All alone in the dark ...

[T'aral 0]

The bio-organism residing in the medical bay had been beamed to a nearby derelict vessel. The canister signaled that it had opened, so the 'creature' was now free. It was home, and hopefully that fact would not come back to haunt the Federation or any other worlds in the future. Unfortunately there was no way to predict what the being or its source intended, so there was no way to postulate future events.

 

T'Aral made her way to the outer ring of the Comanche Creek's hull. Gazing out into the darkness, she caught glimpses of the various hulls that occupied this space. So many ships, and were they inhabited when they entered this place? What became of the people; if they died, what became of their souls? If light could not enter or exit, what about less tangible energies? It was a philosophical question which lead T'Aral to despair. Perhaps a place like this was where the souls of Vulcan found themselves: cold, lifeless, and mercilessly absent of light.

 

As she fought to regain control of her emotions, T'Aral caught a flash off of a hull - only a moment, but enough to catch her eye. Needing to satisfy her curiosity, she went to an observation post and adjusted the local sensors. Within moments she had an outline - it was a Vulcan vessel. Quickly she refined the signal until she could identify the vessel. The hull's markings eventually revealed "Men-Hilsu" ... in standard language, the Investigator.

 

Moving to a terminal, T'Aral called up the history of the Men-Hilsu. It was lost a century and a half ago under mysterious circumstances. Vulcan explorers were very methodical when approaching the unknown, so the idea that a ship could disappear without log probes or other signals was unthinkable. Yet the ship was lost ... apparently to the confines of this space. As she gazed at the ship, T'Aral understood the likely fate of her fellow Vulcans. Finding themselves in a region without energy, light, or a frame of reference, if they were in any way disoriented it would be a catastrophe. They would settle, and scan, and wait, and scan again, and wait until they found a reliable course out of the darkness that would not bring them to a greater danger. They would be trapped by their own logic, and would have died from it.

 

For T'Aral and the other Vulcans on the Commanche Creek there was hope, for their captain was not a Vulcan. Humans had a capacity for risk which, in its place, was more effective than years of Vulcan logic. There was, however, one thing that needed to be done before they left. T'Aral would have to board the Men-Hilsu. There were things that needed to be done; illogical things that still needed to be done, but that T'Aral would never speak of. Stepping away from the saucer's edge she began to contemplate her options. She would need to be insightful, and perhaps a little clever when speaking to the Captain.

 

She allowed herself the luxury of a sigh; when preparing for a battle of wits with the Captain, she was admittedly unarmed.