Nevasa Storyline II - Sakarra Tyrax

"Out of the Dark" Part II

2401

[---classified---]

“Those are either the bravest or the stupidest people..”

The Andorian engineer stared in disbelief as four of the Vulcan fighters broke formation to circle one of the advancing warbirds and rained blue fire onto it’s shields.

“Completely outta their minds is more like it, lass. Watch that power flow or we’ll save those Romulan bastards the trouble o’ blowin’ us up!”

Commander Ranil Ranasinghe had never felt more angry or more helpless than during these minutes when his station - along with a shipful of Vulcans who seemed to behave highly illogical - was about to be reduced to rubble by three Valdore type warbirds.

While his Chief Engineer and lovely Thrandasar were struggling to keep the pathetic leftovers of their shields up and Lieutenant Sithundë threw everything he had at the warbird relentlessly pursuing the smaller Vulcan vessel, Ranil could only count the minutes until the Mecklenburg would arrive. And watch his crew defy the odds, second after precious second. Strangely enough, the sight of twelve tiny, ridiculously outgunned fighters throwing themselves between the besieged station and it’s attackers had obviously given his people a renewed sense of hope.

“Quapla‘! Or something like it!”

Ranil’s head jerked up towards his tactical officer who obviously had taken his studies of Klingon history a bit too seriously and threw the Lieutenant a questioning look.

“We have made a dent, sir. Either we did or the Vulcans, or both. The warbird has broken off pursuit and stopped firing. Oh shit.”

“Somehow that last comment doesn’t quite correspond with …” the Commander had to tighten his grip on a console as his station rocked yet again under a fierce barrage.

“Looks like the Seleya lost weapons, Commander. And warp. ” At a nod from his CO, Sithundë refocused his fire towards the warbird closest to them. “But there does seem to be damage to the warbird, they keep hanging back.”

“Small favors” Ranil muttered. Of course they would not bother blowing up the disabled little science ship if they could take it home as a prize. And Kali only knew what they would do to the crew. WHY had that captain been so reckless and taken his people into this? It seemed so blatantly un-Vulcan.

And still those little fighters would not give up, seeking and exploiting whatever small weakness there might be …

‘They’re trying to get them mad and draw them away.’ suddenly Ranil saw the pattern in the madness, the desperate attempt to buy time, by any means and at whatever cost. But the Romulans simply weren’t falling for it, taking shots at the annoying little fighters as the tiger might swat at a flock of little birds defending their nest, but otherwise not bothering with the noise and swirling of feathers when there was bigger prey to be had.

The Commander clenched his fists in frustration. It was all so damn pointless…

“What the he…”

“Fire, godsdammit, he‘s given us an opening!”

“Did you see that? He’s got to be…”

Sithundë’s tentacle slammed on the console and the phaser fire hit precisely on the point where the warbird’s shields were weakened from being grazed by a fighter. The Lieutenant’s shout of triumph followed the impact on the Valdore’s hull but the little fighter’s crazed maneuver had cost it dearly. From the looks of it, it had lost attitude control… before Ranil could think of a way to get it out of there, the third Romulan reduced it to it’s compound atoms.

“Status, Mr Sithundë.” the Commander’s voice jerked the tactical officer out of his shocked silence and he busied himself with the console while the Chief Engineer once again demonstrated his wide range of Gaelic incentives.

“Two warbirds have suffered minor damage, sir. The one we just hit seems to have lost weapons but my guess is they’ll have that fixed soon. And the third…”

The third made it’s displeasure known by stopping all attempts to merely disable the station and going for all out destruction.

As another console exploded, throwing a rain of glittering metal and plastic, Ranil felt a brief stab to his side.

“Well, we seem to have ruffled some feathers there after all. Who would’ve thought? Anything from the Mecklenburg?”

“Still 57 minutes out, can’t reestablish contact.”

“Figures.”

If the fighters had intended to make the Romulans angry, they had succeeded all to well - Ranil counted only eight of the sleek, copper red shapes still out there and five of those were coming after the last fully intact warbird while the other three seemed to be hounding the one that had crippled the Seleya.

And then everything went, as his engineer would have put it, had his head not been stuck in some sort of hatch, donut-shaped.

Within seconds, the station’s shields flared again and there was the scream of disruptor fire tearing his station apart.

‘They’re really going in for the kill now. No more Mr Nice Guy I guess’

“Mr Donegan!” Ranil shouted and then coughed as acrid smoke filled his lungs “Where are my SHIELDS?”

Whatever the Scot answered, it was lost in the sound of another explosion.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ranil saw beautiful Thrandasar catching the blast squarely in the chest and rushed to help her, just as one of the pretty little Vulcan ships broke formation and treated Ranil to an unusual sight - the cobalt blue glow of impulse engines being shoved into overdrive while the gleaming hull of the elegant little ship turned right outside the station’s window. Almost like a lazy cat rolling over, it tipped to port and pointed it’s nose right at …

“No…” Ranil whispered.

“YES! Hail Mary and every bloody Saint!” the Chief Engineer emerged from the hatch and stormed towards his console but stopped in his tracks when he saw his CO’s ashen face. Before he could figure out what was going on, an explosion rocked the station and threw him off his feet. It hadn’t been a torpedo impact, that much he was sure about but still too close for comfort. Donegan pulled himself up to the engineering station and reactivated the shields - another rabbit pulled out of a rag of a hat, but it would hold for a while. Who the hell needed food replicators when you were being shot at anyways?

Then he saw Thrandasar’s wry smile and followed the CO’s gaze towards the window where… would you believe it, another warbird looked just a wee bit banged up and.. Oh crap. There wasn’t enough left to tell that floating debris had ever been a fighter, but one didn’t need to be a genius to add up what had happened.

“Bought us them few precious seconds, the poor lad.” he sadly shook his head and then looked around the station’s control center. Or rather, what was left of it. There had to be a med-kit somewhere, although it didn’t look as if Thrandasar would be able to do more than sit there and be pretty for a while. At least someone should do something about the bleeding.

Then he realized it was eerily quiet. They actually had stopped firing.

“Commander!” Sithundë’s shout broke the silence “I got a life-sign! Just 30 meters outside our shields!”

“What?” Ranil jumped up, leaving the Andorian woman in Donegan’s care “Get him out of there! Now!”

“Sir…”

“Donegan, drop the blasted shields, Sithundë you better grab that man and have him on my transporter platform that very same second, understood!”

The tactical officer knew better than to argue with his CO in this mood “Aye.”

If the Romulans were just playing dead, they’d blow the station to high heavens. But one could dare hope they’d really gotten their noses a bit bloodied, right? He locked on to the Vulcan and nodded towards the Engineer, just as a hatch was kicked outward and the Chief Medical Officer himself emerged. Well, speak of the devil…

“Mr Sutok, how nice of you to join us” Ranil nodded towards the doctor who looked about as unruffled as a person could who had just climbed several decks in a cramped Jeffrey’s tube.

“I apologize, Commander. It would seem that the medics dispatched here have been.. delayed.”

That or they were right where that last torpedo hit, but Ranil did not want to think about that now.

“Now or never, Lieutenant. As it happens, Doctor…” the Commander watched as a humanoid twinkled into shape on the transporter platform and he jumped forward as the Vulcan - and a Vulcan it had to be, although one really couldn’t tell with the helmet - staggered and almost crashed onto the floor “You’re just the man we need for our newest guest.”

“Indeed” Sutok briefly quirked a brow at the pilot on the platform who had caught his - correction, her - footing and raised a hand towards the advancing Commander, before returning his focus towards the Andorian engineer. The gesture was clear, that one would not require immediate attention.

“Well done, laddie.” the Scot wiped some sweat off his brow and grinned at the young tactical officer as his shields were back up and they were still alive to notice it “That’s gotta be a new record. And they’re still not shootin’ so catch a breather while I get our own phasers back online.”

He turned to look at just what a crazy, hell-raisin’ mad and luckier than anyone should be allowed to get sonofabitch Vulcan might look like, and his jaw dropped. Because the person on that platform wore what one could safely refer to as a damn tight fitting suit and that in turn left no doubt…

Commander Donegan’s newest outburst of colorful metaphors proved to be quite imaginative.

Ranil had stopped just short of the transporter platform as the woman - and the terracotta colored flight suit clearly outlined a female - had gestured for him she would not come tumbling down after all. How odd that the mind would focus on little details like that, but he caught himself looking at the beautiful copper shine of the helmet with it’s opaque visor and the shimmering gold of the insignia on the flight suit’s collar and left shoulder. He idly wondered what those Vulcan letters might mean - ship’s insignia? Rank and name? Hell, for all he knew it meant “She who wipes the floor with warbirds”

There was a hissing of air as she disengaged the helmet’s locks with her gloved hands and whatever Ranil had expected to see when she pulled it off her head, it certainly wasn’t the face of a woman who looked so … young.

Gods, she could barely be older than, well, whatever the Vulcan equivalent of a teenager was.

Her incredibly dark, calm eyes rested on him as she tucked the helmet under one arm and raised the other hand in the Vulcan salute. But when she spoke, the voice was not quite that of a teenager and Ranil smiled at the warm, musical sound.

“You have my gratitude for an excellently timed rescue, Commander. Permission to board your station?”

"Out of the Dark" Part III

2401

[---classified---]

Commander Ranil Ranasinghe stared with bafflement at the Vulcan pilot who had ‘dropped in’ so unexpectedly and felt a rather inappropriate urge to chuckle.

‘Nerves, I guess. But in a very weird way, this really is funny.’

“Granted.” He nodded as calmly as he could towards the young woman who promptly stepped off the transporter platform. Just from looking at her, you’d never have thought she’d just blown up her own fighter, pulled off a mad one-in-ten thousand chance last second emergency beamout and then spent over a minute drifting in the cold vacuum outside a space station under attack. By three Valdore type warbirds nonetheless, however mildly banged up those might be at the moment.

In fact, not one strand of her tightly braided and coiled hair seemed out of place and if there was an unusual slowness about her pulling the gloves off her hands - such small, slender hands, too. Gods, he’d be afraid shaking them lest he’d break something - it could well be attributed to thoughtfulness. Only the eyes, outwardly as calm as those of any Vulcan Ranil knew, gleamed with an odd intensity.

He became aware that he had been staring - although he sure was not the only one - and pulled himself together. “Status, Mr Donegan.”

“She inna goin’ to hold, Commander. Not for much longer anyways. And as for our phasers, well three weeks and about half a engineerin’ corps oughta do it.”

Thrandasar stirred and it was obvious she wanted to say something.

Sutok’s gentle but firm hand on her shoulder seemed to convince her she could talk without moving and her antennae only twitched briefly in annoyance.

“What about the deflector, sir?”

“Aye, lass. I saw what you were tryin’ to do there an’ it might of worked, too. But we’ve already thrown in the kitchen sink. We try to hit ‘em over the head that way, we’ll be tearin’ ourselves apart in the process. If it works at all.”

The Vulcan woman had silently moved towards the observation windows and Ranil saw her tilt her head as Thrandasar muttered some not so nice words in Andorian.

“Options?” Ranil didn’t think there were many, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. If anyone could come up with a crazy idea, it were the people assembled here. Including the still figure by the window who was probably the craziest of them all. Except maybe for Thrandasar but that woman played in a league all of her own.

For several long seconds, no one answered. Then Sutok looked up from where he was kneeling by the Andorian engineer’s side, having done all he could here for the moment.

“Do we know the Seleya’s status?”

“Doctor, she’s in just as bad a shape as we are. Maybe worse.” Lieutenant Sithundë stated, throwing a glance in the other Vulcan’s direction who nodded thoughtfully.

“Repair estimate for the warp engines is 18.7 minutes, shields at 17%, phasers at 8% nominal output.” her voice was as calm as if she were reporting the weather.

“Current?” Sutok asked, getting up and slowly approaching the young woman, medical tricorder in hand.

She nodded again and Ranil figured how nice it must be sometimes to be a telepath. Or not, considering that would mean you’d also know when ... oh gods. The sick feeling in his stomach told Ranil it might not be wise to ponder the theoretical question of what it would feel like, sensing someone die while you were in telepathic contact.

“What are you getting at, Mr Sutok?”

Commander Ranasinghe found himself somewhat intrigued by the interaction between the two Vulcans. His chief medical officer was the only one of his species on this station, and one who didn’t look like people usually expected either. Short by even human standards, with light brown hair and hazel eyes, there was an obvious contrast between him and the slender, dark woman he was examining right now.

But their behavior was that of two people very nicely in sync with one another, subtle as it was. A questioning look here, a tiny wave of a hand there, if you didn’t pay attention for even a second you’d miss it completely.

Ranil had often thought that the doctor would probably feel right at home at a Buddhist monastery, there was a sort of silent, calm cheerfulness about the man as if he was in on some kind of universal joke. Even now the CMO, occasionally referred to as “Pint-sized Vulcan” by Mr Donegan, still radiated a sort of “It’ll be alright” attitude although Ranil had no idea how he managed that. Logic alone should tell even this guy that …

“Considering all factors, Commander,” Sutok had finished his scans of the young woman and went hunting for something in his med-kit, presumably a hypo-spray “it would seem logical to evacuate any non-essential personnel to a vessel which has a chance of escaping.”

“A chance, lad?” the Chief Engineer huffed with exasperation “did you listen to that pilot or am I in the wrong line o’ work? There’s NO way they’ll get that pretty bucket to warp before them bloody Rommies fix their stuff and finish what they started.”

“Indeed there will be a need to improvise.” again, Ranil almost missed it. When Sutok approached the woman, hypo-spray in hand, she moved almost imperceptibly. One… two … another look exchanged, “I’m fine” versus “And who is the doctor here?” and Sutok’s stubbornness won out again.

“If you’re thinking what I’m thinking” Thrandasar’s voice sounded from the left “You got a volunteer.”

“And what is the good doctor thinking, Chief Petty Officer Thrandasar?” Ranil alternated between confusion and irritation, but if there was a way to get at least the civilians off the station…

“My modifications, sir. If we transport everyone but a skeleton crew off the station, let Seleya high-tail it out of here at whatever her impulse engines got and then give the warbirds a good beating… hell, if we throw the shower in after the kitchen sink we might obscure their sensors long enough for the Vulcans to get their warp online and be halfway home before anyone catches on.”

Destroying the station and everyone left on board in the process…

Another mad, one in a million shot. Just how often could you pull those off?

Ranil figured that a man who had three Valdore type warbirds sitting in front of his door would be a fool indeed if he were picky about odds.

“Right, let’s do it people. Engineer, I want power to transporters just long enough to get this done. You, Miss, can your ship handle 200 and some people? Never mind, I know you’ll stack ‘em in the corridors if you have to. Doc, for once I want no argument because you’re going. Along with the pilot, and it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Miss. Mr Sithundë, you’re relieved. Over there with you.“

Ranil motioned the Lieutenant towards the transporter platform and was about to take over tactical, when his Chief Engineer let out another curse, but the quiet, almost sad way he did it told the Commander their odds had just shifted towards the negligible.

He didn’t really want to look, but found his eyes drawn towards the observation window nonetheless. Too late…

The warbirds were moving again, straight for them, in a tight formation that should have given the impression of clinging together but somehow just made them look even more menacing.

Beware the tiger silently waiting in the forest, biding his time …

“I’d love to get my hands on their engineer. His throat, preff‘rably.”

Mr Donegan’s oddly calm voice sounded from the engineering station “S’got to be the devil himself. Shields at 120% output and the front birdie’s got weapons hot an’ glowin’. Must ‘of figured a way to channel power from the other two without … ye Saints, that I lived long enough to see it…” the Scot stared at the readings on his console and shook his head. “Less’n 4% deterioration in the power transfer. Why not nip the laws o’ physics in the bud while you’re at it, lad.”

The tactical officer quietly moved back towards his station, carefully targeting his last four torpedoes, for once without waiting for his CO’s orders. Thrandasar gave the advancing warbirds a long, cold stare and then struggled to get up.

“Don’t…” Ranil was about to say when he saw blue blood appear at the corners of the Andorian’s mouth, but the young Vulcan pilot had turned back from silently watching the Seleya’s maneuvers over the station, and to the Commander’s surprise and Thrandasar’s astonishment, moved to lift the other woman to her feet.

“Thanks, Ohashsu.” the Andorian engineer commented dryly, proving that knowledge about the other’s culture was in this case obviously a two-way street. It was adorable, the way Sutok and the pretty Vulcan lady quirked a brow almost in unison. Ranil felt a pain as if someone had tightened an iron ring around his heart, those were good people here and none of them deserved to die, especially not in this pointless, cruel way.

When the first barrage made the station vibrate and the shields flared under the onslaught, his tactical officer launched a torpedo propelled more by desperate hope than anything else, the Scot went about finding the proverbial shower to throw in and the Vulcans stood stoically, supporting an Andorian engineer between them, watching Seleya and the few fighters left fan out in a formation of their own, Ranil’s clenched fists finally relaxed.

But if it had to be, he wouldn’t want to be in any company other than theirs.

“Commander?”

Ranil nodded without taking his eyes off the warbirds. They had stopped firing yet again, for what reason this time, Kali only knew.

“They’re powering up their .. Well I’ll be DAMNED.”

Unimpressed by Mr Donegal’s curses, the three sleek, deadly ships had indeed turned away from the station and in a brief burst of light, jumped to warp. It made no sense. None at all…

‘They had us. We were sitting ducks. They HAD us. What happened?’

"Out of the Dark" Epilogue

2401

[outside the Vulcan Ministry of Defense main building, Shi’Kahr]

“That’s IT?”

“What did you expect, Commander? They’re Vulcans.”

“Oh, for cryin’ out loud, Thrandasar.”

The five people in Starfleet dress uniforms (although in Lieutenant Sithundë’s case ‘uniform’ was quite literally a bit of a stretch) barely drew any glance from the many natives walking by, although their raised voices earned them a quirked brow or two.

Huddling together under the tall stone columns which provided shade but certainly no respite from the all encompassing heat of Nevasa’s early afternoon rays, they looked a little lost, and in the case of all but one, confused and irritated.

“The question is valid, Commander.” The small, hazel eyed Vulcan doctor stated levelly. One could almost miss his presence between the two towering humans, the equally tall Andorian and the Sulamid who by now had displayed an extraordinary range of colors.

“What precisely were your expectations? The facts are clear, after all.”

“My expectations? Oh, I don’t know, Sutok. Maybe something more than ‘Thank you for coming, your statement has been filed, have a good day now.’ Maybe I was wrong to think anyone would be just a little upset about losing 23 of your people. Maybe I thought someone would want to do more than just file those lives away and get on with business!” Ranil was almost shouting the last words, making his tactical officer turn into an all new shade of embarrassed indigo.

“What the Commander means, lad” the Scottish engineer cut in before his CO would give himself a stroke, getting all upset in this heat “is that from his point o’ view there could ‘of been a bit more mention of the Seleya crew and the pilots of them little… what’s them called? Vale?”

“D’Vahl.” Thrandasar murmured.

“That one. Twenty three of ’em dead, Saints know how many more hurt. ’Cause they wanted to help us. DID help us. And now we’re bein’ told we canna even talk about it? Gotta forgive a human for sayin’ so but that’s bloody cold-hearted is what it is.”

“You may talk abut it, Mr Donegal.” Sutok pointed out quite reasonably.

“You have merely been asked to use discretion in doing so.”

“Meaning,” Thrandasar said without bothering to hide the disgust in her voice “that someone on Vulcan will be very polite about asking someone in Starfleet to hush up the fact their brand new ships have just stumbled over three warbirds, and if the Romulans didn’t already know they had them, now they had a chance to take a really good, long look. But never mind that, Starfleet’s gonna fall over themselves to put the big fat seal of ‘Shut up’ on the entire thing. What I don’t understand is WHY. It’s not like anyone did anything WRONG, or did I miss something?” she gave Sutok a long, angry stare, but the smaller man only shook his head.

“The purpose of this inquiry was simply to confirm that Seleya’s captain made the logical choice based on the information available. It is obvious that she did, so no more needs to be said. Or done, Chief Petty Officer.”

“Gods help me, Sutok, but I will never understand you or your people.”

Commander Ranasinghe’s anger had evaporated, leaving him only with a vague sense of confusion and sadness.

They had all been so terribly polite in there, so completely somber, and they had gone about the whole thing in such a swift, efficient way that it could freeze a human soul.

There had been Seleya’s Captain making a brief, calm statement.

Yes, the test flight and intention to test the fighters new impulse engines had been approved and filed accordingly. Indeed, the distress call had been received at such and such time, Ranil never could make sense of Vulcan dates and times, and it had been clear sufficient aid would not arrive in time.

There had been a 38.7 % probability that Seleya’s intervention would give Starfleet sufficient time to respond.

Deemed acceptable.

Next.

The fact that said Captain was yet another woman had not even provoked comment from Mr Donegan until it became clear that she was also related to the pilot Thrandasar called Ohashsu. At that point the Scot had clearly voiced his opinion about a captain who would send ‘yer little lassie’ into harm’s way, which had been duly noted by the silver haired Vulcan male in charge of the proceedings and then … not disregarded. Just, …

‘Almost as if it didn’t matter. And I still don’t even know her name. But I guess she’ll always be Ohashsu to us.’

They had not even asked her anything, the little pilot in her uniform that looked much more somber than the warmly colored, almost sensual flight suit he had first seen her in, although this one was decidedly elegant and dignified.

Just asked the captain if she had approved the young woman’s mad maneuver and ordered that an emergency beam out be attempted.

Affirmative.

Noted.

Next.

Despite the heat that even a native of the Indian subcontinent had trouble getting used to, Ranil shivered.

Is it your assessment that ‘Seleya’ has made any and all reasonable attempts to render aid, Commander Ranasinghe?’

Yes.

So noted.

Any and all reasonable… are ye people mad?

Do you wish to add something to your statement, Commander Donegan?

Laddie, there’s a lotta things I wish, first and foremost that you’d get yer head outta yer …

It had taken a sharp look from his CO to stop the Scot from going off on one of his rants, but his face still looked as if he wanted to toss a caber at somebody.

And through it all there had been the silver haired matriarch sitting off to one side, not saying a word but seeing and hearing all. Ranil couldn’t help the feeling that somehow it would be that one who would make the polite request Thrandasar had mentioned and that indeed Starfleet would scramble to oblige.

“But who are you, and how do you fit into all this?” Ranil murmured, wiping some sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his dress uniform.

“Commander?” Sithundë was obviously a bit confused by his CO’s last statement, but Sutok simply nodded in that placid, almost philosophical way of his. Ranil found it annoying enough that his facial expressions were so easy to read to the Vulcan, but that even his train of thought was so obvious was a bit much.

“Well?” he almost snapped at his chief medical officer, who took it without batting an eye.

“She is T’Leia.” Sutok said, as if that would explain everything. Not that it really explained a damn thing.

“One of ‘ese days, doc ..” Commander Donegal looked about ready to find himself the Vulcan equivalent of a caber but then something caught his eye and he started waving madly “There’s our bonnie lass!”

Thrandasar spun around and saw the slender, long legged figure of the little pilot emerge from the ministry’s gates and walk out into the rows of columns “OY! Ohashsu!”

This time, several Vulcan heads turned towards the Andorian, including the one towards whom the greeting had been directed. But where everyone else seemed surprised, the black haired young woman simply looked in their direction, not shielding her proud black eyes from the sun that shone directly in her face but seeking the source of all that noise with an unblinking gaze.

Ranil thought he saw the briefest flicker of... something… cross her face before she raised her hand, parting it slowly in the Vulcan salute.

“Yea, you too.” he murmured “Do me a favor and live really, really long.”

“And prosper an awful lot” the Scottish engineer sighed as a patch of darkness in the shade of the columns suddenly began to move and resolved itself into the shape of a dark, tall Vulcan approaching the young pilot. How could anyone not have seen that man earlier? There was a quiet intensity about the guy, a hint of carefully controlled energy in the way he held himself. And he obviously knew ‘their’ little Ohashsu well, because…

“Oh this very sweet.” Lieutenant Sithundë flushed a happy ivory “I did not know Vulcans hold hands.”

“They don’t.” Thrandasar looked thoughtful but grinned at her superior engineer‘s crestfallen face. “It’s called el’ru’esta and it simply means they’re close. Friends, family, maybe both. You can still try and ask her for lunch, he’s not gonna come at you with a Lirpa. Sir.”

“I dinna know you’re such an expert on the pointy eareds, Thrandasar. An I would ‘preciate if yer kept them innuendos to yerself.”

“No boyfriend?” Sithundë sounded mildly disappointed but he was still displaying a happy coloring, it was nice to se the little humanoid had someone waiting for her, even if it was ‘just’ a buddy.

“No.” Sutok looked after the two other Vulcans who had moved off towards the arcades leading down into Shi’Kahr’s Old Quarter after bidding them a brief but outright friendly farewell. ”I should think not.”

“About that lunch though…” Thrandasar gave a hopeful smile “I mean, the Charleston won’t be here to pick us up for another couple of hours and I hadn’t planned to sit on my hands until then.”

“Lunch?” Ranil almost gaped at the stately figure of the Andorian woman “Thrandasar, I take it all back. Vulcans are a mystery but you are …”

“Hungry, sir. And familiar enough with the green bloodeds, no offense Sutok, to know they’ll do things their own way and get their way in the end, no matter how I get my antennae in a twist.”

“None taken” Sutok replied in that good humored way of his “And if you have a taste for vegetarian Lasagna, there is indeed a most pleasant restaurant…”

...

Hashsu - flier, pilot.

Ohashsu - honorific form, implying an expert pilot. In the given context, a humorous term of endearment, similar to the human term “Ace”

...

"Out of the Dark" Epilogue II

[…]

Introduction to “Ancient and Modern Golic - Etymology of Vulcan Languages and Pronunciation” by Adaxa Tyrax

Zhit-Vesht-Tal Ba- eh Iyi-Gol-Vuhlkansu - Gen-Lis-Tal eh Salasharaya

There is a fine irony in the fact that the Vulcan language - the modern as well as the ancient variety - has more inflections and intonations to indicate subtle meanings and (don’t dare say this one out loud though) emotions, than just about any other Federation language.

Beginning with the simple matter of saying ‘hello’.

You can greet a Vulcan in an almost infinite number of ways, from the brief telepathic ‘nudge’ that is pretty much the equivalent of a tap on the shoulder or a Betazoid saying ‘Hi, I‘m here‘, to the long, elaborate and quite ancient words that are delivered with as much ceremony as a presidential inauguration.

The endless variations in between are a linguist’s dream come true, or quite possibly a nightmare. For even the informal ‘Tonk’peh’ can mean ‘hello, how are you today’ when a Vulcan uses it this very second and ‘wow, long time no see old friend, am I glad you made it’ when the very same person speaks it a minute later. And that’s just for starters.

Sadly, for most other species all variations will sound almost exactly the same and the Vulcans, not so much a taciturn race as a practical one (or so they will prefer to be seen) will hardly ever bother to point out what to them is as obvious as sunlight on the desert sands. That to understand, you have to listen.

Of course there is no more intimate way to greet a Vulcan but speaking his or her name, even if it is only the second, the ‘public’ name (if that sounds odd to you - remember the last time you cried out a friend’s name in joy after you hadn’t seen them in a long time? Or deliberately spoke a person’s name with that icy cold politeness when really you wanted to rip off the head belonging to it?).

The ‘first one’ the really important one, is almost never spoken aloud and known to few enough people to warrant no more than a brief mention here. Some off-worlders however know or have heard that Vulcans have ‘first’ names, it’s just that one couldn’t pronounce them.

That is true, in a way - since Vulcans as a rule don’t lie any more than a Betazoid would, although for slightly different reasons - but like the old iceberg metaphor goes, only a tiny part of a much larger truth.

For a Betazoid or Terran or even Betelgeusian could quite possibly get their mouth to make the approximate sounds required to produce the liquid, lilting syllables of a Vulcan’s name.

What they could not do is pronounce it, give it the shades of meaning and feeling (yes, the unspeakable word. Don’t try to call a Vulcan on it, though. At best, you’ll get the ’silent answer’) that will let the person in question know all they need to know. Like that you are talking to them and no other, that you know who they are down to the last little spinning atom and what they are to you. No more. No less.

There’s a headache waiting to happen in this complexity, although of course a Vulcan will not hesitate to point out the elegant simplicity of few words, much meaning. ‘Infinite Diversity’ they call it, if they can be bothered to make any comment at all.

This book is an attempt to explain the fine nuances of a fascinating (no pun intended) language from another telepathic species’ point of view. There are whole libraries filled with explanations on how aξ'àl'el became ashahl and then asal - the rising (time). What tends to be overlooked is that there is much more to a morning on the planet Vulcan than just a hot sun rising.

Once one grasps that concept, a new understanding dawns as well - and maybe the cryptic looks our pointy eared friends give us sometimes will finally begin to make sense.

In that spirit: Live long, and prosper!

Dr Adaxa Tyrax

Daughter of the Twelfth House

University of Betazed (linguistics department)

2401

[Shi’Kahr]

He called to her as soon as she stepped out of the ancient gates, and the resonance of the silent voice echoing in her head almost drowned out the very non-telepathic vocalizations that reached her ears seconds later.

“OY! Ohashsu!”

Turning her face into Nevasa’s scorching heat, the young woman found it difficult not to chuckle - if they hadn’t already drawn everyone’s attention with all the noise they were making, shouting the equivalent of “Ace!” with a very Andorian accent across the golden colored stairs and the plaza beneath - well, that certainly had done the job now.

She returned the friendly waves by raising her hand in greeting when he stepped beside her, repeating her name in a low murmur, but with the same melody of joy and relief.

“ξ'àk-ha’ra.”

“Isha nam-tor itar-bosh ish-veh gla-tor du, Sov’ar.”

He seemed amused by the exuberant greetings of the people in Starfleet dress uniforms, although to any onlooker he presented nothing but the perfect picture of a stoic Vulcan with chiseled features and black hair.

Only the young woman now turning back to face him and place her fingertips ever so lightly on his outstretched hands knew him a little better than that.

“Friends of yours?”

Immediately there was that wave of recognition, the familiar sensation of two minds reestablishing contact, seeking and finding something that neither had known was missing.

“Hmm.”

Startling, as always, how dark those eyes were that now looked up at him.

And something he had not seen in them in a long time, resting in their depths, concealed to anyone but those who knew what to look for.

An unspoken question, a small nod, and a friendly goodbye to the off-worlders later, they were walking under the stone arcades in silence.

Companionable silence, as familiar as her long legged stride and the subtle scent of her hair, but again there was that undercurrent of ‘wrong-ness’, no matter how hard she tried to conceal it.

She seemed hardly surprised when he suddenly steered away from the old arcades and into one of the many, tiny gardens that were so abundant in the Old Quarter. In fact, a memory of their walk across Sas-a-Shar briefly flashed at the uppermost regions of her mind and despite himself, Sovar found he had to press his lips together lest he should break into a smile.

‘Am I truly that insufferable?’

‘You certainly can be.’

But along with her words came the sensation of warmth, of good humor and above all, the friendly teasing none but her ever dared to subject him to. And as always it made him … feel … feel?

Later. He would have to find the reason for these odd sensations later. This mild confusion, mixed with the urge to chuckle at her innocent expression while her eyes sparkled with mischief, and the even stronger desire to see it again, see those serene features lit up by a smile like the morning light rolling over the hills.

The young woman with the tightly braided curls stood under one of the hardy little trees now, apparently mesmerized by the feathery, maroon-colored leaves. Her fingertips toyed with the soft leaves and there it was again. For the briefest of moments, something flashed into the light telepathic thread between them and Sovar understood.

Sorrow. Faces, names, all of them inevitably and for all time linked with loss and pain. And although he could not sense it, he knew there was that anger underneath, the rebellion, the burning fury kept in check by nothing more than sheer force of will.

They had been her friends. And this was going to be another burden he could not take from her.

Without thinking, without regard for the semi-public place they happened to be in, and utterly without caring for what anyone might think, he reached for her face, tracing the familiar lines of high cheekbones and smooth temples warmed by the sun, gently lifting her chin until she looked up at him with those deep, black pools.

“Esh’uh”

His deep baritone had a husky timbre to it that made the young woman blink, but he was shielding now, hiding the pain that had sprung up in his side, projecting nothing but the calm she new so well.

For long seconds, the only noise was the far away murmur of city noise and the small mill-stone fountain bubbling under the trees. Then her arms moved up slowly until her hands rested against his shoulders and the rustling of fabric seemed to echo loudly in the stone-walled garden.

“Fa-wak nakarat”

Always the same melodious voice, soft and quiet now like the murmuring of the water.

“I know.”

He breathed, slowly and deliberately, resisting the irrational impulse to reach for that other consciousness, increase the tender pressure of his fingertips until the light mind-link would become a flowing, unstoppable current.

Wrong in oh so many ways, but he found his gaze drawn to her lips, now parted in just a shadow of the smile he longed to see. It would be so easy to pull her closer, have his fingertips find them and abandon all reason just to know… just one kiss.

Would she scorn him as she had every right to, or forgive her friend the emotional lapse that had to be a result of his concern and immeasurable relief to have her standing here, alive and whole…

He dared not think what might happen if his mental shields dissolved under the sudden searing fever that was threatening to gain control.

‘This is madness. She is my friend.’

Her gaze was questioning now, not quite concerned yet, but reaching for something she recognized as unusual.

Her traced her elegantly slanted brows, and then slowly dropped his hands, invoking every last shred of control to push away the thought what it might be like to see those calm, dark eyes set ablaze.

Wrong. In so many ways.

Silently, she spoke his name, her trusting hands still resting against his shoulders. Gentle, curious, and thankfully unaware.

If there was an echo of what he now realized he wanted to hear in the cadence of her thought, it could easily be the turmoil within his own mind, summoning that which was not.

And he would rather tear his heart of out his side with his own bare hands than cause this one more grief.

At least, he thought with no small measure of dark humor, he no longer had to wonder about the reason for his most unusual behavior in her presence.

“Yes, t’sai Sakarra. Shall we go home?”