A Stitch in Time Ch 09 - Healing
A STITCH IN TIME
BY SOLEDAD
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 09 - HEALING
Author’s notes:
Some lines of dialogue have been borrowed from the 1st Season Enterprise episode “The Andorian Incident”.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Reed is the first to spot it and alerts Archer, who makes a dash to pull the rest of the tapestry down, T’Pol hot on his heels.
“Hold your fire,” Archer calls over to the Andorians. “You might want to take a look at this,” then, to T’Pol. “Can you open the vault?”
“I believe so,” T’Pol briefly scans the door; then she opens a previously well-concealed wall panel next to it, touches some controls, and the door opens noiselessly.
What is behind it goes beyond anyone’s imagination. Well, anyone’s except Ianto’s; but the others have never seen the TARDIS.
The impression is eerily similar. The huge hi-tech complex they enter through the previously hidden door may not be bigger in the inside, yet it seems almost impossible for it to be hidden under the ancient monastery. It is enormous - at least as big in diameter as the saucer section of Enterprise, but deeper, much deeper. There are three entire levels of surveillance screens alone, each with a balcony of its own, connected by metallic walkways that radiate from a massive central structure, most likely the power source. It has a round central platform with six computer terminals surrounding the domed centrepiece that appears to be the focus of the main processing unit of the entire complex. Dozens of Vulcan technicians in identical grey and beige uniforms work at the terminals and the surveillance screens, so focused on their task that they don’t even notice the intruders on the upper balcony.
“I don't believe this,” Archer mutters, and Ianto secretly agrees. The Vulcans of this altered reality appear a lot more ruthless than they were in the original timeline. He wonders if this, too, is a result of Torchwood having been destroyed in the early twenty-first century. It sounds a tad unlikely, but temporal mechanics being what they are…
Archer, in the meantime, glances at the scanner in T’Pol’s hand. “Does that thing have imaging sensors?” She nods.
“Take all the pictures you can,” Archer orders... only to find a phase pistol put to his head.
“Place your weapons on the ground,” the initiate - well, more likely an intelligence officer planted here by the Vulcan Security Directorate - hisses. “I will kill him if necessary. Give that to me!”
“Oh really?” Archer says with a feral grin and rams his elbow upward, directly into the vulnerable throat of the Vulcan, promptly knocking him out.
Clearly, the captain is as capable (and willing) to fight dirty as his immortal forefather; and he seems to enjoy it every bit as much, too. Lieutenant Reed eyes him with amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Violence in a sanctuary, Captain?”
“Very disrespectful, I know,” Archer shakes himself like a wet dog. “Boy, did it feel good. All this time they've been calling these monks liars, and all this time they've been right.”
“I do not think so, Captain,” T’Pol replies calmly, while continuing her scans.
Reed stares at her in disbelief. “You don’t think so? They've got enough equipment down there to see what any Andorian is having for breakfast.”
“I am not denying that,” T’Pol keeps scanning the complex. “I simply do not believe that the monks would be part of this; save for Sulok here. This equipment is brand new and bears the signature of the Security Directorate. The complex cannot have been built any earlier than two of your years ago.”
“The monks still ought to have known about it!” Reed presses.
“To that I shall only be able to say anything after I have spoken to Master T’Kosh,” T’Pol offers her scanner to Archer. “I have completed my scans, Captain.”
Archer waves in the direction of the Andorian commander who’s still staring at the Vulcan listening post with grim satisfaction. “Give it to him,” and, as she raises a questioning eyebrow, he repeats. “Give it to him.”
After a moment of hesitation she hands the scanner to Shran.
“You've got what you came for,” Archer says to the Andorian. “Now get out of here.”
Shran, however, clearly doesn’t trust the peace offering. “How do we know you won't attack our vessel?”
Archer shrugs. “You don’t. It’s a risk you have to take if you want to bring proof to your people that the Vulcans violated your treaty. Take it or leave it; it’s up to you.”
Shran still appears to be full of mistrust, which, given the circumstances, is understandable… until T’Pol holds out a hand to Reed. “Your communicator.”
Reed hands it over, and she activates it. “T'Pol to Enterprise.”
“Go ahead,” Mayweather’s voice answers.
“The Andorian ship will be leaving the surface momentarily,” T’Pol tells him. “They are free to go.”
“Acknowledged,” Mayweather replies, and the communication ends with that.
Shran looks from the scanner in his hand at Archer, his antennae trembling. “We're in your debt,” he says, clearly unhappy with the fact, and then leaves, his men - or the Andorian equivalent of it - hot on his heels.
“Oh, believe me, my little blue friend: I’m a man who always collects his debts,” Archer mutters softly; then he looks down at the still unconscious Sulok. “What are we to do about him?”
“Nothing,” T’Pol says coolly. “This is Vulcan territory, Captain, and an internal affair of the Vulcan government. The consequences are not promising in any case; your - our - interference could very well cause the destruction of this place.”
“You mean the Andorians won’t tolerate the continued existence of this listening post,” Ianto says. It isn’t really a question, but she nods nevertheless. “Why did you give them the proof then?”
“Because it was the right thing to do,” T’Pol replies. “We have violated the treaty; and P’Jem has been misused for something that is in diagonal opposite to the spirit in which it had originally been built millennia ago. I find it… disturbing to the extreme.”
“You’re not the only one,” Archer mutters. “I’d still like to learn how this was possible in the first place.”
“I shall attempt to ask for an audience with Master T’Kosh,” T’Pol offers. “I need to speak with her on Mr. Daniels’s behalf anyway.”
“And she will talk to you?” Reed appears to have his doubts about that.
T’Pol raises an eyebrow; her equivalent of a shrug. “I am family, Lieutenant.”
And with Vulcans, family is everything, Ianto knows that. So he isn’t particularly surprised when shortly thereafter another young monk - this time a female one - comes to the atrium where they are waiting and announces that Master T’Kosh is agreeable to meet the daughter of her clan.
“Well,” Archer says, hoping that they might actually learn something about the planting of such an elaborate listening post under the monastery,” you shouldn’t make her wait, then. That would be impolite.”
It’s hard to tell whether he’s serious or making some weird kind of joke but T’Pol, in time-honoured Vulcan fashion, takes his words for face value.
“Indeed,” she agrees seriously. “I presume it shall not take long. Mr. Daniels should come with me right away. You can wait for us at the shuttlepod with the others, Captain.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Archer consents - not that he’d have any other choice - and Vulcan Elder escorts T’Pol and Ianto to the personal quarters of Master T’Kosh: two spacious rooms of Spartan furnishing. The one in which the head of the order grants them an audience has only a low table, around which flat cushions are arranged in a geometric pattern, a writing desk with a tilted surface, at which the scribe would work standing - and, of curse, the fire sculpture of the god Shariel (also known as the fire-beast), with the inevitable meditation mat laid out in front of it.
The place has a definite Japanese flair to it, due to its functional minimalism. It is actually very pleasant in its simplicity.
The Vulcan woman sitting in a low armchair behind the table, facing the entrance, appears as ageless as her surroundings. Ianto finds it hard to believe that she would be beyond her second century, even though he knows for a fact that she is. Her hair, braided and coiled on the nape of her neck, is iron grey, yet her thin, ascetic face is smooth, save for a few deep lines in the corner of her mouth; and even her hands belie her true age, with barely a few raised veins under her dry skin. She is wearing the same rough white robe like all the other monks, but with a black surcoat over it, decorated with dark purple kolinahr symbols as a sign of her function within the order.
As is expected from a family member, T’Pol kneels before the armchair and crosses her arms, with her palms turned upward, offering the Eldest of her Clan the traditional greeting.
“Peace and long life, Master T’Kosh,” she says. “On behalf of my student, I thank you for agreeing to see us.”
The Eldest touches her palms in the time-honoured gesture of recognition.
“We live to serve,” she quotes the maxim of the order. “How may I be of assistance, daughter of my Clan?”
“My student,” T’Pol briefly indicates Ianto who is waiting in the background, “requires healing. He has gone through several traumata without support. At the request of Captain Archer, I am tutoring him in such techniques as can be taught to humans, but I am no healer. It is not enough.”
“I see,” the Eldest looks at Ianto intently, and as their eyes meet, Ianto realizes that she is indeed old, very old. It is like looking into a bottomless well full of memories. And there is more than just two hundred-plus years of life experience. Even he, “blind-headed” human that he is, could feel the distant hum of T’Kosh’s incredible mental powers.
She could tear through his mind like through tissue paper; but she is holding back out of respect for his privacy. She clearly can gauge his state of mind, however, even from this - admittedly short - distance. Not all Vulcans are strictly touch-telepaths, and the old arts are clearly still cultivated at P’Jem.
“You are indeed spiritually damaged, young man,” the Eldest is now addressing him directly. “Fortunately for you, this is the kind of damage that can be healed. I can give you a start, and T’Pol shall be able to gradually guide you through the subsequent phases of healing.”
“But?” Ianto asks, because he can definitely hear a but coming.
The Eldest smiles at him without actually smiling; it is all in the eyes.
“But giving you that start would require a mind-meld,” she explains.
Ianto raises an eyebrow that is almost Vulcan in its perfection. “I thought mind-melds were outlawed on Vulcan,”
“They are,” if the Eldest is surprised by his in-depth knowledge of internal Vulcan affairs, she does not reveal it. “Which is why we no longer live on Vulcan, P’Jem is an independent monastery, not under political restrictions.”
“Something that the current administration would love to change, as we saw,” Ianto points out dryly, and the Eldest nods.
“Indeed. We shall endeavour to be more vigilant in the future. But that is our concern; we are talking about your problems. Are you willing to undergo a meld, in order to begin healing? It might be… uncomfortable for someone unused to telepathic contact.”
“I’ve had some experience with telepathic species,” Ianto replies. “I’d gladly accept any help I can get. However, I’ve got a great deal of strictly confidential information stored in my memory…”
“I shall not touch any of them,” the Eldest promises. “My goal is to help compartmentalize your traumatic memories and to put them out of the way of your daily life. Somewhere safe, where you can revisit them, analyze them and deal with them at a later time, without having to fight them all times. That is something T’Pol will be able to guide you through.”
“But?” Ianto asks, because he can definitely hear a but coming.
The Eldest smiles at him without actually smiling; it is all in the eyes.
“But giving you that start would require a mind-meld,” she explains.
Ianto raises an eyebrow that is almost Vulcan in its perfection. “I thought mind-melds were outlawed on Vulcan,”
“They are,” if the Eldest is surprised by his in-depth knowledge of internal Vulcan affairs, she does not reveal it. “Which is why we no longer live on Vulcan, P’Jem is an independent monastery, not under political restrictions.”
“Something that the current administration would love to change, as we saw,” Ianto points out dryly, and the Eldest nods.
“Indeed. We shall endeavour to be more vigilant in the future. But that is our concern; we are talking about your problems. Are you willing to undergo a meld, in order to begin healing? It might be… uncomfortable for someone unused to telepathic contact.”
“I’ve had some experience with telepathic species,” Ianto replies. “I’d gladly accept any help I can get. However, I’ve got a great deal of strictly confidential information stored in my memory…”
“I shall not touch any of them,” the Eldest promises. “My goal is to help compartmentalize your traumatic memories and to put them out of the way of your daily life. Somewhere safe, where you can revisit them, analyze them and deal with them at a later time, without having to fight them all times. That is something T’Pol will be able to guide you through.”
Ianto considers this for a moment - that that he’d really have any choice if he wants to hand on to the remains of his sanity - and then nods decisively.
“In that case I shall gratefully accept.”
“Come and kneel before me then,” the Eldest says.
Most humans might find that order insulting, but in truth it is only logical. Ianto is tall; kneeling down in front of the low chair he is of the same height of the Eldest - ancient, seemingly fragile and somewhat shortened by age - is sitting in that chair. It is merely courtesy towards someone who could be his great-grandmother, age-wise.
He has undergone the Vulcan mind-meld once, back on Futurama, when the healers scanned him to make sure he would be able to bear the burden foreseen for him, so he knows what to expect. When the dry old fingertips unerringly find the contact points in his face, he chooses his eyes and tries to relax as much as he can, allowing the Eldest to shift through his traumatic memories.
Later on he won’ be able to remember what exactly the Vulcan matron has done with those memories. He’ll only know that they have somehow been put into perspective; pushed into the back of his mind, still accessible yet no longer overwhelmingly present. No longer impressed over his every waking moment… or over his dreams.
“This will not work the same way it would work for a Vulcan,” the Eldest warns. “You shall have to continue with the exercises T’Pol has taught you. But if you do that, you shall be able to maintain control.”
Like a diabetic needing his insulin shots all his life, Ianto thinks, but that’s all right. He can live with that.
Besides, now that he has the means to deal with his most recent trauma, he finds that he’d actually like to live out his life in this new, profoundly different reality.
Unless the task appointed to him by the Ninth Doctor kills him, of course.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
With that, he is dismissed from the presence of the Eldest… not so T’Pol, though, to whom Master T’Kosh wants to have words in a deeply family-related matter.
“I find your decision to sever the bond to Koss agreeable,” the matron tells her without preamble. “I have always been sceptical about that arrangement. His family is allied to the V’Lash administration among family lines, which means that our families would be in opposition as long as the current administration is in position. Neither is Koss, by his very nature, someone who would earn your respect; nor who would respect you - not the best foundation for a life bond that is supposed to work.”
T’Pol nods because that is very true.
“Therefore severing the bond was the only logical solution,” the Eldest continues. However, there is another matter you shall need to take under consideration. You chose to live among humans, at least temporarily. Your Time is about to come in a matter of months. You must think of a way to deal with it.”
“There is always meditation,” T’Pol points out. She has used the method previously, with success.
The Eldest nods. “That would be ideal, surrounded by strangers who do not know our ways. But consider this: confronted by their strong, unshielded emotions all the time may affect you to your disadvantage. Should meditation not work, you must find another way.”
“I cannot engage any of them in ritual combat,” T’Pol protests. “They are not match to a Vulcan in the blood fever. I could kill any of them without meaning it.”
Again, the Eldest nods in agreement. “True. Which is why you might not have any other choice than taking a mate. Even if only temporarily.”
“That is not truly a choice, either,” T’Pol says. “Again: they are no match to a Vulcan in the blood fever.”
“I would not be so certain about that,” the Eldest disagrees. “That Captain Archer… I know not what exactly he is, but he is not entirely human. Average humans do not release pheromones like he does. He might be a candidate.”
“He is also my commanding officer,” T’Pol reminds the matron of her Clan. “Starfleet has regulations against fraternization along the chain of command.”
“It is practical, then, that you are not of Starfleet,” the Eldest comments dryly. “Think about him as a possible solution. It might or might not become a necessity. But it is always good to be prepared.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“I wonder if she’ll learn anything from the Eldest Mother,” Archer muses, while waiting for T’Pol at the shuttlepod, accompanied by Hoshi, Tucker, and the newly arrived Ianto.
“Probably not,” Ianto says. “Such information would be dangerous for her; I doubt that Master T’Kosh would take such risk. For her own safety, it’s important that she could plausibly deny any knowledge when the news about our actions here reaches Vulcan.”
“And so we’re left in the dark by our so-called allies… again,” Tucker grouses.
Archer is not the only senior officer holding a grudge against the Vulcans. As an engineer and devoted to the Warp program, Trip Tucker has his own complaints regarding what he calls “the meddling of the pointy eared bastards”.
Ianto gives him a bland smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Commander.”
The others frown at him, confused… then the pennies begin to drop. Archer whistles in appreciation.
“That wily old bird! She didn’t want to endanger her, so she told it you, while your minds were connected!
“She didn’t exactly tell me anything,” Ianto corrects. “That would probably be seen as treason by her government. But she did show me images about what happened; or, to be more accurate, her memories of the events.”
“So, what did happen?” Archer presses. “Can you tell us?”
Ianto shakes his head in regret. “Not right away, Captain. I need to analyze what I was shown to interpret it. Vulcan thought processes are complex… and quite alien for us, if you’d forgive the pun.”
“But you’ll me able to make heads and tails of it, won’t you?” Hoshi asks, her confidence in his abilities obvious.
“I certainly hope so,” Ianto is careful not to promise them too much. “Correlating data was part of my job at Torchwood. I hope to write Captain Archer a detailed report in two or three days’ time.”
“I assume you’re an old hand with reports,” Archer tries to conceal his curiosity about his quartermaster’s mysterious past with a joke.
It doesn’t really work, and Ianto doesn’t take the bait, either.
“Of course, sir,” he deadpans. “My former colleagues were lazy gits when it came to paperwork… including my boss. Especially my boss, in fact. Must have been those Harkness genes, most likely. In any case, I had to write the reports for them more often than not. Except for Tosh,” he adds, with a smile in Hoshi’s direction; one that actually reaches his eyes for a change. “She was a jewel, with unshakable work ethics.”
“That must be runnin’ in the family,” Tucker comments; then he spots T’Pol exiting the monastery. “Well, our resident Vulcan is comin’. Our shore leave appears to be over.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Enterprise breaks orbit less than thirty minutes later, continuing its original course on the search for Space Station W3; a search that promises to be a long and potentially futile one. All they have is the original flight plan of the sleeper ship Silver Surfer that once carried the crew of the planned station on board. That plan is half a century or so old, and the ship might not even have followed it. The coordinates given in the original timeline might have changed, too. Not even the Temporal Agency could provide Ianto with the current location of W3; not that he’d have much contact with them in recent months anyway.
The Doctor might be the only one capable of helping with that, but Ianto has no way to contact the elusive Time Lord. And besides, he cannot risk contacting the wrong one: an earlier incarnation without knowledge of the changes in timeline. That could cause a temporal paradox, including the Doctor crossing his own timeline, and that would be disastrous. So, the only direction they can follow is the one given in the original flight plan.
“We’ll have to keep our eyes and ears open and hope for the best,” Archer says philosophically at the first staff meeting after leaving P’Jem behind. Then he looks at T’Pol. “Any word from Vulcan yet?”
“None,” she replies simply.
“It’s just a matter of time, though,” Lieutenant Reed comments. “They won’t simply overlook being caught red-handed due to our so-called interfering; not that we’d have planned any of it. They’re gonna make a lot of noise about the issue. And so will the Andorians. Now that they have the proof they needed, the monks can count themselves lucky if they don’t bomb the place to smithereens.”
“Unfortunately, that is a correct estimate,” T’Pol agrees.
“It would help things with the Andorians if we could prove that the monks had nothing to do with the building of the listening post,” Archer says.
He doesn’t exactly look at Ianto, who’s been taking part in such meetings for a while by now, but the underlying message is clear.
Ianto sighs. “I’ll do my best, Captain.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the end it takes Ianto almost a week - and daily meditating sessions with T’Pol’s assistance - to interpret the knowledge given him by Master T’Kosh. And the facts are not pretty, to put it mildly.
“It was a perfidious plan with multiple purposes,” he explains to the senior staff on the next scheduled meeting. “On the one hand, they wanted to spy on the Smurfs, of course. On the other hand, they chose P’Jem because the monks represent a philosophy the current administration prefers to ignore. So, if they were to be found out, they could put the blame on the monks and thus undermine their moral standing in the eyes of the population.”
“And Master T’Kosh knew about this?” T’Pol asks, trying to conceal her deep shock and succeeding… barely.
Ianto nods. “They deliberately told her; and only her. After which they isolated her from the rest of the Order, assigning this Sulok bloke to be with her all the time and watch her, so that she couldn’t warn the others. They also made her understand that every monk that may learn the truth would be executed, swiftly and secretly.”
“Which is why she did not tell me,” T’Pol concludes.
Ianto nods again. “Yes. Instead, she told me everything, so that I could bear witness, should she be accused of collaboration with the Security Directorate. As a human, I’m the last person people would suspect to lie on her behalf.”
“Conducting a mind-meld has been outlawed on Vulcan,” T’Pol points out. “No Vulcan court would accept testimony based on information gained through an outlawed procedure.”
Ianto shrugs. “The courts may not. The people probably would. That’s why the administration wanted to destroy Master T’Kosh’s credibility, brandmarking her as someone who preaches Surak’s teachings of non-violence while supporting the war efforts against Andor.”
“You are an outsider, from a species that does not have a very high standing in the eyes of the Vulcan government,” T’Pol reminds him. “They would not allow you to give testimony to begin with.”
Ianto shrugs again. “Not through official channels perhaps, but there are other ways. You as a former intelligence officer know that. You may even have the right contacts,” he raises a hand. “No, I’m not asking. Please don’t tell me; what I don’t know I can’t give away. But the information has been written down, encrypted and securely stored, should you ever need it.”
T’Pol’s only answer is a graceful inclining of her head. She has to know that Archer will report Starfleet Command everything they’ve learned about P’Jem; if only to provide Admiral Forrest with the right ammunition for a (most likely inevitable) verbal fight with the Vulcan ambassador. But as long as she hasn’t been told anything (not officially in any case), she can try keeping out of the whole affair.
Whether that attempt will prove successful or not is another question entirely, of course. For his part Ianto seriously doubt it.
“All right,” Archer says tiredly. “We’ve done all we could to prevent an armed conflict between the spies under P’Jem and the Andorians. The Vulcan High Command must see how they can wriggle out of this on their own.”
“If they can,” Reed interjects darkly. “I’ve got the bad feeling that this conflict is far from being over.”
“And you are probably right,” Archer agrees. “But the rest is not our concern. We’ve got a mission to complete.”
BY SOLEDAD
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 09 - HEALING
Author’s notes:
Some lines of dialogue have been borrowed from the 1st Season Enterprise episode “The Andorian Incident”.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Reed is the first to spot it and alerts Archer, who makes a dash to pull the rest of the tapestry down, T’Pol hot on his heels.
“Hold your fire,” Archer calls over to the Andorians. “You might want to take a look at this,” then, to T’Pol. “Can you open the vault?”
“I believe so,” T’Pol briefly scans the door; then she opens a previously well-concealed wall panel next to it, touches some controls, and the door opens noiselessly.
What is behind it goes beyond anyone’s imagination. Well, anyone’s except Ianto’s; but the others have never seen the TARDIS.
The impression is eerily similar. The huge hi-tech complex they enter through the previously hidden door may not be bigger in the inside, yet it seems almost impossible for it to be hidden under the ancient monastery. It is enormous - at least as big in diameter as the saucer section of Enterprise, but deeper, much deeper. There are three entire levels of surveillance screens alone, each with a balcony of its own, connected by metallic walkways that radiate from a massive central structure, most likely the power source. It has a round central platform with six computer terminals surrounding the domed centrepiece that appears to be the focus of the main processing unit of the entire complex. Dozens of Vulcan technicians in identical grey and beige uniforms work at the terminals and the surveillance screens, so focused on their task that they don’t even notice the intruders on the upper balcony.
“I don't believe this,” Archer mutters, and Ianto secretly agrees. The Vulcans of this altered reality appear a lot more ruthless than they were in the original timeline. He wonders if this, too, is a result of Torchwood having been destroyed in the early twenty-first century. It sounds a tad unlikely, but temporal mechanics being what they are…
Archer, in the meantime, glances at the scanner in T’Pol’s hand. “Does that thing have imaging sensors?” She nods.
“Take all the pictures you can,” Archer orders... only to find a phase pistol put to his head.
“Place your weapons on the ground,” the initiate - well, more likely an intelligence officer planted here by the Vulcan Security Directorate - hisses. “I will kill him if necessary. Give that to me!”
“Oh really?” Archer says with a feral grin and rams his elbow upward, directly into the vulnerable throat of the Vulcan, promptly knocking him out.
Clearly, the captain is as capable (and willing) to fight dirty as his immortal forefather; and he seems to enjoy it every bit as much, too. Lieutenant Reed eyes him with amusement dancing in his eyes.
“Violence in a sanctuary, Captain?”
“Very disrespectful, I know,” Archer shakes himself like a wet dog. “Boy, did it feel good. All this time they've been calling these monks liars, and all this time they've been right.”
“I do not think so, Captain,” T’Pol replies calmly, while continuing her scans.
Reed stares at her in disbelief. “You don’t think so? They've got enough equipment down there to see what any Andorian is having for breakfast.”
“I am not denying that,” T’Pol keeps scanning the complex. “I simply do not believe that the monks would be part of this; save for Sulok here. This equipment is brand new and bears the signature of the Security Directorate. The complex cannot have been built any earlier than two of your years ago.”
“The monks still ought to have known about it!” Reed presses.
“To that I shall only be able to say anything after I have spoken to Master T’Kosh,” T’Pol offers her scanner to Archer. “I have completed my scans, Captain.”
Archer waves in the direction of the Andorian commander who’s still staring at the Vulcan listening post with grim satisfaction. “Give it to him,” and, as she raises a questioning eyebrow, he repeats. “Give it to him.”
After a moment of hesitation she hands the scanner to Shran.
“You've got what you came for,” Archer says to the Andorian. “Now get out of here.”
Shran, however, clearly doesn’t trust the peace offering. “How do we know you won't attack our vessel?”
Archer shrugs. “You don’t. It’s a risk you have to take if you want to bring proof to your people that the Vulcans violated your treaty. Take it or leave it; it’s up to you.”
Shran still appears to be full of mistrust, which, given the circumstances, is understandable… until T’Pol holds out a hand to Reed. “Your communicator.”
Reed hands it over, and she activates it. “T'Pol to Enterprise.”
“Go ahead,” Mayweather’s voice answers.
“The Andorian ship will be leaving the surface momentarily,” T’Pol tells him. “They are free to go.”
“Acknowledged,” Mayweather replies, and the communication ends with that.
Shran looks from the scanner in his hand at Archer, his antennae trembling. “We're in your debt,” he says, clearly unhappy with the fact, and then leaves, his men - or the Andorian equivalent of it - hot on his heels.
“Oh, believe me, my little blue friend: I’m a man who always collects his debts,” Archer mutters softly; then he looks down at the still unconscious Sulok. “What are we to do about him?”
“Nothing,” T’Pol says coolly. “This is Vulcan territory, Captain, and an internal affair of the Vulcan government. The consequences are not promising in any case; your - our - interference could very well cause the destruction of this place.”
“You mean the Andorians won’t tolerate the continued existence of this listening post,” Ianto says. It isn’t really a question, but she nods nevertheless. “Why did you give them the proof then?”
“Because it was the right thing to do,” T’Pol replies. “We have violated the treaty; and P’Jem has been misused for something that is in diagonal opposite to the spirit in which it had originally been built millennia ago. I find it… disturbing to the extreme.”
“You’re not the only one,” Archer mutters. “I’d still like to learn how this was possible in the first place.”
“I shall attempt to ask for an audience with Master T’Kosh,” T’Pol offers. “I need to speak with her on Mr. Daniels’s behalf anyway.”
“And she will talk to you?” Reed appears to have his doubts about that.
T’Pol raises an eyebrow; her equivalent of a shrug. “I am family, Lieutenant.”
And with Vulcans, family is everything, Ianto knows that. So he isn’t particularly surprised when shortly thereafter another young monk - this time a female one - comes to the atrium where they are waiting and announces that Master T’Kosh is agreeable to meet the daughter of her clan.
“Well,” Archer says, hoping that they might actually learn something about the planting of such an elaborate listening post under the monastery,” you shouldn’t make her wait, then. That would be impolite.”
It’s hard to tell whether he’s serious or making some weird kind of joke but T’Pol, in time-honoured Vulcan fashion, takes his words for face value.
“Indeed,” she agrees seriously. “I presume it shall not take long. Mr. Daniels should come with me right away. You can wait for us at the shuttlepod with the others, Captain.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Archer consents - not that he’d have any other choice - and Vulcan Elder escorts T’Pol and Ianto to the personal quarters of Master T’Kosh: two spacious rooms of Spartan furnishing. The one in which the head of the order grants them an audience has only a low table, around which flat cushions are arranged in a geometric pattern, a writing desk with a tilted surface, at which the scribe would work standing - and, of curse, the fire sculpture of the god Shariel (also known as the fire-beast), with the inevitable meditation mat laid out in front of it.
The place has a definite Japanese flair to it, due to its functional minimalism. It is actually very pleasant in its simplicity.
The Vulcan woman sitting in a low armchair behind the table, facing the entrance, appears as ageless as her surroundings. Ianto finds it hard to believe that she would be beyond her second century, even though he knows for a fact that she is. Her hair, braided and coiled on the nape of her neck, is iron grey, yet her thin, ascetic face is smooth, save for a few deep lines in the corner of her mouth; and even her hands belie her true age, with barely a few raised veins under her dry skin. She is wearing the same rough white robe like all the other monks, but with a black surcoat over it, decorated with dark purple kolinahr symbols as a sign of her function within the order.
As is expected from a family member, T’Pol kneels before the armchair and crosses her arms, with her palms turned upward, offering the Eldest of her Clan the traditional greeting.
“Peace and long life, Master T’Kosh,” she says. “On behalf of my student, I thank you for agreeing to see us.”
The Eldest touches her palms in the time-honoured gesture of recognition.
“We live to serve,” she quotes the maxim of the order. “How may I be of assistance, daughter of my Clan?”
“My student,” T’Pol briefly indicates Ianto who is waiting in the background, “requires healing. He has gone through several traumata without support. At the request of Captain Archer, I am tutoring him in such techniques as can be taught to humans, but I am no healer. It is not enough.”
“I see,” the Eldest looks at Ianto intently, and as their eyes meet, Ianto realizes that she is indeed old, very old. It is like looking into a bottomless well full of memories. And there is more than just two hundred-plus years of life experience. Even he, “blind-headed” human that he is, could feel the distant hum of T’Kosh’s incredible mental powers.
She could tear through his mind like through tissue paper; but she is holding back out of respect for his privacy. She clearly can gauge his state of mind, however, even from this - admittedly short - distance. Not all Vulcans are strictly touch-telepaths, and the old arts are clearly still cultivated at P’Jem.
“You are indeed spiritually damaged, young man,” the Eldest is now addressing him directly. “Fortunately for you, this is the kind of damage that can be healed. I can give you a start, and T’Pol shall be able to gradually guide you through the subsequent phases of healing.”
“But?” Ianto asks, because he can definitely hear a but coming.
The Eldest smiles at him without actually smiling; it is all in the eyes.
“But giving you that start would require a mind-meld,” she explains.
Ianto raises an eyebrow that is almost Vulcan in its perfection. “I thought mind-melds were outlawed on Vulcan,”
“They are,” if the Eldest is surprised by his in-depth knowledge of internal Vulcan affairs, she does not reveal it. “Which is why we no longer live on Vulcan, P’Jem is an independent monastery, not under political restrictions.”
“Something that the current administration would love to change, as we saw,” Ianto points out dryly, and the Eldest nods.
“Indeed. We shall endeavour to be more vigilant in the future. But that is our concern; we are talking about your problems. Are you willing to undergo a meld, in order to begin healing? It might be… uncomfortable for someone unused to telepathic contact.”
“I’ve had some experience with telepathic species,” Ianto replies. “I’d gladly accept any help I can get. However, I’ve got a great deal of strictly confidential information stored in my memory…”
“I shall not touch any of them,” the Eldest promises. “My goal is to help compartmentalize your traumatic memories and to put them out of the way of your daily life. Somewhere safe, where you can revisit them, analyze them and deal with them at a later time, without having to fight them all times. That is something T’Pol will be able to guide you through.”
“But?” Ianto asks, because he can definitely hear a but coming.
The Eldest smiles at him without actually smiling; it is all in the eyes.
“But giving you that start would require a mind-meld,” she explains.
Ianto raises an eyebrow that is almost Vulcan in its perfection. “I thought mind-melds were outlawed on Vulcan,”
“They are,” if the Eldest is surprised by his in-depth knowledge of internal Vulcan affairs, she does not reveal it. “Which is why we no longer live on Vulcan, P’Jem is an independent monastery, not under political restrictions.”
“Something that the current administration would love to change, as we saw,” Ianto points out dryly, and the Eldest nods.
“Indeed. We shall endeavour to be more vigilant in the future. But that is our concern; we are talking about your problems. Are you willing to undergo a meld, in order to begin healing? It might be… uncomfortable for someone unused to telepathic contact.”
“I’ve had some experience with telepathic species,” Ianto replies. “I’d gladly accept any help I can get. However, I’ve got a great deal of strictly confidential information stored in my memory…”
“I shall not touch any of them,” the Eldest promises. “My goal is to help compartmentalize your traumatic memories and to put them out of the way of your daily life. Somewhere safe, where you can revisit them, analyze them and deal with them at a later time, without having to fight them all times. That is something T’Pol will be able to guide you through.”
Ianto considers this for a moment - that that he’d really have any choice if he wants to hand on to the remains of his sanity - and then nods decisively.
“In that case I shall gratefully accept.”
“Come and kneel before me then,” the Eldest says.
Most humans might find that order insulting, but in truth it is only logical. Ianto is tall; kneeling down in front of the low chair he is of the same height of the Eldest - ancient, seemingly fragile and somewhat shortened by age - is sitting in that chair. It is merely courtesy towards someone who could be his great-grandmother, age-wise.
He has undergone the Vulcan mind-meld once, back on Futurama, when the healers scanned him to make sure he would be able to bear the burden foreseen for him, so he knows what to expect. When the dry old fingertips unerringly find the contact points in his face, he chooses his eyes and tries to relax as much as he can, allowing the Eldest to shift through his traumatic memories.
Later on he won’ be able to remember what exactly the Vulcan matron has done with those memories. He’ll only know that they have somehow been put into perspective; pushed into the back of his mind, still accessible yet no longer overwhelmingly present. No longer impressed over his every waking moment… or over his dreams.
“This will not work the same way it would work for a Vulcan,” the Eldest warns. “You shall have to continue with the exercises T’Pol has taught you. But if you do that, you shall be able to maintain control.”
Like a diabetic needing his insulin shots all his life, Ianto thinks, but that’s all right. He can live with that.
Besides, now that he has the means to deal with his most recent trauma, he finds that he’d actually like to live out his life in this new, profoundly different reality.
Unless the task appointed to him by the Ninth Doctor kills him, of course.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
With that, he is dismissed from the presence of the Eldest… not so T’Pol, though, to whom Master T’Kosh wants to have words in a deeply family-related matter.
“I find your decision to sever the bond to Koss agreeable,” the matron tells her without preamble. “I have always been sceptical about that arrangement. His family is allied to the V’Lash administration among family lines, which means that our families would be in opposition as long as the current administration is in position. Neither is Koss, by his very nature, someone who would earn your respect; nor who would respect you - not the best foundation for a life bond that is supposed to work.”
T’Pol nods because that is very true.
“Therefore severing the bond was the only logical solution,” the Eldest continues. However, there is another matter you shall need to take under consideration. You chose to live among humans, at least temporarily. Your Time is about to come in a matter of months. You must think of a way to deal with it.”
“There is always meditation,” T’Pol points out. She has used the method previously, with success.
The Eldest nods. “That would be ideal, surrounded by strangers who do not know our ways. But consider this: confronted by their strong, unshielded emotions all the time may affect you to your disadvantage. Should meditation not work, you must find another way.”
“I cannot engage any of them in ritual combat,” T’Pol protests. “They are not match to a Vulcan in the blood fever. I could kill any of them without meaning it.”
Again, the Eldest nods in agreement. “True. Which is why you might not have any other choice than taking a mate. Even if only temporarily.”
“That is not truly a choice, either,” T’Pol says. “Again: they are no match to a Vulcan in the blood fever.”
“I would not be so certain about that,” the Eldest disagrees. “That Captain Archer… I know not what exactly he is, but he is not entirely human. Average humans do not release pheromones like he does. He might be a candidate.”
“He is also my commanding officer,” T’Pol reminds the matron of her Clan. “Starfleet has regulations against fraternization along the chain of command.”
“It is practical, then, that you are not of Starfleet,” the Eldest comments dryly. “Think about him as a possible solution. It might or might not become a necessity. But it is always good to be prepared.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“I wonder if she’ll learn anything from the Eldest Mother,” Archer muses, while waiting for T’Pol at the shuttlepod, accompanied by Hoshi, Tucker, and the newly arrived Ianto.
“Probably not,” Ianto says. “Such information would be dangerous for her; I doubt that Master T’Kosh would take such risk. For her own safety, it’s important that she could plausibly deny any knowledge when the news about our actions here reaches Vulcan.”
“And so we’re left in the dark by our so-called allies… again,” Tucker grouses.
Archer is not the only senior officer holding a grudge against the Vulcans. As an engineer and devoted to the Warp program, Trip Tucker has his own complaints regarding what he calls “the meddling of the pointy eared bastards”.
Ianto gives him a bland smile. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Commander.”
The others frown at him, confused… then the pennies begin to drop. Archer whistles in appreciation.
“That wily old bird! She didn’t want to endanger her, so she told it you, while your minds were connected!
“She didn’t exactly tell me anything,” Ianto corrects. “That would probably be seen as treason by her government. But she did show me images about what happened; or, to be more accurate, her memories of the events.”
“So, what did happen?” Archer presses. “Can you tell us?”
Ianto shakes his head in regret. “Not right away, Captain. I need to analyze what I was shown to interpret it. Vulcan thought processes are complex… and quite alien for us, if you’d forgive the pun.”
“But you’ll me able to make heads and tails of it, won’t you?” Hoshi asks, her confidence in his abilities obvious.
“I certainly hope so,” Ianto is careful not to promise them too much. “Correlating data was part of my job at Torchwood. I hope to write Captain Archer a detailed report in two or three days’ time.”
“I assume you’re an old hand with reports,” Archer tries to conceal his curiosity about his quartermaster’s mysterious past with a joke.
It doesn’t really work, and Ianto doesn’t take the bait, either.
“Of course, sir,” he deadpans. “My former colleagues were lazy gits when it came to paperwork… including my boss. Especially my boss, in fact. Must have been those Harkness genes, most likely. In any case, I had to write the reports for them more often than not. Except for Tosh,” he adds, with a smile in Hoshi’s direction; one that actually reaches his eyes for a change. “She was a jewel, with unshakable work ethics.”
“That must be runnin’ in the family,” Tucker comments; then he spots T’Pol exiting the monastery. “Well, our resident Vulcan is comin’. Our shore leave appears to be over.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Enterprise breaks orbit less than thirty minutes later, continuing its original course on the search for Space Station W3; a search that promises to be a long and potentially futile one. All they have is the original flight plan of the sleeper ship Silver Surfer that once carried the crew of the planned station on board. That plan is half a century or so old, and the ship might not even have followed it. The coordinates given in the original timeline might have changed, too. Not even the Temporal Agency could provide Ianto with the current location of W3; not that he’d have much contact with them in recent months anyway.
The Doctor might be the only one capable of helping with that, but Ianto has no way to contact the elusive Time Lord. And besides, he cannot risk contacting the wrong one: an earlier incarnation without knowledge of the changes in timeline. That could cause a temporal paradox, including the Doctor crossing his own timeline, and that would be disastrous. So, the only direction they can follow is the one given in the original flight plan.
“We’ll have to keep our eyes and ears open and hope for the best,” Archer says philosophically at the first staff meeting after leaving P’Jem behind. Then he looks at T’Pol. “Any word from Vulcan yet?”
“None,” she replies simply.
“It’s just a matter of time, though,” Lieutenant Reed comments. “They won’t simply overlook being caught red-handed due to our so-called interfering; not that we’d have planned any of it. They’re gonna make a lot of noise about the issue. And so will the Andorians. Now that they have the proof they needed, the monks can count themselves lucky if they don’t bomb the place to smithereens.”
“Unfortunately, that is a correct estimate,” T’Pol agrees.
“It would help things with the Andorians if we could prove that the monks had nothing to do with the building of the listening post,” Archer says.
He doesn’t exactly look at Ianto, who’s been taking part in such meetings for a while by now, but the underlying message is clear.
Ianto sighs. “I’ll do my best, Captain.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the end it takes Ianto almost a week - and daily meditating sessions with T’Pol’s assistance - to interpret the knowledge given him by Master T’Kosh. And the facts are not pretty, to put it mildly.
“It was a perfidious plan with multiple purposes,” he explains to the senior staff on the next scheduled meeting. “On the one hand, they wanted to spy on the Smurfs, of course. On the other hand, they chose P’Jem because the monks represent a philosophy the current administration prefers to ignore. So, if they were to be found out, they could put the blame on the monks and thus undermine their moral standing in the eyes of the population.”
“And Master T’Kosh knew about this?” T’Pol asks, trying to conceal her deep shock and succeeding… barely.
Ianto nods. “They deliberately told her; and only her. After which they isolated her from the rest of the Order, assigning this Sulok bloke to be with her all the time and watch her, so that she couldn’t warn the others. They also made her understand that every monk that may learn the truth would be executed, swiftly and secretly.”
“Which is why she did not tell me,” T’Pol concludes.
Ianto nods again. “Yes. Instead, she told me everything, so that I could bear witness, should she be accused of collaboration with the Security Directorate. As a human, I’m the last person people would suspect to lie on her behalf.”
“Conducting a mind-meld has been outlawed on Vulcan,” T’Pol points out. “No Vulcan court would accept testimony based on information gained through an outlawed procedure.”
Ianto shrugs. “The courts may not. The people probably would. That’s why the administration wanted to destroy Master T’Kosh’s credibility, brandmarking her as someone who preaches Surak’s teachings of non-violence while supporting the war efforts against Andor.”
“You are an outsider, from a species that does not have a very high standing in the eyes of the Vulcan government,” T’Pol reminds him. “They would not allow you to give testimony to begin with.”
Ianto shrugs again. “Not through official channels perhaps, but there are other ways. You as a former intelligence officer know that. You may even have the right contacts,” he raises a hand. “No, I’m not asking. Please don’t tell me; what I don’t know I can’t give away. But the information has been written down, encrypted and securely stored, should you ever need it.”
T’Pol’s only answer is a graceful inclining of her head. She has to know that Archer will report Starfleet Command everything they’ve learned about P’Jem; if only to provide Admiral Forrest with the right ammunition for a (most likely inevitable) verbal fight with the Vulcan ambassador. But as long as she hasn’t been told anything (not officially in any case), she can try keeping out of the whole affair.
Whether that attempt will prove successful or not is another question entirely, of course. For his part Ianto seriously doubt it.
“All right,” Archer says tiredly. “We’ve done all we could to prevent an armed conflict between the spies under P’Jem and the Andorians. The Vulcan High Command must see how they can wriggle out of this on their own.”
“If they can,” Reed interjects darkly. “I’ve got the bad feeling that this conflict is far from being over.”
“And you are probably right,” Archer agrees. “But the rest is not our concern. We’ve got a mission to complete.”