SET 017: Rojar VI Moon Charting, "One Line" II

Posted on 22 May 2013 @ 3:36am by
Edited on on 23 May 2013 @ 3:35pm

4,147 words; about a 21 minute read

Mission: Episode 03 - Frontier
Location: Shuttlecraft Virginia, Rojar VI Space
Timeline: MD9 1030 Hours

ON:

Liyar didn't move an inch. He rested his hand against the edge of her chair and turned it back to face him. "If you are depending upon me to consistently and correctly interpret vague statements, then I assure you, you will be frequently dissatisfied. I need you to be clear with me, Maenad. It is the only way that we can effectively communicate. You stated that I make you feel- what?"

"How do you think?" Maenad demanded to know. "You said yourself that I am too intimate with you. More than what is conventional for friends. Tell me why humans do that, and you have your answer." She nodded to his console. "The next moon," she repeated.

"How do you expect me to answer that question? Do you think that if I were confident in my perception I would be sitting here mindlessly repeating myself?" he asked, and for the first time in their conversation a hint of exasperation entered his voice.

"I'll do it myself, then." Her knowledge of helm systems was rudimentary, but she could do it. It took her about ten seconds, but the course for the next moon was set. She turned to look at him; he had absolutely no reason to get angry with her. He wanted to know why she acted how she did, and he beat it out of her to admit that she liked him. When she did that, he played stupid by pretending that he didn't know what that meant. Then, when she told him how to figure it out, he refused. He was a Vulcan. Nevermind that he had lived on Earth for however many months or years, or whatever it was. Nevermind that he was surrounded by humans all day, every day. Nevermind that he knew what frequent physical contact in humans meant. That not just anyone shared secrets they way she had. Not just anybody kissed, and how worried she was for him, and how she was always finding excuses to be near him. It infuriated her that he was making her do all of this, trying to making her admit it flat out. And for what purpose? Was he trying to humiliate her? "And what do you expect me to do, then, Liyar? Continue repeating myself? Do you need me to spell it out for you?" she asked, looking at him sideways again.

"Yes. Spell it out for me." Liyar's eyebrows flew up in a quick motion. He made a small adjustment to the helm control and powered the maneuvering thrusters. "Simple language," he said when he was done and the shuttle was on its way again. "Draw me a diagram if you want, Maenad, but stop obfuscating. What is it you are so afraid of that you outright refuse to speak the truth?"

"I like you! I think about you. I wrote my parents about you, telling them about how happy you make me. They told me I was only hurting myself; and you know what? They're right, but I can't help it. I wrote you a letter the night you asked me what love letters are, but I set the damn thing on fire. I sleep with your psionic music player. Every time we meet, I feel sad when we part. When you're in trouble, I worry. I look for reasons to be with you, and I let you be with me; do you think I would allow anyone else to come see me in the middle of the night, or sleep in my bed while I take the couch? Do you think I would agree to defence training at six o'clock in the morning for anybody else but you? Mister Kiwosk offered to help me once and I refused. I came to visit you at the hospital on Vega, and only left because you made me." She shook her head, looking away from him for a moment. "You're the first person I think of when I get up and the last before I sleep." She shook her head and cursed under her breath. "Why?" she asked rhetorically. "Because I'm an idiot who never listens to her parents."

"And you think I do not reciprocate these feelings?" Liyar asked candidly. Perhaps more candid than he would have been four months ago, but overwhelming, blinding pain had a peculiarly humbling effect. He had come to understand the value of letting those around him know his regard. Insanity, Neo called it. How could he be a normal Vulcan, when he couldn't walk down a hallway without hearing the deepest secrets of the crewmen around him, chattering away in his head? When he felt Maenad's pain across from him in his wrists and arms, dull and nervewracking. Her awkward strangeness, akathisia, restless, despair. It was a lump that made speaking difficult. The fact that he was here, having this discussion, spoke to such a change in his entire methodology, his personality, that it was a little frightening to recognize all at once. He felt like the tiniest scrap of a flag left attached to its pole, flapping wildly in the wind, waiting to detach and never be seen again. He wasn't supposed to tell her these things, but it was his voice that rang through the cabin, clearly and without his consent. "I cannot meditate. I cannot sleep. I cannot eat. But when you are here, I am calm. It is the only time that I am content. I try my hardest to understand you, Maenad, and it is difficult. I accept this. I refuse to accept that you simply give up when I request directness from you," he said imploringly. "You are not an idiot. I have no intention of hurting or humiliating you. This is not fun for me, Maenad. I do not enjoy causing this distress."

Maenad had moved to the edge of her seat so that she was hardly sitting on it anymore. She was more perched, straight-postured with her hands clasped over her knees. Her eyes softened downward as she heard the words she thought she could never hear. It was surreal; Liyar, speaking from his heart. She knew that he had one, as all Vulcans did somewhere, but she thought it could never be for her. She wasn't smiling, but rather she was blank. Devoid. Her body was just a filter the sound of his voice had to pass through in order to get to her brain, which was fully devoted to processing everything he said. Too devoted to spare energy to smile or blink, or react, or move at all. She looked more like a young girl being delivered a scolding lecture for having done wrong at school, and who knew better but did it anyway.

He laid his feet flat on the ground and rested his elbows on his knees, speaking in an even, but quieter tone. "Federation Standard is my third language. I have been in the presence of Terrans for three months and you are the first Terran friend I have ever made. My language and yours are so different that I cannot communicate half of the concepts I understand using words. Yes, Maenad, sometimes I appear naive, or stupid. And I may often misunderstand you or need clarification. It is an unavoidable reality." He sat up to rest his weight on his hand over his knee. "I am unwilling to believe we cannot overcome it. I will not cease just because it can be difficult. It is worth understanding you. Your friendship is a gift," he said. "It is not in my nature to traipse through your mind. You know that. I am not going to rip it out of your head-" he cut himself off and began anew, shrugging with his head and shoulders. "I should think, regardless of culture, that a man would factor a woman's opinion of him into his inclinations."

Slowly, she leveled her chin. Her eyes remained fixed on her hands, which had turned a ghostly white. She eyed the blue of a vein that wound over the rigid tendons on the top of her hand until it disappeared between the knuckles of her middle and index fingers. If there was a certain satisfaction in her, she didn't show it. Her parents were wrong. She was right all along, but lacked the confidence to know it herself. Maybe. Maenad looked more like she'd just been terminally diagnosed more than she was given what sounded like the answer to her fantasies. In a low voice, without returning his glance, she asked, "Inclinations?" Finally, her bright green eyes were able to meet his, and they darted up from her lap to see his reaction.

Liyar used the tip of his finger to turn her chair toward him again. He traced the finger up over her arm, across her shoulder, until the weight of his hand rested against her neck. His eyes were locked with hers, as though transfixed. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was completely disregarding everything he'd told himself, everything that he'd been told, pushing it out of his mind, forcing it away. It was such a weight, a dragging curse. He let it go, rocketing into oblivion. He was supposed to shield her. He was supposed to- he felt it in her. Out of the blank slate she'd made of her body, glass and angles. It lived, a vibrating tickle. Hopefulness, half-certainty, desire. It zapped through the transparent edges. Her pulse beat rapidly against his hand. He moved as though he wasn't sure what he was doing at first, winging it, riding on the wispy, half-formed edges of clouds, but whatever he sensed in her changed his momentum, directed purpose, assurance. He shifted until his fingers found the back of her neck, and he tapped his thumb over the pressure point there. His knees touched hers. Time around them slowed, encapsulating them in a private, ageless bubble. Liyar's gaze was enchanted, mesmerized, but he didn't remain idle long. "I see I need to be more blunt."

And then he was there, with little warning or time for her to react. The hand at her neck moved so that his thumb was resting under her chin, his fingers curled over the side of her throat, and he tipped her face up. Really, he thought, the color adorning her lips and cheeks suited her well. The bolded black lines surrounding her eyes made them stand out, wide and strange. It was the last thought he had before he kissed her fully, his body moving like breathing, natural and confident. His other hand slid into her hair, pristine and ordered, but not for long. It was soft under his fingers. The kiss was hardly chaste, but dry, warm and slow and exceptionally unsubtle. He did it once, twice, then again and again until the jolts of fear and adrenaline dissipated from under her skin and gave way to something deeper. He pulled away after a time, and rubbed the pad of his thumb against her bottom lip gently. His eyes were gleaming. "I trust that was sufficient clarification."

For Maenad, the universe around them stopped. Her heart was racing so fast she could feel her blood rushing in her veins and her lungs filling with air. Liyar's easy touch sent delightful tingles down her spine, through her neck, and into the back of her head. Her shoulders tickled as the sensation of a chill went through them right to the bone, but she kept herself perfectly still, except to tilt her head in to match his caress. He knew precisely where to touch her, and she let him, her body inviting him. Her eyes flicked over his eyes and cheeks, his neck and shoulders as he came closer. When he kissed her, she accepted. His lips were soft against hers, she inhaled the scent of his skin, felt the worn sandpaper of his shaved chin and jaw. When he withdrew, she opened her eyes, watched his, and leaned forward into him. She touched his cheekbone at its side, then traced her fingertips to his temple, to his ear, she rubbed her nose against the side of his, her eyes shut again, breathed against him, and let him take her over again, and again, until he stopped. "Liyar," she whispered in a breath, her eyes pleaded with him. She was filled with desire, she was lightheaded but also clairvoyant. She felt almost savage. She chewed her lip, and maybe she tasted blood. She wanted him, had forever, and now he was there. An enticing smirk spread on her lips, then she licked them, tasting his saliva on her. "I'm sorry," she said for all her past restraint, denials, and lack of forthrightness. Her hair was disheveled and her eyes danced with his. She blinked several times. For a moment, for she forgot how to speak English, then grinned her white teeth at him. "Now what?" she asked, a seductress.

He could feel it in her thoughts, and let them guide him. He'd tried over and over again to convince himself that he was more than a raw impulse, a writhing nerve, a meaningless instinct, tried to convince everyone. That he was something, fit some definition, but it was so easy to let it go. Her body reacted to the simplest touches, her mind snapped into pure focus, her skin was pale and flushed. He liked it, wanted to touch her, wanted her. And she desired him. He could feel it and hear it and see it in her. He felt an unhidden, uncareful avarice. His hands moved over the console to silence the obnoxious scans. He wouldn't be interrupted. He stood over her chair and rested one hand casually on its arm. The tips of his fingers skated over Maenad's face, his index brushing her ear, his thumb at her chin, rubbing under her jaw. His fingertips were oversensitive, feeling the currents and pulses of sensation from her, as though they lived in him. He watched her, eyes dark and curious. As subtle as Liyar's emotions often were, there was no mistaking this one. He touched her throat, following the long column with his thumb, tapping it against the dip where she swallowed. He felt it jump. Then he was gone, his hand migrating to the nape of her neck, her hair. "You did not answer my question from earlier, you know that?" He leaned in and pressed his lips against her exposed skin, speaking lowly near her ear. "How do I make you feel?"

Maenad hesitated for a second, caught up in her rush. "Tempted," was her answered whisper back. "Dangerous," she added. She rubbed her lips against his ear as she tried to bite it with her teeth, but couldn't. Instead, she followed his hairline with the tip of her nose and lips, inhaling him through long, purposeful breaths. "We have work to do," she reminded him, laughter somewhere in her throat, but her tone of voice said it could wait. They had eight hours, after all. The moons were just as dead and lifeless as they would be forever. There were no resources here. No atmospheres to be studied, no creatures to be found, no weeds to pick, and no ice to be thawed. But, here, inside the shuttle, it was the exact opposite. It was full of life, discovery, and exploration. She leaned back in her chair and stared up at him, smiling.

"Do we." Liyar was momentarily still. For the first time since he could remember, he felt in perfect control of himself. Every nerve in his body was under his command, every movement deliberate and precise. He knew that he should be backing away, explaining why this was wrong, illogical, and it was that if nothing else. But he didn't want to. And just like that, he gave up trying. He placed one of his hands along her cheek, and then he kissed her again, allowed their connection to open in his mind, letting her feel him in return, hot sparks in his lungs and the small twitch in his fingers that wanted to touch, reach, experience, take. He did nothing, only pulled away, rested his forehead against hers as if seeking purchase. The connection was a lapping wave against the shoreline of her mind. "Tell me I am not supposed to care about this ridiculous survey."

Liyar's forehead on hers, she felt his breaths on her nose and lips, on her chin. She felt the tingle of his mind in hers, telling her the things she had not admitted to wanting, erasing every shred of doubt she had had in herself and in him. It was a liberating and blissful experience. This Liyar was, unlike the one she knew; he was unpredictable. He was honest, but carnally so; he wanted her, she knew it, and she loved it in a frightening and seductive kind of way. She giggled in the back of her throat. "You're not supposed to care about this ridiculous survey," she laughed. She slouched in her chair further, messing up her hair against the back of the chair and ruffling up her uniform to the small of her back, exposing the lower part of her tunic. Her cheeks were rosy and somehow she looked almost childish like that, far from the mature woman that she portrayed in real life. She reached up with one hand and clenched the breast of his uniform between her fingers and pulled him down toward her, but if she pulled too much he might have fallen on her. She raised her right leg to prevent him from collapsing, and if he did, he could lean on it. Her skirt rose scantily high, exposing her nylon-darkened thigh, but she hardly noticed.

He let himself be dragged forward until the top of her leg rested against his abdomen. He braced his weight on one hand and brushed the inside of her knee with his thumb, feeling the material of her tights. He studied her keenly, watching as her body shifted under him just so. It was as if he were listening to the inside of her skin, following along the impulses that guided him to touch her. Her arms, the tops of her legs, her neck, fanning his hands out to splay against her shoulders, the pressure points in her spine. He closed his eyes, opened them, and took her in unflinchingly. His face was blank, to the outward world, but his satisfaction and content, curiosity and whim crackled through his touch. He was fascinated, intent but measured, radiating avidity through deliberation. Affection, fondness, and a healthy dose of libido washed happily between them. He looked far healthier than he had in days. "How long has this occupied your mind?"

"A while," she said up to him. She sat up straight, arching her back. He was still taller; she craned herself to kiss the side of his neck. "Since the beach, maybe. When we were at the bar. The hospital, too," she whispered. Maenad lowered herself, glanced at the console that displayed data no more interesting than space dust, and configured the helm controls to take them to the next moon. "I can't say," she realised. She really didn't know the exact date. She stood and instructed him to sit himself back in his chair. She followed the few steps while biting her bottom lip, her pupils dilated, and her cheeks remained flushed. She sat on his legs, straddling them, as she put her arms over his shoulders and crossed her arms behind his neck. One hand found itself flat, against his back, finding his spine and shoulder blades. The other ran through his hair on the back of his head and guided him to look into her eyes. "How long have you noticed me?" she asked, but didn't wait for an answer. She took the elastic out of her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. She closed her eyes, and massaged her nose against the lines of his face, touching him with her lips, kissing gently near his eyes, temples, cheeks, and when she got to his lips she touched them between her teeth, but didn't bite. Meanwhile her arm behind his back pushed him tightly against her chest. Her movements were slow, deliberate, and contemplated, like they'd been rehearsed.

His eyes found hers easily, deceptively docile. His lips were slightly parted, as though he wanted to breathe it all in, to allow what would come, not to rush it or invite it too quickly. Languidly, his hands found her hips and he fit them there, smoothing over the fabric of her uniform and lower, without disturbing it. He tipped his face up as she lightly, almost gingerly touched him. The shadows that made him gaunt were lifted as she smoothed her fingers and lips over him. He felt made of china. Before she could pull away, he used his leg to reposition her forward, surging up to find her, hand at the middle of her back, clasping her to him easily and with little effort. He seemed pleased with this, and bent to return the favor, capturing her lips with his, heated and recalescent. He felt her stomach tighten as though it were his own, and her lips part under his. All of a sudden he slowed again, like a lake clearing from the choppy ripples of a storm, easy, simple. He laid his head back against the chair and watched her above him. "18.7 days," Liyar answered her question casually. "He was an inordinately malodorous gentleman." A smile was buried in his eyes, and traveled along their connection, warmth blooming in the back of her mind and spilling into the base of her skull.

Maenad's expression went puzzled, and she peered down at him through squinted eyes. Then she laughed, remembering who he might have been talking about. The man at the beach bar. "Yes," she nodded, "thank you for saving me." Maenad remained for she was, motionless, for a few long seconds as she looked over the angles of his face. She felt the weight of her body settle on him as she fixed his hair with her fingers. "Well," she said, then got off of him. She leaned the back of her hips against the centre divide of the console and gripped its edge with both hands. Then she started quietly laughing again, her shoulders bobbing. "That was sufficient clarification."

He was free-floating, a suspended particle captured in light, soaring through the nihilistic vacuum of space. Infinite and lost. What now? What did it mean? He did not understand how Terrans viewed relationships. Their intentions were never laid out, they were transient, impermanent. Liyar found the idea nauseatingly foreign, stomach-clenching. An evolutionary distrust prickled in his brain. How-how-how. How could the Rigelians function that way? But he had done it. He had let it go, he had followed his instincts as insane as they were, and now he would have to handle it. He needed to make a choice. End it where it started, or come what may. The scans in front of him held no answers. The moon they were surveying now had massive fissures all through it, resembling a crumpled piece of paper, cracked, bent, mangled. Normally Liyar would be fascinated, but not today. He then looked over at Maenad, who was bright-eyed and smiling.

Could she understand? Would she want to? She had to know something about Vulcans. She had to know, at the very least, how vast the chasm between their cultures would be. Could it work? The ugly, angry moon in front of him didn't respond to his mental outcry. It was an almost scientific question. Could it work, could it support life, could it function, could it exist, how, in what way. He overthought. That was his problem. He thought too much, he analyzed, checked, balanced. Maenad was not going through this, was she? She knew that her life was solely the product of her own decisions, her own choices. They may have had consequences, but they were her consequences. He squeezed her knee lightly. "I endeavor to be thorough."

Maenad stood where she was for a moment longer before returning to her seat. She sat perched on the edge, her shoulders straight. "What's next?" she asked him, meaning which moon was he taking them to now.

TO BE CONTINUED...

OFF:

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

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

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