CAPTAIN'S PERSONAL LOGI am attempting to reconcile what I saw and what I heard before committing it to the official log. I honestly have no idea how I would ever present it to T'Pau. She'll want and deserve an explanation.
I remember as a boy being told by Dad to respect and obey her word as his own. He didn't need to. I adored the only adult who depended on common sense to back up her authority, rather than just the authority itself. Her affection for me was kept private, and subtle, but it was there. The only distance I felt from this supposedly distant woman was some subjects she avoided, some things she wouldn't speak on. But, hey. She's a diplomat and a Vulcan. Even a kid could put those two together and not draw offense.
But that was a long time ago, when Dad was alive, and before she began to talk of human fragility. Now, I'm the adult. I'm The Captain. So why is it, when encountering a group of Vulcans, I felt like we were the civilized ones? I've never felt inferior to Vulcans--but nor have I ever felt superior before. Were these Vulcans?
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In his memory, Archer saw the small contingent emerge from the airlock. When the leader, a Vulcan man named Skolamot, offered his hand to shake, it took Archer a full minute to realize what exactly had transpired, and they were halfway down the connecting foyer before he spoke up.
"I apologize, Sre Skolamot, if you thought that casual personal contact was necessary aboard a Human ship. We would never require you to do such a thing."
The eyes of the leader darted quickly to his subordinate, another man named Sciedu. He would be informed later of how close his name sounded to an English non-sense word used to exclaim excitement. But for now, he merely answered for his Sre.
"Captain Archer, we here-departed Vulcan-some time ago. We choose not to adhere to a great many of its recent strictures."
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JOURNAL
What did that tell me? What should it have told me? Skonn was right. We Humans held ourselves back, and one of the ways we did it was by failing to see the obvious, time and again, until we had to.
All through this very odd encounter, the obvious was all but smacking us in the face with a spiked glove.
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In the galley, as Sciedu chuckled openly about the soundalike, 'Skidoo', Mayweather grabbed three lonely slabs of meatloaf, wondering how seven large portions had vanished, even with Mister Tucker's legendary love of such comfort foods.
"To the young, make good use of catsup."
But then, he beheld the XO with his own three slices, and sat with him as they both stared in wonder and outright shock at four of the female Vulcans, sitting at the next table.
"Sir--are they doing what I think they're doing?"
If they had been dancing nude atop the tables, the shock would have been a little less, because Vulcans not concerned by illogical modesty frequented hot spas and exercise rooms on Earth.
"Travis--your eyes are as good as mine."
The meatloaf was vanishing in large, bitten-off chunks, held by hands that were then licked clean of the tomato sauce that covered the meal. One held up a potato, much to their relief. This relief vanished when she stuffed her remaining meat scraps into it. She looked at them.
"Am I to understand that those remain on Vulcan only eat this pocket-like vegetable, when made available to them?"
"Yes."
"You are--correct, Ma'am."
Half the tuber was gone in a snapping bite.
"Such utter waste. Tell me, is there more of that soured cream about?"
Tucker raised a finger.
"That's a dairy product, you know."
That drew a glare from the woman, called T'Noaj.
"That is not what I asked you. Do Humans have their rules of behavior dictated to them by those who stayed?"
Another of the women, T'Rad, grabbed her hand harshly.
"You will apologize to our hosts. Meals are scarce, good meals are scarcer. Do you wish to be dining on bland soup?"
The apology was given, but the two men began to pull out soon after. Tucker saw Skolamot smiling in front of an emptied pie-tin.
"You were correct, Mister Tucker. My soul feels very good indeed."
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JOURNAL
They came to me soon after this. Trip pointed out the obvious, although he had stopped by Phlox to confirm it all.
Take the heat a Vulcan body produces. Take the copper content of their blood. Add as much sugar as Skolamot's people had been taking in, way past recommended limits. In large amounts, cane sugar ferments in Vulcan blood. Uncle Zef told me of what his oatmeal raisin cookies did to that first post-Phoenix visitation. It marked the only time he really apologized for anything he did during first contact. Well, besides regretting getting a young female psychiatrist blasted drunk.
These people should be walking distilleries, but its we who are off balance.
What Travis had to say was of no greater comfort.
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"Vulcans who live offworld offer witticisms. They don't tell jokes. They eat cheese. They do not eat meat. They allow their mouths to fully upturn, in small gatherings. They do not laugh in open company. In my time, I've met those whose emotional control was inadequate by their standards. But the very worst of them could still easily be guards in front of the Buckingham Arts Museum in London."
The former trader, who did not show anger in front of the Andorians and Tellarites despite their accidental slaughter of his people, now showed it, at least a little.
"Sir, these aren't Vulcans. These are frat boys and sorority girls with glued-on ears and stenciled eyebrows. Respectfully suggest that they might even pose a threat to us." -
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JOURNAL
That I dismissed his words is proof that a chair does not confer wisdom, and it certainly does not provide divinity. To my mind, these people, though odd, still looked like the angels and talked like the angels and walked like the angels.
Problem was, I'd forgotten how the rest of that old song went. For the record, I did not get wise, until someone wiser than me failed to be on time for her very vital job.
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Hoshi Sato waited at the Bridge door, letting her Captain ask what she knew he would.
"He wanted to what?!"
"To mind-meld with me, sir. He said he wanted to know about the most recent Vulcan homeworld dialect changes--and then he had some explicit suggestions about our later positions. He waited outside my quarters for hours, til I lost track of the time. I had three crewmen escort me here."
"Was that necessary?"
Hoshi bit her lip. The next words brought it all home.
"Captain, to get away from him, I would have used the matter disruptor to beam in here!"
Asking Mayweather and a security guard to tend the Command Center, Archer then took Hoshi, Trip and Reed to the galley, center of an ongoing party the Captain was now determined to end. Seeing their guests having more of Trip's favorite, Archer pushed away the tins from in front of the confused indulgers, and pointed to the massive security presence behind him.
"No-more-pie."
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JOURNAL
Under guard, I watched every last one enter the airlock, and then I had Phlox scan for any we missed. I wanted these people gone. Their blood had copper, and it was green. But Vulcans reserve mind-melds for emergencies that are never directly specified, for fear of the abuse of these exceptions. Other than that--its almost a tool of engagement for marriage. The official summary was surprisingly easy to write, after all.
*Enterprise encountered a group of apparently separatist offworld-dwelling Vulcans. Their behavior was what I would deem illogical. We asked that they depart. They did so.*
Yet still the question remains of how I will tell T'Pau and other Vulcan officials of their brethren who laughed, ate meat, inhaled sugar and offered intimate contact just because.
Who the hell were those people? Their course takes them well away from Vulcan, towards no space anyone we know has explored.
I need sleep. And I need Vulcans to be Vulcans.
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The Captain Of The Enterprise dreamed, and in his dream, he was a little boy, and a lady he greatly admired told him an old story.
*Their traveling companion looked like any other Vulcan, but he acted nothing like them. The twins wondered at his odd habits, to eat flesh, to laugh out, to scheme and lie, and to grab at them while doing so. Was he mad, they asked him? But he was quickly gone, and so they asked their parents instead. Their parents told them to never seek this boy again, for he was surely Rihannsu, one of those that departed so long ago. For the Rihannsi might not be living things but dead ones, with cold dead eyes. Or they might be dread war-lovers. But, asked the twins, did not Surak say that the Rihannsi would return to us one day, and that only then would there be the fusion of reunfication?*
Boy and man, the dreamer felt a chill as the story was finished.
*He said that the Rihannsi would return. But Surak also said that when they came, we would not be able to recognize them, even if they should look as you or I. It may even be that when they return--they shall not be Vulcans at all.