We Are One
Posted on 14 Aug 2023 @ 6:38am by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: USS Cassiopiea
Timeline: M4 D1, afternoon
1369 words - 2.7 OF Standard Post Measure
After a rather brisk arrival on the Cassiopiea, where there were truly too many passengers, loud and unpleasant, T’Sheng had taken refuge in her cabin. The place was indeed quite small, but, in Federation style, perfectly functional. She appreciated the minimal style, far from the grandeur found in the San Francisco offices. Here, she figured, she might have an hour or so where Admiral Harshman might not need her services.
To make this time more pleasant, she burnt a stick of incense. Its notes were reminiscent of her homeworld, and gradually filled the room with a hot dry air, with the aroma of sand, lime and cactus blossom.
All things being well, she would soon receive a call from her husband. A habit kept by them for the past twenty years. This monthly call, which seldom lasted more than 15 minutes, allowed them to exchange news and keep their commitment to each other alive. Although sometimes, when she was extremely busy, this communication felt like a chore, and she expedited it. (There was, in actual fact, very little she could reveal to Strerres about her work.). However today, on the eve of an important mission, she was looking forward to hearing her husband’s voice. It was illogical, and she couldn’t fathom why, especially so as today she even missed his presence.
However, some forty minutes later, the call had yet not materialised. It sometimes happened that way. Her husband would call hours later, due to being immersed in his research work on Tel-alep, where he was in charge of a pharmaceutical laboratory. Efficiency before anything else, such was their dictum.
She occupied her time by refamiliarising herself with Cmdr Rubens’ profile and she was getting a headache from reading about his blend of diplomacy (a mixture of empathy and manipulation, with a touch of arrogance). The man had worked on Cardassia, had rosen through the ranks quickly, had even delved in the aberration called the Romulan free state, and then, he seemed to have lost much of his drive. From a bright star, he became an enigma. She found this development intolerable, as it made this CDO difficult to understand. He would no doubt be elusive, complicated, devious.
“It would be easier to work with an Andorian,” she commented to herself.
The next moment, her long awaited call finally presented itself and within seconds she was looking at her husband’s face. She almost smiled at the way he looked: austere, almost displeased, and yet few people in Vulcan space were as patient and kind hearted as him. He stared at her for several seconds, and that made her a little self-conscious. He had never really appreciated her recent short haircut, which, on her side, she saw as an outside mark of her efficiency. At forty-five, there was no room in her life for any kind of embellishment. Productivity and competence were her sole concerns.
They greeted each other with their usual mark of affection, which they would never pronounce in public. It invoked a rare flower found in the Vulcan desert and an equally difficult to locate quartz gem.
“I trust that all is well on El-alep?” She asked. The planet was a vast desert where pressure domes, all white, had been installed to form numerous communities. From above, you might mistake the view of the planet’s largest cities for immense clusters of mushrooms.
“We are making interesting progress,” He replied, with a clear voice, yet his gaze was elusive.
“You look distracted.”
“To tell the truth, as we always should - I really do not know why I use those useless turn of phrases - an issue has surfaced. Not with me or my work, I hasten to say. With our daughter. Despite all the tutoring that she received, she somehow, with a great lack of effort, I assume, failed her latest examination. This is the third time. I fear that she will not be able to follow my path in science.”
“Are you implying that she failed on purpose?”
“Absolutely.”
“It is a disaster. Yet she was the one to select science over diplomacy. We had given her the choice.”
Both Vulcans bobbed their heads in perfect synchronisation. They had, since time immemorial, followed the path of their ancestors. Her family was dedicated to diplomacy and that of her husband to science. For these two families, those were the only viable paths. A way of life that many Vulcans embraced, so that, generation after generation, their knowledge and power increased.
“What are we going to do?” T’Sheng asked. Although perfectly impassible, this lack of competence from her offspring was torturing her. What would people think?
“I must add that the situation is not as dire as it appears.”
“You think so?” Her voice nearly rose. A good thing she controlled herself. It would have been inopportune to lose her poise.
“Please hear me. This absence of success does not imply that our child is incompetent. It means that she is driven by other pursuits. She wishes to take another path. A career that no one in our respective families has ever taken.”
“What pursuit? Don't tell me that she wants to be a musician or some kind of artist?!” She was speaking too fast now, and one of Strerres’ eyebrows shot up.
“Your disappointment is founded and understandable, T’Sheng. Yet the happiness of our child is at stake. We should, I think, listen to her.”
It was such an illogical thing to say that T’Sheng didn’t respond to his suggestion. As far as she was concerned, life had never been about happiness. It was about proficiency and duties. An eternal quest for knowledge.
“Our daughter wants to be an entomologist. I have inspected her own studies in this field. She is quite good, and very dedicated too.”
T’Sheng’s lips twitched. “She wants to study insects on a desert planet? It will be quick work.”
“She will, in all likelihood, have to travel to other worlds,” Strerres replied. How could he remain so untroubled? “The best, I think,” he continued, “would be for you to speak to our child. When you see her passion for all insect life, you will, doubtlessly, change your mind.”
“Will I?”
“We are one, T’Sheng,” he added, his voice almost a whisper.
This was his way to say that he loved her and that together they were stronger. So strong that nothing could ever undermine their relationship. Three silly little words that possessed an irrational power upon her, because she too, loved him.
“Very well, I will think about this... situation and the solution that you propose.”
The rest of their conversation was filled with pleasant small talk. Her trip to Obsidian Station, the passengers on the USS Cassiopiea. His struggles with a particularly volatile compound and a promising new laboratory worker, a trill symbiont. The very first non-Vulcan on Tel-alep.
When their communication was over, T’Sheng decided that the best way to think about what was happening to her family was to take a walk. Unfortunately, no sooner had she left her cabin than she was confronted by the diminutive and highly unpleasant old Ferengi woman who, earlier on, had made a fuss about her suitcases.
“Please, make way,” the Ferengi shouted, producing a wide gesture with both her hands. “There’s someplace I need to be!”
T’Sheng looked down at the pesky Ferengi with all the superiority of her Vulcan heritage. “If you seek the restaurant room,” (where else would such a voracious creature want to be?), “you will find it in the opposite direction. Did you not consult the map of this ship?”
“Are you stupid or what? I have no time to consult anything! Move away. This is an emergency.”
“An emergency? What sort of...”
“Tsst... The Vulcans and their bright intelligence. I need the ladies' room.” The Ferengi woman, unable to wait any longer, forced her way through the little corridor, pushing T’Sheng against the wall. The old woman then walked extremely fast and disappeared into another corridor.
T’Sheng stood there for a whole minute, totally flummoxed by this wild encounter.
