The shuttlecraft rose from the covert landing pad in the open green space behind the house. T’Nedara was busy organizing the next few hours on her tablet, but she didn’t fail to notice the second shuttlecraft that had quietly come up on their port side. It was dark red and was clearly marked with the brand of the planet’s highest authority.

            “The Vulcan High Command has provided me with a private security detail,” T’Pol explained, without turning away from the controls. “They are aware of your presence, and you are also under their protection.”

            “I’m grateful, T’Pol,” It had taken all morning, but T’Nedara had grown accustomed to calling Selek’s mother by her first name instead of using a formal title.

            “It’s not a gift or a favor. My commanding officers have a vested interest in seeing the temple restored, or at least the records and research preserved.” She continued, “I’m sure they’ll send a representative once the integrity of the site has been determined.”

            An authority on architecture and restoration was already there. Koss was waiting for them on the landing platform.

Koss worked independently, and had taken it upon himself to check the site out of his own personal interest. He had been in contact with T’Pol, who had arranged his access on behalf of the Vulcan High Command. With the help of his younger son Savvik, who was following in his footsteps, he had already taken detailed survey notes and was ready to present them to the Mother Superior.

The shuttlecraft landing was flawless, and Koss took note of a second craft just behind it, hovering a few meters above them, before it drifted towards the stricken temple at surveillance speed. There were other ships and drones doing the same, taking pictures and measurements throughout the site. Cameras and lasers flashed over the cracked rocks and torn masonry.

T’Pol quickly stepped through the door and down the stairs. T’Nedara took a moment to straighten her robes. It occurred to her that she was without her veil or bracers, but she expected most of her colleagues would also be missing their formal wear and now was not to time to fuss over such details. From that moment on, she focused on her work.

“T’Nedara,” Koss addressed her immediately, bowing his head. “I am honored to meet you, despite the dire circumstances. My son and I are at your service.”

The young man at his side also bowed his head, but remained silent.

“Koss has assembled a recovery team.” T’Pol began a debriefing as they walked towards the main entrance, which was undamaged. “We’ve converted the main floor into a meeting hall for now.”

The construction workers and technicians wandering through the main grounds were strangers to T’Nedara. They were busy with their work and mostly ignored them unless Koss spoke to them directly.  

The three of them reached the main floor of the temple and T’Nedara finally recognized the faces of her colleagues and friends. They were in a mix of casual robes and civilian clothing; a motely group compared to their usual perfect order. This was usually a place of deep and abiding quiet, so peaceful that you could hear the incense burning. Now it was cluttered with wires, tables, and viewing screens of various sizes.

     One of her colleagues, a monk named Muran, rushed over to her with little pretense of Vulcan stoicism.

“T’Nedara,” his voice was steady but his eyes were red and puffy. He took her hands in his, as much for his comfort as hers. “We found her, the Mother Superior…”

“I know, Muran, I was there. I am the keeper of her katra. She will be interred in the catacombs as was her will. We will honor her life and continue to honor Surak according to her will.”

Muran’s eyes fell. He took a step back and withdrew his hands to make the sacred symbol of the temple before his bowed forehead.

“Mother Superior,” he said, and it was the first time she had been addressed formally with the title. A few other survivors had gathered and made the same gesture.

“Mother Superior,” their voices formed a chorus. For a moment the sacred chant seemed to wipe clean the profane. Koss and T’Pol stood back quietly, watching and listening to the sacred circle in fascination.

“Until the temple is rebuild and consecrated, I am only the acting Mother Superior.” She spoke quietly but her voice carried. “The ancient laws must be obeyed and the ancient rites satisfied. It will all be done, in the name of T’Ulla and the word of Surak.

“Our first order of business is to inter the katra of the Mother Superior, according to her will.”

The circle nodded in agreement. The worst damage was upstairs, leaving the catacombs beneath the kitchens intact and untouched. This wasn’t just a way of signifying T’Nedara’s ascension as Mother Superior, but also to clear her mind of another’s katra.

It was important that T’Ulla could be put to rest. The repose of her soul would be a symbolic gesture that would unite and rally the survivors.

It would also be a useful way to clean up the ruins and remains, starting from the ground up. The ritual was based on a traditional funeral procession that would begin on the outdoor space designated for the cremation pyres, then continue to the temple space on the main floor, and then finally to follow the long spiral staircase down into the catacombs.

T’Nedara instructed her fellow monks, along with several of the soldiers, to help clean and consecrate the main floor. She then approached Koss and T’Pol to explain, who were standing nearby.

They were looking with some concern at a small tablet T’Pol was holding in her hand. Their eyes rolled heavily toward T’Nedara as she approached, and she felt the weight of their gaze like a heavy rock sliding down the mountain.

“We have received word from the Vulcan High Command,” Koss said, and his voice sounded heavy. He looked at T’Pol, almost as if you ask for help, but her eyes were fixed on T’Nedara.

The monks and soldiers that has been left behind in the temple and survived it’s near destruction pretended not to listen as they cleared the dust and rubble off the floor, propped up the idols, and relit the candles and incense.

“The Kir’Shara has been destroyed,” T’Pol’s spoke with a flat, dull voice that sounded bored. “There is no sign of the crew. A ship has been dispatched to investigate the crash site.”

The last few digital words of Selek, which she had read from the doomed ship only hours ago, flashed across her mind. Had she read a message from the beyond? And did she have the strength to reach into space and save his katra as well?

The cold of the stone floor seemed to open up and swallow her. She felt the warmth of a hand on her shoulder, and a blurry light came back to her eyes.

T’Pol guided the Mother Superior to a sheltered alcove with a wooden bench and sat down next to her.

“I’ll get busy clearing the stairway,” Koss cleared his throat before he spoke and made his way towards the lower dais. The other monks looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“The Mother Superior isn’t…weeping, is she?” One dared to say it out loud.

“Certainly not,” Koss snapped back. “I’m shocked at the presumption of a mere novice. The air here is warm. Even a hardened Vulcan will perspire in these conditions. Get to work!”

He chased them down to the lower stairs, barking orders.

T’Nedara and T’Pol sat close together in the quiet shade of the alcove.

“Only the ship’s debris has been found,” T’Pol said, her voice not so bored anymore, but now hesitant, as if she didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t something that happened to T’Pol often.

     “The crew is still missing.”

T’Nedara said nothing. She could only bow her head to hide her tears.

“There have been many times when we thought colleagues were lost or dead,” She continued. “But they were caught up in a mystery that we had yet to discover and understand.”

T’Nedara raised her head. Her eyes and cheeks were shining but her face was hopeful.

“Ashayam ko-fu,”[21] T’Pol continued, “Please don’t despair. Space is a strange place and there is much we don’t understand. Selek might still return to us. But now, we have a temple to rebuild, and you have a ritual to lead.”

            The Vulcan method of burial under normal circumstances is cremation. A deceased individual would have their own pyre, and their katra and ashes would be interred in a deep, natural cave that also held the last resting places of their peers, colleagues, family, and ancestors. The temple housed some of the oldest catacombs on the planet, with katra stones that were thousands of years old, much older than the word of Surak, even as old as legends of the ancient gods.

            Given the circumstances, T’Nedara had to make some adjustments to each stage of the burial rites and the cremation ritual.

Some of the finer details could remain the same. The treated candles[22] should line the stairs one quarter cusac[23] apart. The wicks are treated with a flammable liquid to make them easier to light with basic psionic powers. It’s a fundamental ability that all Tinsha monks study and perfect, but only a psionic master can start a fire from only a dry wick.   

            There was an advantage to the reconstruction and the burials in that she was distracted from her grief. She took notes between directing her fellow monks regarding her preparations and speaking with the soldiers about security and repairs. The noise of hammers, drills, and saws filled the air but couldn’t permeate the peaceful space in her head. She was not alone. The katra of T’Ulla stayed close to her, more a light than a shadow, and guided her hand.

            The upper launchpad, where T’Nedara had stood and watched Selek’s shuttlecraft lift into space, had been cleared. This would be the site of the immolation pyres, where the bodies of the deceased would be reduced to ash, then mixed with water and the crushed leaves of a plant in the kitchen. It turned the mix into a dark green ink. The new Mother Superior and her fellow monks would use it to paint their bodies with the words of the Ritual of the Light.

It was then the chant would begin. It would follow them as they marched down the stairs and into the depths of the temple, deep into the catacombs, where the memorial stones were so thick and old they were like cobblestones on a long, wide street. Then they would don the simple mourning robes, simple grey with no adornments, and inter the souls of their fallen friends.

            The clean-up and construction was halted for the ritual. Koss and T’Pol instructed their workers to observe, stand away, and keep their silence.

            The sun fell, the flames rose, and the ritual began.

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[21] Beloved daughter.

[23] A unit of measurement equal to a meter.