This Year III

Posted on 20 May 2013 @ 11:38am by Lieutenant JG Kestra Orexil

2,353 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: Episode 03 - Frontier
Location: USS Galileo: Sickbay
Timeline: MD7 0700

ON:

He met her eyes, a renewed determination slowly creeping into his face. He stood and made his way to the replicator, accessing the control panel and programming a simple thin rope to work with. He wasn't sure precisely what he needed, so he held it up for inspection. Adequate?

She took it in answer, wrapping it around one hand, then the other, before laying it out in front of her. Truth, she tied a knot, ends looping past each other repeatedly, then holding - seemingly by miracle alone. Honor, she tied another knot - this one simpler than the one before, but just as tight. Health, she formed a figure eight, then followed the pattern with one end until the rope tightened. Kinship, she formed a circle with the rope and secured another knot with two quick pulls. Natural Art, she closed her eyes and as she continued to think the words, her hands formed knot after knot, ranging in beauty and complexity. Nobility, The Chalice, The Scepter, The Weal, Courage, Faith, Humility, Perseverance, Love, Balance, Peace and Protection. The finished rope was a loop, a complicated crown of interlocking knots: impossible and unbreakable. She held it out to him to study. Those are the lessons I learned as a girl, when it came time that I should bear my gift as it was. I will show you how; perhaps they will help you as they did me. She took one tiny end of the loop and tugged gently. The whole mass collapsed into a plain rope once more in Liyar's hands. Truth is the lesson you began with, yes? As it is for us.

Truth is the beginning of all things, Liyar recited. It is the cornerstone of control. Control builds function. Function is the foundation for logic. Logic creates structure. Structures integrate reality. Build. Experience. Respond. You are your mind experiencing itself. The rope in his hands wound around his fist, circular, falling apart. It drifted into his lap. He looked down and frowned. I do not appear to be skilled at this.

You will be. It comes in time. Try again. She showed him the first knot again, more slowly this time, then handed the rope back. Truth can be stated in a thousand different ways, allowing each to be true, because it is different for each mind. It is perspective, forged in fire. Just so, there are several ways to build the first knot, but only one will stand the test of the crown under your hands.

Frustration tinged his mind, fuzzy whiteness bouncing off of his meteorshield, but he reigned it in as best as he could. My truth does not work correctly, he sent wearily. He paid attention to his hands once the rope was given back. Self set in stone, cracks, weak. He created a knot, and pulled to test it, but it only fell apart in front of him. Guided by the mind, the ends didn't meet, gaps in chains. The white static behind the shield rose to cover, pins and needles. Stubbornly he tried again, and when he failed, once more. Dreams and reality. There is supposed to be a difference. True and false. One or zero.

But when we dream, the dream is our reality until we wake, she answered. It is not so simple as binary systems. One man's truth is another's lie, so it goes, changing as does the structure of the rope, moment to moment, depending on how one's reality is shaped around it. She watched him work the rope. It took me three days to get this one right. It is not the hardest, only the first. But when you can work the physical world to the truth you hold in your mind, then you've made your first step towards control.

Liyar didn't like being inept. Failure after failure. It was childlike. How many times, how many times had he needed to regain his mind, relearn, reorder, reorganize. Sitting in the same place Kestra was, tied to a bed, raving and mad, white walls. Retrain, adapt to function. Planets. Ripping his head open, reducing him to incoherent babbling. I know. He did, but he was afraid of that, lackadaisical approach to reality. He would get lost, disappear into nothing. Each time, I found it again. Found truth. He pulled the knots of the rope tighter and looped one strand downward. Now, he began yanking at it roughly, working the material angrily, my truth is gone. It lived with - he closed off and he pulled the rope hard against his hands.

Kestra laid her hand over his. You will find it again. As you found me. Not with anger, but with strength and patience.

He breathed out long and slow. He looked at the rope which had now become a tangled mess in his hand. He sat back, studying it, and tried to see. But patient, he was not. The rope came undone and he let his mind guide it, following it instead of forcing it. Calm, he remembered. Do you ever fear that one day, not only will you return to dreams, but you will be unable to distinguish them from Life? he asked as he worked, barely aware of the patterns he was making.

Every moment since I woke, yes, she answered. And I wonder what will become of me if that happens. Will I become a suikitra - feeding off the energy of those whose dreams I walk in? Or will I simply dream until I die and enter the everlasting dream? And will that seem different, or more of the same? She shook her head. I pray it does not come to that. But- her thoughts arrested, blurred as though falling speedily from point A to point B, then Have you been dreaming, brother?

Vulcans are not supposed to dream, Liyar's sigh was mental, drained. That does not seem relevant to my mind. Some of it is mine, but others; clogged. Input. Tuning fork, metal vibrations. Sometimes I dream when I am still awake. They say it is the telepathy, but that has always happened. He looked down in his hands to notice that the knot which he pulled tight did not fall apart as quickly as before. The new dreams, they are, he gestured into the air. Clinging ghosts. The rocks, they used to help me. Maybe they will help you. My people, we learn that one's self is the source of our power. Our, he frowned. I do not know what you call it. The katra. The sense of being. Individual, always. To have a place where that is unchanging, rooted, that you can always recognize, even in dreams. A touchstone.

We are taught that our power is derived from the evolution the Deities wish for us. We are blessed by Angels, and the greater Spirits guide us through our lives and set us on our paths to our Fates. Woven together by time and blood, we emerge as strings in a tapestry, bound in the moment of our birth - and again when our minds expand in adolescence. But I cannot feel the presence of the greater Spirits or the Angels; there is either too much noise or too much silence. Kestra touched his cheek, sisterly and concerned. Your touchstone no longer serves you? It wasn't exactly a question; the thought was seeking ephemeral tendrils. Crystalline strings seeking weaves.

I cheated, Liyar barely whispered back, hardly able to give meaning to the memory even in mind. His mind cast that aside, focused anew, on what she'd said about the Deities. He didn't know much about Betazoid religion, but, I spent years, trying to do what Vulcans do. To work that way. It was not right. What I learned, he said, as though attempting to help, offer some sort of solution, is that the mind does what it does. It may not look like what you are used to, or what you are taught, but the mind wants to live, and grow. It does that to the best of its ability, in any person, of any species.

She assented noiselessly. It is true; there is still so much we do not yet understand. But how is that cheating?

Liyar shook his head. A very little joke. Microscopic. Those roots inside, are meant to be intrinsic, he explained. Base points, in the brain. In nerves, pure expressions of self. The way it works is that a representation of reality is manifested within you, so that you do not lose touch with yourself, and therefore cannot lose touch with reality. I could never make it work. I am not sane. I Dreamed for years. So my touchstone existed outside. She is dead.

Kestra couldn't help but feel the vortex that evolved from that single word - dead. So much more than that. Loss. Grief. Self. Destruction. Feelings that had no words to express them. She'd thought that he had been torn asunder - he had been. She squeezed his arm gently. My people, she said, allowing his grief the space it deserved. -believe that dreams are gifts from our connection to the greater tapestry. Links to the collective unconscious and to our own. It is where our fears and wishes come into balance with each other; healthy. Yearned for. And you are not on Vulcan any longer. The rules as they applied there - they are not the same here. You are not the same now as you were then, or when you had her. You will find a new touchstone, brother. Or you will learn to live without. Besides, she lifted her brows gently. Sanity is terribly dull. Did you know, there's a woman on the Venture who's been singing an odd little song about a spider being washed down a gutter system for the last three days? She can't get it out of her head, and now I cannot get it out of mine. There are benefits to being a little bit mad, so long as we can control it somewhat.

A'Tha, Liyar condensed the images and words into a single point. He was hunched over on the chair, as though protecting himself physically from some unseen force. He remained that way for many moments, tunnel vision setting in. Fingertips, weathered hands, ropes, knots. Linked chains. Absent the contours of the mind, the rope was deftly manipulated into intricate patterns. A sturdily formed chair knot emerged in the rope as he stared at the opposite wall, before he looked up. Like the knot that wound in his hands before disintegrating under the right pressure, he let the momentary vice grip of grief let up and leave. The Itsy Bitsy Spider. I have never been able to comprehend Terrans, he muttered mentally. Hm, hm, hm, hm. He looked up at the ceiling. Hopefully Maenad would not take up singing.

I want to meet her. Kestra watched the rope bend to his will. After Truth comes Honor, she pictured the next knot for him.

Liyar was barely cognizant of maneuvering the strands of corded rope. This one took shape more quickly, but it stilled as he arched both eyebrows. Meet - you wish to meet Maenad? Why?

You think of her often. And others have spoken to me of her. I'm curious. Her laugh was quiet in his mind. You do not wish me to?

Liyar shook his head. No, he thought, although his reticence on the matter was still prominent. If you wish to meet her, I am certain it can be arranged. However, she does not enjoy medical settings. And I believe she may find your telempathic abilities jarring. While over the last month or so she had gradually gotten used to Liyar's abilities, he did not know if she would be as accepting of Kestra. She is much the same as other Terrans in that regard.

This makes you anxious - her discomfort with mental contact. Kestra tilted her head to the side. I can take the chair wherever I like. The arboretum, the observation lounge... anywhere where it will fit. She needn't come here. Were those your only reasons?

My people are quite reliant on telepathy for communication. Without mental contact, my ability to communicate is severely hindered. He didn't enjoy the cultural juxtapositions, the differences that he felt to what she said, the fact that their entire universal perceptions were so different, that it was possible she would not be able to accept it. She sometimes attends the arboretum. That may be your best chance to meet with her, he thought, focusing his mind on something else.

Perhaps she only needs more time to adjust, to learn... Kestra smiled gently. Often communications between species are quite problematic, and universal translators can only do so much. Perhaps greater exposure, more experience, will ease her concerns. And if not, well- her fears are her own trouble and she will overcome them or not. There is little you or I can do, but offer knowledge. I would enjoy a spin in the Arboretum... She looked at his hands, Very nice.

OFF:

Lieutenant (JG) Liyar
Diplomatic Officer, VDF/SDD
USS Galileo

Lieutenant (JG) Kestra Orexil
Patient/Former CTSO, SFS
USS Galileo

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