A Mission Post by Lieutenant Commander Jin Rha-Yaleii
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location: Vulcan
Timeline: 2410
[Vulcana Regar Spaceport]
He started when a shadow fell across his still form huddled beneath the odd plant's leaves. Ah, Earth and Air, had he fallen asleep?
His heart thundering in his ears, Nveid studied the dark boots planted before him. Anthracite colored trousers (sir'val, his brain provided helpfully if a bit pointlessly, the light and sturdy fabric thaessu-a favored for uniforms), as crisp and clean as if the man wearing them had just exited his home, not traversed a busy spaceport. Soldier? No, this was thhaei. Soldiers wore …the image of a sable-haired woman in shining terracotta and gold flashed in his mind and dispersed.
Trying to dislodge the cobwebs from his brain, Nveid scrambled to his feet, ready to dash at the stranger's slightest move. Only the man stood as still as a mountain – if mountains came in lean, pointy eared versions with aquiline features. Neither old nor young, neither tall nor short, this thaessu seemed the perfect example of what was commonly named 'nondescript'.
"Paki'du nu'riko, ha"
The inquiry sounded amicable enough. Too bad Nveid's brain was too busy trying to place the dark uniform – and it was one, of that he was certain – with the shimmering silver insignia to remember the lessons of modern Golic learned in warm, quiet quarters that smelled of exotic candles and so uniquely of her… her!
He had to …
The man scarcely moved, but somehow he had blocked Nveid's escape without a single touch, without his mild, slightly inquisitive expression changing for even an instant.
No, no… NO!
"Ti'amah! Mnaeri tæ kòmehkay …" ah, splendid. Now the stranger would think him deranged, blurting out Rihannsu and ancient Golic in a nonsensical babble … there went the eyebrow. Hot tears welled up in Nveid's eyes, fiercely suppressed as he furtively looked for an avenue of escape.
"Kòmehkay …tar'du ko-mekh." The man carefully enunciated the words, his calm hazel eyes taking in Nveid's distress but still he appeared as unshaken as – well, a thaessu. Elements knew after what had just befallen their hearthworld, a panicked Rihannsu boy shouldn't succeed at so much as raising a slanted brow. "Pshta'du ko-mekh."
This time he recognized the cadence, the subtle undertones. A question, concerned, and … offering help? Realizing he was gripping the sword so tightly his hands began to shake, Nveid forced himself to breathe. And then almost broke into hysterical laughter when that brow climbed another fraction. Surely a V'Shar would not be nervous of a sword-toting child?
V'Shar.
The realization hit him at the same time the Vulcan's words finally sunk in. 'Mother. You seek your mother.' Snapping his mouth shut before he would start to babble again in his excitement and – no use in denying it, a fair amount of dread – Nveid nodded.
The man gave a soft exhale and the minute crinkling of his brows told Nveid he was thinking. Being thaessu, that probably meant lots of logic. Nveid had no time for logic.
"Ko-mekh, ha." He had never told her. Never in words, that this was what she'd become to him. Afraid of … of what? Placing a burden on her slender shoulders, one she had never asked for? Of being rejected, oh so gently for certain, but being told she was too young, an officer in the strangers' Starfleet, not ready to care for a wayward boy… a boy whose race had killed her own mother.
In his memory, an indulgent eyebrow climbed on chiseled features, eyes like liquid black pools shone with serenity and acceptance. With love. C'thia. Always and only the truth.
In the brightly lit spaceport, the truth stared into Nveid's face more splendid than Vulcan's merciless sun.
"Ko-mekh!" His brown eyes shining with urgency, the boy drew himself up to his full height and pointed towards the arched windows where Nevasa was beginning to set over Regar, bathing the city's high spires in sparkling hues of ruby.
[V'Shar Headquarters, Vulcana Regar]
Tekav strode across the ancient stone, leading his wary charge towards one of the small cafés dotting the building's lower levels. After achieving his primary objective, namely removing the distraught and volatile child from the bustling environment of the spaceport, he had considered handing him over to a V'Kor office to locate his family. For a surety there was no shortage of people still seeking missing family members after the recent attack on the hearthworld, and the V'Kor were best equipped to handle such matters.
So why was he motioning the child towards one of the low couches, procuring a pitcher of fresh water and bits of ripe pla-savas?
Tekav told himself it was the perfectly logical curiosity sparked by the fact this was no ordinary child, and the equally logical impulse to show compassion. It hardly required an agency-trained mind to recognize one of the Sundered. If the boy's words – curiously mixed with ancient Golic and a distinct timbre of the Kir highlands – had not given him away, his unfettered emotions certainly had.
And yet he was a riddle. Where had he come from? Surely not from one of the ships that had rained death and destruction, following a rogue Vaek'Riov in his mad quest for vengeance.
The Vulcan's sensitive nose still detected traces of ash and ozone on the evening breeze, reminders of the devastation that lay on the outskirts of the city. For a mercy, the bustling port city of Regar had received warning in time to evacuate everyone inside the shields – or out into the ancient shelters still slumbering across the continent. If one could survive Nevasa's wrath in there, a warship should hardly scratch the surface.
Not all of the planet had been so fortunate.
Where had the child come from? Rumpled and tattered as his clothing was, it had once been finely made and the sword… indeed, the sword. At first Tekav had nearly shown outright surprise, catching a glimpse of the exquisitely made scabbard, the night-black hilt of the blade. The dark, lightly curved shape, deadly elegance and brutal logic – for a fleeting moment he had wondered whether he was looking at a cultural artifact, priceless and shrouded in legend. But no. The kahs-hir of the hilt lacked the dull gleam of age, and what glimpses he had caught of the scabbard's subtle sardonyx-wood inlay revealed an unfamiliar design.
Mother. The boy had been quite adamant that he would not be derailed from his quest for her, but beyond repeating this one word he had fallen silent. The natural reaction of a Rihannsu boy when suddenly faced with one belonging to Intelligence, but utterly illogical behavior for one raised by a Vulcan. Yet Tekav had no doubt whatsoever, the woman in question was precisely that. Vulcan.
Fascinating.
He watched the child cautiously pick up the glass and turn it in the waning light, following the scattered rainbow of colors with his eyes. Dark brown eyes with shades of warm olive and near imperceptible hues of silver, glowing with intelligence. Taking in his surroundings, studying the Vulcan, learning, assessing.
"Will you help me?"
This time Tekav could not prevent his eyebrows snapping up in utter astonishment. While the words still carried a heavy accent – and yet again, a distinct melody of Nel-Gathelk – they were modern Vulcan.
"In order to provide assistance, I shall need to know what it is you require 'help' with. However …"
The boy made an impatient gesture and briefly shook his head as if dismissing Tekav's formality.
"My mother. She … hurt. Injured. I cannot find. You are V'Shar. You … know things."
Indeed.
"Your mother is here? In Regar?"
The child seemed to hesitate, or perhaps his frown was merely a sign of frustration over not being able to communicate as well as he wished. Which was certainly understandable.
"I do not know. She …" he plucked idly at the pla-savas and seemed to come to a decision. With infinite gentleness, he removed a scrap of fabric that might at some point have been part of a formal robe, torn and scorched as it was, from the sword's hilt and held it out for Tekav to see.
There, shimmering in burnished gold was a clan symbol that had the Vulcan's eyebrows make a spirited attempt to climb above his hairline.
"I believe I know where to find your … mother, young one."
[to be continued...]
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