The wind was warm and strong from the desert, a harbinger of summer that did nothing to alleviate Spock's trepidation. For the first time in the eighteen years of his life, the Matriarch of the family had summoned him to a private audience. Even though the law had recognized him as an adult some time ago, T'Pau was a different matter entirely. It was known within the family that she refused to acknowledge his uncle Sevek as an adult until his 130th birthday, when he finally abandoned his obsession with Andorian poetry.

There were only two possible reasons for this meeting. The first, and least likely, was that she wished to congratulate him on his graduation from the secondary school. Although the actual ceremony was a week away, the results were known. He would graduate at the top of his class, with honors in Computer Sciences, Philosophy, and Quantum Physics. Not even Sarek had achieved a record so impressive, and it was conceivable that T'Pau, as Matriarch of the House of Surak, would extend private congratulations.

The second and more likely reason was that she had learned of the argument with his father two days ago; more precisely, that she had learned of the reason for the argument and intended to force it to a conclusion one way or the other. The fact that the only witness to the fight (which was a more accurate description of the confrontation) had been his mother and that she would no more have talked about it outside their home than she would ride a horse naked though ShiKahr singing human folk songs did not affect his conclusion. T'Pau had sources, and whenever she sensed a threat to the family, she acted swiftly and decisively.

Perhaps this was for the best after all. If a break must happen, then a surgically clean break might be easiest. Would he have missed Sybok any less if he had simply left, and not been expelled from the family?

His reflection looked back at him from the black glass door and although it was not logical, he checked his appearance. It would not do to appear disheveled in any way; T'Pau might interpret sloppiness as a lack of discipline, and if he were to be expelled at least he would be dignified about it. Satisfied that his clothes were clean and unwrinkled, he touched the annunciator beside the door. "Spock," he said.

The door opened at once and he stepped into the roofless foyer and waited. He had always admired this area. As a small child, he had waited here often while one or the other of his parents met with T'Pau. He remembered pressing his cheek against the smooth tiles and marveling that anything so exposed to the sun could be so cool. As he grew, he realized that the house reflected the occupant perfectly. Everything about T'Pau was cool and impenetrable.

"Thee are punctual."

He turned, and saw that she stood in the entrance to the veranda, a tiny figure in midnight blue perfectly centered in the doorway. It had been over a year since he had seen her last, and he was surprised at how much she had changed. Once she had seemed to him to be a giant but now he was at least six centimeters taller, and it would have been more if not for the fact that her hair was piled high on her head in twisting braids. It was not simply that he had grown; her bones were shrinking with age and she was losing height. For just a moment, he felt it gave him an advantage, but then he saw that she wore the Amulet of Surak, which meant that this was a formal Family meeting and not a casual conversation. The momentary sense of power faded. He was the supplicant here.

"The summons was most explicit," he said, unconsciously stiffening his posture.

"We shall speak on the veranda." Without waiting for him, she walked outside.

Like the foyer, the veranda was open to the elements. Desert ivy climbed the walls, its morning flowers in full and fragrant bloom. The table and chairs, said to date back to the time of Surak, were the only furniture. Formed from a duranium alloy that was heavy enough to resist wind, heat and sand but woven in intricate patterns, they were as artistic as they were functional and valuable beyond mere price. A cut-crystal pitcher of water and two chilled glasses waited on a tray. He dutifully took his place at the table.

"Thee has brought honor to the Family, Spock," she said. "It is a notable achievement to graduate at the top of the class."

He gave a formal nod of appreciation, wondering if this was indeed the only reason she had called for him. Was there such a thing as luck?

"What are thy plans now?"

Her tone was unremarkable, but he knew instantly that any thoughts of luck were nonsensical. She had learned of the argument with his father. His heart began to beat faster. "My father wishes me to attend the Vulcan Science Academy."

Ancient eyes fixed on him. "I did not ask what Sarek wishes. I asked what thee plans."

He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. "My plans are not definite." True enough, but not enough.

T'Pau studied him silently for several seconds. "I would like a glass of water, Spock."

He needed no further request. T'Pau's hands were gnarled and frail with age, and lifting the pitcher would have caused her pain. He poured a glass for each of them, but waited until she sipped first. The interlude allowed him to regain control of himself.

"So, thy plans are not definite." She spoke quietly, and without confrontation. "Is this because thee cannot decide, or because Sarek objects to thy intention?"

Calm again, he said, "Because my father objects. Doubtless you have heard of our disagreement. I have been accepted to Starfleet Academy next term. My father is opposed to this. He has threatened to expel me from the family if I go."

"Yes, I have heard." She looked out to the desert, where the afternoon heat was beginning to rise in visible waves from the red-gold sands. "Tell me, nephew, why do thee wish to leave Vulcan? Is Earth more to thy liking?"

"It is not that I wish to leave Vulcan. This is my home. But there is much of the galaxy that I cannot experience if I remain here."

"True. But thee can join the Vulcan Scientific Fleet. Thee can explore the galaxy on one of our own ships." Her head tilted slightly, and suddenly she reminded him of a bird, a small hawk, that once perched outside his bedroom and looked in with bright curiosity.

Everything she said was accurate. Vulcan still maintained its own fleet, having steadfastly held back from Starfleet. Under the Charter, they were obligated to support Starfleet and did so by providing only Academy instructors, engineers who were based at the shipyards, and medical personnel serving at Headquarters and a very few starbases. No Vulcan had ever attended the Academy, and no Vulcan had ever served on a Starfleet ship. The official reason was that Vulcan feared that Starfleet, despite its avowed mission of exploration, was too militaristic and aggressive for Vulcan philosophy. T'Pau had long been one of the principal proponents of that position. The unofficial reason was that Vulcan as a whole feared contamination from the comparatively undisciplined, emotional Human race. To the best of Spock's knowledge, T'Pau had never opposed that position in public or in private.

Why had he ever thought he could do this without opposition from the family?

Steeling himself for the worst, he answered her. "I wish to learn of other cultures and other ways. The best way to do that is to live and work among them."

Her expression did not change, and yet she managed to convey displeasure. "Are thee seeking to embrace another culture? Will thee abandon the Path of Reason?"

She was thinking of Sybok, he realized. "No," he said quickly. "Never. But the universe contains more than Vulcan. How can we understand what lies beyond if we do not study it? How can we respond to challenges we do not understand? And how can we, who helped create the Federation, now stand back and say we will have nothing to do with its most important function? Is Vulcan purity so fragile that it cannot withstand exposure to other ideas?"

Her eyebrows shot upwards, and he stopped abruptly. He had allowed his voice to rise, he realized, a lapse in discipline. "My apologies," he murmured, thinking that the apology was probably too little, too late. After this, she would most likely expel him from the family, too.

"Thee has spoken well."

His mouth started to drop in sheer surprise, and to cover it he lifted the glass of water and sipped.

She waited until he set the glass down again. "I have watched thy progress, Spock. Thee have proven thy mastery over emotion and thy dedication to logic. It has not been easy for thee, but the hardships thee endured have strengthened thee."

He didn't know what to say.

With some difficulty, she rose. "You have my blessing to attend Starfleet Academy."

She had said 'you,' he realized, not 'thee.' By dropping the condescending second person she addressed him as an equal, something almost unheard of for any Matriarch, let alone T'Pau. The only thing he could think to say was, "My father will not be pleased."

"Pleased or not, Sarek will not defy me."

That was true. With T'Pau's blessing for Spock's plan, Sarek was effectively overruled. Angry though he may be, he could not threaten to expel his younger son from the Family for disobedience. She had given Spock a gift, a reprieve from his greatest fear. "Thank you," he said, rising in relief and confusion, "but why?"

"It is enough that thee have my blessing. My reasons are not important." Her eyes fixed on something far in the desert. "Thee will find that Earth is always too cold or too damp or too noisy. Like their home, the Humans are always too much of something, even at their best: too eager or too brave or too sincere or too curious. They will make thee uncomfortable without realizing it. They will make assumptions about thee and be angry with thee when they discover they are incorrect."

Then her voice softened almost imperceptibly. "But if thee can tolerate all of this, thee will find much to admire in them. Thee may even find a true friend or two."

He had never heard that tone of voice from her, a tone that hinted at affection and fond memories. For the first time, he wondered about her life before she was the Matriarch of the House of Surak, before the duties and responsibilities that accompanied that position bound her so rigidly. It occurred to him that she could have prevented his parents' marriage, and wondered now why she hadn't in light of her apparent repudiation of the Federation. Was it possible that she had once found friends among the Humans.

"Did you?" he asked, curiosity overcoming respect.

She turned back slowly, and her eyes seemed to sparkle with some secret she was keeping to herself. "Thee are impertinent, Spock," she said, but there was no bite in the rebuke. "Find thy own answers. That is thy reason for going, is it not?"

He bowed in acceptance. "As you say, Matriarch."

Her eyes narrowed, and her hand raised so that she was almost - almost - pointing at him. "Remember who thee are, Spock. Thou art Vulcan, no matter what thy bloodlines. Thee must learn whether we can work closely with the Humans or not. The time is coming, I think, when we must either embrace them entirely or reject them altogether. Thy experience will be a factor for our consideration."

Despite the warm breeze, he suddenly felt a chill. "Am I an experiment, then? Is my mother?"

"All of life is an experiment, Spock." She looked directly at him, gauging his reaction to her words. "We need someone to break free of the past. I think you are that one. The Humans are the dominant force of this quadrant. They cannot help it, any more than the wind can stop blowing. You must go, and you must do your best to remain Vulcan. Your success or failure will help us determine what we must do to survive."

He pulled his shoulders back, standing as stiffly as he could, feeling that he had just been bestowed an honor. "I will not fail you."

"I know that." She raised her right hand in the traditional salute. "Live long and prosper, Spock."

"Live long, T'Pau." Knowing that he had been dismissed he turned to leave.

"Spock." He turned back to find her looking at him intently. "Tell me, at night, when all the world is asleep, do you hear the stars singing to you?"

It was an illogical question. The stars could not sing, and anyone who claimed otherwise was either mad or mendacious or both. But she held his gaze and he knew that nothing less than the truth would do. "Yes."

She nodded once, slowly, and he saw understanding in her eyes, and perhaps sorrow, or remembrance. "Go, then. The song of the stars must be answered."