Chapter 2

Disclaimer: See first chapter
Rating: PG-13 (mild language, adult situations, sensuality)

Special thanks again to my beta, Honeybee!

=/\=

Month Two

Everything seemed to happen at once. It started with the “Dear John” message I got from Natalie. While I hadn’t been head over heels in love with her, it still was deflating to break up over sub-space. I tried not to mope.

The same day, my main instructor at the institute informed me I was being transferred to the advanced classes, now that I seemed able to grasp the logic behind Vulcan warp theory. I should have been ecstatic to move up to the big boy playground, but the workload was mind-boggling and so damn challenging.

The stress was making it impossible to sleep at night. I tried to hide my insomnia from T’Les and T’Pol—both of whom were always fussing about my “fragile human health”—but jaw-cracking yawns tended to get the best of me. I warded off my hostesses with promises to seek medical care. I made good on those promises when numbers started talking back to me during my studies.

Unfortunately, the heavy sedative I was prescribed hardly made a dent in my insomnia. Instead, I became a narcoleptic, involuntarily falling asleep at random. Like now.

I snapped awake when I heard something resembling a shot from an ancient projectile weapon. Soval glared at me from the front of the classroom, his hands still raised in the act of dropping something. At his feet was a thick book.

“Mister Tucker,” he said, lowering his arms, “did you find my presentation on the Age of Expansion to be dull?”

“Uh, no. I was just picturing it in my head, that’s all.” A few of the other students snickered.

Soval raised a brow. “Is that so?”

“You were snoring,” Amanda whispered next to me, “loudly.” Things hadn’t been awkward between us after that night. As luck would have it, she had been drunk enough to forget. Either that or she was pretending not to remember, which worked just as well for me. I didn’t tell her about my recent break-up, though. I valued our friendship too much to risk her making another pass at me.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” I asked in a low voice.

“Because it was funny.”

I thought I had a mischievous streak a mile wide, but Amanda had me beat, hands down. “Glad you enjoyed it.” I rolled my eyes. I glanced at the professor who was still glaring at me. “I’m sorry if I disturbed your presentation. It wasn’t on purpose.”

Soval gave me one final glower before saying, “Class dismissed.”

Son of a bitch! I’d slept through the whole damn lecture. No more sedatives for me.

As if sensing my chagrin, Amanda said, “You can borrow my notes.” She grabbed my PADD and synced it with hers. “It was actually very interesting. You know, for a grumpy bastard, he really is a good teacher.”

“Can’t argue with you, there,” I replied, gathering my stuff.

On our way out of the classroom, Amanda paused at Soval’s desk, where the professor was now seated. He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers with a sigh. “Yes, Miss Cole? Have you come to express your exuberant praise of my skills as an educator?”

Amanda placed her hand against her chest, her mouth dropping open in exaggerated shock. “Why, Mister Soval! You read my mind. And here I thought Vulcans were touch-telepaths. Your talents know no bounds.”

Soval turned his sharp gaze on me. “Mister Tucker, as a fellow member of Miss Cole’s species, please explain her illogical need to provoke me.”

I glanced at Amanda, a broad grin stretching my mouth. “Well, you see, Professor,” I said, turning back to Soval, “it means she likes you—really likes you. She provokes you to get your attention. Maybe she’d be less inclined to get under your skin if you offered to tutor her—privately, if you know what I mean.” I winked.

Amanda gasped, her face turning several shades of red. I cocked my head and gave her my best “payback’s a bitch” smile before getting the hell out of dodge.

=/\=

“Please tell me there’s some kind of Vulcan holistic cure for insomnia.” I groaned, resting my head on the counter one morning as T’Pol and I prepared breakfast. I had the day off from classes—not that it made a speck of difference to me. I was up to my elbows in homework.

T’Pol glanced up from washing fruits and vegetables, and started to reply.

I waved her off. “Never mind,” I said. “If there is one, it probably wouldn’t work for me.”

She raised a brow, but for once, didn’t argue. She passed me the basket of produce and dug in the stasis unit for mun bar-kas. It was like a spicy yogurt—really spicy. I tried not to stare when T’Pol bent over to retrieve a serving dish for the sauce. After our intense encounter in the hallway when I was no state to be making conversation, I’d become hyper-aware of her beauty. Being newly single didn’t help matters, either—especially when the woman in question had become nicer in the last week.

Damn, she had a nice ass.

When T’Pol straightened, I whipped my eyes back to the veggies I was supposed to be preparing. I cleared my throat and said, “You know what I miss? A nice thick juicy steak.” I wasn’t normally that thoughtless. In the past couple of days, a few things dawned on me: T’Pol liked to argue with me, and I liked arguing back. And it was a helluva lot more fun when I started the fight. On purpose.

“Humans claim to be enlightened, but you still consume animal flesh.” T’Pol crinkled her nose. The expression would have been barely noticeable on a human, but T’Pol was positively animated compared to the other Vulcans I associated with—excepting Soval, of course.

I sucked the insides of my cheeks to keep from grinning as I sliced gaspari. “Didn’t T’Les teach you not to judge a species by their eating habits?”

“When there are suitable alternatives to the slaughter of lower life forms,” T’Pol said as she gathered the teacups, “your eating habits are, in fact, indicative of an unsophisticated society.”

I nodded, pretending to consider her argument. “So, eating meat at any time translates to being primitive. Any kind of meat?”

“Yes, unless there are no viable alternatives.” She glanced up at me with a raised brow. “Humans have alternatives.”

I pulled out three plates and, with mini-tongs, arranged slices of fruits and vegetables on them. There was a specific order for the placement of food—not exactly logical. Many of the traditions Vulcans followed—adamantly, I might add—predated the Time of Awakening. Supposedly, they had gotten rid of the more barbaric customs, but I’d heard some rumors to the contrary.

“What about meat grown in labs?” I asked, continuing our discussion. “I’m not talking about full animal clones, only the meat—the non-living meat.”

“That is hardly an appropriate substitute.” She poured the tea and wiped the rims of each cup three times with a dry cloth. “It encourages a continued psychological craving for flesh.”

I let out a wry laugh, shaking my head. “There’s just no pleasing you, is there?” I leaned against the counter next to her. “Admit it. You’re grossed out by the idea of sentient beings digging into tender fillets of delicious animals.”

“A people who contend to be peaceful would logically refuse to take life unnecessarily.” She leveled her gaze at me.

I gave her a half-grin. “Yeah, and you are completely disgusted by the notion. Just say it.”

She crinkled her nose again. It was kind of cute. “I do find the practice objectionable, yes.”

“Ha!” I jabbed a finger toward her. “I knew it.”

“My personal preference—”

“No, no,” I said, spreading my hands in a placating gesture. “It’s okay. You find it gross. I get it.” I picked up the plates and walked out of the kitchen, smirking, certain she was glaring at my back.

She tried to reengage me in the argument during breakfast, but I steered the conversation in other directions. T’Les watched our exchange with mild interest.

The next few hours, however, were far less amusing. I spent that time writing papers, doing research and plain old studying, surfacing only for lunch and dinner. As much as I loved this stuff, I’d reached my “too much of a good thing” limit. That and I was utterly exhausted.

I was staring at the wall late at night when I heard a soft knock on my door. “Come in,” I muttered.

T’Pol stepped into the room. She wore silky pajamas I’d never seen before. They clung to her body, leaving not a whole lot to the imagination. Her olive skin was exposed in the gap between her top and pants. I took sudden interest in the PADD in my hand to force some very ungentlemanly images from my mind. “Don’t tell me it’s already time to get breakfast started.”

She shook her head. “You asked this morning if I knew of a Vulcan cure for insomnia.”

“What?” I looked up at her, confused for a second. “Oh, yeah. No, it’s all right. I’m not a Vulcan.”

“As I am aware.” Was that a little amusement in her eyes? “While we have many differences, humans and Vulcans share several biological similarities.” She stepped closer. “The nervous system, for example, in both species is virtually the same. You may benefit from Vulcan neuro-pressure.”

“Is that like acupuncture?” One of my acquaintances at the embassy had suggested I give it a try, but I was more than a little squeamish about the idea of getting sharp, pokey things stabbed into my skin.

“I believe the human equivalent would be acupressure.” She clasped her hands behind her back, which further emphasized the thin material of her pajamas. “There are no needles involved.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” I blew out a sigh and grinned, firmly keeping my eyes north of her slender neck. “So, if I was interested—and I’m not saying I am—how would I look up a Vulcan neuro-pressurest or whatever they’re called?”

“All Vulcan adults are adept in the practice.” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “If you are willing, I could stimulate your neural nodes.”

“You?” My voice went hoarse at once. The idea of her stimulating anything on my person when I was already keyed up… “What does it entail, exactly?”

She glanced up. “If you would remove your shirt, I will demonstrate.” She nodded toward the bed. The bed.

“Uh, are you sure this is appropriate?” A small part of me wanted to jump headlong into whatever she was offering, appropriate or not. Okay, a not-so-small part of me. But I wasn’t about to start an interspecies incident because I let my hormones run amuck.

T’Pol quirked her brow in a familiar expression of long-suffering exasperation. “I would not have offered otherwise.” She sat down on the bed, and when I made no move to join her, said, “You did express interest in exploring Vulcan culture.”

By the set in her eyes, I surmised she wouldn’t be taking “no” for an answer, and I was too damn tired to fight, anyway. I pulled off my shirt. “All right, then. What do I need to do?”

She directed me to sit next to her. “Please turn your back toward me.”

I obeyed despite the nerves rattling around in my stomach. “How long does it take?”

“We will begin with three postures. This is the first,” she answered. “Though it will be a challenge for you, you must embrace patience.”

I twisted my head around to look at her. “Hey now, I can be patient.”

“Hardly,” she replied with a lifted brow. This was an “arched eyebrow” look I hadn’t seen before.

I squinted at her. “I don’t believe it. You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She lifted her chin, but that new spark still glimmered in her eyes. “If you would please turn around, we can commence.”

“Well, I’ll be,” I said as I brought my head forward. “Just when I thought Vulcans were utterly predicta—” I cut off with a tight hiss when her fingers made contact with my back.

Her touch was volcanic and electric at the same time. Chills radiated out over my skin from her fingertips, and before I could catch my breath, she dug into the muscle beneath my shoulder blades. It didn’t quite hurt, but it was damned uncomfortable. I tried not to squirm as she pushed harder. And then, something snapped. The tension beneath her fingers released like a wave, rippling outward until my entire upper body sagged from turning into mush.

“Holy hell,” I said, grinning like an idiot. “That’s amazing.”

“Indeed. Now you will perform the same stimulation of my neural nodes.”

A whole heap of tension came flooding back. I spun around. “Come again?”

“The technique is to be performed in tandem, with giving as important as receiving.” She started unbuttoning her top.

“Whoa,” I said, holding up a hand. My hormones would drain all sense from me if I didn’t stop her. “You can, uh, leave your shirt on. I’ll just work underneath it, if that’s all right?” Heat rose to my cheeks. For a relaxation exercise, this sure had me as taut as a piano wire.

“That will be acceptable.” She turned to give me access to her back.

My hands shook a little as I slipped them beneath her shirt. I placed my thumbs below her shoulder blades. Her skin was sleek burning plasma. “There?”

“One centimeter closer to the spine. There,” she said when I hit the right spot. “Press firmly.”

I tried to imitate the pressure she used on me. I had to have been bruising her.

“Harder.”

I raised my eyebrows. “If you say so.” I gave it all I had. It felt like forever before her muscles beneath my thumbs seemed to melt. T’Pol let out a gasp that sounded disturbingly like pleasure—the kind of gasp I’d heard women make in the heat of a very different kind of activity. I snatched my hands back, afraid I’d unintentionally crossed a line—and because all those ungentlemanly images came back to my mind with a vengeance.

“You performed well,” T’Pol said, her voice as cool as ever. “Lie down on the floor—on your back.”

I climbed down and, on a patch of rug next to the bed, did as she asked, wondering with apprehension where the next set of pressure points were. T’Pol knelt at my head and then leaned over me to place her fingers a hair above my hips. I squeezed my eyes shut when her drooping top provided me with a view of her rather ample bosom. It was damned impossible to keep my thoughts pure—even though she was practically gouging my transverse abs.

Just when I had decided on the futility of this exercise, that warm, watery feeling slid over my middle and down my legs. I let out a sigh that came from my toes. It felt so good—like I’d become one with the floor.

I didn’t mean to fall asleep before I could return the favor.

=/\=

For a week, the northern regions of Vulcan shut down in celebration of Sav-masu Wuh’rak. First Rain. It wasn’t predicated on the actual first rain of the year, though. Sometimes the weather didn’t turn for weeks after Sav-masu Wuh’rak. Just as the solstices and equinoxes on Earth didn’t guarantee an immediate change in season.

The holiday fell near the end of my second month on Vulcan, and was kind of like Christmas. Folks traveled home to their families to visit, to feast, to share recitations and, I was told, to dance. I’d believe the last when I saw it with my own eyes. The part I was most looking forward to, however, was a bath. No matter how many assurances I’d been given to the contrary, I never felt all that clean after a sonic shower. The week of First Rain was the only time of year Vulcans bathed in water.

“These lands,” T’Les said as she navigated our vehicle through a windy mountain pass, “have belonged to our clan since the Age of Conquest.”

I whistled. “That long, huh?” The Age of Conquest predated spaceflight. That meant T’Les and T’Pol belonged to one of the the Maat Afersu—the founder clans. If I wasn’t nervous about meeting the rest of family before, I was practically pissing in my pants now. One wrong step and these folks could have me banished to the outer edge of the galaxy. And here I’d been picking fights on a regular basis with the gal third in line to head-up the clan—for fun. Way to be an idiot, Trip.

I glanced at T’Pol. Instead of the high-and-mighty demeanor I was expecting, she was pale, stiff with her eyes straight ahead. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have guessed she was nearly as uneasy about the gathering as I was.

I wanted to ask what was wrong but didn’t. She wouldn’t give me an honest answer anyway—not when her mother was within earshot. Maybe I’d ask her later—that is, if we continued with our nightly neuro-pressure sessions here. I hoped we did. Not because I was still battling insomnia, but because during those sessions, T’Pol and I were able to carry on an entire conversation without it devolving into one of the fiery debates we got into the rest of the time. During that hour or two (sometimes three), we were becoming friends. I was even able to keep my less-than-pure thoughts in check—until she introduced a new posture that was ridiculously intimate, of course.

“This is Khaf-spol t’Maat S’thk T’vuh,” T’Les announced as we came around a bend.

My jaw dropped as I stared at the Heart of the S’thk T’vuh Clan. It was a citadel built out of the mountainside. Reverse towers dangled to points from high outcroppings. Between them, enormous metal gates hung open, like the mouth of a mammoth dragon waiting to devour whatever came near. T’Les steered our vehicle into the fortress.

The cavernous opening forked, and T’Les took the darker lower road. At first the only relief in the blackness was the lights from the car, but as we traveled deeper into the mountain, the tunnel began to lighten. It took me a minute to realize the walls were glowing.

Before I could ask, T’Pol explained, “It is a natural phenomenon—similar to the bioluminescent algae on Earth.”

“It’s gorgeous.” It looked like someone splattered neon paint of every color all over the rocks.

“Indeed,” T’Pol said. Her eyes softened as she gazed at the tunnel. “My fascination with this dakh-ha’tanaya luk as a child is, perhaps, the reason I became interested in the sciences.”

I smiled, recalling how helping my pa rebuild engines had set me on my path. “I can see that.”

I had learned during one of our neuro-pressure sessions that T’Pol was a scientist, not a linguist. She had been asked by the university to teach the phonology class because she was the most qualified. It made me wonder if Soval was a historian as I had always assumed, or if he had a different career as well.

The tunnel opened up into a spacious chamber I could only describe as a huge garage. There were dozens of vehicles parked in rows along the luminescent walls. T’Les pulled our transport into an empty spot. As I opened the door, I was struck by how cool it was. Of course, the word “cool” was relative. Back in Florida, this temperature would probably be a nice summer day, but compared to average heat index of Shi’Kahr, it was almost jacket weather here. The air was also damp-ish. It would probably be more accurate to say it was less dry than in the city.

Either way, it was a welcome relief from the conditions I’d been living in for the seven weeks.

A woman in a simple gown greeted us as we climbed out of our vehicle. She bowed her head toward T’Les and said in her native tongue, “Lady T’Les, quarters have been prepared for you, Lady T’Pol and your guest, if you should wish to rest after your long journey.”

At least, that’s what I thought she said. Her accent was unusual and thick.

T’Les nodded in return. Without a word, she led T’Pol and me toward the far end of the garage.

“Was that a servant?” I asked as we strolled along. The floor had a slight incline, and I found myself glad that I’d gotten that extra Tri-Ox shot before coming. I could already tell the oxygen was thinner here.

“Yes,” T’Pol answered. “You did not believe all Vulcans to have careers in either the fields of intellect or civic duty.” A month ago, I would have assumed that was a thinly-veiled comment on my own intellect, and it would have gotten a rise out of me. Now, I understood she was merely stating a fact—or teasing me. I still hadn’t quite come to terms with the idea of T’Pol having a sense of humor.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “But it seems to me an enlightened society wouldn’t have servants. Doesn’t she have a clan to go home to for First Rain?”

T’Pol stopped walking, turning to me with a raised brow. “She is a member of S’thk T’vuh and has chosen to serve the clan in this manner. She receives compensation for her services—no differently than an attendant at one of Earth’s temporary boarding facilities. We each contribute to the prosperity of the clan in our individual ways.”

“So, your posting on Earth is for the betterment of the clan?” It was an honest question—I wasn’t trying to goad her—but there was a tiniest flicker in her eyes, a warning I’d somehow stuck my nose where it didn’t belong. I stared at her, trying to decide if this was a moment that warranted an apology.

“Trip?”

I spun around at the familiar voice, surprised to see my soldier friend coming toward us. “Amanda? What’re you doing here?” Despite my confusion at her appearance, I was kind of glad I wasn’t going to be the only human at the celebration.

She nodded toward Soval who joined her. I raised my brows. Soval was a member of the same clan? Would surprises never cease?

“The professor took your ‘advice’ literally.” Amanda smirked. “Shocker.”

“On the contrary,” Soval said with his usual gruff tone, “I was well aware Mister Tucker’s suggestion was facetious. However, in researching recalcitrant conduct among human students, I discovered that many ‘act out’ due to a lack of proper intellectual stimulation. If given an appropriate challenge equal to the student’s level of intelligence, the aberrant behavior should be eradicated.” He glanced at Amanda. “Unfortunately, the theory has yet to prove correct.”

Amanda rolled her eyes. “Maybe my brain is so big it can’t be challenged.”

Soval let out a weary sigh. “If you are referring to ‘having a big head’—the human idiom meaning excessive conceit—then, yes, I would agree with that assessment.”

I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep from laughing. “Are you here for the whole week?” I asked Amanda.

She shook her head. “Unlike you, Mister Cultural-Immersion,” she said, socking me in the arm, “I’ve got a job to go back to. I’m only here for two days.”

Soval raised a brow. “In which haste in getting settled would be prudent.” He gave us a bow. “If you would excuse us.”

“Of course,” said T’Les.

Amanda gave me a bone-crushing hug. “I’m so glad you’re here, too. I’m nervous as hell,” she whispered.

“Yeah, same here,” I said, returning her embrace. The three Vulcans stared at us when we broke apart.

“Perhaps you both should refrain from such demonstrative acts during your visit.” Soval glared at me as if I’d been the one to initiate the hug. “You are here to experience the traditions of our people. Adhering to our standards of decorum is a part of that experience.” He bowed again and strode ahead.

Amanda snorted. “Grumpy bastard.”

“Miss Cole, Vulcan hearing is superior to that of humans,” Soval said without turning around or missing a step.

“I know!” Amanda shouted, making a face at his back. She gave me a playful grin before scrambling after him.

I shook my head, no longer able to contain my laughter despite the perplexed expressions of T’Les and T’Pol.

This much I knew for sure: the first two days of this week were guaranteed to be entertaining.

=/\=

Vulcans did, in fact, dance.

After resting up in our quarters in one of the dangling towers, we joined the rest of the clan for the initial feast of First Rain. In a gargantuan dining hall. Everything about this place was enormous—with good reason, I learned. The clan members numbered in the hundreds, many of whom lived and worked here at Khaf-spol t’Maat S’thk T’vuh. T’Les explained there were also quite a few people missing from the celebration, prevented from coming by their postings off-world.

That was one big family.

At the matriarch’s table, those who were slated to eventually rule the family were seated with their spouses—if they had any. My hostess and her daughter were among them. T’Pol was not third in line, as I had previously believed. The order of the hierarchy was affected by some complicated rules involving age, societal status, and some other things I didn’t understand. The line of succession was fairly fluid, even T’Les could lose her spot before the current matriarch gave up the ghost. I got the feeling, though, that no one was politicking for the position—adding weight to the comment T’Les made about it being a heavy responsibility.

I sat at the same table as Soval and Amanda. I expected my buddy to stir things up a bit, knowing her knack for mischief, but she was a model of Vulcan etiquette. She was probably just as nervous as I was about screwing up this opportunity. Or Soval put the fear of God into her after our encounter in the garage.

During dinner, I learned that Soval was a member of the clan by marriage—and he was a widower. When I asked why he didn’t join his people for the holiday, he explained that after a wedding, the husband belonged to his wife’s family. There were exceptions to the rule, though they were rare. Unless he remarried, Soval would be a S’thk T’vuh for the rest of his days.

My head started spinning when he tried to explain how the family was set up—who had authority over what, the type of negotiations that went on before a pair was permitted to marry, among a slew of other things. I was grateful when he was interrupted by a gong.

T’Mal, the matriarch, stood. Her grey hair was piled high on her head in an intricate braided bun. I couldn’t tell if she stooped because of age or the mass of embroidered robes she wore. In a powerful voice that belied her frail stature, she said in Vulcan, “Our ancestors once believed rain to be the bounty of the gods, an honor bestowed upon those who had earned their favor.

“Though we no longer worship artificial gods, rain is still a compelling symbol of rebirth for our people. It revitalizes our land, quenches its thirst, just as we have been revitalized by logic, our thirst for understanding quenched by reason. Few clans understand this awakening, this embracing of new vitality, better than the S’thk T’vuh.

“We have come through the fires of conquest, through the cold space of expansion, through the awakening and the sundering. We have been beaten and broken, but have risen from the ashes, strengthened by adversity.

“For the first time, we are joined by outworlders who have chosen to better know the Vulcan heart and soul. May we, as Surak taught, embrace them in the spirit of diversity, and may they embrace us in return as who we are—a people whose wild flames of passion have been tempered by the cool rain of logic.”

“I knew it!” Amanda hissed under her breath. She blushed when Soval gave her a severe look.

T’Mal clapped her hands, her speech apparently over. Everyone rose and moved the tables until they were in a big circle. Several others went to pick up the unusual instruments and drums that had been leaning against the walls and arranged themselves into an orchestra near the head table.

My stomach did a little flip-flop when T’Pol came to sit with me. What the hell was that about? I told myself it was just nerves about witnessing something no human had been privy to before. It was definitely not because of her spicy honey scent or the softness in her olive eyes when she glanced at me. And it certainly wasn’t because her beauty took my breath away more each day. Nope. Not at all.

The music began with a single note that sounded so forlorn it made my chest ache. An assortment of men gathered in the center of the hall and divided themselves into two groups, facing each other.

“This is Esh Wuh’rak,” T’Pol whispered. “It is a representation of first stirrings of the Awakening.”

First Breath. Vulcans were literal to a fault when it came to day-to-day discussions, but I was discovering how poetic they waxed when it came to their rich history and traditions.

The men danced around one another with leaps and kicks—like a choreographed martial arts battle. The music sped up, growing discordant, in response. The battle lasted for a few minutes, and I had to keep from whistling. It was damned impressive. It wasn’t until later I learned all of it was spontaneous. The story was burned so deep into the Vulcan psyche they naturally fell into the roles when the orchestra struck the first chord.

The music slowed again with that single, sad note. The crowd parted to reveal a man and a woman (when did she slip in?) who stood, staring at one another. With elegant movement, they stepped up to each other and circled one another.

“D’Orvak and T’Seil,” T’Pol murmured. “They are from warring clans whose blood feud is said to have originated from the dawning of our world.”

“Like Romeo and Juliet,” I whispered back.

T’Pol glanced at me. “I am unfamiliar with Earth history.”

“It’s not history. It’s—” I cut off at Soval’s glare. “I’ll tell you later.”

The music got loud again. D’Orvak and T’Seil were pulled apart by their clans. Two matronly women joined the others—family matriarchs by my guess. The lovers pleaded with their clan heads, but to no avail. They were engulfed by the battling warriors. The dance became more violent, frenetic and with a loud boom of a drum, everyone fell to the floor.

D’Orvak and T’Seil emerged again, picking their way through the bodies on the ground. They knelt before each other, each bringing their hands up with two fingers extended. The music started again when they touched, a beautiful haunting tune that swelled to clashing notes. The other dancers rose, converging on the pair, but D’Orvak and T’Seil ran off hand-in-hand before they could be separated again.

The warriors stilled, facing each other, poised like wild animals ready to pounce. The music turned deep and menacing as a man walked through the middle of the clans. D’Orvak and T’Seil were dragged before him and forced to kneel at his feet.

“This is the Warlord V’Mar,” T’Pol whispered. “He is T’Seil’s betrothed.”

V’Mar lifted T’Seil to her feet and tried to touch her with the backs of her fingers. She backed away, shaking her head and pointing to D’Orvak. A gong rang out at the same time.

“She has invoked Kalifee and named D’Orvak as her champion,” T’Pol explained.

V’Mar and D’Orvak were given weapons—spears with a bent blade at the tips—as the warriors formed a circle around them. The orchestra played two melodies that battled with one another as V’Mar and D’Orvak danced around each other, sweeping their weapons in broad strokes. The dancing and the music accelerated until the crescendo when V’Mar slashed his spear across D’Orvak’s middle.

T’Seil knelt beside her fallen champion, laid her head on his chest as that heartbreaking note sliced through the air again. My heart clenched in response. Just like my pa, I’d always been a bit of a romantic, no matter how either of us pretended to be all macho and manly.

V’Mar stepped up to the pair and held out his hand, the melody turning demanding in tone. T’Seil stood, her posture cold and regal. She turned her back on V’Mar, the warriors parting for her as she walked away. The men cleared out, making way for the women flooding the floor now. Their dance was graceful, not at all combative like the men had been.

T’Seil stepped through the throng of dancing females, her arms curved before her as if she were carrying an infant. The women beseeched her as she passed, but she waved them off.

“T’Seil bears D’Orvak’s son,” T’Pol said. “She has forsaken the gods who allow such slaughter among her people.” T’Seil knelt at the edge of the dancers and held up her invisible baby. “She vows that her child will be a bringer of peace, the father of a new age.”

“Surak,” I murmured, understanding. I rubbed my eyes, trying to stay the tears threatening to spill out. I had never seen such a moving performance in my life. I wanted to stand and clap until my hands hurt, but everyone was silent, even as the last gut-wrenching note faded away.

T’Pol grabbed my hand. “Within the clan, this is how we express appreciation for what has been shared with us.”

I frowned, confused, until the Vulcan on the other side of me reached for my hand. Around the room, everyone did the same. I thought it was kind of neat, at first, like an intimate show of fellowship. Nothing big, but nice, anyway—especially since I got to hold T’Pol’s hand. She had such perfect, slender fingers. I was not prepared for what happened next.

Like a tsunami, I was bowled over by a tide of… Well, it was amazing and indescribable. Joy, peace, affection, and gratitude all mixed together, tumbling into me, through me. I was one with every person in that room at that moment—even the children and their bouncing wonder. I heard a gasp that mirrored my own and glanced at Amanda, sure it had been her. She was gaping at Soval.

The Vulcans were devoid of any expression, as if they weren’t experiencing anything at all. The tide receded and everyone broke contact, turning to each other in murmured conversation as if nothing had happened.

“Wow,” I said, shaking my head. “No wonder you’re all so tight-knit.”

“Indeed.” T’Pol rose from her seat. “Now, we retire for evening meditations.”

As if on cue, the rest of the clan stood and made their way out of the dining all. Amanda joined me as I followed T’Pol.

“Did you feel that?” she asked with a hint of awe in her voice.

“Yeah, it was…” I trailed off, at a loss for words.

“I know.” She nodded. “It gives new meaning to the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few, right?”

I glanced at Amanda, readjusting my assessment of her. MACOs didn’t have to know anything about Vulcans to work at the embassy. Amanda was the only soldier in our history class—the rest of the human students were either serving in the diplomatic corps or working in one of the interspecies programs. Unlike her battle-buddies, Amanda spoke fluent Vuhlkansu and had real interest in the people and the culture, despite her flippant attitude with Soval. And now she was paraphrasing Surak. The girl was smarter than she let on.

“Miss Cole, our quarters lie this way,” Soval said, gesturing toward the corridor opposite where I was heading.

“Right. I forgot.” She gave me a wave as she walked off with our professor.

That night, it took me hours to fall asleep. I was still overwhelmed by that moment of complete solidarity with the clan. T’Pol didn’t come to do neuro-pressure. I wished she had.

=/\=

Quiet contemplation was a large part of the festivities, so I was left to my own devices for long periods of time. The first couple of days, Amanda and I were given leeway to explore the homestead as long as we were back in time for the meals—which always ended with recitations and dancing.

As Amanda and I wandered, we discovered vast indoor gardens, art galleries, music rooms and one of the biggest libraries I’d ever set foot in. We tried not to disturb any Vulcans we came across—not all of them meditated in their private quarters. Sometimes we stuck around, though, when one was playing a musical instrument. It was amazing and disconcerting to watch a placid-face Vulcan produce a melody that could make a person want to weep from the beauty of it.

Amanda’s favorite place was a conservatory built into the bottom of an outcropping. The center of the floor was a window, displaying how far up we were. Amanda liked to jump on it to make me jittery. I didn’t have a problem with heights, but the engineer in me couldn’t get entirely comfortable with the upside-down way parts of the fortress were constructed.

We sat on a bench there on morning of her last day. I was disappointed she couldn’t stay the whole holiday. It was nice to commiserate with another human over the new insights we were getting of Vulcan culture.

“Why aren’t you in Starfleet or the diplomatic corps?” I asked, stretching my legs out over the window.

Amanda shrugged. “Both mean a college degree, and I couldn’t afford that.”

“You could have gotten scholarships.” I held up a hand when she tried to protest. “Don’t tell me you’re not smart enough.”

She sighed. “I guess you’re right. But I was too impatient to get out and see the world—maybe even other worlds.” She leaned back on her hands. “I come from a long line of soldiers and cops. It was kind of a no-brainer when I turned eighteen.”

“Do you regret it?” I tried to imagine what it would be like in her shoes—stuck on guard duty all day.

“Hm.” She glanced at me with that rascally twinkle in her eyes. “Do I regret knowing how to kick your ass? I can’t say that I do.” She punched me in the arm with more than a little force. “Do you regret becoming a pansy-ass engineer?”

I chuckled. “Every day. I cry myself to sleep at night wishing I was half as tough as you.”

“Damn straight.” She leaned her head on my shoulder. “Honestly, though, it’s not so bad. If I were in the corps, everybody’d expect me to be all serious and intelligent all the time. And you know what? Without the MACOs, I probably wouldn’t be here.”

“You’ve got a point.” I wrapped my arm around her and gave her a gentle squeeze. There were no Vulcans around. “This wouldn’t be near as fun without you.”

Amanda twisted her head up to look at me. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You sure seem to like annoying the hell out of Miss Prissy. I’m pretty sure she likes it too.” She waggled her eyebrows.

I laughed, thinking her comment was a little payback for what I’d told Soval in class. Deep down, though, her words struck a little too close to home. “You’re incorrigible, you know.”

“What can I say? Vulcan brings out the best in me.” She winked.

We spent the rest of our visit in silence, watching the wind blow through the shrubbery far below. It was hard to believe that in a little over a month I’d be shipping off to Earth. I might never see Amanda again.

Or T’Pol.

It was a depressing thought.

=/\=

After Amanda left, I holed up in the library during meditation times, perusing thick volumes on all sorts of subjects. There were ancient-looking scrolls made of a fabric-like parchment in one section, but I didn’t touch those for fear of accidentally destroying clan records.

Reading Vuhlkansu was actually easier than speaking it. My mama once said that I was a visual and kinetic learner—meaning things made more sense when I could see and touch them. I generally stuck to books on academics, but once in a while I would meander into history and philosophy. I even read some poetry written before Vulcans embraced logic. Unfortunately, the writers often used obscure references, and I didn’t know what the hell they were talking about.

The rest of the week was more of the same—feasting, recitations, dancing, and meditation. Most of the dancing was historical reenactments, though none were quite as moving as First Breath had been. The Vulcan version of applause still about knocked me out of my socks, no matter how many times I’d experienced it. I began to feel a deep kinship with the clan, even though I had only chatted with few members outside of T’Les, T’Pol and Soval. Soval was less inclined to conversation after Amanda left, and I didn’t prod him. This was his vacation, after all. I didn’t blame him for wanting a break from irrational humans.

On the eve of our last day, T’Les told me I could bathe the next afternoon. I felt like a kid who had been told that Santa was coming. It was a silly thing to get all worked up about, but this Florida boy needed water.

After lunch, I was given a robe, a towel, a brick of something I figured was soap, and was pointed toward where I could get a good soak.

Like everything else, the bathing chamber was gigantic. The bath was more like an Olympic-sized pool, though the water wasn’t more than a meter deep. I hung my robe and towel on a hook, and climbed into the steaming water. It was pure bliss.

In retrospect, the rows of hooks on the wall, the size of the pool and the number of benches within it should have given me a clue that maybe I wouldn’t be bathing alone. I had just come up from giving myself a full dunk when I heard someone else in the room. Wiping the soapy water from my eyes, I found a few men filing in and disrobing.

Men. I could handle it. It would be no different than a locker room shower after practice. I did keep my eyes averted, though, when they stepped into the pool. I wasn’t interested in a real-life biology lesson. Just knowing—from books—that Vulcans and humans were similar in that department was good enough for me.

More men joined in, and I got comfortable with sharing the water. I gave myself a good scrub, then found a bench in the corner and closed my eyes, reveling in the warmth. After acclimating to Vulcan, I was probably going to be a giant prune when I got out, but I didn’t care. Wet was good—damn good.

I caught snatches of conversation while I relaxed. Vulcans liked to debate philosophy and academics—discussions that required all your brainpower. I wasn’t in the mood for thinking at the moment. I was in a warm, happy place.

That was short-lived, however. After a bit, I started hearing voices that were definitely not male. Some of them were kids—accompanied by splashing. Others were the fairer Vulcan sex. I cracked my eyes open with a serious case of trepidation, and my fears were confirmed. Women were soaping themselves up right along with the men, conversing with those around them as if they weren’t naked in front of God and everybody. Fortunately, they were mostly obscured by the bath water, now getting sudsy from all the soap.

Unfortunately, I happened to open my eyes when T’Pol was just stepping into the pool wearing only her birthday suit. I snapped my head in another direction, but not before I saw it all.

Holy. Shit.

Certain parts of my body were in sudden and resounding agreement. My face was on fire as I covered the saluting member. It was like being a pimply teenager all over again. I tried to recite complex mathematic equations and picture engineering diagrams in my head, but my mind was overrun with images of T’Pol’s unquestionably-compatible-with-a-human body. I thought about drowning myself. There was no way in hell I was getting out of the pool in this condition.

“Do all human males have fur on their bodies?”

I opened my eyes (when had I closed them again?), and found the petite matriarch sitting next to me. It was the first time I’d had any interaction with her. I wanted to die right then. “No,” I said, glancing at the smattering of hair on my chest. “I mean, some don’t have any, and some have more than I do.”

T’Mal nodded. “Vulcans are the same, though we are not as genetically diverse as your species.”

I was tempted to confirm her statement with a glance at the rest of the nude clan, but that could mean another look at T’Pol. I kept my eyes on T’Mal’s face.

“What do you think of Sav-masu Wuh’rak?” She had a gaze that seemed to cut right into my soul.

“It’s been real enlightening,” I answered. Some parts more than others. “I, uh, appreciate you allowing me to participate.”

She nodded. “You appear uncomfortable.”

A blush rose to my cheeks. I considered telling her I was fine, but she’d probably know I was lying. “I’m not used to being in a community bath.” I wasn’t a prude, but I wasn’t as open-minded as I thought either.

“Ah, yes. I have heard this about humans,” T’Mal said. “You may leave if you wish.”

I took a quick gander at the rest of the Vulcans. Fortunately, T’Pol was nowhere in sight. No one seemed in a hurry to leave after washing up, and I knew I had two options. Either I left now, with as much dignity as I could muster, or I stayed put until every soul left the pool—and risked seeing T’Pol again. I didn’t want to feel like a Peeping Tom.

After hemming and hawing, I decided it would be better to get out now instead of prolonging my mortification. When I climbed out, it took everything I had not to dash to the far end of the room where my towel and robe hung. I’m pretty sure I was red from my head to my toes.

When I was properly covered again, I involuntarily glanced at the pool and was met with T’Pol’s gaze. She turned away, lowering her eyes. Such a simple look said everything. She’d seen just as much of me as I had of her. If Amanda had been in my shoes, she probably would have posed and told everyone to get a good look. The woman had more gonads than I did.

I left the chamber trying not to imagine what naked neuro-pressure would be like with T’Pol.

Who knew that hanging out with Vulcans would turn me back into the walking hormone I’d been as an adolescent?

=/\=

T’Pol came to sit with me after the final feast, when the tables had been pushed back for dancing. This time the dancers acted out the sundering of Vulcan, where nearly half the clans left Vulcan after refusing to bridle their emotions in favor of logic and compassion. The story was told from the viewpoint of a single clan split by the separation—with the heartache for loved ones lost. T’Pol whispered that this was part of the history of the S’thk T’vuh.

I tried to keep my mind blank when, at the end of the performance, she reached for my hand. I was worried she would be able to sense my attraction to her—now that it had been magnified a hundredfold after the bathing incident. Fortunately, the unnamed sensation swept through us quickly, and I let go of her hand as soon as it passed.

Instead of going back to our rooms for self-reflection, the orchestra struck up again with a more lively tune. It was the Plak-ha’kiv, or Blood of Life. It wasn’t a performance piece, everyone could dance, but it did celebrate the cycle of birth and life—emphasizing the joining of two people for the creation of family. I was reminded of the period films my ma liked as I watched the others move around each other in intricate steps, only touching here and there with two extended fingers. They’d danced the Plak-ha’kiv a few of the other nights during the week.

“Will you join us?” T’Pol asked, rising from her seat.

I was jealous of how calmly she could interact with me. Hell, she probably treated seeing my nude form as a scientific observation. If only I could be so detached.

I sighed. “I’d probably trip everyone up.”

“Mastery of the dance is not expected of you.” She looked down at me with a lifted brow. “You will not have another opportunity to participate.”

She wasn’t going to let up until I gave in, as always. “Fine,” I said, standing. “But it’s your fault if I maim anybody.”

“It’s highly unlikely you will injure someone,” she replied, glancing at me as we lined up with the others, “that severely.”

I laughed in spite of the awkwardness, earning a few looks from other Vulcans.

When the music began, I did my best to imitate everyone else. It was about as complicated as it looked from the sidelines, and I stumbled once or twice. No one seemed to mind, though, and I relaxed a smidge. The first part of the dance represented two lost souls—or katras, as Vulcans called them—in search of one another. The two lines of dancers wove in and out of each other until we faced our original partners again. This was the place where the music changed, slowed, and we took turns stepping around our partners. It represented finding our soul mate.

I was a little nervous when it came time for my fingers to meet T’Pol’s. I didn’t know what kind of stray thoughts or images she could sense through the touch. Did she have some kind mental shield she could put up? I sure as hell didn’t. And I didn’t want her disgusted by discovering how much this animal-flesh-eating human who drove her crazy wanted to kiss her—among other things.

If she felt anything, I couldn’t tell. Her expression was composed as ever, and I blew out a sigh of relief. As the dance repeated twice more (with me tripping fewer times with each round), I realized that my budding friendship with T’Pol would survive the unintentional streaking.

I just had to keep ignoring my growing attraction to her. Easy as pecan pie.

Yeah, right.

TBC

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