Part 1
Pass or Fail. These were the only two possible results. Three million Vulcans, and one human, would be seeing one of these words displayed on their data pads that morning. Two percent would see Pass. Ninety eight percent would see Fail. The exams for entry into the Captain's training program were necessarily rigorous. Vulcan standards were high.
Michael looked at her data pad that was waiting on the table. Eight minutes ago it had chimed, indicating that the Academy was sending her results. As soon as she had heard the chime, curiosity had started to rise within her, and she had found herself compelled to glance at the data pad twenty four times during those eight minutes. She knew that her Vulcan classmates would have succumbed to their curiosity long ago, and that now ninety eight percent of them would be attempting to suppress the unpleasant emotions that their failure in the exams had created. She was anticipating that she would be experiencing some more pleasing emotions when she saw her exam results, but she preferred to resist the urge to rush towards such a welcome experience. She knew that the results would not change with the passage of time, and impatience, it had often been taught to her, was a fault of the emotions that she should seek to overcome.
However… after the eight minutes had passed, she realized that it was illogical and inefficient to excessively delay necessary duties, and so she decided to reach over the table, pick up the device, and then walk with short, relaxed steps, across the room and towards the window. As she walked her eyes scanned the neat, straight lines formed by her possessions that were secured along the walls, and she noted to herself that she had never seen a Vulcan juvenile's room that was as efficiently and logically arranged as hers.
With her data pad held in both hands she now stood at her window and looked out, squinting and shielding her eyes from the morning sun that had partially risen above the horizon. The acute angle of the sun's rays created long dull shadows across the plains of Vulcan, and gave an orange glow to the buildings that rose in jagged lines along the skyline. She knew that the color of these buildings would change as the sun traveled its daily path across the sky. These changes always happened in a logical sequence. Soon after she had come to live on Vulcan as a child she had commenced her study of this daily sequence of colors, and now she could precisely predict them. If the weather varied, the changing colors would be different. She could accurately predict all of these variations also. She was more accurate with her predictions than even her stepfather Sarek was. And he was the most logical Vulcan on the Supreme Council.
She lifted her data pad up and activated it. Instantly the angular lettering of many Vulcan words started flickering across the screen, and she searched among them until finally she stopped on just one word. The word she was looking at commanded every part of her attention. The word read "Fail."
She held the device in front of her face for a long time, staring at it with disbelief, and then she lowered it and turned away from the window. She knew that Vulcans never made mistakes. Not in her experience among them. Now a Vulcan mistake was being displayed clearly on her data pad. She needed to quickly correct this error. With long steps she crossed her room, sat at her desk, and inserted the data pad into its holder.
She commenced her analysis of the situation. She surmised that even Vulcans must have a structured system of correcting these anomalies. Systems consisted of rules. She would learn what these rules were, follow them, and the mistake would then be quickly rectified. She leaned back into her chair and stretched out her arms across the table, turning her hands so that her palms were facing upwards in what she had always found to be their most relaxed position. Her hands were tired from the many hours of tapping on screens that her studies had required, and now she needed to rest them. She would research with voice commands, and so she began to talk.
"What is the procedure to change an incorrect examination result?" she asked the data pad.
Words started flashing on the screen of the data pad, competing for her attention as she eagerly searched for what she needed. When the words finally stopped flashing she had received no adequate answer to her query. She rephrased the question, and again there was no progress. She allowed herself a frustrated sigh. She would persist until she found the information she needed, and so she began to methodically consider how many varied ways she could ask the same question.
* * *
Her concentration was interrupted by a soft knock at her door. She looked away from the screen of the data pad and towards the door. With tired, heavy eyes, she noted that the door was tinted a late afternoon brown. This color indicated that the sun had moved steadily across the entire sky, from horizon to horizon, during the long period that she had been methodically researching. But she had achieved nothing. She had not found any Vulcan rules for changing exam results. She would do no more work that day, and so she reached out with one hand and shut down her data pad. Now she prepared her mind for the battle that was about to commence. A battle in which logic and method had little importance, because she knew who was at the door and why they were there.
"Enter," she called towards the door.
When the door slid open her stepmother was standing there in her colorful, flowing robes. Today it was yellow, green, blue and red, in geometric patterns. Her stepmother's usual clothing style was both offensive and embarrassing to her, but as always she would try to restrain her emotions, and respectfully converse with her stepmother with the controlled degree of logic expected of any Vulcan teenager.
Her stepmother entered the room, walked a few steps, and then obediently came to a stop two meters inside the doorway. Michael had long ago allocated her a set position in which to stand, as it minimized her tendency to wander aimlessly and disturb the order of things. She looked at her stepmother's face, and noted it displayed its usual indications of emotional uncertainty. The level of tenseness in the lips, in particular, was always the greatest indicator of her stepmother's emotional state. She had also trained her stepmother to get directly to the point in all conversations, as Vulcans would do, and so her stepmother spoke without hesitation.
"Have your exam results come yet?" her stepmother asked.
"Yes," Michael replied.
Her stepmother smiled and seemed pleased at something. "So you've been in your room all day celebrating with your friends?"
"No. I have not."
Her stepmother looked at her with increased emotion in her eyes, but hesitated with her reply. Michael knew that she was considering what would be the least illogical comment she could make.
"That's too bad," she finally said. "I suppose the pass percentage is so low, it's expected that many of your friends would have failed. It was a good thing that they had you to talk to about it all. Maybe you can help them to pass the next exam?"
"There is no next exam," Michael replied. "What would be the logic of encouraging the less capable to attempt tasks that are beyond their abilities?"
"Of course you are correct. Vulcan standards are high... as we all know so very well."
Michael noted the emotion in her stepmother's voice. A small tone of sarcasm, perhaps?
Her stepmother continued, "So what happens to those that failed?"
"They will enter into one of the lower level training programs that are most suited to their abilities."
"Well… that's good then. Everyone gets the position that they deserve. A perfect system for a perfect people," her stepmother stated. And then she laughed very slightly.
Michael listened to these words, and then decided that she would have to inform her stepmother of the true situation. And perhaps ask her advice. She tilted her head up to look more directly at her stepmother, and then said, "No, the system is not perfect. There are mistakes. I have found a mistake."
When Michael said this her stepmother smiled, and replied, "Vulcans don't make mistakes. So what special mistake have you discovered?"
Michael answered, "I have been given a result of fail for the exam."
She watched as her stepmother's face took on an expression of exaggerated sympathy.
"Oh darling..." her stepmother slowly whispered.
Michael felt annoyance growing within her. She did not need sympathy. She needed information. "As I just informed you... there has been a mistake. It is not possible that I have failed. My exam result is a mistake which requires rectification."
Her stepmother walked towards her, getting close enough to embrace her, but did not do so.
"It was such a difficult exam," her stepmother said consolingly. "I'm sure you almost passed. Sarek told me that there are 1,000 questions and if a candidate has only one wrong answer… they fail. Anyone can get one answer wrong with so many questions. Even the best of Vulcans fail. You probably had just one wrong answer."
"I know that I gave no incorrect answers," Michael said defiantly. "I know it as a fact. I knew every question easily. I never guessed. I knew it all."
"Many people are certain they know something... and then later find out they were wrong. Even Sarek has done that."
"Sarek has never done that," Michael corrected her.
Her stepmother backed away until she was once again standing in the allocated position.
"You're only thirteen," she said, with more firmness than was usual. "You're going to have many failures and make many mistakes in your life. Vulcan or human... everyone has to learn to control their feelings of disappointment and accept defeat."
She gazed at Michael with searching eyes, and then she smiled. "You know what the best thing is to change your mood? It's something that always works for me whenever I get stressed. It's my special miracle cure."
Michael gave her a skeptical look. "What would that be?"
"A lovely cup of tea," her stepmother announced. "I'll go make some for the both of us and we'll sit in here and drink it together. Alright darling?"
Michael's annoyance rose to its highest level of the day. This statement was typical of the type of emotional foolishness she had to tolerate during her frequent encounters with her stepmother. She usually tried to overlook these displays of illogical human behavior. But when her stepmother expected Michael to join with her in this madness... it became unacceptable. Her stepmother needed to be reminded often that Michael had been raised Vulcan, and so her behavior was more Vulcan than human.
"Why would a cup of tea possibly alter my emotions? Emotions are a function of a particular situation. Drinking tea does not change any situation. The situation is that my exam results are incorrect. Any emotions I may have in this matter will be corrected when the results are corrected."
Michael finished speaking and looked at her stepmother, who looked back at her, before turning and walking out through the doorway. Soon she returned, carrying two cups of tea.
She held out a cup to Michael. Reluctantly Michael took the cup and waited for her stepmother's next suggested activity.
"Let's talk about the situation over our tea," was what she suggested. "Maybe we can solve it if we work together. Alright?"
Michael considered this suggestion. Her stepmother knew many important people. It was logical that her assistance could be of value. "That would be acceptable," Michael replied.
Her stepmother walked over to the table and gently placed her tea on top of it, and quietly lowered herself into the chair. Michael followed her, and then they started to talk. After fifteen minutes of talking and one call to her school, the situation had progressed, and Michael was subsequently required to transport out of her room.
* * *
Volkots Plaza was busy. It was the final hour of the last day of the school year, and swirling crowds of her fellow students were gracefully scurrying across the smooth courtyard tiles with a restrained, Vulcan haste she had seen many times before. Some wore the neat blue or brown uniform typical of younger students, while others wore the flowing white robes reserved for those who had reached a high level of academic achievement. The clothing of the students varied, but Michael knew they all had one thing in common. They had not managed their studies in an efficient manner, and were now rushing to complete tasks that would most likely remain uncompleted.
As she walked across the plaza some of the students who she was familiar with acknowledged her passing with a slight nod, while others attempted to avoid her gaze, indicating to her they knew that she was aware of their deficiencies. She smiled slightly as she noted to herself that she had never, in her five years of attendance at this school, put herself in the situation where she needed to rush across Volkots Plaza, squinting into the evening sun, on the last day of the school year.
She continued her walk across the plaza until she finally stood at the doorway that secured entry to Betvad Hall. The doorway rose high above her, its imposing angular lines a reminder to all students of its purpose as the barrier and demarcation point between two very different sections of Vulcan society. Between those that command and those that obey… and it was not a place ordinary students were usually permitted to enter. The thought that she would soon be walking its corridors caused her anxiety to increase. To calm herself she turned to look back at the plaza. Beyond the scurrying students she could see the skyline of Nadivk. A jagged line of structures rested along the horizon. She was pleased to see that they were mostly colored a deep grey-blue, as she had expected they should be when lit by the early evening sun's rays. She knew that not one of the other students could predict the day's colors as she could. She was an unusually accomplished and accurate student, and so she should have nothing to fear from any meeting with any important person that was in Betvad Hall. She took a deep, relaxing breath, and then she turned to directly face the doorway.
"Michael. Student," she stated to the door.
She watched the door silently slide open. She proceeded across the threshold, and then listened to the sounds of the plaza dying away as the door closed behind her. As the door finished closing she became aware that she was now standing within total silence. And total stillness. She could see no life anywhere as she looked all around the cavernous interior, and she felt very alone.
She commenced walking towards the transporter bay that was positioned at the end of a long hall. The structures that now surrounded her were unlike any she had ever seen before. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, were not unadorned as was customary. Instead most parts were covered with the old script Vulcan lettering. She could not read it, but it looked to have been very carefully written, so she supposed it said things of great value. And there were statues standing along the entire length, and on both sides, of the hall. Statues of Vulcans. She had never seen a Vulcan statue before. She smiled to herself when she mused that perhaps she had never seen any Vulcan statues because they had all been captured and imprisoned here as permanent guardians of this important place. She walked up close to one statue, and looked into its face. Its face peered back at her, and she was suddenly gripped with an intense feeling that its lifeless, stone eyes were seeing, and judging, everything about her. For some reason, the eyes of the statue made her feel like an unwelcome intruder, and so she quickly backed away from it and continued her walk along the hall. She arrived at the transporter bay, positioned herself correctly, and said, "Rasold sa Kimmet, section 43, level 98." When the transport was complete she was standing and facing the person she had come to see.
Pass or Fail. These were the only two possible results. Three million Vulcans, and one human, would be seeing one of these words displayed on their data pads that morning. Two percent would see Pass. Ninety eight percent would see Fail. The exams for entry into the Captain's training program were necessarily rigorous. Vulcan standards were high.
Michael looked at her data pad that was waiting on the table. Eight minutes ago it had chimed, indicating that the Academy was sending her results. As soon as she had heard the chime, curiosity had started to rise within her, and she had found herself compelled to glance at the data pad twenty four times during those eight minutes. She knew that her Vulcan classmates would have succumbed to their curiosity long ago, and that now ninety eight percent of them would be attempting to suppress the unpleasant emotions that their failure in the exams had created. She was anticipating that she would be experiencing some more pleasing emotions when she saw her exam results, but she preferred to resist the urge to rush towards such a welcome experience. She knew that the results would not change with the passage of time, and impatience, it had often been taught to her, was a fault of the emotions that she should seek to overcome.
However… after the eight minutes had passed, she realized that it was illogical and inefficient to excessively delay necessary duties, and so she decided to reach over the table, pick up the device, and then walk with short, relaxed steps, across the room and towards the window. As she walked her eyes scanned the neat, straight lines formed by her possessions that were secured along the walls, and she noted to herself that she had never seen a Vulcan juvenile's room that was as efficiently and logically arranged as hers.
With her data pad held in both hands she now stood at her window and looked out, squinting and shielding her eyes from the morning sun that had partially risen above the horizon. The acute angle of the sun's rays created long dull shadows across the plains of Vulcan, and gave an orange glow to the buildings that rose in jagged lines along the skyline. She knew that the color of these buildings would change as the sun traveled its daily path across the sky. These changes always happened in a logical sequence. Soon after she had come to live on Vulcan as a child she had commenced her study of this daily sequence of colors, and now she could precisely predict them. If the weather varied, the changing colors would be different. She could accurately predict all of these variations also. She was more accurate with her predictions than even her stepfather Sarek was. And he was the most logical Vulcan on the Supreme Council.
She lifted her data pad up and activated it. Instantly the angular lettering of many Vulcan words started flickering across the screen, and she searched among them until finally she stopped on just one word. The word she was looking at commanded every part of her attention. The word read "Fail."
She held the device in front of her face for a long time, staring at it with disbelief, and then she lowered it and turned away from the window. She knew that Vulcans never made mistakes. Not in her experience among them. Now a Vulcan mistake was being displayed clearly on her data pad. She needed to quickly correct this error. With long steps she crossed her room, sat at her desk, and inserted the data pad into its holder.
She commenced her analysis of the situation. She surmised that even Vulcans must have a structured system of correcting these anomalies. Systems consisted of rules. She would learn what these rules were, follow them, and the mistake would then be quickly rectified. She leaned back into her chair and stretched out her arms across the table, turning her hands so that her palms were facing upwards in what she had always found to be their most relaxed position. Her hands were tired from the many hours of tapping on screens that her studies had required, and now she needed to rest them. She would research with voice commands, and so she began to talk.
"What is the procedure to change an incorrect examination result?" she asked the data pad.
Words started flashing on the screen of the data pad, competing for her attention as she eagerly searched for what she needed. When the words finally stopped flashing she had received no adequate answer to her query. She rephrased the question, and again there was no progress. She allowed herself a frustrated sigh. She would persist until she found the information she needed, and so she began to methodically consider how many varied ways she could ask the same question.
* * *
Her concentration was interrupted by a soft knock at her door. She looked away from the screen of the data pad and towards the door. With tired, heavy eyes, she noted that the door was tinted a late afternoon brown. This color indicated that the sun had moved steadily across the entire sky, from horizon to horizon, during the long period that she had been methodically researching. But she had achieved nothing. She had not found any Vulcan rules for changing exam results. She would do no more work that day, and so she reached out with one hand and shut down her data pad. Now she prepared her mind for the battle that was about to commence. A battle in which logic and method had little importance, because she knew who was at the door and why they were there.
"Enter," she called towards the door.
When the door slid open her stepmother was standing there in her colorful, flowing robes. Today it was yellow, green, blue and red, in geometric patterns. Her stepmother's usual clothing style was both offensive and embarrassing to her, but as always she would try to restrain her emotions, and respectfully converse with her stepmother with the controlled degree of logic expected of any Vulcan teenager.
Her stepmother entered the room, walked a few steps, and then obediently came to a stop two meters inside the doorway. Michael had long ago allocated her a set position in which to stand, as it minimized her tendency to wander aimlessly and disturb the order of things. She looked at her stepmother's face, and noted it displayed its usual indications of emotional uncertainty. The level of tenseness in the lips, in particular, was always the greatest indicator of her stepmother's emotional state. She had also trained her stepmother to get directly to the point in all conversations, as Vulcans would do, and so her stepmother spoke without hesitation.
"Have your exam results come yet?" her stepmother asked.
"Yes," Michael replied.
Her stepmother smiled and seemed pleased at something. "So you've been in your room all day celebrating with your friends?"
"No. I have not."
Her stepmother looked at her with increased emotion in her eyes, but hesitated with her reply. Michael knew that she was considering what would be the least illogical comment she could make.
"That's too bad," she finally said. "I suppose the pass percentage is so low, it's expected that many of your friends would have failed. It was a good thing that they had you to talk to about it all. Maybe you can help them to pass the next exam?"
"There is no next exam," Michael replied. "What would be the logic of encouraging the less capable to attempt tasks that are beyond their abilities?"
"Of course you are correct. Vulcan standards are high... as we all know so very well."
Michael noted the emotion in her stepmother's voice. A small tone of sarcasm, perhaps?
Her stepmother continued, "So what happens to those that failed?"
"They will enter into one of the lower level training programs that are most suited to their abilities."
"Well… that's good then. Everyone gets the position that they deserve. A perfect system for a perfect people," her stepmother stated. And then she laughed very slightly.
Michael listened to these words, and then decided that she would have to inform her stepmother of the true situation. And perhaps ask her advice. She tilted her head up to look more directly at her stepmother, and then said, "No, the system is not perfect. There are mistakes. I have found a mistake."
When Michael said this her stepmother smiled, and replied, "Vulcans don't make mistakes. So what special mistake have you discovered?"
Michael answered, "I have been given a result of fail for the exam."
She watched as her stepmother's face took on an expression of exaggerated sympathy.
"Oh darling..." her stepmother slowly whispered.
Michael felt annoyance growing within her. She did not need sympathy. She needed information. "As I just informed you... there has been a mistake. It is not possible that I have failed. My exam result is a mistake which requires rectification."
Her stepmother walked towards her, getting close enough to embrace her, but did not do so.
"It was such a difficult exam," her stepmother said consolingly. "I'm sure you almost passed. Sarek told me that there are 1,000 questions and if a candidate has only one wrong answer… they fail. Anyone can get one answer wrong with so many questions. Even the best of Vulcans fail. You probably had just one wrong answer."
"I know that I gave no incorrect answers," Michael said defiantly. "I know it as a fact. I knew every question easily. I never guessed. I knew it all."
"Many people are certain they know something... and then later find out they were wrong. Even Sarek has done that."
"Sarek has never done that," Michael corrected her.
Her stepmother backed away until she was once again standing in the allocated position.
"You're only thirteen," she said, with more firmness than was usual. "You're going to have many failures and make many mistakes in your life. Vulcan or human... everyone has to learn to control their feelings of disappointment and accept defeat."
She gazed at Michael with searching eyes, and then she smiled. "You know what the best thing is to change your mood? It's something that always works for me whenever I get stressed. It's my special miracle cure."
Michael gave her a skeptical look. "What would that be?"
"A lovely cup of tea," her stepmother announced. "I'll go make some for the both of us and we'll sit in here and drink it together. Alright darling?"
Michael's annoyance rose to its highest level of the day. This statement was typical of the type of emotional foolishness she had to tolerate during her frequent encounters with her stepmother. She usually tried to overlook these displays of illogical human behavior. But when her stepmother expected Michael to join with her in this madness... it became unacceptable. Her stepmother needed to be reminded often that Michael had been raised Vulcan, and so her behavior was more Vulcan than human.
"Why would a cup of tea possibly alter my emotions? Emotions are a function of a particular situation. Drinking tea does not change any situation. The situation is that my exam results are incorrect. Any emotions I may have in this matter will be corrected when the results are corrected."
Michael finished speaking and looked at her stepmother, who looked back at her, before turning and walking out through the doorway. Soon she returned, carrying two cups of tea.
She held out a cup to Michael. Reluctantly Michael took the cup and waited for her stepmother's next suggested activity.
"Let's talk about the situation over our tea," was what she suggested. "Maybe we can solve it if we work together. Alright?"
Michael considered this suggestion. Her stepmother knew many important people. It was logical that her assistance could be of value. "That would be acceptable," Michael replied.
Her stepmother walked over to the table and gently placed her tea on top of it, and quietly lowered herself into the chair. Michael followed her, and then they started to talk. After fifteen minutes of talking and one call to her school, the situation had progressed, and Michael was subsequently required to transport out of her room.
* * *
Volkots Plaza was busy. It was the final hour of the last day of the school year, and swirling crowds of her fellow students were gracefully scurrying across the smooth courtyard tiles with a restrained, Vulcan haste she had seen many times before. Some wore the neat blue or brown uniform typical of younger students, while others wore the flowing white robes reserved for those who had reached a high level of academic achievement. The clothing of the students varied, but Michael knew they all had one thing in common. They had not managed their studies in an efficient manner, and were now rushing to complete tasks that would most likely remain uncompleted.
As she walked across the plaza some of the students who she was familiar with acknowledged her passing with a slight nod, while others attempted to avoid her gaze, indicating to her they knew that she was aware of their deficiencies. She smiled slightly as she noted to herself that she had never, in her five years of attendance at this school, put herself in the situation where she needed to rush across Volkots Plaza, squinting into the evening sun, on the last day of the school year.
She continued her walk across the plaza until she finally stood at the doorway that secured entry to Betvad Hall. The doorway rose high above her, its imposing angular lines a reminder to all students of its purpose as the barrier and demarcation point between two very different sections of Vulcan society. Between those that command and those that obey… and it was not a place ordinary students were usually permitted to enter. The thought that she would soon be walking its corridors caused her anxiety to increase. To calm herself she turned to look back at the plaza. Beyond the scurrying students she could see the skyline of Nadivk. A jagged line of structures rested along the horizon. She was pleased to see that they were mostly colored a deep grey-blue, as she had expected they should be when lit by the early evening sun's rays. She knew that not one of the other students could predict the day's colors as she could. She was an unusually accomplished and accurate student, and so she should have nothing to fear from any meeting with any important person that was in Betvad Hall. She took a deep, relaxing breath, and then she turned to directly face the doorway.
"Michael. Student," she stated to the door.
She watched the door silently slide open. She proceeded across the threshold, and then listened to the sounds of the plaza dying away as the door closed behind her. As the door finished closing she became aware that she was now standing within total silence. And total stillness. She could see no life anywhere as she looked all around the cavernous interior, and she felt very alone.
She commenced walking towards the transporter bay that was positioned at the end of a long hall. The structures that now surrounded her were unlike any she had ever seen before. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, were not unadorned as was customary. Instead most parts were covered with the old script Vulcan lettering. She could not read it, but it looked to have been very carefully written, so she supposed it said things of great value. And there were statues standing along the entire length, and on both sides, of the hall. Statues of Vulcans. She had never seen a Vulcan statue before. She smiled to herself when she mused that perhaps she had never seen any Vulcan statues because they had all been captured and imprisoned here as permanent guardians of this important place. She walked up close to one statue, and looked into its face. Its face peered back at her, and she was suddenly gripped with an intense feeling that its lifeless, stone eyes were seeing, and judging, everything about her. For some reason, the eyes of the statue made her feel like an unwelcome intruder, and so she quickly backed away from it and continued her walk along the hall. She arrived at the transporter bay, positioned herself correctly, and said, "Rasold sa Kimmet, section 43, level 98." When the transport was complete she was standing and facing the person she had come to see.
