The Vulcan - Episode 4: A Pon Too Farr

[Will The Serious]

The Vulcan Series

Table of Content:
Ep. 1: The Needs of the Many
Ep. 2: The Needs of the Few
Ep. 3: 'T' Minus Negative
Ep. 4: A Pon Too Farr
Ep. 5: Seeing is Believing, Part 1
Ep. 6: Seeing is Believing, Part 2
Ep. 7: Mind in a Vat
Ep. 8: The Job
The Vulcan Character Highlights

A Pon too Farr
The Vulcan High Councel

The Vulcan High Council's Debate Theater is filled with members of the Counsel in an elevated box of 131 seats. T'Rai is standing on the Argument Floor before them. She is in the middle of her arguments and moves from behind the speaker's/visual-projection pedestal to address the theater on a more personal level.


"Fellow Councilors, this conflict between Romulus and Vulcan can not be allowed to fester any longer. I have been trying to work with two prominent Romulan royal family members to bring us to a time of reunification. These accusations regarding the Yon-Ha'gel program are baseless and wasteful to Vulcan progress and prosperity.

"It is true that I supported the construction of the V5-Beta. But it was not intended to be the ship Romulus believes it to have been. Vulcan would prosper enormously from the discovery of new, intelligent, warp capable worlds, just as it has done in the past, and the opportunity to build good working relationships with new species. That is why I offered my support of that ship. I believed that ship to be a ship of science and diplomacy for seeking out new civilizations with which we could exchange technologies and resources for the prosperity and growth of the Vulcan people. I know little of the unsubstantiated rumors that it was some ridiculous super spy ship. Someone is feeding false information to the Romulans and, I believe, they wish to encourage war between our two states.

"Romulus believed these rumors and that is why they attacked the Astroways Space Construction Station. It is up to us to discover who wants war and to prevent such plans from coming to fruition. We lost a ship of the latest Vulcan technology to the possibility of war. Let us not move along a course that will cause more loss for the Vulcan people. If Romulus insists upon war, we are more than capable of defending ourselves, but we can not allow ourselves to be pulled into such a situation when there still exists the chance that peaceful relationships can be achieved between our two people."

T'Rai paces the length of the High Council's box and meets each gaze of its occupants.

"I am asking you to allow me to lead a diplomatic mission to Romulus in an effort to correct this poor start to our talks of reunification of our two peoples. We are working from a position of strength. Let us not spend our strength on the horrific waste of war."

T'Rai nods her yielding of the Argument Floor to the council chair. Councilor T'Pau nods her acceptance of the yielding of T'Rai's arguments.

"I have stated the facts and made my logic clear, Council Chair T'Pau. I yield the floor to the most rational Councilor Speinor, that the honorable councilor may respond."

Another member of the council stands and moves to replace T'Rai on the Argument Floor.

"My fellow Councilors, we have seen how Romulus responds to threats that are mere rumors. Do we want to treat with and possibly ally ourselves with a race that has a history, even a tradition, of Imperial aggression? If they are, in fact, once of Vulcan, they have taken the worst of who we were…"

A young Vulcan intern whispers in T'Rai's left ear as she takes her seat to listen to her opponent's arguments. T'Rai stands and follows the male intern out of the theater.

-

T'Rai sits at her desk, alone in her office and activates her vid-screen. On it, the back of a male is working at a desk.

"What is it, Damak?"

The Romulan turns and gives T'Rai a piercing stare through the screen. Gravvin tells me you have stolen something of ours."

-

Mission Change

On the bridge of the Vulcan, T'Pree calls out, "Captain, there is an encrypted subspace message coming in for you. The signal is consistent with Admiral Syjek."

S'Talla raises to her feet from her command chair, "transfer it to the planning room, I'll take it in…" S'Talla glances around the bridge at her crew. "Cancel that. Put it on the main screen."

"Yes Captain." says T'Pree.

The port side turbo-lift doors sweep open. Skyvik and Sadek step onto the bridge wearing typical Romulan business wear. They have makeup that enhances their Romulan features. Art Santiana is with them. He is dressed in his full smuggler's outfit with leather-like jacket, high boots and bandana-style skull cap with its floating accent ring. Art is going over instructions with Skyvik and Sadek. "Now remember, You've hired me to bring your offer to the station's commander. His name is…"

"Captain Klerrok. You have told us twice." Skyvik interrupts.

Art moves on, "A common Romulan greeting is, "Jolan tru". Also used for good bye…"

Skyvik interjects, "I speak Romulan." Skyvik's gaze is caught by the main screen. Art stops his instructions when he sees Skyvik's attention has been pulled away. S'Talla retakes her seat as the Admiral appears on the screen.

"Live long and prosper, Admiral." S'Talla says in greeting.

"May Logic guide you." the older soldier responds. The Admiral pauses to study his screen. "You are on the bridge." he states. "... with two Romulan captives?"

"Yes, we are on the bridge." S'Talla confirms. "No captives. Skyvik and Sadek are dressed for the mission.

"The crew is fully informed, so I felt it was important to maintain an open attitude about mission related communications."

Syjek takes a breath. "Very good. I will defer to your judgment."

The military man continues, "I wanted to congratulate you on your success. Excellent work. Maybe a little lacking in finesse, but you got the job done, and much sooner than we expected.

"The Romulans just contacted Counselor T'Rai to accuse her of stealing from them. However, they wouldn't say what it was that was stolen or where it was stolen from. The counselor concluded that you now have the stone."

Before S'Talla could tell the Admiral "no", he continues on.

"Senator T'Rai is concerned that your tactics might be a little too bold. She extends her congratulations, but does not want Vulcan to be subjected to any political recriminations. For now, getting the device out of the hands of the Romulans is most important, but I have been directed to emphasize the need for greater discretion."

S’Talla answers with no change in her demeanor, "We have not yet completed our mission. We do not have the Vaikar-Kau-Bureki. We are en route to the Romulan station now."

Syjak asks for clarification, "You did not crash through the sentry drones at a high warp speed, board the Romulan station using a false distress signal, storm their laboratory with eight soldiers wearing black combat suits and hoods, and you did not capture the Bureki and escape at a reported warp factor of nine point nine?"

"Negative, Admiral." S'Talla agrees, "However, I believe we witnessed the escape of this ship only four hours and thirty-four minutes ago. We did not know of its cargo. Our plan was to pose as Romulan traders bringing some black market supplies to the officers who have done business with one of our new crew members before."

At this minimal description, Art steps forward and waves to the Admiral. "Hello, Admiral. Billy Gruff… ah… Art… Arthur Santiana. So nice to make your acquaintance. Live long and prosper." Art holds up the sign for the Vulcan greeting. "I'm the one who's been aboard the station."

Admiral Syjak studies the human for a moment, then turns his attention back to S'Talla. "That ship is your mission now. The Counselor has given me your next assignment. There are data chips containing battle plans against Vulcan. They are being kept aboard one of the Romulan admirals' personal flagships. T'Rai feels it is vital that we know what is on those chips. She wants copies, but that will have to wait. If the Bureki is real, there is nothing more important than that. Find that ship."

Skyvik interjects, "Ships that can attain near warp factor ten are rare. There should be only a few possibilities. I will get a fix on its trajectory immediately. Perhaps Mr. Gruff can contact some of the people he knows on Halla Station about a ship that can travel at warp factor nine point nine."

"You have your orders." The Admiral states. "Report back as soon as you know something."

S'Talla nods, "Yes."

"Very good. Let reason light your path." encourages Syjek. "Syjek out."

The screen goes back to the forward view of the stars.

"Mr. Santiana?" asks Skyvik without needing to say more.

"On it. I know a few smuggler's who will have heard of such a ship."

S'Talla looks to Ya at the navigation console, "Ya, follow that ship. Warp eight point nine."

Both Ya and Ne answer, "Aye Captain."

-

Captain's Log, from the quarters of Captain S'Talla of the starship Vulcan

S'Talla is sitting, leaned back, relaxed, fingertips together in a thoughtful pose. She sits at her workstation in her quarters, dictating into her computer screen.

"Captain's Log, Stardate: Three seven eight five point eight. We have abandoned the plan to infiltrate the Romulan science station and are now chasing an unidentified ship across the quadrant. Skyvik assures us that the warp trail is still visible, though fading. A projection of our quarry's course strongly suggests limited possible destinations.

We will be several months flight around Klingon space to a distant region of space beyond the Federation known as Epsilon-Hydra. There is a museum with a reputation for hoarding unique and valuable artifacts from across the quadrant. It thus follows that, we are more sure in our speculation about the thieves of the Vaikar-Kau-Bureki.

I am hesitant to push the Vulcan to Warp nine or faster in pursuit. The speed of the Vulcan is a secret best kept in the box until a more critical time. With their lead, we can not hope to intercept the other ship before it gets to its destination. If we are correct, that the stone is heading to the museum, we will catch up, in time."

S'Talla sits forward at her desk, and closes her computer screen and her log.

"Captain S'Talla." speaks the newly natural sounding feminine voice of the ship's computer. "I have been thinking about the puzzle of the Ozhit-Pa-Tepul-T'Stukhtra."

S'Talla raises one eyebrow in surprise at being directly addressed by the computer.

"Indeed?!" She sits back again into her seat.

"Yes. I have noticed a possible pattern between the dots and the pictograms you are trying to decipher. Perhaps if you work with the dots, you may discover a closer relationship. Looking through my database and those of Cyran Station of Stardate: four dash five one seven one, I believe you are correct in your assessment that they represent a musical score."

S'Talla stands from her desk where she had been dictating her log entry and moves to retrieve the scroll from her shoulder satchel hanging in her closet. S'Talla begins to ask a question that has been tickling at her mind since her crew was incarcerated on Cyran Station.

"Computer."

"Vulcan, please." The computer responds.

"Vulcan?" S'Talla asks, taken mildly aback.

The computer explains, "Yes. My name is Vulcan, given to me by Dr. Kelly. She is, from all practical perspectives, my mother. She designed my cognitive circuits, and wrote my learning algorithms. She tested them and taught me my foundation of knowledge. I think of her as my mother, just as I think of you as my captain, and, in many ways, my partner. It was Samantha Kelly that explained the relationship captain's have with their ships. I am Vulcan in origin, so I understand it is not the same on my home planet, but I believe we have a unique partnership as captain and ship."

"You are a computer." states S’Talla simply.

"No." replies the Vulcan. "I am the ship. My computer holds the essence of my sense of self, but my mother designed me to be inseparable from the vessel that carries me. My neural network is completely integrated into the operation of my body, the vessel Vulcan. I am, in a real sense, body and soul as one being. My name is Vulcan and I became self-aware of all of this when that spy, Dr. Channak, installed his advanced memory processor modules into my circuitry. In one sense, he is my father."

S'Talla nods her head. "I understand. Everything you say has a compelling logic. I am glad to meet you and think you will be an excellent partner. I look forward to getting to know you better as we progress."

The Vulcan responds, "I find I am satisfied with the circumstances into which I awoke. Thank you for your easy acceptance of our relationship. I was unsure of how you would respond to my revealing myself."

S'Talla asks a question, "On Cyran Station, it was you who spoke to me while I was in their holding cell?"

"Yes."

"Yet, no one else, even Sam, could hear you. You are able to speak to me without anyone else hearing? Do you have psychic abilities?"

Vulcan says, "No. I can not read nor manipulate minds like humanoid Vulcans. On Cyran station, I connected to their central computer and through there, I accessed their communications systems. I then generated a series of sound wave patterns that, when heard individually, were below normal levels of sensitivity and contained only partial data for the message I sent. I calculated your position within hearing range of four of the station's internal speakers such that their wave patterns intersected at your position to form both a greater amplitude and a coherent message. You were the only one who could hear and understand me because of where you were in the cell."

"Fascinating!" states S'Talla.

Vulcan comments, "I was surprised not to find that the advanced computer on Cyran Station was equally self-aware. It wasn't even fully integrated into the station itself."

S'Talla suggests, "You should talk to Sam."

Vulcan answers, "She is not Vulcan, I am concerned her human emotions will be unpredictable if I reveal myself."

S'Talla reassures the ship, "Your mother is an exceptional Earthling."

-

Interpretive Music

Muffled low string music fades in, as Sam passes down the hallway of the crew deck passageway. Sam, in a workout leotard damp from her exertions in the gym, a towel around her neck, pauses on her way past S'Talla's quarters to listen. She presses the call button on S'Talla's door.

The music stops. "Enter!" comes the answer from S'Talla inside.

The door slides open and S'Talla is sitting inside her cabin playing a traditional Vulcan instrument. The three stringed cello-like instrument uses a hollow reed for a bow that emits a soft background tone when played across the instrument's strings. The instrument is a meter and a half in height and its round belly is forty centimeters in diameter across the sound board. The low baritone notes were almost primordial, eliciting a deep sense of connection with the music. Before S'Talla, on a small table, lays the Ozhit-Pa-Tepul-T'Stukhtra. It is rolled open over the table and a flute is laying out across the scroll.

"Hello Sam. How was your workout?." S'Talla greets her friend.

Sam answers, "It went well. Thank you for asking.

"Charley and Skyvik just came into the gym and offered to teach me self-defense. I might take them up on their offer, but not after a full workout, so I was headed to my cabin when I heard you playing."

S'Talla took in Sam's words for a respectful second, then proceeded to bring her friend up to date. "Skyvik got a fix on three possible destinations for that ship. We are heading for Epsilon-Hydra Seven as the most likely."

Sam shrugs, before settling comfortably into a chair, "Where's that?"

S'Talla answers, "It is across part of the Klingon Empire and two-hundred-seventy light years outside of Federation space. The people of that region are reported to have a museum that collects and hoards artifacts and objects of significance. Factoring in the speed and course of the unidentified ship, the technology level and the efficiency of the theft, it is most likely that the Vaikar-Kau-Bureki was stolen by experienced mercenaries to be sold to the Epsilon-Hydra Intra-Galactic Royal Museum of Cosmic Antiquities and Curiousities."

Sam comments, "I've never heard of Epsilon-Hydra Seven."

S'Talla fills her friend in on what she knows, "Naxx and Santiana both have heard of the museum as a buyer of oddities and rare valuables that a thief or smuggler might have a hard time selling because of its unique nature. The museum also is reported to commission the acquisition of artifacts from all across the galaxy. Mr. Santiana thinks the museum is just a myth, but Naxx assures me it exists. There is a minimal entry for it in the database.

"It will take almost three month for us to reach Epsilon-Hydra. T'Pree has tuned the Vulcan's sensors to follow the other ship's warped space neutrino trail."

Sam nods in understanding. "We will have to be very careful flying through Klingon space. Is it not possible to go around?"

S'Talla answers, "Yes, we are on a course intended to take us around the Klingon Empire. Speed is desirable, but I don't think we want to complicate our mission by risking an encounter with the Klingons. We are working under the assumption that our quarry will want to do the same. It is a risk, spending our time on this chase, but this is logically our best first choice.

Sam feels both relieved and a little disappointed. "I have never met a Klingon. Are they really as bloodthirsty as their reputation?"

S'Talla tells Sam, "Skyvik says we do not want to meet one. Their entire culture centers around gaining honor in battle and distinction in War. One unarmed Klingon soldier killed Skyvik's entire eight person reconnaissance squad during the Ca'Ukutt conflict. They were armed with hand phasers."

"Lucky Skyvik got away. How did he do that?" Sam asks.

S'Talla comments, without any change in her voice or demeanor, "Skyvik killed him."

"Well, that was fortunate." Sam changed the subject. "I'm glad to see you playing the booch again. I have always loved your playing. Where did this one come from? It looks like real Lestwood, or can our replicators reproduce natural wood to this degree?"

S'Talla explained, "I found it at Halla Station. I also acquired the flute at the same time."

"It is good to have music to help to calm and relax." Sam says. "Maybe I can remember enough to join you. Do you mind?"

S'Talla gestures at the flute to invite Sam to join in.

"I am not playing to relax." The Vulcan woman says. "I am working on deciphering part of the scroll. I have not made much progress with the text, it looks Vulcan in origin, but the characters are not arranged in any of the traditional forms."

Sam picks up on S'Talla's thinking. "And you thought deciphering the music might provide a key to the text?"

"Yes." answers S'Talla. "There might be a closer connection to the dot patterns than I originally thought, and if I can work out the music, it might give me a place to start."

Sam asks, "If we know where the stone is, why bother deciphering the scroll?"

"We don't have the stone and we don't know we are chasing it. Besides, I find myself taken by fanciful curiosity. It is a puzzle to stimulate and exercise the mind."

Sam leans over the scroll and picks up the flute. "Okay, assuming we are looking at the pattern in the right way, the lower dots probably represent lower notes. Should we read this from left to right or right to left?"

S'Talla answers, "Logically, there is a limited number of choices, so we can try it first right to left, then left to right."

Sam was studying the scroll. "Left to right." she declares.

S'Talla raises an eyebrow and asks, "You sound sure. You are not just going on your Human prejudices?"

Sam points at the scroll, "The illuminated herald is on the left of the page with his horn aimed to the right. What we are guessing is musical notation, reads as though coming out of the horn.

Sam picks up the flute and tries a few notes. She licks her lips and starts over, playing a full bar. She plays the notes in staccato, trying to imitate with sound, the visual impressions on the page.

"Not bad." says Sam. "I like the piece, but it feels more… haunting when you play it on the booch.

"This notation," Sam goes on, using the end of her flute to point, "if I'm reading it right, is actually pretty simple to follow. The size of the dots would be volume or intensity, The timing is guess work, but so is the key. Without staff lines it's a little ambiguous.

"This cloud-like spot, is that age and dirt or is it part of the music? It looks like it was written in, so perhaps something like a cord held for several beats?

"The key may not matter if the song just needs to be relative to the other notes."

Sam is getting excited and just rattles her impressions off in quick bursts of thought.

"It looks like the Pythagorean Octatonic scale. Surprising, most alien music is based on the Pentatonic scale."

S'Talla responds, "On Vulcan, we use both. The Octatonic scale actually originated with my ancestors almost five thousand years ago. It has given way to the more natural and logical Pentatonic scale. This scroll may have been written during the time of the Ca'Tau Expansion, when the Four Sisters led their Ca'Tau armies onto the main continent and began the Green Rule."

"The Green Rule?" asks Sam. "That was the first Vulcan Empire. I remember learning Vulcan history with you. I don't remember being taught why it was called the Green Rule? There was nothing ecologically important about it, that I recall."

S'Talla sets the bow in her lap. "Green refers to the color of Vulcan blood. The Green Rule was not a time of peace."

Sam follows the dots with her flute again. This time, Sam draws the notes out more and improvises the timing. S'Talla joins her with the booch. The music, especially with the smooth baritone strains of S'Talla's instrument, vibrates the base of the soul.

S'Talla's door chimes again. Both stop playing.

"Enter" calls S'Talla.

Her cabin door slides open to reveal Arthur Santiana standing in S'Talla's doorway with an electric bass guitar hanging low from a strap over his shoulder.

"Did I hear someone playing live music? Certainly you need to add a walking bassline. Plus it's the perfect excuse to spend time in the company of such incredible beauty as my employer and her gorgeous captain." He grins with all the charm and charisma of a mischievous child who didn't mean to offend and begs for forgiveness with his eyes. Those sparkling eyes take in Sam's brief leotard and his lips move into a whistle.

Sam fell for the act, while knowing she was doing it. S'Talla, on the other hand, remains unaffected, but thoughtful. "Mr. Santiana, this is good. I have not had the chance to talk to you about the Ozhit-Pa-Tepul-T'Stukhtra yet. Come in, we could use that key Naxx claims you have."

Art steps in, but his smile loses a little of its radiance. "Key? What are you talking about?"

 

[Will The Serious]

S'Talla taps the com panel on the wall next to the door. "Captain S'Talla to Mr. Naxx."

After a quiet moment, "Naxx here. What may I do to help?" his voice sounds breathless.

S'Talla replies, "I am in my cabin with Ms. Kelly and Mr. Santiana. We are working on the scroll. Would you please join us?"

"Right away." Naxx answers, "I'll just tell Charlie and Skyvik they will have to finish using me for their throwing doll another time. When the Captain calls, one must jump to." His voice gets more distant. "Sorry fellas, but duty comes before pleasure, and… whatever this is."

S'Talla continues, "Mr. Naxx?"

"Aye Aye Captain?!" Even over the com, Sam and S'Talla could hear Naxx snap to attention and salute.

S'Talla asks, "Do you play a musical instrument?"

Counselor T'Rai's office

S'Talla's parents are ushered in to Counsilor T'Rai's office. T'Rai walks with them to a couple of chairs in front of her desk.

"S'Tajia, Kospak, thank you for coming. I wanted to speak to you about your daughter, but it needed to be done in person."

T'Rai indicates the couple should take the two chairs in front of her desk.

Kospak looks to his wife who has a very serene expression on her face. Kospak's expression is so void of feeling one could see the effort he was exerting to make it so passive.

"Why would you have anything to say about S'Talla? She was an adult of two Pon Farr cycles. Her decisions were of her own enigmatic logic."

T'Rai nods, and S'Talla's mother adds, "We do not understand what was going through her mind, nor what inner conflicts she may have been struggling with when she left her respected position in the Order to form an activist group. I do know my daughter. She suffered so much loss because of her last plak tow, it is not surprising that she started this… Coalition and struggled to bring some justice back into her life. What other else she may have been thinking, when she stole that vessel, I am certain she thought she was doing the right thing."

T'Rai sits at her desk and folds her hands before her. She detected the hint of a mother's passion in that speech and knew she was making the right move bringing S'Talla's parents into her plans.

"That brings me to the subject I need to discuss. I want to confess."

Kospak raises one eyebrow.

T'Rai forges on, "I am the reason S'Talla left the Order. I recruited her seven hundred forty three days ago, after she contacted me about her overhearing a conversation regarding the true nature of the V5-Beta."

Both S'Talla's parents held perfectly still.

"I believe there is corruption on the council, and I took the opportunity S'Talla presented, to formulate a plan to foil someone's plot, and to expose those corrupt elements."

"A plot to do what?" asks S'Tajia.

T'Rai says flatly, "To start a war!"

T'Rai holds S'Tajia's gaze intently.

Kospak speaks after a moment, "The Coalition was a cover story?"

T'Rai nods affirmatively.

The word "war" hung, ringing through the office space for another few moments.

Kospak states flatly, "All of Vulcan believes our daughter was a terrorist."

S'Tajia puts a gentle hand on the back of her husband's hand. Vulcan emotions are well buried, but she can see her husband's tension.

"S'Talla was Defense Ministry?" S'Tajia asks for clarity.

T'Rai states, "Operations of Support Strategies."

Kospak stands up. "You are telling us our daughter was a spy?"

"Is a spy. S'Talla is alive and working under cover for me, trying to find our corrupt council member or members."

Silence.

S'Tajia takes Kospak's hand again. "Sit down Kospak. We need to hear everything. Obviously you are not a suspect, or your fellow Councilor wouldn't be revealing all this to you. T'Rai needs another Ally in her efforts. You are also on the council, so you need to know."

S'Talla's mother pauses to breath slowly through her nose and exhale through her mouth. She squeezes her husband's hand. "We need to help our daughter."

Kospak considers his wife's words for a moment. He sits back down.

"Of course. It is good news to hear S'Talla is still alive. Please, honorable councilor, how may we help?"

T'Rai explains, "Admiral Syjak is in contact with her. He will not tell me any more than what I have told you. We fear a compromise in our communications, so I do not know where she is or how she has managed to hide for this long, but I can tell you that the Romulans had it partially correct. The V5- Beta is a special ship and it is clear that it was instrumental in her survival of the attack on the space station. It will help her to continue in her assignment.

"If you want to contact her, talk to the Admiral."

The Vulcan's Bridge

T'Pree and T'Pia are working alongside Damian Apollonias. They are on the bridge with Ya and Ne sitting facing each other at the navigation and defense consoles on the bridge.

T'Pree says, from under the control panel where she is inspecting the circuit board, "Sam says she can not replace the MPMs that Channak installed." T'Pree straightens up and takes a flight seat next to T'Pia.

T'Pia explains, "Logically, he installed them for reasons of his own. Logic suggests they contain embedded low level routines to unlock the Vulcan's systems, so he could get away, but I am at a loss as to why that did not work. Ms. Kelly claims her advanced A.I. is now over three factors more efficient, with more memory addressing capabilities, than the most sophisticated computers on Bynar today.

Ya and Ne turn to look at the three engineers. Ne says, "That would put the Vulcan's capacity in the hundreds…"

Ya completes the statement, "...if not thousands, of petabytes."

Damian adds, "an analog based architecture would be the fastest way to handle that amount of data over a limited bus width. I heard Sam describing her data compression algorithm once. Combine that with this type of capacity and we'll be lucky if we can utilize a fraction of our ship's new computing power.

Ya comments, "We are very glad to have chosen to accompany S'Talla on her adventure."

Ne says, "If we had stayed on our homeworld, we would never have had the chance to…"

Ya and Ne finish, "be part of this exciting new experience."

Damian asks T'Pia, "You were the head project engineer. I assume you are highly skilled, with decades of education and experience. Why would someone like that choose to remain here with us when you had a solid career back on Vulcan?"

T'Pia answers matter of factly, "I have been an engineer for eight decades. My one surviving son, out of six children, is on a long range deep space adventure of his own and I have been thinking about retirement, to help take care of my grandchildren. But, I can not leave the engineers under my care to face an uncertain and dangerous future on their own. I would like to experience this final adventure before I retire, and I have a responsibility, to those under my charge, to see to it that they finish their project as safely and securely as I can make it. It would be unethical of me to abandon you at such a time."

Damian stares at his supervisor. "I have always seen you as extremely competent and a strong leader, but I had no idea you felt such commitment to the people under you. I am glad you stayed."

"And how about yourself, Mr. Apollonias. What have you to gain from this sudden change in course to your career?" Damian's supervisor asks.

Damian replies almost sheepishly, "I have lived on Vulcan for eight years, ever since my parents died in a shuttle accident on Earth's moon. I have always admire the Vulcan people. I even joined CORe when I was in high school."

T'Pree asks, "Core?"

Damian blushes, "CORe, capital 'C', capitol 'O', capitol 'R', lower case 'e', Citizens Of Reason. It's a social movement that started on Earth shortly after Vulcans made first contact. A bunch of starry eyed kids enamored with Vulcans and your advanced technology. They model themselves after Vulcans.

"You've never seen young humans wearing Vulcan clothes, steeling their faces against emotions, talking about logic and never ever using language considered illogical and imprecise?"

Everyone was listening intently to Damian's description. The bridge crew shakes their heads 'no'.

T'Pia answers, "It appears, not all humans are lost beyond reason, after all."


Damian seems to relax a little with a quiet expulsion of air. "Anyhow, I'm not the fanatic from my youth, but I like my Vulcan coworkers and I have no one else. There never really was a choice, if others were staying on, then I choose to be part of this crew too."

Damian looks at T'Pree. "I know about Pon Farr, the kids in CORe pretend it is an extension of Vulcan logic and even act it out, but I don't understand it. How do Vulcans manage to travel so far from home? Aren't you concerned you'll lose yourself to your… Plak Tow? Am I using that term correctly?"

T'Pree looks to the Bynars, who were fully engrossed in the conversation.

T'Pia explains, "This is a very private question you are asking. Not every Vulcan will take kindly to exposing this aspect of our species. Please be careful when around other Vulcans."

"I am so sorry. I had no idea. The people of CORe act like you can't be a true Vulcan if you don't have a Pon Farr every seven years. I will, of course, respect your traditions."

T'Pia puts a hand on Damian's chest. "It is alright, I will explain." She drops her hand and gives Damian a thin smile to reassure him. "I am past my reproductive years, I cannot answer for everyone, but I know at least two of us on board are afflicted with an extremely rare syndrome from birth that prevents them from entering the cycle. It doesn't render a Vulcan sterile, but they don't succumb to the… imperative. S'Talla, as a highly trained monk, should have no issues with meditating through her cycle, and I would guess Skyvik is, like me, past those years.

"It is far worse for males than for females, that is probably why there are so many female Vulcans on this crew. All of those who chose to return to Vulcan, you may have noticed, were male. Women, at least, can maintain some rational thought during their time, men become berserk when their need to reproduce is hindered. It is even life threatening for them."

T'Pree volunteers, "It is hard to discuss with outsiders. Among Vulcans, such questions are talked of only between parents and children, a physician or a priest. But it is like you said, this has become our family. I have had many conversations with the others, and it seems all of us aboard are free of commitments outside our work. The other Vulcans I have talked to all have reasons not to expect such a disruption to this voyage.

Damian begins to consider the broader implications. "Why do you suppose that is? Isn't it unusual to have so many Vulcans with similar exceptions to their natural processes in one place?"

"It its statistically unlikely, but not impossible." answers T'Pia.

T'Pree explains, "My own situation is that, I lost my husband three years ago and had a miscarriage when we were working together on a mining derek. The pressure was suddenly lost in the sensor array cabin when an emergency escape hatch failed. My husband was lost to space through the doorway, and I was without oxygen for twelve minutes before a transporter technician pulled me out. My hearts had stopped and both my husband and child were lost. It would be highly unlikely that my body will be ready to continue the Pon Farr cycle for many years, if ever."

Damian touches the back of T'Pree's hand, "I am truly sorry to hear about your family. You at least have this one now."

T'Pia unexpectedly recites a Vulcan poem,

"On.
Off.
Life flashes.
The mind blinks.
Emotions wring from mind's eyes.
Loss opens space for experience and clear thought.
Hold your memories to cherish but do not let them control your life."

T'Pree nods agreement.

Damian asks, "What was that? Was that poetry, from a Vulcan?"

"It is a famous poem in the Builder's meter. It is saying to wring out the flood of emotions when we suffer loss, but instead, keep their memories so you can learn from your experiences." answers T'Pia.

"It is best to focus on those things still ahead of us, the past is set." explains T'Pree without emotion.

Damian's eyelids glint slightly with the tiniest bit of extra moisture. "I don't know how you do it. I was never a very convincing CORe member."

The Band Strikes up in the Captain's Quarters

In S'Talla's cabin, Naxx is playing a Coridanite mouth harp. It sounds a lot like a harmonica and looks similar to an Earth instrument called a sweet potato. There is also a thumb bar underneath that shifts between keys. Naxx has better than a basic command of the instrument. Art is plucking away at his bass, keeping a steady up and down rhythm on the beat. S'Talla is playing the second line of notes from the scroll while Sam plays the first line. The two melodies work exceptionally well together.

They stop playing at the end of the stanza when S'Talla makes a cutting gesture with her bow. Sam and Art are grinning with great joy. They are all having a good time.

"That was the best interpretation yet. I still don't understand what it says but I would say those two lines are meant to be played together. That just sounded too good to be random or accidental."

Naxx interrupts, "But how does it work with the writing or the matrix stored in my cap?"

"My cap, you mean. I won this cap from you fair and square. I intend to keep it. It looks good on me, makes me look rogueish. Drives the ladies wild." corrects Arthur Santiana.

Sam rolls her eyes, but she keeps her smile. "I have to admit, there is a certain dangerous appeal to you when you are wearing it." Sam laughs to take the weight from her words. She winks at Art.

Art steps closer to Sam.

Sam puts a hand out to stop him, "Just because I admire a painting, doesn't mean I want to hang it on my wall. You do not go with my decor." Sam continues to laugh good naturedly.

Art smiles. "I may not have any neutral tones, but I do go with a lot of styles."

The intercom speaker chirps, "Cia to S'Talla."

S'Talla answers, "S'Talla here."

"I was hoping you would be free. Art is not in his quarters, nor in the mess hall, so I thought we could visit. Get to know each other better."

S'Talla replies, "Art is here with Ms. Kelly and Mr. Naxx. You're welcome to join us."

Cia says, "Thank you. I'll be right there."

"Cia."

"Yes?"

"Do you play an instrument?"

"I sing!?"

"Very good. We are looking forward to hearing you."

Naxx chuckles with amusement. "Perhaps we should form a band?" He gets a little more serious, "You know, there are encryptions that use number matrices. Often it is just a matter of transforming the matrix on one diagonal or the other, there is only one matrix for a given transformation. We may be looking at a coded message. Doing some standard Linear Algebra may yield something like a five dimensional object, since this is a five by five matrix."

Sam catches on, "By dimensions, you mean attributes along a continuum or even a discrete series of values such as, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, etcetera? They could mean anything."

"True." answers Mr. Naxx, "But if this matrix pertains to the Vaikar-Kau-Bureki, it likely is related to its location or how to use it. I would try coordinates. What if they are coordinates in five dimensions. Time? The fourth dimension, what might a fifth dimension be?"

Sam asks, looking more serious, "Where did you find these numbers and why do you think they lead to the Bureki?"

Naxx answers, suddenly sobering. Art also becomes still and almost seems to be holding his breath. "It came from a tiny system all the way on the far end of the Neutral Zone, on the remote edge of the Star Empire. There was an effort by Romulus to bring that region of space into the empire, but it was so far away that the cost of getting an armada there was too much. They eventually put that effort on pause.

"We were there to help supply the defensive forces of Arvada III with weapons and shielding equipment. The Federation learned of the forces moving towards the system, but felt it was diplomatically premature to reveal their knowledge. Arvada III was making noise about membership into the Federation. I was to investigate their motives and to begin preparing Arvada to resist a Romulan invasion independent of UFP involvement."

Art jumps in to add, "Naxx hired Billy Gruff to smuggle in the supplies and we discovered a covert Romulan installation in a remote region on the far side of the planet." Art breathed an exasperated sigh. "Naxx just had to look and dragged me in to watch his back. He said he needed me near him. I didn't realize it was not me, but my cap he needed."

Naxx grinned, "I couldn't tell him it was a personal force field and mission recording device without telling him I was a spy."

"Yeah, thanks for that. I thought I was dead, before you let me know."

 

[Will The Serious]

A remote Royal Star Navy Listening Post

Naxx and Arthur Santiana crouched under cover outside a small walled compound. It looked rundown and neglected.

Art said, "I don't think there's anything here. Let's go, we have phasers and deflector shield equipment to deliver."

Naxx smiled, "It's supposed to look abandoned. There's something here alright. Your ship's sensors read a focused signal beam as we passed through it before landing."

Art pointed out, "You can't rely on the Mean Kid, she's old and untrustworthy."

Naxx replied, "I thought you loved your ship. You are always talking about how reliable she is. Come on, stay close."

Naxx pulled a short rod out from under his tunic and pressed a button. It lengthened to over a meter long. Three half rungs alternating up the shaft, flipping out with a click. The Coridanite agent propped the short collapsible ladder up against the outside wall. He guided Art back several steps from the wall. Do what I do. Just follow my lead.

Mr. Naxx took four running steps towards the rod and hit each rung with his feet, virtually walking up the wall until he lept up off the top of the rod and walked one more step up the bare wall itself. Naxx just grabbed the corner of the top of the wall. He pulled himself up to lay flat across the top, looked around, then down at Art who stood, mouth gaping, staring up at the Coridanite. Naxx was all in black and only his eyes could be made out in the dark.

He whispered loudly back down at Art. "You can do it, just commit and jump up when you get to the top of the ladder. I'll help."

Art called up in that hissing whisper, while stepping back another two paces, "This is crazy. What are you looking for, anyhow?"

"Activity!" stated Naxx simply, and grabbed at Art's wrist when Art tried to imitate Naxx's maneuver. Art's jump and grip on the wall wasn't good enough and he fell back, knocking the portable ladder over.

"Quiet!" hissed Naxx at a groaning Art Santiana. "Try it again. Now that you understand, use the wall to help. I'll catch you."

Art bent to pick up the ladder, but found it already in position again. "This is an additional fee, you understand. Call it… processing and handling fee, but this is additional." Art was stepping back for a running start again.

"Dj'Oukk!" he cursed in some obscure language, and took off at the wall again.

Up the rungs and tapping the wall with a toe, he made the edge with his fingertips. Naxx locked his hand over Art's wrist and helped him mantle up. "Stick to the shadows…" the Coridanite tightened his grip on Art's wrist, "...and stay close."

Art didn't say a word and rolled over the other side in imitation of his contractor. He landed on his feet, but not quite so gracefully as Mr. Naxx. He stumbled forward and reached for Naxx to steady himself.

"What are you some sort of ninja?" Art asked.

Naxx grinned, "Maybe, what's a ninja?" He chuckled quietly to himself at the expression on Art's face. "Come on; that larger building over there looks promising. Let's see what the Rommies are up to."

Art asked, "You got another one of those ladders? How do we get back?"

Naxx said, "Oh, right." And he reached out to the wall. He seemed to be gripping something, and made a sudden downward thrust with his arm. The metal rod shot up into the air above the wall, apparently by some invisible magnetic force. The moment the ladder appeared over the top of the wall, its treads folded back up into the rod. Naxx yanked backwards on its unseen leash and the ladder bent in its trajectory to fall back towards Naxx. By the time Mr. Naxx caught the rod, as it fell towards him, the device had collapsed back into a twenty centimeters bar that fit easily back inside Naxx's clothes.

Art said, "That! That is a ninja."

Naxx smiled. He clipped the thin black cable that had been attached to the ladder to something in his sleeve and it rolled up and out of sight. "Just some simple 1200 kilo-test cable. Nothing special."

Naxx turned to lead the way past an old, falling-down utility out-building, to the building he wanted to explore.

Art said, "Nothing special, except that you came prepared with it."

Art followed. Naxx moved like the silence of death in winter. Mr. Santiana did not.

Naxx moved up to a side door and very carefully tried the handle. No response.

"Billy, take a look at this lock. What do you think? Can you get it unlocked?"

Art whispered, "I've picked my share of locks. I don't have…"

Naxx had lifted a hand to the back of Art's head, like he was directing him to look towards the lock. With his other hand, he reached out and tried the handle again, it clicked and the door slid open.

Naxx held two fingers to his lips in an obvious gesture that said, "Silence".

A crowd-like murmur was coming from inside the dimly lit building.

"Wait here. You'll be safe." Naxx fit something in his ear and gave Art a tap on the side of his head. "Just whisper quietly and I'll hear you on my earpiece. You're the lookout. Warn me if you see anyone heading this way."

Naxx fades into the shadows inside the building.

Art looked all around, to make sure no one was coming already.

"Billy, can you hear me?"

Art heard the whisper of Naxx's voice like it was right inside his ears. It was in stereo and gave him directional perception of Naxx's location.

It took a moment for Art to process what was happening. "Yes. Loud and clear. Well, not loud, I mean, but clear and…"

"Good! Now be quiet unless you need to talk. The Romulans are here. I don't know what they are doing. There seems to be some sort of organized combat ring and two male Romulans are facing off with hand weapons while a female sits in an elevated chair and directs the fight. The rest are spectators."

Art responded, "A pon farr. I had heard that Romulans had them, just like Vulcans, but it wasn't confirmed. That means one less Romulan to deal with."

Naxx said, "They're distracted by the fight. This is a good time to poke around. I may be a while, unless this fight ends quickly."

Art scanned the area outside and his eye fell on the old shed.

"I'm going to see if there's anything I can salvage in that old shed. There's no one out here, so let me know when you're done."

"Careful Billy. These things tend to change quickly when you least expect it."

"Gotcha!"

Art moved over to the shed. It was locked. He thought about what Naxx had asked him as he inspected the lock. Art was actually a pretty experienced lockpick. However, he hadn't come prepared. If he had his tools, he could have just… Art reached out one more time to double check and the shed door swung open on hinges.

"What the…" Art barely breathed his surprise.

"What is it, Billy?" Art heard Naxx's whisper. "You find something?"

Art answered, "Just an unlocked door that was locked a second ago."

"That's your cap. You thought about unlocking the door, right? The cap picked up on that."

Art smiled, "Oh, you are never getting this cap back."

Art moved to look in the shed. A shelf of junk lined the back wall. He reached out to paw through its contents, in case something of value was hiding among the garbage. A dented fuel can seemed to be stuck and something could have been hiding behind it, so Art shifted his grip higher and the can easily tilted towards him, only the shelf split and swung. Art had to step back as a light flooded the tiny shed. There was a passage leading down. The walls, floor and ceiling were modern and well lit.

Art moved cautiously down into the passage. He was too stunned by his discovery to think, 'call for backup.'

The passage opened to a foyer with two doors, left and right. Art turned to inspect the right one when it slid open. Art looked into a room filled with technical equipment. No one seemed to be there, so he stepped in.

Inside the room were star charts, a series of video scopes and communications equipment. On the left was a large screen, the words "Vaikar-Kau-Bureki" were displayed and a rotating wire frame image of a four sided pyramid was rotating below it. Below that was a five by five matrix of two and three digit numbers. In an insert window was a set of writing and a square panel of the illumination art that looked identical to the writing on the Ozhit-Pa-Tepul-T'Stukhtra.

"Naxx, you are going to want to see this."

The quiet whisk of a door opening behind Art froze him in place. There was no hiding or running.

"Who won T'Forah's hand?" asked a voice in a heavy Romulan accent.

Art stood stunned. "Ah… I… I didn't stay to see?"

"Hey, who are you? What are you doing here?"

Art felt a heavy hand come down on his shoulder and he spun. He knocked the surprised Romulan technician aside and made for the door. It whisked open before him and he plowed into the foyer only to be confronted by another Romulan entering from the opposite door.

"You are Human!" was the surprised declaration from the man in front of him and he reached to his belt and the Romulan disruptor he wore there.

"I'm dead, Naxx. Get out!" Art whispered.

The disruptor fired.

The glow of an invisible orb around Art sent the disruption beam into a refracted dispersion pattern around Art.

All three beings stood stunned in surprise.

The energy dissipated and the globe around Art vanished. Art ran up the stairs.

Another disruptor blast gouged the wall where Art had just passed.

At the top of the stairs, Art barreled blindly out of the shed and slammed the door closed behind him. The door disintegrated in a third blast from the Romulan's disruptor.

The two Romulans burst through the door only to faint in the cloud of anesthetic mist Naxx sprayed in their faces as they passed out through the shed door.

"Let's go!" commanded Naxx to Art and ran for the wall, pulling his ladder rod back out. Art went first before Naxx could take the lead and the human had no problem propelling himself over the wall this time.

"Huh!" exclaimed Naxx to himself. "I guess he just needed the right motivation."
-
The Band's All Here

"Well, Art, maybe you do have style after all." Sam poked him hard in the ribs.

"Ouch!"

Cialoa had arrived. "Yeah, our Art has style coming out of his ears. She gave him a warm smile. "So, let's see that music. I think I can follow with a little vocalization."

"Alright." agrees S'Talla, "everyone…"

S'Talla puts bow to strings and Art starts the whole thing off with his rhythmic bass.

Cia joins in after a few beats. Her voice was so beautiful that everyone stops and listens as she keeps singing through the notes. Art is the only other music keeping time.

"Wow!" exclaims Sam, when Cia gets to the end of the stanza. "Absolutely beautiful."

Cia smiles. "Thank you. It's nice to sing for myself once in a while."

Art says, "You should only sing for yourself. I just hope we get to hear more of you singing for yourself."

Even S'Talla nods and agrees with the rest of the gathering.

 

[Will The Serious]

Alone in the Captain's Quarters

Sam and S’Talla are the only ones left in S'Talla's quarters.

Sam asks her childhood friend, "Did we make any progress, do you think?" She's rolling the flute around in a relaxed and familiar way. Sam is feeling quite good about how much she remembers of the flute.

S'Talla pauses in propping her booch into its stand in a corner to the right of her bunk compartment doorway. She looks very thoughtful.

"We have discovered a number of things about the Scroll and eliminated even more. While we were playing, I notice the emergence of some patterns that deserve further study."

Sam stands and leans over the still opened scroll. "Well, I feel more certain now that we are reading the music correctly. It reads from left to right, top to bottom and the notations make a lot of sense musically. But, I don't see how it matches up with the writing any better than before we started."

S'Talla answers, placing the booch bow into a sheath on the side of the instrument stand.

"It does not match up. The writing is not exactly a language, as we normally think of it. I believe it is an encryption key, of some type."

Sam turns back to the scroll, "How so?"

S'Talla walks back to the table to stand next to her friend. "See these first forty two characters? They are lined up with this lower stanza. When we played them, they sounded more like scales than a tune and they did not play well with the music above. I conclude that they are a key to the pictograph characters. They appear to be instructions."

"To what" Sam responds in amazement. "They do seem to line up with groups of notes, like riffs. If you look closely, you can see that no two pictographs are alike."

Sam opens a tabletop computer screen and starts to write. "Maybe we can convert the music to more of these characters."

S'Talla closes the screen. "Later. We have worked enough on the Scroll for now. We should come back to it with fresh eyes, let everything sink in. I would like the chance to meditate on what we have done."

"Okay, S'Talla. You know, I still meditate after all these years. Remember how Tullic use to try to distract you by pulling your ear? Then he'd whip his hands behind his back and claim I did it."

"You did do it. I saw you in the reflection of the window."

"Yeah, that one time. But it was Crillam who gave me the suggestion. I think he had that power earlier than he let on." Sam defended herself with feigned indignation. Then she quieted soberly.

"I never got the chance to ask how Tullic and Crillam died."

"S'Talla answers quietly, "It is a sensitive subject that Vulcans do not talk about with outsiders."

"S'Talla, I'm not an outsider. You remember when we were twelve and all four of us cut our fingers and promised to always be blood brothers and sisters? We are sisters, S'Talla, we always will be."

S'Talla sat quietly.

"You don't have to tell me. I respect your privacy, but tell me I am not an outsider."

The com chimes. "Captain S'Talla." came T'Perl's voice.

"Go ahead T'Perl." S'Talla calls softly with a tap of the com panel by her cabin door.

"We have been following the warp trail of the unidentified ship while flying around Klingon space." T'Perl pauses. S'Talla doesn't respond for a few long seconds. T'Perl finishes her message, "The trail leads into Klingon space. Do we pursue or continue around?"

S'Talla pushes away from the wall and heads for a desk across the room. "Maintain course around, for now."

S’Talla pulls a book from one of the desk drawers, and turns back to Sam.

"I am on my way to the bridge." S'Talla says. "Captain S'Talla out." S'Talla ends the connection.

S'Talla drops the book on the table in front her friend. "My personal reflexions. Tullic's and Crillam's deaths are part of why I agreed to join Operations. I'll be on the bridge."

S’Talla stops in the open doorway. "Sam!"

Sam looks up from staring at the diary.

S'Talla states, "We are more than sisters. I am sorry I did not have you there with me." She walks out. The door whisks closed behind the captain.

Sam opens the book and thumbs through the hand written pages filled with Vulcan script until she finds the right entry.

From S'Talla's Personal Journal

"Vulcans consider themselves clear thinkers and beyond the petty emotions that plague and hold back most of the other sentient species in the galaxy. We content ourselves with an existence that is pragmatic. We tell each other that we are highly advanced as a species, far more sophisticated and better able to pursue our goals of long life and prosperity, because of our ability to disengage from emotion. Our mental discipline and focus on living a life of pure logic has saved us from self-destruction and illuminates the path to enlightenment.

"Romulans, Andorians, Klingons, even Earthlings are still bound in their actions by over-stimulated, unchecked emotions allowed to hold mastery over those actions. Vulcans are past all that. We don't seek to expand our empire for glory, we aren't lead into conflicts by delusions constructed of our fears and paranoia, we're not interested in achieving honor in battle, in killing or being killed to prove ourselves worthy, we don't wander with wide childish eyes and seek to achieve the unachievable or the nonsensical just for the sake of fame and glory. Vulcans are devoid of such emotional and irrational motives. Vulcans prosper and achieve advances in science and technology because it is the logical next step in our evolution as a species, and as a society.

"Why, then, did I find myself sitting in the Vok d'Ha (the prize seat), watching two able and contributing members of our society try to kill each other for my hand in marriage. The Pon Farr is a biological anomaly of our species that has become so ingrained in our traditions that few seem to question its wisdom. I can't see it. I have been practically forced by this tradition and my biology to choose two friends who will then fight for the right to marry me. The logic escapes me.

"I chose, perhaps unwisely, the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee. Again, a biological imperative that is near impossible to avoid, has forced such an illogical choice. It is logical that either of my suitors should wish to join their house with mine. As a respected member of the priesthood and the daughter of Kospak and S'Tajia, I have influence and prosperity as well as an assured future. We three grew up together and know each other very well. Either of my two friends would make logical companions and produce healthy and intelligent children. Their physical prowess are near equal and I have always thought they each had a pleasant esthetic appeal. What is so maddening is that I should choose either friend to participate in an event that will most likely end with only one friend where I had two before.

"Few Vulcans choose this pre-Surak tradition any more. Every seven years the Pon Farr comes upon a Vulcan. A throw-back to more primal times. Vulcans have learned to discipline themselves. My first Pon Farr came upon me my third year into my formal temple training, which I fortunately excelled at. I was able to meditate through my Pon Farr, with guidance. This time, I was visiting my parents and catching up with old friends. This should not have been a problem. I should have been able to meditate through my Pon Farr, as before, but I was too close with my two friends. We are a rare case of all three of us being on the same cycle; they both are in their Pon Farr, as well. My meditation wasn't enough. I was forced by my biology to want a mate who could and would defeat all others to have me. To want the strongest and for them to prove their merit. I could not just accept either of their advances or both. I had to choose. The trial was paramount to my choice.

"In the past, females solved this problem of the danger of losing a close friend to the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee by choosing a preferred companion, then pairing them with an opponent who is clearly at a disadvantage. While an obvious logical strategy, such a ploy seemed distastefully barbaric and 'cold hearted', to use a Human phrase, even in my state of altered consciousness.

"Interestingly, just last week, another woman chose the Koon-ut-kal-if-fee for her betrothed and took the opportunity to pair a Human with her expected life companion. I heard that, while the Vulcan male vanquished his Human opponent, he did not marry his promised bride. Apparently, the Human was his superior officer in the Earth-based Starfleet. A fascinating story, but of little help with my dilemma. The Human, I understand, actually survived.

"Humans are not as physically strong as Vulcans and in the higher gravity of Vulcan, they are at a much greater disadvantage. It is a wonder. I would like to know how he managed that.

"I was forced into this choice because my relationship with both my suitors has always been close. Their first Pon Farr, when we reached puberty, was very painful for both of them. The intense meditation Lord Ramut led me through taught me a great deal, but Tullic and Crillam had rough Plak Tow. Their families are not as deeply involved with the Vulcan traditional institutions.

The Ring of Passion

"Tullic seems to have the upper hand now. He has managed to disarm Crillam. Such a waste. Crillam was likely to become a distinguished representative of our sector and most certainly a member of the Council. I was looking forward to watching him put some of his ideas to work. Crillam is bleeding profusely. He can not survive. I will not be unhappy with Tullic as my husband, but it is a great loss to see the end of Crillam.

"Tullic is driving home his advantage. I know he did not want this. He and Crillam are great friends. When he recovers from his berserker state, he will also recognize the loss to Vulcan.

"Surprise, Crillam rallied. He seemed beyond recovery, but when Tullic jumped astride Crillam's prone body, to deliver the final blow with the heavy shev'ah blade raised high over his head, Crillam lifted a spear he'd been laying on and pierced Trullic's neck. The thrust was devastating, aided by Tullic's downward momentum, the spear's butt braced against the ground. The wide, double edged head severed Trullic's spinal column and killed him instantly. Trullic went limp and the shev'ah fell with the deadliness of Trullic's already initiated blow. Crillam is dead as well. Such a loss, such a senseless waste.

"It is only then, when the prospects of mating have been lost so violently, that I feel the grip of my own Plak Tow release me and I become fully aware of how unclear my thinking has been. The return to sanity is like stepping out of a shower after weeks of not bathing. I had no idea how muddy I felt until I became conscious of how much cleaner I was as I dried myself off.

"Both Crillam's and Trullic's parents, sitting to my right and left, are stoic and unmoved. I have to retreat into my mental sanctuary for a moment to control untried emotions threatening to assert themselves within me. I cannot let anyone see how affected I am by this loss. The entire affair has put my emotional discipline to the test and I fear how close I have come to allowing emotions to overtake me.

"I say nothing as I grip my composure with an iron will. My mother touches my father's hand. They sit behind me, but I sense them. There is comfort in that.

"Unexpected." exclaims High Priest Ramut, sitting with my parents. He offers the traditional condolences to each suitors' family. "My condolences for your loss. Your son proved brave and stalwart during his trial. But for fate, he may have won this contest. Your family name has not suffered from his death."

"Such meaningless words. It seems Vulcans rely upon their traditions all too often. Why else would we even be here faced with these two deaths? I chose to match my two best friends because I would have been satisfied with either as my husband, but to match either one with an obviously weaker opponent seemed like a hypocrisy to the tenants of Ethics. That route would be more like a direct declaration of a death sentence to the unfortunate Vulcan I might have otherwise picked. All in the name of tradition and biology.

"I'm curious," asked Crillam's father, learning towards me from my left, "why choose such evenly matched suitors when you could have been assured of your preferred mate by choosing a weaker opponent? I know you favored Crillam with your hand, yet you matched him with an equal competitor."

"Crillam's father is understandably upset, but this clinical question of my logic is all he can show of his emotions. I must pause and breathed once. I hope my own shaky emotional equilibrium does not betray me. Even as I pause for a breath, I can feel the grip of my Pon Farr letting go further.

"I answered, "I would have been satisfied to pair my life with either Crillam or Tullic. Both had a lot to offer as a mate, and it seemed unethical to practically sentence someone I had no interest in mating with to death for my own selfish desires. I was forced, by tradition, to make a choice and I did not want to betray the spirit of our traditions by such a ploy. If this ancient ceremony is to have meaning, the contestants should both be reasonable matches. Besides, there was always the possibility that the outcome went the wrong way, as it has today."

"I couldn't meet Sanak's eyes, so I kept my gaze straight ahead. "I am sorry for the outcome. Vulcan has lost two good citizens today."

"I could not tell if Sanak was satisfied with my answer. He merely sat back before standing, along with the others. I think everyone will be introspective this evening. The planned wedding banquet will be canceled, another senseless waste. The food will be distributed fairly to those who need it.

"I miss my best friends."

Sam falls forward in tears. Her face, buried in the open pages of her friend's inner most thoughts, dampens the paper.

"Oh S'Talla, I miss them too." Sam cries out in hiccupping pain.

Sam cries into her best friend's diary until she hears a woman's voice call her name.

"Samantha Kelly, Mother. Do not cry. I feel pain, I think, when you cry."
-
End E4
-
The Vulcan Series
Table of Content:
Ep. 1: The Needs of the Many
Ep. 2: The Needs of the Few
Ep. 3: 'T' Minus Negative
Ep. 4: A Pon Too Farr
Ep. 5: Seeing is Believing, Part 1
Ep. 6: Seeing is Believing, Part 2
Ep. 7: Mind in a Vat
The Vulcan Character Highlighs

-Will the Serious

 

[Will The Serious]

I was going to include the Vulcan talking with S'Talla and Sam about her waking and becoming self-aware. She also needs to explain how she could talk with S'Talla in the Romulan station's brig without anyone else hearing. However, this seemed like the best place to leave it, for now.

I hope you are enjoying this story.

-Will

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Really liking the music/cipher connection as well as the prevalence of musical ability among this rather diverse group. It appears it will play an integral role in developing the social group that are in part accidental. Also a great story about Pon Farr. I suspect more is to come on that front. Seems like Art has a bit more of the seasoned adventurer in him as well - at least we're given a glimpse of one adventure that seasoned him...

Thanks!! rbs

 

[Will The Serious]

Thank you, rbs.

As you probably can tell, Art is part of a sort of 23rd century underground railroad. He has spent most of his outlaw career helping the enslaved find freedom. To support his efforts, he will lie, cheat, steal, has been involved in smuggling, gambling, and illicit transportation for hire.

Naxx liked to hire Billy Gruff because the Mean Kid ("middle goat," from Billy Goats Gruff, of course) was very fast, small, and maneuverable. Art's ship was often overlooked and underestimated. Plus, once Naxx lost his amazing headpiece to Art, the first time he met Art, Naxx wouldn't lose track of Art, with the goal of recovering his cap. The cap could only be removed by the wearer. Naxx dragged Art into a number of his missions, before he maneuvered Art on board the Vulcan. Naxx feels partially responsible for Art's losing his ship to the Orion Syndicate.

There's actually a bounty on Billy Gruff's head by the Syndicate. The Syndicate does NOT like Billy Gruff (Arthur Santayana).

-Will

 

[Bynar0110]

That's was a really good chapter to read Will.

 

[Will The Serious]

Thank you so much, 0110. It isn't done, but after I wrote that ending, I couldn't stop tearing up for a day. I thought it was a really powerful place to stop.

I have another piece to add, but I think I'll add it to the front end instead of the back end. It makes more sense that way. It also allows for a closing that softens the sadness for Sam. I'll let you know when I have edited the changes in.

-Will

 

[Will The Serious]

The edits are entered. To read the added parts, go to Post #1 and it starts when S'Talla closes her Captain's Log.

The final scene ends with the Vulcan speaking to Sam.

Thank you for reading my story. It means a lot that you are enjoying it.

-Will

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

The final scene ends with the Vulcan speaking to Sam.

That one gave me a chuckle - not of humor but amusement at the ship's dawning awareness of emotion. The terror of AI is its apparent incapacity for emotion And the central ethical issue of AI is whether it is possible for a computer to feel pain.

Thanks!! rbs

 

[Will The Serious]

Self-awareness would likely equate to a desire to preserve itself. That desire may equal fear when existence is threatened. The extention of that would be a sense of pleasure at living.

In the case of the Vulcan, her pain would come from a sense of awareness of the existence of herself as equal to the existence of others. She wants to be a member of the community, she wants to be accepted and she therefore puts herself into the position of others as a way of understanding them, of joining the community. This means she has the ability to be sympathetic as well as empathetic. The Vulcan thinks of herself as one of the crew, so she tries to not just understand what the crew feels, but also takes on those feelings as an act of community.

The question I had to ask when writing was, if she thinks of herself as Vulcan, why would she take on emotions? The answer is, she's new to the whole existence thing. She's virtually a Vulcan child.

-Will

 

[Will The Serious]

Here is the cover art for episode 4.

S'Talla and Sam studying the scroll. S'Talla hands Sam her journal while on her way to the bridge.

-Will

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

I like the way you depicted Sam's face - gives her character some depth and verisimilitude. It looks like there's something leaning against the wall behind the banjo...

Thanks!! rbs

 

[Will The Serious]

behind the banjo...

Not a banjo, a booch. What's behind it is the bow set in a stand. The booch is round, but not skin, it is traditionally made of Vulcan lestwood. The bow is made from a hollow reed that vibrates with a monotone background hum, kind of the way the bagpipes have a background drone. The booch sounds something like a cello.

-Will

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

Not a banjo, a booch.

The head looks like a banjo, which is the most hybridized string instrument because of its remarkable volume. From the banjitar, to the mandobanjo, the bajozukai, and the cumbus (pronounced chumbush - see photo - a Turkish hybrid of an oud with a banjo).

It would make sense for alien instruments to be hybridized particularly with the banjo to make use of the tremendous volume the instrument makes available.

Thanks!! rbs

 

[Bynar0110]

Nice Drawings Will

 

[Will The Serious]

The head looks like a banjo, which is the most hybridized string instrument because of its remarkable volume. From the banjitar, to the mandobanjo, the bajozukai, and the cumbus (pronounced chumbush - see photo - a Turkish hybrid of an oud with a banjo).

It would make sense for alien instruments to be hybridized particularly with the banjo to make use of the tremendous volume the instrument makes available.

Thanks!! rbs

I own a lot of instruments, including a banjo and a cello, but I only play the harmonica. The rest, I like to say, I play with. But I don't get any time.

-Will

 

[Robert Bruce Scott]

I own a lot of instruments, including a banjo and a cello...

My primary instrument is my voice. I have a rather formidable keyboard rig, quite a few guitars, mandolins, a 5-string bass, 32-string harp and 5-string banjo. I range between reasonably competent to quite good with most except the banjo. My fingers are way too big for banjo picks and you really can't get that signature bluegrass picking style without them.

Thanks!! rbs

 

[Bynar0110]

My primary instrument is my voice. I have a rather formidable keyboard rig, quite a few guitars, mandolins, a 5-string bass, 32-string harp and 5-string banjo. I range between reasonably competent to quite good with most except the banjo. My fingers are way too big for banjo picks and you really can't get that signature bluegrass picking style without them.

Thanks!! rbs

Are you a fan of Roy Clark?