Posted by Commander T’Aria (XO / Navigation Officer) in XO Quarters - Under the Light of a New Sun
“T’rar… pahk, ahem, serat y’…rani.”

“T’rar… pahk serat y’rani.”

“T’rar…,”

“Pahk,” T’Aria accentuated the sharp, hissing stop. “You are vocalising the ‘/k/’ when it should be breathless. Let us separate the sound into the stop and the release. Push the back of your tongue to the soft part of your mouth and exhale. What do you notice?”

Awiyat, a curly-haired girl whose hooded eyes reminded her of desert sands and whose freckled skin hid the consequences of her curiosity, sat across from T’Aria, light-years away on New Vulcan. She listened with great interest (though occasionally her gaze wandered to rest behind the monitor) and nodded when presented with a new sound to try. This one, like the others, was simple enough.

She focused on an inappreciable spec on the screen and attempted the exercise for several seconds before she finally observed, “the air does not escape, except through my nose.”

These lessons became routine since Y’cha apprised her of Awiyat’s difficulties in class. Empathetic to her experience, she set aside time (when duty allowed) to practice what she learned in class that week. This week, they graduated from words to phrases, encouraging students to put different and sometimes contradicting sounds together. Awiyat seemed to struggle with the harsher consonants like ‘t’ and ‘k’, so T’Aria focused their time on practising these sounds.

“Precisely,” T’Aria praised, “we make the ‘k’ by redirecting our breath in a quick release. As you demonstrated, the word ‘escape’ makes a comparable sound. Now adjust the position of that sound to the end of the word. Pahk.”

“Escape,” Awiyat concentrated as if familiarising her tongue with the harshness of the sound, “pahk.”

As she repeated the word, T’Aria nudged a candle engraved with the undulating script of Vulcan aside, carefully assessing her enunciation without appearing to focus solely on her. She knew her plain, undivided attention could be misconstrued as scrutiny by a young mind, and she had no desire to discourage Awiyat. So, she engaged in harmless theatre. She tapped her PaDD, reviewed a report sent in from Operations, and reached for the water she deliberately placed out of reach before their session began. Occasionally, when she thought Awiyat wasn’t looking, she sneaked a glance to appreciate the delight that crept onto her face when the sound was finally right. Prisu would’ve discouraged any such expression, but T’Aria believed it essential to her emotional development. Awiyat could not learn to govern her emotions if she could not first respect them.

“Well done. Now that you have mastered ‘pahk’, let us place it back into the sentence. Say it with me,” T’Aria awaited her attention, “t’rar pahk serat y’rani. Good. Try it on your own.”

“T’rar pahk serat y’rani…” Awiyat halted, unable to combat the smile that threatened to shatter her pensive cast. “T’rar pahk serat y’rani. T’rar pahk serat y’rani.”

T’Aria embraced the warmth radiating through her chest as Awiyat repeated the phrase until its difficulty faded into memory. Her pride seemed excessive to the untrained eye, but Vulcans were not ignorant of its benefits. Progress could not exist without pride and ambition. With discipline, pride became the motivation that ambition concentrated with direction and effort. If unchecked, however, pride fueled the arrogance often associated with destruction. T’Aria knew Y’cha and Saya would nourish their child’s sense of self, so when the time came to embark on her path to logic, she could resist the temptation of conceit and greed that compromised so many before her.

“Awiyat,” she interrupted when she noticed their time was nearing an end, “you must rest soon. Before we depart, let us review what we have learned today. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Awiyat responded.

“Very well,” T’Aria settled into her chair. “We often use the greeting and farewell, ‘live long and prosper’, when acquainting others in casual situations. How does this translate to Vulcan?”

“Dif-tor heh smusma,” answered Awiyat.

“Correct. If I approach you and say ‘dif-tor heh smusma’,” she continued, “how would you respond? Please provide the response and its translation in Federation Standard.”

“Sochya eh dif,” Awiyat did not miss a beat, “peace and long life.”

“Correct. Under what circumstances do we use ‘t’rar pahk serat y’rani?”

“Formal.”

“Correct. If you are greeting an S’t’kal Pola elder, how would you introduce yourself?”

“Uhm…,” Awiyat wavered but quickly regained her footing, “Dif-tor heh smusma, Awiyat wimish.”

“Correct. How would you express gratitude to someone who provided you a service or gift?”

“Chaya t’not.”

“Correct. Loosely translate ‘pash tah’.”

“Good night.”

“Pash tah, Awiyat-kam.” T’Aria bowed, earning one in return, and indicated the couple awaiting their child by the entryway. “Your parents await you. Chaya t’not for your patience and dedication. I implore you to practice what we learned so we may resume our discussion next week. Until then.”

— T’Aria

T’Aria lingered until Awiyat disappeared into the corridor with her mother. Tempted to end the transmission then, as she often did, she wavered a second longer when the beauty of the New Vulcan desert caught her eye. Her curiosity tugged her gaze to the nearby window that overlooked what she knew to be a basin. Though she could not name the mountains surrounding Awiyat’s home, the night provided enough light to discern their distant peaks and the silhouettes of deceivingly tiny spiny plants that dotted their rocky slopes. Truthfully, she knew very little about their surrogate homeworld except what Awiyat revealed. T’Aria visited only once for a supply run in the decade since their relocation. While she intended to return and aid revitalisation efforts, the demands of her life in Starfleet and her trepidation made the intention nothing more than a distant thought.

But her sessions with Awiyat made her absence harder to ignore.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

T’Aria stiffened to subdue the shiver that crept up her spine, a remnant of their desert-dwelling ancestors, and tore her gaze from the window to Y’cha. He leaned into the cushion and studied her, his loose posture implying he’d been there for several moments. Had he? T’Aria could not recall the distinct plodding sound of his footsteps nor the sight of his russet robes spilling into her peripheral. He revealed himself only when he spoke, the unmistakable raspiness of his voice betraying him as the words escaped as if from the depths of a jagged cavern. How long had he been there?

“‘Penny for your thoughts’?” T’Aria echoed her brother’s curious choice of words.

“A human colleague of mine uses the term to disrupt deep thinking when he believes it to be harmful.” Y’cha spoke in a way that might have been accompanied by a shrug… if he weren’t Vulcan. “I assumed you might be familiar with the colloquialism and its sentiment.”

“Yes,” she assured, “but I did not expect you to adopt human expressions.”

“I suppose it is not as efficient as requesting your thoughts directly,” he hummed, “but it does offer some value. Regardless, you have avoided my question. What is on your mind?”

“My thoughts are not important,” she dismissed. Her avoidance earned a look that threatened to crumble her shields, but she knew Y’cha would respect her desire for privacy, even if he disagreed.

“Very well,” Y’cha said. “I have noticed improvement in Awiyat’s Vulcan since your lessons began. She practices every day in preparation for your discussions, and her instructors have said that her performance is up to standard with the rest of her peers. Thank you for meeting with her.”

“She honours me with her persistence and her knowledge,” T’Aria said, her expression softening. “I have learned as much from her the past three months as I suspect she has from me.”

Y’cha focused on the same inappreciable spot Awiyat had an minutes before, distracted.

“What troubles you, brother?” T’Aria lowered her voice as not to startle as he had startled her.

“Oh, it is hardly ‘troubling’…” Y’cha raised a dismissive hand. “When do you return to duty, sister?”

His question caught her off-guard, but the routine of it prompted a quick response.

“0800,” she answered. “Why? Is there something you wish to discuss?”

He did not immediately respond, but the nearly imperceptible twinkle in his eye said enough.

— T’Aria