Honed, Hemmed In I

Posted on 30 Apr 2013 @ 10:33am by
Edited on on 30 Apr 2013 @ 10:39am

1,412 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Episode 03 - Frontier
Location: USS Galileo: LTjg Maenad Panne's Office
Timeline: MD6 1930 Hours

ON:

He wasn't angry anymore. He felt pity. This girl who stood across the chasm. Lightyears away, the yawning cliffs caught the wind in their rocks and screamed between them. He needed to train. He needed to get it out of his system. He needed to speak to Maenad, but he didn't know what to say. To explain. How to explain. How to even speak to her. Naskisem had traipsed onto his ship, violated his privacy, told his friends her intentions, and still demanded he share minds with her as though she were a savior, a minister of peace, goodness and benevolence. As though she were T'Yron. He sighed to himself as he walked down the halls. She was Vulcan. She could not be anyone other than herself. And, he knew, in many ways she was right. She would be a good friend, to any Vulcan. She had - good intentions - he made himself admit. Of course she did. They all did. Good intentions, a stable mind. A good person. But what she wanted, it was too much. Too intimate. His hand wouldn't stop shaking, and he crossed his arms. Mind-melding, with a stranger. Someone who didn't see him. She saw an object to be fixed, dissected. He didn't know where he was going. His feet ate up the deck plating, head down.

He wished T'Yron were there, in front of him. He missed her. Her image was so bright, and clear in his mind. The steady, solemn weight of the bond. The carved out ditches where it once rested, slashes in the earth. Her katra was gone, lost forever, but he could still see her. Always with a faint look of knowing, as though she were in on some big cosmic joke he had yet to understand. He would have been content to spend the remainder of his life trying. He couldn't help the small, wry smile that tugged his lips downward for a moment. Her voice. He missed the sound of her voice. It had always brought peace, harmony. Not like Naskisem. Naskisem was intricate metal, crafted into layered buildings and structures. Kal-toh in a mind, the perfect sphere, sprawling and elaborate. A mind controlled as any mind could be; an artist's appreciation, but her harmony was different. T'Yron didn't build. She bent nature, lived in it, let it shape her, accepted its reaching. That outlook had changed him, that awareness, magic and wonder at something so cold as logic. Logic wasn't cold. It wasn't metal. It was real, solid ground. Bare feet, always more, right down to the macroworld, universes embedded in one another.

He found himself back on deck 4. It was magnetic. Naskisem wasn't Maenad, either. If Maenad had asked, he would have done it. Would have joined their minds, let her see. On his own terms, in his own way. Something so personal as a mind, it had to be his choice. Liyar's anger at Naskisem had been at having that choice taken from him. That Maenad now knew someone was aboard to help him, to throw it in her face that he was damaged. He knew he was, she knew, but it wasn't in his control anymore. That bothered him. But he trusted Maenad. That realization gave him pause. He did trust her. More than anyone else aboard. More than Kestra, Trija, Coleman. And she respected him. That was a gift beyond value. The differences between her and Naskisem were also innumerable. Maeand was his friend. There were no structures of metal. Hers were buildings, cobbled stone, cafes and street walks, beach houses and forests. Red on black on white sharpness, slow in motion dancing, music and wine. A giant moon hung low in the sky, ghost orchids swaying in the wind, pale and fragrant. Adventures, worlds and stories, ripping hands through space to peek in. Starkly vivid, she could peel herself from space and time, stretch her limbs. Here I am. Real as touch and rooted, systems of trees networking underground. Thinking of Maenad slowed his steps. Unconsciously, she calmed him, and the flustered impulses to lash out began to drain out, puddling at his feet. She deserved to know.

He made his way to her office and rang the chime again. When the door opened, he wasted no time and ducked in, much less upset than earlier. He spotted her and made his way over to her. They hadn't spoken much, and not one-to-one, since yesterday. Suddenly alone in her quarters, he drew himself up, hands behind his back, and let out a breath. The air seemed to condense, grow quieter. "It is about, before. With Dr. Naskisem." He squared his shoulders. "That was not supposed to happen. I apologize. I do not know how to explain well," he admitted, not even certain she wanted an explanation.

Maenad was sitting on her couch as she was before, this time though she was laying on the arm instead of sitting against it. A single sidetable lamp was on next to the sofa, behind her head. She was too long for the couch, though, when she laid that way, and her feet were raised up on the opposite arm. Her shoes were still off, and her skirt was high again, but not like had been. She had the same book in her hands, nestled in her lap. She rolled her head to the side and saw Liyar there again. He didn't look half as explosive as before, but the Vulcan woman he'd been with was gone. And it was hard to look like a madman when the lights were dimmed and soft jazz was playing quietly in the background.

"How about a hello?" she said, letting the open book drop flat onto her chest. She smirked to make sure that her irritable tone wasn't misinterpreted. "I was waiting for you to come back and tell me what that was all about."

He arched his eyebrows, blinked and then nodded. "Hello." She looked comfortable, as comfortable as one with such long legs ought to have been on her couch. When she spoke, he rose a hand to the side. What was it all about? He didn't know. He didn't have the slightest clue. Naskisem wouldn't tell him. "Dr. Naskisem is an archaeologist. She states she is here to speak with you about your work, about Vulcan history. She spent considerable time, however, insisting that she believes she can help me. Telepathically." Maenad was still in her wrinkled skirt, he saw. Reading her book, one with a purely black cover. The book might be more interesting than the discussion, he lamented. Liyar folded his fingertips together. "I believe that she recognized you are my friend, and took it upon herself to gauge your reaction to her presence, and to her insistence. I assure you, it will not happen again." He paused awkwardly and added sincerely if somewhat tangentially, "Are you well?"

She smiled as she slowly exhaled, her chest sinking. "I noticed that," she said in reference to Naskisem's strange little test. "I'm fine," she replied to his question. Maenad looked up at the ceiling for a moment, then sat up properly, putting her feet on the floor. Her hair was still down as it was before, and the elastic was still on her wrist. It didn't occur to her that Liyar had never seen it like that. She personally hated it, but it was more comfortable. Around him, though, she was always comfortable. Except for, well, when she kissed him. And when she first met him.

"Did you know," she said, setting the book on the table, "that when I first met you, I could have sworn that you hated me."

"I was not particularly adept at social interaction when I first came aboard," he admitted. Not that he was any better now, but common sense and a lot of trial and error had eased his path, if only a little bit. "Do you still think this?" he asked, as though genuinely concerned. Granted, he didn't think he'd done anything nearly as ignorant since they'd come to know one another.

"Maybe," she said. "Here, come sit with me."

OFF:

Lieutenant (JG) Maenad Panne
Chief Science Officer, SSC
USS Galileo

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

RSS Feed