass of something which smelled vaguely of citrus and scanned the room again.
This time the Denobulan contingent jumped out at her.
The planet had not yet joined the Federation, but she knew they were being courted with some reservation. Ambassador Delmar had brought all three of his wives - a choice she noted with interest as she studied the group dynamic. Even from a distance she could sense an easy rhythm among the females as they orbited around him, basking in his attention. She felt a pang of envy, and tried to distance herself from it by wondering if what looked like effortless harmony was actually a carefully maintained balance of influence and experience.
It was only when a small delegation from another planet approached that she had her answer.
The dynamic was subtle, but it was there.
The ambassador turned to the same wife first whenever a question arose, and after watching several exchanges of this nature, Amanda found herself observing that wife closely. Her dress was cut to reveal the cords of cartilage snaking down her spine; a blatant display of Denobulan anatomy that conveyed both elegance and confidence. The broad planes of her face, the high cheekbones, and her almond-shaped eyes exuded the effortless grace of someone comfortable in her own skin. She leaned in slightly as she listened, every smile and tilt of the head proof that she was listening intently. She was fully present and fully herself, and Amanda suddenly felt dowdy by comparison in her modest Vulcan robes.
Tears pricked at her eyes. She would never be able move so freely, speak so openly, or display even a fraction of that confidence without bringing shame to Sarek and, by extension, to Vulcan.
Ambassador Delmar’s gaze shifted just enough to catch her staring. He observed her for a long moment, and then grinned and whispered a few words in rapid Denobulan. The wife turned, started walking in her direction, and flashed the most luminous smile Amanda had ever seen on an alien.
She stopped a respectful distance away. “I am Faleth, spouse to Ambassador Delmar. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Amanda, even if I have just lost a wager because of you.”
Amanda blinked in surprise. “Because of me?”
“My husband claimed that Sarek of Vulcan had a wife equal in beauty to myself. I challenged him .. and lost. I am now required to perform The Spiral of Grace at his convenience.” She glanced at him over her shoulder and his mouth spread into a smile that was absolutely feral. Faleth turned back to Amanda, and her eyes sparkled as she leaned forward and imparted, “it will be no hardship, I assure you.”
Amanda felt heat rise to her cheeks. Whatever this performance involved, she was certain it was entirely unsuitable for discussion in mixed company, especially with Vulcan ears around.
A sudden awareness prickled across her skin, and she turned her head to find S’Torak watching her.
Beside him, Sarek was engaged in conversation with the Andorian delegation. His hands were steepled in front of him and he looked composed, but she could see the subtle signs of strain she had learned to recognize in their year of marriage.
Pressure was already building.