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"Purgatory" - Chapter 8 Rating: PG-13 (language) In which the inimitable Daniels visits T’Pol in the depths of despair and brings new hope. Twisted time lines are somewhat straightened, previously overlooked problems are addressed, long lost relatives are discovered, T’Pol cops an attitude, and dead people aren’t - or rather shouldn’t be and therefore weren’t. In which Trip makes a fashion statement, we learn more than we want to know about Vulcan baby showers and Le-Matyas, lawyers act like lawyers, some Andorians join the party, we get a detailed look at the inner workings of Terra Prime and how it actually functions, Soval takes a stroll down memory lane, and we learn that it’s a supremely BAD idea to piss off a Vulcan mommy.In which some long hidden truths see the light of day, Trip and T’Pol have their first real fight, T’Pau gets into the act, T’Pol has to bite the bullet and Trip has to bite his tongue, we learn what Koss has been up to and wish we hadn’t, the cloak and dagger stuff on Earth spills over to Enterprise and gets the kitchen all bloody, the Andorians see their chance and jump on it. Purgatory Finally, this one. Eight chapters so far and not finished yet. I am sorry this thing is taking so long. I know where the story is going, I know where all the major characters are going to end up. It is the pesky minor characters and side plots that keep intruding. Just when I think I have them neatly tied up and out of the way, another loose thread will unravel and trip me. So I have to pick it up and weave it back into the pattern. Most annoying. But I am gaining on it, little by little. Fear not, I will finish this thing very soon. Right now, Trip is trying to make it through the Kahs-Wahn. Meanwhile, everyone else has their own agenda, and nothing is as it seems. Nothing. Chapter 8 Trip squatted down and considered. Malcolm was constantly talking about situations like this. Options for tactically disadvantageous terrain. And so on, and on and on. Trip tried to wrack his tired and dehydrated brain to come up with something from those long bull sessions that might help. The Vulcan killers were placed on opposite sides of the tiny canyon, hidden but with each of them having a clear view of the path to the spring. Trip squatted at the rim of the cliff just above the spring in frustration. From here he could easily rappel down to the water, if he wanted to be a pincushion. He closed his eyes and relaxed for a few seconds. When he opened them again the boulder on this side of the canyon had changed shape again. Position confirmed. The location of the other one was undeniable, he had already shifted position twice. For Vulcan he sure was an impatient sonuvabitch. Trip hissed in disgust. There had to be some way to get in there. Walking up the canyon would leave him exposed to their weapons the entire way – not an option. Dropping a rock on one of them was an appealing thought, but impractical. His aim wasn't that good. Plus, Vulcan reaction time would most likely let them hear the rock coming in time to dodge it. He felt the raging frustration building and stopped himself cold. No. No more. Not again. Instantly Trip fell back into the meditation disciplines that T'Para had taught him. The quiet pond near his boyhood home formed in his mind, and the cool breezes of Earth flowed comfortingly over his skin. Meanwhile the back of his mind was steadily reciting the Principles and Standards, which were the closest translation that they had been able to come up with from High Vulcan for what the meditation disciplines actually taught. It worked, again. It always did. But he still faced the same problem. Only now the eastern sky was lightening. In less than two hours the sun would be up again. Trip shook his head and rubbed his aching temples. A faint shuffle in the distance yanked his head around, then he slumped in annoyed relief. A figure stood propped casually against the side of a vitrified outcrop, blasted into molten glass during the war. When he turned his head, the man waved but waited politely for him to rise and walk over before speaking. “Hello, grandfather.” “Hi, George,” Trip sighed. “How goes it?” “For me, it could be worse,” his descendant told him, tongue in cheek. “But for you I think things could be better. Am I wrong?” “You looked over the situation?” Trip snorted. “Yes, I saw,” George told him with a solemn expression. “Exactly the type of social debacle that one tries to avoid at dinner parties.” Trip chuckled. “Grandfather,” George said firmly. “I know you are determined to make it through the Kahs-Wahn on your own. But like I said before, the test was not designed or intended to be taken with assassins in hot pursuit. Will you accept my assistance with this? We can stroll over to the spring under cover of my cloaking field, collect your token and fill your canteen, then stroll back out and you can continue on your way. Just exactly what you would do if they were not even there.” Trip snorted. “Deal.” He looked back at the waiting Vulcans. “Let's get this done.”
Trip tensed and couldn't stop himself from tip-toeing as they passed between the Vulcan watchers. George flicked a glance out of the corner of his eye and said airily, “I told you they wouldn't notice anything. See? Yoo-Hoo!” He waved and grinned at the man, who showed no reaction. Trip's mouth worked several times before he managed to start breathing again. “Son...” “What?” “Never mind.” Trip picked up the second Kahs-Wahn token from the bin and dropped it into his pouch with a feeling of anti-climax. After everything else, finally getting that little piece of metal turned out to be kind of a disappointing experience. He knelt to re-fill his canteen and a thought struck him. Slowly he began to smile. Trip stole a look at George and saw his descendant gazing down the canyon, lost in thought. Good. The two of them started back out toward the mouth of the tiny valley, and Trip veered gradually toward the right – heading in the direction of the woman. George finally noticed his drifting off course and grabbed his arm. “Where are you going Grandfather? Watch yourself. Just because they can't see or hear us doesn't mean you have to push things.” Trip chuckled reassuringly and brushed the hand away. “I want to take a quick look, Son. Something about her seems a little bit familiar. I'm not gonna get myself killed. Trust me?” George looked highly dubious but followed along as they climbed the right hand slope and approached the crouching murderess. Trip stopped a meter short of his prey and put his hands on his hips. “Hm... Not sure.” He strolled around behind and to the far side of the woman, looking her up and down. Looking up at George, Trip told him, “There are still some things about her that look mighty familiar to me. For instance,” he stepped around behind her again. “Look here, Son. The way her shoulders and neck-” Trip lunged forward with both hands and grabbed at the assassin's right shoulder with his right hand, praying as hard as he ever had in his life that T'Pol's lessons had stuck with him. He clamped his right hand down hard on the designated pressure points, then covered them with his left hand for reinforcement and squeezed with all the strength he had in both hands at once. The Vulcan woman spasmed backwards and arched her back, reaching for Trip's forearms with a grunting half shout. But before she could establish a grip the nerve pinch took effect and she collapsed, unconscious. George leaped forward to cover all three of them with the cloaking field. “Holy Mother of Grklir! What the hell were you thinking, jumping in like a crazy man and giving that rekloq humping son of an honorless petaq across the canyon a clear shot at you? You could have been frickin' plortkes netvitkec with a poisoned dart up your dumbass before I had time to react, you bubble brained spawn of a kbet!” “Tsk, tsk, grandson,” Trip said mildly as he busied himself cutting lengths of Marnik rope and wrapping his victim like a Christmas present. “Is that any kind of language to use with your elder?” “When my elder acts like a senile tribble it is,” George retorted. “Now look what you've done. We have to kill her. She is scheduled to die, but not yet. And her mate,” he gestured at the bottom of the canyon, where the Vulcan male was approaching at a cautious stalk with his weapon ready, “will probably have to be killed here too. Neither of them were supposed to die yet according to your memoirs. There is no telling what this will do to the basklaar time line!” George turned and smashed his fist into a boulder, cracking it and leaving a smear of green blood behind. Trip looked sharply at his grandson and stood up. He checked the other Vulcan, who had frozen when the sound of the impact echoed throughout the tiny valley. Now the second assassin stood in place, turning his head and trying to locate the source of the sound. Satisfied that the other hunter still wasn't sure of their position, he turned back to George and bluntly asked, “What's the real problem? Ever since you showed up out here something has been eating at you. And it hasn't been your job either. Something personal is digging into you. And by the way, what's this about my memoirs?” “You know how paranoid Vulcans are about privacy,” George said bitterly. “And... circumstances... are going to cause... problems... with a lot of the Human records covering this section of history. Your memoirs are one of the few completely intact historical references we have available for the latter half of this century. At least concerning the specific matters that I was sent back here to monitor.” "Comforting to know I'm supposed to live long enough to write them," Trip smiled. "I guess that means I'm scheduled to live through the war too?" George's head whipped around to stare. "C'mon kid," Trip sighed. "How stupid do you think I am? Why else would it suddenly be critical that we get faster ships right now ? Earth is gonna need faster ships real bad, real soon. Bad enough that T'Pol is scared we might not get them in time. She hasn't said anything, but I can tell. That means danger is coming. Which means war. Simple enough." George sagged against the rock. "I suppose it is pretty obvious, isn't it? To someone with your intelligence, who is up to speed about the politics of interstellar relations in this time period." Trip nodded and waved at the Vulcan male, who was climbing cautiously up the slope toward them. "How about you go ahead and pinch him? Then I'll tie him up and we can sit down to discuss this like civilized people." George looked at the sky and threw up his hands. "How Grandmother T'Pol ever managed to..." He snorted and headed down the slope. "Managed to what?" "Nothing." Trip briskly made quick work of lashing the second assassin's ankles and wrists together. "I am startin' to feel like a boy scout again," he joked. He bent the man's knees and looped his bound wrists over his ankles, lashing them into place so that he could not straighten his legs. For the final touch, Trip tied a slipknot and dropped it around the Vulcan's neck, running the line back to the wrists and lashing it securely. "Saw that in a movie once," he told George with satisfaction. "Always wanted to try it." His descendant shook his head silently. "Now let's go sit down by the water and work this out."
George rubbed his tired eyes and led the way back to the spring. Why not? Nothing mattered now anyway. The time line was irrevocably changed and he was never going home again. He would never see his wife and children again. The drug was wearing off, but he felt no inclination to take another dose. A bonded Vulcan who traveled through time would naturally feel the separation acutely. The Vulcan mating bond was capable of bridging space but not time. Bonded Vulcan agents were issued medication to dull the effects of bond separation and permit them to function. George was seriously considering the option of discontinuing his treatments entirely. Let the effect of the severed bonding do its work. Death was better than living this way, knowing what he had done. Trip walked beside him, shooting frequent glances of concern. A warm flush of family belonging helped diminish some of the desolation. It wasn't Grandfather's fault. He certainly had no way of knowing. And in truth, things were already so screwed up that it wasn't likely that his actions had made them appreciably worse. There had simply been too many changes, too many tiny modifications to the time line in an effort to correct things. But the tiny modifications had bred repercussion after repercussion until it all grew into a landslide that obliterated the future George had known. Obliterating his family... He still had family here though. Fate had twisted itself into a bewildering shape indeed, leaving him to walk beside a grandfather a third his age on his way to discuss a coming war that had been over almost a millennium before he was born, in an effort to save a world that never was and most likely never would be. Odd indeed. Trip tossed the dart throwers to one side, seated himself and drew a cup of water. "All right. Tell me about my memoirs. What exactly do they say about those two?" He gestured in the direction of the bound prisoners, still napping in the sun. George sighed and grimaced. "According to your memoirs, they ambushed you just as you were leaving your day's camp tomorrow at sunset. You barely dodged the first attack. As they were starting to move in and finish the job, the MACOs that Starfleet had sent to bodyguard you when they found out about those two arrived and finished them off." "MACOs?" Trip straightened up. "There are MACOs out there?" George nodded. "Several," he chuckled. "Not too happy about it, but determined to do their job. They have already made one attempt to stop those two, and had bad luck when they encountered that sandfire," George paused to smile for some reason. "They are very close now, moving in cautiously and trying to scout the area even as we speak." "That simplifies matters," Trip looked relieved. "We can deliver them to the MACOs." "Grandfather..." "Shit! George, I am not going to murder those people!" George locked his teeth together and turned his head away. What difference did it make anyway? "Take it easy, Son." Trip said softly. "Look, you said that my memoirs are all you have to go on, right?" George nodded, not looking at him. "And if I understand this right, as long as my memoirs come out all right you really don't know for certain fact what actually happened, do you?" George blinked and looked back at Trip, puzzled. "What are you talking about, Grandfather?" "It's simple, Son," Trip said with the satisfied air of one solving a difficult equation. "I'll just lie in my memoirs." He waited for a response - in vain. George sat and stared at him, stupified. "C'mon kid, talk to me," Trip urged. "Say something." "You-" "Don't look so shocked," Trip told him in exasperation. "You know as well as I do that most historical records are a mixture of imagination and propaganda. If any truth gets in them it's by accident or because the politicians overlooked something. Just tell me what you want me to write, and I'll write it. Or hell, you already have a copy don't you? Just give it to me and save me the time and trouble." "Ghhh..." "George? You ok, Son?" "Yyyy..." "Here, drink some water," Trip urged. George gratefully snatched the cup and drained it. Then refilled and drained it again. "You can't be serious." "Sure I can," Trip insisted. "Look, it's perfect. You get your memoirs. I get to finish up the Kahs-Wahn without those two breathing down my neck, and the MACOs get to drag those two in for questioning. Why won't it work?" "It will work, Commander," a new voice stated. "Quite nicely in fact." George and Trip started and glared at the sight of two hooded figures who had materialized less than two meters from the spring. "I wish," Trip groused hotly, "that you would Quit Doing That Daniels!" "My apologies, Commander," Daniels threw back his hood. "Old habits you know. It's good to see both of you again. Congratulations, Agent Hopkins, on a job well done." "Spare me," George snarled and stood up. "If you think-" "This is not the time for quarreling," the second figure spoke softly but decisively. The voice sounded strange, as if it were being run through an artifical modulator. The figure removed its hood to reveal a face that appeared superficially Human, with one rather noticeable difference. The man's eyes appeared at unpredictable intervals to give off a silvery glow. Prickles ran up George's backbone. Daniels ran his palms down the sides of his robe. "Commander Tucker, Agent Hopkins, may I present Supervisor Eaytkae. Supervisor Eaytkae is from Central Administration." "I see," George said quietly. He offered the ta'al. "Peace and long life to you and yours, Supervisor." From the corner of his eye he saw Trip standing up slowly and looking wary. "Live long and prosper, Doctor Hopkins," Eaytkae responded, but did not return the gesture. He turned and told Trip, "Greetings, Commander Tucker. It is an honor and a privilege to meet such a distinguished individual. On behalf of all those yet to be born, I thank you for the future that you have and will help to bequeath to us." Trip chewed the inside of his cheek and tilted his head slightly. "Yer welcome. Who the hell are you? What's wrong with your eyes?" The silver-eyed man chuckled softly while Daniels winced and George closed his eyes in pain. "You are aware that your descendant and Mr. Daniels come from the time that you would term the 31st century? My origins are somewhat farther in the future." "How much farther?" Trip persisted. George tried to make an urgent hand gesture, which Trip ignored. "It's quite all right, Doctor Hopkins. I am not offended. Curiosity is normal and expected." The figure turned to face Trip again. "Considerably farther, Commander. I honestly cannot tell you what the date would be in your calendar because we don't use your dating system anymore. Suffice that it has been long enough for the forces of natural evolution to work on most of the races that you are familiar with." "Ouch." Trip rubbed his chin. "So what are you doing all the way back here in the sticks?" The figure was silent for a moment. "There is an ancient proverb, common to many races, about starting a landslide with a single pebble. Are you familiar with it?" Trip nodded. "There is a certain amount of 'inertia' so to speak in the time stream. That is the closest I can come to describing it in terms your language can handle. However, even changes in the time stream this far back can have a detectable effect on my time period." "I'll take your word for it," Trip said. "Right now I am too tired to strain about it. Do you want me to write those memoirs, or are you just going to give T'Pol a copy of them when I croak?" "The latter I think," Eaytkae matter-of-factly. "It will minimize the possibility of screw-ups." Trip burst into honest laughter. "Fine by me. One less thing to keep track of." He slumped in relief and refilled his water cup. "Any of you guys want some water?" Nobody took him up on it so he knelt and proceeded to pour down a liter while the other three drew off a short distance to confer. George received his instructions with a surprising mixture of feelings. His relief at going home was actually tempered by a faint regret at leaving his ancient family. To a Vulcan, blood was blood no matter how diluted. What they had been through together was enough to forge bonds of blood and clan that would not break while his katra retained awareness in any form. But his mate was waiting for him. Trip stood up when George approached. He could see the awareness in his ancestors eyes. "Going home, Son?" George nodded with his throat full. Trip held out his arms wordlessly for a tight embrace. "I'm gonna miss you, Son. Take care of yourself. Tell your wife and kids we love them, willya?" It took several tries before George managed a strangled yes. Finally they separated with shining eyes and shoulder slaps. "Behave yourself, Gramps." George managed a grin and faded from view.
"A sharp whistle and some shouting ought to be sufficient to summon the MACOs," Daniels told Trip. "Failing that, the Vulcans probably carry flares but I advise against using them. It might cause problems with your Kahs-Wahn." "Not a problem," Trip assured him. "I can handle it." "I will remain here briefly, under cloak, just in case," Eaytkae told him, "while these others proceed. Again, it was pleasant meeting you Commander." He disappeared abruptly. "It isn't likely that we will ever meet again," Daniels told him. "For good or bad, it has been a remarkable experience working with you, Commander." He offered his hand and Trip took it in a firm grip. "Whatever else, you saved my daughter." Trip looked him in the eye. "For that alone I owe you more than I can ever repay. My marker is good. Call it in whenever you need it." Daniel's lips twitched toward a smile. "I sincerely hope I won't need it, but thanks. Good luck, Commander Tucker." Agent Daniels raised his hand and also faded from view. Trip blew out his lips and looked around. Then he flinched and touched his lips. Even pursing them hurt. Already, and he had just finished drinking. He really, really, really, hated this planet. Ah well. Trip cupped his hands and howled like a coyote. The piercing yowl echoed back and forth through the rocks and caused a minor uproar among the smaller denizens. Skittering and shufflings abounded. The female Vulcan jerked awake and threw herself onto one side to pin Trip with a murderous stare. He smiled and waved. Then he folded his arms and waited. A few moments later pebbles rattled. Then a helmet appeared. "Took you boys long enough," Trip grouched. "Stop for a poker game along the way?" He gestured impatiently. "Get down here, willya? I got ground to cover. I can't stand here all day. I still have to rig a shelter, and the sun is already up." A pair of MACOs in full gear stood at the top of the slope above him, staring down in disbelief. They held what looked like modified versions of the same type of weapons the Vulcans had been carrying. The two, both apparently men, looked at each other and shrugged before starting down to meet him. They stopped just short of the trussed pair, again staring as if they could not believe their eyes. "Couple of presents for you guys," Trip gestured with elaborate casualness. "They're a little bit big to fit in my pocket. I thought about tossing them back, but then it occurred to me that you might want them. Do you?" One of the MACOs lifted his chin looking dazed. "You... you knew about us being here?" "Am I blind?" Trip demanded, acting insulted. "Anyway, do you want these two or not? They won't keep well in this hot sun, that's for sure." "Yes-" The MACO took a deep breath. "Yessir! We accept custody of the prisoners! Sir!" His companion shook his head sharply, evidently also snapping out of it and straightened to attention. "Good enough then," Trip approved. "I guess you know who I am. Who are you two?" "Major Sanchez and Lieutenant Riley, sir," the first MACO responded. "We were sent to intercept these two. Obviously we weren't needed." He looked at Trip respectfully. Riley's eyes were the size of grapefruits. "As soon as the other team arrives we will escort the prisoners to detention." "They're all yours, Major. Enjoy." Trip grunted and rubbed his eyes. "Screw it. I am just going to put up my shelter here at the spring and wait for sunset. I would lose more time and trouble looking for a new spot than it would be worth. Should be all right as long as I get moving before company starts coming after dark." He turned away and headed back toward the water. It was amazing what living in a perpetually quiet environment could do for your hearing, Trip had often reflected. Plus it helped that he was becoming acclimated to Vulcan's thin atmosphere and learning to compensate. The whispers behind him were certainly not meant for him to overhear. "Holy shit! Two of them! Two VULCANS!" "Keep your voice down Lieutenant." "Sorry. But.." "I know. It blew me away too." "How?!" "You expect me to know? Maybe he learned it in the Expanse. They said Hayes put in extra training for the crew while they were en route, and Hayes was the best there ever was." "Against Humans, yeah. But two Vulcans? Maybe his wife taught him. If that's what living with a Vulcan can do for you, I gotta start hanging around those embassy parties more often." "Or maybe that's the kind of man it takes to catch a Vulcan's interest?" Trip dug out his blanket/awning with a secret smile.
George phase-matched their coordinates into T'Para's front hallway without altering their temporal inclination. Daniels paused beside him and waited while George took the time for a final look around. In his day this house still stood, still the traditional residence of the Eldest Mother. But so many things were going to change over the centuries that the essence of this older dwelling would barely be detectable. He ran a loving hand over the stonework on the wall and glanced down at the inlaid floors with a sigh. There was no replacing hand crafting, no matter how sophisticated the machinery was. Soft slippers shuffled closer to the inner doorway, eventually revealing the Eldest herself. George permitted himself the smallest of smiles, just this once, at the sight of her folded hands and perfectly serene expression. "Eldest," he spoke softly and inclined his head. "I come to greet you for the final time, and to speak with you and my foremother if that is possible. My companion is my supervisor, Mr. Daniels, and is known to T'Pol." "Peace and long life, Mr. Daniels," T'Para offered blandly. "Be welcome to my home. Come, Son of my Clan. Enter and speak what is on your mind." As T'Para led them into the front room she tapped a small silver bell. By the time the old woman had seated herself T'Pol appeared carrying the traditional pitcher of water and cups. At the sight of Daniels she froze briefly but, when George smiled reassuringly, continued onward calmly as if entertaining time travelers was quite passe. Which it actually might be, in this house, George reflected. "Joege?" A pair of inquisitive little eyes peered around her mother's leg at the two intruders. George broke into a full smile and said, "Hello, T'Lissa." He offered the ta'al. "Peace and long life." "Oo too," T'Lissa waved her two handed version of the ta'al at both visitors. "T'Lissa," her mother told her quietly, "please sit beside me and study your book of Terran geography. Quietly." The little girl obediently climbed up beside T'Pol and accepted the PADD, quickly becoming absorbed. Daniels drank his cup of water promptly. Not fast enough to be insulting, but not dawdling either. George however, savored his. The feel of the cup in his hands, the flavor of the water, the scent of the Eldest's flowers... it was all irreplaceable. Daniels caught his eye and George sighed, draining the cup and putting it back on the tray. Formalities concluded, they got down to business. "Lady T'Pol," Daniels said. "There has been a change in plans. A rather significant change. Your meeting with Rinaldo has been rescheduled. I am here to transport you there, where we will meet... another representative of the temporal authority with more information to provide." "Another representative?" T'Pol's eyebrow was a clear an expression of skepticism as any shout. "Who might this representative be?" "Urm..." Daniels actually shuffled uncomfortably. "Mr. Daniels boss," George injected with a touch of malice. "Seems The Powers That Be felt it necessary to take a personal hand this time." Daniels flushed and turned his head away. "The time line has been altered," Daniels admitted. "Central Administration has determined that attempting to repair the damage would do more harm than good. The overall course of history has been restored, and with minor variances George and I will return to find our world intact. More to the point in the eyes of Central Administration, the long term consequences are minimized. So all of our agents are being recalled and a moratorium on time travel has been declared. From this point forward, the primary purpose of the Temporal Enforcement Authority will be to prevent people from traveling in time, not to supervise the use of time travel. Central Administration will monitor the situation and step in with enforcement actions as required." “The wisdom of this policy is self-evident. Why was is not enacted at the very beginning?” T'Para asked bluntly. “Because...” Daniels squirmed under the eyes of the old lady. “Because when temporal displacement was perfected in the original time line it was believed that civilization had advanced to the point of being trustworthy.” He fell silent, obviously hoping that would be enough. No such luck. “Your 'Central Administration' has reconsidered this belief?” T'Para asked. Daniels winced, to George's hidden amusement. “Partly,” he admitted reluctantly. “But there is also the fact that in the original time line, temporal displacement was not scheduled to be discovered yet for several centuries. In the new, altered time line I am afraid that this will occur somewhat sooner.” He looked mightily distressed. “Much sooner.” George felt a touch of foreboding. “How soon?” T'Pol inquired. “If that will not compromise your oath?” “I'm not permitted to tell you that,” Daniels said apologetically. “Suffice that it will be soon enough for there to be no way to justify open access to the technology. As soon as the first breakthrough is made, operatives from Central Administration will make clandestine contact with Starfleet to set up the Temporal Enforcement Authority.” "I see," T'Pol observed the two men carefully. "And your task, grandson?" George swallowed. "Mainly I came to say good-bye, Grandmother. I have already said good-bye to Grandfather Tucker, and - By the way, those two assassins are taken care of. They are now in the hands of the MACOs and on their way to interrogation, so you can relax." T'Pol closed her eyes. An previously imperceptible tension drained away, leaving her looking calmer and more in control. For all the reaction T'Para made, George might have announced that fresh plomeek was on sale. For once T'Pol made no pretense of non-emotion. She opened her eyes and said simply, “Thank you.” George bowed from the waist. “You are most welcome, Honored Foremother.” Daniels announced. “I am sorry, but we really need to finish up things here and go. George does have one more item to take care of however, “ he added with a smile. “With your permission, Grandmother?” George asked. “I would like to give T’Lissa a gift.” T’Pol looked intrigued. “What type of gift?” George walked over and scooped her up. “Come here you little hellion.” He got a giggle in reply while seating himself T’Lissa’a former spot. “I want to show you something. Would you like to learn a new game?” “Uh-huh!” T’Lissa looked up with excitement. “Wanta!” “All right then,” George told her, “let’s do this. First, you put your fingers here,” he guided her tiny hand to his temple. “Then I put my fingers here,” he placed his own fingers against the child’s face. Almost instantly T’Lissa’s face went slack and her eyes unfocused. “What are you doing!?” T’Pol lunged to her feet in alarm. She held her hands out, wavering between snatching her daughter away and uncertainty about the safety of interrupting whatever George was in the midst of. “I,” George told her calmly, “am doing almost nothing. My part of this is to remain as passive as possible and let T’Lissa explore her abilities. She needs to learn this, Grandmother. And this is the proper way to introduce her to the technique. Let an experienced family member act as a guide while she tries out her fledgling skills.” “Melding will be a required part of her training?” T’Para inquired. “Uh... yes,” Daniels told them. “For reasons I can’t divulge, it is important that she learn melding techniques. In fact-” George sighed. “Bullshit.” Daniels stopped and stared, while the two Vulcan women gave him chiding looks of disapproval. “She needs to learn it because she is scheduled to pioneer a method for-” “Shut Up!” “- for using mind melding to treat several different types of Human mental illness,” George stubbornly finished up. Daniels looked ready to hit him. “George.” Daniels seethed. “You took an oath not to-” “Oh cram it,” George stood up, still holding the nearly comatose toddler tenderly in his arms and keeping his voice to a low monotone. “After all that song and dance with Grandfather’s memoirs, do you seriously think they are going to have any problem with this? Besides, we already told them that she needs to learn it. What’s the difference if they know why? It just improves the odds of her actually moving in that direction.” “Enough.” T’Para’s gentle voice whipped across the room and smacked both men across the face like a logging chain. They winced simultaneously and turned to face her with chastened expressions. “So the child will use her gifts bequeathed by her mother’s people to heal the ills of her father’s people. Once more, she proves herself to be the living embodiment of the IDIC principle.” “You won’t be the last one to call her that,” Daniels muttered, glancing at T’Lissa. The little girl’s hand had slipped away from George’s face and her eyes were closed. “She’s asleep,” George announced. “May I please be permitted to tuck her in? Just this once?” T’Pol took a deep breath. “Of course.” She pointed down the hall. “I believe you know where her bed is located.” George carefully situated the limp tangle of arms and legs on her pillow, removed her house slippers, and drew up a worn looking blanket that had obviously seen much use. He gazed down and stroked her hair. “Sleep well, Aunt Elizabeth. Dream happy dreams. I will tell your granddaughter how much you have grown since the night we first saw you.” He bent forward to place a feather light kiss on her cheek and tip-toed out. They stood waiting for him. George swallowed a hard lump and crossed his arms with his fingers spread. “Grandmother... I...” He stopped. “I ask pardon for my unseemly display of emotion.” T’Pol stepped forward to touch his fingertips in the ritual gesture of family. “I refuse to grant pardon where none is required or appropriate, George. In all respects, you have brought honor upon our House, our Line, and our Clan. Your absence will be felt most keenly by all of us. But we will rejoice that you have been reunited with your wife and children. Convey to them our greetings and best esteem, if you will.” “I... will... be honored to do so,” he managed. T’Para stepped forward and offered her hands. George knelt before reciprocating. {Thou hast done well, Son of my Clan,} she told him in High Vulcan. {Continue onward as thou hast well begun, and I shall finish this life in full confidence that the future of the Clan lies in capable hands.} “I shall strive to do so, Eldest,” George told her, “to the utmost limits of my abilities.” He stood up and took a single step back. “I should go now, while I am still able to maintain some control.” He looked around the room one more time. “Goodbye.” Then he was gone.
TBC |
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