Stardate 2238.159
Vulcan, Vulcan Star System, Alpha Quadrant
"She requested asylum?"
"Yes, councilman."
"From us?"
"Evidently."
"And she managed to do this on her own?"
"It would seem so."
It had been a few days since Ravi's accidental communication, and she'd spent those few days trying to brush up on her Vulcan food vocabulary so that she wouldn't have to order plomeek broth for every meal. With the consistency of water and a vague flavour of some vegetable—most likely the plomeek—Ravi sometimes would rather starve herself than eat. By the third day, she'd managed to conjure herself a delicious fruity custard-like pie called prusah kisan, but had yet to decipher anything savoury that had any pleasant flavour to her Romulan tastebuds.
On the morning of the fourth day, while Ravi decided to power through and drink a bowl of incredibly bitter bertakk soup, a Vulcan she'd never seen before came to fetch her. She gladly set her spoon down and followed the man down the familiar corridors that led them to the assembly room of what she'd learned was the Vulcan High Council. All five men sat atop their podium looking especially displeased that day, faced with two beings wearing blue that seemed vaguely familiar to Ravi. They had smooth, rounded ears and their eyebrows arched around their eyes, unlike the Vulcans that sat before them. One of them turned as Ravi arrived and he smiled ever so slightly. It was one of the men whom she'd spoken to by accident a few days prior and, as promised, they were here to pick her up.
"Var-tor us, child," the centre Vulcan said in his language. "You contacted them?"
"Yes."
"On purpose?"
"Yes," Ravi lied.
The Vulcan councilmembers all rose an eyebrow almost simultaneously. One of the men stepped forward.
"Regardless of whether she contacted us by accident or on purpose, it stands that she has requested asylum on Earth with the United Federation of Planets," he said in Romulan. "To insist upon her presence here is a violation of her rights, and I'm sure that Vulcan has no intention of breaking one of the Federation's most important laws."
"No," one of the Vulcans said flatly. "We do not."
"Good. Then Lieutenant Toralis here will go over the details with you while I collect the child's personal belongings and take her to my ship."
"You'll find, zhel-lan," the centre Vulcan began, sounding almost bored, "that the child does not have any belongings but a piece of crystal she carries everywhere."
The commander seemed to glare at the Vulcans before turning around and leading Ravi out the door. They were escorted to Ravi's quarters by the same Vulcan who'd brought her in and he waited in the corner of the room as she awkwardly stood in the room. She looked over at the desk, the bed and the plants before sighing and walking back to the door.
"You really don't have anything," the commander stated, a little shocked. Ravi shook her head. "Your mother wanted a better life for you but didn't let you have a few keepsakes?"
"All she gave me was a bag with a PADD that the Vulcans took and this."
From her pocket, she pulled out a small piece of dilithium crystal.
"I used to live near the mines on Remus," Ravi explained. "I think she meant to give this to me so that I could remember her, but all I can think about when I look at it is my father."
"Your mother was a slave in the mines?" Ravi nodded. "And you miss the man who put her there?"
"He was my father," the girl said softly. "No matter what he did, he loved and cared for me. I know he wasn't the best of men, but I never went hungry. And when I was sick he always made sure I got the best medicines. He even ordered special sweets for me once in a while."
The commander looked at Ravi, conflicted. On one hand, there was a vulnerable child here, stuck on a planet with a species that had an almost genetic predisposition to hating her. But on the other, there was the daughter of an enemy tyrant, a man who inflicted pain upon others and taught his child to be numb to it.
"Are you going to leave me here?"
The question had caught the commander off-guard. It was quiet and sad, almost pleading, sounding nothing like any Vulcan or Romulan he'd ever met.
"Of course not," he said. "You asked for our help."
He held out his hand to Ravi and she took it, allowing herself to be led out of her fancy prison cell and down to a room with several transporter pads. Moments after stepping onto the pad, the metallic chime of the transporter rang in Ravi's ears and, for a split second during transport, she felt her body both on Vulcan and her final destination.
USS Lovelace, Vulcan Star System, Alpha Quadrant
The room was bright, but unlike Vulcan, there was no heat to it. For the first time in days, Ravi wasn't close to overheating. She gazed around shyly as the commander pulled her forward, and watched as several people of the same species looked at her in what seemed like surprise. On her way to the ship's medical bay, they continued to stare at her, and some of them were even of different species. There was a blue man with antennae walking around, seemingly in a hurry, and another with no colour to the face or eyes. A few of the women walking past stopped to whisper to each other, and when Ravi looked at them, they all smiled excitedly. As they were about to enter the medical bay, one of the women even waved at her. When Ravi returned the gesture, she giggled.
"Are the women of your kind amused by my people?" Ravi asked as the commander led her to the examination table.
"Why do you ask?"
"They keep smiling and giggling when I wave at them."
"Oh, that," the commander chuckled. "Most of them have never seen a Vulcan with any sort of emotion. They're intrigued and, since you're young, I think they find it... I'm sorry, I don't think there's a Romulan word for that."
"What's the closest word?"
"Attractive... but in a diminutive and childlike way."
"Oh, you mean cute," Ravi realised. The doctor came over to her and began his scans. "It's the same in Vulcan."
"Petakov?" Ravi nodded. "I thought you didn't speak Vulcan."
"I don't. But the languages are similar enough that I can make out what people are saying most of the time. The biggest differences are in grammar, verbs and technical terms." Ravi giggled quietly. "Vulcans also don't understand our insults."
"You've been calling the Vulcans names?"
"Maybe a little."
The commander sighed and smiled. The doctor's tricorder beeped a few times, but she reassured Ravi that it was normal for someone of her species.
"You know, I can't believe I came lightyears to pick you up, but I never asked your name," the commander said after a moment.
"Ravi."
"Just Ravi?" The girl nodded. "Well, "just Ravi", my name's Elias. Elias Lemaire."
He held out his hand to her and she stared at it, confused. Elias chuckled a little bit then took her hand and shook it once.
"It's a common Earth greeting."
"Earth?" Ravi questioned. She examined Elias' face then the doctors. "So this is what humans look like."
"You didn't even know I was human?" Elias asked. "Wow, guess you really didn't give us a call on purpose."
"I've heard of your people and all that have come into contact with Romulans, but the computers on Remus are old and out of date. There weren't any pictures to go with each species and the only physical description that came with Humans was that you were Humanoid. I think I know more about Klingons than I do Humans."
"Oh yeah? D'you know any Klingon? My Romulan's pretty good, but I can't say a damn thing in Klingon."
Ravi frowned and pursed her lips for a moment.
"Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!"
"What's that mean?"
"Today is a good day to die," Ravi said. She scratched her cheek, pensive. "I think."
"What lovely people," the doctor said sarcastically.
"They're something, that's for sure," Elias chuckled.
"Commander Lemaire... I have a question."
The doctor made Ravi stand so that she could take her measurements.
"You're probably wondering what happens next, huh?" Ravi nodded and stepped onto a scale. "Well, it's up to you, really. The Federation has given me a few options to offer you."
"They're not going to make the decision for me?"
"Well, the Vulcans said so themselves in their medical report—you're Vulcan enough that you've got the brains to make decisions on your own even though, by our standards, you're years away from making any sort of decision."
Somehow, that statement irked Ravi.
"What're my options then?"
"Well, you can remain bound to the medical facilities here and stay on this ship for the rest of your life, for one. You can also be bound to medical facilities on Earth. Starfleet and the Federation have never gotten their hands on a Romulan so young before," Elias said. "They'd probably be using you as research material for a year or two and then you'd be bound to the facility as a ward of the state."
"That doesn't sound like fun," Ravi said, pulling a face.
"Yeah, I don't recommend that either. Your other option is to go through what every other parentless child goes through on Earth. For a while, you become a ward of the state—without research, don't worry—and eventually, a family out there will ask you to come live with them either temporarily or permanently."
"You mean... get adopted?"
Elias nodded. Ravi's playful smile vanished in an instant.
"Who's going to want to adopt a Romulan who still wants her father?"
"Plenty of people," the doctor said kindly. "There was a Nausicaan adopted a few years ago by a Human family. They all live quite peacefully in South Africa."
"Hell, if someone'll adopt a Nausicaan, they're sure to adopt you," Elias said with a chuckle.
"Well... I do smell better than a Nausicaan."
Elias and the doctor both laughed, which put a small smile back on Ravi's face.
It was a few more moments before the doctor was done with her scans, and when she finished, Elias led her through the ship and to some quarters. The halls were bright and white, with glowing wires peeking out from some of the perforated metal accents that matched the colours of the uniforms the people walking around were wearing. A group of red-clad people rushed past her and Elias, yelling something about plasma conductors, and Ravi watched amused as a yellow-clad individual's romantic advances got rejected by a woman in blue.
"All right, here we go," Elias said, entering a code into a nearby door. Unlike on Vulcan, the hallway didn't look like it belonged in a prison. "I've put a code on your door so no one can come in without authorisation. But don't worry, you can wander around the ship all you want. Come."
Elias led her inside the quarters. They were quite spacious—at least they were for a toddler-sized being—and bright, however, they weren't as blinding as the hallways just outside. And while plain, they didn't have the drabness of the room she stayed in on Vulcan. The walls were grey, as were the floors, but the blankets and pillows were a deep, rich blue colour, and a delightfully sparkly floral centrepiece on the coffee table brought in some oranges and reds.
"I took the liberty of having someone program Romulan into our language database for this computer," Elias said, sitting down at the desk in the corner of the room. "There's also a language learning program for you to use so you can learn any language Starfleet has in its database. But, until you learn English, everything in this room's been programmed to respond to Romulan commands. You might have to look up some English words for some better food options than plomeek broth, though."
"What's your favourite food?" Ravi asked, excited.
"Well, I'm very fond of something called carbonnade flamande," Elias said. "Translates to Flemish Stew. Are Romulans vegetarian?"
"No, we don't limit our foods like Vulcans. I even eat with my hands."
"All right," Elias chuckled. "And if you want a dessert, you can't go wrong with lemon meringue pie."
"Lemon me... ringue pie?"
"That's it, you got it."
Elias stood and went to leave.
"Uh, Commander..."
"Yeah?"
"This may sound like a strange request but... is there a way to replicate paint that lasts a while even when washed?"
"I can have someone come program the parameters into the replicator, yes. Why?"
"It's a... ceremonial thing."
The commander looked at Ravi curiously for a moment before nodding without saying anything. He knew that Romulans were extremely secretive about themselves, especially their customs. By the look in Ravi's eyes, he could tell that she was no different even if she was half-Vulcan. There was a fearful gleam in her eyes and the way she clutched at the crystal in her hand told him that it was hard to even mention having customs at all. The Romulans were known for their deviousness and military intelligence, not their rituals or beliefs.
"You got it, kid."
A few hours later, the USS Lovelace was lightyears away from Vulcan and the patterns for the paint and candles Ravi had asked for had been inputted into the replicator much to her amazement, as the replicators on Remus could only synthesise food.
Ravi enjoyed this stew that Commander Lemaire had mentioned, finding it far more flavourful than the plomeek broth she'd been having on Vulcan. Then moved on to the pie he spoke of, which was good, but Ravi missed the tartness of the osol twists her father used to get for her.
For a while, Ravi just stared at the stars flying past the window, and she wondered just how far she was from home. To satisfy her curiosity, she asked the computer, but the answer only made her more gloomy. However, upon realising just how gloomy she was, Ravi listened to the words of her father. She went over to the replicator and asked for three candles and a small container of long-lasting black paint. If the replicator technician was right, the paint would last between one and two weeks—just enough time for the Lovelace to complete their mission and return to Earth.
Ravi asked the computer to ignore the fire hazard of her candles and lit them, placing them on the ground in a triangular formation. She got to her knees in the middle of them and let out a long sigh before dipping her fingers into the paint. As she brought the paint to her face, Ravi began reciting the traditional lament. While not physically dead, Beldan had been lost, and Ravi needed to grieve. So, with each verse, Ravi painted a stylised line on her face, contouring the natural curves of her face. As she recited the lament, she traced her cheekbones and her chin, then dipped her fingers in the paint again and painted over her eyebrows and on her forehead until, a few minutes later, her entire face had been painted in the traditional stripes of mourning.