A soft warble pulled Juliette awake. Why did the flanarian birds squabble so much at night? She pushed her awareness toward them, to shoo them away.
But she felt no birds in the darkness. Only a voice. "Do not do that."
Juliette's eyes snapped open. A Vulcan's face hovered above her, illuminated in lapis by the shimmer of a warbling scanner gliding across the curve of that rotten helmet. But wasn't that supposed to be on my head? This must be a dream. Both face and helmet floated in the darkness - planets orbiting a small star. Which Vulcan was it? P'nem. Studying her helmet, with an expression that gave little of her mood. Was she curious? Amused?
P'nem gaze flicked over the helmet to Juliette as the scanner slid into a pocket, its glow muted by the robe, then extinguished. Darkness, until a word from P'nem brought dim light. Juliette rested on a quilted mat on the floor in a naked box of a room, under featherlight sheets.
Why hadn't she felt P'nem?
"You are in our home," P'nem said, as if that was explanation enough. Juliette wanted to reach out, find Mother, Papa, anyone. But the P'nem's words had not been a request.
"My family," the question rose gravelly from her throat.
"Your family are not here. Their emotions were hurting you, and you were hurting everyone around you. Your feedback is formidable."
Juliette felt the echoes of Lara reaching out to help and the agony the connection had caused between them. The last thing I gave my family was pain. Juliette stared to the blank ceiling, wishing it could all just stop.
P'nem poured water from a stoneware pitcher into a cup. "Does your head hurt?"
"Just a little." An understatement, but she'd had worse migraines. At least she could keep her eyes open.
"That is an improvement." As P'nem knelt next to the pad and handed the cup to Juliette, she added, " You must avoid telepathy."
Juliette gulped down the water. Her eyes scratched at the insides of her lids. She tried to remember that this was how it was to be, seizure or no. She was staying with the Vulcans. Her family had to be far away. Rest. Heal. But the sense of wrongness clung to her. "I – Yes. I am so very sorry."
P'nem refilled the cup. "For what?"
"For getting sick on you."
"You were sick. Are sick." P'nem refilled the cup. "Drink slower, or you'll get sicker."
Juliette forced herself to take smaller sips before she set the cup aside. In Vulcan's gravity, it seemed like solid stone. "It's called Ehlar Syndrome."
"Here we have something similar called Bendii Syndrome," P'nem said, unprompted. "It is usually a condition of the very old."
"Is there a cure?"
"No," P'nem said, then added, "but your condition, as I understand it, is not the same. Therapies that have not been successful with Bendii may succeed in your case."
Juliette sunk back into bed. The gravity and silence pulled her drowsily downward and she stifled a yawn. "I am grateful that you were willing to host me."
P'nem seemed neither flattered nor warmed by Juliette's gratitude. "Our home was a logical choice. Our family is telepathically proficient, and it is a small matter for you to stay a few days until the Vulcan Science Academy is ready for you. At least, here, you can begin to acclimate to our gravity and climate."
"Is the Academy nearby?"
"It is not. The Academy is in ShiKahr City, but the city provides the same problems as the starport. There are many off-worlders here on holiday, untrained minds that are a danger to you."
"Holiday?" Juliette asked before she could stop herself. Who would holiday on Vulcan? One might as well holiday on the frostbitten glaciers of Andoria.
If P'nem was offended, her expression didn't show it. "ShiKahr City is near the Sas-a-Shar desert. The number of beings who would follow in Surak's footsteps across the Plain of Blood is surprising. Pity most are only interested in the physical journey and some shirt or other memento."
The thought of tourists awoke a flicker of interest in Juliette. New people from distant places came in so many fascinating shapes, colors and sizes. Most were friendly, even jocular as they marveled at Betazed's accommodating weather and the bright, celebratory gardens. Even Risans, a world known for its hospitality, were impressed. Most tourists were friendly, sometimes lost and confused as they tried to navigate the meandering paths. Now she was the tourist. Lost. Be friendly, or when you ask for directions, they will send you to the Maze of Thorns.
"May I contact my family?" she asked, even as weariness pulled her eyelids.
"We will make arrangements when we are able. Communications in and out of the Sas-a-Shar desert requires specialized equipment, as instabilities created during the war interfere with most combinations of communication technologies, especially those that operate within the M and K ban-"
P'nem's abrupt stop brought Juliette back to consciousness with the terrible realization she'd been snoring. "I'm very sorry-" she mumbled.
"It is no matter; sleep."
#
The temperature in Juliette's room was close to that of Betazed, but the air was so dry her hair crackled with static. Her lips felt like parchment. Her replicator failed to produce balm, and instead produced a stream of errors until with a final stab with her finger, its screen went dark with a loud snap. Her PADD failed to find out what was wrong with the replicator before it too, sputtered out. She could only stare at the static-filled screen for so long before she needed to escape her box. Besides, Matron would expect her to be sociable to her hosts, and she was curious to see how they lived - they were already so different than the Vulcans in the holos.
When she opened the door a crack and saw P'nem's in a tunic and breeches, she realized her outfit would not do at all. As she changed into a chiton and slippers, the small mirror in the fresher revealed the ruin in her eyes: A pink cast or a dusting of fine grains in the whites a rough day, but this! Her eyes were two pink nebulae, dotted with crimson asteroids. She leaned into the mirror, following the intersections of angry red trails that flowed into scarlet pools. Eyedrops diminished the worst and thinned the splotches into a pink film.
The sweltering house outside her room stole every drop of moisture. Juliette shuffled down the hallway and paused when she became dizzy. After she caught her breath, she found P'nem in front of her, with a tray of frozen fruit and water.
"I will set the temperature lower in the rest of the house. We can wear an extra layer,if we have to. P'nem said as Juliette nursed the fruit, letting it melt into a sweet slush. When she finished, P'nem took the tray away, but returned before Juliette could retreat back to her room.
"If you would like, I will acquaint you with the rest of the house. I feel we have created an optimal configuration."
Optimal Configuration? The idea didn't sound appealing.
"That is, if you are feeling up to it," P'Nem added.
Juliette realized she had taken far too long to consider. "Yes, thank you" Juliette said with a broad smile that P'Nem studied for a moment.
They stopped down the hall at another box room, half the size of Juliette's. There was a desk that set low to the floor and a kneeling bench along the wall.
"This is the study. You may use it for reading or meditation."
"What is that?" Juliette pointed to a boxy object on the desk. It looked to have some function, but Juliette wasn't sure, and it looked like it belonged in one of the University museums.
"That is the terminal. You have used one before, have you not?"
"Of course, just - which wall is the display?"
"The display is on the desk. It is a two-dimensional photon matrix that responds to user input. Wall display technology does not work well in the Sas-a-shar."
Other doors led to P'nem and Lorot's rooms, which were off-limits without permission, though there was no reason for her to want to go there, anyway. A closed door at the end of the hallway led to Danek's room.
"Your presence in his room without Lorot or myself would be inappropriate," P'nem said.
"Oh?" Juliette said, then the realization dawned. "Oh." She laughed.
"Quite certainly," P'Nem said with not even a flicker of a smile.
Juliette's amusement drained away to a grave nod. "Of course. Where is Lorot? I have not seen him."
"Lorot leaves before sunrise to gather geological samples in the desert, then takes them to ShiKahr City for analysis. He returns in the late afternoon."
"Lorot is a geologist?"
"That is what I said, yes."
"Kanara's father was a geologist,"
"I thought your father is the head of the universities on Betazed."
"He is," Juliette said. "He's Senior Chair."
P'Nem paused as she seemed to digest the information. "I see."
The rest of the house had been configured around a small courtyard. Each room had its function - dining, eating, sleeping, or storage with clear demarcation for each with vaulted archways. On Betazed, one complimented a host's home, but there seemed little to compliment. There were no pebble mosaics, no delicate statues within brightly lit niches, and no devore-covered chaises. There was only a utilitarian function pressed into sandy walls and interlocked tile. Desperate to deliver any kindness, Juliette was thrilled to see the dining table sat low to the floor, surrounded by cushions.
"Oh, that looks fun!" Juliette said as she stared at her reflection in the polished obsidian tabletop.
"How so?" P'nem asked in a tone that seemed to challenge the very concept of fun.
"Well, because it's the floor and most people sit in chairs and - Yes, you're right. It will not be fun - I'm sure there will be...many productive meals." With a nod, she turned and fled to the next room. She felt like she was in an empty museum where she broke things by asking questions.
Juliette felt she was under P'nem's determined, if polite, surveillance. Not even House bodyguards were so vigilant. She excused herself to the cool confines of her box, shut the door and hid.
Lorot returned, greeted by P'nem and Danek with muted salutations. Juliette's attempted neutral conversational questions - was it busy? Did you discover anything interesting? Was the weather agreeable? She tried to sound pleasant, even as her head still throbbed from the heat.
No. No. Yes. All his answers were delivered with the same flat expression. He seemed to wait for more questions, and when Juliette could think of none, walked away.
They meditated before dinner. Juliette passed the time studying the Vulcans. Despite their identical haircuts each had their own look: Lorot's face was long, and his jaw pointed, while P'nem's face was round; her eyebrows formed a graceful curve, while Lorots were slightly bushy. She also had higher cheekbones, while Lorot's were barely noticeable.
Danek had acquired the best features from both his parents - his father's upturned ears and sharp chin, but his mother's darker skin and grey, almost silvery eyes. His mother's lashes, his father's thin lips. The features combined to make a face shape that echoed his parent's but was very much his own - pleasant in its own way.
As she studied Danek, P'nem's scrutiny loomed against her mind. Juliette resisted the temptation to look up, instead focusing intently on the pale depths of her soup.
"Do you find the Plomeek sufficient?" P'Nem asked. The usual pre-meal dissection of the menu was skipped this time.
What I wouldn't give for some grilled ocean mussels or spiced cavat noodles. "Yes, thank you. It is quite nice." NIce might have been a stretch, though its blandness had been an asset when that first day after she had been so ill.
"It is more nutritious if you actually eat it," P'Nem said.
"Perhaps I had too much Plomeek at mid-day, and I am already full."
"You hardly touched the Plomeek then," Danek said. It was true. She had spent much of her mid-day meal trying to sink the flotilla of saw-toothed leaves in a ghostly Plomeek sea. But why was he watching her eat?
"Oh yes, then it must have been over the morning meal then. It's very filling. And the Keyla bread was quite nice," Juliette said, eager to move the conversation from plomeek.
"Nice like plomeek?" Danek asked. "Or nice like the mia-zed? Or the feltara?"
"Everything has been - good," Juliette said, growing wary of Danek's questions.
"It seems that very different foods warrant simple, non-descriptive comments. Is that a Betazoid custom?"
"Perhaps she is still getting used to Vulcan adjectives," Lorot said. "By comparison, the Betazoid language has a much less developed vocabulary."
Juliette gripped her spoon. Rarely had meals at House Sri devolved to throwing food, let alone utensils. She wondered how the Vulcans would look with Plomeek in his hair, the leaves plastered against their smug, yet bland, faces.
"On Betazed, our hosts can feel our satisfaction, and or vocabulary is smaller because we have a telepathic context to each word." Papa would have been proud of her for bringing that up. "But no, it is not nice like bread is nice. The Keyla was warm, and the crust is crunchy and the inside is not too dense." Unlike some Vulcans.
"I do not understand how I am to derive all those characteristics from a simple word such as 'nice'." Danek said.
"Because," Juliette said with a creeping edge to her voice, "'nice' is a generic indicator of favor, and an invitation for the other person to join the conversation. Together they tease out which characteristics of the meal they like."
"That seems an inefficient way to communicate satisfaction about a meal," Danek said.
"And how do you do so?" Juliette asked.
"I eat it," Danek said, spooning up some Plomeek and putting it into his mouth.
"Well, that's just like saying 'nice'," Juliette said.
"It is much more direct, and quieter."
Juliette took a breath. "Just because you cram something into your face-hole doesn't mean you found it more or less enjoyable than anything else."
Lorot arched his brow and asked P'Nem, "'Face-hole'?"
P'Nem shrugged. "Perhaps it is a direct translation."
"What more does one need to say about food?" Danek asked.
"How about appreciation for the flavor or the labor that went on into making it?" Juliette said. She realized she was waving her spoon around, and set it neatly next to her bowl.
"I am not sure that replicating meals is exactly labor," Danek said.
"Perhaps we should just finish our meal," Lorot said.
"In a minute mine husband," P'Nem said, as she sat back in her chair. "I'm finding this discussion most illuminating. Might I remind the initiate monk and mine husband that the replicator has been broken for five days?"
Lorot launched himself from the chair and announced, "I'll check on the replicator."
P'Nem continued "And that indeed, labor has gone into these meals-"
"I will assist you, father," Danek said as he stood.
"Finish your meal, mine son," Lorot said from down the hallway.
Danek looked at P'Nem, who stared back, that same withering look she had given Juliette earlier. She felt bad for Danek, and for P'Nem. Juliette hadn't realized P'Nem had been reduced to actually cooking. Juliette cut in, clearing her throat.
"I think it's clear that consumption does not always imply enjoyment, and that further clarification might be necessary. Likewise, one may not eat because they are tired, or not feeling well, or because the food does not agree with them."
Danek's gaze remained on his mother, as if looking away gave her license to strike. His voice was quiet and measured. "It seems as though if that was the case, one should say as such."
"One should, but only if one is-"
"And which is it, Juliette?" P'Nem asked, her gaze darting between Juliette and her bowl of plomeek.
"I am," Juliette said in a careful tone, "quite exhausted."
"You do look pale, you should get some rest." P'Nem said.
The priests said Betazoids had grace because they spent their lives balancing between the twin pillars of Honesty and Compassion. Juliette stopped at the edge of the hallway and added,"And forgive me, but plomeek is not my favorite food. Do have a restful night."
She turned before anyone could reply, and walked quickly to her room.
#
The next morning, there was only Plomeek for breakfast, and a jar of a dark brown syrup that was grassy-sweet and nutty. She added some to the plomeek, and after a taste, added more.
"It is called zattre."
"It's quite - I do like the sweetness it adds. I hope it was not too much trouble."
"It was not."
The house was feeling small; Juliette was used to going outside when she wished. The console by the entryway, however, read the outdoor temperature as 54 degrees Celsius. Juliette had never experienced a temperature so hot. Part of her was curious and wanted to feel it, if only for a moment.
"You will not find heat stroke satisfying," P'Nem said. "Even Vulcans avoid going out in heat like today. We will be able to go out in the evening if you wish."
From the polarized window of the entryway, she looked beyond the broad mesa to the regolith-strewn plain until it boiled away to a series of shattered mountains. P'nem provided binoculars and she scoured her gaze over the simmering sands until her eyes ached, hoping to see a bird, or a lizard - even a tree that gave off a semblance of life. Instead, she found bleached sand littered with rocks and twisted bone-white branches.
"The courtyard has shade," P'nem suggested. "You might find the temperature tolerable."
The courtyard enclosed a small garden shaded by a canopy of sheer mesh that let in most of the light and cooled the air to merely scorching. Even then she squinted against the brilliance of the sun as each breath left her mouth and nose dry. She sat on a small bench near a small fountain and listened to the water burble against the rocks. She sensed a presence beneath the stone bowl, but as she stooped to look it fled further underneath. Even so, the sense of evasive life was reassuring.
The garden at first seemed merely a reflection of the desert outside, but as she looked around, Juliette felt her gaze drawn to the symmetry in the rocks and the careful arrangement of the vegetation. Configured, like the house, but it seemed to hold no purpose but to form interconnected patterns and shapes that let the eye wander with a purpose. Juliette followed the patterns she found, arranging the rocks and plants into shapes that reminded her of home. The more she looked, the more she found, and she named each one.
She awoke to a deep, gravelly rumble, unsure of when she had dozed off. Her mouth was dry and her eyes felt gritty. A cup of water had been placed at her side. Danek worked on a dusty console on the wall. The mesh that shielded the sky was sliding back, gathering against the fare wall. A thicker, sturdier tarp was sliding forward, blotting out the sky. Through the shrinking gap of roof, Juliette saw what had been a cloudless amber sky boil with maroon clouds edged in crimson. A hot zephyr fitfully yanked at the tarp with a soft whistle.
"There is a storm coming," Danek said.
"Is it going to rain?"
"Highly improbable, It is not the rainy season. It is, most likely, an electrical storm."
The tarp completed its journey. The light in the courtyard dimmed to a crimson twilight. With each gust of wind, the tarp rippled and sand glowed as it sifted down through the narrow gap between the tarp and the wall.
Danek sat on a bench opposite of Juliette's. At least he seemed no worse for the wear from whatever discussion he had with P'Nem after she left. The only sound between them was the thrum of the tarp and a soft rustle of leaves at the top of thickset trees in the center of the garden. She was surprised when Danek broke the silence.
"I had meant to learn more about Betazoids."
"Are you apologizing?"
"I did not err, but you did not seem to understand my intention."
"Oh."
"I do regret any misunderstanding. I did not mean for you to be defensive."
"If you asked questions instead of questioning the efficiency of my communication-"
"I will do so in the future."
As much as she wanted to dig with I accept your apology, she resorted to a short nod, "I am grateful." She lunged at along subject, and switched to speaking Vulcan.
"What are those?" she asked as she pointed to the trees.
"That is Induku," he replied in Federation Standard.
"What is that?" Juliette asked again in Vulcan and pointed to a row of shrubs with violet blue-edged leaves.
"That is kal'ta," he said.
Juliet sighed and crossed her arms.
After a moment of silence, Danek asked, "Do you want me to identify any more plants?"
"I wanted to speak Vulcan."
"Oh. I wanted to practice Federation Standard."
Juliette sensed a compromise and brightened. His federation standard did carry a heavy accent. She wondered if she spoke standard with a Betazoid accent. Her tutors would have been appalled. "Alright, then say it in both. I'll repeat the Vulcan. What is that over there?"
"That is Mah'ta," he replied, first in Federation Standard, then in Vulcan.
"That is Mah'ta," Juliette repeated.
"Mah'ta."
Juliette frowned, not hearing a difference in their pronunciations. "Mah'ta."
"I suppose that is sufficient, Mah'ta is used to make ceremonial tea."
"I like tea," Juliette said in Vulcan.
Danek blinked. "I am not sure you meant that."
"But I do like tea. My mother makes Jestral tea. It's part of all of our family gatherings."
"But you said 'like' as if the tea enjoyed your company."
"Oh. What should I say?"
"Tizh-tor."
"Tizh-tor?"
Danek tilted his head. "I suppose that would be sufficient."
"It sounds the same to me," Juliette said, crossing her arms. She felt herself becoming cross and forced a gentler tone. "I just do not hear a difference."
"Perhaps it is because you do not hear with Vulcan ears. Vulcan ears are-"
"Big?" Juliette asked, and immediately regretted her words.
"I was going to say sensitive-"
"I must have used the wrong word."
"They are, on the average generally larger than-"
"I meant sensitive. I will have to practice Vulcan more. Are you monks?"
Danek seemed to take her change of topic in stride. "The robes might be an indication."
"The Trill commission wears robes, and they're not monks, and your robes don't look like those I saw in the holos."
"Which holos?"
"The ones on Vulcan Culture. High Command donated them to the University."
"That would explain it."
"What do you mean?"
"I have seen records on Betazed. It seems a pleasant world."
"You have never been?"
"No. But I have studied it. Have you been to Vulcan before?"
"This is my first time. But I've been to the Beta Quadrant before. I've been to Risa twice."
"I have not been to Risa. Someday I would like to visit."
"Oh, you should. You'd like the…" Juliette paused. Did Vulcans go on vacation? Did monks? It was rare to see a Vulcan on Betazed. Usually, they were in Starfleet or a member of the Vulcan Science Academy. It was luck granted by fortunate gods Master Surot had been visiting, heard about her condition and offered to help.
"The Botanical Research Center is said to be impressive."
"Yes," Juliette said, thinking more of the lush jungles that crept up to fine, warm sands, sands as golden as the people, who were leisurely and pleasant and flowed like honey through the days to jubilant nights. Still, the Botanical Research Center would be interesting.
"I have only been off-world once," Danek said.
The statement saddened Juliette. These poor people must be from a very low-ranked house! Juliette realized. Be gracious. She did not mention that she'd been off-world almost ten times. "Oh, where did you go?"
"To visit my mother's family on the Vulcanis Lunar Colony on T'Rukhemai. It was shortly after I was born."
"But you haven't been off-world since?"
"I have not."
"Oh, well maybe when we go to Risa again…"
"Juliette."
P'nem voice ended the conversation. How long had she stood there, under the courtyard arch, listening to them talk? She wore a light robe over her dark brown traveling breeches and top. She held another robe out to Juliette. "Try this on."
Juliette struggled into the robe and shook her arms until the tips of her fingers peeked out from the sleeves. The hem dragged on the ground and she gathered it up into her belt.
"It will have to do," P'nem said after a moment of tugging Juliette's robe into place. "We are going to the monastery. Check to see if you have hiking clothes, or we will have to make do."
Juliette's mind whirled as she hurried to her room and dug through her boxes. Why were they going to the monastery? Were they leaving her there? Last night had been uncomfortable, but hardly a full on fight.
The holos showed Vulcan monasteries as quiet, dark places far from anyone - even other Vulcans. Gods, what had she done? Thank Gods Fortunate that Kanara had packed hiking clothes. The robe was still too large, but at least, with the right tucks and ties, she could make it – what was the word Danek said? Sufficient.
Juliette was the last to arrive at the entranceway. Everyone else was armed. Danek had a short metal club that ended in a curved blade strapped across his back. Lorot and P'nem shouldered rifles. Juliette froze at the sight of the weapons. Before, she had only seen weapons like those carried by house bodyguards.
"Is this trip dangerous?" Juliette asked. Her heart pounded.
"No, it is not," P'nem said, offering her a pair of goggles and a face mask.
"Then why do you have weapons?" she asked as she took them, her attention torn between the gear and the weapons.
"It is not dangerous because we have weapons," Lorot said.
"What about my things?" Juliette asked.
Lorot and P'nem exchanged a look. Lorot shrugged before replying. "We will arrange for your things to be sent, but we will have to keep a good pace to stay ahead of the storm."