Chapter 7: The opposite of nothing is something. The problem of something is that it pushes up against something else, anything else, to be something. Lt. S'Vrall may wish she were nothing, floating effortlessly through space, being fed peeled grapes all the while, but she's not nothing, she's something, and the thing she's pushing up against is herself.


Dr. Culber was nice.

I passed the physical with flying colors, of course. Not only was it tuned to human anatomy, so all the readings were everywhere in the red zones, but also, no Federation person had come into contact with Romulans, ... that is: and lived.

They didn't even know what we looked like.

Dr. Culber examined my blood work. "Green. Vulcan. Anything specific I was supposed to be looking for?"

Commander Saru looked lost, so I volunteered: "No, Doctor, you have to be really sure. Andorians and Orions have copper-based blood. You have to rule out that I am some other species, and you have to certify that I am what I say I am. Have you double-checked your results?"

Dr. Culber looked between me and Commander Saru. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Neither of us were smiling.

Dr. Culber sighed. "Just a moment, please." He went back to office.

Commander Saru and I waited in an uncomfortable silence.

Dr. Culber returned. "Yup. Still Green. Still Vulcan. The big surprise I found in the sample is: you're female! Shocker! Ha! Ha!"

Commander Saru and I just stared at Dr. Culber.

"Tough crowd," he groused. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll get back to my work." He gave us a quizzical look and made to return to his office.

Commander Saru called out: "Dr. Culber, please relay your lab results to the Captain, highest priority."

"Got it," Dr. Culber called over his shoulder.

I turned to Commander Saru. "May I return to my security duties, sir?"

"Let me first confer with the Captain," Commander Saru replied. "I will inform you when you are reinstated."

"Yessir."

"Lt. S'Vrall, have you eaten yet?"

"No, sir, I have not."

"Then you are to accompany me to the mess deck."

"I know my way around the ship," I informed him. "You don't need to hold my hand, sir."

"I am very much not holding your hand, lieutenant."

I wondered, idly, if Commander Saru understood euphemism as a concept. I felt it best not to explain myself on this point, but then: I never did.

...

I got myself a salad. To play it safe, I made it vegan.

Vulcans are vegetarian, so I had to play the part.

I immediately regretted it. In the wilds outside the farm, I could occasionally hunt then spit-roast game, if I knew I wasn't being observed, but all that had to go away once I made my public entrance into society there. Since then it's been all salads and plant-based proteins. But even then, Vulcan had a sense of taste.

The food processors aboard this Human starship?

Two words: ugh.

I added some of their local seasoning – Tabasco – which I'm not even going to try to pronounce, and that gave the food a bit of taste, so I kept adding more of it, until I realized I was getting stares.

Commander Saru had also got his own lunch and sat across from me.

He took his babysitting job seriously. I wanted to prompt him. 'Don't you have work to do? Like: elsewhere.' But I could see he was enjoying this about as much as I was, so I saw no point.

Commander Saru was a complete doormat in my eyes, so teasing him or annoying him would bring me no pleasure, as it had in the case with the Great Captain Lorca, War Hero and Asshole, extraordinaire.

In walked what's her name.

I sighed and concentrated on eating. Commander Saru noted my demeanor and looked around until he spotted Michael Burnham.

"Ah," he said, and continued eating his lunch as if nothing were out of place.

He was a rare one in the mess deck, because everyone else stopped and stared, proving that gossip on a starship is also faster than light.

Saru looked up at his meal as he finished it. "You two should address your differences."

"Nothing to address, sir," I said. "You heard her on the bridge."

"I did," he said.

"Anyway, she's moving to new quarters, so there's nothing to talk about," I said.

"Which reminds me," Saru said, but that's all he said. He arose from the table, stowed his tray, then approached Michael Burnham.

She was sitting at a table, all alone, eating some kind of wrap. Commander Saru said something to Michael Burnham, but I missed it, as I was finishing up my salad, but I didn't miss her reaction.

"What?" she said, angrily.

Commander Saru turned to leave, but Michael Burnham, wasn't having it. "Sir," she said, "be reasonable!"

"I am being reasonable," he said.

"I disagree, sir," she said. "You heard the Captain. She's a danger to herself and to others. My request to transfer from my qu-..."

"I did hear the Captain," Commander Saru said, "and the Captain said that she's being reinstated, meaning whatever she is, she's a part of this crew. I was against his decision to make you a part of this crew, given what you've done. I was also against his decision with her." He nodded toward me at that. "I was consulted for neither. It is not the Captain's way to seek consultation on his decisions. He, however, does require of me that all matters pertaining to this ship be at 100% efficiency, including operability and readiness. That includes her crew. You two have an issue to resolve. Avoiding each other will not make your problems go away. Resolve whatever it is between you two. Now. That's an order."

With that he left.

Not that everybody was staring at us before, but with his departure, you could hear a pin drop.

I sighed, picked up my tray, and disposed of the nutritively-nil salad I just ate.

I approached the table where Michael Burnham sat, eating her ... whatever it was.

"I didn't say you could sit here," she said.

"I wasn't going to sit there," I replied levelly.

She wasn't looking at me.

I stood there for a moment. She just ate.

"Good talk," I said, and made to leave.

"Fuck you," she said quietly, so that only I could hear her.

Yes, you did. I replied so that only I could hear that.

Outwardly, I just nodded and headed for the exit.

"You know, the Vulcan Science Academy was my dream," she said to my back.

"I know that," I said.

"I got a perfect score on the entrance exam," she said. "That's how badly I wanted to go there, more than anybody else in the whole Galaxy."

"I know that," I said. "Everybody know that."

"Yet you go, and get in for free, and treat it like ... like dirt!" she said heatedly. "My dream! and it's nothing to you!"

We were setting the example for decorum on a Starfleet vessel, Michael Burnham and I.

I took a deep breath and centered myself.

It didn't work.

"The Vulcan Science Academy wasn't my dream, that's true. It wasn't my hope; that, too, is true. I didn't deserve it, and I didn't earn it like you did. More truth. But it was only place that took me in, fed me, clothed me, sheltered me, taught me to read and to write, taught me to speak better than a savage, and gave me a future that I never would have had otherwise, Michael Burnham. You deserved the Vulcan Science Academy, and you are a bit of legend there, you, and your brother, Spock, the two members of the House of Sarek that did not go there. I took that dream from you, and your future would have been different, and I am sorry for these things, but it was the only hope I had. I have nothing, Michael Burnham, no home, no family, no past, no future. So that's all I can give to y-..." I swallowed spit welling up in my mouth. "Do you see me hating you for the love you have from a family you have?" I demanded. "I wasn't adopted by a family that loved and cared for me, Michael Burnham, I was cast out as a child, simply because I existed. I had to figure out how to survive on my own. That's my legacy: nothing."

I took one more steadying breath.

That didn't work.

"So hate me for taking your dream, with your love and your family and your choices and food on your plate, o, great Michael Burnham. It's so easy to do, isn't it, from atop your perch of the lofty heights of suk'kunel seleya. I can bear it. I have borne much worse, Michael Burnham, much, much worse. This?" I waved around me. "This is nothing to me."

I looked at her. "This is me."

I looked about the mess deck. I had everyone's attention.

"Your first Vulcan, isn't it?" I said. Nobody answered. "Not what you expected, then? Judge me as they did on the D'Kyr: 'Oh, wuh shasol-Vuhlkansu! Her country accent is so amusing! Let's see how long this outsider lasts!'"

"Newsflash: I was their security officer for a reason." I snarled. "Pray you never find out why."

People looked away at that.

"Fun." I remarked as I left.

I had to leave at that point. The rage, bottled up inside, was ready to spill out all over the place: I had to kill something now, and if I killed one of the humans in the mess deck, I'd pretty much have to kill the entire crew of the USS Discovery to cover my tracks.

Again.

136 more murders to my name. A drop in the buckle to the thousands I had killed already, but starting over would be hard: I'm a half-breed to the Romulans, too different from the Klingons to make that work, so that left the Federation, and the Vulcans had very politely hinted that perhaps I should try working with the humans, because being an emotionless turd was just too stifling for me.

Somehow, I'd have to make this work. I mean: by not murdering everybody I encountered, every time.

That.

Why was that so hard? Why was everything so hard? Even nothing was hard for me.

Why couldn't they all just bow before me as their crowned Empress of the Known Universe?

I would say, "Do that!" and they would do that. Or "peel me grapes!" and freshly peeled grapes would fall into my open mouth as slaves, arrayed behind me, would fan me with large feathered fans, because, apparently, that was somehow the job description for 'Empress of the Known Universe.'

I could manage that for a while. Why not?

But now I needed to kill something, which made this the perfect time to blow off steam and do some security training on the computer simulation deck.