A Star Trek Enterprise Fanfic
Land acknowledgement: This book was written on the unceded territory of the Mixtec Nation in Oaxaca State, Mexico.
Copyright notice: This is a work of independent fan fiction and is in no way affiliated with or used by Paramount or its affiliates.
“Well, that’s why they say, hot like Vulcan!” Dr. McCoy, “Amok Time.” (Star Trek: The Original Series, S2E1 “Amok Time.”).
Shi’Kaar, Vulcan, Stardate 2167
His eyes might change, Trip said. Sometimes it happens with human children. They are born with blue eyes, but they change.
The months passed by and his eyes stayed blue. T’Pol decided it was easier and safer to hide him than to explain him.
Nobody in this era would have believed it even if she had tried to name Trip as the father, never mind the social and political implications. The former Chief Engineer of the Enterprise was supposed to be dead, and his present circumstances were a dangerous secret.
T’Pol was a controversial figure on Vulcan for working so closely with humans already. Rumors that she had given birth to one had deepened the rift.
Those hysterical, illogical, smelly things. The Vulcan High Command was wise to keep them out of space.
How could she have lowered herself?
And what kind of dangerous creature would it be?
Glasses or lenses would hide her son’s eyes, turning them the same lightless hue as any passing Vulcan.
Officially, Selek was the child of Koss, T’Pol’s former husband. Despite him being incredulous initially, since a Vulcan-Human hybrid was thought to be a biological impossibility, he agreed to play along. Just for the sake of scientific curiosity, of course.
Tinsha Monastery, Khomi Province, Vulcan – Star Date 2197
Selek could still hear the blood rushing in his ears and the echo of the gong. The thin, dry air was heavy with the smell of copper. His lungs contracted, shortening his breath. The pain of his wounds only seemed to enrage him further, as if his muscles could contract and burst from his own skin.
It is said the body is in torment, but the mind remains unclouded.
He remembered everything vividly. The memory of the duel was still fresh, and it was flooding his mind like the pool of blood open and growing on the warm stone.
His breath was short again, and he was choking, gasping to breathe, and failing. The sound was drowned out by a jarring memory of his own rage and the whistle of the tirpan as it swung through the air.
Selek felt the cold of an infirmary bed against his back and understood. T’Nedara was nearby.
The sea of dark green that had reached up to consume him thinned, and the bells and gongs faded. A coolness touched his forehead and spread to his eyes and mouth.
The rushing in his ears stopped and he heard a familiar voice.
The mind controls the body
Control The Mind
And the Body will follow
Selek exhaled heavily, and felt his joints loosen and his muscles unravel. He took a deep breath, and the air in his lungs seemed to draw him upward.
The prayer was based on Surak’s teachings and was repeated often in the temple. He pushed some air through his mouth and found he could speak again, and repeated the chant.
The mind controls the body
Control The Mind
And the Body will follow
Light came back into his eyes and his vision cleared. She was kneeling next to him, a bowl of watery green liquid and piles of cloth bandages were close at hand.
Her index and middle fingers were pressed against his forehead. It was a chant derived from the Way of Hakihr, a monastic tradition descended from the Kolinahru. This was an ancient Vulcan sect that turned its psychic energy inward as an interpretation of Surak’s teachings.
The chant had revived him.
“T’Nedara,” he spoke carefully, his breathing still painful.
“Selek,” She answered him calmly, but her hands were visibly trembling. He tried to sit up, but he moved too quickly and winced in pain.
It was difficult to hide her alarm.
“No, don’t move,” she said, trying to sound like the calm and logical expert in Biometrics that she was every day. She touched her fingers to his forehead again.
He closed his eyes and raised his hand to take hers. He said nothing, but he could feel her nerves humming at the same rate as his own. His eyes were blurred sweat and tears, but he was able to give her a questioning look.
“My blood burns with yours,” She said softly. “You have defeated your rival, as the Vulcan laws are written.”
Selek wanted to speak, but the air caught in his throat. She pressed her two fingers against his mouth, and not only to silence him. For a Vulcan, this was a moment of passion, a frenzied kiss in a rushed moment.
The light touch of her fingers and the air from her mouth brushing against his face calmed his nerves from the duel, yet drove him into another frenzy.
She undid the clasp of her robe. It slipped away from her body. They lay down together in the infirmary bed.
“I claim my Champion,” she held him close, and their burning blood was cooled.
The gong sounded. The trial of the Kal If Fe had ended.
Cristina in Oaxaca 