Travis maneouvered the ship out of the asteroid belt as quickly as he dared. The Captain was breathing down his neck again – this time, with good reason. They all looked in rough shape. No one had spoken of it, but by their agitated demeanor, Travis guessed the plan had not been executed so simply.
"T'Pol." the Captain barked, "you have the Bridge. I'm going to see if we got what we needed this time."
She accepted without a word.
X X X
Hoshi and Malcolm sat facing each other in his dimly lit quarters. Their faces were inches apart, knees barely touching.
"Harris wants us to carry out the plan as soon as possible."
Neither of them held any expression on their face.
"It's ready." Hoshi said, handing him a PADD.
Malcolm scorlled through it, it's screen illuminating his face. He nodded in grim appreciation.
X X X
T'Pol approached the double doors of the medical office, but she slowed when she heard the sound of music – a 12-string baliset, played with the utmost care.
The sickbay held two patients, both which were intrinsically both aware and unaware of the other's consciousness.
T'Mir held a steady lyrical rhythm on the baliset, strumming and tapping with her thumb to give a soul-wrenching earthy tone. Then she began to sing in time, releasing a prowess Trip never knew could exist in the Vulcan existence.
Zup-tor vu akarshif fi'aifa mazhiv
T'Ish hokni'es kwi'shoret
Kling akhlami buhfik
Nam-tor wak yon svi'if yontau au.
Dungi tu sahrafel?
I terrupik khaf,
I Vuhlkan khaf
fasei setebihk t'ovsotuhl-ozhika
Tusa na'kusut heh kali-tor na'rishan
ulidar t'falek, t'yon mazhiv
Nam-tor wak yon svi'if yontau au.
Pthak svi'zherka
Kup-fai-tor
spes t'shaula eh t'utan'es - spes t'ozhika
Ri nam-tor Nam rik'au.
kusut vel t'kashek, Kup-putash-tor
Ish-veh ni komihn
Dungi tu sahrafel?
Ki'nam-tor heh kwon-sum dungau t'hai'la t'du.
Nam-tor wak yon svi'if yontau au.
Dungi tu sahrafel?
Her strumming became louder, and faster, but the tune stayed sombre.
You have laboured long upon these sands.
A consciousness calling you from space.
Not one of us is perfect.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Would you trust me,
One of Human blood?
One of Vulcan blood?
A symbol of logic.
Weep for pain, fight for survival.
The mark of heat.
The scar of burning sand.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Fear amongst emotions
I am able to know
The voice of reason, compassion – the voice of logic
Unable to exist without
Pain, thing of the mind,
Can be controlled in one so human
Would you trust me?
I have and always shall be your friend.
Time is the fire in which we burn.
Would you trust me?
As the last chord died away, she lifted her head. Their eyes met, and he knew the song was meant for him. T'Pol stood where she had stopped in the hall just beyond the doors, a facade of calm gently covering the racing pulse and crippling nerve impulses that ran through her body.
