In the quiet of the storm's eye ( T'Aral / Kerris Kea )

[T'aral 0]

The sparring session between Lieutenant T’Aral and Ensign Kea went on for quite a while. Each tested the other’s skills, as they proved to be evenly matched. While T’Aral was formally trained in the Suus Mahna, she lacked Kerris’ natural advantages and she was very much out of practice - particularly regarding the less aggressive techniques she was trying to hone.

 

As the session finished, T’Aral contemplated her performance. She would need many more sessions with a variety of opponents before her skills would show notable improvement. She would also need to spend more time going through formal maneuvers to train her body to move more naturally when she needed it to do so. This, however, was of less important than her true intention for the session. Ensign Kea needed to be kept busy to keep her from thinking about the ship’s situation and her own perceived inability to contribute. For her own part, T’Aral preferred not to have down time as well. Time alone without something to contemplate would mean thinking about Steln. That would not be helpful.

 

After the session was the obligatory shower and re-dressing. After which T’Aral stepped over to the Ensign. “There is a lounge nearby … perhaps you would like some refreshment?”

 

Kerris popped out of her thoughts. She had been thinking that maybe, just maybe, her thought tendrils might be strong enough to penetrate back to home, to Kaag, given that they made it back to their own time. To talk to Het, her brother, again, in that way, would be something that she would have given anything for. But the thought was far fetched-- anywhere on Kaag she was fine with communicating with back home, but she had never tried, not really anyway, off-planet. It was odd that they wouldn’t be able to. And besides, using her abilities in the way would mean asking the Captain for permission, and while she admired her, she wasn’t sure that the Captain would understand. After all, she didn’t think she fully understood it herself.

 

She had been standing, her hair still wet and loose down her back, when the Doctor approached her, springing her from her thoughts. She ran back over what T’Aral had said, before nodding. “That sounds quite nice, actually.”

 

Leading the ensign down the hall, T’Aral entered the lounge and turned right to the dispensers. “Tea - southern mint - sweetened - sixteen ounces.” Within moments a slot opened, providing a tall cup of simulated brewed tea. It was one of the human beverages she had acclimated to; a useful tendency for living in primarily human environments. Clearing the way for Kerris to make her selection, T’Aral chose a relatively isolated table to sit at. Perhaps Kerris would choose to converse - if she did, T’Aral chose to keep her conversations with others as private as possible.

 

Kerris watched impassively as the Vulcan sat down with her Terran tea. She then looked at the replicator, frowning a little. She thought that having one of these back home would have saved her and her Yerta a lot of time dealing with shortages. She pushed the thoughts away and thought instead of what she wanted to drink. She had never been too fond of Terran tea-- she found it to be too mild for her taste, so instead she ordered a black coffee. The cup steaming into her shirt as she walked, she made her way over to the table where T’Aral had situated herself, and sat down in the chair opposite her. The lounge was pretty quiet, but this table seemed to be pushed even further away than the others-- something she didn’t altogether mind. She hadn’t talked to many people about her home, actually, just one other, and she had the feeling that that was a topic the Vulcan would probably want to cover. She took a sip of the still scorching coffee, then set it back onto the table, tapping a small tune with her fingertips onto the mug.

 

T’Aral looked to the ensign speculatively. Conversation - specifically that which humans referred to as ‘small talk’ - was never a skill which she developed. Yet in many cases it was considered a useful ability, especially among Vulcans who had to interact frequently with other species. As a doctor, the art of conversation was most useful as a diagnostic tool, if one was able to initiate it.

 

All things need a beginning - even a difficult one. As she remembered her mother’s teachings, T’Aral accepted that the next step would have to be hers regardless of her ineffectiveness in such matters. Taking an additional sip from her tea, her eyes focused first on Kerris’ hand.

 

“You seem distracted, Ensign - among humans your mannerisms would be considered ‘nervous’. Is there something troubling you specifically?”

 

Kerris raised her eyebrows a little. “I have noticed that humans tend to fidget when they are nervous,” she said quietly, contemplating the question. “In my case, I am simply remembering. The replicator doesn’t have drinks and food from my home, so I was remembering the first time I had coffee.” She smiled a little. “My tutor, the one teaching me about other cultures, she brought me into a little cafe. There was a human male, sitting upon a tall stool, playing his guitar.” She smiled into her mug as she took another sip. “I had never seen such an instrument before. We had drums and flutes, sure, but nothing like a guitar in the desert. He played it with such grace, like it was an extension of his body. And his voice-- I had never really enjoyed hearing a human talk until I heard him sing.”

 

She turned the mug around in her hands, the bottom making a small sound against the table. “But I didn’t answer you, did I?” She glanced up and looked at the Doctor. “Assuming we do get back to our own time, somehow, will it be exactly when we left, or will it be a year or two later.” She paused, frowning a little. “Or earlier? And if that’s the case, then what will that do to our own timeline?” She shook her head. “I don’t know your feelings on the matter, but maybe none of our feelings mean anything, or our opinions. After all, we can’t change what will happen-- and if we do end up in a time that’s not our own, then no one will ever know what happened to us anyway.” She quieted, thinking moodily about her home. No one would know, and if they did, most of them wouldn’t understand. The thought of everyone she knew being dead-- maybe never existing at all-- made her chest ache. She took a long drink of her coffee to cover it up.

 

“You have taken on a great deal, Ensign.” T’Aral sipped slightly before continuing. “I believe that I can assist with some of your concerns. Consider this - it is believed that our history deviated because Nero came to our time. Given that this is the case, then any such journeys that we make which would interfere with established history would have a similar effect - a deviation, or alternate timeline. We cannot change the history we are already a part of: if we arrive later, we will simply blend in with what has already occurred. If we arrive earlier, we may blend in … it is entirely possible that our earlier presence was part of our history already in a manner we are unaware of. In either case, one thing is certain: what we know has happened is established in a level of reality. Nothing we do will affect that in any way. Beyond that thought, one can only have faith that the universe will unfold as it is meant to.”

 

T’Aral returned to sipping her tea, calmly considering Kerris’ concerns. She was concerned about others of her species - a sentiment that T’Aral was not entirely unfamiliar with. Yet she was not distressed: in their own time, New Vulcan was established and a new Vulcan society was progressing. Beyond that T’Aral had few concerns - she was without family, mate, or prospects. There were few who remained that held any specific interest to her, and none which humans would refer to as ‘special’.

 

She considered the two of them: each carrying an enviable part of their own soul. Kerris was deeply concerned, and perhaps would envy T’Aral’s detachment. Yet T’Aral could not help but admire Kerris’ depth of feeling, while wondering what it would be like for her if she still had anyone in her life who mattered - and who wasn’t already serving with her and therefore in her immediate proximity.

 

Kerris squinted her eyes a little, following the Doctor’s line of reasoning. “But if he changed the timeline by going through the rift, what’s to say that we won’t change it again when we go back through, or if we already have?” She frowned, rubbing her fingers on her temples. “I really do hate the concept of time travel.” She sighed then, picking back up her mug.

 

She thought of the doctor. She had run across few Vulcans since being in the Federation, and she had had the pleasure of speaking with fewer. She took a long drink, wondering if T’Aral grew up on Earth, like a few others she had met, or if she had taken to New Vulcan. It was an interesting thought, but she figured that with the Vulcan’s impeccable mannerisms, she had to be from New Vulcan. And, upon quiet thoughts, she thought that T’Aral would fit in quite well at her own home. Wouldn’t be able to speak to -- she cocked her head a little to the side, wondering if she could share her thoughts with her mind, like her people did. If they could control everything else, then why not push their thoughts out to others? Though intrigued, she took it from her mind quickly. Like all her curiosities, this was probably something that would be looked at as odd, or at the very least, misplaced.

 

T’Aral looked to Kerris passively. “If we do change what we understand as history, then we will create the same quantum effect that Nero did. Those who we left behind will continue on, and that time will unfold as it was meant to while we will proceed to develop a new course of events. It really is a matter of metaphysics: what we have encountered already exists, and cannot be ‘uncreated’.”

 

She sipped her tea slightly before continuing. “It was what Nero didn’t comprehend: he could not change history. His homeworld - all that he knew - was destroyed despite the best efforts of the Vulcans. Nothing could undo that. In his own time his people were destroyed, and no amount of effort would ever change that.”

 

Kerris frowned a little, pondering that. “Well, what about the fact that time is an illusion? I mean, if you really consider it, then you have to ponder about how any one life of any one person can be thought of as both linear, and as a ever changing... wave, for lack of better word. I can tell you what I was doing before Starfleet ever made contact, and probably what I would have been doing if they had never shown up. That won’t change. But in my line of time, I can be said to be in both this timeline, with all its confusion, and our own. And in this timeline, I was here twice, and things probably haven’t changed. The system is still apart of the Empire, along with my planet, and the rebels are probably all dead.” She shrugged, sipping on her coffee. “So, if we had come to this timeline from ours, but it in the same stardate, what would have changed? What has changed?” She shook her head. “Sorry, I was thinking out loud there. I’ve been thinking too much about it all; spending too much time with my nose pressed against a PADD.”

 

She pondered for a second more. “And even though he destroyed Vulcan in our timeline, in this timeline, and in ours, Romulus will still be destroyed. There’s nothing that can stop that from happening now.”

 

T'Aral looked to Kerris steadily. “Perhaps - the consequence of Romulus’ destruction, however, will probably be far less dire. Consider this: assuming the Romulans are effective in covert surveillance, they are forewarned of their fate by over fifty years. That will give them enough time to verify the circumstances through stellar physics and act on it via re-location, making the Vulcan attempt which created this situation unnecessary in our time.”

 

She finished her tea. “There is no event so evil, but that some good can be brought about from it. Remember that, Ensign, when circumstances weigh heavily on you.”