Vacation, Interrupted

Posted on Tue Jun 13th, 2017 @ 4:02pm by Lieutenant T'Pral

885 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Pulling Together
Location: Vulcan
Timeline: Shore Leave Day Two

ON:

The bright Vulcan sun shone into the room, illuminating the bed's occupant. T'Pral squeezed her eyes tighter and rolled, attempting to remain asleep a little longer. Vulcans needed little sleep, much of the night was spent meditating. But given the... activity that had been occurring, T'Pral found she was "sleeping in" as the humans would say. Eventually, the intense Vulcan sun won the battle and T'Pral awoke.

She stretched and glanced around the room, not overly surprised at the absence of S'Tras. Her husband had been rousing early, continuing to assist with the Exeter's resupply mission. They had discussed the logic of his decision, each having a different viewpoint. To him, it was logical that the Exeter's Chief Tactical Officer had visibility of the specifics. To her, it was logical to spend vacation on vacation, and to trust the Assistant Chief take care of things as she had on the Calypso.

In the end he had "won" in that she allowed him to go. It became illogical to continue the argument. After all, it was often a Vulcan trait to not trust others to complete a task to their standards.

She extricated herself from the bed and proceeded to perform her morning routine of sonic shower, dress, eat, and tidying up.

[Previous Day]

Despite their cold and logical demeanor, Vulcans can be quite intimate and warm when around those they love. Vulcans had deeper, more intense emotions than other species, they just kept it under tighter control. Love was no exception. S'Tras and T'Pral relaxed in functional chairs, a game of kal-toh between them.

"I think I will explore the planet tomorrow," T'Pral stated.

"As is your prerogative, wife. As you know, I will be preoccupied with the Exeter's mission."
S'Tras played a piece, which caused a minor change in the game shape. "Where will you go," he queried.

The woman shrugged, "I have not yet decided. I have been considering the opera, the fire plains, the ruins of Anorak, or perhaps one of the newly erected monuments to Ambassador Spock." She focused on the game, deciding where to play her own piece.

S'Tras was quiet a long moment, considering the options she offered. "Might I suggest the opera and fire plains. I believe there is a performance of Falor's Journey scheduled for tomorrow, and a visit to the fire plains will enrich the experience."

T'Pral nodded, "Perhaps. I will decide tomorrow." She played her piece at last, causing a more significant change than S'Tras's. She sat back with a satisfied expression as he took his turn.

[Present]

T'Pral regarded herself in the full-length mirror. She did not often dress in traditional Vulcan garb. But for a day she would be mostly outdoors in the intense Vulcan weather, it was a smarter choice than a Starfleet uniform. It breathed better, and didn't absorb nearly as much of the incident solar radiation. She turned slightly in each direction to ensure all the flaps were secured perfectly and the garment was draped flawlessly. Anything less would be unacceptable. To her satisfaction, everything was in it's place.

With her morning routine completed, she left the abode with a final glance towards the completed kal-toh game. S'Tras would want a rematch when they both returned in the evening.

Her previous plan immediately was forgotten in the Vulcan heat. More than two thirds of her life was spent on the planet, and it was, effectively, returning home. Rather than visit her choices of cultural enrichment, she instead opted to indulge her sense of nostalgia. She wandered her old neighborhood, speaking briefly to those she recognized. She visited old haunts, just basking in the memories they brought to the surface.

It was a completely illogical choice, to waste a day in such a manner instead of enriching oneself. But these days T'Pral was among her kind infrequently. It was a sort of relief to be away form the illogic of humans for a while.

It was late in the day by the time she found herself at one of the statues to Ambassador Spock. It was a modest affair, a life-sized likeness of the half-human in Ambassadorial finery, his face upturned towards the stars, a simple inscription upon the base read his title and name, followed by two stardates, 2230.06 and 68158.82; his birth and death, respectively. T'Pral examined the piece, taking in every detail. While she did not idolize the man like some other Vulcans did, she appreciated everything he had done over the past century and a half for Vulcan and human relations.

While she stood there in the statue's presence, her vacation came to a sudden and violent end. In a blinding flash and enormous din, the statue exploded, sending shrapnel flying through the neighborhood within which the erection resided. T'Pral herself was knocked back by a sizable chunk of stone. As the dust settled, residents began shuffling about, inspecting the damage and searching for those hurt and/or killed.

"Over here," a voice said and the sounds of moving debris cut through the tinnitus in her ears. T'Pral couldn't move, but she was alive. Everything seemed to be in pain. Someone leaned over her, temporarily eclipsing the bright sun in her eyes. "C- Calypso..." she managed to croak before passing out.

OFF:

Lt T'Pral
Chief Engineer
USS Calypso

 

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