Are We There Yet? By Linda Rating: PG Disclaimer: No filthy lucre changed hands. Summary: It’s vacation time for our favorite couple on Vulcan. Chapter Seven “Are we there yet?” Teased Trip as T’Pol studied the map. “Do you not get tired of repeating that childish phrase?” she asked. “It’s a tradition. Lizzie and I would sit in the back seat and exasperate our parents with it. She would say it and five minutes later she would elbow me and I would say it. Then we would have a fit of giggles.” “You are not giggling now. You are not following the tradition.” “It would be silly for an adult male to giggle.” “It would not be any more silly than repeating that phrase.” Trip sighed. “I was just trying to pass the time, T’Pol. Just trying put a little fun into our vacation.” “Fun for me is observing the passing scenery in quietude.” “Sorry, I will shut up now. Maybe when Lizi gets older she will appreciate that phrase when we…” T’Pol interrupted with “Not if you value your adopted home world, your marriage, and possibly even your life.” “Geez, T’Pol, get a grip on. Look, I really am just trying for some fun here.” T’Pol touched Trip’s arm. “I guess my attempts at humor are not succeeding any better than yours, Thy’la. We are indeed ‘not there yet’.” In the back seat T’Sari gripped the padd tightly, trying to concentrate on her novel. It wasn’t Trip’s driving that made her tense because he was taking the curves as smoothly as a native. It wasn’t T’Pol with her fascinating stories of experiences on Enterprise, though some of those were enough to disquiet any Vulcan. Nor was it the baby who needed attention now and then, which logically had been T’Sari’s responsibility as she was sitting further back in the camper, with the baby right beside her. No, T’Sari was trying valiantly to retain her Vulcan calm with Fluffy’s paw sprawled over her feet. The Sehlat was oblivious to T’Sari’s discomfort because he was fast asleep. He occasionally snorted and brushed his nose against her ankle which sent waves of fear though her. Those fangs could rip through her flesh and snap her ankle bone in a flash. She knew that because she had seen it done. T’Sari’s mother’s experience played out again in her mind as if it was her own. T’Sari became the girl who sat paralyzed on that cliff ledge while her little brother ran toward her screaming for her to help him. The huge beast gaining ground behind him had bitten his foot off at the ankle. Semik had tried to keep running, blood pumping from his maimed leg. But he fell and the sehlat opened its mouth with those terrible fangs and grabbed him by the head. It sharply shook Semik so that his neck snapped and his body went limp. T’Sari thought: It was quick. He is at peace. But he wasn’t at peace yet. T’Sari could not take her eyes off the horrible sight of her brother being devoured by the hungry sehlat. First the legs, ripped off and chewed a few times and then swallowed. And then it went for Semik’s belly with the green blood pouring out and spreading thickly on the sand. As the sehlat took a huge bite and T’Sari heard ribs crack, Semik’s eyes opened in absolute terror and he screamed…her name…no, her mother’s name. She had almost come to him then, almost jumped from her safe perch. But she didn’t jump. She stayed on the ledge. Her father later told her that she had done the most logical thing. He praised her logic in realizing the Semik’s situation was hopeless. Her only brother. Her only sibling…no, her uncle. Her own brother was alive and well and grown to manhood. T’Sari had trouble not owning her mother’s dream, especially now with her mother three and a half years dead. Guilt is a shameful emotion, as all emotions are a great shame to Vulcans. And it could be passed down the generations - the dark side of eidetic memory. T’Sari possessed her mother’s guilt. Or rather, guilt possessed T’Sari, even after repression by the priestesses’ ministrations and the passage of time. It haunted her. Taunted her, as did this sehlat carelessly invading her space with its ugly big hairy paw. But to complain to T’Pol would be to admit to the emotion. So T’Sari kept quiet and repressed her emotion so T’Pol could not telepathically detect it…all the way from Kla-khush’Kahr to their camp site. …. They set up camp by a swiftly running stream which Trip remarked must contain half the water on Vulcan. The two woman exchanged significant glances and informed him that the river was at its height this time of year and was not very deep. The fish in it had a ventral fin which could dig into the stream bed to hold them in place. They unrolled a long awning from the side of the camper and dug a fire pit for the grating that T’Pol set over it. T’Sari placed stools around the fire pit that she extracted from the storage compartment at the back of the camper. She and T’Pol then sat by the pit as Trip laid kindling and charcoal that they had brought with them. The charcoal had been expensive, having been imported from earth. T’Pol set a black bowl between her and T’Sari on a stool and began to crush some dried leaves into it. Then T’Sari threw in some dried berries, whispering softly to T’Pol about them. Their heads were almost touching as they hunched over the bowl. “What’s that?” asked Trip coming around the fire pit to peer into the bowl containing the mixture. Then he lifted one arm in an actor’s posture and began to recite: “Round about the cauldron go; In the poison'd entrails throw. Toad, that under cold stone Days and nights has thirty-one Swelter'd venom sleeping got, Boil thou first i' the charmed pot.” T’Pol looked up at Trip in surprise. “I didn’t know you could quote Shakespeare.” “Surprised you, huh? Not quite the complete illiterate engineer you thought you married?” “I am impressed,” T’Pol muttered. “But I would have preferred not to be thought of as some Vulcan witch about to cast a spell over a rival clan on some ancient battle field. However, I understand how seeing me and T’Sari huddled over a three legged black bowl and muttering, might project that image.” “So what ARE you two doing?” T’Sari’s eyes danced in amusement. “Well, it is an ancient recipe. You throw bits of this mixture on the fire and it is a not unpleasant smell to Vulcans, but it repulses sehlats and other wild creatures. You might want to shut Fluffy in the camper and run the air conditioner, or he might run off half a mile or more to get away from our fire pit this evening.” “Thy’la, how about charming us with some more Shakespeare quotes?” T’Pol requested eagerly, her hands now quietly resting on her knees – all set to stop working and be entertained. Trip’s face fell. “Sorry, Sweetheart. That was the only one I know. We were forced to memorize it in eighth grade English class. I…think I…might just go try to catch a few fish for dinner now.” T’Sari and T’Pol looked at each eyebrows raised, lips pasted together – the Vulcan equivalent of spontaneous laughter. …. The wind came up a bit that night. It could be heard in the few tenacious trees clinging to the steep mountain rising above them. The landscape took on a menacing aspect, boulders looming beyond the friendliness of the fire in the pit. T’Sari held the black bowl and tossed herbs into the fire every few minutes. Trip sat on the ground so he could rest his back against a Stool. T’Pol had the nursing shawl draped over her shoulders though the baby was asleep in the camper with Fluffy. Trip regarded his wife’s face in the flickering firelight on the other side of the pit. “T’Pol, your mention of witches and clans and battlefields this afternoon stuck in my mind. Where there clan wars around here in ancient times?” T’’Pol leaned closer to the fire, cupping her hands around a mug of tea. “Thy’la, there were clan wars over every square foot of Vulcan. T’Sari, you must know something of the local legends, having grown up in these hills.” “Well,” said T’Sari, sitting up straighter, “there is the saying that the streams in this region often ran green. And I am not referring to fish scat. In ancient times, it was mostly men who fought over hunting grounds. They had their lirpas and carried a shield of light weight metal that floated. The shield was the length of their body. It was insulated to act as a covering at night or as a boat to go swiftly down stream on. But if they were killed near a stream that ran down through their home village below, their bodies would be tied onto their shields. Then they would be put in the stream and sent home. There was always a woman standing watch where a stream passed a village so any bodies sent home would be collected before they swept down to rot in the swamp at the edge of the desert below.” The hairs on the back of Trip’s neck stood up. “Uh, great story, T’Sari. It certainly would scare the shit out of the kids at any boy scout encampment I ever went to.” “That is no story, Trip. And worse things happened around here. Some probably happened right where we are sitting.” The scream of a dying animal punctuated T’Sari’s last statement. “That must be only a mile or two away,” observed T’Pol. After an uneasy pause, Trip said “That does it. I am ready for bed. How about you two?” They put out the fire and locked themselves in the camper for the night. Back to Chapter 6 Continue to Chapter 8

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