The scent wafted across the sand garden, at once overpowering and subtle. There was something in the paradoxical quality of it that reminded Kov of the water sculpture in the corner of the garden. He went there each dawn to meditate. He would not be able to explain the reasons for this if he were to be asked; there was a force beyond logic that dictated the decision that had become habit soon after he accepted employment here.
The scent had the same effect upon him. There was no logic Kov could discern in turning from the course that led to the water sculpture. And still he turned away, his jaw inclined and nostrils flared to allow him to better detect the scent upon the already warming air.
It seemed almost as though he should recognize it, but it remained an unknown – until he came to the place where a single figure was practicing the forms of what appeared to be the Suus Mahna.
The scent was coming from this male, or something else in his immediate vicinity.
Kov was behind the other; the light dawn breeze was blowing toward him, and he had made no sound that would lead to his discovery. He crossed his legs and sank to the ground. Perhaps it was a violation of the other's privacy to watch him so, but, if he was detected, he could claim he was meditating. It would be a mistruth, and mistruths were not logical. So had said his father Sivet, and so said Vulcan culture.
But there were more things than minor mistruths in Vulcan culture that Kov had cause to disagree with.
It was possible that the scent of this unknown male, intent upon his forms, was one of those things. It was certain that he desired to learn more, to understand the force that had brought him to this place, and to this man.
The man paused in his form, and turned, the lift of jaw and flare of nostrils clear as the terminus was crossed, and Eridani 40's light revealed him.
Kov's breath escaped his control and he exhaled with enough force that the other must have heard. Yes – he turned his focus directly to Kov's location. His face was aesthetically pleasing in a manner no other had ever been in the forty-six years of Kov's life.
Would he find Kov's presence intrusive? Would he leave? Would he be here again, or would he deem his privacy violated, and choose another location for his morning exercise?
The questions were not logical, as there was no way for him to know the answers at present. However, as Sivet frequently observed, Kov was not as concerned with the logic of any situation as most of his people. He was also possessed of "a deficit of patience," in his father's words.
The man's scent had drawn him here, as surely as T'Sia's brought nausea and a strong impulse to vomit.
Kov would understand why this was, when the scent of a Vulcan woman as she Awakened was held as the most delicately balanced, provocative scent known to their people.
The man simply stood, watching him. Kov didn't move. He had been seen. If he was to be believed to be meditating, he must not respond to the focused attention of the other. The sun was behind him; he would be nothing more than a silhouette at the rise of the sweep of sand.
Kov was intimately aware of the view from the place where the other stood. He had redesigned this garden and occupied every position within it.
The other stayed as he was for one point six two minutes, simply scenting the air. Then, slowly, he resumed his form, though he hadn't turned away.
Kov remained where he was, watching. The man moved in a practiced, precise manner. It was pleasing to watch, but there was something lacking which most Vulcans might not find wanting.
To Kov, however, the absence of passion was a detriment to the whole. Without a drive to perform the exercises, they had only the appearance of discipline. Like most of their people, it seemed this man did as he was expected to do, because he was expected to do it. A fit body was a fit tool, or another such philosophy. Perhaps he would disapprove of the higher ratio of fat on Kov's frame. He straightened, but there was no means to disguise his dislike of physical forms – yet another way in which Sivet found him a disappointment. It mattered not to his father that Kov led the crews who executed his landscaping plans, or that he took more exercise in that role than Sivet, whose occupation as a researcher confined him to his laboratory for the majority of each day.
The man finished his form, and Kov tensed, that scent still compelling him to stay though he was aware that he had likely breached the other's privacy, and the more logical course of action was not to further exacerbate the offense by remaining.
The other man walked up the rise. Kov waited. If he had caused offense, he would do what was needed to make restitution for his intrusion, but he would know more of this man whose scent was a question - or perhaps an answer he had not known he needed.
Certainly there was no logic in that thought.
"I am Koss." He stood at an acceptable distance, at an angle that allowed him to see Kov's face without the interference of Eridani 40's strengthening presence. "Was there something you required of me?"
Kov wanted to speak to the scent, and the questions it contained, but he was unable to find words to express the import of it. Instead, he said, "I was merely meditating."
"Mistruths are illogical," said the other. "More, they are a poor way to communicate. You were watching, and you are agitated." His nostrils flared, and he swallowed. "I ask forgiveness if my speaking to it causes offense, but it is clear in your mind – and in your scent."
His own scent had intensified, and Kov had difficulty resisting the urge to breathe in deeply, inhaling and impressing the specific qualities of the aroma in his mind for later remembrances. Surely such an action would be most unacceptable.
He would give the other his truth and learn where it might carry them.
"I was preparing to meditate, but I was drawn here by a scent I had never before encountered. It led me here, and I had no desire to interrupt your practice."
"Nor to leave." The other stated it without emotional overlay; his face was smooth and revealed nothing.
Kov knew not what he would have him say, but the words about mistruths suggested a logical course of action at last. "Nor to leave," he confirmed.
"Now we may truly begin." The other man settled himself on the sand ten paces away, allowing an angle that gave them both a certain amount of space, but also the opportunity to study one another. His gaze was direct.
"Begin?" Kov had never interacted with another who so confused his senses. It was more than the scent which seemed to pervade the air, and to move from his lungs to the tips of his fingers. They tingled with a strange heat. "What do you mean?"
"You are Kov."
"I am aware of that fact, nor do I find it relevant in answering my question."
"You are Kov, and I have –" the man paused, as though to measure the next words he would speak. "- desired to meet you."
Kov's breath released again; the inhale was full of Koss's scent, and he wondered if his mind was being affected by it – or by Koss himself. He had said that he felt Kov's interest in his mind, had he not? Kov knew little of the ways of the telepathic arts, but there were said to be clans and groups that still did, that followed other forms of Surak's teachings, despite the prohibitions against such practices, and the dangers of violating those prohibitions.
Was Koss a dissident?
Did that matter?
"You have desired to meet me?" The scent was stronger, as was the tingle in his fingers. It advanced, and brought an undefined urge to touch – what? The man sitting with him? Surely such a thing was inappropriate enough to be utterly beyond consideration.
"I have. Had you not come to this place, today, it was my intention to seek you out in your place of meditation when I completed my exercise." The other man – Koss – seemed to be studying Kov closely.
"For what purpose?" It was not a question he should ask; protocols suggested a more measured response. But Kov must know, must understand what it was that kept him here, speaking with this man who undid every assumption he made.
"For the purpose of informing you that your scent has become the moving force in my life. To inform you that I am – hungry – to know more of you, if that is a thing that would be – pleasing – to you."
Again the pauses, and a bearing that stated clearly that the man had considered the words carefully, and spoke them with intention. But what was that intention, and what did it mean for Kov?
"I don't understand," he said, honestly, as his fingertips quivered.
Koss tipped his head slightly, and very slowly raised paired fingers into the air. "Since I first scented you on the air six days ago, Kov, my fingertips long to touch yours. I wish to learn - whether a touch would be enough to satiate their yearning."
"I thought you without passion." He hadn't meant to speak the words. But they could not be unspoken. Koss had heard them. He would think of them what he would.
"That doesn't give answer to my fingers." They stayed there, the light of the sun emphasizing what they offered. But what was that, precisely?
"I don't understand."
"You speak mistruths again, Kov."
"No. I don't understand." But it was only a whisper.
"Perhaps you don't comprehend the whole. But your scent says that you understand enough. It says that you were drawn to me as I have been drawn to you. Tell me if you will, Kov: do your fingers tingle with the need to touch?"
"They tingle, Koss. I cannot say why. They have never done so before." Kov watched Koss's fingers as they lingered there. Was it only his imagining, that they quivered?
"Pair them to mine." Soft, so soft. "I beg you, pair them to mine, that we may learn what it means."
Kov studied those fingers, and then lifted his own. "I know not the way of this form of touching."
Koss exhaled, a long soft sigh. "If you will meet me here at the end of the day, I will lead you to a place where we might explore and learn together."
"Have you touched another so, Koss?" Kov was uncertain why it should be of import, only that it meant a great deal to him that Koss had not.
"I have touched no other. There is no other I desire to touch. If you will not, then my fingers will remain – unsated."
Strange, the things he said. Stranger still, the way they settled into Kov's imaginings. He had long tried to imagine the reality that he would one day be married to T'Sia, that he would pass the Burning with her. But such imaginings seemed beyond him, and he had never spoken of it to Sivet or any other, because to be a Vulcan and yet to imagine one's future was surely an illogical act.
But the thought of Koss's fingers wanting the sating of his own – that was a thing that set his imagination aflame.
No. He would not think on it. Certainly not here, and not now.
"Kov?" Just the single syllable of his name, but spoken in a way that no other had ever spoken it. In that moment, the shadow of a silverbird passed over Koss's form.
Kov shuddered. It was illogical to ascribe any meaning to such a convergence of events. However, he was not known for his logic.
"I will meet you here, Koss. For the sake of our hungering fingers, I will meet you."
The other man nodded, as though it was the most logical of statements. "Then let it be as the crossing of the terminus occurs. T'Khut will be full tonight, and there is a place from which we may watch the Watcher safely, and unseen." He rose; he was considerably taller than Kov, and solid rather than slender. "Until then, Kov, my fingers will long for the touch of yours." He said it in the manner of the formal greeting.
"And mine for yours." Kov attempted an echoing tone, but his voice trembled, and he dared not stand, not until he could be certain Koss would not see his lack of balance.
Koss nodded and turned away, angling across the dune toward a building hidden in the next depression, sheltered by rises of sand on all sides. If that was his place of employment, it marked him an architect.
Kov rose and stood for a moment just looking at the sand garden. He had designed it, and he knew it with the intimacy of one who was deeply involved in the execution of his designs. And yet, now, it seemed an alien landscape, changed by the fact of Koss' hungry fingers – and his own.