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Amanda is reading in bed when she hears a knock on her door. “Lady Amanda?” It’s one of her aides, T’Sala.
“Come in,” she calls. She sets aside her PADD as the door opens.
“Lady Amanda, how are you?”
“I’m fine. Just getting ready for bed,” Amanda says.
“You are certain you are well?” her aide asks.
“Yes, I’m fine.” Amanda frowns slightly. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, ma’am,” T’Sala says. “There has been a bombing on Vulcan.”
Amanda shakes her head. “That’s terrible. Do you know what happened?”
“It appears to have been an attack orchestrated by logic extremists.” T’Sala pauses. “The bombing targeted your children’s learning center.”
Her blood runs cold. “Are they okay?”
“Spock and Sybok were unharmed. Michael sustained minor injuries and is being treated at ShiKahr Medical Center.”
“I want to see her,” Amanda says. “I want to see all of them.” She climbs out of bed and wraps a robe around herself. “T’Sala, tell the captain to set a course back to Vulcan at maximum safe velocity. And call Sarek; I need to talk to him.”
T’Sala doesn’t move. “Ma’am, the ambassador cannot take your call.”
Amanda freezes as it occurs to her that there might be a reason she hasn’t heard from him already. “Why?”
She hesitates. “Perhaps you should sit, Lady Amanda.”
With shaky legs, Amanda sits on the edge of her bed. “Tell me what happened to my husband,” she demands. “Was he at the learning center? What happened?”
“Your daughter was fatally injured in the attack,” T’Sala says.
Amanda’s heart skips a beat. “But you said-”
“She is well now. The ambassador performed a fal-tor-pol to revive her.”
“Fal-tor-pol?” Amanda echoes. She doesn’t recognize the term, but the morphemes are familiar. “I don’t know what that means. Is that a type of meld?”
“It is an extreme form of a mind meld, capable of healing serious injuries and even reviving the dead,” T’Sala answers. “You have not heard of it because its practice is almost unheard of due to the risks to the practitioner. Only an unusually strong telepath is capable of attempting fal-tor-pol.”
“What are the risks?” Amanda asks as dread grows inside her.
“In most cases, fal-tor-pol is a trade. One life for the other.” Amanda’s stomach turns. “Ambassador Sarek is alive, but his healers say that he is in critical condition.”
She takes a shaky breath and pulls her robe closer around her. “Do you know anything else?”
“His healers are attempting to induce a healing trance to prevent his heart from stopping again. If they are successful, he may live,” T’Sala informs her. “I have requested that the healers send updates to our ship until it reaches Vulcan in eight hours and twenty-four minutes.”
“Thank you,” Amanda says quietly. She hesitates, then looks up at her aide. “Do you think he knew? That he could die?”
“It would have been illogical for the ambassador to have expected otherwise,” T’Sala replies. “Death is the most likely outcome of fal-tor-pol.” Seeing Amanda’s expression, she softens slightly. “Ambassador Sarek has a strong mind. His survival indicates that he may follow a different path.”
Amanda nods and drops her head into her hands. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “I’d like to be alone for a while.”
“Of course.” T’Sala nods. “My lady.” She quietly disappears.
Alone in her quarters, Amanda reaches for the picture on her bedside table. “Oh, Sarek,” she whispers to herself. “Please don’t go where I can’t follow.”