“Acknowledged, D.O.,” Archer said. “Shuttlepod One will dock with Enterprisein about forty‑five minutes. Then I’ll want best speed to Vulcan. Archer out.”
And let’s hope while we’re gone that nothing spooks these delegates the way Terra Prime did,he thought as he flipped the communicator grid closed.
Three
Thursday, January 30, 2155
Vulcan’s Forge
THE HARSH, DRY WIND stung his exposed skin. Commander Charles “Trip” Tucker III was glad that it was twilight, even if the area was still quite hot. He didn’t know how the Vulcans withstood the heat, given all their layered heavy garments. For the occasion, he had asked for a set of ceremonial robes; it seemed fitting, even if he was soaked in sweat underneath them.
The Vulcan who had helped clothe him had also given him a matching swath of fabric intended to allow him to surreptitiously cover the neurotherapeutic sling with which Phlox had outfitted him; the weapons‑burst he had taken to the shoulder while fighting Terra Prime on Mars the previous week had caused some residual, though thankfully reversible, nerve damage to his left arm. He’d be wearing the sling for another week, at least.
T’Pol was somewhere inside the mostly rebuilt T’Karath Sanctuary. He assumed that she was making whatever preparations needed to be made. He hadn’t attended many Vulcan funerals, and hadn’t particularly had the time–or the desire–to read up on them during the few days it had taken the speedy Coridanite diplomatic vessel to ferry them here.
“Commander Tucker?” The voice was even and crisp. He knew it belonged to a Vulcan before he even turned around. He was not surprised to recognize the shorter woman, even if her shaggy brown hair had now been swept up under a tall cap.
“Minister T’Pau,” he replied, bowing slightly toward her. He supposed that she must have just returned from the recent round of Coalition negotiations on Earth.
“I hope everything has been comfortable for you, under the circumstances,” she said, nodding courteously. “Our workers have been laboring night and day to turn this desolation once again into a sanctuary.”
“I’ve been most comfortable, ma’am,” Trip said. “Your workers have done a great job over the past six months.” He had only seen in holograms what the original T’Karath Sanctuary had looked like. As was the case with many Vulcan religious and philosophical refuges, it had been designed and built to be a part of the low desert hills, rather than something separate from the inhospitable natural world that surrounded it.
“T’Karath was once a significant part of our history,” T’Pau said, stepping forward and looking out over the rocky canyon that sloped away from the sanctuary proper. Trip admired the neat rows of hardy, ground‑level plants that adorned the canyon’s ruddy, rock‑strewn sands. He’d overheard one of the workers refer to these newly planted leafy succulents as kylin’the,which were supposed to possess healing properties. The sight of life returning and persisting so stubbornly in such a hostile place made Trip feel something that strongly resembled hope.
“A history that stretches back to the time of Surak,” T’Pau continued. “The sanctuary was mostly destroyed during a…long‑past conflict among our people. More recently, my Syrrannite sect used it as a refuge, until the High Command made the decision to wipe us out. Much of what remained from the past was destroyed by the aerial bombardment.”
“It’s good that you’re rebuilding, then,” Trip said. “It’ll stand as a monument for your people for the future.”
T’Pau turned and regarded him with one eyebrow raised. “For now at least.” She pursed her lips, and turned back to the expansive view in front of them. “Vulcan’s future is unknown. Hundreds of years from now, this sanctuary may well be forgotten once again.”
“I hope not,” Trip said.
“Is that the reason you are interring her here?” T’Pau asked. “So that she will be memorialized in a place you think will hold importance in our future?”
Trip was momentarily appalled by the question. Every time I think the next Vulcan can’t be any ruder than the last one, I get proved wrong,he thought.
Before he could respond, he saw T’Pol step out of the entrance behind them. She was dressed in elaborate royal blue robes not unlike those he wore himself, though she didn’t look at all uncomfortable in them. Around her neck she wore the IDIC symbol her mother had sent to her shortly before her death.
“No, Minister, that is not the reason we are interring Elizabeth here,” T’Pol said. “We do not choose to do this out of some attempt to publicly memorialize our…daughter. We do this because my mother is buried here as well. She would have appreciated knowing her granddaughter.”
T’Pau nodded. “Even if only for a short time. That is logical.” She paused for a moment, and then added a question. “Do you think she would have accepted the child, given its…mixed parentage?”
Trip realized that his face was betraying his emotions–annoyance at the moment–and willed his features into a calmer countenance. He knew that T’Pau had been close friends with T’Les, the mother of T’Pol. They had even been at the sanctuary here together when T’Pol and Captain Archer had arrived. Shortly afterward, Archer–who was carrying within him the katraof Surak–had found the long‑lost Kir’Shara,an artifact that contained the writings of Surak. The discovery was almost simultaneous with the bombing of T’Karath, during which T’Les had been killed.
In the aftermath of the destruction, T’Pau, Archer, and T’Pol had delivered the Kir’Sharato the Vulcan High Command, just in time to stop the traitorous Administrator V’Las from launching the people of Vulcan into an ill‑advised war against the Andorians. Shortly thereafter, the High Command was dissolved, and a reformation of Vulcan government began. T’Pau had been made a minister, and since that time had led the movement to spread and adopt the philosophies and teachings of Surak on a planetary scale.
So if she was an ally of T’Les, and she and her society both got some real benefit out of what Archer and T’Pol did here, then why is T’Pau acting this way?Trip didn’t dare ask the woman, and didn’t really need to. He had dealt with enough Vulcans to know that their suppression of emotions made them seem uncaring and unkind much of the time.
T’Pol answered the minister before Trip could. “My mother was a highly respected faculty member at the Vulcan Science Academy. If for no other reason than this, she would have found the first offspring ever to be produced by a Vulcan and a human to be fascinating. That Elizabeth was the product of her own daughter’s genetic material would–I have no doubt–have encouraged her to accept the child.”
Before T’Pau could say something else that might make the tension even more unbearable, Trip held his right hand up. “Minister, if it’s all the same to you, we’d like to begin the ceremony for Elizabeth now.”
T’Pau nodded, almost imperceptibly. “Certainly. The priests have prepared the chamber for you. They have only to deliver the vessel containing the child.” She turned to walk away. “I will make certain that all work ceases until you are finished, so as not to disturb the proceedings,” she said over her shoulder.
“Thank you,” T’Pol said, her voice flat, and quieter than normal. She turned to look at Trip, her dark eyes wide.
He hesitated for only a moment before reaching out and pulling her into a hug with his uninjured right arm. He felt her frame stiffen against him before relaxing almost imperceptibly.
He knew the tension was not just because of the pending funeral service. It was more personal even than that. Their relationship had all but dissolved last fall–even after T’Pol’s divorce from her husband Koss, whom she’d been forced to marry in order to get her mother re‑instated at the Academy–then seemingly rekindled almost two months ago.