The Competition

Posted on 06 Mar 2013 @ 1:17am by Raifi Zaren

8,730 words; about a 44 minute read

Mission: Episode 03 - Frontier
Location: USS Galileo: Holodeck
Timeline: MD04: 0000-0500 hrs

ON:

I am -

Liyar was floating. He was adrift, a small piece of wood sailing along the ocean on his floor. He didn't know how long he stayed like that. Peace. He stretched out his arms and legs, looking at the nameless white fuzz above. There were no thoughts here. No feelings. No memories. There was a sense of total contentment, his body was relaxed and every muscle limp. He floated on. Stretched for days and days.

How long did he float?

The light of this house was dim and ever still too bright, searing as he slowly swam up and out, falling softly onto his bed. Up and out. Into mind, into sight. Gold and orange in the morning, streaming through his window. He sat up, squinting and holding a hand up to protect against the harsh day.

It was down below the Fortress, waiting for him to open his eyes so it could rise up, pluck them out of his head, crush them in its fists. Make the darkness permanent. Make off with the inner-self, carrying it into the sun. Obey. He could see the shadows creeping along the wall. He focused on trying to create his shield, a childlike thing. This will protect me from everything that wishes me harm. Except oxygen, he thought immaturely, wiping away the tug on his face that threatened to smile. He stood up to examine his own hands. A small splint covered two of his fingers, his other encased in a meshing fiber unit. Oxygen can get in. Not za'il ra'fszhodcyen.

Poking fingers, pressing the plastic protecting his mind. Surly and snappish. Liyar pressed his face into the tips of his injured fingers. Go away. I am at nominal efficiency.

One day, Liyar, he'll kill you if you keep provoking him.

Goooooo. awaaaaaaaaaay.

He flopped back on the bed, and lost himself in dreams.

***
Liyar rolled over. Pressed the flat of his palms into the deck below him, cold against the side of his face. Kestra? Trija? Silence. In the palm of his left hand was an isolinear rod, and Liyar closed it over, trying to sluggishly pull himself to his feet. One foot in front of the other. One step back to counter it. Had he been left behind? He couldn't feel them.

Good. They had escaped.

He felt along the wall, unseeing. The same vibrant pulse of Consciousness that always greeted him aboard the Galileo was ever present. The corridors were dark. Liyar could feel the thick stench of miscreation's fiends, devils in the dark, the clobbering, explosive belt of giant's feet storming the halls. Coming for him. And then they weren't feet at all. The hearts fell out of his pocket. One Andorian. Two Vulcan. Liyar knelt down to retrieve the oddly shaped organ, slimy and soft in his hand. How fragile a thing. How meaningless, for such a small thing, to be essential.

"Morning, sir."

Liyar stared forward at the voice, looking upward and away, but only the pulse in his hand beat. He forged ahead, letting the wraith's collected eyes on the wall guide him. Stored there for years, za'il ra'fszhodcyen's prize. He could seek out the heart that beat in his hand. How much better it would be that way.

By now the alarms, beeps and screams were his friends. Longtime lovers, companions in mourning. He thought one day he would memorize every inch of this place. It was gone, preserved only in memory. Memory he did not understand how he had come to possess. His mind was muddled, and he was in a trance, flung back into the same nightmare that plagued him time and time again.

***
He couldn't feel it, not really, and it was driving him further to anger. He needed to kill. He couldn't feel a sign that they were at all affected. They were predictable. They were too calculated, defeating them wasn't giving him what he needed. He was covered with the signs of fighting, now. Blood and bruises, half-torn clothing. His hands bled and fell off and regrew. Feet broke and twisted. Hair ripped out. And then he was made new and on he continued, until they reached end to end in the corridor, a river of corpses. The rage kept on and on, building precariously. He couldn't make them feel. Not like he had. Not that light that went out, he had felt it. Felt them die? Their names and faces swam in his mind.

He jumped down out of the hatch and landed lightly on his feet, banging his hand on the heavily plated wall to alert the randomized alien up ahead of his presence. He stretched his hand, biting down the surge of pain at the impact of his fingers against the simulated metal.

"Riuci!" he called down the hall, tired of waiting. The alien turned around and ran forward, drawing his phaser and firing. Liyar attempted to roll out of the way but it caught his shoulder, tossing him back toward the wall. It was such an easy movement to duck that he wondered if he had purposefully stayed in the way. That bit of thinking cost him as the alien jumped on him and drew back his hand, delivering a high-powered punch to Liyar's jaw, snapping his head back. Unthinkingly, Liyar pushed him off, moving forward with him and reaching, gripping the person's head between two hands, bringing his knee up to slam into the man's skull and dropping him. He brought his foot down over the person's arm, which gave way with a satisfying little crunch, and grabbed the phaser on his hip. The man stirred, and tried to roll himself into a defensive position, but Liyar was already firing. The sound of a door opening down the hall alerted him and he ducked out of plain sight, setting the phaser in his hands to kill.

From behind him, he was grabbed, the phaser clattered out of his hands and another flurry of blows rained down on him. He couldn't tell if there was one person or two. Liyar managed to grab one of their feet, yanking them down. It wasn't the usually efficient and almost acrobatic style of fighting he was familiar with, that most saw him capable of. It was the ugly signs of fighting, with no other purpose or goal than to kill and maim. Liyar managed to get the guy on his stomach and leaned over him, a visible scowl on his face before he applied the final stage of tal-shaya. He drove his other hand into the man's eye. It satisfied him. But it wasn't enough. It didn't quiet him. He stood and was about to confront the other attacker only to realize the other one was making a run for it. Liyar tensed and began running. He could see the figure up ahead and tunnel-vision prevented him from doing anything other than barreling straight for him. He could feel this one. Yes. Finally. He came at the newest stranger in the long, long line with a heavy swing of his fist, sorely lacking in any finesse.

When Zaren had seen the words 'hash-el'torperan' on the Holodeck program that the ships computer assured him Liyar was using, he'd checked his universal translator. It had assured him the program was a flight simulation. So the fact that someone ran screaming past him as he stepped inside was a surprise. As was the fist that came fast and level towards him. The Trill pushed off to the side, narrowly missing having his jaw cracked and backed away into the holodeck, eyes on his attacker. "Phew. That was close," he commented with a grin. "Sorry to interrupt your workout, but I thought you should know-" He jumped backwards as the Vulcan came at him again. "Hey."

"Fieorci," Liyar muttered. This one talked too much. And it kept moving away. He was aware of only the barest essentials of thought. He had more logic and understanding than at his worst moments, but he wasn't entering the reflexive tarya-yatar movements that he'd been comfortable with since childhood. He should have, but he found he preferred the jerky, undisciplined movements of yuirazekal riushaiyx. The man ducked under him again. Unacceptable.

Zaren had never learned Vulcan, but he had ears and the tone of voice didn't make the three syllables Liyar spat sound terribly friendly. Neither did the continuing frenzy of attacks, Zaren thought as he ducked away from another fist. Because that's what it was: a frenzy. The alert and ready-answering lieutenant was nowhere to be found in those eyes; only rage. Well. He wanted a fight... The Trill dropped to the ground and swept his legs out to knock the Vulcan down on the ground, then pushed up into a handstand and flipped his legs back to a grounded position. A hundred and forty years of que'el quin hadn't left him without a variety of tricks up his sleeve.

Liyar hit the ground with an unpleasant grunt, scrambling to his feet without any grace at all. He ran forward again, driving his shoulder forward in an attempt to knock the person over with brute strength. He missed, leveling right into the wall head first. The eyes comforted him only for a moment. He blinked rapidly to himself and spun around, angry more than pained. He was pleased to discover he had a couple of inches on the guy, but that wasn't helping him out. This one kept ducking and dancing and twisting in odds and ends. Liyar shot him a faintly disgusted look, scratching his already bleeding palms until blood ran down his wrists in uncontained fury.

Oh, that had to hurt, Zaren sighed internally as the Vulcan's head snapped against the wall and bounced back. But it didn't stop him from continuing to come at him. Enormous will power? Or a complete and utter lack of it? The dodging clearly wasn't keeping the man from injuring himself, despite the fact that that had been Zaren's intent. Just keep him off balance until he was tired. Apparently keeping him off balance would lead to a concussion by wall. Zaren ducked into Liyar's guard and tried to grapple the Vulcan's arms, but the swinging was too manic. He ducked out and flipped around behind the Vulcan, leaping onto his back and wrapping his arms hard around his shoulders, trying to pin Liyar's arms in place.

Liyar's face twisted in unconscious rage and he finally decided he'd had enough of this. He could feel this one. He could hurt it. Make it suffer. Yes, yes, yes

He grabbed at the man's wrist as it tried to pin his arms and then stopped as he recognized the flow of life. Life was - this had the unfortunate side effect of causing him to become pinned, as he stilled and seemed to work something out in his head. His feet were kicked out from under him and he landed on the floor yet again with a decidedly pained thud. In the meantime, the pain-compliance technique had him struggling and wincing, An-Prele barely a myth in this place. He hardly saw or understood. Life.

Laīzardekh, Liyar. Sarjenshaiyx-yren. Shilan-ashet kea'a shilan.

ɚeysh kea~.

Ziyreh!

Tŏres iänvstiray. Neyi'nikal iänvstiray. Karezikar stiray. Neyi'hirut ryetan meres'laīzardekh li't deilhaezym shionmeravith.

He was floating again. He stilled. Slowly, surely, his mind deposited him gently back into reality. He bobbed along. "Zaren," he croaked softly out, the first sign of intelligence entering his voice as he winced a little at the applied pressure on his already damaged hand.

"How are we doing this morning, Liyoraan?" Zaren asked calmly.

"That - is not my name," Liyar said, with considerably more calm than a man who had just attempted to attack a complete stranger for no reason had a right to.

"No, it is the one you've earned." Zaren shifted back and away, relaxed and waiting in case the Vulcan flew into a rage again.

Liyar dragged himself to his feet, staring down at his hand. The index finger was bent at an odd angle and he applied the basic biological controls to avoid the overwhelming sensation of pain. He continued. "I do not speak your language."

"It's Bajoran." He held out his hand, "Let me see."

Liyar hesitated for a moment before allowing the Trill to examine his hand. "Meaning what?" he asked, trying to sound patient, but coming across indignant. He studied Zaren like a science project while the reporter started examining him. Was it real? Was it over? Up, over, out.

"A yoraan," Zaren explained, studying Liyar's hand. Broken index finger. And yet the man was standing there right as rain. A balance then, of control and not. "-is a venomous, legless, reptile on Bajor." He looked up. "There's a medkit somewhere in here, isn't there? You've broken your finger. And I'd like to check your skull for fractures."

"End -" and it was, had to be a projection - how had he gotten here? "program," Liyar said, and the murky atmosphere of the ship vanished to once again reveal the grid lines of the holodeck. He walked over to the side wall near the computer and knelt down to grab the kit. Bad move. He went through to his mind. Nociception. Interphalangeal joint 834.02, his brain translated the natural jolts of pain. "I will be capable of healing it on my own," he said, whether or not that was a decision or just to be contrary was uncertain, since he handed Zaren the medkit.

"I have no doubt," the Trill agreed, but still withdrew the medical tricorder and scanned the Vulcan's hand, double-checking his initial assumption. "You may not want to watch." Then proceeded to whistle a vague folk tune as he administered an anesthetic hypospray and carefully pressed the finger back into place, before applying an osseous matter regenerator to knit the bone back together, checking again and again with the tricorder to make sure the finger healed straight. When the bone was reset, Zaren ran a dermal regenerator over the finger to repair the musculature and nerves in the finger. "You knocked your head pretty hard. Are you seeing all right?"

Liyar felt the snap of bone, his eyes still trained on the finger held out in front of him. "Affirmative," he replied while internally going over his systems. He realized that this was the reporter, who was handling medical equipment with the ease of someone who obviously knew what they were doing. Was it that symbiont? He didn't know that much about Trills. If they were all like Kiskath, he was going to develop a tic. "I assume there is a reason why you have - interrupted me." That could have been more polite, but it wasn't. He formed his hand into a loose fist and then straightened it again.

Zaren made noise of assent as he went ahead and ran the tricorder over Liyar's skull, checking the readouts. "My contact with Bajor managed to get in touch with the chancellors of the Bajoran Institute of Science and the guardian of the Medical Compound," he explained. "They've got one hundred and fifteen volunteers to aid in the Romulan assessment. It's not much, but it's a start. I've yet to hear back from Betazed or Rigel V." He stepped back and started putting the medical equipment away, "Good thing you're hard-headed."

"That is the second time you have insulted me," Liyar reminded him idly while his attention more fully focused on the new information he was given. Kestra. A hundred and fifteen volunteers... He held his hand out in front of him. Onward. Bend and survive. "Will any of them be able to perform psionic evaluations?" he asked, considering that to be more relevant. He didn't know much about Bajorans, but he had been under the assumption that they were largely psi-null.

"Not psionic evaluations. But they're skilled and I'd say they're almost as compulsive about data as my people, and more likely to find connections where others would not think to look. They'll be useful. And we will get others, volunteers with psionic abilities. As I said. I'm still waiting to hear back." He glanced at Liyar as he latched the medkit shut. "It wasn't an insult. The way you knocked against that wall, you could have cracked your skull. Done irreversible damage to that brilliant brain of yours. And then where would we be?"

"You should not enter when the holodeck is in use," Liyar told him tersely. He had the same blank look he always did. "None of it - was my intent." It was probably as close to an apology as the reporter was going to get. Liyar turned away and walked back toward the arch. Office. Needed to get to his office. Medical. Zaren? Romulus. He swam back up again, shaking off the residual bright shower-rain of gold and light falling from the ceiling. "I have sent you a list of, candidates, that you can speak to who may be helpful. Scientists, engineers, resource allocation specialists, economists. They will be immediately useful. The second half is a lead to Adepts who might be willing to assist also. You will require to speak with Counselor Sekhet for that. He has access to both Eikhan and P'Jem. I will require to return to my office and collect some final additional data but you may accompany me if you wish. Otherwise you will have it within the hour."

Zaren lifted a shoulder, "I'll come with you." He paused, "Flight simulation. Really?"

"Arch," he muttered to his feet as they walked out to the turbolift, ordering it to the support deck and walking wordlessly toward his office. Flight what? He looked to his palm, enclosed over the isolinear rod. Flight simulation. He shook his head and set it aside.

He began sorting through the piles and piles and piles of hard copy data. In shelves. On desks. On windowsills. On the floor at random. In closets. For an office his did not look remotely Vulcan in the slightest. He was prickly and tense as the Trill walked through. Hated, hated people encroaching on his space. Uninvited. Well, okay, invited. Still. A plant in the corner rustled. Liyar, at random, snapped, "Quiet, Vaikreyan... not now," at it.

But he's soooooooooooooooo much nicer than the other one! Vaikreyan cooed and shrieked happily through their connection. So calm. See? Deep breath. In and out. Wooooshhhhh-

"Vaikreyan." (Is his mindspace really so different to his reality?)

All right, Lieutenant Crankypants.

Zaren absorbed the office. Was this a habit of Vulcans - this sense of disorder? He narrowly avoided stepping on a PADD and picked it up, carefully setting it down in a clear space on Liyar's desk. He'd have liked to understand the system at work. He straightened a pile that looked like it might fall over. So that he could better organize it. He straightened another pile. There was nearly too much in here to manage. "Vaikreyan?"

Liyar picked up a pile and moved it to his desk, grabbing one of the packages and unraveling it. "Vaikreyan. There." His finger lead to a large plant draping the wall it sat in, curling around books and shelves and windows, absorbing space. "She is a living telepathic vessel. She shares a connection to the individual assigned to handling her."

'Assigned'! Spoilsport. One washes rice / in a metal pot; / only one pot, that's enough / (for me)!

"A poor comparison, I assure you," Liyar griped, opening the terminal at his desk.

Yeah, you should thank me. At least people think he was happy!

Zaren stepped closer to the plant, brushing his fingers over her tendrils. "She's beautiful." He bent down to get a different angle, trying to get a sense of her root system. "I've a tree I've been traveling with for a long time, too. Her name is Wretha. She is a trained compact aldri nok." He changed angles again, "But I don't think she's telepathic. At least, not that I can tell."

Watching the Trill walk around Vaikreyan, Liyar realized belatedly, with a little help from the vessel herself, that he might be interested in perception. He looked to his hand again. The shining points of light hadn't yet left his mind. Perception, voices. It was so lonely now. It would be better. With connection. Always nice to be admired. Let him water me! Look, see this? This is overheating, Mister. Look at all that brown and dinge. How can I get my zen on with that? Hey, but take that bottle out of 'laser' mode, will you? What am I, a cat?

"Vaikreyan is unable to communicate with low-level telepaths and psi-nulls." Liyar hesitated for a minute. "It - or she - as she prefers to be called, is a telepathic vessel. Her level of sentience is debatable, but she is capable of forming grammatically correct sentences in a variety of languages, and she is intelligent," Liyar explained. "I am unfamiliar with Trill plants," Liyar added at random. Whatever aldri nok was. He continued typing at his terminal.

"No reason you should be," Zaren murmured, lifting a lengthy tendril and stroking a leaf gently with his thumb. "I'm not familiar with any telepathic plants. I wasn't aware there were any. Is she supposed to be this dry?"

Liyar shook his head. "Those were the instructions, but I am beginning to think otherwise." He pointed to the shelf near Zaren's head where there were quite a few supplies including water. "Did you say tree?" he looked up from his work for a moment.

He's soooooooo shiny. Look at him! Let me talk to him. Let me talk to him, lemme talk to him, le-

"Vaikreyan, later."

You are no fun! Vaikreyan pouted in his head.

"I assure you, I am quite all right with that," he muttered to his computer unit.

"Yes. Wretha. She's a compact tree. The Terrans maintain compact trees as well; they call them bonsai. There was an admiral in the Dominion War who-" he paused, shaking his head as he grabbed the water bottle from the shelf. "Anyway. Vaikreyan's lovely. There are more of the same species?" he asked, spritzing her gently over the fronts and pouring a small measure into her roots.

"As far as I understand it, Vaikreyan comes from a planet which possesses an interconnected root system resembling the Terran aspen tree. While the roots are all connected together, the 'trees' grow and die, contributing to the system throughout their life and falling off once they are dead," Liyar said, from the bits and pieces he'd gathered from the plant herself and what Sekhet had told him. "Each of the 'trees' - in this case, Vaikreyan and similar, are capable of telepathic storage and communication, with individuals who have nuanced enough abilities to distinguish their storage patterns from their genetic patterns. This was -"

Honey, you're rambling. Shh. I do think you're excited!

"Vulcans do not get excited."

Liyars do.

"As I was -"

Oh, god. Drooooooooone. Liyar, dear, you're droning.

"- Saying. On Vaikreyan's planet it took quite some time before the inhabitants recognized the properties of her species."

"What planet was that?" Zaren asked; the Vulcan's only half-audible conversation with the plant was fascinating to behold.

"Anvsar IX," Liyar answered while Vaikreyan continued to chat in his mind. He had a hard time believing, sometimes, that she was truly a reflection, an amalgamation of experience, when she seemed so perfectly intelligent and aware. "If you wish," he finally said after many more moments of the plant shrieking in his brain, "It is possible that you may be able to communicate with her."

Zaren curled his fingers in one delicate, dry front and spritzed it gently. "How?"

"It would involve a facilitation of telepathic connection. I would establish a link between yourself and Vaikreyan."

See, I knew you could be nice! Serves you right, punching at people like some kind of insane thug. Now kiss and make up, she demanded. If she had hands, she would have put them on her hips. If she had hips.

"Ah." He glanced at Liyar, "I meant hard-headed in the best possible sense. I just want to say that before you go linking my brain places."

Liyar blinked. "My intention is not to harm you," he said, quite seriously. "Vaikreyan is very insistent."

I am not!

"I didn't think it was," Zaren assured him with a grin, "just wanted to remind you. What do you need me to do?"

Liyar finished typing and rose. "Stand here." He gestured toward the plant and walked over. "I will not need to touch you. You will feel the link. Like a bridge. Because I am facilitating, it is possible that you will perceive me, but I will limit my presence and draw forward Vaikreyan's."

"You don't have to limit if you don't want," Zaren said. "You're sure this is going to work with my... particular neural network?"

The Vulcan tilted his head. "It will not harm you, that much I am certain. Joined Trills and Vulcans are fully capable of telepathic exchange. As to whether or not I will be capable of sustaining such a connection, I cannot say." He was, in a sense, winging it.

New experiences, Tiny-Vulcan. Good for the soul. Mmmhm. I knew some Trills, once... fascinating little things. So peaceful, Vaikreyan hummed through his mind.

Zaren knelt between Vaikreyan and Liyar and settled in. "All right. Let's give this a shot."

Remembering the effect the communication had on Maenad, Liyar thought to warn him, "You may find the experience exceptionally bizarre. Rest assured that neither I nor Vaikreyan will harm you."

With that, he concentrated, still sitting at his desk, and stood to his feet, folding his hands behind him unconsciously as though drawing some sort of power from his stance itself. Like he always did before beginning telepathic communication, he felt through the room, attempted to discern the presences within. There were four including himself. His mind gave a nearly audible sigh. Connection. That empty place where shion didn't exist, he didn't need it anymore. It wasn't real. Not real. Reality. Vaikreyan, Raifi and the Zaren symbiont. He spent some time overlooking the structure of their joining and how it would impact a mental connection and decided to combine their threads into one so that they may both share the experience. This wasn't necessarily like manipulating a fundamental part of them, so much as it was constructing a thread from within himself and allowing them to reside within it. He didn't think it would do well for only one half to capture the connection. After he fashioned this, he took Vaikreyan's portion of the connection and carefully wound it through, bringing it into full perception, allowing the room to saturate itself. Combining them through himself was easier, and he connected them through the part of his brain designed to absorb vast quantities of telepathic information, the Consciousness, the threads and connections. Like opening a door and allowing someone to peek through to the other room.

"To each joy its celebration; to each sorrow, its observance. That was only logical." / "There is no higher praise than 'satisfactory'" - really? That's the best you can come up with?

- Vaikreyan. Peace. Liyar's mind-voice had a distantly amused tone to it. He wasn't less himself in mind, not exactly, but it had an odd warmth that one wouldn't expect from a Vulcan and even less from Liyar. Look.

- Do you people hear yourselves? How utterly dull - she cut herself off as Zaren's presence swiftly overtook her. Trill! Kurlan naiskos! she practically radiated sunlight and happiness, like notes of music wafting through the door and trickling into his mind.

He laughed, hard, at the reference to his being akin to the Kurlan naiskos. People within people. She's clever, this Vaikreyan. Sael, friends, Zaren hadn't quite gotten down how to differentiate between the things he thought and the things he projected. Then again, Raifi had never been concerned about that, even in speech. So much warmth, he mused. This is truly brilliant. And his was one voice, though in his mind it was almost as a chorus, voices dropping in and out of sync with him depending on whether his previous hosts agreed with his sentiments, but never a word out of the line of his own will. He was quite comfortably Joined.

While Vaikreyan might have had the experience of interacting with Trill, Liyar had never. His own mind was recalcitrant, hidden behind the walls and under trapdoors. Behind the shield, in the closet, far away. He stepped out into the breeze, blown down the small white corridor, listening to Zaren's whispers. It was completely fascinating. He meant what he had said before, so his presence was akin to staying behind outside the door, holding it open while they both walked through. But every once in a while he couldn't help but eavesdrop. It was like minds within a mind. His own perception of such a thing wasn't as obvious. There were no voices, there was just threads. Knowing. He was aware that it was vital to his existence, but he could almost forget about it if he ignored it. You couldn't ignore this. People speaking in tandem. This was truly novel.

Vaikreyan chattered away, she was singing now. Feed me, Seymour! she sent threads of happiness alongside their consciousnesses.

Your references, as always, leave much to be desired, Liyar interrupted her latest spiel with what might be considered the equivalent of a mental eyeroll. Up until Vaikreyan, he hadn't heard of nearly half of these things. It was definitely... interesting.

I am amazing, she preened in clear disagreement. Everybody likes me! She switched tunes to something alien to all of them, operatic and very, very shrill. She floated over images of the Klingon Empire.

How old was she, Zaren wondered. How many places had she been? It seemed strange that any plant would have been to so many parts of the Klingon Empire, let alone heard their music. At least, he assumed it was their music. At least, he assumed it was music; it could very well have been someone screaming as their fingers were cut off. Unless she'd heard it through their minds. But even still, how interesting. A singing, telepathic plant. Ansvar IX. He had to go, had to see for himself. Were there others? There must be. How much knowledge did they hold? There were trees on Trill that were thousands of years old, massive, reaching things that might well continue to grow until they ran out of atmosphere. How much history had they seen? How many faces? What a gift, to be able to speak with the elements of nature. He'd spent years working with natural remedies on Bajor. Tandem riding labs with Bajoran scientists and medics to try to find the healing elements of the world that surrounded them. If they had just spoken to them? To the rich soil of Bajor? Everything had a spirit, after all. No, it didn't. Well, they thought it did. How this, just this, would blow the Vedek's minds. Strike that, any of their monks' minds. He might have won that sparring match if he'd mentioned talking plants in the middle of it. Spun them all on their ears. And how useful from an Intelligence standpoint, he considered. No one would suspect an actual plant of being a plant. Could she hear everything? Words? Thoughts? From telepaths and non-telepaths?

Vaikreyan whistled as feet-spot-person's thoughts swirled about their connection. Hmmmmmmm, was all she said to that. Pretty! Monks! Warrior poets!

Vaikreyan can only establish communication by way of psionics, Liyar answered him instead through the mental link. Vaikreyan began an unconscious stream of random poetry in alien languages at her own prompt. She can perceive you because you have been linked to her, by me. Otherwise, she would not perceive you, beyond the way that a plant can perceive its environment, he added pensively. Nevertheless, her experiences are vast, the Vulcan agreed.

She was a touchstone then. Absorbing the knowledge and experiences of those who connected with her, much as Raifi had absorbed the knowledge and experiences of Zaren and his previous hosts?

Affirmative, Liyar answered while Vaikreyan rummaged around in her veritable 'box' and pulled out mountains. Red sky, red ground. Barren sands, made with more life than usual, rocks and dust. The building stood out as a structure of metal, glinting with sunlight. Peace. This was her previous location, Liyar recognized the monastery almost immediately. Eikhan. He could see it almost invisibly transposed over a foreign compound. Bajor? Liyar asked, a little closer. He was standing in the doorway, rather than outside of it.

Curiosity killed the cat! Or the Liyar, Vaikreyan amended in amusement. Bajor! Show me your favorite place, the vessel asked of Zaren, absorbing his mind-thought-words like a plant soaked up water. Perhaps this was water, in a way.

Zaren offered her the Sarashiin monastery where Selik had spent most of his time on Bajor. Tall trees, ancient stone bridges over trickling streams, with pathways made of pebbles. The song of klavions and wind mingling through the whoosh and will of leaves. The creaking of branches. A purpling sky overhead. The gleaming roofs of the monastery proper catching and reflecting the sunlight as snakes rested lazily on fat stones and birds darted and weaved above. It had become a part of him, that place, a siren call to every host since.

Vaikreyan absorbed all of this with glee, comparing the foliage to others in her repertoire, the animals to similar little creatures from her travels, sharing with him some of her own experiences on Ansvar IX. A vast system digging into soil, earth, ground. Through stones and riverbeds, to trees and houses and great plains. Reaching and curling fingers through every corner of her world. She then cycled through quite a few planetary environments, and then came back to Trill, fascinated with Zaren's memories of the place. An oddly rhythmic folk tune started playing. Giant minds! So many of them! Look! One of her favorite words.

Is it always this way? Liyar asked, in reference to the odd fading-in and out of sync of Zaren's various host-patterns. He wondered if this was what it would be like to be a katric vessel, properly trained, properly attuned, with the right understanding to deal with such a task. Would it radiate this same level of harmony?

Is what always what way? Zaren wondered, filtering through to Velen's most perfect memory. A lazy morning, her children piled like puppies over her and Toran's legs, under a low linen canopy beside a serene lake. Her sons were trying to kick each other without their parents seeing. Her daughters were gazing at the water. Then Arjin, walking along the beach on the Sea of Arbilath, an old man nudging shoulders with an older woman who looked fifty years younger than him. Her and her smirking, indulgent smile. The waves lapping the velvet sand. Oh! He thought about the yoraans on Bajor, quick and sly, hissing and darting, then lazily coming to rest again in the sun. See?

If Vaikreyan could have vibrated in happiness, she might have. Zaren was nice! He understood how to do this. Not like that cranky one, who hid away and made shields and other nasty things. She was a bright point in their connection, absorbing it all with warmth and affection returned. Whether these were real feelings or merely telepathic echoes, Liyar didn't know. It was a fascinating process to watch from the outside. He saw catches of Zaren's thoughts, including the image of a reptile with the name Zaren had called him. It looked alternatively unfriendly and bored. The way that you think, the voices. The minds. That wasn't really accurate, but he didn't know how to describe it.

Before I was Zaren, Zaren mused. I was just me, but with Zaren, ever since, I've been all of us. Yes. And he was desperately pleased with the situation. It wasn't that he hadn't enjoyed being Raifi Cahil; he'd had his own thoughts, his own life, his own perspectives and desires and they had been enough. He'd been just fine on his own. But Zaren had opened him up to more. Always more, never less. Always searching, seeking, learning, finding, absorbing. And everything - every single thing animate and inanimate - was so much more than he'd ever even bothered to think about. More and beautiful. Beauty and synergy and a tapestry of atoms, not entirely unlike the root system Vaikreyan had showed him, only more and everywhere, interconnecting every moment in time and space. And HOW was no one throwing up their hands in joy and amazement at this new planet they were going to? WHY was everyone so apathetic about the Romulans and the Bajorans and the Terrans with their often terrible music and strange policies- How could anyone be BORED when there was all of this. Life. And death, too, yes, but he'd seen death from so many angles. Never all. He'd never know everything because he'd never seen the bodies after. His hosts, his homes, his friends, the ones he carried with him in what the Bajorans called pagh. He'd felt them leave him. Like when they slept. Only he hadn't been in their dreams. There hadn't been any dreams. Only dark. Then light again, new eyes, new experience, new fingers and muscles to train to the knowledge he held.

Liyar watched while all of this passed them by, silent as whispers of images and thoughts raced through, disappearing in tendrils and smoke. He turned to catch the end of one of them, but spotted only the edge of his desk instead. In a very large way, Zaren's experiences resonated with him. He thought of his own brief experience as a vessel. It hadn't held any of the joy that Zaren felt, it had been as if his mind was going to fracture into a thousand pieces. Vulcans did not have the ability to carry the katra indefinitely. The vre'katra had to do. Touchstones. The Hall, feeling their experiences, their lives, their spirits surrounding in concrete and ever-standing structures. Everything that they are, everything that has been, that could be. This concept of everything. Connected. Shion was here, now. He wasn't stuck in that place. This was reality. Firmly rooted. A deep sense of relief welled up in him before he abruptly shut it off and focused over again. So like A'Tha, and not. They could live and grow. Like trees, ageless. The vastness, understanding it, spreading out through generations and generations. Almost unconsciously his mind started devolving into numbers, as if trying to capture it, write it down. They floated on past. Is it this way for all of your species? Vaikreyan laughed between them, clearly amused, or some approximation thereof.

Nothing is like anything for everyone, Zaren said, then laughed aloud when he realized how cryptic that sounded. That is, not all symbionts are the same. So every Joined Trill's experience of their Joining is guaranteed to be different, because the symbiont is unique and the hosts are all unique. But I think, like every sentient race, we are the summation of all our past experiences. Our perspectives, wishes, wants - these all are sourced by the things we've learned and touched and tasted. The only difference might be that I have several peoples' worth of those. Then again, so does Vaikreyan, here. So we're really not that special in the grand scheme of things.

Liyar leaned forward unconsciously, ears drawn back. And your 'past experiences', these are considered individual, or merely part of yourself? Do you distinguish between you and a past host? Where is the line drawn? He couldn't help his curiosity. It was terribly intriguing, and absolutely novel. It looked like he'd forgotten all about staying away. It was like a reaffirmation of everything he usually contemplated. It was rare that such events occurred, but always with such an intensity that they had forever shaped his perception of how things were. Seeing a product of that natural order and connection in front of him was difficult to avoid. Vaikreyan shuffled around between them both, blurting out random phrases and historical references quietly in the distance. She started playing Hymn to Nikkal, the lyre notes quiet but forceful, and began fiddling with the end, petulant in trying to finish it. Is the Zaren symbiont a touchstone only, or separate to Raifi?

It was... Zaren hummed aloud, absently in tune with Vaikreyan's tune, as he thought. We're the same. Not separate. But... he trailed off, humming again. It was a difficult thing to explain outside of experience and a great number of the details were not meant to be explained outside of Trill society. Both, he decided. Velen's experiences were her own, at least... the experiences she had before she Joined with the Zaren symbiont were her own. So I would consider those individual. And yet, they were also shared as a part of the Joining, and her knowledge, memories, experiences, skills... all became a part of Selik. Sometimes, he chuckled. Sometimes it's very clear where certain thoughts and desires come from. And sometimes it's hard to tell whether they're mine or theirs. It doesn't matter, really. We're one and the same.

So it was sort of like Vaikreyan. But yet not. Vaikreyan could link experiences... but she did not link people. She did not truly exist outside of those connections, she could only show them. To him, it sounded a little like that small area of his katra that had touched something outside of itself when he was bonded to T'Yron. What would it be, to have had that experience on a complete level? How could someone endure that and still remain an influence, still remain themselves? Or were they forever changed, as he had been even by that small perception. He began devolving into mathematics, planes and grids. The mathematics of bonding and joining were not news to him, but this... what was it like? Could it be compared? Vector-L, 2D vector-T, L1/T1, L1'=T1' independent/linear L2/T2. R2/XY - COORD ZW. XY = ZW. R2 R2... they popped up easily as breathing, a simple analysis. The coordinates changed to reflect Zaren as he puzzled it out. His mental 'whiteboard' instantly stretched. Z1, 4D Vector-R... Z1, Z2, R1, R2, ZXR (Z1, R1), (Z1, R2), (Z2, R1), and (Z2, R2), it looked much the same at first. Vector spaces evolving out of vector spaces, reflecting one another and unique all the same. Something new, a result of joining, that was not simply one or the other. And then... X.... He made an odd expression, not really an emotion but more a shift, into just another form of neutrality. How many hosts have you had? he was missing an essential part of his equation. The most essential part, arguably, but then he blinked and looked away. He realized rather abruptly that he had essentially begun interrogating Zaren for no reason. It is not my intention to pry. It is fascinating.

Zaren grinned, a sense of contentment hovering around him. No, it's great, let's talk about me. The Zaren symbiont had three hosts before me. Do you actually understand all those numbers you're spouting or is that just for our benefit?

Of course, Liyar said, arching an eyebrow. In order to accurately describe the state of mind, we have entered into the realm of vectors. We have U, a blank slate. He showed. Contained here, a description, but not an accurate summation. It is impossible to accurately define the scope of such things, but we represent it. Then within, points began lighting up. Individuals. Threads began linking them together. K'war'ma'khon. Then it zoomed in, bypassing the infinite points of light like stars, honing in on two distinct flecks of light. He got right up close until they were eclipsing the U-space. Let us say you and I. Vaikreyan is there, a bridge. We are in a link. Our minds are not directly touching, but the pathways between us are open to perception. The same way Betazoids spoke to others casually mind-to-mind. The closer you get, numbers popped up indicating coordinates, expanding outward to three dimensional space, the more your individual points begin intersecting. Then you have a meld, the points multiplied by two, the planes began overriding one another, but there were still separate points. Then there is bonding, a whole slew of numbers popped up in four-dimensional representations, and a separated area near the back of the vector-spaces began coming forward as if descending, joining full circle. Somehow still, they were separate, but not in every place. In the middle was a new space, a new perception, created from the link. That is the result. It is likely that your joining with Zaren is a mindspace that resembles an entire vector area thus. There would be no remaining 'Raifi'. It has now become one and the same with Zaren and all those before. One mind, many voices. Numbers began attempting to figure that. Origin points, origin of perception...

Zaren probably could have worked out the math if he'd taken the time to, but his interests had always been more immediate than calculations allowed. But there's very much a remaining Raifi. He's me. I'm him. I didn't stop being me when we Joined, I just...became more than me.

Liyar shook his head. That had been an inaccurate description. Think of your experiences, as Raifi. Before you were... Joined, he gave the word the same weight that Zaren had, Think of it as a sieve. The spaces began separating, and small grid-lines appeared over one of them. They separated into four, and one had the gridlines. One by one, the spaces joined and 'fell through' the gridline, the holes, and were altered by it, hovering below it. Each host joins Z1. Z1 becomes Z1 and H1. This corresponds to Z2 and H2 as they intersect, and they then join you, R1. R1 is a sieve. In realistic terms, it would be growing up, experiencing the world, and then gaining the experiences of others as naturally as if you had lived them yourself. They are colored with the lingering perspectives, but it is always your will. The 'overlap', is the fact that Raifi, Zaren, and the three former hosts, have now joined into one unique being, made as a result of the joining process that is neither Raifi, nor Zaren, nor the former hosts. It is itself, as experienced by you, Raifi. A variety of random spaces and calculations began unfolding. Fascinating...

No one had ever written an equation about him, Zaren mused happily. It was poetry, in a way; lovely and specific and, though he didn't entirely see the need for it, so pleasing. He wondered if there was a way to frame it.

Frame - Liyar blinked, half-jolted out of his randomized computing.

Walking-calculator! Vaikreyan chirped. Several men in red bow-ties waved at them. Liyar had the vague sense he was being laughed at, but didn't understand why.

Something at his desk began beeping, and Liyar looked upward toward the ceiling. I believe the data request has finished.

"Excellent," Zaren murmured aloud, trailing his fingers up one of Vaikreyan's fronds. It has been a real pleasure, Vaikreyan. With Liyar's permission, I would enjoy visiting with you again.

You better, she snapped in another jarring display of awareness, even if logically, Liyar knew that wasn't the case.

She waved at them mentally as Liyar began dissipating the connection, singing fading in the distance. "You may visit as you wish," he confirmed verbally, and the immediate contrast between his voice and his mental presence was stark. He rested his hands by his side as he brought the connection to a close and began separating the strands, allowing them to move back into themselves and unwind naturally. He returned to his desk and removed the isolinear rod, still working mentally. After a few moments everybody appeared to be back where they belonged, in normal-space. Liyar held out the rod. "All of the individuals that I believe can potentially assist you and their contact information. There is an order to the list, so it would be wise to follow it. Certain individuals may not be available to you without prior contact," he explained.

"I understand," Zaren said, rising to take the isolinear rod. "I'll see what I can do. Thank you."

Liyar moved to sit down behind his desk again, neither dismissing nor encouraging him, he called up the work he had been doing.

"Next time you feel the need to... exorcise your passions, I'm happy to spar with you."

Typing, he stilled for only a moment before flicking his gaze back down to his work, barely twitching. "I am Vulcan. There is no such 'passion'. I merely -" he blinked, "I misinterpreted your presence."

"Either way." The Trill worried. Denial of emotions didn't make them disappear, he thought, but he held his tongue. "The offer stands. Thank you again for the data," he saluted with the rod and strolled out of the office.

The door closed behind the Trill and Liyar inhaled, held, exhaled. He uncurled his fist in his lap and tried to put the entire morning out of his mind. Even if he had been able to admit otherwise, something that would involve admitting he had even put himself in that situation to begin with, it wasn't a spar he wanted.

Vaikreyan hemmed and hawed in the background. It isn't the cold / nor the dying leaves, just / that the birds have flown.

OFF:

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

Raifi Zaren
FNN Journalist
USS Galileo
(pNPC Lilou Peers)

 

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