Raal Province - Vulcan - 2240

The winding, narrow streets trickling down to the quayside were dark and deserted, a few scattered fire-torches and the man’s own lantern the only illumination penetrating the gloom. He wondered, briefly, if he should feel afraid? Perhaps caution, at least, would be forgivable. But no matter how precarious his own condition in that moment, of one thing he was certain - he would not turn back without her.

The screams came so suddenly, so wrenching, that he almost responded in kind. But quickly regaining control, the man allowed the noise to act as a homing beacon, following it to the derelict building that he might have missed completely had the night remained silent. In times past, it was probable that this building had been used to store grain or redspice. Now it stored only suffering.

Moving inside quickly, he met with no resistance as he approached the narrow staircase and ascended to the second floor, the cries and wails growing louder and more deafening with each upward step. Until suddenly he found himself in the centre of a singular, cavernous space, illuminated as inadequately as the surrounding streets, but lacking the same desolation that he would now take as comfort. Silently, his eyes scanned from corner to corner, his mind unable to accept fully the sight before him, his powerful control weakening against the onslaught of mental shock.

Vulcans. At least twenty-five, perhaps even more, lay scattered about the room. From each one poured a psychic tsunami unlike anything he had ever experienced - fear, terror, grief, sadness and misery flooding the room with the weight of a million oceans. And there, in the upper-left corner of the room, her small body huddled like a foetus in the womb, her lips releasing a howl like a dying sehlat, was the one he had come here for. His daughter.

“You will not return to that place ever again,” the man stated, his tone as steady as he could maintain.

Before him, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of unrestrained emotion, her brown eyes red and swollen from the onslaught of salt-laden tears, the young woman merely shook her head. “I knew you would not understand our objective, Father.”
“Understand?” his own control wavered now as desperation and anger took hold. “What I witnessed in there was nothing short of madness! Grown men and women laughing and crying without measure? So enslaved to their emotions that they could barely stand, barely communicate, barely breathe? It is beyond any semblance of logic to consider that someone would submit to such a state willingly!”
“And yet we do,” came her reply. “Every single month. And once the designated night for emotional purging has passed then we step back into the world with our minds completely calm and our emotions perfectly controlled.”
“True disciples of Surak do not require such emotional purging to maintain their control.”
“To hell with Surak!”
The strike was unexpected by them both, but as his palm connected with her cheek, he knew that she had achieved her objective - she had caused him to lose control. So now there was no question - the father was indeed as weak and as undisciplined as his offspring. And deserved to carry the same shame.

“I fear I have a Romulan for a daughter,” he sighed, turning quickly away from her and exiting the room so that she might not glimpse this final and inexorable collapse.

It had never been her intention to wound him so gravely and in the months that followed, as she watched her once mighty father crumble, T’Pria came to realise the agonising truth. Her monthly sessions at the quayside had indeed played a part in maintaining her temperament, but still, that was not the reason she had continued to attend. In truth, she had been addicted. Addicted to the sensation of release, addicted to the dopamine flood that had awakened and energised every nerve in her body, addicted to the rush of adrenaline as she screamed or cried or howled or laughed into the ether. And like all competent addicts, her release would come only with a heavy and terrible price.

It took almost a year for the permission to be granted, a year that saw both T’Pria and her father cement their suffering and their depression into the ever-growing wall between them. But finally the herald came and both father and daughter traveled together to the monastery at P’Jem and submitted themselves to the Kolinahr.

“It has been an excellent final year for you, Cadet,” the round man with the greenish-gold jacket and snow-white hair remarked, leaning back into his already creaking chair. “Top of your class in high-energy particle physics, advanced transporter systems, advanced warp technology applications and hyperspatial mathematics. Congratulations.”

Standing to order before the desk, the young woman merely nodded. “I studied the requisite amount of hours for each subject, Sir.”

Captain Gallagher frowned. “Ah…yes, I do not doubt for a moment, Cadet, that you put in the required effort to achieve these scores.” Damn Vulcans, couldn’t they learn to just take a damn compliment like everyone else?
“Anyway,” he continued, quickly, “So with scores like these you’ll be able to have your pick of the main fleet ships out there. Engineers are always in great demand, especially when they come as highly commended as yourself. But…”
Placing his elbows on the desk, Gallagher let out a heavy sigh and allowed one hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. Evidently he was not relishing the delivery of his next sentence.
“Look, Cadet…” he began, “I realise that there are certain, ah, cultural differences between my people and yours and that, at times, that can make our co-existence somewhat…” he searched for the most diplomatic phasing he could muster, “…difficult. Now over the years I have definitely met other Vulcans less socially open than yourself. Or, one Vulcan, at least. But, look here…”

Sinking back into his chair, the Captain ran a hand through his hair. “I am aware that your training has led to you being more reserved than most, but…”
“My training, Sir?” T’Pria interjected.
“Yes, the…what was the name of it now, the Kowl-ee-nair? On your home planet?”
“The Kolinahr, Sir.”
She had not expected humans to be aware of this most private and personal of Vulcan rituals and far less to know the identities of those who had attempted to submit. And for a brief moment she found herself craving the dopamine release that punching Captain Gallagher in the face would surely bring. But instead, she offered him a human gesture - a shrug.
“Sir, I fail to see what bearing my attempt at the Kolinahr has on my career progression with Starfleet and even less my failure to complete it.”

Her statement provoked a raised eyebrow from the portly Captain. She had failed the Vulcan ritual? Had washed out? Well then, perhaps she wouldn’t be quite as much of a pain in the ass as his assignment committee currently feared.
“I see,” Gallagher responded, a smile now spreading across his lips. It made them far more appealing to humans when they could bear to admit to their failures. He often wished they could all see that. “Well then, I am sure you are correct. Your training on Vulcan is irrelevant. It is your performance here, at the Academy, that we care about. And for that I can not fault you for an instant.” And dammit, it had not been for a lack of trying!

Two years later and T’Pria found herself once more in Gallagher’s office. Time had seen the man add a border to his pips and several inches to his waist. But none of it had changed his temperament, it appeared.

“Lieutenant T’Pria,” he welcomed her, indicating to a chair on her side of the desk. The Vulcan chose to remain standing, considering it more professional.
“Ah, okay, well then…” Gallagher began, as awkwardly as ever, “Your reports from Captain Martinez have been exemplary. He considers you truly gifted as an engineer, it seems. In fact, he has recommended you for the position of Engineering Chief.”

On the opposite side of the desk, T’Pria simply nodded. She was fully aware that her Captain wished to see her take up a chief engineering role, infact, any role at all, as long as it was no longer on his ship.

Gallagher pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, well…congratulations. Again. So my committee have been looking for an opening for you and…we believe we have found the perfect spot. She’s a new ship, Governor class, with a brand new crew to boot. So you can all settle in together.”

Another nod from the Vulcan. It all sounded satisfactory.

“So, Lieutenant, look…,” the Admiral sighed, finding his seat and collapsing into it, “There is not a single doubt shared of your ability to perform the technical aspects of a Chief’s role. But just try to remember that you’ll have a responsibility for a team now as well, some of them even straight out of the Academy. Just…go easy on them, huh?”

T’Pria had no understanding of what ‘go easy on them’ meant, but, not wishing to prolong the meeting with Gallagher a moment longer than necessary, she simply offered him a smile and replied, “Of course, Admiral. I shall be a veritable Mary Poppins.”

• Lt T’Pria (Chief Engineer)