A Stitch in Time - Ch 06 - Letting Go
A STITCH IN TIME
BY SOLEDAD
Fandom: Star Trek - Enterprise/Whoniverse x-over
Genre: Action-adventure, Alternate Universe, Romance
Rating: T, for now
Series: This is a sequel to A Matter of Time and would only make real sense if you’ve read that part first.
Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry, first and foremost, and secondly whoever happens to have the rights at the moment. It’s hard to follow. I don’t own anything just a few secondary characters and the alternate plot idea.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 06 - LETTING GO
Author's notes:
As described in the first part of this trilogy (“A Matter of Time”), Ianto underwent a year-long training for Temporal Agents on a planet the name of which he never learned. He called the place Futurama for himself, after the television series he enjoyed in his youth.
Sariel, the Vulcan god of death, was named by D.C. Fontana, the writer of “Amok Time”, although the name was not mentioned in the actual episode. A bust of him was seen in Spock’s quarters on that episode.
The mantra T’Pol and Ianto use as a meditation aid is from “Voyager”, of course.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Despite his initial protests, Ianto doesn’t really mind getting to know the enigmatic T’Pol better. They’d need the Vulcan’s cooperation with removing Zoë Heriot’s memory block eventually, if they want to decode the inscriptions he has found in the Time Chamber of the Suliban Helix, since the chance of finding Jack somewhere out in the endless vista of space in time is considerably lesser
Assuming that the markings are truly Gallifreyan, not just some mockery.
By showing some trust towards T’Pol, he might actually earn her trust, given enough time. So he considers this particular meeting between them as part of his mission… for now.
With Captain Archer’s warning in the back of his head, he arrives in front of T’Pol’s door exactly at the beginning of third watch and sounds the buzzer. There is no answer, but the door opens immediately, and the heat hits him at once like a brick wall. T’Pol is standing at arm’s length on the other side of the door, wearing a long, black robe that has sweeping sleeves and some odd symbols in gold and purple along the hem, and invites him in.
Her quarters are utilitarian, minimalist and utterly alien. Not in the sense of being filled with odd things the purpose of which a human could not understand - more like because of the almost complete lack of anything odd… or anything really personal, in truth. The air within is hot and dry and the gravity makes it harder to move… or even to breathe. Ianto nearly stumbles when he enters, although T’Pol warns him about the gravitational threshold in time.
She leads him into the living area, which is more or less empty, with the exception of a couple of small mats placed on the floor and a computerized desk on one side. On the other side is the only thing that isn’t part of the standard Starfleet furniture: the mediation sculpture: a hollow shape of some mythical creature filled with holographic flames. It is bipedal, with a vaguely lion-like head, and appears to be breathing fire.
“Is that a representation of Sariel?” Ianto asks, remembering what little he was taught on Futurama about pre-Surakian Vulcan mythology.
If T’Pol is surprised, she doesn’t show it; but again, few Vulcans ever do.
“Few humans would recognize it,” is all she says.
Ianto shrugs. “I’m an archivist; well, I was one. And I don’t really know much about Sariel. Just that he was the god of death, who lived in…” he briefly searches in his memory for the name, “in Mount Tar’hana, where he spewed lava to terrify his followers into submission. I didn’t know that modern Vulcans still worshipped him, though.”
“We do not,” T’Pol replies calmly. “In these days Sariel is seen as a symbol; a symbol for the death of violent emotions and the prevalence of logic. We keep an image of Sariel in our homes to remind us of the violent past we have to overcome every day anew.”
“Sounds enlightening,” Ianto allows, and T’Pol inclines her head in expression of formal thanks.
She then leads him to the middle of the room and gestures at the mats lying on the floor. “Please. Sit. Let us discuss how we want to proceed.”
She kneels and lovers herself onto her heels while Ianto sits cross-legged (and not too comfortably, to be honest) on the mat, switches on the holographic candle, and for a while they are both quiet. Ianto can already feel the effect of the heat and the higher gravitation, but at the same time it also makes him feel more… grounded, somehow. As if he had all the time in the world.
“There are several time-honoured meditation techniques to restore control and get order in a mind of chaos,” the Vulcan finally begins. “Since you are a beginner, I would advise to start with a mantra often used when performing the kithira.”
Ianto frowns. “Kithira? Isn’t it that three-dimensional puzzle where you build a structure from differently shaped blocks?”
T’Pol nods. “That is correct. Kithira helps to focus thoughts and refine mental control. However, we shall focus on the mantra itself now. Repeat after me: Structure. Logic. Function. Control. A structure cannot stand without a foundation. Logic is the foundation of function. Function is the essence of control. I am in control.”
Ianto isn’t a complete stranger to meditation. During his year on Futurama, he was introduced to the basics and learned that it has its uses, even though he isn’t a particularly spiritual person. So he closes his eyes and repeats the mantra after her.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Two hours later Tucker and Sandra have adapted to the environment of the Harvester ship enough to leave their temporary quarters and go to the engine room. The Axanar engineers are already busy with the repair of the damage caused by Enterprise’s torpedoes and their own warship, but there’s still work enough left for the humans, too.
Te technology isn’t like anything they’ve seen before - mostly organic, save for the hull of the ship, and appears to work on an entirely different principle. Even the Axanar, who do have some experience with derelict Menthar ships, are baffled most of the time.
“These are the teraphasic coils,” one of them, lying underneath lots of coils and tubing with changing light colours, explains a little doubtfully. “Apparently, the wider ones have lost their cohesion.”
Tucker exchanges a look with Sandra who simply shrugs.
“I'm sorry, you lost me,” he admits. “I'm having trouble concentrating with all this noise and light.”
”Are you certain you don't want to rest for a little longer?“ the Axanar asks, and Tucker shrugs.
”I don't know what I'm certain about,” he confesses, and the Axanar just hums in agreement.
The 456 aren’t much help, either. It soon becomes clear that they have no real understanding about the principles on which their… borrowed technology is based. They use the ship the way many twenty-first century humans used their cars: knowing the functions but not understanding the scientific facts behind them.
So, asking questions leads no-where, in most cases.
Fortunately for all parties involved Tucker is the best engineer Starfleet can offer and Sandra has inherited Suzie’s uncanny ability of getting into previously unknown technology, understanding its working instinctively. That, combined with the Axanar’s limited knowledge about Menthar technology, finally leads to perhaps unusual but working solutions, and they’re finally making headway by the time T’Pol re-takes her station on Enterprise’s Bridge.
“Are the injector cells aligned with the primary coil?“ she asks when Tucker gives her the preliminary report.
“Aligned and locked,” Tucker replies proudly. “I must say, this is the oddest environment in which I’ve ever worked. It gives you the feeling as if you were in the belly of some huge, mythical beast. Like Jonah and the giant fish.”
T’Pol ignores the somewhat overdramatic description with practiced ease. She’s grown used to illogical human comments since her arrival on board.
“Have you tested the ion matrix?” she asks instead.
“Even that low, rumbling noise all around you,” Tucker continues distractedly. “It’s unsettling somehow… I keep wondering if we’re being digested already…”
.
”The ion matrix, Chief,” Sandra reminds him, and Tucker blinks several times as if waking from a really weird dream.
“Oh, right. I've recharged the assembly. Is it up to point four yet?”
“Point four three,” one of the Axanar technicians reports.
”Keep pumping up the gradient,” Tucker instructs them. “If we can get it up to point five the coils should come back online all by themselves.”
Back on the Bridge of Enterprise Archer and Mayweather exchange smiles.
”Sounds like Trip's feeling better,” Archer comments and Mayweather laughs.
”Before you know it, he'll have that engine room running like a well-oiled machine.”
“It is unlikely that the semi-organic Menthar engines would use fossil fuel,” T’Pol remarks dryly; then she turns her attention back to Tucker. “Commander, in your estimate how long will it take until you are ready to bring the warp reactor online?
“Shouldn't take more than a couple of hours,” Tucker replies, after having made some calculations in his head.
Archer laughs. “Just think, yesterday you would have done anything to get out of there.”
“I still don’t like it here one bit,” Tucker returns, “but how often does one get to work on teraphasic warp coils? Every self-respecting engineer would give an arm for a chance like this. Okay, we’ll report in again as soon as we’re done here. Tucker out.”
He breaks the connection with Enterprise and looks at the head engineer of the Axanar questioningly. “What next?”
“It will take a while for the coils to regenerate,” the alien replies. “We can’t do anything else before. Perhaps you’d like to tell us something about your world in the meantime.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
While waiting for the coils of the derelict Menthar warship to regenerate, Alpha shift goes off-duty onboard Enterprise and Beta shift takes over… with the exception of Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed.
The former feels it’s his duty to provide moral support to his friend Tucker. The latter wants to keep an eye on the Harvester fleet and on his weapons controls, respectively… just in case. Even though Enterprise’s firepower is well beneath that of any of the Axanar warships, which are present in a more than satisfactory number. Security officers can be like that.
T’Pol, on the other hand, welcomes the chance to retreat to the solitude of her quarters and meditate. The session with CPO Daniels has cost her a great deal of strength. The young human - for Daniels counts as young, even in human terms - may have a remarkably disciplined mind (he has to; or else his photographic memory would drive him mad with sensory overload) but his shielding is inadequate, and his emotions leek through, despite his best efforts.
T’Pol has never experienced so much raw pain; even second-hand, it is overwhelming. The young man has what humans call an old soul; one that has aged prematurely, doe to too many traumata he has experienced. And while he shows an amiable mask outwards, he clearly has not dealt with those experiences properly.
Like rats in my stomach - was one of the stray thoughts she had picked up from him… a highly illogical yet very expressive metaphor. She wonders whether it is actual, physical pain - perhaps Daniels is developing a stress-related ulcer? It is a known condition among humans and she makes a mental note to consult Doctor Phlox about the possibility. She is the first officer of Enterprise; therefore the physical well-being of the crew is part of her responsibility. And the quartermaster is of vital importance for the smooth running of daily life on board.
That alone would not explain Daniels’s high stress levels, though. Nor would his former experiences with the rouge Harvester faction. T’Pol knows there is something about Daniels that Captain Archer has not told her; perhaps something the captain is not aware of himself. The young man is close to the breaking point, in any case, and she is not sure she can sufficiently help him. Her training in the mental arts has never gone beyond the bare basics.
In his current state Daniels would need the skills of a kolinahr-adept. Of course, performing the fullara ceremony on a human may not be possible, but there ought to be some way to help him.
She briefly considers taking Daniels back to Vulcan, to the Gol-masters, but rejects the idea immediately. They would never allow an outworldler to enter their sanctuaries. However, Enterprise’s current course would lead them close by the planet on which P’Jem is situated, she realizes. Perhaps the monks there would be willing to come to a troubled soul’s aid. Helping those in search for inner peace has been one of the main goals of the monastery, ever since Master Haadok laid its foundation, some three thousand Earth years previously.
Perhaps she could persuade Captain Archer to change course for a short visit… if she plans her approach carefully.
She rises from the mat and walks over to her desk unhurriedly. If she wants to gain assistance from the monks, she will need to research the proper protocols first.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the end it takes two full days and the combined efforts of Tucker’s team and the Axanar techies to make the ancient Menthar warship of the Harvesters space-borne again. Representatives of the Axanar government arrive in the meantime and begin hammering out the details of the agreement with the 456 creatures. Almost as a side product, contacts between Earth and the Axanar are also established, thanks to Hoshi Sato, whose extraordinary gift for languages seems to have no limits.
On the second day a Xirillian ship arrives, summoned by the Axanar as another interested party, to join the agreement with the Harvesters. They prove to be a highly… well, alien species, even though the humans only get to see them on the viewscreen. Perhaps even more alien than the 456, since they look almost human to the naked eye. And yet they live in an environment like nothing else humans have ever heard of.
Or Vulcans, for that matter. Archer finds it strange that after centuries of space exploration the Vulcans have never encountered the Xirillians. Or the Axanar. Not to mention the 456 that have also been there for a long time.
“Our ships concentrated on charting the area,” T’Pol explains when it comes up on the staff meeting. “We have little interest in meeting other species, unless there is a logical reason to do so.”
“You mean: mutual advantages,” Archer says after a moment of consideration. He’s definitely getting better at interpreting Vulcan statements.
T’Pol nods. “That is correct.”
“If you ask me, these Vulcan star charts take all the fun out of it,” Tucker, who’s recently returned from the Harvester ship, says to Archer. “We're supposed to be explorers, aren't we?”
“That is the general idea, yes,” Archer grins expectantly; Trip’s insights are usually funny.
“Where's the exploration in going places people have already been?” Tucker points out.
“Well, for one thing, we've never been to these places,” Archer reminds him. “For another, it gives us the chance to actually meet the people who inhabit this area of space. Which, if I’m not mistaken, is part of our mission: to seek out new life and new civilizations.”
“True,” Tucker admits. “So, what’s the next step, now that we can leave the locals behind to deal with each other on their own? Any new info on the location of Station W3?”
Archer shakes his head. “Unfortunately, not. We’ll have to search and ask for directions; the data from the early days are more than just a little vague. Perhaps once we’ve got further out there we might run into people who’ve at least heard of the station.”
“If we do, good luck getting them to admit it,” Tucker says pessimistically.
Archer shrugs. “We can but try. Sooner or later, we’ll have to find the place. Speaking of which… there's a planet a few light years off our current heading. The data indicates there's a remote outpost right here on the northern hemisphere. Perhaps the people living there can point us in the right direction.”
“That is unlikely,” Vulcans, as a rule, do not believe in the human concept of luck; yet T’Pol cannot help but surprise how Archer has just served him the golden opportunity to steer them towards P’Jem. “The inhabitants of P’Jem do not interfere with the affairs of outsiders.”
Archer gives her a somewhat suspicious look. “I take it this P'Jem is under Vulcan jurisdiction?”
“It is an ancient spiritual retreat,” T’Pol explains. “A remote sanctuary for kolinahr and peaceful meditation.”
“Kolinahr?” Tucker echoes in confusion.
“The Vulcan purging of emotion,” T’Pol clarifies, with a brief glance in CPO Daniels’s direction.
Archer seems to get the hint at once. “That sounds interesting. How do you think they'd feel about a visit?”
T’Pol considers the question as if she had not planned the visit already.
“P'Jem is a place of quiet contemplation, Captain,” she finally replies. “I am not certain we would be welcome. Casual visitors usually are not… unless somebody seeks out the monks’ help with strengthening their mental control,” and she glances in the direction of CPO Daniels again… who is just about to open his mouth and protest, but the captain is faster.
”It's not every day we get a chance to see an ancient Vulcan monastery,” he says. “I'd say a stop-over is too good a chance to pass up. I presume you can research the proper protocols,” he looks at T’Pol, who nods.
“Of course, Captain.”
She neglects to tell him that she has already done so.
“Good,” Archer hits the intercom button. “Archer to helm.”
“Go ahead,” Mayweather’s voice answers.
“Prepare to lay in a course correction,” Archer orders. “T'Pol will give you the coordinates.”
“Understood,” Mayweather replies crisply, and Archer dismisses his senior officers.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ianto is not fooled by the seemingly spontaneous act of their captain, of course; and he can make an educated guess who the inspiring force behind said act might have been. As he prefers the direct approach, he seeks out T’Pel in the Mess Hall where she is eating her Vranto salad with knife and fork. She sits alone at a corner table as she usually does - unless she’s invited to dinner at the captain’s table.
“Mind if I join you?” he asks.
When she answers in the negative, he takes the only other seat at the table and asks for the same dish from the steward, who isn’t even surprised. It is a known fact that the quartermaster is a vegetarian - at least for the time being - and that he has developed a taste for Vulcan cuisine… well, for the spiced-up version of it Chef serves to humans, in any case.
“Are you looking forward to visiting the sanctuary?” he asks causally, while the steward places a bowl of Vranto salad in front of him, generously seasoned with redspice.
T’Pol’s expression remains carefully neutral.
“It was the captain's idea,” she replies.
Ianto resist the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation… barely.
“Really, Subcommander, I’m neither blind nor stupid. You’ve been obviously planning to visit P’Jem and only waited for the right opportunity to steer the captain’s interest in that direction. The question is: why? Arriving there, unexpected, with a bunch of humans in trail can’t be very comfortable for you.”
“It could create a certain awkwardness,” she admits. “However, this is not my first visit to P’Jem; and I can be reasonably certain that if I bring with me somebody in the need of spiritual guidance we shall not be turned away.”
“You mean me,” Ianto says slowly. It is not a question but T’Pol replies nonetheless.
“That is correct. I do not have the necessary training to help you adequately. The monks of P’Jem do. That has been their calling ever since the sanctuary has been founded three thousands of your years ago.”
That piece of information surprises Ianto a little. “Does it mean that the monastery predates Surak’s Reformation?”
One of the consequences of the butterfly effect caused by the destruction of Torchwood, back in the twenty-first century, is the drastic change of the timeline in a much wider radius than just Earth’s history. One of the profound differences is that in this altered reality Surak was born three millennia later than originally; thus the Vulcan way of logic and discipline is now a mere two thousand years old… not five thousand as it once was.(1)
Ianto knows this, of course; in theory anyway. He researched the difference between the timelines in considerable depth while on Futurama. But being confronted with the fact in reality is a different matter.
“The Thought Masters pre-date the Reformation by many millennia,” T’Pol answers his question matter-of-factly. “Surak was not the first one to realize that without proper discipline our mental abilities could lead to complete annihilation of our entire species. In fact, we came very close to extinction due to planetary wars that were often fought with more than just physical weapons, deadly efficient though those might have been.”
“You mean the mental arts, right?” Ianto asks. “Like psychokinesis and other such things.”
T’Pol nods gravely. “And more than that. In the ancient times there were psychics that could kill with a simple thought. Fortunately, those abilities have gradually died out as the kolinahr discipline became widely practiced. Of course not everyone welcomed the new ways, as it is often the case,” she adds dryly.
“Which led to Surak’s death from radiation poisoning2 and the sundering of your people,” Ianto contributes.
T’Pol’s non-expression comes as close to shocked as a Vulcan’s face is capable of. “You know about the Sundering?”
“I’ve learned about it during my training with the Temporal Agency, centuries from now in the future,” Ianto reminds her. “Don’t worry, though. I know this isn’t common knowledge in our current time and won’t speak about it to anyone. That might disturb the timeline more than it already is, and that is the last thing I’d do.”
That seems to reassure T’Pol, and Ianto takes his leave from her. He has finished lunch and, as Jack would put it, there is work to do before they would descend on the clueless monks of P’Jem.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“So, whom are you taking with you to P’Jem?” Tucker asks while stuffing his head with excellent steak.
It’s resequenced protein, of course, but Chef can make it taste like the real thing. Well, almost.
“Ianto, of course, since the whole excursion is on his behalf,” Archer replies; when off-duty, he tends to use the familiar form of his officers’ names. “T’Pol, since she’s our guarantee to be allowed entering the place. And Hoshi. She’ll be interested in experiencing a slice of Vulcan life she’s only known from books so far.”
Tucker frowns. “What for? She already speaks every main dialect known to the pointy-eared bastards.”
“An exolinguist is always very much of a sociologist and an historian,” Archer replies. “As Hoshi explained it to me, you can’t truly understand a language as long as you’re unfamiliar with the historical and sociological context it has grown from. Especially when it comes to Vulcans, for whom philosophy is deeply ingrained into their entire life.”
“Some philosophy,” Tucker gripes. He still hasn’t let go of his grudge about the fact that Vulcan had successfully hamstringed human space exploration for a century or so.
“We don’t have to like it,” Archer says soberly. “But we should better use every chance to understand them better; know your enemy and all that. And Hoshi is the best person for the job.”
Tucker thinks about that for a moment. He’s not a stupid man, far from it, but he’s more interested in the practical side of things. He’s an engineer, not a politician.
“In that case,” he finally says, “I’d like to come with you.”
“Are you sure?” Archer asks in surprise. “You’ve never been interested in religious stuff. You never came with me when I was visiting monasteries on Earth.”
“Yeah, but this is a Vulcan monastery,” Tucker points out. “I’d like to see if these monks are like any other Vulcan I’ve ever met - or worse.”
Archer shakes his head in exasperation. “I’m not sure I should take the risk of you causing an interspecies incident by going for a really bad joke.”
“I’ll behave,” Tucker promises. “Please, Jack, let me go with you! I really want to see this place!”
“I’ll regret this, I’m already certain,” Archer mutters, because Trip and a bunch of ultra-conservative Vulcans is a mix that could only lead to an explosion of spectacular proportions.
In the end, however, he gives in. Trip is his oldest friend who, too, has signed up to see new worlds and new civilizations. Besides, if he sees a different aspect of Vulcan life perhaps he’ll ease his hostile attitude towards Vulcans a bit.
Yeah. And once upon a blue moon pigs might learn to fly.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
1) The tie-in novels to the original series were in general agreement that Surak lived five thousand years before TOS, give or take a few years. I usually follow that, because I’m not buying that Romulans would become so different (even biologically) in a mere two millennia. This is my attempt to build a bridge between book canon and the canon of the Enterprise series, blaming the changes in the 21st century for everything. ;)
2) In the TOS novel “Spock’s World” it is stated that Surak was murdered by a terrorist group called the Yhri-faction, which is the version I usually work with. However, this is an Enterprise story, so I found it necessary to follow the series’ canon.
BY SOLEDAD
Fandom: Star Trek - Enterprise/Whoniverse x-over
Genre: Action-adventure, Alternate Universe, Romance
Rating: T, for now
Series: This is a sequel to A Matter of Time and would only make real sense if you’ve read that part first.
Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to Gene Roddenberry, first and foremost, and secondly whoever happens to have the rights at the moment. It’s hard to follow. I don’t own anything just a few secondary characters and the alternate plot idea.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 06 - LETTING GO
Author's notes:
As described in the first part of this trilogy (“A Matter of Time”), Ianto underwent a year-long training for Temporal Agents on a planet the name of which he never learned. He called the place Futurama for himself, after the television series he enjoyed in his youth.
Sariel, the Vulcan god of death, was named by D.C. Fontana, the writer of “Amok Time”, although the name was not mentioned in the actual episode. A bust of him was seen in Spock’s quarters on that episode.
The mantra T’Pol and Ianto use as a meditation aid is from “Voyager”, of course.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Despite his initial protests, Ianto doesn’t really mind getting to know the enigmatic T’Pol better. They’d need the Vulcan’s cooperation with removing Zoë Heriot’s memory block eventually, if they want to decode the inscriptions he has found in the Time Chamber of the Suliban Helix, since the chance of finding Jack somewhere out in the endless vista of space in time is considerably lesser
Assuming that the markings are truly Gallifreyan, not just some mockery.
By showing some trust towards T’Pol, he might actually earn her trust, given enough time. So he considers this particular meeting between them as part of his mission… for now.
With Captain Archer’s warning in the back of his head, he arrives in front of T’Pol’s door exactly at the beginning of third watch and sounds the buzzer. There is no answer, but the door opens immediately, and the heat hits him at once like a brick wall. T’Pol is standing at arm’s length on the other side of the door, wearing a long, black robe that has sweeping sleeves and some odd symbols in gold and purple along the hem, and invites him in.
Her quarters are utilitarian, minimalist and utterly alien. Not in the sense of being filled with odd things the purpose of which a human could not understand - more like because of the almost complete lack of anything odd… or anything really personal, in truth. The air within is hot and dry and the gravity makes it harder to move… or even to breathe. Ianto nearly stumbles when he enters, although T’Pol warns him about the gravitational threshold in time.
She leads him into the living area, which is more or less empty, with the exception of a couple of small mats placed on the floor and a computerized desk on one side. On the other side is the only thing that isn’t part of the standard Starfleet furniture: the mediation sculpture: a hollow shape of some mythical creature filled with holographic flames. It is bipedal, with a vaguely lion-like head, and appears to be breathing fire.
“Is that a representation of Sariel?” Ianto asks, remembering what little he was taught on Futurama about pre-Surakian Vulcan mythology.
If T’Pol is surprised, she doesn’t show it; but again, few Vulcans ever do.
“Few humans would recognize it,” is all she says.
Ianto shrugs. “I’m an archivist; well, I was one. And I don’t really know much about Sariel. Just that he was the god of death, who lived in…” he briefly searches in his memory for the name, “in Mount Tar’hana, where he spewed lava to terrify his followers into submission. I didn’t know that modern Vulcans still worshipped him, though.”
“We do not,” T’Pol replies calmly. “In these days Sariel is seen as a symbol; a symbol for the death of violent emotions and the prevalence of logic. We keep an image of Sariel in our homes to remind us of the violent past we have to overcome every day anew.”
“Sounds enlightening,” Ianto allows, and T’Pol inclines her head in expression of formal thanks.
She then leads him to the middle of the room and gestures at the mats lying on the floor. “Please. Sit. Let us discuss how we want to proceed.”
She kneels and lovers herself onto her heels while Ianto sits cross-legged (and not too comfortably, to be honest) on the mat, switches on the holographic candle, and for a while they are both quiet. Ianto can already feel the effect of the heat and the higher gravitation, but at the same time it also makes him feel more… grounded, somehow. As if he had all the time in the world.
“There are several time-honoured meditation techniques to restore control and get order in a mind of chaos,” the Vulcan finally begins. “Since you are a beginner, I would advise to start with a mantra often used when performing the kithira.”
Ianto frowns. “Kithira? Isn’t it that three-dimensional puzzle where you build a structure from differently shaped blocks?”
T’Pol nods. “That is correct. Kithira helps to focus thoughts and refine mental control. However, we shall focus on the mantra itself now. Repeat after me: Structure. Logic. Function. Control. A structure cannot stand without a foundation. Logic is the foundation of function. Function is the essence of control. I am in control.”
Ianto isn’t a complete stranger to meditation. During his year on Futurama, he was introduced to the basics and learned that it has its uses, even though he isn’t a particularly spiritual person. So he closes his eyes and repeats the mantra after her.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Two hours later Tucker and Sandra have adapted to the environment of the Harvester ship enough to leave their temporary quarters and go to the engine room. The Axanar engineers are already busy with the repair of the damage caused by Enterprise’s torpedoes and their own warship, but there’s still work enough left for the humans, too.
Te technology isn’t like anything they’ve seen before - mostly organic, save for the hull of the ship, and appears to work on an entirely different principle. Even the Axanar, who do have some experience with derelict Menthar ships, are baffled most of the time.
“These are the teraphasic coils,” one of them, lying underneath lots of coils and tubing with changing light colours, explains a little doubtfully. “Apparently, the wider ones have lost their cohesion.”
Tucker exchanges a look with Sandra who simply shrugs.
“I'm sorry, you lost me,” he admits. “I'm having trouble concentrating with all this noise and light.”
”Are you certain you don't want to rest for a little longer?“ the Axanar asks, and Tucker shrugs.
”I don't know what I'm certain about,” he confesses, and the Axanar just hums in agreement.
The 456 aren’t much help, either. It soon becomes clear that they have no real understanding about the principles on which their… borrowed technology is based. They use the ship the way many twenty-first century humans used their cars: knowing the functions but not understanding the scientific facts behind them.
So, asking questions leads no-where, in most cases.
Fortunately for all parties involved Tucker is the best engineer Starfleet can offer and Sandra has inherited Suzie’s uncanny ability of getting into previously unknown technology, understanding its working instinctively. That, combined with the Axanar’s limited knowledge about Menthar technology, finally leads to perhaps unusual but working solutions, and they’re finally making headway by the time T’Pol re-takes her station on Enterprise’s Bridge.
“Are the injector cells aligned with the primary coil?“ she asks when Tucker gives her the preliminary report.
“Aligned and locked,” Tucker replies proudly. “I must say, this is the oddest environment in which I’ve ever worked. It gives you the feeling as if you were in the belly of some huge, mythical beast. Like Jonah and the giant fish.”
T’Pol ignores the somewhat overdramatic description with practiced ease. She’s grown used to illogical human comments since her arrival on board.
“Have you tested the ion matrix?” she asks instead.
“Even that low, rumbling noise all around you,” Tucker continues distractedly. “It’s unsettling somehow… I keep wondering if we’re being digested already…”
.
”The ion matrix, Chief,” Sandra reminds him, and Tucker blinks several times as if waking from a really weird dream.
“Oh, right. I've recharged the assembly. Is it up to point four yet?”
“Point four three,” one of the Axanar technicians reports.
”Keep pumping up the gradient,” Tucker instructs them. “If we can get it up to point five the coils should come back online all by themselves.”
Back on the Bridge of Enterprise Archer and Mayweather exchange smiles.
”Sounds like Trip's feeling better,” Archer comments and Mayweather laughs.
”Before you know it, he'll have that engine room running like a well-oiled machine.”
“It is unlikely that the semi-organic Menthar engines would use fossil fuel,” T’Pol remarks dryly; then she turns her attention back to Tucker. “Commander, in your estimate how long will it take until you are ready to bring the warp reactor online?
“Shouldn't take more than a couple of hours,” Tucker replies, after having made some calculations in his head.
Archer laughs. “Just think, yesterday you would have done anything to get out of there.”
“I still don’t like it here one bit,” Tucker returns, “but how often does one get to work on teraphasic warp coils? Every self-respecting engineer would give an arm for a chance like this. Okay, we’ll report in again as soon as we’re done here. Tucker out.”
He breaks the connection with Enterprise and looks at the head engineer of the Axanar questioningly. “What next?”
“It will take a while for the coils to regenerate,” the alien replies. “We can’t do anything else before. Perhaps you’d like to tell us something about your world in the meantime.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
While waiting for the coils of the derelict Menthar warship to regenerate, Alpha shift goes off-duty onboard Enterprise and Beta shift takes over… with the exception of Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed.
The former feels it’s his duty to provide moral support to his friend Tucker. The latter wants to keep an eye on the Harvester fleet and on his weapons controls, respectively… just in case. Even though Enterprise’s firepower is well beneath that of any of the Axanar warships, which are present in a more than satisfactory number. Security officers can be like that.
T’Pol, on the other hand, welcomes the chance to retreat to the solitude of her quarters and meditate. The session with CPO Daniels has cost her a great deal of strength. The young human - for Daniels counts as young, even in human terms - may have a remarkably disciplined mind (he has to; or else his photographic memory would drive him mad with sensory overload) but his shielding is inadequate, and his emotions leek through, despite his best efforts.
T’Pol has never experienced so much raw pain; even second-hand, it is overwhelming. The young man has what humans call an old soul; one that has aged prematurely, doe to too many traumata he has experienced. And while he shows an amiable mask outwards, he clearly has not dealt with those experiences properly.
Like rats in my stomach - was one of the stray thoughts she had picked up from him… a highly illogical yet very expressive metaphor. She wonders whether it is actual, physical pain - perhaps Daniels is developing a stress-related ulcer? It is a known condition among humans and she makes a mental note to consult Doctor Phlox about the possibility. She is the first officer of Enterprise; therefore the physical well-being of the crew is part of her responsibility. And the quartermaster is of vital importance for the smooth running of daily life on board.
That alone would not explain Daniels’s high stress levels, though. Nor would his former experiences with the rouge Harvester faction. T’Pol knows there is something about Daniels that Captain Archer has not told her; perhaps something the captain is not aware of himself. The young man is close to the breaking point, in any case, and she is not sure she can sufficiently help him. Her training in the mental arts has never gone beyond the bare basics.
In his current state Daniels would need the skills of a kolinahr-adept. Of course, performing the fullara ceremony on a human may not be possible, but there ought to be some way to help him.
She briefly considers taking Daniels back to Vulcan, to the Gol-masters, but rejects the idea immediately. They would never allow an outworldler to enter their sanctuaries. However, Enterprise’s current course would lead them close by the planet on which P’Jem is situated, she realizes. Perhaps the monks there would be willing to come to a troubled soul’s aid. Helping those in search for inner peace has been one of the main goals of the monastery, ever since Master Haadok laid its foundation, some three thousand Earth years previously.
Perhaps she could persuade Captain Archer to change course for a short visit… if she plans her approach carefully.
She rises from the mat and walks over to her desk unhurriedly. If she wants to gain assistance from the monks, she will need to research the proper protocols first.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the end it takes two full days and the combined efforts of Tucker’s team and the Axanar techies to make the ancient Menthar warship of the Harvesters space-borne again. Representatives of the Axanar government arrive in the meantime and begin hammering out the details of the agreement with the 456 creatures. Almost as a side product, contacts between Earth and the Axanar are also established, thanks to Hoshi Sato, whose extraordinary gift for languages seems to have no limits.
On the second day a Xirillian ship arrives, summoned by the Axanar as another interested party, to join the agreement with the Harvesters. They prove to be a highly… well, alien species, even though the humans only get to see them on the viewscreen. Perhaps even more alien than the 456, since they look almost human to the naked eye. And yet they live in an environment like nothing else humans have ever heard of.
Or Vulcans, for that matter. Archer finds it strange that after centuries of space exploration the Vulcans have never encountered the Xirillians. Or the Axanar. Not to mention the 456 that have also been there for a long time.
“Our ships concentrated on charting the area,” T’Pol explains when it comes up on the staff meeting. “We have little interest in meeting other species, unless there is a logical reason to do so.”
“You mean: mutual advantages,” Archer says after a moment of consideration. He’s definitely getting better at interpreting Vulcan statements.
T’Pol nods. “That is correct.”
“If you ask me, these Vulcan star charts take all the fun out of it,” Tucker, who’s recently returned from the Harvester ship, says to Archer. “We're supposed to be explorers, aren't we?”
“That is the general idea, yes,” Archer grins expectantly; Trip’s insights are usually funny.
“Where's the exploration in going places people have already been?” Tucker points out.
“Well, for one thing, we've never been to these places,” Archer reminds him. “For another, it gives us the chance to actually meet the people who inhabit this area of space. Which, if I’m not mistaken, is part of our mission: to seek out new life and new civilizations.”
“True,” Tucker admits. “So, what’s the next step, now that we can leave the locals behind to deal with each other on their own? Any new info on the location of Station W3?”
Archer shakes his head. “Unfortunately, not. We’ll have to search and ask for directions; the data from the early days are more than just a little vague. Perhaps once we’ve got further out there we might run into people who’ve at least heard of the station.”
“If we do, good luck getting them to admit it,” Tucker says pessimistically.
Archer shrugs. “We can but try. Sooner or later, we’ll have to find the place. Speaking of which… there's a planet a few light years off our current heading. The data indicates there's a remote outpost right here on the northern hemisphere. Perhaps the people living there can point us in the right direction.”
“That is unlikely,” Vulcans, as a rule, do not believe in the human concept of luck; yet T’Pol cannot help but surprise how Archer has just served him the golden opportunity to steer them towards P’Jem. “The inhabitants of P’Jem do not interfere with the affairs of outsiders.”
Archer gives her a somewhat suspicious look. “I take it this P'Jem is under Vulcan jurisdiction?”
“It is an ancient spiritual retreat,” T’Pol explains. “A remote sanctuary for kolinahr and peaceful meditation.”
“Kolinahr?” Tucker echoes in confusion.
“The Vulcan purging of emotion,” T’Pol clarifies, with a brief glance in CPO Daniels’s direction.
Archer seems to get the hint at once. “That sounds interesting. How do you think they'd feel about a visit?”
T’Pol considers the question as if she had not planned the visit already.
“P'Jem is a place of quiet contemplation, Captain,” she finally replies. “I am not certain we would be welcome. Casual visitors usually are not… unless somebody seeks out the monks’ help with strengthening their mental control,” and she glances in the direction of CPO Daniels again… who is just about to open his mouth and protest, but the captain is faster.
”It's not every day we get a chance to see an ancient Vulcan monastery,” he says. “I'd say a stop-over is too good a chance to pass up. I presume you can research the proper protocols,” he looks at T’Pol, who nods.
“Of course, Captain.”
She neglects to tell him that she has already done so.
“Good,” Archer hits the intercom button. “Archer to helm.”
“Go ahead,” Mayweather’s voice answers.
“Prepare to lay in a course correction,” Archer orders. “T'Pol will give you the coordinates.”
“Understood,” Mayweather replies crisply, and Archer dismisses his senior officers.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ianto is not fooled by the seemingly spontaneous act of their captain, of course; and he can make an educated guess who the inspiring force behind said act might have been. As he prefers the direct approach, he seeks out T’Pel in the Mess Hall where she is eating her Vranto salad with knife and fork. She sits alone at a corner table as she usually does - unless she’s invited to dinner at the captain’s table.
“Mind if I join you?” he asks.
When she answers in the negative, he takes the only other seat at the table and asks for the same dish from the steward, who isn’t even surprised. It is a known fact that the quartermaster is a vegetarian - at least for the time being - and that he has developed a taste for Vulcan cuisine… well, for the spiced-up version of it Chef serves to humans, in any case.
“Are you looking forward to visiting the sanctuary?” he asks causally, while the steward places a bowl of Vranto salad in front of him, generously seasoned with redspice.
T’Pol’s expression remains carefully neutral.
“It was the captain's idea,” she replies.
Ianto resist the urge to roll his eyes in exasperation… barely.
“Really, Subcommander, I’m neither blind nor stupid. You’ve been obviously planning to visit P’Jem and only waited for the right opportunity to steer the captain’s interest in that direction. The question is: why? Arriving there, unexpected, with a bunch of humans in trail can’t be very comfortable for you.”
“It could create a certain awkwardness,” she admits. “However, this is not my first visit to P’Jem; and I can be reasonably certain that if I bring with me somebody in the need of spiritual guidance we shall not be turned away.”
“You mean me,” Ianto says slowly. It is not a question but T’Pol replies nonetheless.
“That is correct. I do not have the necessary training to help you adequately. The monks of P’Jem do. That has been their calling ever since the sanctuary has been founded three thousands of your years ago.”
That piece of information surprises Ianto a little. “Does it mean that the monastery predates Surak’s Reformation?”
One of the consequences of the butterfly effect caused by the destruction of Torchwood, back in the twenty-first century, is the drastic change of the timeline in a much wider radius than just Earth’s history. One of the profound differences is that in this altered reality Surak was born three millennia later than originally; thus the Vulcan way of logic and discipline is now a mere two thousand years old… not five thousand as it once was.(1)
Ianto knows this, of course; in theory anyway. He researched the difference between the timelines in considerable depth while on Futurama. But being confronted with the fact in reality is a different matter.
“The Thought Masters pre-date the Reformation by many millennia,” T’Pol answers his question matter-of-factly. “Surak was not the first one to realize that without proper discipline our mental abilities could lead to complete annihilation of our entire species. In fact, we came very close to extinction due to planetary wars that were often fought with more than just physical weapons, deadly efficient though those might have been.”
“You mean the mental arts, right?” Ianto asks. “Like psychokinesis and other such things.”
T’Pol nods gravely. “And more than that. In the ancient times there were psychics that could kill with a simple thought. Fortunately, those abilities have gradually died out as the kolinahr discipline became widely practiced. Of course not everyone welcomed the new ways, as it is often the case,” she adds dryly.
“Which led to Surak’s death from radiation poisoning2 and the sundering of your people,” Ianto contributes.
T’Pol’s non-expression comes as close to shocked as a Vulcan’s face is capable of. “You know about the Sundering?”
“I’ve learned about it during my training with the Temporal Agency, centuries from now in the future,” Ianto reminds her. “Don’t worry, though. I know this isn’t common knowledge in our current time and won’t speak about it to anyone. That might disturb the timeline more than it already is, and that is the last thing I’d do.”
That seems to reassure T’Pol, and Ianto takes his leave from her. He has finished lunch and, as Jack would put it, there is work to do before they would descend on the clueless monks of P’Jem.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“So, whom are you taking with you to P’Jem?” Tucker asks while stuffing his head with excellent steak.
It’s resequenced protein, of course, but Chef can make it taste like the real thing. Well, almost.
“Ianto, of course, since the whole excursion is on his behalf,” Archer replies; when off-duty, he tends to use the familiar form of his officers’ names. “T’Pol, since she’s our guarantee to be allowed entering the place. And Hoshi. She’ll be interested in experiencing a slice of Vulcan life she’s only known from books so far.”
Tucker frowns. “What for? She already speaks every main dialect known to the pointy-eared bastards.”
“An exolinguist is always very much of a sociologist and an historian,” Archer replies. “As Hoshi explained it to me, you can’t truly understand a language as long as you’re unfamiliar with the historical and sociological context it has grown from. Especially when it comes to Vulcans, for whom philosophy is deeply ingrained into their entire life.”
“Some philosophy,” Tucker gripes. He still hasn’t let go of his grudge about the fact that Vulcan had successfully hamstringed human space exploration for a century or so.
“We don’t have to like it,” Archer says soberly. “But we should better use every chance to understand them better; know your enemy and all that. And Hoshi is the best person for the job.”
Tucker thinks about that for a moment. He’s not a stupid man, far from it, but he’s more interested in the practical side of things. He’s an engineer, not a politician.
“In that case,” he finally says, “I’d like to come with you.”
“Are you sure?” Archer asks in surprise. “You’ve never been interested in religious stuff. You never came with me when I was visiting monasteries on Earth.”
“Yeah, but this is a Vulcan monastery,” Tucker points out. “I’d like to see if these monks are like any other Vulcan I’ve ever met - or worse.”
Archer shakes his head in exasperation. “I’m not sure I should take the risk of you causing an interspecies incident by going for a really bad joke.”
“I’ll behave,” Tucker promises. “Please, Jack, let me go with you! I really want to see this place!”
“I’ll regret this, I’m already certain,” Archer mutters, because Trip and a bunch of ultra-conservative Vulcans is a mix that could only lead to an explosion of spectacular proportions.
In the end, however, he gives in. Trip is his oldest friend who, too, has signed up to see new worlds and new civilizations. Besides, if he sees a different aspect of Vulcan life perhaps he’ll ease his hostile attitude towards Vulcans a bit.
Yeah. And once upon a blue moon pigs might learn to fly.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
1) The tie-in novels to the original series were in general agreement that Surak lived five thousand years before TOS, give or take a few years. I usually follow that, because I’m not buying that Romulans would become so different (even biologically) in a mere two millennia. This is my attempt to build a bridge between book canon and the canon of the Enterprise series, blaming the changes in the 21st century for everything. ;)
2) In the TOS novel “Spock’s World” it is stated that Surak was murdered by a terrorist group called the Yhri-faction, which is the version I usually work with. However, this is an Enterprise story, so I found it necessary to follow the series’ canon.