Pushing Apart

Posted on Tue Jun 19th, 2018 @ 4:54pm by Lieutenant T'Pral

1,586 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Pulling Together
Location: USS Exeter
Timeline: Following "Solving the Mystery"

ON:

As T'Pral limped across Vulcan in search of a transport pad, her mind wandered from possibility to possibility. Some were more worrying than others. She paused to take a breath and center herself once more; if she was to get to the bottom of this, she would have to regain control of her emotions.

Resuming her ambulation, she identified her location and that of the nearest public transporter. As she headed in the most efficient route, she tapped her commbadge. "Lieutenant

T'Pral to the USS Exeter."

A woman she could not identify answered, "Exeter here, Lieutenant, what can we do for you?"

"Is Commander S'Tras on board?"

A pause, then, "He is. Shall I pass on a message for you?"

"No need. I will transport up shortly. T'Pral out."

She was glad he was still on his ship. She did not relish searching the length and breadth of the planet for him. Though, a short communique would have solved that problem in short order. At any rate, being aboard the Exeter made things easier in her mind.

In short order, she reached the transport site. Stepping up to the console, she unclipped her commbadge and set it upon the unit. She keyed in a command an tapped her badge three times, then another command in the console. The program complete, she put her badge back on and keyed in her destination before stepping onto the platform.

[USS Exeter]

S'Tras was waiting for her as she materialized on the pad. She held up a Vulcan salute to him, which he returned, before she dismounted the transporter dais.

"Something is troubling you?" S'Tras asked, "Your emotions are... detectable." He chose not to ask about how she left Sickbay, or of the cane. In the end, it didn't really matter.

She did not answer immediately, surprised that he could recognize her emotional state. A moment later and her face was as stoic as any Vulcan. "We should speak in... less public environs."

He nodded and led her from the room, his arms clasped behind his back. They walked in silence along the Exeter's halls, him allowing deference to her request. The Ambassador-class ship was quite similar to the Calypso, though she could tell the design was smaller, and a little older. The corridor turned a little tighter, the rooms a little smaller and fewer.

They reached his quarters, and S'Tras entered his access code. They were husband and wife, but serving separately they never saw a reason to share keys, as it were. S'Tras entered first, standing aside just within to allow T'Pral's entry.

She immediately gravitated to the couch, landing heavily upon it, her eyes focused nowhere in particular as she continued to reflect on how to broach the subject that she wished to discuss.

S'Tras lowered himself into an opposing chair much more carefully, tenting his fingers before his chest as he regarded her. "Are you still experiencing pon-farr?" he queried with a raised eyebrow. "We can mate again if that is the case."

T'Pral looked to her husband in brief confusion, but the feeling passed as quickly as it came. She shook her head in the negative. "No, husband, my needs have been met. My mind is simply occupied."

"An occupied mind should not allow emotions to so visibly affect you. Tell me, of what did you wish to speak that required a personal visit?"

Before replying, she looked around his quarters. It was quintessentially Vulcan. Spartan in the extreme, every item having a specific purpose, and nothing extraneous. Except for a single, decorated meditative candle, one she recognized from their marriage ceremony. She took a deep breath. "I have been... concerned with what I have discovered about the attack that injured me."

He nodded briefly, his tented fingers dropping slightly. "What have you discovered?"

She looked to him, trying to read what he might be thinking. His face, however, was stone. She decided it was illogical to beat around the proverbial bush; they would arrive at the heart of the matter regardless.

"We have discovered the device was of Vulcan and Starfleet origin. The Romulan signature was what humans would call a red herring. We are fairly certain the Exeter is involved, given the timetable we have been able to infer. I, myself, have reasonable suspicion, however circumstantial, that the Guardians of Surak are involved."

His face remained unreadable, though he separated his tented fingers briefly as he asked, "Are you certain?"

She nodded once, "This is why I have come here, to see if you know who aboard the Exeter may have been involved." S'Tras was Chief Tactical Officer, so if anyone knew, he would.

S'Tras looked thoughtful as he brought his tented fingers to his lips. Perhaps he was mentally going through the Exeter's manifest for the most likely suspects. His expression remained stoic and unreadable, so she simply waited. Her eyes returned to the candle, pondering the significance of it's placement. It was not hidden, in fact it sat alone, centrally upon a shelf. About as prominent as could be. Clearly their joining was significant to him.

"Yes," he suddenly said, "I know who is involved."

T'Pral's face snapped to his, surprised at the pronouncement. "And is this individual under investigation or arrest?"

He paused, "In a way." His hands fell away as he stood, moving to sit next to his mate. He took her hand in his and laid his other upon it, a rather human expression of affection that caused her eyebrow to arch.

"It is good that it is you," he began, and T'Pral's mind immediately churned, her heartbeat accelerating with anxiety. "Vulcan needs to be for Vulcan. We cannot let those who march below Raptor's wings to threaten Vulcan peace. It is illogical to unify our cultures. They have been apart for so long, they are incompatible. Surely you see the logic, too."

T'Pral's breath caught in her throat, her worst fears confirmed. He was talking like that extremist on the surface! She looked at him incredulously, surprised that she didn't know her mate after all.

Suddenly, she tore her hand from his grip and stood, stepping into the center of the room. "You. It is you!" she said, and everything became clear.

"It is regrettable you were injured, wife. But you were not supposed to be there. Wandering without destination is illogical."

"Killing Vulcans is illogical, destroying a statue to a great Vulcan is illogical. Being deceptive and duplicity is illogical!"

S'Tras stood and walked to her, his hands behind his back again. "Most of the casualties were Romulan. Talking has gotten nowhere, we needed to act. Nothing else would get through to High Command. They are too tied to Starfleet, they have lost their Vulcan way."

What? It was not that long ago T'Pral herself was working in High Command. She knew how independently they operated. Her husband was the one to choose Starfleet first. She wondered what happened since those days. Did he meet extremist Vulcans in Starfleet, or during a mission? She didn't know, and it was likely she never would.

"You are speaking illogically, S'Tras." For the first time since their marriage she did not call him husband. "Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations is a cornerstone of Vulcan philosophy. This view you have is incompatible."

"IDIC is logical out there," he waved a hand to the starry window, "But Vulcan must be pure. We purged them during the Awakening for a reason. The status quo must be maintained!"

Their voices continued to rise as their debate became more animated. The two paced, and approached, pointing their fingers with each argument. After a while, S'Tras took a deep breath and regarded his stubborn wife. "You will not see logic?"

She shook her head, "Not your twisted logic. I will see you prosecuted for your actions."

"Very well." He moved like lightning, mainly because she was not expecting it. He precisely kicked her cane out from under her. As she crumpled, he caught her sternum with a palm, knocking the wind out of her. He spun around her and reached down to pinch her neck, but her arm snapped up to block it.

Ignoring her pain, she stood and tried to back off, but another kick folded her injured leg. Pain blossomed in her brain, blocking logical thought. He wrapped an arm around her neck to keep her still, her fingers clawing at it. "I am sorry, but you cannot stop us," he said.

T'Pral shifted her good leg under her and kicked out as violently as she could, the pair arching over and landing on S'Tras's back. The impact jarred his arm free and she crawled out from his grip on her hands and knees.

Even as he recovered and lunged towards her, she tapped her commbadge three times, her emergency program signal. She vanished in orange as her husband crashed to the floor.

[Vulcan]

T'Pral collapsed on the pad, obvious pain across her face. While bystanders began to move to her, she scrambled to a sitting position against the console. She tapped her badge once. "T'Pral to York," she croaked before clearing her throat. "Suspicions confirmed. Meet me in hospital as soon as you can for my debrief." She closed the channel just before she was helped to her feet. Well, foot, as excruciating pain erupted up her injured leg, precluding its use.

"Hospital," was all she said, and the bystanders began helping her along.

OFF

Lt T'Pral
Chief Engineer
USS Calypso

 

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