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The Trek
(One Day Later)
Mestral was right; English was a primitive language with basic syntax, so primitive in fact, all the Vulcans needed was a few hours to become fluent. Nonetheless, they struggled with understanding the human desire to saturate their language with idioms, metaphors, and other forms of figurative speech.
To the Vulcans, such things got in the way of effective communication and confused them.
A bigger concern was dealing with human emotions; Vulcans always had difficulty reading the subtle emotions in other species and thereby limited their interactions so to avoid uncomfortable situations.
Surely, they would not be able to do that here.
For such emotionally liberated creatures, it stood to reason they would regard those without or suppressing emotions as suspicious.
They would have to adapt as the situation warrants it.
The three Vulcans decided it would be better to enter the city at night, as it presented the best chance to survey the city without detection.
Stronn and Mestral spent most of the day after learning English hiding the damage ship the best they could.
T'Mir packed their supplies.
(One Hour Later)
With the sun setting behind them, the Vulcans began their trek into the forest.
None knew what awaited them.
During the war, many of the larger cities were destroyed and most of the population lived in smaller cities or rural areas.
Similar physical features and knowledge of English were only hopes the Vulcans had of blending in with the humans.
As they moved deeper into the forest, the Vulcans kept close together as Mestral guided them.
Keeping silent they listened to the sounds of the forest birds chirping, the large trees bristling softly in the wind, and the sound of leaves crunching underneath their feet. The myriad of sounds provided the Vulcans a sense of relief. When the sun finally disappeared behind the clouds, darkness covered the forest and the chirping of the birds ceased. Always uncomfortable with long periods of silence, Mestral spoke, "What will we do when we get there?"
Nearly stumbling over a rotten log, T'Mir regains her balance, "We will survey the city first."
"Before going into the city we should do a brief observation from a distance. Remember, they did emerge from a war and could be under some form of martial law..."
"Yes, I understand," T'Mir interrupted.
Being older, Stronn had to pick up the pace to keep up and as he did so, he lost his footing and plummeted down a steep incline.
"Stronn!" T'Mir called after the fallen Vulcan.
Mestral's eyes vigilantly examine the area in search of Stronn.
Moments later, a flicker of fame catches a glimpse of Stronn's body lying at the bottom of the incline.
"I see him." Mestral handed T'Mir the torch as he carefully maneuvered down the hill.
Laying perch between two rocks, Stronn's body gave no signs of life and both Mestral and T'Mir believed their crewmate was dead.
"Stronn are you alright? Stronn," Mestral leaned in closer to the injured Vulcan.
Suddenly, Stronn moans and lifts up his head.
Thankfully, he is alive, but the fall comes with a heavy price, his right leg is broken and hemorrhages a small river of green blood.
Noticing how badly injured is he is, Stronn quickly offers a solution, "The two of you must go into the city. It's logical to leave me here."
Mestral says nothing and looks at T'Mir who by now has made her way down the incline.
All three understood the logic in leaving behind Stronn; he would slow them down and even attract unwanted attention from the humans.
However, logic only provided so much clarity to a situation.
No doubt leaving Stronn behind ensured he would die a slow and painful death.
In this moment, T'Mir found herself facing a difficult decision, leave Stronn behind or take him and risk possible detection?
Contamination, Tolarius instructed T'Mir to avoid it at all cost.
Contamination, T'Mir understood the importance of such a concept. Nearly every aspect of species (pre-warp or not) interaction was govern by it and in the past, Vulcan commanders who found themselves in similar predicaments were force to make hard decisions.
So what would she do?
Did logic demand leaving a Vulcan to die alone in agony?
What would Tolarius do?
So deep in thought, T'Mir didn't notice Mestral had already made up his mind; he would not leave Stronn to die on alien world.
Using a dagger he always carried with him, a gift from his father, Mestral cut branches off a nearby tree to prepare a cast.
"T'Mir, I need you to bind his leg to stop the bleeding. Use your undershirt as a bandage," Mestral ordered, "I will make a cast to keep his leg immobilized."
T'Mir hesitated, "We can't take him with us. He will slow us down."
Mestral could feel his agitation give way to anger, he took several deep breaths before responding, "We can bind his leg. Death is illogical when it can be avoided."
"Our risk for detection will increase if he with us. Tolarius ordered me to prevent contamination at all costs," T'Mir said.
Stronn said nothing. He focused his energies on suppressing the pain through silent mediation.
"Tolarius is dead, "Mestral countered.
"I am aware of that," T'Mir answered.
"I am not going to leave a man here to die just because of your 'fear' of contamination," Mestral no longer cared about the sharp inflection in his voice.
"The needs of many are more important than the needs of few," T'Mir retorted using the famous saying of Surak, the father of Vulcan logic.
With the inflection in his voice now more noticeable, Mestral countered, "With all due respect, Surak isn't here either, and Stronn's needs are the same as ours."
"Mestral, you are allowing your emotions to override reason," T'Mir could sense her own emotions dangerously coming close to the surface.
Mestral stepped back, took off his top shirt, leaned over Stronn, and began binding his leg.
Stronn said nothing as he kept his eyes down to avoid T'Mir's.
After a few minutes, Mestral, sure he had bind the leg tight enough to stop the bleeding, stood up, "Logic is important, I know this, but logic should never override…..our…..compassion."
The mouths of the two other Vulcans dropped, only slightly, but as Vulcans it was noticeable expression.
"Compassion is an emotional response," T'Mir found the words hard to say.
Mestral nodded his head, "If we are to survive we can't just depend on logic alone. Now, help me make a cast for his leg."
(Two Hours Later)
The accident set back the Vulcans plans to enter the city at night and now dawn was fast approaching.
Stronn had to be supported by both Mestral and T'Mir as they trek through the forest.
With promise of sunlight returning, the birds resumed their cheerful chirping, secretly reassuring the Vulcans.
Mestral had no regrets about his actions, T'Mir was wrong, he knew it, and she knew it.
A sense of dread threatened to overwhelm T'Mir; Mestral was defiant and highly emotional (for a Vulcan) and made it clear he did not intend to blindly follow her orders.
Reporting his actions to the High Command seemed tempting at first, however, T'Mir upon further analysis dismissed the idea. Mestral's own family members sat on the High Command and reporting him would make it harder for her.
This fact along with the strain of carrying Stronn combined with hunger, exhaustion, and stress began to wear on her emotions.
Emotions triggered by Mestral's increasing insubordination and the pressure she faced as commander.
Did the fact he came from a noble family made Mestral more hesitant to obey her orders?
She shook her head.
Stronn's body was heavy.
She was hungry.
She needed to sleep.
And for whatever reason she found herself obsessing over preventing contamination.
Was it Mestral or her?
"Must regain emotional control," She thought to herself.
They stopped.
Mestral pointed towards the distance, "The city."
Laying Stronn down on a nearby rock, T'Mir caught her breath.
"The sun will rise in just a few hours. We need to get into the city."
Stronn looked at his leg, green blood soaked through the bandages.
"We must change my bandages first," Stronn pointed at his leg. "You can hide me in an abandon building as you survey the city."
T'Mir took off an undershirt and began ripping it into long strips.
She removed the old bandages and replaced them.
The Vulcans were tired.
"Carbon Creek," Mestral spoke unexpectedly.
"What?" T'Mir asked.
"The name of the city is Carbon Creek," Mestral answered pointing to the tall building in the distance with the name of the city scrawled across it.
"Fascinating," Stronn responded as T'Mir finished binding his leg.
AN: I hope you like so far. If you like the story, please submit payment in form of a review! Thanks.