Selek, his chosen guard, and the starship crew boarded a Suurok-class ship in orbit for a final briefing. It would take them to the edge of the star system, where they would be transferred to a smaller D’Vahl type, the Kir’Shara, which was a survey vessel as opposed to a fighting ship. The Vulcan High Command had determined speed was a better option than fighting prowess.

The constant hum of the engines was like a white noise that helped him put the emotional part of his brain to sleep. It wasn’t only the stress of being separated from T’Nedara but the life he was trying to build for himself on Vulcan. He kept telling himself that the mission was a logical step towards that goal. There was some comfort in that, and even some reluctant excitement for what awaited him.

The mission was planned to be simple. Travel covertly to Romulus and use the scant information they had to find and recover their sacred texts. The transmission indicated that the texts may be hidden off-world, but Selek was hoping to rescue those who had sent it, if possible.

He was fascinated with the idea of the Stones, not only about the secrets they might reveal about Surak’s writings but how they had remained hidden until now. T’Nedara has mentioned that Surak’s writings on Logic felt one-sided, as if something was missing. It seemed to contradict the whole philosophy of the IDIC[17] and the dual nature of Vulcan spiritual belief.

What would Surak determine be the absolute opposite of Logic, but at the same time, powerful enough to be its equal?

He was so deep in thought that he didn’t notice one of his soldiers approach him until she was almost under his nose.

“Sir, there’s an issue with the data storage.”

Selek turned towards the line of computers that lined the bridge and saw a few crew members fussing over a console. A circle of yellow light was turning next to the screen.

“What issue?” But he didn’t wait for her to answer and was next to the computer in a few strides. The Captain was leaning over the technician, who was explaining the issue while simultaneously trying to handle it.

“Someone is copying our data storage,” he said, “the information about the ship, crew, and mission is…”

“Captain,” the comms officer interrupted the technician from the other side of the bridge. “Incoming Klingon ship.”

“At least we know where our data has gone,” Captain T’Arev stood at her full height, walked over to her chair, and pressed a button on the armrest. Green^[18] lights flashed on the panels about their heads.

            T’Arev pressed another button.

            “Engineering,” She said crisply. “We have a Klingon ship within range. Are you prepared to say hello?”^[19]

            There was no response. The Captain furrowed her brow, and opened her mouth again, but her voice faded away.

            Selek barely had time to catch his breath before the flashing lights and chattering voices lost focus and disappeared. He saw a bright light and felt a chilling cold. The stars winked out, and he was swallowed by the darkness.

---

            T’Nedara had a forgetful sleep after the katra’s vision, without dreams or noise, and when her eyes flickered open the yellow sun of late morning was stretching across her bedroom floor. She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest, fighting off a sudden chill and wondering if it was too late to prepare some gespar, as protocol commands a guest.

            T’Pol was waiting in the kitchen. She was standing over the countertop, which also included two cups and a steaming kettle. T’Nedara bowed her head.

            “Rfik-kosu,” she said quietly, “Forgive me, I have not prepared breakfast in a timely manner.”

            “You may call me T’Pol,” the sub-Commander replied. She turned and opened the cooling tray. A few slices of the bulbous fruit had already been chilled, and they were placed on the counter between the two of them.

T’Nedara stood motionless as T’Pol poured the tea. It was customary to use replicators, but this retained some classic tradition for their first meal together. It was safe to say it was the first of many rituals they would share. 

  “I would also request that you specify why you refer to me with a title reserved for a female ancestor.” T’Pol said, as they nibbled at the tart, fig-like fruit. “We share a family bond, but not one of blood.”

“If I can use your tablet to access the Infirmary records, I believe I can explain. They should have been saved on an external server if the computers were damaged.”

It was only a matter of a passkey and biometric scan. T’Nedara was hopeful this meant the computers on the lower floors were still intact.

The record appeared, and she stepped back to let T’Pol have a look. 

            At first, the sub-Commander said nothing, but her eyes widened. T’Nedara wondered how she would react. Perhaps they weren’t even sure if Selek could have children.

            “Your use of the title is now apparent,” she said, her tone revealing nothing about her feelings on the news she was going to be a grandmother. “However, I also understand why the Cult of Maripol attacked the temple, and more specifically, why you were targeted.”

            T’Pol nodded towards the tablet.

            This was the complete record this time, the one that she and T’Krella had left to complete when they went to bed.

            Maripol was one of the lesser gods of the Vulcan pantheon, and she was a malevolent creature that demanded blood sacrifice. Her most sacred offering was the hearts of twins because of their auspicious connotation. Multiple births are not as common among Vulcans as they are in humans.

T’Nedara hid her joy and excitement behind a calm facade of fear and guilt.

            “They must have been watching the system,” she said quietly. “They would have had access to anyone we had treated.”

            There was another light flashing on the screen. A soft blue square, slowly glowing bright and dim again in the corner.

            “I have a private message,” T’Nedara tried to hide her excitement. She knew it was from Selek. Heedless of T’Pol’s eyes looking over her shoulder, she opened it in a separate screen that projected an image from the original.

            “His ship has left orbit,” She said, reading his heartfelt words and remembering the heat of the kitchen.

            “The sooner the departure, the sooner the return,” T’Pol quietly recited an old Vulcan saying as she reviewed a larger, brighter screen. It was the plans of the monastery with the damaged areas marked and annotated.

            “It seems most of the structural damage has been confined to the Upper Spire,” T’Pol said, as she examined the schematics. “It seems the integrity of the base and lower floors are sound.”

            T’Nedara had already turned to a third screen that led to a private server the residents of the temple would access for messages, references, and basic information. The program was usually a hive of activity, reflecting the busy schedules of various floors and an inventory of supplies for each. Now it was strangely quiet, but some of her colleagues had left a sentence or two on an electronic bulletin board to confirm their survival. A few asked their friends and fellow monks to answer in kind. Many were still missing.

            “You are the Mother Superior now,” T’Pol said quietly. “Overseeing the reconstruction of the temple and rallying the survivors is your responsibility.”

            T’Nedara was grateful to have a distraction from her other troubles. She was happy to see the quick responses from her initial messages. Eventually the conversation was distilled into three important issues; the new design and rebuilding of the temple, the investigation into how the Cult of Maripol had infiltrated their systems, and the additional security to prevent such attacks in the future.

            “The new Head of Security had some thoughts about this,” one of the guards mentioned. “The files he started are available on the main computer.”

            Selek had mentioned he thought the temple was too old-fashioned when it came to safety. He had made some future plans and discussed them with his immediate subordinates. The ones that had not gone into space formed a separate group and began making their plans to implement changes.

            T’Nedara decided to revisit the site in the afternoon. T’Pol asked to help with the security measures and also offered to contact Koss to help with the new temple plans.

Other pressing issues, like interring the dead and clearing the rubble, had to be seen to before any other ideas could be implemented. T’Nedara asked that everyone available come to the site to help with identification so the rites could be performed and the bodies interred.

It had been a few hours since T’Nedara had first risen from Selek’s bed, seemed that everyone had their orders and plans for the day. She made a few personal notes regarding the injured that were unable to return, and would make a list and start making personal visits to the various hospitals and clinics.

T’Pol had her own paperwork to organize. Koss had sent her a letter along with some sketches and schematics of the temple. The base was sound, and the foundations were intact, It was the upper floors that had seen most of the damage, which he admitted was strange. It was illogical for the cult to have destroyed a part of the temple that was barely in use.

T’Pol wrote a letter in return, saying that she and the future Mother Superior would be returning to the temple shortly. She didn’t reveal any other details, and wasn’t sure when or how to bring up the cult’s real motive. The investigation would continue, and it was likely T’Nedara would divulge the information to the proper authorities at the appointed time.

Both of them seemed to have their afternoon schedules organized.

            “We’ll have a light meal, then make our way to the site,” T’Pol suggested, turning to a replicator. “Do you like plomeek soup?”

            “I do indeed,” T’Nedara replied, “I have a story to tell you about that, actually.”

            She talked about meeting Selek in the kitchen and the grilled plomeek root.

            “He’s clever,” T’Pol said, trying not to sound too smug. “Don’t let his feigned detachment trick you into thinking he’s uncurious.”

            “It feels like a human trait,” she said gently. “To pretend emotional stoicism through silence. Um…what is that you’re putting in your tea?”

            “It’s a fruit from earth.” T’Pol had removed another tray from the replicator with two cups and something that was bright yellow. It had a sharp but pleasant odor and seemed to bring its own light into the room.

“It’s called a lemon.”

            “A fruit from earth? But that means…doesn’t it have sugar[20] in it?”

            “Very little, but enough to take the edge off, as they say. It’s something I learned while serving on the Enterprise. What Captain Archer didn’t know never hurt him.”

            “What was the most difficult part of dealing with humans?”

            “The smell,” T’Pol said, without hesitation. “I had to have candles burning in my room almost all the time.”

            “I hear they’re emotive but withdrawn.” T’Nedara said. “It seems contradictory.”

“They speak in metaphors and symbols and never mean what they say,” T’Pol raised her voice and closed her eyes for a moment as if in pain. “They have a hundred thousand languages on that planet, and they still can’t communicate.”

 “It would have driven me to the brink of madness.” T’Nedara lifted her own tea to her lips, impressed by T’Pol’s outburst.

            “The humans have a saying,” T’Pol said gravely, as she dropped the lemon slice into her cup. “In space, no one can hear you scream.”

---

[17] Infinite Diversity, Infinite Combinations

^[18] Green is the color Vulcans use for alarms and warning lights.

^[19] A reference to an event that marked First Contact between Klingons and Vulcans near the planet H’atoria in 2016.

[20] Sugar acts as an inebriate to Vulcans, like alcohol does to humans.