Stehkuh
By Ryu Niiyama
On Vulcan, seven was a sacred number.
Upon reaching the age of seven a Vulcan was considered intellectually mature enough to begin the true rigors of educational and emotional training. Upon this age one left childish things behind and focused upon one's purpose.
Michael Burnham was ten before she was deemed worthy.
Seven years after reaching adulthood, a Vulcan entered their Time, and barring any circumstantial obstruction they took a spouse and began a life as a bonded pair. For seven years an intended couple would begin to make the first overtures of courting; learning about each other's interests and skills, correspondence with the intent to convey trust. Once the truth of their bond had been established, together they forged a path of logic and purpose anew; stronger together in logic, prestige and wealth. What was lost was now found, what was broken was made whole.
Michael Burnham never knew the burn of the Time, never was deemed worthy enough to be chosen by a Vulcan. When her Time came….what humans deemed love, it was with a woman that was unobtainable. She would remain alone, lost and broken forever.
Seven years ago Phillipa Georgiou extended her hand…in a greeting that was casual to a human, but intimate to the point of unwanted harassment to the Vulcan culture and a Vulcan trained mind. With a rakish smile and warm, assessing eyes, Captain Georgiou offered a woman culturally torn between two worlds, two species and offered her something she'd never have in either place: home.
Michael Burnham would never know the touch of that beautiful hand in hers. She would never hold her T'hy'la close and dream of the stars unending. She would never taste the warm sweetness of the katra of the one that gave her torn heart peace. Home was a derelict husk, drifting in a graveyard of metal and prideful greed.
Seven years later Phillipa Georgiou trusted in her Number One enough to deem her worthy to sit the Captain's chair. Phillipa Georgiou trusted her enough to heed her warning to be wary of the Klingons but not enough to act. Her Number One had not been wrong. Her actions were logical and loyal; she'd set aside her own pain, her own fear, her own desire to save the lives of the crew she protected and the Captain she served. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. A Human raised with Vulcan principles believed in the Vulcan creed above all else.
So why was it that the actions of the few, of the one destroyed everything the many had ever held dear?
Michael Burnham's logic and passion had not been enough to make her Captain discard the principles of Federation diplomacy and optimism. Her need to protect the most important person in her life, to stop the Klingons from taking everything away from her again didn't stop the Federation from playing right into Warlord T'kuvma's hands. Her logical wiliness to allow ruthlessness to become her sword didn't keep her Captain from being murdered before her very eyes.
For Seven years she had learned to trust, learned to laugh…learned to love. Love was not forbidden within the Vulcan heart, but lust and covetous jealousy were not allowed to rule one's actions. In this Michael Burnham had proven herself to be a fastidious Vulcan, yet a unyielding, cutthroat human. She had shown the Klingons for the barbarians that they were, and in the process lost everything that mattered.
Her Captain, her friend, her mentor, her T'hy'la; dead with not even a body to bury and mourn. Yet before that she had lost the respect, trust and affection of the only person she deemed worthy enough to strive for such acknowledgement.
In Seven years Phillipa Georgiou had never known her Number One's touch, never knowing that the cultural Vulcan relished every shoulder squeeze or pat on the hand or back her wounded yet gregarious Captain would give. Yet in her ill-fated bid to present a compelling entreaty for action, the first touch Phillipa Georgiou's right hand offered had been one of pain and betrayal. .
Upon this accursed path Michael Burnham had become a curse; her thoughts twisted into malicious ambition. Every death the Kingons dealt came with the assertation that she was the true source of pain and chaos. Every moment without the fearless wisdom of her beloved Captain became a torment worse than death, worse than emotion, worse than the absence of logic.
Seven years later Michael Burnham learned the truth of the horror and shame of the Vulcan heart.
Michael Burnham learned of War.
(obligatory complaint about Burnham's first name inserted here)