Star Trek: The Voice of Experience
by Daniel T. Foster
No pity tinted the harsh light and heat of 40 Eridani as the Vulcan sand baked beneath it. The lone traveler crossed the desert undeterred however; he had crossed this desert many times and was no stranger to the harsh environment. His dun colored robe tossed slightly in the hot breeze, his desert boots shuffled carefully through the dust and dirt. He had walked from his apartment in Shi-Kahr five hours earlier, just as the sun was rising. Most people, even other Vulcans, avoided the midday sun and certainly this deep desert, but Spock found them comforting.
Again, he was no stranger to this desert, the very same one where he had completed his kahs-wan when he was only seven. Fourteen years later, he had no home on Vulcan, his father telling him he was no longer welcome since he had joined the Federation Starfleet and gone to Earth for training. Hence the temporary apartment in his own home city, and the need for this crossing.
As he continued, Spock's thoughts turned to the Lady Amanda. Spock was unable to see his mother due to his father's edict. Spock did his best to suppress his emotions, but the Lady Amanda was the core of his human heart, literally and figuratively. Spock was no longer the emotional child whom he knew his mother secretly wished would follow a human path, but neither had he found the stoic calm of his Vulcan contemporaries. Perhaps that internal disquiet was what led him to Starfleet in the first place...
As well as he knew these deserts, he was not sure he knew himself. So this week, he had taken a short leave from Starfleet Academy and returned to Vulcan. He was certain his future was in the Fleet, in some capacity. There were great women and men from many worlds he knew he could learn from, but since he was not coming home permanently, he could not see his Mother and Father. There was one person with whom he must speak; one person with whom he needed to confer. So here he was, though he could have used a skimmer and made the trip in mere moments, Spock was Vulcan enough to know you never approached an elder when it was convenient; one had to demonstrate their conviction to learn.
Six hours, 12 minutes, and 35 seconds from the time he left the temporary apartment, Spock arrived at the tiny Vulcan home he had simply passed or ignored so many times before. The home was carved from the rock, likely centuries ago by followers of Surak finding some shelter on the edge of Vulcan's Forge. It rested against the outcropping from which it was carved. A small deepwell extended from the ground on the side of the house- a modern comfort to which whoever built the house would have had no access. Spock considered his purpose for a moment longer before palming the door, but then invoked his most Vulcan exterior and chimed.
Moments passed before he even heard movement. He knew it would be impropriety to chime again. The elder would either answer or not, and if not, Spock would have to cross the desert again in failure. At least, it would be cooler at night, but would doubtless leave him susceptible to attack from a le matya or even wild sehlat. Today though, Spock's curiosity was to be sated.
The door slide aside, far more slowly than than any automated door should, likely clogged with dust. Behind the door stood a Vulcan woman, by appearances more than two-thirds through her second century. She wore a simple woman's robe, not much different in color or design from Spock's, and her white hair grew long and straight. She was thin framed, and her skin was almost translucent, stretched taught from her high cheekbones to her long chin. Spock had no doubt the winds of the Forge would have no problem whipping her from her feet into the sandstorms, and perhaps pull that ancient skin from its bones.
"You are a traveler. Do you wish water?" she asked, her Vulcan was very formal and short.
"Elder," Spock said, "I would ask your hospitality to not only drink your water, but to have your wisdom on a particular matter." The old woman nearly showed annoyance for a moment, though Spock knew that couldn't be. He had read her record. She had studied Kohlinar, she had spent time at the monastery on P'Jem. Despite the innuendo between the lines of the Vulcan records, surely she mastered her emotions?
"You may enter, traveler, and we will share water and food as we speak. You have a name?"
Spock raised his hand, fingers parted, "I am Spock, son of Sarek. Peace and long life." The old woman raised her eyebrow. Spock waited for her to return the greeting before he entered.
"Live long and prosper, Spock. I am T'Pol of Vulcan, though I am sure you are well aware of that fact," the old woman said, and then turned and walked to the small food preparation area. Spock entered, and closed the door behind him. T'Pol poured two glasses of water, and began ladling soup into two bowls. "I have plomeek soup," she said, then motioned Spock to a tall stool next to the cabinet upon which she worked. She sat on her own stool. As Spock moved to the cabinet, he took stock of the home around him.
The living area had no comfort furniture, but a meditation mat took up one corner. A pair of bookshelves took up one wall, one filled with books and scrolls, one with framed pictures and personal effects. Was that some type of handbag? A small hall led to another room in the back, but it was sealed against the day's heat and dark. A small computer terminal hung upon the wall by the door. He sat and smelled the soup.
"I do not like plomeek soup."
"You have not eaten my plomeek soup," she replied. Resigning himself, he tasted a spoon of the broth. There was a tangy flavor uncommon to plomeek root. It was actually rather appealing. He ate more.
"Your father would not appreciate that you are here," T'Pol said without preamble, then trying a spoon of her own soup.
"Lady T'Pol, I assure you there are times I believe my father may not appreciate anything at all," Spock replied, wincing at his own flippancy. This woman had served Vulcan and later the Federation for more than a century before retiring alone to this house on the edge of Vulcan's harshest desert. No elder of any history had any tolerance for Vulcan children who had not yet mastered their emotions. Yet he knew there was a stigma attached to T'Pol, a stigma based on her past actions. Actions which brought him here today.
"It would seem you have already shown you have little regard for your father's wishes. You are in Starfleet, are you not?" she asked.
"I am, Lady T'Pol. In three weeks I begin my fourth and final year of academy training. If I may be blunt, it is your knowledge of this subject I wish to ask you about. It is my motivation for this visit." He sipped the water. It was nearly warm.
"You wish to query me about my time in the Earth Starfleet. There are other Vulcans currently serving in the Federation Starfleet. It is not logical for you to travel to this house when you could doubtless have found Vulcan Starfleet officers on Earth." She stared at him, no longer eating her soup. Spock set his own glass down as well.
"As you are no doubt aware, Vulcans serve in Starfleet, however they serve only on homogenous deep space assignments; with the exception of you, no Vulcan has served on a human ship." There was much Spock admired about the Federation Starfleet, but in practice it was nearly segregated. There was no regulation for this, nor was anyone forced in any way. However, since the end of the Romulan War, and the formation of the Federation, Starfleet vessels were manned with single species, or at least similar species. In general, it was a logical decision. Shipboard environments could better reflect the physiological needs of homogenous crews; customs would not be questioned; matters of language and intention would not be misinterpreted. The majority of Vulcan ships carried either no, or only defensive weapons. Planetside assignments mixed, but the delicate microculture of a Starship was considered too fragile to mix, except on very rare occasions.
"That is not true, I was the second Vulcan to serve with Humans."
Spock hoped he had not openly shown contempt for her answer. "I do not believe a week's time belongs in the annuls of either Vulcan or Human history," he said. He watched though as a half smile played at the very corner of her mouth.
"Be precise, son of Sarek. It was ten days. Regardless, why is my experience of any matter to you? There are Vulcan ships upon which to serve; you do not have to serve with humans. Your father is Ambassador from Vulcan to the Federation, how can one old Vulcan woman possibly advise you?"
Spock considered carefully. "Lady T'Pol, I have been asked by a human captain to finish my academia on assignment and serve as his science officer. It will be aboard the Federation flagship on a mission of contact and exploration. The mission will last no less than five years. I may face five years in an enclosed space with more than 200 humans. I cannot logically ignore your experience or advice. Please tell me how it was for you." T'Pol looked at him, and somehow, with no change in expression, her eyes seemed softer. She carefully pulled herself from her own stool, and motioned for him to follow her to the bookshelf full of trinkets.
"Let me show you what humans are." She picked up a small leather band with a metal disk hanging from it. "Captain Archer kept this collar for his shipboard pet, an Earth canine. Porthos' smell was nearly unbearable, and the animal labored under the mistaken belief I wanted him to attempt to climb my leg each time I entered the room. He died a year after the NX-01 was decommissioned. The next day, Captain Archer, Hoshi Sato, Doctor Phlox, and I climbed a mountain on Earth where the Captain enjoyed outdoor activities. We went to the summit and Captain Archer buried Porthos there. It was the only time I had ever seen Captain Archer cry."
T'Pol replaced the collar, and picked up a small figurine of an Orion slave girl. "This was a present from Hoshi Sato. Once, I was abducted from Enterprise by Orion slavers, and they auctioned me off to the highest bidder. When I was rescued, Hoshi was fascinated by the idea of the slave trade, and though repulsed at the concept of slavery, somehow took great amusement at the idea of me as an erotic dancer. It became a recurring theme to her humor for years. She sent me this as a birthday present the year she wed. Five years ago, she and her husband were living on a colony, Tarsus IV. They were executed along with 4000 other colonists by the administrator when there was a food shortage." As she carefully set down the figurine, Spock maintained his silence. T'Pol reached to another shelf and took up a can of Starfleet food rations labeled in English, "Pineapple."
"Malcolm Reed was our tactical officer. Early in our mission, Hoshi determined Malcolm enjoyed the Earth fruit pineapple. For several years, she went out of her way to make sure he would have access to them, ensuring there was a steady supply for the on board stores and for the chef. Three weeks after making Malcolm his first pineapple cake, he approached me as I sat in the mess. Very quietly he handed me this can of pineapple. He told me how he could not stand the fruit. Yet, for years I watched him eat cookies and cakes and various foods made with pineapple because of how happy it made Hoshi.
"He also taught me the vernacular usage of the word, 'bum' in English, and he would not meet my eye while he said it. This man too shy to look directly at a woman while discussing humanoid anatomical features died in the Battle of Axanar commanding the U.S.S. Indefatigable. Captain Reed saved his entire squadron wing by drawing enemy fire. His medal for bravery I assume still hangs at the Academy. He had no family to accept it."
T'Pol then picked up a carefully folded blanket, a style common to Earth infants. "Family," she said simply. "Family is so easy a concept in the Vulcan language and to the Vulcan people. Serving with humans, it becomes far more complex, and humans redefine its meaning to include so many types of emotions and relationships. Sometimes, you will find you had family you do not wish to acknowledge, or family, you wish you could have acknowledged sooner." She held the blanket to her face for a moment, and Spock, for just an instant, believed she might cry. Instead she carefully replaced the blanket, next to a small beaded bracelet. There were letters arranged on the beads spelling the word "Elizabeth." Next to that was another green figurine, this time of a square-headed humanoid Spock recognized from a book on Terran ancient literature.
"May I ask, Lady T'Pol, what Frankenstein's monster represents?" She turned back to him, almost too sharply. Then, her calm returned.
"I once... teased a fellow crewmember about the creature being the story's protagonist, and that his plight was similar to that of Vulcans on Earth."
"In what way?" Spock asked.
"It was only an attempt at humor. However, the theme of isolation among those from whom you curry favor is not exclusive to Earth or Terrans," she replied.
"You did not associate this object with a specific human," Spock noted, his voice softer then before. T'Pol looked at him for but a moment, and then it seemed again her composure would slip. Finally she spoke.
"Trip," was all she said, and then her words failed her. Slowly, she walked back toward her stool.
Spock moved carefully back to his own seat, formulating his question carefully. "Lady T'Pol, it would seem interacting with humans to such an extent left you emotionally vulnerable and with painful memories. Are you recommending I do not accept this assignment?"
"There is something you will learn about humans. They are illogical, they are often infuriating, and you will find yourself as a Vulcan conflicted over the emotions they manage to stir in you. They will consider you to be an oddity one moment, and then the next be perfectly content to consider you family. Their ways and lives will grow around you and you will understand exactly how terrible and wonderful they are. Then, because you are a Vulcan, and they are not, unless there is some unpredicted event, you will outlive them all, and find yourself one day alone.
"When that day comes, do not tell yourself or others you were wrong to love humans. Instead remember what the humans taught me; there are always possibilities. The Universe will find a way to work out as it should. Take the assignment, Spock. Be prepared though to see the universe in ways you could never before, to think in ways you never did before, and above all, to feel things you never thought possible." She fell silent then, and Spock did not break that silence for some time.
"Why are you alone? Why are you not more honored by Vulcan as you are on Earth?" She looked at him.
"Because soon after serving on Enterprise, I realized Vulcan would never be my only allegiance again. Humans had mastered our own IDIC far better than we would ever allow ourselves to. Vulcan will never forgive me for believing that. But the things I have seen, and lived, and the people with whom I lived and loved? Far worth sacrificing that status." Spock nodded.
"Once when I was a child, my father held audience with T'Pau, matriarch of our family. She spoke of outsiders to the Vulcan way, and I have little doubt she was attempting to indicate my mother. I became angry and left. Later Sarek asked why I had behaved in such a fashion, and I pointed out what she had done. He told me it was illogical to question any individual interpretation of IDIC, as that in itself was a compromise of one's own understanding of the concept."
T'Pol waited a moment before prompting Spock. "What was your response?"
"I do not believe I ever gave him one until I joined Starfleet. That then was my response." The two then drank their water and discussed the desert, how the sands moved, and the dire sun which heated the rocks until they projected their own heat. They spoke of Vulcan and Earth, and other long absent friends T'Pol missed. Though they spoke for hours, she never again said the name 'Trip,' and though young, Spock was wise enough to know not to ask.
Rather than walk home in the night, Spock slept on the meditation mat after T'Pol retired for the evening. Spock rose early, filled her water reservoirs, and then cleaned the gears and runners on her door. When he finished, he found her in the kitchen again, and she had prepared more plomeek soup for him.
"May I ask, Lady, what ingredient you use no one else does?" he asked.
"Pineapple," she answered, "I had to use the pineapple Malcolm Reed would surreptitiously give to me."
Before the sun rose too high, he readied his gear for the walk back. T'Pol pointed to the terminal on the wall. "You could call for a skimmer, I would not take offense against my self or my wisdom."
Spock nodded, and perhaps the slightest of smiles teased the corner of his mouth. "I walk now to consider my own wisdom. Live Long and Prosper, Lady T'Pol," he said, saluting her. She returned the gesture.
"Peace and Long Life, Spock." She dropped her hand, and he went to exit. She stopped him.
"Spock, may I ask upon what ship you will serve?" Spock looked at her evenly.
"My Lady, it is the Enterprise." With that, he stepped into the hot air, and her door whisked shut quickly and quietly.
T'Pol looked at the closed door for a moment. Then she slowly went to her shelf, where the figurine of the humanoid creature sat. In her mind, with perfect clarity she pictured a small mess table on a starship a century before.
"What did you think of the movie?" Trip inquired, waiting for her answer. T'Pol sipped her water.
"I thought the protagonist was interesting," she finally replied.
"Doctor Frankenstein?" Trip asked, trying to clarify.
"No," she said, "his creation." Trip looked with incredulity at the third member of the dinner, Captain Archer. T'Pol continued. "From my perspective, this was the story of an individual persecuted by humans because he was different." Trip seemed almost personally offended.
"Well, that's one way of looking at it."
In a small house on Vulcan a hundred years later, T'Pol picked up the effigy of the creature.
"There are always possibilities," she said.