“Cyrin & ‘Kara: Charon’s Bonnie and Clyde”
=/\= Sakarra’s Quarters, 8.6 Hours Later =/\=
“Yes.” Sakarra stated simply.
“Fear breeds hatred, and hatred blinds more thoroughly to the truth than any other emotion. If you allow your fear to grow into anger and hatred, you soon will wish to hurt the other before he can hurt you.”
Even as she looked at the young Betazoid, Sakarra could see his mind working, and both the memory and the emotions that came with it began to lose their hold.
The fear was still lingering, a deeply rooted sense of dread and apprehension, but that, too, he would have to deal with on his own terms.
“It is easy to fear that which one does not understand. But it is the Betazoid way to explore and learn, the natural fear lending caution rather than revulsion. I know it is your natural way of being as well because you are curious about me, although you are by far the most lightly treading Betazoid I ever met.”
Another warm smile was prompted by a memory of Olixinna and her first reaction to a Vulcan telepathic contact with her beloved cousin.
To say that the Betazoid had stormed into the new experience with the curiosity of a Tracehound puppy on a trail was quite an understatement.
“So what is it that overrules your instinct to reach out and understand, Cyrin Dicari?”
He looked at her, the smile on her face he committed to memory.
He really didn’t know why that natural instinct was overruled. “I…” he struggled to remember “I don’t have an answer for that question Sakarra.” No sooner did he say that then another memory begin to emerge. ‘Not again’ he thought to himself, especially since it was a memory that even he more than likely didn’t even know he had.
A thirteen year old Cyrin was sitting in front of a woman who looked oddly like Shiarrael but minus the Romulan features.
‘Cyrin the only way you are going to learn how to use your abilities is by doing so’ the older lady told him telepathically.
“I don’t want to. It’s too hard,” he replied.
‘If you don’t do it…’ the telepathic conversation ended. “If you won’t do it then…then you leave me no choice…”
Suddenly he felt like his entire mind was being invaded, instead of opening to the incident he began to back off mentally. ‘GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!’ the thirteen year old boy screamed mentally as tears poured down his face. He scrunched his fists and tried to force the invader out, but failed.
‘Are you going to try now Cyrin?’ the female’s voice asked in his mind.
‘Get out of my head. NOW!’ he demanded as he pushed with all his might, the foreign invader quickly left. His entire body hurt, his head ached, and tears streamed down his face still, leaving stains. “I HATE YOU! PONFO MIRRAN!”
“What did you say?” the female asked.
“Nothing that your ignorant feeble mind would be able to comprehend,” Cyrin said with a look of hatred before he weakly stormed off tears still falling from his eyes.
The memory faded, and Cyrin was as white as a ghost. “I…I didn’t remember that. Do you think it might be why…” he trailed off as a few tears fell from his eyes, “Ponfo mirran, I forgot about that. My father’s colleague Sopek had a book laying around in my father’s office, I was bored one day and picked up and started reading it,” he said with a soft laugh before wiping his eyes.
“Well I should certainly think this colleague’s taste in researching ancient phrases leaves some to be desired.” Sakarra stated dryly.
“But yes, I believe you have found the origin of many of your troubles.”
Kae'at k'lasa. The invasion of another mind, forcefully and without regard for the other’s integrity... it was all she could do to keep her own boiling rage in check. Several much less friendly colorful metaphors directed towards this… person … presented themselves but Sakarra pushed them away impatiently. As for the thoughts going beyond an unfortunate choice of words…
“It is not meant to be that way, Cyrin.” even her silent, telepathic voice sounded strained, adding a deep undertone to what was usually so even and melodious. “Not supposed to be… oh Deities.”
She felt her muscles tense, knowing all too well that if she let her temper flare now, the young Betazoid would be exposed to something even a stoic and balanced person tended to find… extremely unsettling.
Esh’uh she reminded herself. Breathe. Let it pass.
And for seconds that went by like eternities, she clung to Cyrin as much for his sake as her own because if she’d let go now, she’d have all the excuse she needed to become very angry indeed.
It was his concern that saved her, the wave of distress that a Betazoid worried about another will generate and that was as cool and calming as the rare and short-lived morning dew in the Vulcan highlands.
“Forgive me. I should not have …” sighing deeply, both the real Sakarra and the image in Cyrin’s mind relaxed.
“I should not have allowed myself to lose my objectivity.”
“Origin of most of my problems?” he asked with a questionable look. This was once thing she would have to explain to him. He felt a slight tug from her emotion though he couldn’t pinpoint the exact emotion, but the look on her face gave it away.
“Elle est ce qu’elle est. (It is what it is.) I was young, and stubborn as an ox, to use an earth saying loosely.” He told her as she held on to him “I am sorry you had to witness that,” he said with sympathy and concern in his voice unsure if the Vulcan would recover. He had never seen her so tense and he didn’t know what else to say or what to do.
A few moments passed before he felt her relax, “No need to apologize, innate actions mean nothing.” He wanted to move on with this journey. He looked at the frozen memory and wished it would just go away. “What do did you mean you found the origin of most of my problems?” He asked again now that she was a bit calmer.
“Quite simply,” she told the young man who still studied the frozen memory with an air of revulsion about him “that it is a normal reaction to be wary of reaching out the way a Betazoid would after having experienced… this. And being at odds with your own mind - instinctive behavior constantly overruled by a suppressed memory - is creating a destructive circle all of it’s own. Your reluctance to allow the first mind-touch could have been explained by minor apprehension towards something unknown or even certain preconceptions concerning Vulcans. But I still found your demeanor puzzling. Now I do not.”
She studied the memory with a slightly calmer attitude, but carefully avoided touching upon the sensation of Cyrin’s mind being invaded.
“Stubborn as an ox indeed.” the mild humor had returned to her voice and she gratefully leaned against the Cyrin in her mind for just a second “However one could point out that in this case you had every right to be.”
Sakarra could tell he did not want to linger here, although sooner or later he would have to confront the memory again and find a way to move past it.
Well, it should help him to know what it was supposed to be like. Create a counterbalance by placing another memory next to this, one that was… well, different.
The giggling of a little girl, just about seven years old, echoed through the link.
“You are not focusing, ko-kan.” An elegant woman in flowing, rust red robes said mildly, her fingers placed at the child’s temples with the lightness of a feather.
“I’m sorry, m’aih. But it’s … weird.” the little one shook her wild curls a bit and then looked up at her mother, making a brave effort to contain her amusement.
“Weird? An interesting choice of words. Shall we continue later?”
“Hm? No, it’s fine. I’ll try. But I don’t think I’m good at it, m’aih.”
“There is no need to be ‘good at it’, ko-kan. Not everyone runs as fast as you do, yes? Walking is quite sufficient for most people.”
“An interesting metaphor” little Sakarra replied, imitating her mother’s tone of voice and trying not to chuckle at the same time.
And then there it was again. The sensation of something hovering at the edge of her mind, just outside her range of perception. Like a noise you could ‘feel’ but not quite hear, turning your head this way and that, straining your ears…
Something warm, something, … funny. Interesting. Odd. And now it was retreating again, before she even had a chance to get a closer look.
Unable to figure out what she was supposed to do, the little girl simply decided to go after that, well, strange sensation she had no name for, in the same way she would run into the forest to check why the leaves were rustling. And found that someone, something, had apparently laid some sort of trail for her to follow.
Weird. But fun.
When she found the warm, strangely familiar feeling again, it did not run away any more. Just sat there, waiting.
After a second of bewilderment, her inquisitive nature won out and she decided to just grab on to that something.
Warmth, tenderness, humor, and no small measure of pride in the little one’s accomplishment …
And then it was gone again, retreating slowly.
“That was you, right?”
The stately woman nodded in affirmation before dropping her hands and then raised both brows as the little one jumped onto her lap, wrapping both arms around her, laughing happily.
“I love you, too.”
Ponfo Mirran: Roughly translates to “Go to hell.”
Lieutenant (Then Ensign) Sakarra Tyrax
Chief Helms – Vulcan
Ensign Cyrin Dicari
Chief Operations Officer