Chapter 3 – If You Can't Beat 'Em, Join 'Em
Amanda sat in her new quarters at the Vulcan Embassy waiting patiently for Mitch to answer her call. Quietly the view screen flickered and his face appeared.
"Mandy! How are you – actually, a better question – where are you?" he asked, confused. "The ident says 'undefined'."
She looked at him for a moment, thinking carefully about how she would gather the information she needed without breaking protocol.
"Are you ok, Amanda?"
"I am, Mitch. Listen, I need some advice, but I need to be able to not answer some questions, if necessary."
He regarded her thoughtfully, and then understanding spread across his face..
"Gotcha. Ask away."
"So you have worked with a Vulcan diplomatic attaché in the past?"
"Correct."
"How long was your assignment," she continued.
"Three months, give or take a couple of days."
"In that time, did you identify idiosyncrasies that you found to be unique to the Vulcan cultural idiom?"
"Amanda, what are you asking me?" he smiled at her.
"Dammit Mitch, did they ever do things that just offended you?" she fumed.
Mitch laughed heartily.
"Now we get to it. A complicated question deserves a complete answer," he answered. "I found Vulcans to be paradoxical, hypocritical, and condescending. They're frustrating, pedantic, and can be so abrupt it is off-putting.
"You'll rarely be on the winning side of a debate with them, I have never seen any species embrace technicalities with such poorly masked delight. They live for semantics - " he trailed off as she interrupted.
"But how do you really feel?"
"Actually, I am just getting started, but let me explain myself, because this neither answers you completely, nor describes them fairly. The Vulcan paradox lies in their perpetual struggle to master emotional responses to stimuli. Believe it or not, they don't employ logic and reasoning simply to be an annoyance. It is the foundation of their very being.
"You've got to remember that the change from violent emotional response to calm and logic only happened about 5,000 years ago. Vulcans master emotions so they themselves will not be mastered by them. Their history is fraught with violence and death. They saw the philosophies of logic as the only way to survive as a species."
"I get that, Mitch, but logic is one thing. Etiquette is another. I don't see reasonable excuse here," she replied.
"Did someone step on your toes?"
"No, that I could've handled easily. This one assumed me Q'omi, and all but said it."
Mitch had seen this look before, and was glad he was not on the receiving end of it.
"Ah. Did you address that? You need to straight away."
"I think I was fairly clear about it, yes," she answered, eyes twinkling.
"Poor guy. He is probably trying to figure out where he went wrong, and likely had no idea his actions would cause offense. They'll worry things to death until they understand."
"So they do have feelings? I thought they purged them – isn't part of their philosophy?"
"For some, yes. The Masters of Gol practice the art of Kohlinar. But the vast majority work to keep those emotions in check. Look, I really don't think they realize the hypocrisy. Think of it as an introspective myopathy. I trained my mind to recognize it as a reminder that they're not perfect. They're brilliant, and have worked long and hard to cultivate a stronger understanding of the universe around them."
Glancing aside, Amanda thought carefully about her next words.
"Ok, I get that, but it is no excuse for social courtesy. They expect it from us, so why won't they grant it?" she asked.
"Was it several, or one?"
"One."
"May I be blunt, Amanda?"
"Always."
"You're not giving them the benefit of the doubt. They have not had the chance to share who they are with you, and they are trying, albeit in an annoying and relatively condescending manner.
She felt anger flush through her face.
"Mitchell, you were not there for this meeting. It was unreal," she sighed, irritated at the memories.
"No, I wasn't, you're right. But let me see if I can guess how it was: you were instructed, not invited, to sit?"
She nodded in agreement.
"Then you were questioned about your preparations – accuracy, completion, ability to follow instructions?"
Again she nodded.
"You left the meeting with an odd aftertaste of being chastised by a pedantic and overbearing style?"
"So you got the same thing?" she asked, starting to smile.
"Yep. We all do. My best advice is to set very firm boundaries. Define even the smallest clearly. Do your very best to keep every commitment. Think of logical approaches when you problem solve, and in debriefings, discuss why you used those or not.
"Most importantly, give them a break. The not perfect – they're Vulcan. They are flawed just like we are. In fact, if you'll allow yourself a moment to see them, you will realize that we have much more in common as species than you might think. They are wary, and they should be."
Amanda nodded understandingly.
"It's stressful, you know? I walked out of that room in a dead sweat after that was over."
"You know how much I like Edgar Allen Poe, right?" he asked.
She nodded.
"He once said the best things in life make you sweaty."
Her door chime rang softly in the background. Turning back to the view screen, she smiled.
"Thanks for letting me bitch and moan. I needed the advice."
Walking to her door, she took comfort in knowing it wasn't just her. She found T'lyra standing silently.
"Amada," she said bowing in greeting. "I have compiled an instructional chip for you, containing relevant information regarding social etiquette and customs in family and work groups. This is my first assignment to Earth, and I have found the complexities of social engagement with your species to be rather fascinating."
"Nemaiyo, T'Lyra, this is most helpful. The last thing I want to do is offend my way right out of the program," she smiled, taking the chip.
"You will forgive my speculation, but I do not believe you would be summarily dismissed for misunderstanding. You are, after all, not Q'omi."
Silently, she bowed and departed. Amanda stood and watched her disappear around a corner. Looking at the chip, she checked her chronometer and decided to avail herself of the remaining 15 minutes before dinner.
Sitting in front of her computer, she began to read the information T'Lyra had compiled and in the back of her mind, Ralph Waldo Emerson began to surface:
The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived.
As she continued to read, her comm-unit chimed with an incoming transmission. It was Mitch.
"Hey, one more thing… I was reading Baudelaire today, and came across something that applies to our conversation:
You have to always be drunk. That's all there is to it – it's the only way, so as not to feel horrible burden of time that breaks your back and bends you to the Earth you have to continually drunk. But on what? Wine, poetry, or virtue as you wish. But be drunk.
"So whatever you're going to do or feel or think, immerse yourself, Mand. If I am going to be a friend, then I need to be honest. I envy your opportunity. Just take this risk. Vulcans are unerringly detailed, and while that can be annoying, they seek the infinite beauty in the details.
"Thy can be pedantic and overtly instructional because the risk they took to make first contact with us – becoming inexorably involved with us – well, I think it may have actually frightened them; but in a good way. Their solution for controlling emotions is so opposed to ours, it's not logical that is should be successful, but it is.
"We embrace our emotions, even celebrate them, and at the end of the day, each species has relative success. It presents a big challenge to their way of thinking. To make matters worse, they know that neither is completely right or completely wrong. The universe isn't nearly as black and white as people want it to be. There are many shades of grey, and I think that is unnerving for them.
"Anyway, I hope that helps. Let me know if you need anything."
She stood, switched of the unit, and thought about his advice. An alarm softly chimed, alerting her to dinner.
Making her way to the dining hall, the sound of activity grew, and she became aware of many more people than she originally realized would be there. Rounding the corner toward the growing noise of activity and conversation, she came to a stop and surveyed the group.
They stopped talking and observed her, the new human addition to the Vulcan delegation. Soran and T'Lyra approached her, sharing physical contact she had never seen: two fingers paired together. Soran spoke first.
"End-meal will commence in four point seven minutes. Your place is here," he said indicating a seat.
She thanked him and sat quietly, as the watching slowly returned to their pre-meal business. The women quieted themselves and sat as a deep cymbal rang out. Service staff brought out trays of food, placing them on the tables.
Each male prepared a plate for the female to his right, placed it in front of her, and whispered quietly an oath of gratitude.
Amanda listened quietly as Soran did the same for T'Lyra. As he spoke, she translated internally.
"My wife, my cherished T'hy'la, I am grateful for the life Thee has granted me."
She nodded, and the then prepared his on meal and sat to join her.
Amanda served her own plate, choosing as much culinary familiarity as she could. She became aware that the others were watching curiously. She wondered if they knew what subtlety was, and decided to leave well enough alone.
All in attendance ate in silence. As she explored some knew foods, including a sauté of onions and something similar to yellow squash, she had the feeling she was being carefully observed. Casually she glanced around, pausing at different pieces of artwork, some she recognized, some she didn't.
Then she glanced toward the head of the table where he sat, eating alone. Her glance lingered only a nanosecond too long when his eyes met hers. But this time, they were not harsh and scrutinizing; they were soft and kind.
Amanda looked back down to her plate and wondered whether she had made a terrible mistake.
