The Place of Honor

Posted on Sun Aug 25th, 2019 @ 11:31am by Az'Prel & Commander Rita Paris & Lieutenant Commander Sonak
Edited on on Mon Aug 26th, 2019 @ 9:43pm

Mission: Family Detention
Location: Hall of Ancient Thought, atop Mount Seleya, Vulcan
Timeline: 2396, late summer

It was a long climb up Mount Selaya.

In the Northern Quarter of Shikhar, the large cobbled walkway snaked between imposing statues of ancient Vulcan characters, both real and mythological, recounting the entire cultural nature and history of the people of this harsh, dry, hot planet.

Like robotic sweepers did in the city streets, young monks dutifully kept it meticulously cleaned of the always encroaching sands of the surrounding desert. It was as much a pragmatic necessity as it was basic training in fitness, meditation, and humility. Sonak remembered well his own childhood years in sweeping the stones from the duraplast city avenue leading to the foot of the hill up to the antique temple at its summit.

The long walk up those many stairs they were now performing alongside many tourists and natives alike, enticed much of this mental and physical effort and serenity.

There were replicators available at exactly every hundred meters, where the ascension leveled around a small shrine devoted to knowledge and wisdom. Along with basic climate-controlled and comm-serviced shelter, teachers-in-training with scrolls and computers provided learning, discussion and reflection on wide stone benches. Musicians and dancers helped soothe the hardships of the climb as much as the dispensers.

Most outworlders needed these rest stations because of the higher gravity, the thinner atmosphere, and the dry hot climate. But there were no transporters pads or shuttle service available, save for medical emergencies. Anyone wishing to visit this place had to go endure the ordeal of the climb, even if lessened by the amenities provided. It was the Vulcan way to honor the hardships of those who had lived before them and now rested in their honored final home.

Of course, no Vulcan partook of the amenities provided; and certainly not Sonak. As a Kolinarh master, he was required to teach by example to all, Vulcans and non-Vulcans alike, the value of Vulcan stoicism. And even moreso, was he required to honor all those who had come before him.

Night fell when they finally reached the temple at the summit, a gigantic construction carved from the living rock itself. The entire peak had been remolded by hand tools, over thousands of years, but was now kept whole and pristine by modern preservation techniques. Including antigravity supports, in case of earthquakes, and a forcefield against any severe storm.

Because of the massive reflection of T'Knut in the sky, the thin atmosphere and the reflective nature of sand and rock, the Vulcan night was amazingly clear for Humans; even more than a full moon was on Earth. Thus they could see much, despite the sun having completely set.

Ceremonial guards in the traditional black and silvery garb, complete with facemask and massive lirpa halberd, stood at every entrance. They were more out of respect for tradition than anything else, but they were all trained as well as any Starfleet security officer, and their wide sash hid a communicator and a mark 1 phaser on heavy stun, should trouble ever arise.

This role, too, Sonak had played during his adolescence. The martial training was as much integral to a kolinarh's training as the mental disciplines. To sever one from his own violent impulses, one had to experience them, just like swimming required to get wet. But just as one learned to swim, he had learned to rise and move with the waves, until he could get out of the water completely. This he explained to answer the curious stares of his companions as they came to the entrance proper of the titanic temple.

While of course, Sonak showed no signs of strain- this was his home, after all, with both his native climate and the place where he was held up as an example, an icon, a role model for others to aspire to emulate. Similarly, Az’Prel seemed to be experiencing no difficulty- despite having spent years amongst humanity and their lighter gravity and thicker air, Vulcan was still her homeworld. If anything, she seemed to move more fluidly and easily than she did onboard the Hera, and she seemed more alert and alive here.

For Rita Paris, it was an endurance test.

As a cross-country runner, she possessed leg strength and endurance, both of which were required for this task. But the thinner air worked against her here, as did the higher gravity. The lack of humidity evaporated her perspiration, making her body’s natural cooling systems perform far less efficiently than they normally would. The simple robe she wore would have been soaked through, but the Vulcan sun would not allow it.

Even with the tri-ox compound coursing through her system to compensate for the lesser oxygen content in the air, the bride of the kolinahr struggled with the climb. While Sonak needed no stops, she found herself needing them more and more frequently as the blazing sun beat down mercilessly. She kept her hood upraised over her head to keep it’s rays off her skin, lest she burn and her body’s heat regulation become even less efficient.

Yet she persevered and breathed not a word of complaint. This was the experience that she had sought, and she had known what to expect. This was what Humans faced on Vulcan, and she welcomed it. This was the fire that had forged the iron will of the man to whom she had devoted her life, whom she admired like no other. She wished to know this place, this experience, this world, and she would persevere.

By the time they arrived at the entrance to the temple, her legs were wobbly and weak, and her breathing was labored. But they had arrived, and she would take the victory, even if it meant she had to lean against the warm stones for support.

Sonak came to her and gave her all the time she needed to recuperate.

"I feel like I just climbed a mountain," she quipped, as was her way, to use humor as a coping mechanism in stressful situations.

''Most Humans take at least two days to do the climb. Had you been an applicant, you, like Az'Prel, would have proven yourself worthy to meet with a master and present your request. You have done well, my wife.''

He extended his two first fingers to her. Here and now, it was more than the customary intimate gesture between mates. From a kolinahr master, this was nothing short of saying how much he respected, even admired her, how proud he would have been of her, had he any emotion at all.

Summoning up her strength, knowing that she had to walk it off or she would stiffen up, the human woman turned down the hood of her robes to vent the heat. Then with a weary but happy smile, extended her ring and middle finger to her husband, the only man with whom she had ever shared the seemingly odd custom of touching of finger pads. Yet to the touch telepathic sensitive Vulcans, it was the intense sensation of deep and passionate kissing. Something outsiders would not know; and was often overlooked, at least back in their day.

Here in the modern-day, particularly on Vulcan, of course, it was rather clear what they were doing... but of course, they were bonded on a great number of levels, she and he, and no one questioned it.

The refugee Vulcan woman with them took a moment to survey their surroundings and reflect upon the differences between their universes. "The climb was easier than in my youth. In my universe, there are challengers at set intervals demanding you prove your worth. I am also not burdened with arms and armor. Nor is this a hall dedicated to warriors, but to logicians."

Az'Prel then turned to her traveling companions. "I believe this peaceful way is better, however, I know violence is inherent in any universe and is systemically unavoidable in some form. It is... Refreshing... That it is not here, though."

''Actually, it is,'' Sonak retorted, pointing at the guards and their polished weapons that were not parade implements at all. ''In ancient times, here, too, those guards challenged all comers; they will still do, of those who would violate the sanctity and peace of this place. Yes, it does happen sometimes; a youth doubtful of Surak's way; an elder struck with Bendii Syndrome; some male under the heat of Pon Farr... the occasional Nausicaan tourist...''

He paused, obviously reflecting upon something briefly before resuming.

''Vulcan's violent nature, barbaric even by human standards, is still there, underneath the stringent discipline of logic we submit ourselves to; you still see it during our mating rituals and our martial arts training. A few thousand years of civilization is not enough to alter biology and evolution.''

He pointed to some of the statues, the most ancient ones, first built when the temple was erected. They distinctively showed ancient warriors in full battle gear contrasting sharply with their serene faces.

''Our very struggle to curb our emotions, especially our violent ones, under the yoke of logic is itself an act of violence; violence against oneself. In fact, it is that inherent violence in the Vulcan heart that feeds this very effort, and makes it successful; turning violent impulses against themselves to nullify them. Outworlders think Vulcans repress their emotions; that would only lead to alienation.''

His grey eyes went to those of the displaced Vulcan woman.

''In truth, we sublimate them; redirect them into fueling our reasoning, just as many humans redirect sexual impulses into compassionate love for all, or their passions into career ambition. Denial always leads to failure. Acceptance is the first step to mastery.''

"My mentor said similar things. Following them while under threat of discovery and under the yoke of the Empire was difficult, however." As Az'Prel moved to study some of the older statues, she realized she recognized many of them. "Our histories seemed to have been the same at one point, if my memory is correct. Prior to the schism between logic and violence, perhaps. In my universe, it was the Romulans that embraced logic and peace, leaving a violent world behind in search of a new home. This left both worlds open to domination by the Terran Empire."

She then pointed out a particularly familiar statue in a transitory period. "This woman, in particular, my mentor often spoke of highly. She was a warrior sage and was known for great introspection on the battlefield in defense of Surak. She was able to do just as you said to great advantage, which I attempt to emulate - redirect her passions and emotions into reasoning and combat prowess. It is said that she was so patient, she was able to stalk and slay her own name."

''T'Kosu, the Blade-of-Heart-And-Mind,'' Sonak recognized instantly. ''Among all the Ancients, she alone stands as both a prominent warrior and a prominent sage in our History. Even Andorians admire her, as she reminds them of one of their own symbols of virtue, the warrior woman who fights while pregnant; bringing death as she is about to bring forth life. Romulans also revere her memory, as she more than any challenged Surak's teachings in words and deeds, putting them to the test like none other; thus enabling him to better spread them, and make them ring true to the rest of Vulcan. But most of all, that such acceptance must be free of coercion, for it to be of any value. A worthy model to emulate indeed.''

He nodded to her.

''You have made the climb; not only of the steps to this temple, but out of the dark world into which you were born, as all Vulcans did in those days. You have earned the right to commune with her katra, if you so choose.''

The displaced Vulcan woman nodded and stepped closer to the statue, preparing herself before stopping and returning her gaze to Sonak. "I require guidance. My experience in melding is... unpleasant... to the other party and I do not wish to be disrespectful. I assume there is a more peaceful method of mental joinings?"

''A katra cannot be hurt or indisposed, '' Sonak assured her. ''It is but the essence of a Vulcan, the remnant of a being that once was whole, but is now totally detached from physical existence, including any relation to space and time. Thus there can be no disrespect when you have climbed the steps, here as in life.''

His hand indicated the entrance at the top of a huge stone stairway of twenty-four steps, one for each hour of the amazingly identical Earth day that was also that of Vulcan; an astronomical coincidence Federation scientists were still pondering to this day. They led between tall massive crystal columns to a huge double door of blackened metal engraved with the IDIC symbol. It was currently open, a soft red glow pulsing from somewhere inside.

''Within the temple lies the receptacles of all the katras kept since the Time of Awakening; some from even earlier than that. There is no mind-meld involved. Once you touch a receptacle, it is up to the katra to establish the connection, as long as you touch it. But it will feel exactly like a mind meld, except for a more... dreamlike state, not always coherent to your conscious mind. There will be no... unpleasantness, as contact can be ended effortlessly from one or the other.''

He faced Rita.

''This is permitted to any and all who climbed the steps.''

"In my universe, this too is a test of wills. I will endeavor to keep my mind open to the ways of this universe. I thank you for your guidance." With that, Az'Prel gently rested her fingertips against the cold stone and closed her eyes.

“Perhaps you should go inside and seek the katra of T’Kosu, Az’Prel? Or perhaps of your counterpart, here in this reality?” Rita offered, trying to offer what guidance she could. This was certainly something out of her depth, to be certain. But she was here, and while she was tired from the climb, so too did she feel a sense of accomplishment over it, and a responsibility to help Az’Prel. After all, Sonak was an excellent mentor and teacher, and he could guide her as no other in this. But Rita, as it seemed the role of humanity often served amongst the starfaring races, was there to provide the motivation.

“You can seek out whomever you wish, or you don’t have to seek anyone at all. But we’ve come all this way, on this rather impressive pilgrimage…. So perhaps you owe it to yourself to hear what wisdom your ancestors might have to impart to you?” Rita offered gently.

Silently, Sonak invited them to enter the temple.

"My counterpart was a priestess on Mount Seleya for most of her life. If she is here, she may have wisdom I am lacking," Az'Prel commented as they entered the temple.

"Here's to research... and living in the future," the human girl quipped as they entered the solemn sanctuary of the hallowed ancestors of Vulcan.

The silence in the immense interior was such that the mere movement of the air sounded like a whisper, much like what one hears when placing a seashell to one's ear. In fact, the whole interior of the titanic structure was much reminiscent of that of a seashell; a series of circular chambers with round walls and arches getting bigger and bigger as one progressed further inside the temple.

The reddish light of holographic and natural flames shadowed an innumerable number of niches scoring from floor to ceiling the entire chamber, in which rested small sculpted objects of an infinite variety of geometrical forms, all covered with Vulcan sigils. In each one. This was the first chamber, the smallest, yet as large as the bridge of a Galaxy-class starship. It was, in typical logical Vulcan fashion, called the First Chamber.

Here rested the katras of the most prominent, most sought after individuals honored on Vulcan. Despite the arduous trek to reach this Place of Honor, there usually was a rather long wait to approach these most revered receptacles, as many of them were renowned the breath of the entire Federation; some even beyond that. But priority was given over mere tourists and admirers to certain individuals, like family members and descendants, former colleagues and certain specified individuals; like kolinarh masters... and lost Vulcans now coming home.

Sonak did not go to any of them. That he had done many times when he had been a disciple to the Masters of Gol in his youth, and then again when he had come to this universe and brought back the katra of Spock to rest with that of his equally famous father, Sarek. Instead, he went to a meditation booth, there to reflect while his two companions would partake of their experience here.

Guided by her own natural psychic faculties, Az'Prel went straight to a specific receptacle high up on the wall, with the help of an antigrav kneeling pad provided before each column of funeral urns.

As the interdimensional refugee Vulcan’s katra intermingled with one of the katras in the place of honor, where all the katras of those who came before were housed, she found herself no longer in the temple she was in mere moments before. Instead, she was on the summit of Mount Seleya, the harsh, hot wind blasting her in the face and whipping around her, threatening to toss her off the top of the mountain. She knew this summit well from her youth, as she had aspired to be one of the warrior priestesses at one time. Before the Terran Empire had taken everything from her.

This was not the peaceful summit of this universe, yet as a figure coalesced, things around them shifted from the harsh reds and jagged rocks that she knew into calm rustic colors with worn edges. It was as if the person standing before her was overwriting the memory she had found herself in until there was no wind, and the dust was still. Even the temple no longer had weapons racks filled with Lirpa at the ready, covered in dried blood.

This was the memory of this universe’s Mount Seleya.

There was little hesitation as she raised her hand in the traditional Vulcan salute. “I am Az’Prel. I come from a mirror of this universe, seeking clarity and wisdom.”

The figure raised their hand in salute as well. “I sense that I am your counterpart in this universe, though our names differ. I am T’Prel. I will offer you what wisdom I carry. Clarity is dependent upon what you do with that wisdom.”

"You seek wisdom. Wisdom is gained through experience, and you have great experience that no longer serves you, in a universe governed by different rules." T'Prel continued. "This gives you uncertainty. Doubt. Even fear."

"In your reality, all was conflict. External and internal. Here, your conflict is greater. Here your conflict is within yourself." The woman, her face a mirror of Az'Prel's own though lined with a much greater age, raised a single brow.

"Which do you fear more? The loss of what you have gained here, or the loss of what you were there?" T'Prel asked plainly.

“I am Vulcan. I do not…” she began, but in her heart, she knew the truth. She was afraid of losing both of them, and as much as she wanted to deny it, she could not lie to herself of any reality.

"Logic dictates that you lose neither." The version of Az'Prel wearing the robes of a priestess of Mount Seleya explained. "You understand the principles of logic. It has always defined you, even when all you knew was violence. Violence was the logical solution for the reality in which you existed. Now you are free to expand that understanding. Not by letting go of that past, but by learning from that truth. In that, you will protect as well, what you have gained."

"Do not abandon yourself. You, in turn, will not be abandoned."

Her counterpart’s logic and wisdom weighed heavily on Az’Prel. She had been thinking about her place in this new universe with far too many emotions, and now it seemed she had much more clarity on the subject. She didn’t have to change to fit in- she just had to be herself, and protect what she had gained. It was only logical.

“I thank you, Priestess T’Prel of Mount Seleya. Your wisdom and logic have granted me clarity.” With that, Az’Prel rendered the Vulcan salute one more time. “Peace and… prosperity.”

"And I to you, Az'Prel of the Hera." The priestess replied, hand raised in salute. "Yours is a home of contradictions. Those around you share more with you in that regard than you realize. That balances itself. Live long and Prosper."

There was nothing else that could be said or asked, as the wind seemed to pick up for a moment before the Vulcan refugee found herself back in the temple once more.

As Sonak prepared himself to commune with the great man of two worlds who had so vastly affected the course of both, who had been so instrumental in both of their own lives, Rita left her logical mate to gather his thoughts and prepare himself. While her presence was always welcome with the kolinahr master, there were also times when he was best left to his own devices, and this was one of them. He needed no help to commune with the katra of Spock, which he knew intimately, having rescued it from the alternate reality in which he had returned it, to bring it here, to its rightful resting place. Here, where now he could report that the error which had created the splinter 'Kelvin' timeline which had given birth to she and Sonak once upon a time through Spock's miscalculations, had now been undone, and would no longer threaten the true Prime timeline.

Walking slowly, enjoying the coolness of the cavern after the day in the blazing sun and the arduous climb, Rita considered the graven carvings of the stored katras, making out bits here and there. Her reading comprehension of Vulcan was still quite poor, as she had never fully taken the time to apply herself to the study. It wasn't laziness, but a matter of spare time. A workaholic, always juggling so many starship duties, usually with a side project or two occupying her time, she just had so little free time to devote to more learning beyond what she learned just in her day to day job and conversations with her brilliant husband.

For the girl with the average Human intellect, trying to keep up with the dizzying intellects with which she kept company was quite the challenge.

Thus she wasn't particularly that good at picking out the names per se, struggling with some of the subtleties of the alphabet, chiding herself for not taking more time while she'd had it on the Armstrong to study her Vulcan reading comprehension. Which was when she paused, surprised to find one marker labeled in Federation common that brought a smile to her face, and she approached it with outstretched fingers, brushing against the receptacle as she felt what she could only define as echoes and impressions.

It was not what a Vulcan would feel of another Vulcan, certainly; the contact was nowhere near as strong, the voice not clear, orderly and logical. But there was a sense of compassionate kinship that still warmed her heart, and gave her a sensation of belonging that she did not expect to find in that desolate and solemn place, on an alien world so far away from her own. As a tear rolled down her cheek, she whispered her thanks to the spirit she had touched, for all of the advice she had given to Rita, and all of the hope that she had offered through her works in life to the human astronaut who had come to love a Vulcan. Stepping back, Rita reverently dusted off the graven stone marker and paid her respects to her spiritual forebearer.

Amanda Grayson