Book 1 – Chapter 1
It was late afternoon. The Vulcan sun was setting, casting an orange hue over the arid landscape. This planet being mostly desert terrain, temperatures would drop quickly upon sundown; thus, her grandson would be home shortly. She'd better start the recording soon so he could accidentally walk in and overhear what she wanted him to hear.
The handheld computer arrived first thing this morning. She read it to herself while her grandchild was still at home. Thus, she was familiar with the content, so she was only half listening when she commanded the device to read the file aloud.
Computer: "Current Star Date: 2347.0330. Subject Profile. Name: Trajan Rexx Sator'Roc. Year of birth: 2330, specific date unknown. Current age: 16 Terran-years. Father: Sator'Roc, Vulcan Ambassador to Qo'noS (retired). Mother: Alyssa Trajan Rixx, Queen of Betazed. Place of birth: Qo'noS. Current Residence: Vulcan Ministry of Medical Science.
"Incident summary: On Stardate 2341.0521, the subject…"
"Halt," T'Pol paused the recording. "Here forward, do not refer to the subject as 'the subject' or 'the patient.' Insert her preferred name."
The computer responded, "There is no preferred name indicated within the file."
The elderly Vulcaness dipped her chin, closed her eyes, and rubbed her right earlobe with her right index and middle fingers. "What does her mother call her?"
The computer replied, "My precious baby girl."
T'Pol instinctively grinned and then shook it off, like the stoic Vulcan she should be. "What does her father call her?"
The computer answered, "T'nash-veh kan," which was Vulcan for 'my child.'
That also made T'Pol a bit soft on the inside. It took a moment or so to dismiss the sensation. When finally, she did, she instructor the computer, "Refer to patient as 'Trajan.' Resume incident report."
The computer continued, "On Star Date 2341.0521, Trajan suffered a head injury while participating in qamDu' QujmeH moQ, equivalent to the Terran sport of American football. While the school administrator contacted the child's mother, female students began sobbing and wailing for their fathers to come hold them. By the time Trajan's mother arrived at the school, the radius of female hysteria reached five kilometers.
The school's headmaster reported that immediately upon seeing her daughter in the infirmary, Ambassador Sator'Roc's wife screamed at her child to, 'Snap out of it! Take control of yourself!' The mother proceeded to slapped the child repeatedly. She then requested the headmaster, "Knock her out! Not with drugs; that takes too long. Use your fist; do it now!" The moment the child was unconscious; the intense emotions of the females began to subside.
"The mother states that she, her husband, and their child were bound for Betazed by nightfall. Within 19 hours, it was apparent the Betazed Institute could not assist Trajan, so the parents brought their daughter to Vulcan. Trajan has been a resident of the Vulcan Ministry of Medical Science since. End summary. Subjective observation follows; do you wish this read next?"
T'Pol shifted the curtains of her front window. She looked left. She looked right. There he was; she estimated he'd come through the door in 48 seconds.
T'Pol whispered to the computer. "Read subjective observations when the front door begins to open."
There was a short pause. The door's mechanism started pulling the panel. The computer was heard, "Due to having been raised among Klingons, Trajan has been indoctrinated to believe hostility is the appropriate answer to all conflicts, both internal and external. In being a Vulcan-Betazoid hybrid, telepathy is literally in Trajan's genetics. Trajan's ability to project her hostile thoughts and emotions upon others classifies her as tele-psychotic. It is my professional opinion that Trajan is a danger to herself and others. A controlled environment and segregation from the population is the safest course of action."
"What nonsense are you listening to?" Jonathan Archer Tucker was tall, 1.83 meters (six feet). The black colored garb was cut in traditional Vulcan-style, but devoid of filigree or any markings. Such was the attire of a Vulcan in mourning, and out of respect, no Vulcan would speak to him without being spoken to first.
Jack had a square jawline. His facial features classically Vulcan – slightly long face, high cheekbones, and thoughtful brow. His remaining features revealed his human heritage. His eyes were a stormy seafoam green. His eyebrows were straight but not angled. His hair was chestnut brown, with sun-bleached tips.
T'Pol said silently to herself, "I see so much of your grandfather in you. Had Trip lived to see you, he would have thought you beautiful, like I do."
The grandson closed the door behind him and carried groceries into the kitchen, where his grandmother was sitting, and listening to the patient file. Doffing his robe, he revealed human clothing. The light blue compression t-shirt clung to an athletic V-cut torso. The dark blue jeans did nothing for his muscular cyclist's legs.
As he draped the coat over a chair beside T'Pol, he stated, "With enough focus, all telepaths can project their thoughts onto others. Those thoughts elicit emotions, some good, some…not so much. So technically, all telepaths are 'tele-psychotic.' The only purpose of that word is to cultivate fear among the masses. Who wrote that assessment and why is he, she, or they trying to get this girl lynched?"
"Dr. Saltas," T'Pol answered and recalled, "Your regard for him is the reason you went to medical school, was it not?"
As he unpacked the groceries, the grandson nodded, "He taught biology. In the years following my graduation, he wrote some insightful papers on the chemistry of Vulcan hybrids." He frowned, "I thought him a logical and brilliant doctor until you just now told me he used the term 'tele-psychotic.'"
"He is still a good doctor," T'Pol defended the physician, "such is why he ask for help in treating this patient. Her name is…"
He raised his left hand in objection, "Trajan. I heard that much when I came in. I otherwise don't need or want to know more about her."
She said, "You are a doctor; I thought you'd be curious."
Jack had graduated from Starfleet Academy with a medical degree. About five years ago, he decided he wanted to be the Head of Starfleet Medical. To achieve that, Lieutenant Commander Tucker had to ascend to the admiralty. There were two things that stood in the way: promotion to Commander and then to Captain. He took the promotion test to the next rank. He found the written and technical portions of the exam easy.
The difficult part was making 'the call.' As a doctor, his job was to save lives and making 'the calls' flew in the face of his medical training. Sending comrades on missions that would result in certain death made him queasy, but still, he made the grade. About seven months ago, his ship was in a fire fight with a pair of Cardassian warships. Jack was the only senior staff member alive on the bridge. Though his vessel and crew survived the confrontation, it required sending emergency repair crews into contaminated areas. Most of the team died; the rest would soon follow from radiation poisoning.
He had told Starfleet, "If I can't stomach this as a Commander, I will vomit on my own bridge as a Captain." He tried to resign but his superiors would not accept. They suggested he take a break – a long hiatus to reacquire his bearings. His superiors said that in his absence, they would look for a non-combat avenue for Jack to become a captain and then an admiral.
As he sliced vegetables with a paring knife, Jack said to T'Pol, "Right now, I am no one's doctor. I'm just an ordinary guy, making dinner, and wondering why a supposedly good doctor like Saltas would use an inflammatory expression like, 'tele-psychotic.'"
T'Pol replied, "I will ask him tonight when he arrives for dinner."
Jack set the cutlery down and scowled, "You should have told me that earlier. I got groceries for two. Now, I have to go back to market for more."
"Then go," she said. "Since you don't want to know more about this girl, the computer can read the rest of the file to me in your absence."
He left the food on the counter and grabbed his overcoat. "Reading silently with one's own eyes is apparently an outdated pastime."
She fired back, "As is respecting your elders, young man."
He headed for the door, "Yeah, yeah, I'll be back shortly. Be useful, and wash those vegetables while you're listening to your tablet."
*** BREAK ***
Saltas was a round man, literally. His head, face, eye sockets and nose were perfectly spherical. Even the way his robes fell upon him seemed circular. Unlike most educators, Saltas refused to project his voice in the classroom and lecture hall. He preferred to speak softly so his students would have to strain to hear him. Saltas did indeed have the quietest and most attentive students at the Vulcan University.
Of his speech, Jack noted, "Dr. Saltas, you sound different than I remember. There is sort of a rumble in your voice."
Saltas confessed, "Yes, in recent years, I've spent more of my days speaking Klingon than Vulcan. Klingonese is a guttural language and the rumble is simply part of me now."
Jack nodded, "I understand. I've spent many years among humans, and their colloquialisms are now part of my everyday vernacular. I must wonder though, why speak in Klingon when universal translators are available?"
He explained, "One of my patients is a Vulcan-Betazoid hybrid. She was born off world."
Jack interrupted, "A Klingon world?"
Saltas's spherical head rolled forward and back, "When she first came to our facility, we provided her Vulcan clothing, a meal menu of Vulcan foods, and unlimited access to our library. On day-four, she declared my lack of respect for her and I was too self-centered to be of any help in her situation. I asked her to clarify and she told the computer to disengage the universal translator. She grunted at me and I did not understand. Then she huffed something to me, and again, I did not know the words. Finally, she said in Vulcanese, 'Both times, I asked if you understood what I was saying. The first time was in Klingon; the second in Terra's American-English.'
"'You are over 100 Terran years old,' she continued, 'You have had time to become fluent in half a dozen languages, yet you can only speak your native tongue. I am your Klingon patient, yet you would not see me until I put on Vulcan clothing. I am Klingon, yet you will feed me nothing but Vulcan foods. You have no text translator; so, if I could not already read your Vulcan scribblings, your library would be of no use to me. You forced your patient – a sick person – to conform to your culture so you can be comfortable in treating her.'"
Jack wondered, "She claims to be Klingon even though her biology states differently?"
The old Vulcan nodded, "She bleeds green, like a Vulcan. Her logic is irrefutable, like a Vulcan. She looks like a Betazoid…sort of. But everything else…" he nodded more vigorously, "The walk, the talk, philosophy and manners, she is Klingon through and through."
Saltas knew right away that Rexx's assessment of him was correct, but for weeks, he was too stubborn to admit it. His wife finally convinced him of the fact, and she helped him contact the headmaster of Rexx's Klingon school for textbooks so her husband could learn his patient's preferred tongue. Through the headmaster, Saltas also acquired a Vulcan to Klingon text-converter so his patient could read the Vulcan library in a language more comfortable to her.
"H'tav is the schoolmaster's name," said Saltas, "He was quite invested in her. As our conversations progressed, he sounded more like a doting uncle than a professional educator. It turns out that his son was born less than 10 minutes before Rexx, and their mothers shared a recovery room. Both sets of parents became instant friends and decided to raise their children as twins, so neither would suffer the loneliness of being an only child."
Jack interrupted, "I thought her name was Trajan."
Saltas confirmed, "It is her given name. Her middle name is the accidental misspelling of her mother's family name of Rixx. Rexx has come to enjoy the error because rex is Terran-Latin for 'king.'"
Jack thought, "She has quite the ego."
Saltas agreed, "By most cultural standards, yes. However, she is Klingon. In her culture, bravado is the norm."
Jack learned that H'tav was in regular contact with Saltas and got updates on Rexx's care. At first, Saltas did not allow H'tav to speak with Rexx directly thinking it would disrupt her recovery. Eventually, when Rexx's biological parents discontinued contact with their child, Saltas relented, believing communication with her adopted family would do her good.
"You seem fond of her," Jack remarked, "or am I misreading you?"
Saltas admitted, "At first, I thought her rude, speaking to an elder as she did to me. Over time, I realized I had been rude to her and it was logical for her to respond to me in kind. As I treated her with increasing civility, she again reciprocated in equal proportion. Today, no one is more surprised at my affection for her than I am."
Jack's next question flew in like a punch in the throat, "Then why use the term 'tele-psychotic' to describe her?"
The corners of his mouth drooped. His nose turned bright green. His eyes glassed over with... "Are those tears?" Jack thought to himself.
Saltas's voice quivered, "As I said, I thought her rude when we met. I wrote that immediately after our first talk. I did not realize I was angry. I wanted to erase it, but the medical database does not permit erasures, or corrections. It only allows addendums, and I wrote one but it does not eradicate the word from her record."
Jack understood regret, but this Vulcan was literally in tears. This he could not grasp, "Saltas, your display of emotions suggests something deeper at work here."
Saltas sniffled, "Three months ago, an electrical storm caused a power outage at the Ministry."
Jack nodded, "I am aware. T'Pol and I live in the same power grid."
Saltas: "What you don't know is that the Ministry's emergency backup system went down as well. Our security contractor sent guards to protect the building while repair crews fixed the grid. During the security sweep, two aliens were found, attempting to break into the psychiatric ward. They were Betazoid. As interlopers, they naturally refused to tell authorities why they were in the facility, so a mind-meld was employed to discover their intent. They were members of a religious sect that has declared Rexx an abomination. They had come to kill her."
Saltas began shaking. He was distraught and in distress, "My initial assessment of her. The word I used. My anger…" he coughed, "…I know…" He closed his eyes as he brought his shoulders up, trying to hide his head, "I know my words brought this upon her, and I cannot undo it. I have tried to atone. I increased security. I moved her to a different wing. I revoked her communications access so her location cannot be deciphered or tracked. I stopped letting her go for walks in the courtyard for fear a shuttle flying overhead will open fire upon her. I…I…I…" he actually began to sob. "I imprisoned her and would not confess to her the reason. She no longer trusts me. She has…has…has…" he hyperventilated and collapsed onto the floor.
*** BREAK ***
Emergency medical assistance was summoned. T'Pol and Jack accompanied Saltas to the medical facility. Myla, Saltas's wife, arrived shortly after a physician went into the exam room to look at Saltas. Myla, like her spouse, was robust. Her plumpness caused her to waddle and limp a bit on the left side. Her robes were pure white.
Jack thought to himself, "Frosty the Snowman's little lady, charming."
Myla and T'Pol were acquainted and greeted each other warmly. T'Pol then presented Myla to Jack, where upon Myla said, "Saltas has great esteem for you. Will you be taking young Rexx's case?"
Jack didn't expect that, "I thought he wanted T'Pol's assistance with the girl."
"Illogical," Myla stated, "Though an impressive scientist, T'Pol is a generalist – what do the humans say; Jack of all trades, but master of none? Saltas is a medical doctor, with a specialty in hybrid biology. You are a medical doctor, of Vulcan-Human descent, thus you possess hybrid biology."
"This does not make me an expert in the field," he stated.
"But it makes you an expert in her plight," Myla countered. "You know what it is like to be a child of two worlds: the struggle to fit in, growing up with a family elder who cannot express emotions."
It was not that way for Jack, "You are mistaken. My mother was human. My father favors his human half. Dad is the one who had to grow up with T'Pol's stoicism. He is more suited to help Rexx than I am."
Myla bade him to help her to a seat and then picked up the story where her husband had left off earlier this evening. "For her protection, Saltas isolated her from the outside world. The sudden revocation of her privileges naturally indicated something was amiss. She questioned Saltas. He told her it was temporary, pending installation of new security measures. Days and weeks passed, and she was still locked down. Rexx was finally at the end of her patience with Saltas's excuses."
Two weeks ago, Myla had a dream that she had gotten out of her bed in the middle of the night, walked to her kitchen and picked up the largest knife she could find. She returned to the second floor of her home and pulled her 12-year-old grandson out of bed. She dragged him to her bedroom, and kicked her husband awake.
"I felt my mouth move, but it was not my voice I heard," she was shaken. She had told her husband to get out of bed, contact security at the hospital, and tell them to release 'me' immediately.
"I did not understand," Myla confessed, "I was not at the hospital. I had no idea what I was talking about, but Saltas did." Stunned, Saltas asked Myla if she was Rexx.
"Whatever was in me said, 'Who else could I be…'" she paused and asked Jack, "What is a fork-tard?"
Jack reassured her, "You misheard the word, but I know what it means. Please con…"
She continued without further prompting, "Because 'fork-tard' is not a word in my vocabulary, I realized I was not dreaming. Rexx truly was inside me, controlling me, and…" she shuddered, "I caught sight of myself in a mirror. I was holding the knife to my grandson's throat."
Saltas immediately got out of bed and called the hospital. He commanded the staff to gather street clothes and bring them to Rexx. "Unlock her door, open the cell block and the hospital's main egress. Give her the clothing and let her go. Wherever she goes, do not follow!"
Myla stared at her paws while she wrung her hands, "While we waited for the hospital staff to comply, I mentally chastised Saltas for not telling her the truth. A moment later, I found myself replaying the night my husband told me about the assassins. He was frantic. He blamed himself. We have been married for 72 years and until that night, I had not seen his tears. The next thing I knew, the blade dropped from my grasp, my grandchild had run away from me, and I was on the floor, swiftly losing consciousness.
"I woke up the next day in this very wing," she said of the emergency room. "Here, I met her for the first time. She was standing to the left of my bed, and she whispered, 'Thank you for revealing Saltas's secret. I am sorry to have caused you discomfort. It will not happen again.'"
It was odd to see a calm wash over her. "Though she elongates her R's, her Vulcanese is perfect and her tone was sweet, innocent…regretful."
Per Myla, Rexx had been tolerant of her restrictions since. She had forgiven Saltas and had asked him to forgive her. The problem between them was that Saltas could not forgive himself. He was desperate for someone to take over Rexx's case, lest he inspire another attempt on her life.
Jack promised, "I'll read her file when I return home; and consider your request."
*** BREAK ***
As promised, Jack opened Rexx's file as soon as he got home. Right away, he knew her records were incomplete because it contained no description of her appearance or file photo. In place of these details was a note, dated the day of patient's admission to the hospital: Mother requests omission of minor-child's physical description.
All things considered, it made sense. If hitmen did not know what Rexx looked like, no one could confirm they had their 'target' in sight. What did not make sense was mom making the request nearly six years before an attempt was made on her daughter's life. How did mom know more than half a decade in advance, before Saltas penned the word 'tele-psychotic' onto medical records, that her child was in danger? Jack flagged the page and inserted a digital Post-It not to investigate this further.
Meanwhile, Jack read Rexx's the entire file – six years-worth of general workups, thermometer readings, pulse, heart rate, bloodwork, urology reports, psych evaluations, CAT scans, EEGs, and X-rays.
Physiologically, she was Vulcan. She had inner eyelids, which protects the eye from blinding flashes of light, filters radiation, dust and other debris that could damage the eye. Like all Vulcans, her circulatory, integumentary and musculoskeletal system worked together to cool her body, eliminating the need for sweat glands. Her blood was copper based, and green. Her blood vessels were dilated, which lowers blood pressure. Her temperature was a normal and steady 91°F. The urology tests revealed high levels of sugar in her system, which prompted treatment for diabetes. To ensure treatment was working, Saltas took a small vial of blood from the patient daily, which Jack thought was excessive. Even in the 20th century, a pin prick resulted in enough blood for a glucose reading. Jack created another Post-It note to look deeper into this.
Her reproductive system was atypical for the two species from which she derived. Instead of releasing one mature egg a month, her system released two, one from each ovary, approximately 72 hours apart. Saltas's note on this read, "An evolutionary mutation to facilitate the survival of her species."
Jack read the remark several times over, hoping one of the passes would convey something less sinister. Unfortunately, hope often fails. With each read, it felt more and more like Saltas was saying his tele-psychotic patient was a new life form, looking to breed. This, Jack believed, probably stoked the fear of those Betazoid zealots. He made yet another mental note to discuss this with Saltas later, and then he moved on to the next set of records.
Her first set of X-rays revealed that she had broken many bones before arriving on Vulcan. As she had attended Klingon schools, it was expected that she'd break a few bones during warrior training. An injury to her left clavicle did not heal correctly. It was a closed fracture and the broken ends were misaligned when they fused. In theory, lifting that arm would be excruciating, but the patient had not complained.
"Occasionally, there's a bit of grinding when I move the arm," she'd said to Saltas. "I can still hold a weapon with it. The day I cannot do that, I'll complain – assuming I'm not dead."
To reset the bone, Saltas had to re-break it. Because she did not flinch when he re-broke and reset the bone, it occurred to Saltas that there might be a problem with her nervous system. Maybe she had not felt pain because her pain receptors were not firing. He wanted to test the theory, so instead of using modern medical equipment to fuse the bones right away, he put her in a sling. Then the old doctor made her wear a body suit that was lined with sensors. As she went about her daily routine, the garment sent her neurological responses to everything to Saltas.
In the immobilized arm, pain receptors fired along the limb and in the hand, but there was no activity in the shoulder. As the injury healed, the nerves showed increased activity. After three shoulder examinations, he stumbled across something interesting. The pain receptors in her shoulder were only active when he was not inspecting the clavicle. For 33.7 seconds before he touched her arm to 10 minutes 41 seconds after his examinations, nerve activity was dead-zero. Saltas hypothesized that his patient was controlling her own nervous system. He wrote down a dozen ways to test his theory and was part way into a thirteenth method when he did an about-face.
In shaky penmanship, he wrote, "It suddenly occurred to me that the experiments I am considering are no better than what Ivan Pavlov did to his dogs. When did I start seeing this patient as a lab animal, instead of a little girl?" From this point forward, when he had a test in mind, he would run the idea past a colleague to ensure his proposed test was humane. That colleague was Jack's grandmother, T'Pol.
For over a week, he'd been reading Rexx's file and... "T'Pol," he growled when he marched into the kitchen, "When Saltas was here, you acted like you did not know anything about his patient. The truth is you have been Saltas's sounding board for Rexx's treatment for years."
She was sitting at the kitchen's island, sipping tea, "I did not know her name. He only asked if this or that experiment was ethical. I did not ask for specifics until Starfleet contacted me."
"Starfleet?" he repeated, "What about them?"
"Oh, you haven't gotten to that part yet," she invited him to sit with her. After he sat down, she explained, "About three years ago, Starfleet sent a representative to recruit her. She turned…"
"Wait," he slowed her down, "Starfleet does not recruit. It doesn't have to. It gets hundreds of volunteers every year."
She arched her brow, and sounded irritated, "I am aware of the number of young people who apply to Starfleet and its academy every year. Nevertheless, a Starfleet officer attempted to recruit her four times. She refused each offer. Two weeks ago, I was approached to help negotiate a contract with her."
"So, what's your plan?" he wondered, "How are you going to use me to reach your goal?"
She narrowed her eyes, offended, "I told the recruiter I would not assist. Rexx is obviously adamant about not joining and I will not encourage or entice her to do otherwise. My only plan is to get an excellent doctor to take on a special patient."
He was near blind with anger, "She doesn't need a medical doctor! She needs friends and a good psychologist. She gets no visitors, not even her parents. She doesn't realize her angst is normal teenage stuff, which makes her feel even more alone. She has anger management issues. If she needs anyone, it's you! A mother figure might be appreciated. And why don't her parents visit her?!"
T'Pol suggested, "You should finish reading the file."
"No," he was done taking the long route to understanding this girl. "Tell me everything you know or I'm done!"
"Very well," she submitted without further protest and offered him tea. "When Ambassador Sator'Roc heard his daughter had been injured, he hurried to her side and immediately succumbed to extreme discomfort. He cradled his unconscious child, prayed to the ancient Vulcan deities for her well-being, cried, and told his daughter he loved her."
Jack wasn't sure he heard correctly, "A Vulcan did this?"
T'Pol nodded, "His blood pressure skyrocketed. His temperature jumped from 91ºF to 105ºF in a matter of seconds. He had a seizure with his daughter in his arms. Were he not physically fit, he'd have died of cardiac arrest there and then. Imagine what you saw Saltas go through, and multiply it by 10 – that is the strain Sator'Roc endured."
Upon arrival on Vulcan, father and child were admitted to Saltas's care. Because his synapses were misfiring, it was initially thought that the Ambassador's outbursts were due to early onset of Vulcan Alzheimer's Syndrome. Through later observations, it was noted Sator'Roc's mental resolve cracked only when his daughter was near or discussed. As an experiment, Saltas hypnotized the father to make him forget he had a child. In these few minutes, not only was Sator'Roc's emotions contained, his brainwaves were normal. Because Sator'Roc did not want to forget his daughter, the Ambassador broke from the mesmerized state very quickly. In future sessions, the Ambassador's wife, Alyssa, was asked to help hold her husband in the trance state.
T'Pol explained, "Alyssa had been in the habit of spending time with her daughter while her husband was in session with Saltas. When Alyssa was welcomed to the office after seeing her child, she could not prevent Sator'Roc from thinking about Rexx, because she herself was thinking about Rexx. As a test, Alyssa joined her husband's session before seeing their daughter, and the memory block spanned the entire visit. Almost as soon as mother and daughter saw each other, the hold on Sator'Roc was broken."
Jack followed, "So they discontinued contact with Rexx so mother could help father maintain his health and sanity?"
T'Pol took a deep and sympathetic breath. She exhaled sadly, "Yes, but the mother severed ties reluctantly. Alyssa adores Rexx, but Rexx prefers her father alive, with no memory of her, then dead because she drove him mad."
Jack instinctively muttered, "Poor kid."
T'Pol had a bit more to tell, "Saltas is ill, and his symptoms are like Sator'Roc's. Hypnosis eases the discomfort, but there will always be pain because – as you have said – he's a good doctor and the good ones refuse to forget a patient."
"But he's trying to unload her onto me," Jack reminded her.
T'Pol was disappointed in his perception of the girl, "You speak of her like she is trash, being dumped on your doorstep."
"Not trash, but a heavy responsibility." He defended himself, "I got my own problems, Grams. Until I come to terms with myself, I am of no use to me, let alone her! And considering she has already cracked two Vulcan cores, aren't you afraid that exposure to her might drive me bat-shit crazy!?"
She was not fearful because, "You're not in the habit of suppressing your emotions. You laugh, you cry, you express anger, frustration, and joy. The Vulcan stoicism that is tormenting Saltas and Sator'Roc is not something you possess."
He thought aloud, "But it is something you possess, which is why you've already considered befriending her and set the idea aside."
"Correct," she said and hypothesized, "However, a friendship based in correspondence is likely to protect me from her emotional influence. I will write to her tomorrow – ask her to entertain the idea of us becoming pen pals." She turned a curious eye towards him, as he headed for the cottage's exit, "And where are you going?"
"Out," he hollered over his shoulder. "I need a break."