Posted by Ensign Kastarak (Doctor / Counsellor) in XO Quarters - Under the Light of a New Sun (Attn. Kastarak)

Posted by Commander T’Aria (XO / Navigation Officer) in XO Quarters - Under the Light of a New Sun (Attn. Kastarak)

Posted by Ensign Kastarak (Doctor / Counsellor) in XO Quarters - Under the Light of a New Sun (Attn. Kastarak)
Posted by… suppressed (3) by the Post Ghost! 👻
“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

“Will you enlighten me, Y’cha, or shall I sit and guess your news?”

T’Aria quirked an eyebrow at her brother who, since acquiring her undivided attention, hadn’t spoken nor moved except to lean into his chair. His elusiveness piqued her interest. She would not willingly anticipate his news for long, especially when his silence often prepared her for the unfortunate. He said his news was ‘hardly troubling’ and yet his demeanor troubled her.

Tilting forward, T’Aria inspected his face for insight into his thoughts. His expression was inscrutable. He didn’t have the slight twitch of his lips betraying a suppressed smile nor the crinkle that formed between his eyebrows when in deep thought. Y’cha sat. And he stared. If she hadn’t become so comfortable under his watchful gaze, as he seldom strayed from Hanesh and her while they navigated the shifting sand of those cliff-side beaches, she might’ve thought it unsettling.

“Forgive me,” he stiffened and interlaced his fingers, “I was pondering the logic of my request.”

“Request?” T’Aria braced against her forearms. “Do you require my assistance, Y’cha?”

“Somewhat,” he hesitated for a heartbeat or two, then continued. “I understand your reservations about returning to New Vulcan, but allow me a moment to explain before you refuse.”

“I am willing to listen,” she ignored the familiar queasiness in her gut that often deterred her from thoughts of returning to the Vulcan colony, threatening to keep her away for another year.

“Awiyat is nearly of age,” he wasted no time presenting his case, “and she will soon undergo Kahs-wan with her peers. Elders within our community have adapted the ritual to the land. I expect other clans and families have similarly adapted their traditions. Saya and I, however, intend to honour our ancestors by upholding S’t’Kal Pola and S’wek Lor traditions. We have blended our traditions to ensure Awiyat knows and can decide whether she will carry her ancestors’ teachings into adulthood.”

He paused to assess whether she was still listening. She was – intently.

“Traditionally, our family has embraced Kahs-wan together, commemorating successful passage into adulthood with a naming ceremony. Awiyat is the first of our family to undergo Kahs-wan on New Vulcan. Our elders no longer walk with us and, seeing as you and I are what remains of the S’t’Kal Pola,” he paused, “Saya and I would be honoured if you would attend her naming ceremony.”

Her quarters suddenly felt cold and the air thick and humid – unfavourable to desert-adapted lungs. T’Aria stiffened to veil shallow breaths and sweat beading at her eyebrows. Why did she feel so… agitated? He made a reasonable request. Once that, if it were a few years earlier, she would’ve readily honored.

Y’cha and T’Aria came from a family who respected ancestral knowledge, often disseminating teachings through storytelling. Romar often shared with them the mythological tales that articulated the unknowns of their ancestors’ world. He would ask them to suspend their disbelief and consider how the world might have seemed from their perspective.

T’Aria learned empathy through her grandfather’s stories.

Those stories waned as they approached maturity, logic soon overpowering childish fantasies, and their nightly conversations shifted to medicinal herbs and ecological knowledge. Prisu took over then. She taught them the history of their people from a logical perspective and related rituals like Kahs-wan to the long, slender branches that touch nearby trees. They were the remnants of their past connected to their logic-driven present by association and a reverence for history.

Still, the knowledge shared by their grandparents provided insight into an ever-shifting worldview and gave them the tools to navigate cultures and people unlike the Vulcans. T’Aria valued their ancestral teachings and, even in their obsolescence, wove them into her life. At least, she used to.

“T’Aria?”

She hadn’t registered her name until he said it another time. Even then, she only looked up, her eyes slowly adjusting. The room still felt cold and humid and heavy. He didn’t seem to notice and took her attention as an invitation to continue. For once, she was grateful they were light-years apart.

“We would be content to extend our home to you and any who might accompany you,” he said, “that is, if you decide to attend.”

“I intend to be present for Awiyat’s Kahs-wan, just as you were for mine,” T’Aria assured. “I will consider your offer, Y’cha. Allow me the week to discuss with commanding officer and companions.”

“Of course,” he said. “I will not keep you longer, T’Aria, as I am certain you have duties requiring your attention, just as I have mine. Keep me apprised of your plans.”

“I shall,” she answered, “pash tah, Y’cha.”

“Pash tah, sister.”

T’Aria clicked off the monitor and relaxed, allowing the chair to support her weight.

Of the thoughts interrupting her natural order, the question of who might accompany her to New Vulcan was unremitting. T’Aria closed her eyes to regain composure, allowing her nervous system time to regulate itself, and meditated on the question. When she open them minutes later, two names emerged from the din, one who she assumed best to contact first. Kastarak.

T’Aria straightened and retrieved her PaDD from the desk to compose a message to Kastarak that invited him to her quarters for tea, when time permitted, to discuss a special request.

— T’Aria

On the appointed hour, Kastarak appeared at her quarters and chimed the door. He did not know what the special request was, but he had never been invited to her quarters before, nor had he invited her to his. It must be of some personal matter – nothing professional would lead to visit to such an intimate and private space.

They had shared much with one another. The three Vulcans on board had their share of traumas. Would she want advice, compassion…? Kastarak knew not. He had hardly spoken to her since that fateful day at Umbri’s quarters when his pon farr was initiated and she dragged him to Sickbay. Could it be about that?

Speculating made little sense.

– Kastarak

T’Aria selected a loose-leaf Vulcan tea and warm, toasted spices from her collection. While the synthesizer boiled the water, she scooped 10g of tea and a few whole spices into a kettle, then poured the water in once prepared and covered it to steep. It would be about 5 minutes.

Her door chimed just as she was recapping the ingredients, allowing her enough time to cross the room, set them atop their respective shelves and welcome her visitor in with a curt ‘come’.

“Kastarak,” T’Aria greeted and steeped aside for him to come inside, “thank you for joining me.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” he said flatly as Vulcans would, with a slight nod of the head, before stepping inside. He could not resist the temptation to look around:

Her quarters were warm and arid, illumed by candles with the faint aroma of incense wafting through the air. To distract from the harshness of standard design, T’Aria adorned the space with reds and oranges that seemed indistinguishable from the walls in the current glow. There were embroidered rugs and cushions arranged around the coffee table. Beside it, she had a wooden bookshelf with novels, gifted trinkets, incense, and a single, well-attended plant.

If his gaze wandered the the dining module, he might notice the shelves populated with spices, coffees and teas with origins indicated by gold labels. There were a pair of handcrafted mugs – one clay and engraved with the setting desert sun and the other ceramic and painted like sea foam meeting sand – situated on a small table where T’Aria left the kettle moments before.

T’Aria led him to the table and offered him one of the two available chairs.

“Vulcan tea,” she gestured to the kettle, “steeped with cinnamon, redspice and cardamom.”

“Would you like a cup?”

“I would, thank you.” He did not comment on T’Aria mixing Vulcan redspice with Earth spices. Did she have an affinity for Earth that they had not explored?

In the minutes thereafter, there was a silence, while T’Aria prepared the tea and Kastarak to find himself a space that was suitable for him in the warm-coloured room. He settled on a rather large cushion, one to support his posterior while sitting by the low coffee table in a lotus-like position.

She delayed a few minutes for them to prepare tea and settle before asking:

“When did you last visit New Vulcan?”

“I haven’t visited it since leaving the planet for Star Fleet Academy on Earth.” He paused, reflecting on his I believe you will allow me to be frank: I have experienced the place as dismal, fraught with unresolved trauma channelled through a collective rejection of trauma and emotion. It never became part of my identity, and I have no desire of making it mine.”

He paused, breathed a bit and stretched his spine a bit. It had curled slightly while mentioning his uncomfortable truth about his replacement home planet.

“I sense there is a deeper reason behind your question. We have never spoken of New Vulcan before, which, in itself, is something we might consider meaningful… What is on your mind?”

— T’Aria

– Kastarak

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