Back on the Bridge, Captain Archer and the senior officers (minus T'Pol of
course) were in the situation room.
"So, we haven't picked up any signs of a ship? Just a Vulcan distress beacon?" Travis asked."
"Yeah, but somethin' musta happened. I mean, Vulcans don't usually like askin' for help." Trip interjected.
"Where's the Sub Commander? Isn't this her area of expertise, seeing as it's her people, afterall?" Malcolm asked quietly.
Archer chose his next words carefully. If he told him that T'Pol had turned green on duty and was obviously disturbed, Malcolm would think he was crazy. Maybe I am crazy, the captain thought. T'Pol is the single most disciplined person I know. Even in this kind of situation, she always keeps her head.
"She's not feeling very well." Archer answered.
Trip nearly snorted. 'Not feeling well' was an understatement. If T'Pol simply wasn't feeling well, nobody would have noticed. He briefly entertained the idea of trying to help her out. Then he remembered that time he had tried advising her on her marriage plans, and immediately thought better of it.
Meanwhile, in her quarters, T'Pol was definitely not feeling better. She had been trying to calm her thoughts for meditation for 20 minutes without success. However, she was sure of one thing: that growing emotion was dread.
Flashback She was 10 years old, still living with her parents on the southern hemisphere of Vulcan. Familiar smells overwhelmed her; Plomeek broth, baking bread, fresh clean water, as well as her mother's unique scent. ~ "T'Pol, go tell Emris to come to the table."~ Her mother said. She was a small woman, just slightly taller than T'Pol, with the same dark eyes. Her light hair was still glossy and full; any non-Vulcan would think she was in her 30's. T'Pol walked through the familiar passages of dark stone, savoring the warm, dry feeling of the air as she moved. She turned into a room on the right and beheld a young Vulcan male. Emris was 24 to T'pol's 10, sharing her eyes, skin tone and hair. He was tall, broad shouldered and covered in sinewy muscle; in other words, physically attractive in every way.
~"It is time for the meal."~ She told him. He looked up from his PADD and gave her a tiny smile. It had always astonished T'Pol that he would do that. If their parents knew, he would be severely reprimanded and sent to the nearest temple to undergo Kohlinar. She had always been uneasy when he smiled; it was something no one else did. But it never failed to give her a warm glow to know that he only smiled at her. Their affection ran deep; deeper than in most relationships. Though he was fourteen years older and studying to become a physician, he always found time to converse and debate with her, ask her about her own studies, her own ambitions. In fact, it was he who finally made up her mind when she considered putting aside a normal life for a career. She remembered that conversation well.
~"I am uncertain."~
~"Why?"~
~"Beacause it is not the usual path for women. I do not want to look back on my life and be dissatisfied."~
The conversation paused. T'Pol looked at Emris curiously as she appeared to be struggling with himself.
~"Dearest sister, do you know what your name means?"~
She had faltered. On Vulcan, names were very important. It was said that one's name determined their path in life. Such knowledge was kept from individuals until they chose a profession. Only then was it revealed to them. Sometimes names and the decisions didn't match, and those individuals often spent years trying to decide which to follow.
~"No." ~
~"It means 'woman of the stars, who is not daunted by the unknown."~
She had made up her mind then and there, and enlisted in the Vulcan Space Program the following morning.
End Flashback
T'Pol opened her eyes, uncomfortably aware of the cool air, human smells, and tiny cabin that served as her quarters. She was engulfed in a sense of longing; longing for her home, her people, and especially her family. She glanced at the chronometer above the bed. It had been 92 minutes since she had left the bridge. No one had raised her on the comm. to inform her of any findings, which logically led to the assumption that there were no findings. Any and all shreds of hope disintegrated. He is dead, she thought. Slowly, as if moving against a strong wind, she went to the closet and pulled out a tiny box. All Vulcans carried identical boxes when away from home. It was previously untouched and covered with a thin film of dust. Carefully, she opened it and pulled out a single dark green ribbon. Reverntly, she tied it around her left wrist, and left her quarters.
Nevermind that she was still unsettled and had failed to meditate. She had a job to do, and there was nothing she could do for Emris now.
"So, we haven't picked up any signs of a ship? Just a Vulcan distress beacon?" Travis asked."
"Yeah, but somethin' musta happened. I mean, Vulcans don't usually like askin' for help." Trip interjected.
"Where's the Sub Commander? Isn't this her area of expertise, seeing as it's her people, afterall?" Malcolm asked quietly.
Archer chose his next words carefully. If he told him that T'Pol had turned green on duty and was obviously disturbed, Malcolm would think he was crazy. Maybe I am crazy, the captain thought. T'Pol is the single most disciplined person I know. Even in this kind of situation, she always keeps her head.
"She's not feeling very well." Archer answered.
Trip nearly snorted. 'Not feeling well' was an understatement. If T'Pol simply wasn't feeling well, nobody would have noticed. He briefly entertained the idea of trying to help her out. Then he remembered that time he had tried advising her on her marriage plans, and immediately thought better of it.
Meanwhile, in her quarters, T'Pol was definitely not feeling better. She had been trying to calm her thoughts for meditation for 20 minutes without success. However, she was sure of one thing: that growing emotion was dread.
Flashback She was 10 years old, still living with her parents on the southern hemisphere of Vulcan. Familiar smells overwhelmed her; Plomeek broth, baking bread, fresh clean water, as well as her mother's unique scent. ~ "T'Pol, go tell Emris to come to the table."~ Her mother said. She was a small woman, just slightly taller than T'Pol, with the same dark eyes. Her light hair was still glossy and full; any non-Vulcan would think she was in her 30's. T'Pol walked through the familiar passages of dark stone, savoring the warm, dry feeling of the air as she moved. She turned into a room on the right and beheld a young Vulcan male. Emris was 24 to T'pol's 10, sharing her eyes, skin tone and hair. He was tall, broad shouldered and covered in sinewy muscle; in other words, physically attractive in every way.
~"It is time for the meal."~ She told him. He looked up from his PADD and gave her a tiny smile. It had always astonished T'Pol that he would do that. If their parents knew, he would be severely reprimanded and sent to the nearest temple to undergo Kohlinar. She had always been uneasy when he smiled; it was something no one else did. But it never failed to give her a warm glow to know that he only smiled at her. Their affection ran deep; deeper than in most relationships. Though he was fourteen years older and studying to become a physician, he always found time to converse and debate with her, ask her about her own studies, her own ambitions. In fact, it was he who finally made up her mind when she considered putting aside a normal life for a career. She remembered that conversation well.
~"I am uncertain."~
~"Why?"~
~"Beacause it is not the usual path for women. I do not want to look back on my life and be dissatisfied."~
The conversation paused. T'Pol looked at Emris curiously as she appeared to be struggling with himself.
~"Dearest sister, do you know what your name means?"~
She had faltered. On Vulcan, names were very important. It was said that one's name determined their path in life. Such knowledge was kept from individuals until they chose a profession. Only then was it revealed to them. Sometimes names and the decisions didn't match, and those individuals often spent years trying to decide which to follow.
~"No." ~
~"It means 'woman of the stars, who is not daunted by the unknown."~
She had made up her mind then and there, and enlisted in the Vulcan Space Program the following morning.
End Flashback
T'Pol opened her eyes, uncomfortably aware of the cool air, human smells, and tiny cabin that served as her quarters. She was engulfed in a sense of longing; longing for her home, her people, and especially her family. She glanced at the chronometer above the bed. It had been 92 minutes since she had left the bridge. No one had raised her on the comm. to inform her of any findings, which logically led to the assumption that there were no findings. Any and all shreds of hope disintegrated. He is dead, she thought. Slowly, as if moving against a strong wind, she went to the closet and pulled out a tiny box. All Vulcans carried identical boxes when away from home. It was previously untouched and covered with a thin film of dust. Carefully, she opened it and pulled out a single dark green ribbon. Reverntly, she tied it around her left wrist, and left her quarters.
Nevermind that she was still unsettled and had failed to meditate. She had a job to do, and there was nothing she could do for Emris now.