Return to Part One
"Jilla, she who is my wife," Selar said. Jilla kept a passably emotionless expression on her face as she nodded to Selik and T'Pon, Selar's parents.
"Welcome, daughter," Selik replied. Jilla held out her palms to receive the Vulcan familial embrace, as Selar had showed her. There was less than a second's hesitation, but Jilla felt the flicker of Selik's shocked recoil at the touch of the still-healing slash across her palm. She noticed the glance he gave his son's hand and felt his stern, repulsed disapproval.
"Peace on your house, Father," she answered softly, looking to Selar for a reassuring nod.
"Our home is yours, Jilla," T'Pon said, polite but nothing more.
"I thank you for your hospitality," Jilla replied.
T'Pon turned to her son, and Jilla felt suddenly dismissed.
"Selar, your wife must wish rest after her long journey. It would be proper to show her your rooms."
"Agreed, Mother," Selar said, and held up two fingers. Jilla stared for a moment, then flushed as she recalled what the gesture meant. Selik's lack of regard deepened and her hand trembled as she joined her fingers to Selar's.
"You will return and speak with us, my son," Selik said. It was not a request. Jilla began to shudder with the wash of emotion, and Selar turned, sliding his hand fully into hers.
"I, too, am weary, Father," he returned. "My wife has much to learn of our customs. I would begin teaching her. Therefore, I do not expect to have time free for conversation for some hours. When I am rested and my wife comfortable I will be ready to discuss my work." His tone and calm anger made it clear that his work was all he would discuss. T'Pon lowered her gaze, and while Selik's relenting of his authority over his son was not gracious, he did relent. Selar did not smile, but Jilla sensed the satisfaction none the less.
"Attend," he murmured to her, and the introduction was over.
Selar watched Jilla struggling with the strings of his lyrette. In the six months they had been wed, she had acquired a marginal mastery of the instrument; she could produce sounds that were at least not unpleasant. She spent a great deal of time at it, for it was an excuse to avoid contact with his family. It was not out of rudeness or dislike, he knew. Jilla was extremely sensitive about causing any embarrassment, and her emotional control, while enough for him, was looked on as woefully inadequate in most situations. The distaste was unavoidable. While a Vulcan was not more than momentarily affected, Jilla carried the shame with her. She tried hard to act according to the traditions of Vulcan wives, and was disturbed and disheartened when she failed - which only made her more anxious concerning the next interaction - which did nothing to promote the calm she so desperately wanted. The seeming endlessness of the cycle was telling on her. She was thin and drawn, her movements, when not deliberately controlled, were nervous and erratic.
She plucked a discord that made him wince, and with trembling hands put the lyrette aside and burst into tears. She wrung her hands, rapid, self-condemning words in Indiian coming from her lips. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut to try and stop the flow. Selar crossed the room, taking a seat beside her.
"My wife," he said quietly, in Anglo-Terran, "This cannot go on."
Jilla choked back a sob, looking up at him, her eyes hollow and shamed. "Forgive me, husband, for this display," she began in broken Vulcan, and her voice cracked. She dropped her gaze, lowering her head.
He continued in Anglo. "You are neither healthy nor content with your life. This causes me much discomfort."
"You cannot even speak to me in your own language!" she cried hoarsely, switching to Anglo, then gasped and took a deep breath. Her voice was full of pain and fear. "I am coping as best I can, Selar."
"I have found your attempts more than satisfactory."
"Yet they are not enough!" Jilla stood, turning from him, trembling. "I cannot continue to disgrace you. If I do not fully accept and adapt to your needs and those of your people, I can never truly be your wife."
Selar stood, resting his hands gently on her shoulders. "Jilla, I did not marry a Vulcan," he said patiently. "I do not expect my Indiian wife to behave as one."
"They do!" she hissed, "they will not respect less and I will not, I cannot cause you disrespect!"
"They will not disrespect what they do not see," he said. He took a deep breath. "I fear I was wrong to bring you here. I am considering leaving Vulcan." He had not intended his words to shock her, but she whirled, her emotions plain.
"I have failed you!" she whispered, panicked and horror-stricken.
"No, Jilla, it is not a matter of..." He broke off as crystal tears slid silently down her face. The sight cut deeply into him. "My wife, I cannot bear your anguish. We must alter this situation. I can see no other logical solution than to reside elsewhere."
"It would solve nothing," Jilla replied, barely audible. "To be your wife I must be what your culture requires, whether here or anywhere else."
"Why? I do not require..."
"Selar..." Slate eyes filled with sorrow and helpless desperation stared up at him, pleading. "Help me."
"Jilla, this is unnecessary..."
"Please!"
"What is there that I could do?" Selar asked, filled with his own despair. "It is the chemical balance of your system, centuries of culture that govern who and what you are, what I am. I cannot change that even if I wished to -- " His voice stopped abruptly, his mind making a sudden connection.
"Selar?" Jilla questioned, quickly alert.
He brought his attention back to her. "My work," he said, and did not see the hurt spring into her eyes. "The experiments with the goonut, isolating certain genetic factors within one species. It is easily accomplished. Transferring genetic characteristics from one member of a species to another has proven equally feasible. Knowing the genetic make-up of two species, characteristics from one should be able to be transplanted to the other." He continued musing aloud, unaware that Jilla stared at him, hope replacing desolation in her eyes. "My research into Vulcan enzymic and hormonal cycles has led to the isolation of certain factors which seem responsible for the greater intellectual capabilities due to more rapid processing, as well as other electrochemical and biochemical processes. If such is the case, the introduction of these factors into another genetic coding should produce similar results."
"If that is possible," Jilla broke in, her voice conveying wonder at the implication, "you could alter me, make me Vulcan!"
Selar started, realizing all he had said. "It is only theory," he demurred quickly. "Much testing would have to be done before even considering such a thing."
"Use me!" Jilla cried. "I cannot live with this torment. I love you, you are my husband! Help me to be your wife!" Her vehemence stung him.
"Jilla, I already consider you more than..."
"I embarrass your family, your associates, I cause you pain!" her voice was bitter, her pain deeply compelling.
"I have no wish for you to be other than what you are."
"I disgrace your name!"
"My wife..." He again took hold of her shoulders.
"Selar, look at me!" she screamed. She was shaking, tears streaking her face. Lines of tension were drawn through her, humiliation and self-condemnation etched as fear and anguish and entreaty. Her efforts were draining her. There was little left of the eager child he had taken to womanhood.
"Had I known it would destroy you, I would have let you cry and go free," he said quietly. "I would not have known your joy, but neither would I have known your sorrow. I do not know which is worse."
"Then take my sorrow!" Jilla whispered fervently. "Help me! Selar, please!"
Still he hesitated. "I do not know if it is even possible..."
Jilla's eyes closed. She moaned in agony and despair, her hands covering her face as she sank to her knees. Emotions raged in Selar's mind; loss, betrayal, fear, hope, desperation, pain - and through it all, love. He closed his eyes. He put aside his doubts, the warnings of a scientific mind, all the lessons of the Terran Eugenics wars. He knelt beside Jilla, enfolding her sobbing figure in his arms. His lips brushed her temples, his voice no more than a quiet murmur in her delicate, shell-shaped ear.
"...but, my wife, I will try."
Jilla's screams were lessened with each injection. Selar doubted the pain was any less. It was her control that was increasing, growing progressively greater. Her curiosity, too, increased, and her retentive abilities, and with them, an incredible thirst for learning. She was like a young child, her mind absorbing knowledge at a fantastic-for-an-adult rate. She studied language tapes far into the nights and was soon flawlessly proficient in the intricacies of the Vulcan tongue. Hours were spent practicing the difficult fingering and chordal patterns of the lyrette. She memorized melody and harmony from most of the well-known Vulcan musical pieces. Her fascination with engineering reasserted itself with renewed vigor, much to the satisfaction of the Academy of Technical Skills. Her craving for animal flesh all but disappeared, and while her emotions were still strong, they were controlled, absolutely under her conscious command. Her manner became dignified and orderly, yet as properly deferential as could be wished of a Vulcan's wife.
Selar lay, unable to sleep. Jilla was curled at his side, her arm resting across his chest. During intimacy she was somehow able to retain all of her delight and ardor. It was the time she allowed herself to smile, or sigh, or laugh. His fingers gently traced her ear. The newly formed delicate point only enhanced her beauty. It was an unexpected result of the genetic manipulation. With it, visions of horrid mutations were no longer a threat, yet there was still one worry. He had discovered a side-effect, one he could not have considered, for the very concept was unthinkable. He had used male genetic material in the injections - his own - but had not, could not think to screen for it as he had for other solely male characteristics.
Pon farr.
He had told her, had tried to explain the thing to her though he himself had no idea how it would effect her. It was irreversible and inevitable he knew, but how or even if she would suffer its drives, he could not predict. And though he knew she understood the gravity of all he told her, her eyes still held only joy and contentment, the first he had seen of happiness in her in all the months since they had come to Vulcan.
He glanced down at her dreaming, peaceful face. She was happy. She was calm. He had done nothing to harm her. She rejoiced in her alteration, rejoiced in her marriage, rejoiced in him.
"The bond, the seal, the vow, forever," he whispered.
Still, it was several weeks before his nightmares stopped.
"Dr. Han, I am pleased to see you again. What brings you to Vulcan?"
Jade Han was smiling up at Selar. She was Human, a thin Asian woman of small size yet great stature. Her dark eyes were keenly intelligent, her manner cool and ordered. She wore the uniform of Starfleet, having accepted a commission in order to receive the grants to continue her psychological studies of Federation races.
"I'm completing a thesis on xenopsychology," she said. "I've just come from Epsilon Indi."
"You are, of course, welcome in my home, Doctor."
"I was hoping you'd say that."
There was something unsaid in her tone and Selar raised an eyebrow, but gathered his tapes and escorted her from the laboratory
"Jilla, she who is my wife."
Jilla nodded at the woman Selar had introduced as Dr. Han. "Peace and long life to you, Doctor. My home is yours."
"Live long and prosper, Lady," Jade replied, and Jilla felt an intense scrutiny from her. "May I call you Jilla?"
"By all means."
"Selar wasn't married when I last saw him."
Jilla controlled the slight flush at the edge of disapproval and blatant intrusion in Dr. Han's voice.
"We were wed on Indi, Doctor, over one standard year ago."
"You speak Vulcan quite fluently."
"My wife is a quick student," Selar put in, and Jilla let her eyes meet his for a moment of silent gratitude. Apparently it did not escape Dr. Han's notice.
"I'm sure she could've told me herself, Selar," she said pointedly.
"Doctor, I must ask you not to bring discord into my husband's home," Jilla said calmly. "It is his right to be master here. Surely, from your command of the language, you understand that much of our culture."
Dr. Han's mouth snapped shut and Jilla almost smiled at Selar's warm approval.
Selar was waiting for Jade's verbal assault. He had noticed her close scrutiny of Jilla all during dinner and had prepared himself for the questions and accusations Dr. Han was sure to fling at him. She did not disappoint him.
He was in the garden when she approached him with her usual frankness.
"Selar, what have you done to that child?"
"To what child do you refer?" Selar asked, determined not to give Jade any advantage.
"The seventeen year old Indiian who you so graciously introduced as your wife."
"Jilla is my wife, and so no child."
"She's a baby, Selar."
"She is a good and competent mate in all respects..."
"Yes, I agree. What did you do to her?"
"Dr. Han, this conversation..."
Jade stared up at him. "I won't be sidetracked and I noticed her pointed ears. Indiian ears aren't. Neither are Indiian fingers as dexterous as hers. And Vulcan is almost impossible for non-natives to pronounce correctly, certainly not after only one year of study."
Selar sighed. "The point, Doctor?"
"You're a biologist, you've been working with genetics, and the point is I don't like what I'm thinking!"
"There is no need for histrionics."
"Eugenics is a damned good cause for..."
"Dr. Han!" Selar broke in sternly. "I would hardly call one personal alteration 'eugenics.'"
The look on Jade's face was satisfied and Selar realized her knowledge of Vulcan psychology had enabled her to trap him into saying what he had determined not to.
"Then you admit it?" she said.
"I admit - " Selar began, then stopped. Further protestation was illogical and, of he truly believed he has done no wrong, unnecessary. "What I have done, Dr. Han, is to enable my wife to survive in my culture."
"Specifics, please, doctor?" Jade returned smoothly.
Selar considered for a moment, well aware that she would neither approve of nor understand the logic of his motivation. There was something, however, that she would. "She has additional genetic material," he said quietly. "It has allowed her to call upon more of her left brain characteristics. It caused the added flesh of her ears and the strength of her hands and the agility of her tongue and mouth. She was a frantic, lost child, Jade, and she ached to be what she had vowed to be, what I accepted when we wed." He held out his left hand. "By my own vow, how could I refuse?"
He watched Jade's eyes as they studied the olive scar across his palm. "Still, Selar," she said hesitantly, "genetic engineering..."
"I have no intention of making my work or my wife public spectacle," he replied quickly. "My family and my associates accept Jilla as proof of Surak's Way. Logic can overcome even Indiian emotion." His lips curled in a rare, somehow sardonic smile. "As in a way, it did. No one else need know and I have already made provision for the timing of her cycle..."
"Wait a minute!" Jade broke in. "What 'cycle'?"
Selar flushed slightly. "You are aware I was researching The Time. The genetic material introduced was from the Y chromosome of a normal male."
"Selar!" Jade was clearly horrified.
"She is bonded to me, Jade. No one will notice any - agitation - as it will come at the same time as my own."
"But how...?" Jade calmed herself. "A female in pon farr?" Selar winced. "How will she... what will she...?"
"I do not and cannot know, Doctor," Selar admitted. "I have only recently become used to the idea myself. I believe that if you banish emotion from your consideration, you will realize that what I have done is favorable in the light of your own theories concerning the eventual extinction of my species." Before Jade could respond, he went on. "You have said many times that, due to the over-suppression of our emotional and sexual drives, we are a dying race. You claim The Time is all that has prevented our demise and have further stated that even that instinct is no longer sufficient to sustain our population. Our women, you say, are technically frigid. You have also stated that there is that in our collective unconscious which has realized this danger and is driving a few of us to, quite unconsciously, seek off-world mates to revitalize our gene pool."
Jade nodded, frowning, and Selar continued.
"You will recall that here is where I begin to differ with you. You contend that a new, homogenous race must eventually emerge. I must insist that such is, in effect, identical to our extinction. This 'new race' would no longer be Vulcan. What I have done with Jilla enables Vulcan to revitalize without sacrificing our genetic and cultural uniqueness. Our offspring will be wed to Vulcans. Theirs, perhaps, will introduce more fresh genetic opportunity. In such a way will we remain true to Vulcan while again becoming vital." He searched her face. "Can you not see the logic of this, Dr. Han?"
"Is that what you intended when you married an Indiian child?" Jade's voice was soft, yet bitterly accusatory. Selar blinked in wounded surprise.
"Surely you know me better. Or do you think so little of me?" He again held out his left hand. "I am mnorindar, Jade. Vulcan has yet to witness a marriage. My wife is Indiian. You are free to ask her whether or not she feels love from me."
Jade lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Selar."
"It would be illogical to deny the good from an unfortunate situation, would it not?" Selar asked.
"Yes, of course. Just - " Jade sighed. "It's so dangerous."
"It is our secret. It will remain so."
"Yes," Jade reluctantly agreed. "I suppose it will."
Jade Han was a frequent visitor, as were Selar's associates. Jilla had no companions close enough to call friends, for she had little in common with other Vulcan wives, being, for the most part, thirty to forty years younger. The Vulcan girls of her own age were in school, and while she attended courses at the Academy for Technical Skills, she had little in common with them outside the classroom. With no child to care for, as was usual in the first years of Vulcan marriage, she had no communion with other newlyweds, and so no companionship developed there. But her days were not empty and she was happy. Her skill at the lyrette grew so that Selar did not hesitate to give her the ancient, difficult pieces of the time before Surak. She worked diligently at her engineering and electronics, sending prints and prototypes and schematics to her father and to private companies and, of course, to the Vulcan government. She tended the garden of the family home, finding serenity in its lush, quiet beauty. She practiced the techniques of control and meditation amid that serenity. She kept Selar's house, showing deference always to his parents when passing through their wing of the residence. She was an able, gracious hostess, and a proper shadow on important social occasions. And Selar's physical needs, while infrequent, were satisfied with proper, loving submission.
Jilla was happy, and she looked with joy toward the day of her husband's Time and her final joining with the man she loved above all else.