#He's the DREAM of every Vulcan educator

[bumblingbabooshka]

Tuvok's Rebel Catholic Schoolgirl to Head Nun pipeline - studying it in a lab as we speak.

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Star Trek: Facets of Filmmaking

As it turns out, before Star Trek was fully realized in the form we know today, the show was originally not going to be about Kirk and the Enterprise at all.  In fact, it was going to be about a ship called the S.S. Yorktown, captained by a man named Robert April, on a mission to explore the Milky Way galaxy.  The original concept, still named Star Trek and set in the 23rd century, was loosely based on the Horatio Hornblower novels, and took inspiration from The Voyage of the Space Beagle, the Marathon series and the 1956 film Forbidden Planet.

By the year 1964, when this idea began to take shape, Gene Roddenberry, creator of Star Trek was an experienced writer for western television shows, and was well accustomed to (at the time) television’s favorite and most popular genre.  By 1964, however, Roddenberry was tired of the shootouts, and wanted to do something different, something with a little more depth to it.

Still, Roddenberry knew what the executives, and the public, was used to.  As a result, the first draft of this new Star Trek idea was generalized as a sort of ‘Wagon Train to the Stars’, a formulaic type of show where every episode was a standalone adventure in the continuous exploration of the final frontier: space.

As Roddenberry wrote the draft, a few things changed.  Gone was Robert April, replaced by Captain Christopher Pike, who would be portrayed by Jefferey Hunter, and the rest of the crew.  The name of the ship changed too, to the more familiar Enterprise.  As these changes came about, so too did the true nature of Roddenberry’s dream show: both an adventure story, and a thought-provoking morality tale.

Armed with his script, Roddenberry brought Star Trek to Desilu Productions, (a rather large television production company headed and half-formed by Lucille Ball herself) and met with director of production Herbert F. Solow.  Solow saw promise in the concept, and signed a three-year development contract with Roddenberry.

Star Trek moved into the next stage of development.  Further drafts were drawn up and the idea that would later become the episode The Cage was revised, until it was shown to CBS as part of the ‘First Look’ deal with Desilu productions.  CBS wasn’t impressed with the show, declining to purchase it.  They had another ‘space show’ in development that seemed too similar, a show that would become Lost in Space.

However, another company became interested: NBC.  In May of 1964, Grant Tinker, the head of the West Coast programming department, commissioned the pilot that would become The Cage (which would later be reworked into the episode The Menagerie).  After it was completed, NBC turned it down, claiming that it was ‘too cerebral’, but although this was a mild defeat, Star Trek wasn’t beaten.  NBC still showed interest in the concept, and made the highly unusual decision to commission a second pilot: the episode that would become Where No Man Has Gone Before.

With this came quite a few changes.

Christopher Pike was scrapped as a character, as was the vast majority of other cast members.  Only the character of Spock, as portrayed by Leonard Nimoy, was kept, and of the other cast members, only Majel Barrett stayed, demoted from playing the second-in-command (scrapped due to the unthinkable notion of a woman Commander) to the ship’s nurse, Christine Chapel.  With this new pilot came an onslaught of new, more familiar names and faces: William Shatner as Captain Kirk, Chief Engineer Lieutenant Commander Scott played by James Doohan, and Lieutenant Sulu, (originally a physicist in the first episode, but a helmsman afterwards) played by George Takei.

This pilot passed with flying colors, and with that, NBC added Star Trek to their fall lineup for 1966.

Still, there were changes to be made.  In this first pilot, the ship’s doctor was Mark Piper, played by Paul Fix.  Dr. Leonard McCoy, played by DeForest Kelley, would join the cast when principal filming for the first season began.  Also joining the cast was Nichelle Nichols, playing Lieutenant Uhura, and Grace Lee Whitney as Yeoman Rand.  (Whitney would depart halfway through the first season, after being on the receiving end of sexual assault from one of the executives of the show, but would later appear in the film series beginning in the 1970s.)

Besides Where No Man Has Gone Before, NBC ordered 15 episodes to start off the show.  The first episode of Star Trek, The Man Trap, aired at 8:30 PM on Thursday, September 8th of 1966 as part of NBC’s ‘sneak preview’ time slot, received with mixed feelings.  While some papers and reviewers genuinely liked the new show, (such as The Philadelphia Inquirer and the San Francisco Chronicle) others, such as The Boston Globe and The New York Times didn’t.  Variety described the show as ‘an incredible and dreary mess of confusion and complexities’, and predicted that it would fail.

Fighting for position against reruns of previous shows, despite the critics’ warnings, Star Trek won a time slot, and began with decent ratings.  However, it didn’t last long.  By the end of the first season, Star Trek was sitting at 52nd out of 94 programs.

Star Trek was sinking, fast.

But even then, it wasn’t without its supporters.

The editor of Galaxy Science Fiction, Frederik Pohl, offered up his amazement that Star Trek’s consistency remained good, with no drop in quality after its Tricon winning early episodes.  He expressed his fear that the show would be cancelled due to its low ratings, and pleaded with audiences to help save Star Trek, writing letters to prevent its cancellation.

At this time, the only thing that was keeping the show on the air in the first place was the demographics it was reaching.  NBC had become interested in the demographics of the shows it was producing in the early 1960s, and by 1967, was using that as part of the decision making as to which shows got dropped.  

And something about Star Trek’s demographics interested NBC very much: it had managed to attract ‘quality’ audiences: high income, high educated people (primarily males).

As a result, NBC ordered ten more episodes for the first season, and ordered a second in March of 1967.  The network then changed Star Trek’s timeslot, moving it to 8:30 on Friday nights, a timeslot that seemed doomed for failure among the audience that Star Trek had gathered.

The next season, things didn’t seem to be getting any better.  It was at this point that the show added on Walter Koenig as Ensign Chekov (as George Takei was working on The Green Berets and was not as available for shooting), although some might have wondered why they would have bothered.  The show’s ratings were still dropping.  William Shatner, expecting the show to be cancelled, began to prepare for other projects.  

Again, the demographics saved the day.

Roddenberry’s initial concept of adventure alongside morality tales intrigued the audiences Star Trek had attracted.  The show had values, values that had to be applied to every situation.  The show was sincere, and serious in its exploration of issues like racism, war and peace, human rights, technology, class warfare, and imperialism, far different in tone and content than the other chief sci-fi show at the time: Lost in Space.  As a result, the show generated a more interested fanbase, perhaps the first true ‘fanbase’ of any franchise in history.  In the end, it was they who saved Star Trek.

By the end of the first season, NBC had received well over 29,000 fan letters.  During the second season, Roddenberry began a campaign to persuade fans to write in to NBC, to support the show and save the program.  Between December of 1967 and March of 1968, NCB had received nearly 116,000 letters from people who did not want to see Star Trek cancelled.  Science fiction conventions, magazines, and newspaper columnists encouraged readers to save what was called ‘the best science-fiction show on the air’.

The fans didn’t stop with letters.  Over 200 students of the California Institute of Technology marched to NBC’s studio in Burbank to protest the cancellation of Star Trek in January of 1968, carrying signs that said things like ‘Vulcan Power’.  They weren’t alone; other groups of students of MIT and Berkeley did the same thing in New York City and San Francisco.

Interestingly, the letters that NBC received were not of the typical ‘fan mail’ quality.

“Much of the mail came from doctors, scientists, teachers, and other professional people, and was for the most part literate–and written on good stationery. And if there is anything a network wants almost as much as a high Nielsen ratings, it is the prestige of a show that appeals to the upper middle class and high-brow audiences.” (Lowry, Cynthia (January 17, 1968). “One Network Goes ‘Unconventional’”. Nashua Telegraph. Associated Press. p. 13)

“The show, according to the 6,000 letters it draws a week (more than any other in television), is watched by scientists, museum curators, psychiatrists, doctors, university professors, and other highbrows. The Smithsonian Institution asked for a print of the show for its archives, the only show so honored.” (Scott, Vernon (February 7, 1968). “Letters Can Save 'Star Trek’”. The Press-Courier. Oxnard, California. United Press International. p. 17.)

After the episode The Omega Glory, on March 1st, 1968, the announcement came:

“And now an announcement of interest to all viewers of Star Trek. We are pleased to tell you that Star Trek will continue to be seen on NBC Television. We know you will be looking forward to seeing the weekly adventure in space on Star Trek.” (“Letters For 'Star Trek’ Hit 114,667”. The Modesto Bee. April 14, 1968. p. 26.)

If this was intended to stop the letter writing campaign, it was a dismal failure.  A comparable number of letters came in to NBC following this announcement, full of thanks for renewing the show for the third season.

In March of 1968, NBC moved Star Trek to another time slot: 10:00 PM on Fridays, an even worse shot than before.  To make matters worse, it was only being seen by 181 out of 210 of NBC’s affiliates.  Roddenberry fought the network to move it to a better time, but he was denied.  Exhausted, Roddenberry quit working on production of Star Trek, remaining executive producer in name only.  The running of the show went to Fred Freiberger, who was with the show as it stood on its last, shaky, legs.

And it was on its last legs.

Star Trek season three was a dying breath, the death-rattle of a show that was being intentionally destroyed by its own network.

To quote Nichelle Nichols:

“While NBC paid lip service to expanding Star Trek’s audience, it [now] slashed our production budget until it was actually 10% lower than it had been in our first season … This is why in the third season you saw fewer outdoor location shots, for example. Top writers, top guest stars, top anything you needed was harder to come by. Thus, Star Trek’s demise became a self-fulfilling prophecy. And I can assure you, that is exactly as it was meant to be.”

It showed.

While I hesitate to call season three of Star Trek a mess, it is difficult to deny that the show was definitely struggling.  Episodes dropped in quality, characters became more exaggerated and less ‘true’. Star Trek stopped filming in January of 1969, and after a total run of 79 episodes, the show  was cancelled.

As a newspaper columnist advised:

“You Star Trek fans have fought the “good fight,” but the show has been cancelled and there’s nothing to be done now.”

Rather incongruous with the image of the pop-culture giant we know it as today, wouldn’t you think?

So what happened?

As it turns out, Star Trek had enough episodes (thanks to the third season) to enter syndication.  Desilu Productions, which at that point had become Paramount, licensed the syndication rights in order to turn a profit, and reruns of Star Trek began airing in late 1969.

In syndication, Star Trek became a cult classic, finding a larger audience on reruns than it had during its original run.  The show, which was airing in the afternoons and early evenings, was attracting a young demographic, and, ironically, Star Trek became known as ‘the show that wouldn’t die’.  By 1970, Star Trek was boosting Paramount’s ratings, and becoming extremely popular.  In January of 1972, over 3,000 fans attended the first Star Trek convention in New York City, kicking off a previously unheard-of trend of organized fan gatherings where they could buy merchandise, meet cast and crew, and screen episodes of the show.  These people, coming to be known as ‘trekkies’, took pride in their knowledge and extreme love for this series, which was becoming renowned for being a smart, heartfelt science fiction show that had been cancelled too early.

17 years after Star Trek was cancelled and started reruns, Star Trek became the most popular syndicated show of all time.  By 1987, Paramount was bringing in $1 million per episode, and by 1994, reruns were still airing in over 90% of the United States of America.

The rest is history.

It has been over fifty years since Gene Roddenberry’s vision of a wagon train to the stars first took flight, and it was a hard battle fought to get as far as it did.  Never before had a show garnered the support and devoted love from a fanbase, never had it inspired such huge leaps and bounds in television and fandom alike.  Never had a television show meant so much to so many, and continued to do so well past its end.

For a show that struggled through a third season, it seems incredible that Star Trek still holds the weight that it does today.  The show that wouldn’t die gained new life beyond the grave, still capturing people’s attention decades after it was cancelled, growing to become one of the best known and best loved television shows ever made.

Against all odds, Star Trek lives on, remaining one of the greatest television shows of all time, for very good reason.

Join me for one last article as next time we take one last look at Star Trek in our Final Thoughts.  If you have any thoughts, questions, suggestions, recommendations, or just want to say hi, don’t forget to leave an ask!  Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope to see you in the next article.  

[dustbunny105]

Title: Use Both to Grow Fandom: Star Trek: TOS Ship: Amanda Grayson/Sarek Word Count: 7011 Rating: PG Summary: Amanda dreams of being burned from the inside out and wakes choking on Vulcan's heat. Warning for miscarriage. A/N: Written ages ago for a fandom auction. I set it aside to think of a title and promptly forgot about it, lol.

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Amanda dreams of being burned from the inside out and wakes choking on Vulcan's heat. Pain lights her body aflame and her throat feels as chafed as if she'd attempted to drink the desert down. She thrashes once then curls in around the source of the pain, embracing herself as if she can keep it contained.

There is a grip strong on her shoulder and a caress at the edge of her consciousness and she feels herself relax, just a little, when she realizes she isn’t alone.

“What is it?” Sarek asks, bent close over her. He manages to reach one of her hands and squeezes. “Close your eyes, Amanda-- breathe. Tell me what's happening to you.”

She takes a deep breath; it isn't enough, not in Vulcan's thin atmosphere. The heat she normally finds soothing instead prickles at the end of her every nerve. She realizes she’s crying, tears mingling with sweat, and turns her face into her pillow.

There’s a hand on her face then, fingers pressed to her temple. Sarek urges her to look at him and whispers a long shhh that she feels cross her mind like a summer breeze. She gasps in her relief and tries to see him through her tears. His face looks pale in the dark.

“My lower abdomen--” she begins, then cuts herself off with a hiss, closing her eyes again against the nausea. “It hurts. I feel sick-- I don’t know--”

She shifts then and her eyes snap open when she recognizes the wetness between her legs. Without another word from her, Sarek pulls the sheet away from her body. The two of them stare at the blood soaking lazily through her nightgown and she feels Sarek’s hand tense in hers. She almost laughs but the relief is washed away by another wave of pain and it comes out instead as a sob.

“This isn’t right,” she manages to say. “Sarek--”

“Peace, Amanda,” he says and shifts beside her. The hand on her hand disappears but the other hand continues to press comfort directly into her mind as he grabs at a communicator and calls for help.

//

“He’s very polite,” her father said but the disapproval was plain to hear. He stopped there and Amanda could see him staring at her from the corner of her eye.

Amanda focused the tray she was loading with desserts. She resisted the urge to tell her father to use his words. “Impeccably so,” she agreed instead. She glanced over at her father’s tray, still only half set. “Have you got that? I don’t want to leave him between Mom and Doris for too long-- those two can test anyone’s manners.”

“He’s awfully cold, don’t you think?” her father asked without acknowledging the question. He used that whip crack tone that meant he wanted you to know he was holding his temper by a thread. “I noticed he didn’t have much to do with you.”

She’d noticed her parents exchanging looks throughout dinner, every time Sarek could have taken Amanda’s hand but didn’t. Every time he nodded instead of laughing or smiling at a joke. Every time he refused to rise to bait.

“He can seem cold when you don’t know him,” Amanda said, turning at last to look her father in the eye. In spite of herself, the genuine concern she saw there softened her and she let a smile touch her lips. “Vulcans are very reserved in company.”

“I hear they don’t have emotions,” her father said, staring hard at her. His voice still hadn’t raised but his face was turning red. It went a shade darker for every moment she continued to look at him with flat serenity. "Looking at this gentleman, I'm inclined to believe it."

“They have emotions,” she told him, a cold snap of dignity in her own tone. “They just don’t allow themselves to be ruled by them.”

She didn’t wait any longer to cart her tray out into the dining room, though she tried to project calm by the time she got there. Her father was slow to follow, his face still red. Amanda's family had only ever wanted her to use her words until she said something they didn't like, after all.

//

“I’m afraid our only specialists in human medical treatment are unavailable at present,” says the nurse who greeted Sarek by the family name that Amanda is still learning to wrap her tongue around. He barely glances at Amanda and she can’t decide whether she prefers that to the way other Vulcans, staff and patients alike, had stared at her as they passed. Humans are still a novelty on Vulcan and especially in the capital and of course they all know who she is. “We will, of course, treat the Lady Amanda to the best of our ability.”

Sarek shifts at Amanda’s bedside, the hand he’d allowed himself to put on her shoulder twitching.

Before he can answer, Amanda speaks up, “I have every confidence that you will,” even though the pain makes her voice quaver. “Sarek has assured me that you’re the finest medical center in Shi'Kahr.”

The nurse blinks and she can see clearly enough beneath his placid expression that her pronunciation has impressed him.

“I must stress,” he says, addressing her for the first time, “that our care in your case may be lacking, as compared to what we could offer a Vulcan in your position.”

Amanda holds back the reflexive urge to laugh as a reassurance, a habit she’s still unlearning, strangling it beneath a repressed grunt of pain. She inclines her head in acknowledgement of a point, noting but ignoring the implication that it may carry. “Of course,” she says through gritted teeth. She makes herself hold eye contact. “I came to Vulcan with both eyes open.”

The nurse tips his head, uncertainty stirring his features.

“A Terran turn of phrase,” Sarek explains before he can ask. “What my wife means is that she knew when she made the decision to move to Vulcan what potential there was for danger.”

“I can’t reasonably hold my own educated choice against anyone who does their best for me,” Amanda adds. She still doesn’t break eye contact, never mind how her eyelids flutter.

“Your understanding is… appreciated,” the nurse says. He’s studying Amanda with a look she’s growing refreshingly accustomed to. It’s the look of someone who sees something other than what they expected. He nods at them both and steps out of the room, assuring them about getting an update from the doctor they’ve called for her.

“If a specialist is indeed needed,” Sarek says once the nurse is gone, his hand going from Amanda’s shoulder to her face, “one will be obtained for you.”

Amanda’s lips twitch up at the corners, a subtle enough movement that she doesn’t concern herself with trying to repress it here. She leans into the contact and sighs when she feels Sarek’s soothing touch to her mind. “I have every confidence,” she murmurs again. “Just as I have every confidence that I’m in good hands now.”

“One would hope,” Sarek says, just as quiet and not without a glance at the door.

Her lips twitch again and then she relaxes as well she can against the bed and waits.

//

From the covered shelter of the porch, the shouts of a dozen people in a makeshift game, one with no name and little in the way of rule structure, weren’t so overwhelming. Amanda rocked lightly in her chair and inhaled the fragrance of her tea, still too hot to drink. Her cousins and aunts and uncles all argued some point or another, a cry going up for the third time in a half hour about who was on what team. The crowd roiled with laughter and anger in turn and Amanda was content to watch them, not bothering to dizzy herself with trying to keep track of what they were arguing about when she was sure even they didn’t know.

“So, this is where you were hiding,” said Doris, laughing as she invaded Amanda's little bubble of almost quiet. She huffed as she lowered herself into the other rocking chair, one hand on her swollen belly. There were no teeth in her smile but it had a jagged edge all the same when she added, “One little engagement to a bigshot ambassador and you’re too good for the rest of us, is that it?”

It was always one thing or another that had Doris suggesting that Amanda thought herself above the rest of them. That she wasn't excitable, that she had a position at the Vulcan Embassy on Earth. Amanda suspected that Doris’s game was just to toss out one possibility after another until she could content herself that she’d hit upon the truth. She watched Amanda like a fox watching a hen house, waiting for a bird that was stupid and slow enough to be a meal.

Amanda cupped her tea in her lap and looked back at Doris with the same calm she’d been practicing around Sarek. She held her silence just long enough for Doris to start turning their father’s familiar red-- not long at all-- and then smiled and tipped her head at the ruckus out in the yard. She said, “You know that this sort of thing has never been to my tastes.”

Doris laughed again, like a chill wind, and said, “Right, right, what am I thinking-- you always thought you were better than the rest of us.”

“You know that isn’t true either,” said Amanda, voice and gaze held steady though her hands tightened on her cup. She tried to take comfort that Doris had sought her out at all; their father made a point of never being alone in her company anymore.

“Do you really think they’ll accept you there?” Doris blurted through a grimace. “Sarek is one man you’ve managed to charm. And the other Vulcans at the Embassy are used to humans, you know-- you ought to know, you’ve taught them to be. But they come here expecting to have to put up with humans, even wanting to. You think on their own planet they’ll all be happy to have a human walking their streets-- in their capital, isn’t that what you said?”

“I won’t be the only human to live on Vulcan--”

“You’ll be the only human married to a Vulcan,” Doris interrupted. She strained to lean forward, feet pressed so hard to the wooden floor that it creaked and one hand tight on the arm of her chair. Something like real fear sparked in the cold flash of her eyes. “Do you really think they’re free of pride and prejudice there?”

“Not free of it, no,” Amanda admitted. She wanted to set her tea aside but was worried her hands would shake. “No more than they’re free of any other emotion. But they’re more aware of it and that lets them control it instead of being controlled by it.” She breathed deep, twice. “I don’t have any expectations of being accepted immediately. They guard themselves too closely for that. But they’ll come around when they see there’s no logical reason to reject me.”

The sisters spent a long time just staring at each other. Amanda counted her heartbeats, calmer with each steady thump, teeth rough on her tongue. Doris’s breathing was ragged at the edges but she finally breathed deep and let it bluster out and take most of her hositlity with it.

“I just don’t understand,” she said at last, shaking her head. She looked tired, even more so than she had for the last month as her pregnancy wore her down. In a vulnerable moment between breaths, she looked almost hurt. “You’ve always been so reserved-- really reserved, not repressed like that fiance of yours. But here you are jumping the planet for-- what, for some romantic dream?”

“I’ll be leaving to live with my husband,” Amanda said, falling into the soothing cadance she used with her students. “That’s fair, isn’t it? And I’ll have opportunities to advance my career that I don’t here, and to enrich my life. You know how long I’ve been interested in Vulcan culture, Doris.”

“You won’t be able to stay there-- not for him, with that wall he keeps around himself,” Doris said over her. They were always talking over her, past her, always addressing what they thought she must feel instead of what she expressed. She could never express it well enough for them. Doris struggled to her feet, waving off Amanda when she tried to offer her help. She looked down at Amanda with deep sympathy and intoned, “I hope you know we’ll be happy to accept you back, when you can’t take it anymore.”

There was no point in arguing, not then and like that. Amanda made herself smile at Doris, tried to make it genuine, and said, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

//

No words are wasted once the doctor, T’Paj, has assured herself of the diagnosis. She looks Amanda in the eye as she delivers it, as she has throughout the exam. Her manner betrays none of the discomfort that Amanda has come to expect of Vulcan medical personnel but she cannot entirely hide her disquiet with the results of her tests.

Amanda hardly notices. She gasps deep, intensifying the burn in her belly. The doctor's words catch in her teeth like the grit of the desert and she grinds them between her molars to keep from spitting them back out. She swallows them with another gasp of pain and reaches without looking for Sarek, her hand tight on his wrist.

"You didn't know that you were pregnant?" T'Paj asks, something sharp beneath the professional bluntness of the words.

"I didn't know that I could be," Amanda says, hardly more than a whisper. The admission felt sharp in its own right in her chest but is dulled by her shock by the time it passes her lips.

“We both were under the impression that we couldn’t conceive,” Sarek says; Amanda wonders if T’Paj can hear his defensiveness, his protectiveness, as well as she can.

“It is an unexpected case,” T’Paj says without looking away from Amanda. “And you’re sure that it is the case?”

Sarek tenses but doesn’t answer. Amanda, still reeling, realizes that the question has been directed at her alone. Of course-- Sarek, logically, cannot be the one to insist.

“There’s been no one but Sarek,” Amanda says, trying not to bristle herself. It isn’t an accusation, she knows-- or if it is, it’s a logical one to make. It’s a possibility they’d be foolish not to rule out and there's something comforting in recognizing that. “In any case, I don’t have much opportunity for contact with other humans.”

She may not be the only human on Vulcan but she is the only one in the city, aside from Dr. Corrigan, who she’s only met once so far in passing when she’d gone for her first appointment on Vulcan. It’s lonelier than she’d expected, though she doesn’t dwell on it. She didn’t come to Vulcan to make human friends, after all, and she’s made a fun hobby of charming her Vulcan neighbors and acquanitences.

T’Paj looks at her a moment longer, darts a glance at Sarek, then nods. She says, “It is, as I said, an interesting case. Once you’ve recovered, I’d like to put you in touch with some of our researchers.” She pauses, darting another look between them, and now a little of that familiar discomfort does show through. If she were human, she'd look sheepish. “That, of course, is your own choice to make.”

“Indeed,” Sarek says. He’s stiff beside Amanda and his tone is blander than what she’s gotten used to, nearly droning. “What steps do we need to take in the meantime?”

“We will prescribe medication for the pain,” T’Paj says, doing Amanda the courtesy of addressing her instead of Sarek. ���You should consider an appointment soon with someone better versed in matters of human biology but it would seem that your body is already doing the work on our behalf.”

T’Paj goes on to explain what Amanda should expect over the next few days, what’s normal and what isn’t as far as her understanding lets her say, and Amanda can only hope that Sarek is paying better attention than she is herself. Those words buzz in her ears, prickle at her mind so that even Sarek’s soothing influence is drowned out.

//

“I thought you loved children?” her mother blurted without so much as a greeting, appearing at Amanda’s shoulder like a specter. It was a wonder, really, that she’d held it in for as long as she had, though perhaps it shouldn’t be. She never was one to start a confrontation if she could get someone else to do it for her. She was wringing her hands in her apron and getting garden dirt under her fingernails as she watched her grandnieces and nephews run off to play, inspired by the story they’d been told. Her eyes were wide and wet when she turned to look at Amanda as she rose. “You’ve always loved children, haven't you?”

Standing, Amanda smoothed out her long sweater and tucked her book under her arm. She smiled after the little ones and agreed, “I have.” Looking back at her mother, she reminded, “I’ve never needed them to be mine to love them.”

“You always love them better when they’re yours,” her mother murmured, loud enough to hear but low enough to mean that she didn’t want a discussion on the topic. She’d declared more than once that she hadn’t felt like she’d had a family until she had her daughters playing at her feet, no matter how many little ones were constantly under those same feet as family near and far enjoyed her hospitality.

“I'm happy to love them all as well as I can,” Amanda said, loud and clear and just as unabiding of argument. She watched the wrinkles between her mother’s brow; they’d always been the biggest tell for a crying fit.

Her mother wiped her face in the crook of her elbow, more reflex than anything. She said, “I just don’t understand how you can give something like that up for him." One of the children shrieked and they both looked over to assure themselves it was with laughter before turning back. Her mother looked wistful as she continued to watch the children in spite of facing Amanda. “I just want to see you happy, my love." She did look at Amanda then, imploring. "You know that, don't you?”

Amanda did know that, of course. She held that fact tight to her bosom despite the frustration of knowing that the happiness her mother wanted for her was the same happiness she would have wanted for herself rather than what Amanda wanted.

“I’m happy with the choice that I’ve made,” Amanda said. She took her mother’s hands in her own, trying to press her sincerity and her certainty into her palms. “I know you don’t understand and I’m not asking you to. I’m only asking that you trust me to understand myself.”

Her mother stared at her for a long moment. Then she took her hands back, scrubbed her face in her elbow and turned to walk back into the house.

//

The trip back home is quiet. Amanda slumps against the door of their little hovercar with both hands pressed over her belly. It feels warm and whole under her touch, a far cry from what she feels inside, and she worries she’ll lose herself if she lets up. She tries to put it out of her mind and watches the scenery pass. Vulcans go about their business along the street, sedate and steady, and she tries to make herself feel the serenity she sees on their faces. When they slow to take a turn, she sees a Vulcan father guide his daughter out of the path of an oncoming group of pedestrians with a hand on her shoulder. The girl blinks around at the group, then up at her father; her face is bright, emotions not yet under the strict control expected of adults. Amanda watches as the girl scrutinizes her father’s face and then does her best to match it, drawing up as tall as she can with a confident little strut in her step.

Amanda's fingers curl, nails digging past the fine weave of her clothes to press into her flesh. She closes her eyes and keeps them closed for the rest of the ride, not even realizing they’ve arrived until Sarek rouses her with a hand on her shoulder.

They exchange no words as they get out, Amanda swaying only a little. The medicine causes no drowsiness but the lack of pain leaves her aware of how drained she is by the ordeal. Sarek’s hand is soon on her shoulder again, urging her with a gentleness he’d surely deny towards their front entrance.

“Is everything well?” asks their nearest neighbor, T’Laas, as she passes. It’s late in the morning now; she must be on her way to work. She sweeps a gaze over Amanda and turns a querying look on Sarek.

“Everything will be,” Amanda says, sharper than she meant to; she bites her tongue when T’Laas draws herself up, however subtly, in affront. Amanda inclines her head in both apology for the outburst and acknowledgement of the concern. In a gentler tone, she says, “I only need to rest.”

T’Laas relaxes and nods in return, the indiscretion already dismissed. She murmurs her wishes for their good health and continues on her way. She and Amanda have shared tea before and are on good enough terms that Amanda trusts T'Laas not to hold this one incident against her. A knot of tension Amanda hadn’t noticed loosens at the base of her spine and she allows Sarek to guide her inside as T'Laas goes on her way, understanding that her presence now would be more hinderance than help.

Being home isn’t the relief Amanda had hoped for. The house feels bigger than it did; more empty. One hand stays on her belly and she trails the other along the walls as they walk to try and get her bearings. For the first time since she arrived on Vulcan, Amanda doesn’t feel as if she’s home at all.

She balks when they reach the entrance to the bedroom, standing firm against Sarek’s guidance, and nausea comes over her in spite of the medication. Bile tickles her throat and she finds she can’t look at the bed, even though she knows it will have been cleaned up in their absence.

“Amanda,” Sarek says, chiding. “You must rest, give yourself time to recover.”

“I will,” she says, swallowing. She rolls her shoulders to shake his touch and turns with purpose down the hall towards her study. “But not in there.” After a deep breath, she expands, “Not right now.”

Sarek trails her down the hall, silent as a shadow. He touches her shoulder again when she reaches her study, a passing contact that’s gone by the time she turns to look at him.

“I have correspondence to see to,” he tells her, tipping his head towards his own study a little further down the hall. “Nothing urgent. You can find me there if you have need of me.” He hesitates halfway through turning and looks back to pin her with a stare. His gaze roams her face and his mouth is pinched at the corners. He is agitated, more so than he’s letting on. Just before the silence would have been too much, he asks, “Amanda-- did you want the child?”

Amanda doesn’t flinch but it’s a near thing. Some absurd part of her wants to laugh. It’s a topic they’d danced around during their short courtship and beyond, no matter how he’d deny it if put in those terms.

Her tongue runs rough against the backs of her teeth. She looks away from him, hands tight against her belly. Finally, she confesses, “I don’t know. I never really thought about it before.”

No one has ever really asked her before.

//

Amanda’s family sprawled across several small, tightly packed towns and beyond. Having children wasn’t a question; it was an expectation.

It was both a burden and a relief throughout her life. Every assumptive comment, every knowing look, had chafed and chipped at her. But at the same time, no one pressed. Why would they? They all watched as she tended to her young cousins and occasionally their neighborhood friends and knew beyond doubt that she would have her own someday. Amanda could enjoy the company of her young relatives without having to worry too much about “her own someday” as long as she paid her share of polite smiles when they were mentioned as a forgone conclusion. Sometimes she’d catch the eye of a cousin who the family whispered about with pity or exasperation or both and they would share a secret smile and a roll of the eyes. These were the few, precious moments she felt a bond of understanding with members of her family.

So it was easy enough to bear the smug edge of Doris’s smile when she bounced little Lester on her lap and cooed about giving him a sibling someday soon. Amanda even had patience to spare for the condescending lecture about how to hold him and feed him and speak to him, as though she hadn’t grown up being taught.

Doris was a new mother, she reminded herself, and her labor had been difficult. Whatever other motive she had, it was natural that she would be protective of her firstborn.

“He’s still learning that nighttime is for sleeping,” Doris said on a breezy little laugh. It trailed as she looked at her son sat babbling on Amanda’s lap. She reached out to brush wispy hair off of his forehead and forgot entirely to look smug. “I’m up all night some nights, just holding him and humming whatever lullaby I’m not too tired to remember. James offers to help out, of course, but I’m not ready to share that much just yet…”

Lester drooled and rubbed his little fist into the mess, burbling like he was proud of himself. It seemed to break the spell and Doris gave that little laugh again as she took him from Amanda and dabbed at his face with a soft cloth.

“You’d almost think you had the better idea of things, looking at him like this,” she said. When his face was clean, she lifted him in quick bounces and grinned past him at Amanda. “No sleepless nights for you, eh?”

Amanda chose to ignore the secondary implication in the statement, not that it would change her response. She gave Doris the little slip of a smile that had become her norm and rolled her shoulders in a shrug. “I had the best idea for myself, at least. I can’t imagine the same thing working out for you.”

Doris’s face went funny-- not red, not yet, but funny-- and she settled Lester on her knee to bounce so she could look at Amanda unimpeded. Her lips pressed into a tight line and Amanda could see her jaw work.

“You really do think you'll be happy there, don’t you?” she asked, not sounding altogether sure of what she thought of the idea. “Surrounded by all those repressed Vulcans-- living with one, even. Loving him and having to believe he loves you even when he never says it.”

“Sarek tells me that he loves me,” Amanda corrected, feeling some satisfaction in the surprise it brought to Doris’s face. She didn’t bother to explain herself; she felt no need and it would be pointless besides. “He tells me every day, just like I tell him. You’ve just never seen it.”

No, Doris would have to hear it and wouldn’t believe it otherwise. She didn’t understand Vulcans. She certainly didn’t understand Sarek and likely wouldn’t even if she were willing to make the effort to do so. He was too much like Amanda for that.

“Just as well, maybe,” Doris muttered, digging for a win as was her wont. Her brow wrinkled and she couldn’t seem to decide if she wanted to look at Amanda or not. “One less thing to worry about there. You’ll have a hard enough time of it yourself. Any child of yours might be more Vulcan than you but they’d never be as Vulcan as him.”

There was no logic to arguing, so Amanda didn’t. She let Doris turn red and huff and then finally turn her attention back down to Lester, who had begun to wiggle and whine for want of stimulation. She grabbed a little plush of uncertain design, Lester’s favorite, and used it to boop his nose. The happy little noises he made in response melted her face into a smile and she seemed to forget for the moment that Amanda was there.

Amanda leaned back in her chair, smiling softly at the two of them. She could see the appeal, certainly, even when Lester pushed his fingers into his mouth and then endeavored to touch everything around him with the glob of drool he’d gathered in the two seconds it took Doris to pull them back out. She looked forward to one day reading Lester her favorite stories; to seeing him grow up as she’d seen her little cousins do. But if no child of her own was in her cards, it was no loss at all compared to what she stood to gain from her life going forward.

She didn’t bother to think of it again.

//

Any hope Amanda might have had that she would feel more at ease in her study is dashed within the first slow circuit she makes around it. She looks at the familiar room, decorated with a mix of Vulcan and Terran aesthetic influence, and feels as if she doesn’t know it.

She paces, touching everything. Her fingers flit over the spines of her collection of hardbound books, though she leaves them all on the shelves. She looks at the painting in progress on the easel in the corner with a critical eye, comparing it against the view out of her window. She touches the lute hanging on her wall, more decoration than instrument until she learns to play, and her touch coaxes a sour note of grief from it.

Her circuit finishes at her desk and she reaches reflexively to turn on the terminal. She has work to do, she recalls distantly, work she’d intended to do when she woke. Her students will be due their latest scores soon. But Amanda isn’t thinking of working; she probably shouldn’t anyway, with her head stuck up above the clouds in the thinnest layer of Vulcan’s atmosphere. One hand drifts to rest over the comm suite; the other is back on her belly.

The lump in her throat almost chokes her before she can think to swallow it down. Her head feels altogether too heavy and she bows until her forehead presses against the top of the terminal. She swallows again and again, eyes shut tight against tears.

Amanda doesn’t want to call her mother but she wishes she could. Or her father, her sister-- all of them, even. She doesn’t even know if she would but it hurts down deep that she can’t.

They would welcome her call, of course. Of this, she has no doubt. But it would be illogical to call when she knows it will only end in greater frustration.

Whatever their response to the news, they would center it in her narrative. What she thought and felt would be an afterthought to what they did. They would decide all that on her behalf, as they always did, this time before she could decide for herself.

It’s too easy to imagine how they’d react. The color rising in their faces, the tears. She can imagine her mother’s scream, a high little bleat before she slapped her hands over her mouth to keep the rest in. She can imagine their sympathy, their sorrow. She can taste their grief coating the roof of her mouth. And underneath it all would be the relief, the realization that she could have children and the renewed expectation that she would.

Bitterness overcomes her and she shoves herself away from the terminal. She paces the room three times before she finally stops at the window, staring out into the city. Pointedly, she grips either side of the window and inhales deeply of Vulcan’s midday heat, letting it fill in the hollow pit that opened up when T’Paj gave her the diagnosis.

What would she have done, she lets herself wonder, if she’d known? She dismisses the question of whether she’d have been able to do anything. She closes her eyes, turns her face up to the light and breathes through the meditation exercises she’s learned. What, she asks herself in spite of logic, would her ideal scenario have looked like?

Amanda has always loved children, after all, but they’ve always been other people’s children. They’ve never been her responsibility at the end of the day, hers to care for and nurture. She’s never dwelled on the idea. It’s tangled too tightly in the expectations thrust upon her by her family for her comfort, though she’d never gone so far as to resent the possibility. She had reasoned that it would happen one day or it wouldn't and left it there. Then she met Sarek and loved him even more deeply than she desired the opportunity for a fresh beginning that his interest represented and it didn’t seem logical to worry about the matter of children after that. She’d made her choice long before he asked the question.

Epiphany sings through Amanda and she stutters over a breath. Tension leaves her body in a long exhale, though she wouldn’t yet call herself relaxed. Of course, she’d known the question was illogical when she’d asked herself. Not only because it was a matter already past-- but because it was the wrong question to ask. Why was she dwelling on what she would have wanted when she should be asking herself what she wants?

Well, she can hardly be expected to come to a decision without facts to base it upon, can she? Not on Vulcan, certainly. With a shake of her head, she turns from the window and crosses her study in long strides. She makes her way without hesitation down the hall, determination standing her up tall. Dozens of questions have organized themselves in her mind by the time she finds herself in her doorway, each one bearing a value to be weighed and added up. Something like excitement tingles in her chest, contained with great effort between her ribs.

Sarek reaches out a hand to greet her before he's even looked up from his work. She doesn't suppose she could walk softly enough to sneak up on him, not that she's inclined to try. He finally faces her as she slides her palm across his, his gaze flicking over her.

"Your condition has improved?" he asks, less certain than he normally is with her.

"It has," she agrees. She can see his confidence rise in the face of her calm. "My mind is more at ease now that I've had time to process."

Sarek casts another inquisitive look over her and says, “Yet I can see that there’s more to the matter than what you’ve processed.”

“There is,” she agrees just as readily. Letting his hand slide out of hers, she helps herself to the seat across from him and rests her elbows on his desk, fingers steepled. “If your work can wait, Sarek-- there are things that I would like us to discuss.”

--

Amanda didn’t fidget but it was a near thing-- not so near a thing, though, as her face being pressed against the window of their little shuttle as they descended. Most of the trip had been spent imagining this moment and the anticipation took a turn towards anxiety now that it had arrived.

“If you’re concerned what my family might think of you tripping over your gown as you boarded the shuttle,” Sarek spoke up from beside her, his attention on a scientific journal in his lap, “you can rest assured that I won’t be bringing it up to them.”

Lips pressed against her smile-- he was a cheat, was what he was, always prodding to win an emotional reaction from her-- she turned to him with what she thought was a passable impression of his own quirked eyebrow. She was forced to rethink when he looked up to give her an eyeful of the original.

“Jokes, Ambassador?” she asked with great dignity. “And what would your esteemed family think of that?”

He shook his head and looked back at his journal. “How very human of you, to threaten to betray me as I’ve promised not to betray you.”

“You hear threats where you expect to hear them,” she scoffed. Since he wasn’t looking, she did allow the briefest hint of a smile. "And you expect them everywhere."

“Of course,” he agreed readily enough. “How else do you think I’ve lived this long, in my position?”

“And here I thought it was your gift of diplomacy,” she said with a note of false disappointment. She dropped the game a moment later, settling back in her seat and looking with only a little longing at the sky passing beyond the window. Idly, she wondered if the ship that had carried them was still orbiting or if it had already moved on.

There was a comfortable pause, then a brief tension before Sarek asked, “Are you… feeling better?” He had grown accustomed to such considerations in their time together but they seemed harder for him to express the closer they got to Vulcan. It was fortunate for them both that she could read him as well as she could.

“I’ve had a chance to make peace,” she said, careful over the words. The moments she’d spent bidding her family goodbye at the wedding party had been filled with tears shed and voices raised. Her mother had hugged her tight just before they’d separated and insisted through sobs that Amanda let them know immediately when she had arrived safely on Vulcan and that she was to stay in touch. “I know they mean well. I know that they want the best for me. What they need to realize is that what’s best for me isn’t theirs to define.”

Sarek shook his head, setting his journal aside. “I must confess,” he said, “I’m baffled by this dynamic. If they’re so opposed to the life you’ve chosen to live, why don’t they cut off contact entirely?”

“Because they don’t want to lose me,” she said gently. The question gave her a bit of a chill. It wasn't representative of one of her favorite tidbits of Vulcan culture. “They want me to be happy-- and they want to be able to see it for themselves. Never mind that they’re too stubborn to recognize it when they do see it.”

“They raise conflict after conflict with their refusal to accept your decisions,” Sarek said, the shadow of a frown touching his lips. “They continue to press their expectations upon you, trying to break you into something they can rebuild in their own image. There’s no logic that I can find in this kind of love.”

When he put it that way, Amanda could admit that it was easier to see his point.

Amanda brushed her fingers over the back of Sarek’s hand; he turned it over at the touch and she rested her palm against his. She worked her jaw around a question that was becoming increasingly stark the closer they got.

Before she could even ask, Sarek answered, “I would hope that we know each other well enough that I would never have to choose between your-- contentment and ours.” His fingers caressed her, an almost unconscious motion. “Attempted reconciliation is the first step, always, and I have confidence in our capacity for reconciliation. Certainly, I’ve always felt that I know you better, somehow, than your own family does.”

“You took the time to know me,” Amanda murmured. He would never have thought to bring her here if he hadn't. Her attention strayed back to the window but only for a moment. “They never did. Someday, maybe.”

Amanada could tell that Sarek was unconvinced-- which was fair, she granted, since she was too-- but he was gracious enough to let the subject rest. He didn’t pick up his journal again. They sat, hand in hand, peaceful in each other’s company. Amanda didn’t realize how much time had passed until the autopilot whistled to alert them that they were docking at the shuttle station and she jumped, a jolt of anxiety going through her bones.

“Peace,” Sarek murmured. He pulled his hand easily from the iron grip she’d fastened around it and wrapped his arm across her shoulders. He pressed gently when she didn’t stir and again he bid her, “Peace.”

But it was he who hesitated at the threshold, stopping short of pressing the button that would lower the door for them. He looked at her with an uncertainty that she was sure only she could see.

“You understand--”

“I know better than to expect Vulcan to be like Earth,” she assured him. She smoothed her gown and folded her hands in front of her, the picture of reserve. “And I know how I’m-- we’re-- expected to behave.”

He hesitated a moment longer, searching her face. His lips parted but he sealed them again without speaking. Facing the door, he stood straight and hit the button.

Amanda walked into the light of her new home with both eyes wide open.

[mirrerover]

Shipyard Stars

Spock’s bedroom on Earth would be called spacious by almost everyone’s standards. His parents allocated him almost the entire third level in the building -adequate room to meditate, study, and exercise- upon their arrival one year ago. His father out of practical reasons, his mother for reasons Spock believes might be partially grounded in emotions. Perhaps guilt for uprooting his life on Vulcan. Or out of an impulse to cosset him as human mothers are prone to. Both unnecessary.

The space is minimal and open, per Vulcan tradition, but never seems as small as it does with James Tiberius Kirk at the centre of it. With Jim comes a presence that seems to large to be contained by his adolescent body. Jim is a bright blaze of fire and gold, feelings boldly crackling in the air around him in a way that would be considered shameful on Spock’s home planet. But there’s never shame in the kaleidoscope of Jim’ many human emotions. Only anger.

Spock observes Jim from his mat on the floor. He had been meditating when interrupted by Jim climbing in through the window to unapologetically rummage through his drawers. Jim has taken to keeping many of his things at Spock’s place where they cannot be confiscated by his mother or teachers. A safe place as Spock’s parents haven’t entered his room or gone through his possessions without his explicit permission since he was four.

“May I enquire to the reason for your presence?”

Jim turns over one of his data pads in his hand before depositing it back where he found it.

“They’re sending her up soon.”

After a year on Earth, Spock has become very familiar with how humans will eschew clear and concise language in favour of a mixture of verbal and nonverbal cues. Jim in particular will start every conversation somewhere in the middle, brain ten steps ahead of his words, confident Spock will catch up to him. This time it’s easy. The newest addition to the fleet has been nearly all that Jim has spoken of these last few months.

“The final stages of assembly will require the ship to be in orbit.”

Jim’s bright blue eyes lock with Spock’s briefly before he returns to his task of depositing and retrieving his belongings in Spock’s space at will.

“It’ll be impossible to get to her up there.”

Spock knows this to be the truth. But he has also learned that for however loud and brash Vulcans and humans alike might consider Jim to be, the things Jim does not say or do can be just as telling.

“You do not possess access clearance to it on Earth either.”

Jim sighs and rolls his eyes towards the heavens, indicating that he finds Spock particularly obtuse at this moment. The gesture used to irk Spock. Maybe it still would if he wasn’t trained from a young age in controlling such a feeling because –despite Jim possessing a remarkable mind compared to his human peers— Spock has been at the top of his classes for his entire life, even back on Vulcan where his genetic heritage was thought to put him at a disadvantage. And these days he’s more aware of Jim’s tendency to manipulate others into action by appealing to their baser instincts. Like pride.

“Y’know, I’ve found that a lot of the times it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission.”

There’s a tremor in Spock’s eyebrow that has started to plague him ever since his family moved to Iowa.

“You are choosing short term gratification over long-term gains. Your freedom gets reduced every time you break the rules people set for you.” Jim seems completely preoccupied with packing his bag while Spock considers this a notion worth his attention. “Some might call that short-sightedness.”

The tool Spock gifted Jim for his birthday, a scanner of Vulcan technology that had made Jim come alight upon receiving it, is shoved into the bottom of his bag.

“She would never let me.”

Spock has little doubt that Admiral Winona Kirk would not grant access to two members of the public to roam around on what was going to be Starfleet’s most technological advanced ship in the fleet. Regardless of one of them being her youngest son. Or the other the son of one of their most important foreign diplomats.

Still.

“You should address your query through the proper channels.”

“What’s the point of proper channels if they’re not gonna listen anyway? All that’ll accomplish is tipping them off.” Jim zips the bag closed with unnecessary force and smiles a smile that Spock isn’t sure could be qualified as a smile at all. A sharp and cutting thing showing teeth but no happiness. “Wouldn’t be the same anyway. There’s a difference with having to make do with what people give you and just going out there and capturing it.”

Spock has noticed a growing fascination on Jim’s part with stealing, both in the literal and metaphorical sense, that he firmly resolves to curb in the future.

“I agree,” Spock says, eyes firmly locked with Jim’s. “Things freely given and things taken by force cannot be considered the same.”

Silence can be even louder than words when wielded by James Tiberius Kirk. He lets his gaze wander pointedly across Spock’s room and the sophisticated educational tools provided within it. Material possessions that Spock doesn’t share with anyone but Jim.

“Some are given more than others.”

Jealousy. An emotion even humans strive to repress. But Spock knows that it doesn’t drive Jim as much as it controls many other humans he has encountered. Fairness. Injustice. Those are the primary motivators of Jim’s anger even at his relatively young age.

“Yes,” Spock acknowledges. “We are not born equal.”

There’s a pause to Jim, as if he’s deciding whether he will allow Spock's acknowledgement of his world view to kill the momentum of his growing anger. Within their time together, Spock has become apt at sensing and steering Jim’s moods in a way no one else in Jim’s life has. And Jim, possessing great skill at picking people’s motivations apart himself, seems to constantly swing between joy at being known by Spock and fearful rebellion at being so completely seen by another person.

Vulnerability. Jim hardly ever shows it like he does now, body still and voice soft: “What if this is my only chance? To be on a ship like her?”

Fear. Spock has discovered that in Jim fear and anger run close at times. Sometimes Jim chooses anger because he prefers it over the cold touch of fear. Fear at not living up to his parents, fear of never leaving Iowa, fear of never exploring the stars. His dreams slowly suffocating between the endless oppressive stretches of corn until they die.  

“You’ll serve aboard many star ships when you join Starfleet,” Spock says decisively. Like there is no doubt Jim will join the ranks of Earth’s primary space branch. And Spock doesn’t have any doubts. Jim has many qualities that humans admire in one another. Qualities that would even garner respect from non-humans. From Vulcans.

Spock speaks the words as he speaks all his words. Because he thinks they deserve to be heard. And even though Jim is heading towards the exit, shoulders squared like he’s already willing his soft-spoken question into a soon forgotten memory, Spock has little doubt his answer is being heard. Spock finds his own words throw back into his face by Jim in the most inopportune of moments.

“So,” Jim says, caught in the doorway like a frozen storm, “you comin’?”

Within hours of first meeting him Spock had discovered that in Jim’s world there were clear sides. His mother, verbally abusive stepfather, and other figures of authority on one side. And Jim, fierce and alone, abandoned by his older brother, on the other. But since the start Spock had recognized the falsehood of this lone wolf narrative Jim had spun for himself. Their peers are drawn to Jim; they rally behind him in his school rebellions, captivated by his charisma, and cheer him on in his revolts. The day Jim realises the full scope of his magnetism would surely prove to be… interesting.  

Also, there is Spock. Where Jim goes, Spock follows, despite his human mother’s reservation and his Vulcan father’s disapproval. Spock’s presence to curtail some of Jim’s most reckless impulses could only prove to be beneficial. It is the logical choice.

So Spock rises from the bed and smooths down the creases in his robes. “I shall accompany you.”

~

A siren starts to blare in the distance.

“You think that’s for us?”

They’d ventured deeper into the belly of Starfleet’s future flagship than Spock had anticipated beforehand. Jim had been prepared, as Spock had known he would be, circumventing the security with his mother’s cloned Starfleet credentials. The Vulcan technology Spock had gifted Jim in the past played a key role in this deception and had immediately forced Spock to re-examine the tools deemed save to bestow upon Jim’s moral creativity and technical aptitude.

Spock tilts his head to the left in consideration. “Our breaking and entering would seem the most likely explanation for setting off the alarms to a secured facility.”

“Yeah,” Jim agrees, seemingly in awe of the flashing red lights and ear-piercing shrill of the alarm bouncing off the walls in increasing urgency.

Then Jim does something so illogical it stuns. He laughs, deep and boisterous, shaking his frame with tremors as if his body can’t contain the wealth of mirth he’s feeling. A display of emotion so blatant it would be considered indecent back home. Unseen. Spock can feel heat rising to his cheeks.

“We should run,” Jim says when he catches his breath, pupils blown wide in excitement.

“It would be futile. The activated security measures would take too long for us to circumvent. The chance of achieving a successful escape is negligible.”

Another pearl of laughter rips from Jim’s throat. The sound tugging at a counterpart hidden somewhere deep inside that Spock keeps carefully locked behind years of rigid mental training.  

“They’ll never take us alive.”

A nonsensical statement as Starfleet would never use deadly force on two adolescent children but Spock knows Jim is alluding to something else he can’t grasp the meaning of yet. Jim’s mother tongue is full of allegories and again Spock curses the language’s lack of precision and layered meanings. But Spock is yet to find a puzzle he can’t solve if he fully applies himself and he doesn’t see how a single teenage human boy could be any different.

Then Jim runs, a flash of gold down a corridor.

And Spock runs after.

~

@anarchisticandy @blueberrymafia, I finished a 1500 word Spirk drabble I started for you guys 2 years ago. XD 

Inspired by one of our fav fics Magpie by @waldorph

[tomfooleryprime]

I love Sarek. But he’s really not that great.

Sarek and Amanda are my favorite couple, not just in Star Trek, but ever. I’ve written more than half a million words of fanfiction about them. I’ve watched episodes featuring them so many times I secretly worry Netflix will put me on blast.

But I am not a Sarek apologist.

I’m pretty sure what draws most people to this couple is the age-old romantic notion that opposites may attract but the power of love can overcome anything. Cue cheesy instrumental music and a torrid kiss in the rain at a train station. I imagine a lot of women see themselves in Amanda, a seemingly regular woman with a regular life. Then they see a successful guy like Sarek, a dude who’s physically fit, well-educated, powerful, and absurdly intelligent, and it’s only natural that a recipe for hotness is born.

Because I’ve devoted literally years to dreaming up various ways this couple might have shacked up and vomiting the results all over AO3, I’ve also been forced to examine the personalities of both characters in great detail, and the only consistent conclusion I come to is fanon (myself included) gets it wrong most of the time.

Their marriage can’t have always been smooth sailing. If you’re not willing to believe me, then believe Amanda. 

Oh sure, there are tons of one-shots where they have little spats, but they almost always end with both of them making heart eyes at each other and jumping into bed. I get that Star Trek originated in the 1960s, but that doesn’t mean Sarek and Amanda had one of those “golly gee” wholesome relationships that could put Ward and June Cleaver to shame. 

Whichever version of Sarek you personally subscribe to, be it Mark Lenard, Ben Cross, or James Frain, it’s entirely possible to find the actors attractive but still think the character of Sarek could use some improvement. It’s also possible to love a character and admire their good qualities while being disappointed in their shortcomings. Maybe it makes me a shitty fangirl. Maybe it makes me realistic.

Literally decades of fanfiction and fan art have polished over Sarek’s unprettier bits, often portraying him as a hopeless romantic, a tender lover, a devoted father, and a man fiercely dedicated to his wife. I’m not going to argue each of those is patently false—hell, as a fanfiction writer, I’ve bought into some of those tropes myself—but I think some are truer than others. Let’s examine the canon.  

When we first meet him in “Journey to Babel,” he’s callous and aloof. He’s Vulcan, I get it, more on that later. But seriously, the guy has a habit of summoning his wife and acts like he doesn’t even know his own damn son. No one should be standing up to enthusiastically applaud and hand the man a husband or father-of-the-year trophy. Even Amanda seems pretty resigned to the arrangement.

I already know what the pushback to this assertion will be. He’s Vulcan! You can’t judge a Vulcan by human standards! Well, his wife is human and one of his sons is half-human, so I would argue that it should at least be an option, but I wrote a whole other essay on Star Trek’s moral relativism problem. 

Long story short, Star Trek glosses over a lot of moral and ethical dilemmas by using the argument, “Who are we to judge a culture we’re not part of?” I can’t answer that, but I will say someone once gave me a great piece of advice that I think applies to this idea of moral relativism: no person’s belief is inherently worthy of respect, but every person is. Maybe to understand Sarek as a person, we should look first at Sarek as a Vulcan.

Obviously Sarek subscribes to Vulcan philosophy, and while Vulcan philosophy seems pure as hell with its pacifism and its belief in embracing Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations (IDIC), I’m going to assert the Vulcan adherence to that philosophy seems to be a little lunch counter in nature. Yes, they take two scoops of resting bitch face and they’ll pass on the extra helping of tolerance. Sarek hails from a culture that is ostensibly exclusionary, sexist, and xenophobic in its practices.

When we encounter Vulcans in Enterprise, they’re people who mock humans for being too volatile, go to war with their Andorian neighbors, and aggressively purge the Syrranites for wanting to get back to the true meaning of Surak. But you might say, but that was before the Federation! They got better when they put T’Pau in charge.

Really? When we meet them next in the chronological timeline in Discovery, they’re telling Sarek they’ll only admit one of his weird social science pet projects (or as Sarek calls them, his kids) to the Vulcan Expeditionary Group.

In the Discovery episode “Light and Shadows,” Amanda reveals that Spock had a learning disability as a young child, which clearly embarrassed Sarek. Sadder still? Amanda explains there didn’t seem to be any educators on Vulcan willing to help a half-Vulcan child with a human learning disability. 

In the alternate timeline, when Spock applies to the Vulcan Science Academy, the admissions folks give him a pat on the back for achieving so much, despite his great disadvantage of having a human mom. Replace the word “human” with any religious, racial, or ethnic group, and see how you still feel about that sentence. 

Yes, Vulcans have racists and nationalists just like the rest of us and it doesn’t seem like they’re a rare breed either. Sarek is clearly attempting to be a better Vulcan, so kudos to him. However, not being an overt racist is not synonymous with sainthood. 

It’s pretty obvious throughout canon that while Sarek loves his wife, he’s uncomfortable with humanity, and he’s doubly perplexed with the humanity she imparted in their son. She even directly accuses him of never truly respecting humanity, to which he replies:

Which, let’s be honest, sounds like the rough equivalent of the “I can’t be racist because I have a black friend” defense. So many things in canon point to Sarek being utterly baffled by humans, not cutely intrigued by them as so often seen in fanon. The only time Spock and Sarek seem chummy with each other is when they’re mocking Amanda’s human emotionalism in “Journey to Babel.” Whether or not he meant to (and he definitely meant to), Sarek raised a son who saw his human half as a thing to be overcome.

Discovery has also hammered a lot of nails into the affectionate father coffin. Up until the final episode in season 1, he never called Michael his daughter and instead referred to her as his ward. It’s nice that he finally got over that technical distinction, but it doesn’t exactly conjure up the image of him tucking her into bed and giving her a kiss on the forehead.

He seems to accept her humanity because, well, she is human, but his own son’s humanity isn’t ok? Not like it matters, because his plan was to mold Michael into a Vulcan-like human anyway, which is pretty weird when you think about it. At one point, Michael tells Sarek she knows he must have considered the effect a Vulcan education and lifestyle might have on a human child, but she wants to know what he wanted Spock to learn from the experience of having a human sibling. His reply?

Which is... nice? He doesn’t say the only reason he took Michael in was for her to be his son’s empathy tutor, but he does essentially admit he was worried Spock was becoming too much of a momma’s boy. So the theory that Sarek was just scooping up orphans all over the galaxy like some kind of Vulcan Angelina Jolie doesn’t seem accurate. It gives the distinct impression that even Sarek thought of his hodge-podge brood as an experiment, at least to a degree.

Now, some may argue that Sarek never told Spock that he had to follow Surak’s teachings, which is true-ish. But that’s like telling a kid, “You don’t have to believe in Jesus” and then sending them to a Christian school in the heart of the Bible belt. What decision did he imagine his son would choose when he decided to raise him on Vulcan and stand by when other kids beat him up for not being Vulcan enough?

Seriously, Spock was almost guaranteed to turn out one of two ways: either he would just try harder to out-Vulcan everyone, which he did, or he would give logic the middle finger, which, well, is the option Sybok chose to run with. 

Despite fanfiction and fanart imagining him as this really hands-on parent who changes diapers and decorates baked goods (yes, I wrote a story like this and I’m calling myself out), he admits he’s the kind of dad who works late in the evenings, not the kind that reads stories at bedtime. 

It’s also no secret that as a parent, Sarek holds grudges. In “Journey to Babel,” Amanda confesses that Sarek and Spock haven’t spoken as father and son for eighteen years. In “Brother,” Michael asks Sarek when the last time he spoke to Spock was and he concedes it’s been years. In “Light and Shadows,” he’s clearly [Vulcan] pissed that Amanda is harboring a fugitive, who also just so happens to be his own son.

Is Sarek just that logical that he believes in justice even at a high personal price, or is he embarrassed that his own estranged son has been accused of murder and appears to be in the clutches of a mental breakdown? As far as I can tell, it might just be a little bit of both. 

Then there’s the idea that Sarek is a caring and devoted husband. Is there actually any evidence for this in canon, other than he was married to Amanda and had a family with her? Lots of people are married and have kids and don’t have a relationship that would rival that annoying couple on This is Us. 

Their relationship doesn’t seem like an equal partnership based on compromise, but rather one where Sarek does what he damn well pleases and Amanda follows along as a dutiful wife. 

Amanda gave up a lot of things to be with him: her home, her culture, and potentially even her own son’s well-being. The woman went to extremes for love not even witnessed on the Bachelor, and why?

In some contexts, that sounds like the powerful kind of love and devotion that epic-poems would be based on. In other contexts, it sounds almost like a pathological self-martyrdom. Did Sarek ever fully appreciate her sacrifices? It’s hard to say, but if he did, I doubt he ever voiced his appreciation. 

In his later years, when Sarek is losing his mind due to an age-related degenerative disease and he mind melds with Captain Picard, he tearfully muses (as Picard), “Amanda. I wanted to give you so much more. I wanted to show you such tenderness. But that is not our way. Spock? Amanda? Did you know?”

He's strongly implying he never told Amanda he loved her out loud. I’m sure he did love her, but it hardly bodes well for the idea that he’s a flowers and handmade cards kind of guy. And as for the notion that behind closed doors, he and Amanda had a super intimate relationship that would make even characters in Harlequin romance novels swoon, please, point me to an episode that makes you think that. I will watch it every day for the rest of my life. 

In summary, between his first chronological appearance in Discovery to his death in The Next Generation, Sarek had a lot of improving to do as a person and we see evidence that he most certainly did. He came to accept Michael as his daughter. He started speaking to Spock again after wrecking his childhood and turning him over to Section 31. Even though it clearly exasperated the hell out of him, he occasionally gave into his wife’s emotional needs. 

But that’s still a pretty far cry away from galaxy’s best father, husband, or lover. I think that’s what draws me to this couple so much. Sarek and Amanda didn’t live happily ever after: they did the best they could and made it work, just like the rest of us non-fictional losers. 

What little we have of canon depicts them as a couple who likely got married before they really knew each other, probably should have spent their first few years of marriage in counseling, eventually figured one another out enough to raise three kids who could all probably benefit from some therapy, and loved each other no matter what, even if it wasn’t out loud.

[mousedetective]

The Prince Next Door (4/?)

And here is the last fic (for now), a new chapter of one of @greenskyoverme‘s commissions!

The Prince Next Door - There's something about the Vulcan who lives in apartment 2B, something Jim doesn't find out until the Vulcan is attacked: he's Prince S’chn T’gai, trying to hide from the planetary troubles on his home planet. But the man, who tells him to call him Spock, ends up becoming more important to him and in his world than he ever realized.

Read Chapter 1 | Read Chapter 4 | Buy Me A Coffee? | Send Me A Prompt

Bones left them to their own devices, figuring out which room was going to who. Jim thought Spock would take the largest of the three open rooms but he suggested that be his mother’s room when she joined them. He couldn’t really argue with that. He did insist Spock take the second largest room. Not that there was much difference, but it was next to the room his mother would take and he felt Spock would appreciate that.

Once their things were stowed away they went to the kitchen to join Bones. There were two plates laid out with food for them. One had all the fixings of a normal Bones breakfast, the other had grits and a bowl of strawberries next to it. Jim gave Bones a strange look and Bones shrugged. “Most Vulcans are vegetarians. Grits are made with hominy and water with a little butter, usually. I don’t have much vegetarian fare on hand but he can have the last of the strawberries.”

“Thank you,” Spock said. He took a spoonful of the grits and chewed it for a moment before swallowing. “This is most satisfactory.”

“It tastes better with cheese but I didn’t know how strict a vegetarian you might be,” Bones said.

“I am not as strict as most Vulcans, as I am half-human,” Spock said. “I will eat meat substitutes and dairy products.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Bones said with a nod. “I know Knucklehead here goes through a gallon of milk every couple of days. So share, Jim.”

Jim rolled his eyes and began digging into his food. “Hey, I pay you back.”

“With low-fat crap instead of whole milk,” Bones grumbled. “Health consciousness should not extend to milk.”

“You used to be a doctor,” Jim said. “Shouldn’t you be pushing that?”

“Hey, fat people aren’t necessarily unhealthy,” Bones said. “And skinny people aren’t necessarily healthy. Why do you think I was a popular doctor? I didn’t buy into that skinny fad shit from hundreds of years ago.”

Spock looked at Bones. “Is that how you knew of my dietary preferences?”

Boned nodded towards the outside of his window. “With the Starfleet Academy so close, it helped to learn as much as I could about alien species. I would help out at the Academy clinic sometimes when they didn’t have enough doctors in their program.”

“And you’re damn good at it, too,” Jim said. “You just got tired of the pro-human contingent.”

Bones nodded slowly. “When the hospital I was working at wanted me to stop working at the clinic and stop treating aliens, I gave up. I could have gone into the Academy as a student, maybe even taught there for all I know, but I just decided hell with it, it’s time to get out.”

“I did not realize there was a contingent of this community that was anti-alien,” Spock said.

“You’re human passing. You’d probably be fine if you weren’t a freaking hidden prince,” Bones said. “Which reminds me. What are you two planning to do? Hide out here for a while with the Queen? Go back to Vulcan and...”

Spock shook his head. “Rightfully my father should lead the people of Vulcan, as he is next in line for succession. I think he wants to abolish the aristocracy and replace it with a democratic system, but I am not privy to his plans.”

“When is the last time you spoke to him?” Jim asked.

“When I arrived in San Francisco,” Spock said. “Our conversations were brief, however, and mostly concerned my mother.”

“Does your dad not like you or something?” Jim asked.

“Jesus, Jim,” Bones said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “Don’t ask questions like that.”

“Well, it’s a pertinent question,” Jim said.

“He is not fond of me as I have had...ideas...he does not agree with,” Spock said slowly. “While he loves a human woman, he does not seem to know how to love a half-human son.” He went back to his food. “Though if his plan is to change the political ruling nature of Vulcan to a democracy, that is not something I oppose. I have no interest in politics.”

“What are you interested in?” Bones asked.

“Science,” Spock replied. “It has been a passion for many years, to use human terminology.”

“Is that why you’re here in San Francisco?” Jim asked before having more of his food. “To be near Starfleet Academy?”

“My father would never let me enter,” Spock said. “Though he has different opinions on Vulcan society than most, he would not be so lenient to let me do anything other than entering university-level classes on Vulcan. Therefore, my education will be postponed until the matter is settled.”

Jim opened his mouth to reply but Bones glared and he shut it. He wondered what would happen if the matter was never settled and the planet was stuck in an ongoing civil war because it seemed like bullshit that Spock couldn’t go to a university somewhere, and Starfleet was the best option. That’s what he was trying for, at any rate. His ultimate goal was to get up into space and explore. Maybe even captain his own ship someday. It wasn’t fair that Spock couldn’t have his dreams too.

Maybe he’d figure out a way they could both be happy and keep his identity secret...

[daviddwyernotebook]

Cribside

My child sleeps, huddling in the corner of his crib against the padded border. His tiny fingers are curled about the edge of the blanket, upon which his identity, “BABY,” is spelled in capital pastels. At the other end of his bed, Cookie Monster, Mickey Mouse, and Brown Bear stand vigil, guarding his dreams against unhappy intrusions. His pudgy cheeks and button nose are just visible beneath the folds of the blanket. I move it from his face, being careful not to disturb his rest or his angelic pose. Long dark lashes lie against visibly soft ivory skin. His mouth is parted slightly, and I hear the small breaths as he takes them. Light downy hair, still sparse and tousled as always, completes the appearance of the life that has come and so changed mine.

            I stand beside him, as I sometimes do, and stare at those closed eyelids wondering what they hold for him, for me – for both of us.

            I am a father now, a role in which, after nearly twenty months, I am still surprised to find myself. I wonder how long it takes a person to be comfortable with the title “father.” When does the role become internalized? Perhaps a contributor to my identity crisis is the unpreparedness with which I entered this stage of life. Being college educated, I am familiar with the theories of Freud, Skinner, and Piaget. But the teachings and philosophies of these behavioral giants were quickly supplanted in my life by the indispensable Dr. Spock, who I now know is not the Vulcan on Star Trek. But even armed with this cornerstone of contemporary childrearing, I often find myself on the brink of panic and frustration.

            In all my education, not one hour was spent teaching me how to raise - let alone care for - a child. I find this particularly surprising as parenting is the one occupation a majority of the population will assume, whether they apply for the position or not. I was even conscientious and sought out a class entitled “The Sociology of Marriage and Family.” It was an interesting class, but the only thing I remember from it regarding children was that they are one of the things couples fight about. I know I am not unique in my ignorance. So how do people know what to do? How did my father know what to do? He never went to college.

            I am drawn from my mental wanderings at the thought of my father, and I focus once more on my son’s features. I have such hopes for him, and such fears.

            The father-son relationship is nothing new to me. I have been a part of one for twenty-nine years; it is just the perspective that has changed. Will my relationship with my son be like the one I share with my father? The thought startles me with concern.

            I am not alone in my discomfort. Television shows from Oprah to the Simpsons support this. Is a son ever at ease with his father?

            Not that Dad and I do not get along. We do, better than most fathers and sons I know. We survived the maturation skirmishes and now enjoy a pleasant coexistence - three hundred plus miles apart.

            Dad was a good father. He did of all the right things. He spectated my events, coached Little League, sent me to church, and taught me the value of hard work. Heck, he even gave the old sex talk a shot (a task I am already dreading). So what has he done to earn my discomfort?

            There is an ominousness to the title “Father.” The word alone conjures expectations that most Greek and Roman gods would shun. But worse are the expectations the son applies to himself on his father’s behalf.

            It was always obvious to me that fathers have an agenda for their sons mapped out early, perhaps before conception. The number of “& Son” companies in the yellow pages evidence this. Fathers also include their sons in their outings: the fishing trips, the football games, and the car shows. It is an American right of passage, the first hunting trip at the threshold age of twelve. I still remember mine. We did not get anything. We never did. Even then I was old enough to know that was not the point. Sons, it seems, represent a “create your own friend.” Only it does not work out that way.

            Though ten odd years of summer and Christmas vacations were spent apprenticing the family business, Dad did not get his “& Son.” The hours logged camping and hunting did not bring Dad a woodsman to brave the wilds with; I am more comfortable with the concrete of any city than the smallest of woods. I enjoy reading and even write when I get the chance, while I wager that, if pushed, Dad could count the number of novels he has read. Dad likes Westerns and Charles Bronson movies; I like Science Fiction and Shakespeare. Dad enjoys golf and skiing, I like tennis and running. Dad is a contractor; I am an accountant. We live over three hundred miles apart.

            Given the plans he must have had, that every father has, this all must disappoint him terribly. But I, like him, am who and what I am. Knowing this does not alleviate the guilt.

            Timothy sighs in his sleep as he rolls over, dislodging the blanket from his shoulders. I bring it once more to his neck. His face is so peaceful and innocent; he is keenly unaware of the demands I will place upon him simply by my existence. And when will this occur? When will the excited jumps and repeated cries of “Daddeee” upon my arrival give way to something else?

            Are we, this child – my child – and I destined to have so little in common? Will there be no experience for us to share?

            Timothy’s lips curl into a small smile and I conclude that he is having a happy dream. His stuffed guardians have done well this night. I acknowledge their competence with a quick glance.

            Did I have something to do with this contentedness? Will I do something tomorrow to disrupt it? The next day? The responsibility I feel is nauseating. Is any man up to this task?

            I wonder if others share my anxiety. I think they must. My thoughts turn once more to my father. I picture him, almost three decades earlier, watching his first-born sleep, wondering what will become of he and him – of him and me.

            The hopes and fears and questions he must have had. Were they not the same that now possess me? I conclude that they must have been. And then I think again of the differences that have separated us for all these years. Differences that I knew to disappoint my father. I recall now how he encouraged my interest in reading and in writing, and how he never really did force his hobbies on me, and how thrilled he was when I went to college. He must have known that the results of these actions would take me from him, at least in some small way. Supportive and believing is how I recall my father’s role in my childhood. And mostly encouraging, even when the behavior he rallied behind meant losing the surely coveted “& Son.”

            As Timothy sleeps, I wish him more than peaceful dreams. I wish him the happiness that every child deserves, in whatever it is that will bring it to him. And I will encourage him along the way, though the path he chooses may take him a thousand miles from me in more ways than one. This is the agenda I have for my son.

            Standing alone in the darkness permeated only by the smallest sliver of light from the hall, I smile. Dad and I do have something in common, perhaps life’s most important experience.

            I gently brush my child’s hair with my fingertips and whisper “sleep well,” echoing the thought in my mind to my father. I wish us all well this night, we who are so connected. And to my father, I add a mental “thank you,” for, as I slip from the nursery on my toes, I realize that while the public school system and state university may have failed to prepare me, one man did not.

[anneedmonsonus]

A Timeless Federation Bungalow in Coolbinia

This beautiful home has just gone on the market with Nadija Begovich and Dan Broad of The Perth Property Co.

Buying a house in beautiful Coolbinia was a dream come true for then newly-engaged couple Ash and Lisa Mitchell.

Both Ash and Lisa had always loved character homes and when the chance came to buy this 1947 Federation Bungalow 14 years ago, they jumped on it.

Since then, the house has been a wonderful home for the Mitchells, their daughter Charlotte, 11, dog Rusty, a Lagotto Romagnolo (I thought I was pretty good at my exotic dog breeds, but I had to look that one up!) budgies Daisy and Petal, various fish and cute backyard frog Freddo.

The tuckpointed double brick house was the first built on Mardella Street, Mount Lawley before the suburb was split in 1953. In 1995 the house was renovated and extended with a beautiful sympathetic extension larger than the size of the original home.

A week after they were engaged, Ash and Lisa went to see the house and ‘fell in love immediately’, according to Lisa. “It was a bit beyond our price range, but as the agent said just three days later, ‘It’s only money!’ ” she laughed.

Both fans of older styles – Federation, Art Deco and MCM – Ash and Lisa wanted something that they could put their own stamp on, but with busy careers and a business, knew they didn’t have the time or tolerance to oversee an extension or major renovation. But this house, with its beautiful bones, sympathetic extension and traditional features (think soaring ceilings, sash windows, 20cm skirting boards and Metters stove) fit the bill. “It was also large, with four bedrooms and a study and two very separate living areas – one where Charlotte and I could read, play piano and relax and another where Ash could watch TV,” said Lisa.

THE MUSIC ROOM: The music room at the front of the home is Lisa’s favourite room. “It just has this timeless, classic, elegant yet cosy feel – I can lie on the couch staring at the three metre ceiling rose we installed for hours – I especially love this room bathed in the afternoon light in winter,” she said. “Although when we had the old Vulcan heater removed a few years ago, the technician said, “No wonder you felt so calm and relaxed in here– I think you’ve been gassing yourself!” Luckily the room is large and airy and the central heating now does the trick.

Close to the CBD and the arts and entertainment precinct, the location was another drawcard. Lisa, who is a Senior Statewide Consultant for the Department of Education, was at the time completing post-grad study at ECU Mt Lawley down the road and preferred attending classes to online tutorials. (Ash was in politics and is now a landscape designer). They both liked that the house was a family home, and knew the local public primary school just 500m away had a reputation for academic excellence.

“Having rented in Coolbinia during my student years, I had dreamed of returning here on a more permanent basis one day,” said Lisa. “I loved the peace and tranquility and always felt so safe – even though security on my soon-to-be-demolished rental was non-existent!

“Wandering the suburb back then I took note of Mardella Street in particular, with its imposing Art Deco mansion in beautiful grounds on the corner and a total of just 12 houses. As we are the quietest street in the suburb, many a tennis game has been played on the road out front!”

Like the rest of Coolbinia, the little street is full of trees and people take pride in their gardens. Four km from the city, Coolbinia was designed to garden suburb principles first devised by Ebenezer Howard, the English founder of the garden city movement. Howard had a vision for leafy green streets, parkland within walking distance of everyone and low-density dwellings with gardens.

I think he would have approved of what Lisa and Ashley did to their new place – they completely reworked the gardens on the 728sqm block, making them gorgeous and green with a large lawn for Charlotte and her friends to play.

BACKYARD LOVE: Ash and Lisa had a lawn put in the backyard for Charlotte and her friends. “Many a cricket match has been played on the back lawn,” said Lisa.

Lisa and daughter Charlotte on the front veranda, a favourite spot.

“When Ash made the tree change from politics to his new business, our garden became the guinea pig,” said Lisa.

“The garden was sparse and definitely low to nil maintenance. The flax grass bushes were gratefully accepted by a local primary school to form their water-wise garden!

“We had one tree in a very sloping backyard – the liquid amber was maybe four feet high. We have landscaped the area with abundant trees and hedges, limestone retaining walls, paving and new grass, and installed an outdoor bar area. The front yard needed to complement our home’s heritage – so roses, lavender, agapanthus and more trees were included to replace the native look.”

What I love about this house is that the traditional extension has been carried out with the same attention to detail as the original 1940s cottage.

Everywhere you look there is a special feature; something pretty or quaint. The original Metters stove is a feature of the dining. The ceilings have pretty details in every room; the windows are all timber-framed.

Opening onto the back garden from the cosy sitting room (part of the rear extension) is a reclaimed antique front door, with a brass slot for letters. Not a corner of this property has been overlooked – but that doesn’t mean Lisa and Ashley didn’t add their own style when they moved here.

“The house was light-filled and airy and had been much-loved – there was clear evidence of little kids 4WDing their toy cars across the walls and there was gold stenciling everywhere, even the floor!” said Lisa. “There were window treatments on just the front two windows and the kitchen walls had undergone one of the latest trends – marbling – in what I could only call ‘Tobacco Stain.’”

They repainted every room in the house (so long marbling!) sanded and varnished the beautiful timber floors throughout and replaced and added window treatments, decorative light fittings and ceiling fans throughout. “The kitchen layout was perfect – the house was very thoughtfully renovated and extended and it was so functional,” said Lisa. “So instead of reinventing the wheel we resurfaced the Oregon pine cupboards and painted the interior cupboards a pale pistachio.”

New stone benchtops were added, a new sink and an ASKO dishwasher. I really like it when people do this – look at the potential in an existing kitchen rather than gutting and redoing the whole thing from scratch – and the result is a classic painted kitchen that is custom, beautiful and perfectly suited to its character home.

BEFORE

AFTER

BEFORE

  AFTER

After deciding to put the home on the market to move closer to Charlotte’s future high school, Lisa and Ashley asked The Perth Property Co. Nadija Begovich and Dan Broad to sell it. (You can see the listing here).

One of the things Lisa and Ashley liked about Nadija and Dan’s approach is that they offer an all-inclusive styling and staging service for their clients, with the goal of presenting each house in the best way possible to show it off to its best and get a great result. (You might remember this story I wrote on them a couple of years ago). “A friend of mine in Mount Lawley used Nadija as her agent and I was so impressed to see how she styled, presented and quickly sold the home,” said Lisa. “Nadija can really see the beauty in a home and emphasises its best features so well.”

I love what Nadija and Dan do because they’re examples of real estate agents who go above and beyond – they work ridiculously hard and they do it all with a smile. While Lisa and Ash already had a lot of classic and antique pieces; it was just a case of adding in complementary elements like cushions, linens and plants. “When we style and stage, we ensure the rooms look spacious and functional and that the property has a balanced flow and is presented at ‘display home’ standard,” said Nadija.

For house-proud Lisa (who jokes that she has a touch of OCD!) that approach was appreciated. “Nadija is warm and down-to-earth, what you see is what you get,” she said. “She is knowledgeable, a great communicator and the consummate professional. We are genuine sellers, so we wanted a genuine real estate agent to represent the sale of our beloved home of 14 years. The experience so far has been exciting yet surprisingly smooth!”

Now set to make the next big change in their lives, Ash and Lisa feel lucky to have had the great memories and good neighbours they have had at Mardella Street. “Although nobody moves from here very often, at a ‘Welcome to the Street’ party last year, our newest neighbours likened Coolbinia to ‘a village’,” she said. “It really is the place where you walk across the street for a cup of sugar or some basil or next door for a much-needed wine while the kids play – and you always have a last-minute babysitter nearby!” Maya x

Thank you to Lisa, Ashley and Charlotte for having me through your beautiful home and to Perth Property Co – you can see the listing with Perth Property Co for this home online here.

HOME LOWDOWN

THE CURRENT OWNERS

Ashley and Lisa Mitchell, who live with their daughter Charlotte, 11

THEIR HOME

A classic 1947 Federation Bungalow, extended in a sympathetic style

LOCATION

Coolbinia, Western Australia

THE SELLING AGENT

The home is currently on the market with Nadija Begovich and Dan Broad of The Perth Property Co

FEATURES

Five bedrooms, two bathrooms, two living rooms, classic kitchen, timber floorboards, 10ft ceilings, heritage features, double carport, alfresco entertaining areas, veranda, professionally landscaped gardens

INTERIOR DESIGN

Lisa designed the interiors herself

STYLING AND STAGING

Nadija styled the interiors to sell (home styling and staging is part of her real estate service)

  The post A Timeless Federation Bungalow in Coolbinia appeared first on House Nerd.

from Home Improvement https://house-nerd.com/2019/03/22/coolbinia-federation-bungalow/

[mikemortgage]

Paul Allen’s passions: Rock n’ roll, sports and philanthropy

SEATTLE — Personal computers, conservation, pro football, rock n’ roll and rocket ships: Paul G. Allen couldn’t have asked for a better way to spend, invest and donate the billions he reaped from co-founding Microsoft with childhood friend Bill Gates.

Allen used the fortune he made from Microsoft — whose Windows operating system is found on most of the world’s desktop computers — to invest in other ambitions, from tackling climate change and advancing brain research to finding innovative solutions to solve some of the world’s biggest challenges.

“If it has the potential to do good, then we should do it,” Gates quoted his friend as saying.

Allen died Monday in Seattle from complications of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, according to his company Vulcan Inc. He was 65. Just two weeks ago, Allen, who owned the NFL’s Seattle Seahawks and the NBA’s Portland Trail Blazers, had announced that the same cancer he had in 2009 had returned.

Gates, who met Allen at a private school in Seattle, said he was heartbroken to have lost one of his “oldest and dearest friends.”

“Personal computing would not have existed without him,” Gates said in a statement, adding that Allen’s “second act” as a philanthropist was “focused on improving people’s lives and strengthening communities in Seattle and around the world.”

Over his lifetime, Allen gave more than $2 billion to efforts aimed at improving education, science, technology, conservation and communities.

“Those fortunate to achieve great wealth should put it to work for the good of humanity,” Allen wrote several years ago, when he announced that he was giving the bulk of his fortune to charity. He said that pledge “reminds us all that our net worth is ultimately defined not by dollars but rather by how well we serve others.”

Allen, who played guitar, built a gleaming pop culture museum in his hometown to showcase his love of rock n’ roll, and funded underwater expeditions that made important shipwreck discoveries, including a U.S. aircraft carrier lost during World War II.

Yet in a sense, Allen also lived up to the moniker once bestowed on him by Wired Magazine: “The Accidental Zillionaire .” He was a programmer who coined Microsoft’s name and made important contributions to its early success, yet was overshadowed by his partner’s acerbic intellect and cutthroat business sense.

At the company’s founding, for instance, Allen let Gates talk him into taking the short end of a 60-40 ownership split. A few years later, he settled for an even smaller share, 36 per cent, at Gates’ insistence. Reflecting on that moment In his memoir, Allen concluded that he might have haggled more, but realized that “my heart wasn’t in it. So I agreed.”

Allen was born in Seattle. After graduating from the city’s private Lakeside School, where he met Gates, Allen spent two years at Washington State University. The two friends both dropped out of college to pursue the future they envisioned: A world with a computer in every home.

“There would be no Microsoft as we know it without Paul Allen,” said longtime technology analyst Rob Enderle, who also consulted for Allen.

Allen and Gates founded Microsoft in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and their first product was a computer language for the Altair hobby-kit personal computer, giving hobbyists a basic way to program and operate the machine.

After Gates and Allen found some success selling their programming language, MS-Basic, the Seattle natives moved their business in 1979 to Bellevue, Washington, not far from its eventual home in Redmond.

Microsoft’s big break came in 1980, when IBM Corp. decided to move into personal computers and asked Microsoft to provide the operating system.

Gates and Allen agreed, even though they didn’t have one to offer. To meet IBM’s needs, they spent $50,000 to buy an operating system called QDOS from another startup in Seattle — without, of course, letting on that they had IBM lined up as a customer. Eventually, the product refined by Microsoft became the core of IBM PCs and their clones, catapulting Microsoft into its dominant position in the PC industry.

The first versions of two classic Microsoft products, Microsoft Word and the Windows operating system, were released in 1983. By 1991, Microsoft’s operating systems were used by 93 per cent of the world’s personal computers.

Allen served as Microsoft’s executive vice-president of research and new product development until 1983, when he resigned after being diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease.

But Allen left Microsoft knowing he and Gates would be forever linked in the history of technology.

“We were extraordinary partners,” Allen wrote. “Despite our differences, few co-founders had shared such a unified vision — maybe Hewlett and Packard and Google’s Sergey Brin and Larry Page, but it was a short list.”

After leaving Microsoft, Allen would remain interested in technology, especially the field of artificial intelligence, which recalled first piquing his interest while he was still a teenager after reading “I, Robot,” a science fiction book by Isaac Asimov.

“From my youth, I’d never stopped thinking in the future tense,” Allen wrote in his 2011 memoir, “Idea Man.”

With his sister Jody Allen in 1986, Allen founded Vulcan, which oversees his business and philanthropic efforts. He founded the Allen Institute for Brain Science and the aerospace firm Stratolaunch, which has built a colossal airplane designed to launch satellites into orbit. He has also backed research into nuclear-fusion power and scores of technology startups.

Allen also funded maverick aerospace designer Burt Rutan’s SpaceShipOne, which in 2004 became the first privately developed manned spacecraft to reach space.

The SpaceShipOne technology was licensed by Sir Richard Branson for Virgin Galactic, which is testing a successor design to carry tourists on brief hops into lower regions of space.

Yet Allen never came close to replicating Microsoft’s success. What he always seemed to lack, Enderle said, was another Bill Gates to help fulfil his visions.

“He was a decent engineer who got the timing on an idea right once in his life, and it was a big one,” Enderle said.

When Allen released his memoir, he allowed “60 Minutes” inside his home on Lake Washington, across the water from Seattle, revealing collections that ranged from the guitar Jimi Hendrix played at Woodstock to vintage war planes and a 300-foot yacht with its own submarine.

“My brother was a remarkable individual on every level,” his sister Jody Allen said in a statement. “Paul’s family and friends were blessed to experience his wit, warmth, his generosity and deep concern,” she added.

Paul Allen’s influence is firmly imprinted on the cultural landscape of Seattle and the Pacific Northwest, from the bright metallic Museum of Pop Culture designed by architect Frank Gehry to the computer science centre at the University of Washington that bears his name.

In 1988 at 35, he bought the Portland Trail Blazers professional basketball team. He told The Associated Press that “for a true fan of the game, this is a dream come true.”

He also was a part owner of the Seattle Sounders FC, a major league soccer team, and bought the Seattle Seahawks. Allen could sometimes be seen at games or chatting in the locker room with players.

——

Associated Press writers Michael Liedtke in San Francisco and Lisa Baumann in Seattle contributed to this report.

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Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen makes landmark $40M gift for University of Washington computer science school

Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen inside the Paul Allen Center for Computer Science and Engineering at the University of Washington. Photo via University of Washington.

Microsoft co-founder Paul Allen will make a $40 million gift to the University of Washington’s computer science and engineering program — a historic act of philanthropy that university officials say will put the UW and Seattle region at the forefront of the technology revolution for decades to come.

Allen’s gift, combined with an additional $10 million from Microsoft in Allen’s honor, will create a $50 million endowment for a new Paul G. Allen School of Computer Science & Engineering at the UW in Seattle. The elevation from a department to a full school is an important distinction and recognizes the success and stature of the UW’s growing computer science program.

“We are entering a new golden age of innovation in computer science, and UW students and faculty will be at its leading edge,” Allen said in a statement. “My hope is that the school will have the same influence on them as it did on me — that they will continue to dream big, breaking through technological barriers and using their skills to solve some of the biggest problems our world faces.”

Paul G. Allen (center) discusses a new $50 million endowment to create the Paul G. Allen School of Computer Science & Engineering with Hank Levy (left), Wissner-Slivka Chair in Computer Science & Engineering and director of the new school, and Ed Lazowska (right), Bill & Melinda Gates Chair in Computer Science & Engineering at the UW. Photo via University of Washington.

The UW Board of Regents voted moments ago to approve the new school. GeekWire was at the meeting on Thursday at the UW’s Bothell campus and spoke with UW President Ana Mari Cauce. She called Allen a “renaissance man” who the university is humbled to be associated with and said the endowment will be valuable for one of the UW’s top programs.

“We already have a fabulous computer science program,” she told GeekWire. “This will take an already-excellent department and take it out in the stratosphere.”

Paul G. Allen. Photo by Beatrice de Gea. Courtesy of Vulcan Inc.

Allen will speak at an event at the UW’s main Seattle campus this afternoon — stay tuned to GeekWire for our reporting from there.

This marks Allen’s largest donation to the UW and puts the 64-year-old Seattle native in elite company as a “regenetal laureate,” or those who have given more than $100 million to the university. Others on that list include Bill & Melinda Gates, the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, and Microsoft.

“When Paul Allen and Bill Gates founded Microsoft in 1975 with a vision of a computer on every desk and in every home, they ignited what would become the modern-day software industry,” Microsoft President Brad Smith said in a statement. “While much has changed in the past 40 years, one ideal endures: computer science education is a gateway to progress, innovation and opportunity. We are delighted to honor Paul’s tremendous impact on our company, and his continuing support for computer science will have a lasting impact on generations to come.”

Once fully funded, the endowment will provide roughly $2 million per year of “seed funding” for new initiatives in computer science and engineering “that enable us to envision and create the future,” said Ed Lazowska, Bill & Melinda Gates chair in the UW CSE department.

“Mr. Allen’s intention is to allow the school to be agile in meeting special opportunities that arise, helping CSE to thrive and to advance its educational and research missions,” Lazowska said. “That is, the gift is meant to give CSE flexibility in responding to short-term needs or taking advantage of fortuitous circumstances that can be highly leveraged with discretionary funds.”

Lazowska added: “Across the country, computer science programs are expanding, diversifying, and increasing in prominence – nowhere more so than at the University of Washington. Transitioning to a School of Computer Science & Engineering reflects the central role that CSE plays, as well as the broad interdisciplinary connections that CSE has established, across the entire campus.”

Examples of how Allen’s gift will be used include new research initiatives; equipment purchases; recruiting purposes; professorships; scholarships for students; and more.

Lazowska noted that the endowment income “is intended to be complementary to, but not to replace, existing funding sources.”

The $50 million endowment will not go toward the construction of the UW’s new 135,000 square-foot CSE building, which will open in January 2019 and is funded in part by companies like Microsoft, Amazon, Google, and Zillow. The building will double the capacity of the university’s CSE program and allow the school to award more than 600 degrees annually.

Allen previously donated $14 million to help build the 85,000 square-foot Paul G. Allen Center for Computer Science & Engineering, which opened in 2003 and laid the groundwork for what has become one of the nation’s top computer science programs.

The Paul G. Allen Center for Computer Science & Engineering. (Ed LaCasse photo)

In the decade since Allen helped open the current UW CSE building, the demand for computer science graduates has skyrocketed in the Seattle region, thanks to a strong startup ecosystem, Amazon’s rapid growth, and the opening of Seattle-area engineering offices by Google, Facebook, and many other tech companies based outside the region. More than two-thirds of UW CSE graduates remain in-state after completing their degree.

In 2016, CSE became the leading “first-choice” major among confirmed incoming UW freshmen, surpassing the longtime leading preferred major, Business Administration. UW says it currently has to turn away two out of every three qualified student applicants in the CSE department. Last year, 391 students graduated from the department and 5,000 students took CSE introductory courses.

“This is a degree that students want,” Cauce told GeekWire. “The endowment is perfectly timed.”

Allen’s connection to the University of Washington

Though he never attended the UW — he dropped out of Washington State University after two years to work at Honeywell — Allen’s ties to the university go back to his days as a high school student in the Seattle area, where he and fellow Lakeside School classmate Bill Gates would “tinker around” with the university’s computers. They used devices like a CDC 6400 and a Burroughs 5500 to develop scheduling software for Lakeside; the young geeks also played with ARDS and IMLAC computers, which was their first exposure to the graphics and mouse interface.

Their experience on the UW campus ultimately helped inspire the pair to launch Microsoft in 1975 and change the personal computing world forever.

Paul Allen, left, and Bill Gates at Lakeside School in 1970. (Bruce Burgess Photo Archive)

In Allen’s memoir, Idea Man, he described how he spent nearly every summer day after his sophomore year in high school on the UW campus at a computer terminal in the electrical engineering building and “read manuals over hamburgers at the student union.” In his senior year, he “brazenly walked through a door and into UW’s computer science lab,” where he programmed on a Teletype linked to a Xerox Data Systems Sigma-5.

That’s when an assistant professor realized Allen wasn’t a UW student after word got around that “I seemed to know what I was doing,” as Allen recalled in his book.

“All right, I’ll tell you what,” the professor said. “If you keep helping my students, you can stick around.”

Wilcox Hall was previously home to the UW computer center where Paul Allen learned how to code and wrote software. (GeekWire photo)

In 1989, his contributions helped to build the Allen Library on campus, which is named after his father, the late Kenneth S. Allen, who was the UW’s associate director of libraries from 1960 to 1982. Allen’s mom, the late Faye G. Allen, taught at the Ravenna School in Seattle.

On #InternationalWomensDay, thinking of my mother whose powerful lessons continue to inspire me. http://pic.twitter.com/9u7yOuiywT

— Paul Allen (@PaulGAllen) March 8, 2017

After leaving Microsoft in 1983, Allen has gone on to create a bevy of ventures and organizations, working under the umbrella of Vulcan Inc., his Seattle-based investment company. His ventures and research organizations include Vulcan Aerospace, the Allen Institute for Brain Science, the Allen Institute for Artificial Intelligence, and the Allen Institute for Cell Science.

He has also reshaped his hometown with projects including Museum of Pop Culture, formerly EMP, and Vulcan’s numerous real estate developments in the South Lake Union neighborhood, including the construction of the campus that became Amazon’s headquarters.

Allen was also recently recognized as one of America’s top philanthropists; his contributions range from committing $100 million to fight Ebola to the various non-profits that the Paul G. Allen Foundation helps support. In addition to his donations to the UW, he has also given money to Washington State University. His philanthropic contributions exceed $2 billion to date.

Allen’s other passions — which drive much of his decisions for where to spread his fortune — include aerospace and music (he can play a wicked guitar solo). The Seattle native a big sports fan, too. He and his father would attend UW football games in the early 1960s. Today Allen owns the Portland Trail Blazers, the Seattle Seahawks, and part of the Seattle Sounders.

Allen’s net worth is now $19.9 billion; he ranks 21st on Forbes’ list of richest people in America.

We’ll update this post with more details from Allen’s speech at the UW later today.

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