Only the adversaries remained to make life interesting. Only the next unknown enemy justified submitting himself time and again to the humiliation of the drugs, of those old primitive substances that kept him alife when the cycles demanded their due. No other reason could compete; loyalty, friendship, or belonging were not for him, least of all love. His adversary was the unknown, the strange, which meant danger when not understood, and which became an ally to him by understanding, further and further out. All existings models of the universe agreed that it was infinite in its space-time expansion; and many signs suggested that an infinite number of parallel universes existed in the mysterious dimensions of reality and probability; there was no threat of running out of work during the ridiculously short time that he would exist in the multiverse. For the meagre two hundred and fifty years that supposedly remained of his Vulcan life expectancy he would have enough to do, so that he did not have to waste a moment's thought on his own insignificant self.
Humans thinking themselves his friends sometimes tried to win his increased attention by suggesting to him that the Academy at ShiKahr would not be able to ignore his work indefinitely, that they would have to accept his continued existence one day if they didn't want to hopelessly fall behind scientifically. Useless to explain to these well-meaning creatures how the honourable Vulcan scientist would be perfectly prepared to quote from his students' papers while completely ignoring the fact that one Suvuk, whose name had been removed from all Vulcan data banks, had singlehandedly laid the foundations for the scientific discipline which by now had been given the name "exology". He did not exist for Vulcan, and Vulcan did not exist for him. How astonished those pathetic humans always were when he did not show any reaction to their efforts, no satisfaction, but simply got up and went away.
He was thought to be unsurpassably cold and controlled; humans and all the other short-lived creatures wondering how typically Vulcan this alleged renegate was could never fathom what hell he had to go through every seven years, when, drugged by the most fearsome substances of the ignominous human history, he would lie in his quarters for days, unable to think or speak or even move, until the bout of pon farr was over; and again, after a few weeks, then months, until biology gave up, and he would be left alone for the next seven years or so.
It was inappropriate to think of pon farr now; it was illogical to worry about something unavoidable that simply would have to be borne. It was irrational to consider it a degradation, or a defeat. There was no way but mastering the unavoidable. He knew the reason why these thoughts had come up just now; with practised discipline he faced his unsuitable wishes straight on, and then sent them to the depths where they belonged.
Beside him in the hallway a short, pudgy human emerged from a classroom and waddled beside him for some steps; Suvuk focussed his attention long enough to recognise a professor of exolinguistics working with him on one of his numerous projects. Having received the answer he wanted, the human vanished happily into the opposite direction.
Suvuk was considered to be polite; but his politenes, he had heard people say, was as cold as empty space. All these absurd humans kept trying to thaw him out without having the slightest inkling of the fire raging inside that needed to be controlled, controlled incessantly, to prevent an eruption of his insufferable personality. They projected their undisciplined emotions onto him without ever so much as guessing who he really was, what a monstrosity his mere existence was, and why he was exiled. How they all would triumph if they could see through him for one moment, if they could pull him down to their level to say: There's nothing wrong with it; it's only natural; no reason to be ashemed; we're all human after all. That was the crux. He was not. He was Vulcan born and bred, an absurdity to the Way of the Vulcan, and his life an open rebellion against all traditions of his people.
Enough. Illogical to think about it.
Why had this exolinguist gone on about the Klingon language? Klingons were by no means new to federation research, and quoting Klingon paradigms was considered extremely conventional. In former times Terran linguists had always quoted Native American languages if they were at loss for an example, or Finnish, without ever having spoken a single word of these languages. Finnish was still an interesting language, of course; more interesting than Klingon in any case. Suvuk tought a Finnish technician in his introductory course for non-exologists; the man specialised in the technology of alien cultures; interesting idea. Suvuk was the only person among the Starfleet Academy faculty able to even pronounce the Finn's name. When he said "Lieutenant Äänekoski", some of his English speaking students started to giggle about the nasal tone of the double ä. Suvuk spoke adequate Finnish, just as he spoke adequate Russian, Lakota, Japanese, Quetchua, French, Welsh and several other Terran languages. That was merely a hobby; he was expected to sometimes take breaks in his work, and he needed something to do when he did. He learned a new Terran language every few months as well as numerous languages from the explored parts of the galaxy, the knowledge of which was important to his work. Once, the Finn had accidentally bumped into him in a passageway and absentmindedly murmured "Anteeksi"; he had stopped dead in his tracks with astonishment when his Vulcan teacher had matter-of-factly answered "Ei se mitään" and gone on. Suvuk had been rather harsh with himself about the satisfaction that moment gave him. That was cheap. Admittedly, Lieutenant Jukka-Pekka Äänekoski was rather a challenge to him, and, unadmittedly, quite fun to be with; among all the non-exologist students that came to his classes he was the one to least passively take in everything, the one to give the most intelligent arguments and discussions. To his human teachers this behaviour appeared refractory: the Finn contradicted and questioned everything. Suvuk was not forcedby duty to teach those classes; to him, his non-scientific students were an excellent test area. Many new ideas had come from the innocent questions of some young technician or communications officer whom he was meant to divest of their prejudices before Starfleet turned them loose on the population of the universe. Most of them were brilliant, many enjoyed discussions; but Äänekoski was by far the best. He never turned personal or agressive; he calmly dissected Suvuk's theories until he understood them, to an enormous profit to all the other students. What he had gotten Äänekoski to accept even a drunken Ferengi would have understood. To every outsider, including Äänekoski, it must seem obvious that teacher and student couldn't stand each other.
Enough. Suvuk touched his com badge. "Nakamura-san?" The short fat Japanese professor answered. "Hai! Sensei!" Suvuk explained to him briefly how a paradigm from the Ancient Cardassian, or perhaps from the Karsid, would be much more appropriate within the present course of research than the Klingon one suggested by the professor, and signed off after listening to an appropriate portion of his Japanese thankfulness. He turned a corner. An amorphous mass of most diverse students was waiting in front of the locked classroom. He heard hurried steps behind him; someone came around the corner, running, and bumped against him. "Anteeksi", the newcomer said, quite matter of course now. "Teillä ei ole mitään kiirettä, Luutnantti; te ette voi mennä luentosaliin ilman minua. Teidän juostamisenne on siis epäloogista", the Vulcan admonished him.
"Of course; you have the access card. After you, Lieutenant", Jukka-Pekka Äänekoski conceded. He fell back a few steps and sauntered behind the Vulcan into the classroom.
He would never have dreamed of walking beside Suvuk, although he sometimes couldn't supress the hint that they both had the same military rank. He respected the difference in Suvuk, not the fact that he was faculty. Looking for human parallels, Suvuk himself had tought him, only made your work harder; an impartial judgement was the most basic tool in dealing with alien species. It was inappropriate to try and curry favours with the Vulcan, to pull him down to human standards. Suvuk could be neither friend nor foe, just somebody from whom and with whom he could learn. He had to keep reminding himself, but it had worked out quite well until now.
Yesterday evening, he ruminated while taking his seat in the second row, his opinion hadn't been that clear, though. One day that icy Vulcan would drive him to a frustrated temper tantrum. After having drunk two Klingon exchange students under the table, Äänekoski had sat at the bar for a long while, brooding. During the two and a half years he had enjoyed Suvuk's classes, the Vulcan had grown from a fascinating irritation to a secret problem. In an few months, when he finished his studies and was sent to a remote outpost as xenotechnician to repair everything alien that might turn up, he could simply forget about Suvuk; but until then, he needed to restrain himself.
It was the challenge itself that attracted him to Suvuk so much, the study of his alien-ness, the combination of Vulcan traditions and uniquely Suvukian traits. Of course he knew that Vulcans rarely made friends and that the affection of one of them was a special privilege, but Suvuk was extreme. Everyone trying to get closer he sent politely, almost imperceptibly, on their way. Cold as ice he repelled all friendliness, all attempts to include him, all traces of humour. Suvuk was like Lapland in winter: metres of snow, freezing cold covering all life, and above it glittered fascinatingly the unreachable aurora borealis. Not to react to this challenge as any ordinary human would was almost too much for Äänekoski's self control. And in his case, things were a bit different.
To him, Suvuk, with the mental challenge he constituted, and with his alien, serious, pointy-eared beauty, was indescribably attractive. When he just stood there as he did now, calmly drawing his diagrams on the display screen, then turning with catlike grace and the flawless poise so typical for Vulcans to draw his students into an discussion with a slight lift of his eyebrow, Äänekoski could have fallen in love with him on the spot. Of course he knew that such a reaction was most inappropriate; he could just as well try and catch a Klingon sabre-toothed dog with a butterfly net. But it was hard.
He knew that all Vulcans were incurably heterosexual. Every male Vulcan had to be married, or would die of pon farr. There was a drug by now that would neutralise that state, but Vulcans despised it, used it only in emergency situations when their cycle caught up with them in deep space, but then went home and mated. Every male Vulcan apart from Suvuk. Suvuk had not been back to his home planet for several decades and had lost Vulcan citizenship. There were wild rumours about the reason for this, all of them much less than credible. The only certain fact that could be known was that Suvuk would immediately and rigourously repel any pass made at him, no matter by what gender or species. Enough people had tried. Äänekoski did not plan to follow in their inglorious footstep, to make an undying fool out of himself, and to wantonly lose the cool, logical respect Suvuk seemed to display towards him.
Only a few more months, and it would be over. And yet, if he stood there like that....
"Lieutenant, did the Koskenkorva finally ruin your brain?", Suvuk now enquired with calm irony. "I asked you a question".
"No, it was Salmiakkikossu, to be precise. The theory you were referring to was developed by Daystrom himself and must be considered outdated. Since studying Cardassian computer configurations, at the latest, we have begun...."
And while rushing headlong into the discussion as he usually did, a small part at the hind section of his consciousness reported to him that he would miss Suvuk, despite the relief he would feel. This was worth all of it, supressing his feelings, suffering all those glorified belly cramps. He could always get thoroughly drunk from time to time, and have good cry in his quarters afterwards. That trick Suvuk had of presenting a commonplace conjecture for his students to attack in order to further their mental impartiality he had fathomed already during the first term. But why was this superior intellect that pathologically averse to any sort of affection?
In that precise moment, in a far corner of the universe, a Bajoran first officer talked with her Human commander about a message from Starfleeet Headquarters, Earth.
"O'Brien gets the technician he asked for, it says. If there's another person to see to damaged ships coming in from the Gamma quadrant, O'Brien might finally find the time to get all the replicators up and running. But, on the other hand, they plan on letting some sort of Vulcan top scientist come here, whom we have to 'give all available assistance in his research'. It says he is looking for the legendary species of - space going whales, of all things, thought to come from somewhere between the Gamma and the Delta quadrant. If that Federation highbrow thinks he could park himself on our station without doing anything useful for everybody, he will soon find out how wrong he is!"
"Calm yourself, Kira", Benjamin Sisko replied quietly. "You can't know how cooperative that Vulcan will be. I hope he will think it illogical to sit and look for whales while the station is falling down around us".
Humans thinking themselves his friends sometimes tried to win his increased attention by suggesting to him that the Academy at ShiKahr would not be able to ignore his work indefinitely, that they would have to accept his continued existence one day if they didn't want to hopelessly fall behind scientifically. Useless to explain to these well-meaning creatures how the honourable Vulcan scientist would be perfectly prepared to quote from his students' papers while completely ignoring the fact that one Suvuk, whose name had been removed from all Vulcan data banks, had singlehandedly laid the foundations for the scientific discipline which by now had been given the name "exology". He did not exist for Vulcan, and Vulcan did not exist for him. How astonished those pathetic humans always were when he did not show any reaction to their efforts, no satisfaction, but simply got up and went away.
He was thought to be unsurpassably cold and controlled; humans and all the other short-lived creatures wondering how typically Vulcan this alleged renegate was could never fathom what hell he had to go through every seven years, when, drugged by the most fearsome substances of the ignominous human history, he would lie in his quarters for days, unable to think or speak or even move, until the bout of pon farr was over; and again, after a few weeks, then months, until biology gave up, and he would be left alone for the next seven years or so.
It was inappropriate to think of pon farr now; it was illogical to worry about something unavoidable that simply would have to be borne. It was irrational to consider it a degradation, or a defeat. There was no way but mastering the unavoidable. He knew the reason why these thoughts had come up just now; with practised discipline he faced his unsuitable wishes straight on, and then sent them to the depths where they belonged.
Beside him in the hallway a short, pudgy human emerged from a classroom and waddled beside him for some steps; Suvuk focussed his attention long enough to recognise a professor of exolinguistics working with him on one of his numerous projects. Having received the answer he wanted, the human vanished happily into the opposite direction.
Suvuk was considered to be polite; but his politenes, he had heard people say, was as cold as empty space. All these absurd humans kept trying to thaw him out without having the slightest inkling of the fire raging inside that needed to be controlled, controlled incessantly, to prevent an eruption of his insufferable personality. They projected their undisciplined emotions onto him without ever so much as guessing who he really was, what a monstrosity his mere existence was, and why he was exiled. How they all would triumph if they could see through him for one moment, if they could pull him down to their level to say: There's nothing wrong with it; it's only natural; no reason to be ashemed; we're all human after all. That was the crux. He was not. He was Vulcan born and bred, an absurdity to the Way of the Vulcan, and his life an open rebellion against all traditions of his people.
Enough. Illogical to think about it.
Why had this exolinguist gone on about the Klingon language? Klingons were by no means new to federation research, and quoting Klingon paradigms was considered extremely conventional. In former times Terran linguists had always quoted Native American languages if they were at loss for an example, or Finnish, without ever having spoken a single word of these languages. Finnish was still an interesting language, of course; more interesting than Klingon in any case. Suvuk tought a Finnish technician in his introductory course for non-exologists; the man specialised in the technology of alien cultures; interesting idea. Suvuk was the only person among the Starfleet Academy faculty able to even pronounce the Finn's name. When he said "Lieutenant Äänekoski", some of his English speaking students started to giggle about the nasal tone of the double ä. Suvuk spoke adequate Finnish, just as he spoke adequate Russian, Lakota, Japanese, Quetchua, French, Welsh and several other Terran languages. That was merely a hobby; he was expected to sometimes take breaks in his work, and he needed something to do when he did. He learned a new Terran language every few months as well as numerous languages from the explored parts of the galaxy, the knowledge of which was important to his work. Once, the Finn had accidentally bumped into him in a passageway and absentmindedly murmured "Anteeksi"; he had stopped dead in his tracks with astonishment when his Vulcan teacher had matter-of-factly answered "Ei se mitään" and gone on. Suvuk had been rather harsh with himself about the satisfaction that moment gave him. That was cheap. Admittedly, Lieutenant Jukka-Pekka Äänekoski was rather a challenge to him, and, unadmittedly, quite fun to be with; among all the non-exologist students that came to his classes he was the one to least passively take in everything, the one to give the most intelligent arguments and discussions. To his human teachers this behaviour appeared refractory: the Finn contradicted and questioned everything. Suvuk was not forcedby duty to teach those classes; to him, his non-scientific students were an excellent test area. Many new ideas had come from the innocent questions of some young technician or communications officer whom he was meant to divest of their prejudices before Starfleet turned them loose on the population of the universe. Most of them were brilliant, many enjoyed discussions; but Äänekoski was by far the best. He never turned personal or agressive; he calmly dissected Suvuk's theories until he understood them, to an enormous profit to all the other students. What he had gotten Äänekoski to accept even a drunken Ferengi would have understood. To every outsider, including Äänekoski, it must seem obvious that teacher and student couldn't stand each other.
Enough. Suvuk touched his com badge. "Nakamura-san?" The short fat Japanese professor answered. "Hai! Sensei!" Suvuk explained to him briefly how a paradigm from the Ancient Cardassian, or perhaps from the Karsid, would be much more appropriate within the present course of research than the Klingon one suggested by the professor, and signed off after listening to an appropriate portion of his Japanese thankfulness. He turned a corner. An amorphous mass of most diverse students was waiting in front of the locked classroom. He heard hurried steps behind him; someone came around the corner, running, and bumped against him. "Anteeksi", the newcomer said, quite matter of course now. "Teillä ei ole mitään kiirettä, Luutnantti; te ette voi mennä luentosaliin ilman minua. Teidän juostamisenne on siis epäloogista", the Vulcan admonished him.
"Of course; you have the access card. After you, Lieutenant", Jukka-Pekka Äänekoski conceded. He fell back a few steps and sauntered behind the Vulcan into the classroom.
He would never have dreamed of walking beside Suvuk, although he sometimes couldn't supress the hint that they both had the same military rank. He respected the difference in Suvuk, not the fact that he was faculty. Looking for human parallels, Suvuk himself had tought him, only made your work harder; an impartial judgement was the most basic tool in dealing with alien species. It was inappropriate to try and curry favours with the Vulcan, to pull him down to human standards. Suvuk could be neither friend nor foe, just somebody from whom and with whom he could learn. He had to keep reminding himself, but it had worked out quite well until now.
Yesterday evening, he ruminated while taking his seat in the second row, his opinion hadn't been that clear, though. One day that icy Vulcan would drive him to a frustrated temper tantrum. After having drunk two Klingon exchange students under the table, Äänekoski had sat at the bar for a long while, brooding. During the two and a half years he had enjoyed Suvuk's classes, the Vulcan had grown from a fascinating irritation to a secret problem. In an few months, when he finished his studies and was sent to a remote outpost as xenotechnician to repair everything alien that might turn up, he could simply forget about Suvuk; but until then, he needed to restrain himself.
It was the challenge itself that attracted him to Suvuk so much, the study of his alien-ness, the combination of Vulcan traditions and uniquely Suvukian traits. Of course he knew that Vulcans rarely made friends and that the affection of one of them was a special privilege, but Suvuk was extreme. Everyone trying to get closer he sent politely, almost imperceptibly, on their way. Cold as ice he repelled all friendliness, all attempts to include him, all traces of humour. Suvuk was like Lapland in winter: metres of snow, freezing cold covering all life, and above it glittered fascinatingly the unreachable aurora borealis. Not to react to this challenge as any ordinary human would was almost too much for Äänekoski's self control. And in his case, things were a bit different.
To him, Suvuk, with the mental challenge he constituted, and with his alien, serious, pointy-eared beauty, was indescribably attractive. When he just stood there as he did now, calmly drawing his diagrams on the display screen, then turning with catlike grace and the flawless poise so typical for Vulcans to draw his students into an discussion with a slight lift of his eyebrow, Äänekoski could have fallen in love with him on the spot. Of course he knew that such a reaction was most inappropriate; he could just as well try and catch a Klingon sabre-toothed dog with a butterfly net. But it was hard.
He knew that all Vulcans were incurably heterosexual. Every male Vulcan had to be married, or would die of pon farr. There was a drug by now that would neutralise that state, but Vulcans despised it, used it only in emergency situations when their cycle caught up with them in deep space, but then went home and mated. Every male Vulcan apart from Suvuk. Suvuk had not been back to his home planet for several decades and had lost Vulcan citizenship. There were wild rumours about the reason for this, all of them much less than credible. The only certain fact that could be known was that Suvuk would immediately and rigourously repel any pass made at him, no matter by what gender or species. Enough people had tried. Äänekoski did not plan to follow in their inglorious footstep, to make an undying fool out of himself, and to wantonly lose the cool, logical respect Suvuk seemed to display towards him.
Only a few more months, and it would be over. And yet, if he stood there like that....
"Lieutenant, did the Koskenkorva finally ruin your brain?", Suvuk now enquired with calm irony. "I asked you a question".
"No, it was Salmiakkikossu, to be precise. The theory you were referring to was developed by Daystrom himself and must be considered outdated. Since studying Cardassian computer configurations, at the latest, we have begun...."
And while rushing headlong into the discussion as he usually did, a small part at the hind section of his consciousness reported to him that he would miss Suvuk, despite the relief he would feel. This was worth all of it, supressing his feelings, suffering all those glorified belly cramps. He could always get thoroughly drunk from time to time, and have good cry in his quarters afterwards. That trick Suvuk had of presenting a commonplace conjecture for his students to attack in order to further their mental impartiality he had fathomed already during the first term. But why was this superior intellect that pathologically averse to any sort of affection?
In that precise moment, in a far corner of the universe, a Bajoran first officer talked with her Human commander about a message from Starfleeet Headquarters, Earth.
"O'Brien gets the technician he asked for, it says. If there's another person to see to damaged ships coming in from the Gamma quadrant, O'Brien might finally find the time to get all the replicators up and running. But, on the other hand, they plan on letting some sort of Vulcan top scientist come here, whom we have to 'give all available assistance in his research'. It says he is looking for the legendary species of - space going whales, of all things, thought to come from somewhere between the Gamma and the Delta quadrant. If that Federation highbrow thinks he could park himself on our station without doing anything useful for everybody, he will soon find out how wrong he is!"
"Calm yourself, Kira", Benjamin Sisko replied quietly. "You can't know how cooperative that Vulcan will be. I hope he will think it illogical to sit and look for whales while the station is falling down around us".