Shadowlands I

Posted on 30 Apr 2013 @ 3:23pm by Naskisem

6,297 words; about a 31 minute read

Mission: Episode 03 - Frontier
Location: USS Galileo: CIV Naskisem's Quarters
Timeline: MD6 1600 Hours

ON:

A tall figure wrapped in maroon robes with white at the hems emerged in the transporter room. It moved silently, appearing to float across the floor and up onto the transporter pad before coming to a halt. Turning around once in place, robes moving barely at all, the sharp features of the Vulcan Asenik Let'thieri Naskisem ko'Val ko'Savan maat'Eshan featured more prominently in the dim light of the transporter room. It had been frustrating aboard this ship, even if it had only been for three days, and the androgynous Naskisem was glad to leave it behind. She had no reason to complain, and far was she to consider it even if she had reason to. Starfleet took an obviously great care to ensure her comfort, although she had insisted it was unnecessary. The deliberate inefficiencies that humans devoted to personal pleasure had always revolted her, and now that she had experienced being the cause for those wasteful luxuries, Naskisem found herself hoping that the ship she was going to would be different. It was Starfleet's newest and most advanced science ship; it might have been operated by humans, but human scientists, she expected, had to be different. They had to value conservation, order, and resourcefulness. However, she reasoned, they were human.

Before she was dematerialised into billions of microscopic particles, she wondered about Liyar - the man she was sent to meet and save. She wondered how in danger his mind truly was and if it wasn't too late already. Confident in her ability to assist him, Naskisem would have smiled to herself if she were capable. His brother had told her previously to tread carefully around Liyar, that he was unstable, getting too friendly with humans, and forgetting where he came from, but she was not overly concerned. With her hands behind her back and her chin held high over the form-fitting black turtleneck peeking out from the robes, Naskisem inclined her head to initiate the transport. Within seconds, she would have a personal sense of whether her most remote concerns were justified.

Arrival: Naskisem maat'Eshan, the mellifluous voice of the computer told Liyar from underneath his half-closed console, rousing him from the hypnagogic state he'd surrendered to after his return from the morning's away mission. Scattered across his desk were piles of unattended PADDs. His uniform was wrinkled and one sleeve bunched at his right elbow, revealing the interconnected lines of the t'kahr vesht-var spilling down his arm. He stirred, lifting his heavy head from the mountains of paperwork. Arrival: Nas-- He reached over and dented the off button with his fist. The voice ceased.

A Vulcan, his fogged brain informed him before his mind could catch up. Civilian, if they were routing it to him. Slowly, Liyar righted himself, peeling his face from the desk and thumbing open the terminal. Inside, the datafile accompanying the announcement flashed over the screen. A pale-skinned and intricately adorned woman was pictured at the side. Even in the privacy of his office, he held the grimace that threatened to twist his features at bay. There was no time to talk himself out of the unpleasant feelings settling under his skin, but suddenly years of memories were so close, over-exposed and bright against his time aboard the Galileo. T'Yron had been his anchor. Decades of wariness, fear, uncertainty. Eyes tracking him wherever he went, whispers in minds, voices and hearts. T'Yron helped him field it, brought him back. Reminded him of what mattered. Living with Vulcans. Being Vulcan. His people, his culture, he didn't know them anymore. A whole planet hung in ruins, stained with her memory. Inaccessible. Not Vulcan. Not without her. The deep chords of Consciousness in his mind meant nothing now, he couldn't interpret them. They were empty. He was alone. Only rarely did he feel that - let himself feel it - as keenly as he did right now. Pins and needles in his bones, dense static and white noise, unending. Bones and dust. Sharp, jagged, stalking monsters in the dark. Let it go. Out and out.

He stood, pulled down the sleeve, straightened his tunic and leaned over the darkened console to examine his hair. It wasn't presentable at the best of times. He raked his fingers through it once before leaving.

Liyar entered the turbolift and made his way down to the transporter room, ducking through the sliding door. He was impervious and dignified as always. His posture mirrored hers, hands gripped behind his back. She was poised. Collected, pale and elegant. Everything a Vulcan should be. Her parents, he mused, were sure to be satisfied with their eminently logical daughter. In contrast, Liyar was statuesque. Agility crafted from nearly half a century of ke-ta-yatar training should have given grace to his strides, but instead he was stilted, jerky. His face was gaunt, with deep grooves and angles that did little to reduce his saturnine persona. He looked older than he was. He came to a stop and offered a curt nod to the woman in front of him. "Dr. Naskisem." He used the title in her file and rose one hand in the ta'al. He spoke in harshly accented Standard. "Peace and long life. I am Lieutenant Liyar, diplomatic officer. You will be coordinating with me for the duration of your stay aboard Galileo. If you have requests or concerns, you will contact me." He paused to glance down at his PADD, the only giveaway that he hadn't been prepared for her arrival. "Your quarters are located on deck 2. This way." He gestured to the door and without waiting for her reply, began walking out.

She returned the ta'al before stepping down off the transporter pad, thinking that Liyar was significantly more damaged than she had been told. His family had told her to expect him to be unbecoming of a Vulcan, but she was not expecting it to be so obvious. She noted the accent in his ugly Terran English and thought that he should have spoken Golic instead. Did he always speak that way, she wondered. She said nothing as she followed him out of the room, carefully watching him from about half a step behind. He lacked the fluidity that a Vulcan at peace with himself would have demonstrated. It was impossible to miss. His movements were sharp and rigid, machine-like. He was worn. Emotional. Hers were composed and carefully ministrated. But a Terran would never have known the difference.

To one of them, she thought, Liyar would have seemed perfectly fine. He would have been a model Vulcan without any problems but his own vanity, a trait Terrans applied to their people as a result of their own inferiority complexes. How little any of them truly understood. Had anyone on this ship ever considered Liyar's internal struggles? His difficulty was apparent to her even now, after being in his presence for minutes. Had he ever sought help? No, she thought. He could not have. There was no one there to help him. Not until now. She wanted to ask him about the abuse that he had endured, wanted to tell him that his troubles were finished.

"Liyar," she spoke in the corridor, her voice both soft and firm at once. Before speaking, she observed that they were alone. She would never broach a subject as personal as this without some privacy and, for extra measure, she went on in Golic. "You are distressed. I will assist you."

The journey through the corridors of the Galileo was swift and to the point. Liyar said nothing as they entered the lift. Ever so subtly, her aura, her sense of self began to trickle into his awareness, spilling down the sides of his head, through his jaw, in his hands. Telepathic humidity, opening pores, returning atmosphere. It had been a while since he'd felt a purely Vulcan mind. He forgot, how easy it was to use that connection between them all. Flavors of her thoughts streaked the air, and he struggled to stem the flow of input. It wasn't his intention to pry. He stared straight ahead at the closed doors of the lift, making no conversation nor returning her scrutiny. It was scrutiny. It was more than that. More than any stranger had a right to. He pulled his internal shields down completely, slamming gates, and followed her out once the doors opened. Snatches of her internal dialogue followed the fuzzy perception. Damaged - told - ugly Terran English - hot iron don't touch burned - troubles are finished-- Under his hair, his ears were drawn back and his forehead wrinkled.

He led them to her quarters. Before they could enter, she spoke, and eliminated all doubt that she was more than a simple scientist. He ignored her and keyed them open, expression neutral. He did not respond. Maybe he hadn't heard her. Maybe he didn't even understand Modern Golic.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, he rounded on her, forcing her to step backwards until she barely touched the wall. "I suppose they must have told you that I am of inferior intelligence." He didn't know who precisely they were, but they were an anathema. They sent her. To ease his feeble mind. Who. Who was it. He pinned her with his eyes, cocking his head to the side like a predator surveying its prey, movements easy and weighted. Any non-Vulcan would think he had relaxed. His eyes bore through her. "They would be incorrect. Explain yourself."

Naskisem had never felt threatened before. She had never had reason to. Fortunately, she had always been around Vulcans that were like her. Of course she had heard of Vulcans who had lost their way, and of those who had gone V'tosh ka'tur, but she had never met one herself. She blinked as she stepped back from him, sensing the wall behind her. One of her hands extended from behind to feel for its proximity, and her lips parted just barely enough to show a glimpse of her perfect white teeth. He was not totally gone, she could tell. He was still Vulcan. He was still there. But his eyes betrayed the resolve that she thought he wanted to show. Naskisem's pulse jumped as well, but for reasons that were entirely different. Was it fear? Not wholly. A semblance of it, perhaps

She took her hand off the wall behind her and met the other on her lap, over her strangely elaborate, though plain, robes. Would he try to hit her? She was at a disadvantage despite her sanity; she could not hear his thoughts yet he could hear hers, although he clearly misinterpreted them. Her dark eyes looked between his, her thin eyebrows knitted. The hint of surprise on her face willowed as she composed herself, though she hardly looked uncomposed at all, apart from her defensive step backward which she had by now reclaimed. "You are unstable." Only seconds had passed, and her voice was as soft as it had been in the corridor. She was speaking in Golic, her native language.

"Terrans do not understand your distress. I do not think that you do, either. Terrans are causing you harm." Naskisem explained as calmly as she could. She looked at his chest once before returning her eyes to his. "I can restore what you have lost, and help you to sustain that restoration." She blinked. "Step away from me."

He didn't move. "You have come here to rescue me. To save me from myself." He continued to speak in Standard. He felt the spike in her pulse in his own wrist, inhaled deeply, shallowly, as she did. The small shifts in his body language perfectly imitated hers in a way that could never be replicated consciously. The undercurrent of fear beneath her composed mind plucked one of the miserably angry chords in his, soothed him in a way words never could. Fear meant she wasn't a threat.

Liyar leaned forward, crossing his arms casually over his chest. He got the distinct impression that she hadn't been prepared for him. Despite her shrewd, watchful demeanor, she was out of her element. She was used to things bending around her, light fracturing, easing her way. His own body language was coiling, snake-like. Yoraan, Zaren had called him. Ready to strike out, to protect the little left that was his. "Whoever has informed you that I would be receptive to your invasion of my privacy, Dr. Naskisem, I can assure you," his voice dropped another octave, chin tipping upward and he caught her eyes, studying her, "they are sorely mistaken."

"Naskisem," she corrected, dropping the title. She remained quiet for a moment. He had ignored her instruction to step out of her space. "No one sent me." Her Golic flowed smoothly, without interruption. "I came by my own volition to discuss written work by the qom'i Maenad Panne."

Liyar pursed his lips. "Ah, yes. The qom'i," he repeated dryly. "And you just thought," he interrupted her before she could finish, raising a finger to tap his chin.

The interruption stuttered her words for a moment. She frowned, confused. She did not understand. He was angry, but she did not know why. He was dangerous, like his family had said. "Your peace is disturbed, Liyar, and as a Vulcan it is my duty to assist you in restoring balance. If I have made you uncomfortable, then you may leave me in peace. May you find yours." She blinked once more, raising her pointed chin. "Step back," she said more forcefully this time.

"I see, yes. You just thought," he shrugged, "why not offer to lend your stability to mine. After all, that is something Vulcans unknown to one another often do," he finished flatly, rubbing the backs of his teeth together. "You may find komihn to be less than enthusiastic about your approach."

Naskisem blinked. "It is logical to assist those in need if the sacrifice is not too great," she said simply, as though she suspected he might disagree. To disagree would be nonsensical, however. "And I assure you that it is not." Liyar had ignored every request to step back from her, and his fuming undercurrent of inexplicable rage was starting to make her uncomfortable. She was not at all unconvinced that he would not strike her in his hurricane of a mind. In an attempt to calm him, calling on her knowledge of the way Vulcans behaved in Miran, she reached rather awkwardly to touch his arm. Physical contact was mostly foreign to her. "I do not understand why you are being confrontational." She blinked again and tilted her head as she withdrew her hand. She was smart enough not to think of anything but peace when touching him; she knew of his powerful touch telepathy. It was now that she questioned why he had become defensive over the humans on board, but that was not a question for now. "Please," she said once more, looking at his collar. "You are too close."

"I do not require your assistance, nor did I request it. You have violated my privacy." Liyar closed his eyes and in an instant his face darkened with knowing. He wrapped his fingers around hers. A flash of electric anger followed his touch, as though he were thinking of breaking her fingers off and eating them as his prize. Instead he plucked her hand from his arm gently, holding her wrist limply in the space between them. He continued thinly, "You contacted my family." He let her wrist go and finally took a step back as she requested.

Naskisem looked puzzled. "But you do require my assistance. I am a lecturer at the Vulcan Science Academy; your family contacted me when they discovered that I was coming to meet Maenad Panne. I was asked to assist you if I thought you might need it, which clearly you do. I understand that you have recently suffered a loss so great that most could never begin to understand, myself included." She eased her frown. "I would have offered my assistance whether I had spoken to your family or not. To a Vulcan, it is obvious." She looked to the floor again. "If you have been offended, I apologise."

The blackened, hateful waves emanating from him dispersed little by little. The room gradually cleared, rays of calm through the weathered storm. It was only then that he became more ordered, recognizable. He was angry, but his veneer was analytical, thoughtful. He hadn't intended to frighten her, and he straightened, holding his hands behind him again. For a moment he recalled Dawn Meridian, and the anger that had spilled over in her office as well. Now anger dropped floor to shame, mixing with the blended memories in his mind. He had been a fool to believe that he could escape it.

Home was in the carved out spaces of his office, quarters, at the mess with the few people who weren't utterly abhorrent of him. Turning stars into numbers, pulling codes from the radio. Reporters and stellar cartographers and El-Aurians. Barely acknowledged training sessions with Maenad, aborted games of Velocity. This was his life now, one he had only just begun to forge for himself, in his own way. Him. That withered, wrinkled Thing that lived in his katra, composed only of whatever hadn't been killed. It would be a lie to say he liked his new life, but the life he left back on that planet was gone now. Naskisem's presence hit him like a truck. Vulcan - whether or not he considered it his home - did not release its clutches so quickly. K'war'ma'khon floated, hummed out of order in his head, chasing him here. What once provided comfort and steadiness now reeked of sour, foreign minds, pushing against his. He thought the whirling cacophony of voices might squeeze his own mind out of his ears, turning him upside down and shaking out the insanity for all to see, pennies hitting the ground, echoing in silence.

"Nam-tor ri thrap wilat nem-tor rim." He was guarded and neutral. When his eyes met hers again a different, oddly empathetic individual stared out of them. Empathy experienced only after the intricate minutiae of her fear made itself at home in the filaments of his being, absorbing, changing the charge of molecules. He rubbed his wrists idly, feeling the heavy metal bands there. "I do not want your assistance, Doctor." Liyar used her title still. "You cannot fix me. You will not try. You will inform my family that their attention is not required."

It was safer now, she thought. Safer, but not safe. She closed her eyes for a second before reopening them. Naskisem did not know how to proceed. She was unfamiliar with such an erratic person; she did not understand his resistance. "Want is irrelevant where health is concerned," she said, still in her musical way of speaking Golic. "I will not inform your family of anything. I do not extend assistance on their behalf, it is my extension and mine alone." Her eyes were unwavered. "I am in perfect harmony with myself, Liyar," she might have sounded kind despite her indifferent expression. "If I cannot help you, then each of us shall know after I have failed."

She found his Golic to be worse than his English, but if it was what he was more comfortable with then she thought she should try. To seem more welcoming, more on his level, she tried her own English. "I believe qom'i will said to Give me a chance." Naskisem knowingly butchered herself in horribly spoken Terran Standard.

Liyar observed her, but made no comment on her abysmal lack of skill. He took a slow, measured breath and waved a hand to the side dismissively. "What I need, what is best. That is gone." He said it completely without inflection. He unstuck his hands from their sockets, pulled them up and over, screwed his head on like a lightbulb. It flashed dimly, intermittently. He wasn't wholly without sanity; in fact he was startlingly self-aware, frighteningly so. But she came from clean lines, white walls, automation, falling into place. The same structure that all Shi'kahri knew. Even if he were perfectly sane, he imagined she would still be unsettled. In her mind there were vast, concentrical cities, sprawling architecture, the Academy - he'd left that behind too long ago. They too had called him riyeht-kashik. Humored him, he knew. He doubted Naskisem were ever humored by anything. Respect was afforded to her by right, not by necessity. He thought he could see a desk, where she must have worked at. Her home, perhaps.

All Vulcans disconnected from their planet carried pieces of it inside them. His were rocks. Dust. Desert. Electrical storms, volcanic ash, rivers of supercharged lava. Desolate winds of blistering heat. Roughing it, Terrans called it. Or slumming it. He made a note to look up the phrase later. His next words were blunt, born out of the particular, foreign telepathy that soaked his mind, but placid. "You seek to come here, so I might accept your reaching and in an instant, the broken puzzle pieces will fit again." He tapped his temple with two fingers. "The universe will fall into order as it always has for you, if only I would listen." He stared sideways. He was inspecting her again, unblinking. "Yet, you are afraid of me."

She blinked once. "I fear that which cannot be known, but is," she replied in Golic. Naskisem seemed to rise in height, despite their equal height. "You and I are Vulcan. We are a biological species that has self-domesticated. We know how we must be to exist in this universe, yet you have returned to the wild. V'tosh ka'tur stalks you from the shadows. You look old, Liyar. Tired. You lack grace. You are crude. Your mind is an abyss of stuttered emotion; confusion, fear, insecurity." Her expression narrowed, her eyebrows leveled. She was ready for a diagnosis. "Perhaps you have been gone from our people too long; immersion with the qom'i has prevented you from realising yourself the severity of what faces you." She seemed to sigh. "It is not you that I fear, Liyar, but the chaos plagued within your mind. "Fear is the unknown, but unknown you are not. As I am, you are Vulcan and too can be known."

"Thank you, Doctor," Liyar replied stoically, eyes narrowed, "for that brilliant assessment." He stalked over to the replicator and pulled off the plastic that covered the screen, typing in a sequence of codes which would activate it for her use. He switched the internal controls to her language. Alas, she had figured it out. She had solved the mystery, cracked the code. The humans, of course. That's what it was. It was almost amusing, how special she thought she was. Only now he was at his limit, and she had crossed the line. "Be sure to include it in your paper." He walked toward the door before she had an opportunity sharpen her spike and drive it further into his head.

Naskisem watched him as he moved about the excessive quarters she'd been provided. His sarcasm, however, was entirely lost on her. Instead of being insulted like anyone else would have been, she thought he was sincere. She nodded her appreciation from where she stood in front of the wall by the entrance, thinking that it was possible that she had convinced him. The comment about her paper, though, confused her. "My paper?" she asked, a curious inflexion in her tone. "I do not understand."

"Sarcasm, Doctor. An ironic statement intended solely for the amusement of the speaker." Liyar looked almost deflated, shoulders sagging. "You are not the first nor will you be the last to make such comments about me. You are telling me nothing I do not already know. You may believe that you are here to offer me salvation. It is a nauseatingly familiar tale." His hand came up again in front of him, palm-up. "I am broken and require fixing," he said, his flat, even tones conveying apathetic acceptance about what was surely the most common interpretation of his reputation. "I am irrational, I make a habit of eating raw lanka-gar heads." He could have elaborated, but felt the metaphor would be wasted on her. "Neither are you the first individual who claims they can fix me. I cannot stop your judgment. I cannot change your mind. So I am not going to try. You can think what you like. Write a dozen papers on the subject. My mind off-limits. I hope that is sufficiently clear to you."

Naskisem frowned now, thoroughly. She clenched her jaw, making the bone stick out where the corner met her neck. Why would Liyar amuse himself, she wondered. She understood what sarcasm was, but had only encountered it rarely. Perhaps only a handful of times in her fifty-four years of life. It was offensive, she knew. It was amusement made at another's expense. In this case, her. "You mock me," she stated quietly.

"Yes," Liyar agreed unapologetically. "It is easier to mock than it is to speak to a wall of bricks. I have wasted enough energy attempting to make others understand my point of view. It is an exercise in futility."

A wall of bricks, she repeated. She didn't understand. He spoke in riddle. Naskisem looked at the floor as she struggled to keep with him. An analogy, she realised. She was the wall of bricks. Naskisem was offended. She felt a chord within her, like the lowest note on a lute, as if being slowly kneaded with a bow in an empty, large, and dark room. Dampness. As in a basement on some tortuous humid world. She thought she had done nothing wrong. Naskisem went on, as though Liyar had said nothing, however. "I will not write any papers on you," she assured him. She was not a psychologist or a behaviourist. She was a philosopher and, while she was concerned for him as a fellow Vulcan, she was not going to use him a subject of study. Especially not without his permission. Why would he think that? "I do not judge you, Liyar. Nor do I want to fix you. I want to help you to find your balance on your own. I will provide you with stability."

"A human philosopher named Einstein once stated that doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results is the definition of insanity," Liyar mused tangentially. He brought his other hand up. He could see the bloblike manifestations of offense through the sheet of glass in her mind. Even to other Vulcans, he could never communicate correctly. He was sheltering himself, protecting himself against the storm. Keeping his cards close, out of play. He revealed them slowly, distrustfully. "Simply put, I fail to comprehend how you believe that your inner peace, saturated distaste for everything I am, will somehow positively influence me."

With a quiet sigh, a genuine one through her nostrils this time, Naskisem moved from where she was standing. She hadn't moved since they entered. She went to the kitchen area and looked around, then to where she imagined her bedroom was supposed to be. Everything about the quarters was grotesquely bourgeois. She preferred small and efficient, not spacious and lavish. Such a room was a waste of resources. A room like this would never exist on a Vulcan ship. Not for a person, anyway. Terribly inefficient. But she would not complain. She was not bothered by it. It was only a note she made in her thoughts. She saw two suitcases, on rather large next to a smaller one, beside the bed. Her few belongings and her asenoi for meditation. Naskisem turned away from the bedroom door - she hadn't actually gone inside, just looked in from the living room - and saw Liyar. Still there.

She scratched her temple, then replaced her hand behind her back. "Will you show me the ship after?" He was rude. She was not. Before he started speaking, she wandered through the living area, looking out through the windows. She used a finger to test for dust. There was none. She inspected the couch and chairs, deciding that their cushioning was sufficient if not too much. She wondered whether they were designed for the spine as they should have been. She had heard that humans prioritised immediate health over longterm well-being. Whenever she left this place, she noted, she would have to visit a doctor to make sure she was undamaged.

Chao-Mong-Mu made the tree dance at his will / you do not know how to hug a rough tree and say darling to it / Chao-Mong-Mu magnificently ran a shaft of sunlight / to smash against the treetops / walk carefully / carefully / and fend off the sunlight / you build yourselves immense houses to live in / and you are afraid even there. Liyar watched her, picked his card back up from the table and put it back in his pocket. He became a very small thing / and hid in the vase. Vaikreyan's whispered ramblings wound through his memory. He followed her out into the living area. "If you wish," he nodded.

She looked up from the sofa, removing her hand from it. "I do," she told him. Something in her eyes might have been a smile. "I would like you to teach me the amenities of housing aboard a Federation starship," she said, turning to inspect the room from where she stood.

"Replicator," he pointed a finger toward the large, utilitarian device embedded in the wall. "Selections X46Y through 87UI61 are Vulcan. I have changed the language settings to reflect your own. Table." His finger moved. "Chair." He was mocking again. "Sink. It uses running water. I suspect it is only a symbolic device, as most dishes are deposited in the reclamator. Perhaps Terrans bring their own cutlery, but I have not seen evidence of this." He led her to the washroom. It was relatively straightforward. "Sterile field, sanitation devices," he pointed at rows above another sink. "Sonic shower. It also possesses a water setting, but it is highly uncomfortable." The bedroom was next. "Bed." He arched an eyebrow quixotically and ducked out back into the living area. He pointed at a small desk in the corner. "Personal computer terminal. It operates using the LCARS system. I will demonstrate." He sat down behind her desk and opened it. The startup program loaded and then revealed several brightly colored panels, buttons and numbers. "This is your basic search device. For example, if you desire to index astronomical events from the year 2235, you would hit this button. Then bring up the keypad." He switched the language again and typed in a phrase quickly. "Enter your query, enter, and there you are. There are instruction manuals located within the device that you can bring up here." He then turned and looked to her collarbone and garment. "I see that you have not been issued a commbadge." He held his out. "A basic communication device. You tap the panel here to activate it. State the name of the individual you wish to contact and it will directly transmit to them. Each badge contains an interconnected network of translation matrix algorithms, which make up the Federation UT. Crewman Athlen, Ensign Peers and myself are working to make the devices more accessible to psionic species, but you may note some distinct errors in the process. It is constantly monitoring and updating. I suggest that you familiarize yourself with some basic Standard, as it is the primary language of 95% of the crew."

Naskisem followed him around by his heels, fascinated by everything she was seeing and learning. It was all straightforward and particularly bland, but it was something new. She had spent very little time away from her homeworld, totalling only a few months over the course of her life. She found humans bizarre and discomforting. Their methods were foreign to her, as were their designs. As for the language, she was content with using the universal translator. She could understand Federation Standard, English it was called, if it were spoken slowly enough. She was worse at speaking it, however. "Do the lights and temperature work the same here as on the USS Venture?" she wondered, only inches from behind him. She looked at him in the eyes. "And the temperature?" she realised how cold she was. How could Liyar stand it? "It is far too cold. It is unhealthy." Her posture stiffened.

"Yes. The temperature controls are here, they are also vocally operated. Computer, increase temperature to 40 degrees celsius. Anything over that amount will begin to noticeably affect any Terrans who enter. Not to mention that the furniture is not designed to withstand the higher temperatures we are used to." He tapped into the individualized species systems. Clothing with small metal inserts, hyposprays and a metal tin appeared. He picked them up out of the buffer and held them out to her. "Trioxin, gravity lining, and you may find this of some use. It is for the smell. The trioxin will help your body to regulate itself, and it will guide your breathing. Try to breathe from the top part of your chest until you become used to the air pressure changes. Resist the urge to use your biological controls to stifle the process. You may also find your hearing affected, that things sound muffled, or distorted. That will ease with time as well." He was clearly taking some pity on her. He hadn't had anyone to explain these things to him, but he imagined it would have made things much smoother. "I would also suggest that you keep your mental shields up at all times. Vulcans are culturally predisposed not to engage in interpersonal contact, Terrans and other species on board are not. They may do so in good will, or by accident. Their thoughts can be somewhat jarring."

She took the items from him in one hand. "In what way?" she asked of the crew's jarring thoughts. Naskisem had never had to do such a thing on Vulcan. It would be strange to use her shields all the time, but she decided that she would heed his advice.

"Terrans lack mental discipline," Liyar responded factually. She was only a hair's breadth away from him. He regarded her evenly. "They operate by using an exo-empathetic structure. This means that their emotions and perceptions are fluid, expressed and analyzed constantly. This operates as a network by which Terrans can deal with their own emotions and the emotional expressiveness of others. It is a substitute for their lack of telepathy. Their emotions are shallower than ours. They do not see the benefit in emotional control. They are at no risk from the Inner Chorus, as we are. Their minds will feel chaotic and alien to you. It may frighten you until you are used to it, but it is benign."

"I see," Naskisem realised how close she was. She withdrew. "Thank you. When can you take me for a tour? May I meet the captain? Have you any friends?" she asked. "I would like to meet them."

"You can meet the captain, yes. Given that she has time. I can take you for a tour whenever you are prepared. I do not know if you would find my friends any more tolerable than me," he warned her, crossing his arms again.

"I do not find you intolerable," she told him. "You need assistance that I can provide. It will be my honour." Naskisem ignored all his rhetoric about how useless he thought she was. "In time, you will come to find that I speak the truth and be able to tolerate me." She bowed her head somewhat, then looked back into his troubled eyes. "I look forward to that day."

Liyar found her phrasing suspicious. The day? She was here only to speak with Maenad. Honor? He could feel her discomfort and haste from across the room. Tolerate her? For what purpose? "Elaborate."

Naskisem watched him for a moment. "I look forward to when you will find me tolerable, as I look forward to your eventual permission to assist you. May we become friends, Liyar, I would be most honoured."

That didn't do anything to convince him. Warily, he said, "I will show you the main areas of this vessel now, if you are amenable." That way he wouldn't have it hanging over his head. He didn't mention that part.

She was hesitant to go immediately; Naskisem had yet to meditate and was feeling tired, but if Liyar wanted to go now then she would. "I am," she replied.

OFF:

Lieutenant (JG) Liyar
Diplomatic Officer, VDF/SDD
USS Galileo

Naskisem
Alien Archaeologist/Anthropologist, CIV
USS Galileo

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