"And that's all there is to it." Crewman Third Class Lo licked her lips as she set the stringed instrument back on its base. She reached for her water bottle and took a quick drink. "The hardest part of playing the Etrovian tongue harp would be learning the quick plucking movements. Once I've mastered that-which I haven't, yet-" she laughed, "-it ought to be a cinch." Her hand rested lovingly on top of the instrument. "My goal this year is to be able to play "The Fantassando" all the way through without mistakes."
Leonard chuckled. "Well, if anyone can lick that problem, it'll be you, Flora." They shared a smile. "What song were you playing just now?"
"Sendal's "Lava Concerto", first and second movements." Lo brushed a lock of black hair from her forehead and adjusted a piece of sheet music she had propped up on a stand. "He has such a beautiful soul. Have you ever been to one of his concerts?"
"Can't say I have." McCoy glanced across the assembly hall and spotted Kirk standing near a booth by the door. He turned back to Lo. "That was beautiful. Now, if you'll excuse me..." He stepped back and headed in the captain's direction. A sign next to the entrance welcomed fellow crew and visitors from Nebula Station B to the Enterprise hobby fair.
He found Kirk bending over a basin of a blue gooey substance, sleeves rolled up and hands buried in it. "It's so cold," he muttered.
"It's supposed to be." Lieutenant Allyson adjusted his glasses until they sat straight on his nose, then peered at the timepiece on his wrist. "Okay, sir, you can take your hands out now." He handed Kirk a long piece of paper towel. "Dry them off thoroughly, then put them in the basin on your right and pull them out quickly."
Kirk obeyed. "Oooh," he hissed, shaking his hands dry. Droplets of a red liquid hit McCoy's tunic top. "That tingles."
Allyson nodded. "Sit down and hold your hands under the light." He turned on a long necked lamp and gestured for Kirk to take a seat. Several alien timepieces sat on the table to his left, the more mechanical ones opened up to show the workings. Calendars from various worlds hung on the wall behind him, and a replica of a Tabenian prophecy stone stood nearby.
"Hey, Bones," Kirk said, not looking at the doctor. "check it out. Jeffrey's going to predict my future." He extended his hands forward until the light hit them.
"And here I thought you were getting a manicure." McCoy leaned against the side of the table. "Fortune telling with frosty clay?"
"The Pan Yourin tribe on Setames XIX swears by it." Allyson peered at Kirk's hands, turning them from side to side. "It is said that the patterns produced by the application of clay and tisilaberry juice indicate one's immediate destiny," he explained, trailing off as he studied Kirk's markings. "Of course, it's all stuff and nonsense. Probably has more to do with skin temperature, perspiration, etc. But I've always been fascinated by other peoples' perceptions of time and the future."
Kirk raised his eyebrows. "What do you see in mine?"
Allyson reached for his tablet and tapped the screen a couple of times. "According to this..." He smiled weakly. "...a period of testing awaits you. Sorry, sir."
"Stuff and nonsense indeed," McCoy grinned. "Speaking of testing, when was the last time I gave you a fitness assessment, Jim?"
Kirk groaned. "Thanks a lot." He pointed a thumb at McCoy. "Why don't you see if you can find my foot in his future, Jeff?"
Allyson shook his head, lips tight, trying to fight back the smallest of grins. "Too risky. Besides, there's a...line." Two female civilians who couldn't be older than twenty one were standing behind McCoy. The taller of the two winked at McCoy, then lowered her eyelashes at the white coated lieutenant, who blushed crimson.
"I can see that. C'mon, Jim." McCoy angled his chin away from Allyson's table. "There's got to be somebody who likes to cook in their spare time. I'm starving."
Kirk stood, shaking hands with Allyson. "Maybe you ought to keep a log book of how many of your predictions come true. In the name of science, that is..." He turned to McCoy, smiling. "Plus, it's a good excuse for collecting the comm codes of certain parties. Am I right? Catch you later, Jeff."
"I take it you're speaking from experience," McCoy remarked drily as they slipped away. "No booth for Jimmy boy. Oh, no. He's a free-range hobbyist."
Kirk pointed at his chest. "You know me. Can't even stay in the captain's chair." He cracked a knuckle. "Actually, I was thinking of making an appearance later, maybe giving motorcycle rides in the corridors. Wanna try?"
McCoy frowned as they passed by a jewellery making exhibit and a slide show of various avians from different planets. "Don't you dare. Chosen profession aside, blood isn't my hobby-" he thumbed his own chest "-any more than filling out accident report forms is yours," he finished, jabbing Kirk with his index finger.
"Nah, your hobby is being a professional pain in the butt."
"Says the guy who wanted to plant his boot squarely-"
"Hey, check it out. Spock has a booth."
"Spock?" McCoy followed Kirk's outstretched finger to the next aisle. The Vulcan stood with his back to them, pointing to an object on his table while a small child frowned, clutching his father's hand. After a couple of moments, they moved on, the boy eagerly pulling his father towards a display of brightly colored candy. "Doesn't look like it's very popular, though," McCoy noted.
"Let's change that." Before McCoy could reply, Kirk was weaving through the crowd towards Spock's exhibit. Sighing, he followed behind slowly, stopping only once to enjoy the scent of spenfola blossoms that emanated from a booth to his right.
"Leonard." Spock nodded his acknowledgement to McCoy, then seated himself. "I am surprised to see you. I was under the impression that you were "all silenced out"." He indicated the table, which McCoy could now see was covered with a black tablecloth. A glass case containing plushies sat on one side, while a tablet with a dark screen was propped up on a stand nearby. The silence helmet hung on a hook next to a monitor screen that appeared to be running advertisements for the contemplative silence holoprogram. A bowl of silence crunchies accompanied a pitcher of black liquid and a stack of disposable cups.
McCoy picked up one of the crunchies and popped it in his mouth. "Oh, no, you can never have enough silence," he deadpanned, leaning back against the table and chewing on the snack.
Kirk, who had been engrossed in the ads, now reached for the helmet and pulled it on. He extended his arms out in front of him, groping around blindly. "How do you see with this thing, anyway?" he asked, his voice muffled.
"You don't," McCoy replied.
"Right." Kirk moved around in a circle, hands swaying from side to side to orient himself.
"While you and I may share an affinity for silence, Doctor, it would appear we are in the minority." Spock frowned as a Thararian couple passed by, trunks in the air. "I had hoped to-"
"-win more converts?" McCoy crossed his arms over his chest. "You know, it's not too late to break out your lute or the chess board, if you still want to-Jim. No. That's the-" He winced as Kirk stumbled headfirst into the silence pod, landing on his backside. "-silence pod."
"Ow." Kirk shook his head from side to side before removing the helmet with a soft popping sound. He squinted at the light, then held the helmet out in front of him, hand pressed to the side of his head. "This thing oughta come with a warning sticker." He leaned against the pod and tried to stand, but his legs gave way.
Spock pushed back his chair and took the helmet from Kirk. "My apologies." He replaced the helmet on its hook and offered a hand to the captain, who took it and stood up slowly. "Have some silenceade," he suggested, indicating the stack of cups and pitcher. "It is quite refreshing."
"Good idea." Still a bit dizzy, Kirk removed a cup from the stack and poured himself a drink. "'To silence,'" he toasted, lifting the glass high. "Or should I say..." He mouthed the words, smiling as he took a sip.
McCoy rolled his eyes. "Now you've got it." He gave Kirk a thumbs up and looked around the room. "I haven't seen Nyota anywhere. I thought she'd be with you, demonstrating sign language or some such thing." He waved his hand at the silence booth. "Unless she's tearing out her hair, or curled up in a ball screaming, that is."
Spock's eyebrow raised. "Neither. As fair coordinator, she cannot afford to spend all of her time patronizing my exhibit...or-ahem-throwing a tantrum. The last time I saw her, she was helping Ensign Vanderwahl set up a quilting frame in the handicraft section."
"Mm." McCoy studied the rest of the items in Spock's display. A cardboard box held several information brochures for the Letar Society, while a small monitor ran through slides that McCoy recognized as scenes from the silence musical. He smiled at one of the behind the scenes images, which showed the cast members mugging the camera while Spock raised a disapproving eyebrow at them; another showed McCoy dipping a paintbrush into a can of black paint as Uhura and two other women worked on assembling a black tree prop.
Just as he lifted the lid of the silence box, a small black album caught his eye. "May I?" he asked, reaching for the book.
"I would not have included it in the display otherwise." Spock pushed the album across the table to McCoy, who picked it up and opened it.
Apparently recovered, Kirk set his empty cup on the table and moved to stand beside McCoy. "I used to have one of these. Kept all my "Heroes of Interstellar Space" cards in it." He scratched the side of his head. "I dunno what Mom did with 'em when I moved out." A sigh. "Probably in storage with the rest of my junk." He shrugged.
McCoy placed a hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Where they're much safer than they'd be cruising around with a man who'll earn his own card someday, if he hasn't already." When Kirk smiled, he turned back to the book and began flipping the pages slowly.
Each transparent sheet contained nine cards, all in pristine condition. McCoy studied one which featured a painting of a stern looking bald Vulcan wearing forest green robes. He stood upon a rocky ledge, pointing downwards at a crowd of other Vulcans below. "Mana...tee-how do you pronounce that?"
"'M'Na Th'zi Obar.'" Spock turned the book sideways and turned to the back of the page, pointing to the writing on the card. "A monk from the Sect of Shronas."
"Looks more like an Old Testament prophet to me. Calling down fiery judgment on all the unbelievers." McCoy shook his fist and raged in a poor imitation of Obar's expression.
"He was the first Vulcan ever to achieve both kolinahr and haeshtuu." Spock folded his hands together. "Although many Vulcans have mastered one or the other, only seventy-eight Vulcans other than Obar have managed to accomplish both in the three thousand years since."
"Kohlinahr..." McCoy snapped his fingers. "The purging of all emotions, am I right?" At Spock's nod, he shook his head. "Darned if I know what that second one is, though. What'd you call it? Haeshtuu?"
"Gesundheit." Kirk snuck a round plushie out of the case and began tossing it up and down in one hand like a baseball.
Spock's ears twitched. "Haeshtuu is the term for complete and perfect silence. One who achieves haeshtuu, a haeshtuuel, makes no sound. Footfalls, respiration, communication...all are entirely inaudible."
"What?" Kirk caught the plushie and squeezed it. "That's impossible." He put the collectible back on its shelf and chose a star-shaped one, juggling it between both hands.
"Difficult? Yes. Impossible? No." Spock snatched the star plushie out of midair, eliciting an annoyed "Hey" from Kirk, and examined it closely for damage. "It requires extraordinary discipline, dedication, and an environment conducive to haeshtuu." He returned the plushie to the shelf. "Had Obar served on the Enterprise, for example, I doubt he would have been successful. There are far too many-" Spock grabbed the crunchie bowl before it could topple onto the floor "-distractions."
He shot a frustrated look at whoever had backed into his table. Clad in a blue jumpsuit, the woman apparently didn't notice Spock's glare, as she was already turning onto the next aisle of booths. Spock pushed the bowl back in its place and tugged on the end of the tablecloth to straighten it. "Case in point."
"Yeah, I could see how that might be a problem." Kirk reached for a pyramid-shaped plushie, but thought better of it and rested his hand on the table instead, tapping his fingers on the cloth soundlessly.
McCoy frowned. "No audible sounds. Not even a cough? A sniffle? A belch?"
Spock shook his head. "Haeshtuu is both a physical and mental discipline. Acolytes must be in peak condition in order to maintain it."
"No emotion and no sound." McCoy threw his hands up in the air and laughed. "He'd make one heck of a spy, let me tell you that. No, even better; an assassin. Following you in the dead of night, lurking in dark corners. Nobody would even know he was there. Until it was too late..." He clutched his throat and bugged out his eyes as Kirk stifled a laugh.
"Vulcans do not lurk, Doctor." Spock poured himself a glass of silenceade. "It is most unbecoming." He took a sip and pointed at another card in the album. "S'nth O'oi Valera. Healer of K'Juhn. She was responsible for significant advances in life science technologies twelve centuries ago."
McCoy studied the image. A placid looking woman faced forward, blonde hair hanging just below her chin. She wore burgundy robes and held out a scanning device. "A fellow physician. What's her connection to silence?"
Spock took another drink. "She won the Awenat Award for her innovative life sign detection devices. Prior to her discovery, practitioners of contemplative silence were occasionally entombed alive, especially among the less enlightened people groups."
McCoy winced. "You'd think somebody would at least check for a pulse, for crying out loud."
"Valera's work has saved many a haeshtuuel." Spock flipped the page. "This one is quite rare. R'rih Ma'al Levad. Also known as "Levad the Inconsoleable". A legendary competitive silence athlete known for crying every time he lost a match." The brown-robed Vulcan pictured wore a morose expression on his face. A single tear coursed down his cheek.
"And he didn't have to turn in his Vulcan citizenship?" McCoy poured himself some silenceade and set down the pitcher, then brought both hands to his face. "Gasp."
Spock's lips parted, but he said nothing and pointed to another card. "T'luh G'tae Sessar." He showed the card to Kirk and McCoy. Standing ramrod straight, the Vulcan wore an early 23rd century Starfleet commander's dress uniform, complete with cap and a very un-Vulcan buzzcut. "Leader of the legendary Light Ground Squadron Sierra, famous for their highly effective coordinated combat maneuvers. All accomplished without speaking a single word."
"impressive." Kirk leaned over Spock's shoulder. "Y'know, I think I've heard of him before. Didn't he make fleet admiral last month?" He reached back for a handful of crunchies and ate one.
"I believe so." Spock flipped to the end of the section and turned a black divider. "The next section of my album is "Portraits of Silence"."
"Isn't that what we were looking at before?" McCoy raised his glass and drank half of the sweet, syrupy beverage.
"No." Spock shook his head. "Those were "Masters of Silence"; individuals who have made significant contributions to and/or achievements in the field of silence."
"Here's my contribution." Kirk stuffed the rest of the crunchies in his mouth and mimed zipping it shut. "Do I get a card now?" he mumbled through closed crunchie-filled lips.
McCoy elbowed Kirk in the ribs. "What is it, then?" he asked, draining and setting down his empty glass, ignoring the captain's "ow".
Spock turned the album around and handed it to McCoy. "See for yourself."
"Hm." Kirk wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and came to stand beside the doctor.
"What do we have here..." McCoy's voice trailed off. Each card was completely black on the front, with unreadable words embossed in the lower right and left-hand corners. McCoy flipped the protective sheet and read the backs of the cards. "'Midnight at the north pole on the fifth moon of Cleor', 'Under the Bed', 'Solar eclipse as seen from Comet JN-223-Pacelli', 'Fobolt-Jungstein vacuum generator in standby mode'..." He scratched his head. "What's the difference? They all look the same to me."
"At first glance, yes. Only by studying each image in depth can one fully appreciate the nuances." Spock folded his hands behind his back. "Every card depicts a different set of conditions under which contemplative silence can be experienced."
"Portraits of...silence. I get it now. Wish I didn't, but..." McCoy puffed out a breath and turned the pages. "'Cargo containment unit, Rigel-class shuttle'. 'Eneais Catacombs in winter'. 'The black ice caves of Yupidali Minor'." He closed the book and handed it back to Spock, massaging his brow. "I thought I'd seen it all. I really did. I-I don't know." He sighed and moved away from Spock's booth, beckoning Kirk to follow. "Come on, Jim. Let's get out of here and find some lunch before I lose my appetite."
"All right." The captain yawned and stretched his arms upward. "I saw Chief Sanders making a Denebian lasagna about an hour ago at his colonial cuisine booth. It should be done by now." He rubbed his stomach. "Want us to bring you back a plate, Spock?"
"Yes, thank you. Be sure to save room for a dark chocolate silence muffin." Spock moved the crunchie bowl aside and reached underneath his table, lifting up a platter of baked goods covered with plastic wrap. "I based the recipe on one of my mother's."
"Mm." Kirk licked his lips and nudged McCoy's arm with his elbow. "What do you say, Bones? Chocolate plus silence. Match made in heaven, or not?"
McCoy shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm going to need some chocolate after all that silence."
Leonard chuckled. "Well, if anyone can lick that problem, it'll be you, Flora." They shared a smile. "What song were you playing just now?"
"Sendal's "Lava Concerto", first and second movements." Lo brushed a lock of black hair from her forehead and adjusted a piece of sheet music she had propped up on a stand. "He has such a beautiful soul. Have you ever been to one of his concerts?"
"Can't say I have." McCoy glanced across the assembly hall and spotted Kirk standing near a booth by the door. He turned back to Lo. "That was beautiful. Now, if you'll excuse me..." He stepped back and headed in the captain's direction. A sign next to the entrance welcomed fellow crew and visitors from Nebula Station B to the Enterprise hobby fair.
He found Kirk bending over a basin of a blue gooey substance, sleeves rolled up and hands buried in it. "It's so cold," he muttered.
"It's supposed to be." Lieutenant Allyson adjusted his glasses until they sat straight on his nose, then peered at the timepiece on his wrist. "Okay, sir, you can take your hands out now." He handed Kirk a long piece of paper towel. "Dry them off thoroughly, then put them in the basin on your right and pull them out quickly."
Kirk obeyed. "Oooh," he hissed, shaking his hands dry. Droplets of a red liquid hit McCoy's tunic top. "That tingles."
Allyson nodded. "Sit down and hold your hands under the light." He turned on a long necked lamp and gestured for Kirk to take a seat. Several alien timepieces sat on the table to his left, the more mechanical ones opened up to show the workings. Calendars from various worlds hung on the wall behind him, and a replica of a Tabenian prophecy stone stood nearby.
"Hey, Bones," Kirk said, not looking at the doctor. "check it out. Jeffrey's going to predict my future." He extended his hands forward until the light hit them.
"And here I thought you were getting a manicure." McCoy leaned against the side of the table. "Fortune telling with frosty clay?"
"The Pan Yourin tribe on Setames XIX swears by it." Allyson peered at Kirk's hands, turning them from side to side. "It is said that the patterns produced by the application of clay and tisilaberry juice indicate one's immediate destiny," he explained, trailing off as he studied Kirk's markings. "Of course, it's all stuff and nonsense. Probably has more to do with skin temperature, perspiration, etc. But I've always been fascinated by other peoples' perceptions of time and the future."
Kirk raised his eyebrows. "What do you see in mine?"
Allyson reached for his tablet and tapped the screen a couple of times. "According to this..." He smiled weakly. "...a period of testing awaits you. Sorry, sir."
"Stuff and nonsense indeed," McCoy grinned. "Speaking of testing, when was the last time I gave you a fitness assessment, Jim?"
Kirk groaned. "Thanks a lot." He pointed a thumb at McCoy. "Why don't you see if you can find my foot in his future, Jeff?"
Allyson shook his head, lips tight, trying to fight back the smallest of grins. "Too risky. Besides, there's a...line." Two female civilians who couldn't be older than twenty one were standing behind McCoy. The taller of the two winked at McCoy, then lowered her eyelashes at the white coated lieutenant, who blushed crimson.
"I can see that. C'mon, Jim." McCoy angled his chin away from Allyson's table. "There's got to be somebody who likes to cook in their spare time. I'm starving."
Kirk stood, shaking hands with Allyson. "Maybe you ought to keep a log book of how many of your predictions come true. In the name of science, that is..." He turned to McCoy, smiling. "Plus, it's a good excuse for collecting the comm codes of certain parties. Am I right? Catch you later, Jeff."
"I take it you're speaking from experience," McCoy remarked drily as they slipped away. "No booth for Jimmy boy. Oh, no. He's a free-range hobbyist."
Kirk pointed at his chest. "You know me. Can't even stay in the captain's chair." He cracked a knuckle. "Actually, I was thinking of making an appearance later, maybe giving motorcycle rides in the corridors. Wanna try?"
McCoy frowned as they passed by a jewellery making exhibit and a slide show of various avians from different planets. "Don't you dare. Chosen profession aside, blood isn't my hobby-" he thumbed his own chest "-any more than filling out accident report forms is yours," he finished, jabbing Kirk with his index finger.
"Nah, your hobby is being a professional pain in the butt."
"Says the guy who wanted to plant his boot squarely-"
"Hey, check it out. Spock has a booth."
"Spock?" McCoy followed Kirk's outstretched finger to the next aisle. The Vulcan stood with his back to them, pointing to an object on his table while a small child frowned, clutching his father's hand. After a couple of moments, they moved on, the boy eagerly pulling his father towards a display of brightly colored candy. "Doesn't look like it's very popular, though," McCoy noted.
"Let's change that." Before McCoy could reply, Kirk was weaving through the crowd towards Spock's exhibit. Sighing, he followed behind slowly, stopping only once to enjoy the scent of spenfola blossoms that emanated from a booth to his right.
"Leonard." Spock nodded his acknowledgement to McCoy, then seated himself. "I am surprised to see you. I was under the impression that you were "all silenced out"." He indicated the table, which McCoy could now see was covered with a black tablecloth. A glass case containing plushies sat on one side, while a tablet with a dark screen was propped up on a stand nearby. The silence helmet hung on a hook next to a monitor screen that appeared to be running advertisements for the contemplative silence holoprogram. A bowl of silence crunchies accompanied a pitcher of black liquid and a stack of disposable cups.
McCoy picked up one of the crunchies and popped it in his mouth. "Oh, no, you can never have enough silence," he deadpanned, leaning back against the table and chewing on the snack.
Kirk, who had been engrossed in the ads, now reached for the helmet and pulled it on. He extended his arms out in front of him, groping around blindly. "How do you see with this thing, anyway?" he asked, his voice muffled.
"You don't," McCoy replied.
"Right." Kirk moved around in a circle, hands swaying from side to side to orient himself.
"While you and I may share an affinity for silence, Doctor, it would appear we are in the minority." Spock frowned as a Thararian couple passed by, trunks in the air. "I had hoped to-"
"-win more converts?" McCoy crossed his arms over his chest. "You know, it's not too late to break out your lute or the chess board, if you still want to-Jim. No. That's the-" He winced as Kirk stumbled headfirst into the silence pod, landing on his backside. "-silence pod."
"Ow." Kirk shook his head from side to side before removing the helmet with a soft popping sound. He squinted at the light, then held the helmet out in front of him, hand pressed to the side of his head. "This thing oughta come with a warning sticker." He leaned against the pod and tried to stand, but his legs gave way.
Spock pushed back his chair and took the helmet from Kirk. "My apologies." He replaced the helmet on its hook and offered a hand to the captain, who took it and stood up slowly. "Have some silenceade," he suggested, indicating the stack of cups and pitcher. "It is quite refreshing."
"Good idea." Still a bit dizzy, Kirk removed a cup from the stack and poured himself a drink. "'To silence,'" he toasted, lifting the glass high. "Or should I say..." He mouthed the words, smiling as he took a sip.
McCoy rolled his eyes. "Now you've got it." He gave Kirk a thumbs up and looked around the room. "I haven't seen Nyota anywhere. I thought she'd be with you, demonstrating sign language or some such thing." He waved his hand at the silence booth. "Unless she's tearing out her hair, or curled up in a ball screaming, that is."
Spock's eyebrow raised. "Neither. As fair coordinator, she cannot afford to spend all of her time patronizing my exhibit...or-ahem-throwing a tantrum. The last time I saw her, she was helping Ensign Vanderwahl set up a quilting frame in the handicraft section."
"Mm." McCoy studied the rest of the items in Spock's display. A cardboard box held several information brochures for the Letar Society, while a small monitor ran through slides that McCoy recognized as scenes from the silence musical. He smiled at one of the behind the scenes images, which showed the cast members mugging the camera while Spock raised a disapproving eyebrow at them; another showed McCoy dipping a paintbrush into a can of black paint as Uhura and two other women worked on assembling a black tree prop.
Just as he lifted the lid of the silence box, a small black album caught his eye. "May I?" he asked, reaching for the book.
"I would not have included it in the display otherwise." Spock pushed the album across the table to McCoy, who picked it up and opened it.
Apparently recovered, Kirk set his empty cup on the table and moved to stand beside McCoy. "I used to have one of these. Kept all my "Heroes of Interstellar Space" cards in it." He scratched the side of his head. "I dunno what Mom did with 'em when I moved out." A sigh. "Probably in storage with the rest of my junk." He shrugged.
McCoy placed a hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Where they're much safer than they'd be cruising around with a man who'll earn his own card someday, if he hasn't already." When Kirk smiled, he turned back to the book and began flipping the pages slowly.
Each transparent sheet contained nine cards, all in pristine condition. McCoy studied one which featured a painting of a stern looking bald Vulcan wearing forest green robes. He stood upon a rocky ledge, pointing downwards at a crowd of other Vulcans below. "Mana...tee-how do you pronounce that?"
"'M'Na Th'zi Obar.'" Spock turned the book sideways and turned to the back of the page, pointing to the writing on the card. "A monk from the Sect of Shronas."
"Looks more like an Old Testament prophet to me. Calling down fiery judgment on all the unbelievers." McCoy shook his fist and raged in a poor imitation of Obar's expression.
"He was the first Vulcan ever to achieve both kolinahr and haeshtuu." Spock folded his hands together. "Although many Vulcans have mastered one or the other, only seventy-eight Vulcans other than Obar have managed to accomplish both in the three thousand years since."
"Kohlinahr..." McCoy snapped his fingers. "The purging of all emotions, am I right?" At Spock's nod, he shook his head. "Darned if I know what that second one is, though. What'd you call it? Haeshtuu?"
"Gesundheit." Kirk snuck a round plushie out of the case and began tossing it up and down in one hand like a baseball.
Spock's ears twitched. "Haeshtuu is the term for complete and perfect silence. One who achieves haeshtuu, a haeshtuuel, makes no sound. Footfalls, respiration, communication...all are entirely inaudible."
"What?" Kirk caught the plushie and squeezed it. "That's impossible." He put the collectible back on its shelf and chose a star-shaped one, juggling it between both hands.
"Difficult? Yes. Impossible? No." Spock snatched the star plushie out of midair, eliciting an annoyed "Hey" from Kirk, and examined it closely for damage. "It requires extraordinary discipline, dedication, and an environment conducive to haeshtuu." He returned the plushie to the shelf. "Had Obar served on the Enterprise, for example, I doubt he would have been successful. There are far too many-" Spock grabbed the crunchie bowl before it could topple onto the floor "-distractions."
He shot a frustrated look at whoever had backed into his table. Clad in a blue jumpsuit, the woman apparently didn't notice Spock's glare, as she was already turning onto the next aisle of booths. Spock pushed the bowl back in its place and tugged on the end of the tablecloth to straighten it. "Case in point."
"Yeah, I could see how that might be a problem." Kirk reached for a pyramid-shaped plushie, but thought better of it and rested his hand on the table instead, tapping his fingers on the cloth soundlessly.
McCoy frowned. "No audible sounds. Not even a cough? A sniffle? A belch?"
Spock shook his head. "Haeshtuu is both a physical and mental discipline. Acolytes must be in peak condition in order to maintain it."
"No emotion and no sound." McCoy threw his hands up in the air and laughed. "He'd make one heck of a spy, let me tell you that. No, even better; an assassin. Following you in the dead of night, lurking in dark corners. Nobody would even know he was there. Until it was too late..." He clutched his throat and bugged out his eyes as Kirk stifled a laugh.
"Vulcans do not lurk, Doctor." Spock poured himself a glass of silenceade. "It is most unbecoming." He took a sip and pointed at another card in the album. "S'nth O'oi Valera. Healer of K'Juhn. She was responsible for significant advances in life science technologies twelve centuries ago."
McCoy studied the image. A placid looking woman faced forward, blonde hair hanging just below her chin. She wore burgundy robes and held out a scanning device. "A fellow physician. What's her connection to silence?"
Spock took another drink. "She won the Awenat Award for her innovative life sign detection devices. Prior to her discovery, practitioners of contemplative silence were occasionally entombed alive, especially among the less enlightened people groups."
McCoy winced. "You'd think somebody would at least check for a pulse, for crying out loud."
"Valera's work has saved many a haeshtuuel." Spock flipped the page. "This one is quite rare. R'rih Ma'al Levad. Also known as "Levad the Inconsoleable". A legendary competitive silence athlete known for crying every time he lost a match." The brown-robed Vulcan pictured wore a morose expression on his face. A single tear coursed down his cheek.
"And he didn't have to turn in his Vulcan citizenship?" McCoy poured himself some silenceade and set down the pitcher, then brought both hands to his face. "Gasp."
Spock's lips parted, but he said nothing and pointed to another card. "T'luh G'tae Sessar." He showed the card to Kirk and McCoy. Standing ramrod straight, the Vulcan wore an early 23rd century Starfleet commander's dress uniform, complete with cap and a very un-Vulcan buzzcut. "Leader of the legendary Light Ground Squadron Sierra, famous for their highly effective coordinated combat maneuvers. All accomplished without speaking a single word."
"impressive." Kirk leaned over Spock's shoulder. "Y'know, I think I've heard of him before. Didn't he make fleet admiral last month?" He reached back for a handful of crunchies and ate one.
"I believe so." Spock flipped to the end of the section and turned a black divider. "The next section of my album is "Portraits of Silence"."
"Isn't that what we were looking at before?" McCoy raised his glass and drank half of the sweet, syrupy beverage.
"No." Spock shook his head. "Those were "Masters of Silence"; individuals who have made significant contributions to and/or achievements in the field of silence."
"Here's my contribution." Kirk stuffed the rest of the crunchies in his mouth and mimed zipping it shut. "Do I get a card now?" he mumbled through closed crunchie-filled lips.
McCoy elbowed Kirk in the ribs. "What is it, then?" he asked, draining and setting down his empty glass, ignoring the captain's "ow".
Spock turned the album around and handed it to McCoy. "See for yourself."
"Hm." Kirk wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and came to stand beside the doctor.
"What do we have here..." McCoy's voice trailed off. Each card was completely black on the front, with unreadable words embossed in the lower right and left-hand corners. McCoy flipped the protective sheet and read the backs of the cards. "'Midnight at the north pole on the fifth moon of Cleor', 'Under the Bed', 'Solar eclipse as seen from Comet JN-223-Pacelli', 'Fobolt-Jungstein vacuum generator in standby mode'..." He scratched his head. "What's the difference? They all look the same to me."
"At first glance, yes. Only by studying each image in depth can one fully appreciate the nuances." Spock folded his hands behind his back. "Every card depicts a different set of conditions under which contemplative silence can be experienced."
"Portraits of...silence. I get it now. Wish I didn't, but..." McCoy puffed out a breath and turned the pages. "'Cargo containment unit, Rigel-class shuttle'. 'Eneais Catacombs in winter'. 'The black ice caves of Yupidali Minor'." He closed the book and handed it back to Spock, massaging his brow. "I thought I'd seen it all. I really did. I-I don't know." He sighed and moved away from Spock's booth, beckoning Kirk to follow. "Come on, Jim. Let's get out of here and find some lunch before I lose my appetite."
"All right." The captain yawned and stretched his arms upward. "I saw Chief Sanders making a Denebian lasagna about an hour ago at his colonial cuisine booth. It should be done by now." He rubbed his stomach. "Want us to bring you back a plate, Spock?"
"Yes, thank you. Be sure to save room for a dark chocolate silence muffin." Spock moved the crunchie bowl aside and reached underneath his table, lifting up a platter of baked goods covered with plastic wrap. "I based the recipe on one of my mother's."
"Mm." Kirk licked his lips and nudged McCoy's arm with his elbow. "What do you say, Bones? Chocolate plus silence. Match made in heaven, or not?"
McCoy shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I think I'm going to need some chocolate after all that silence."
