He had heard several veiled rumors of her relations with another around the ship and paid such things little mind until they had increased in detail and frequency which of themselves indicated some fine thread of truth buried beneath layers of gossip and scuttlebutt. If indeed such a thing was true…he would undoubtedly cause her some discomfort perhaps hurt their friendship which he immensely enjoyed.
Thus he had a dilemma. Facts were irrelevant in the matter. He had to make a choice. Closing his eyes he took only a moment to make a decision.
Unaccustomed to doing anything by faith alone, Lamont did exactly that and quickly made his decision despite the consequences which might ensue. Retreating from this problem would never solve it, but confronting it would at least resolve the situation one way or another. The only logical, rational choice was to accept her offer and simply see what developed.
Ian took a deep breath swallowing his doubts and fears. In his mind he cast them aside as he slowly exhaled releasing some of the pent up tension within. He had to understand this dormant ability. As Sakarra had said to ignore it was to deny oneself. She was the only one who he knew of who could help him with such a personal matter and who was willing to get anywhere near the mind of the diplomat most considered to be somewhat eccentric. Moreover she was the only he could trust with something this sensitive and in a way he could not put into words felt as though she too trusted him.
Opening his eyes they shined with a renewed luminescence as emerald reflected off of the dark obsidian of Sakarra's own.
"I graciously accept your offer and whatever instruction you can provide. What must I do Sakarra", he asked hopefully speaking along the fine silken thread that bound them to one another. Was the mere act of thinking aloud all that was needed to travel along the conduit that existed between them? He searched her eyes with his own to learn if she had indeed heard his words.
'It helps if you focus onto the person you wish to speak to.' Not that he did not do a fair job of it already, but if she had not already been tuned into his individual 'frequency' as it were, the thought would have been difficult to hear.
Once he placed his hand into hers however, the thin thread became a small current, flowing gently from one to the other in the unending circle of two minds drawing close. Not yet touching, but nearly so, able to see, to listen, to hear.
'She who was my mother likened it to the tradition of writing letters and adding a specific name to the outside. The conscious thought of that name will serve to focus your mind and at the same time alert the other that a message is bound for them. In time, it will become as subconscious a part of you as breathing.'
He still seemed apprehensive about showing the deeper recesses of his thoughts and the young Vulcan took the time to close her small fingers around his in a way she hoped was reassuring. Recent opportunities to learn more about human idiosyncrasies aside, there were still many matters where this race continued to puzzle her.
'I will not touch anything you do not wish to show me.'
And this was the first step as well. Where a Vulcan's mind was ordered, a vast estate with countless rooms, each with doors that yielded to the owner's command alone, those of humans often tended to be… chaotic. Charmingly so, more often than not, and if one bothered to look closer one always found pockets of order, or some pattern to the chaos. Still, for all intents and purpose the human mind was a house with doors flung wide open, laden with clutter. Priceless gems rested next to useless trinkets while impulses and instincts, half conscious thoughts and faded memories fluttered through the rooms like flocks of exotic birds.
She showed him the image, careful to remain in the doorway, a polite visitor gazing at the colorful and mightily disorganized display. Stairs led away, some up into splendidly bright fog and some down towards doors shrouded in darkness. The ones he instinctively tried to guard and knew not how.
'Look.'
Rather than walk inside and perhaps cause undue distress – and apprehension still lingered in his mind, despite the conscious effort to subdue it – the young Vulcan retreated and opened the gates to the high walled fortress instead. A courteous invitation, an extended hand.
Some doors were little more than veils, lighter than a breeze and yet just as impenetrable as the heavy gates if she willed it so. She showed him those and others, summoning the lessons learned in childhood as she went.
'What you carry within is you. What you offer is yours to choose. So simple, so complex.'
It would take time, but he would learn. For now, it would be enough if he knew how to shield the entirety of his mind. The selecting, the ability to choose what to share and what to shield, was a more difficult task to master. But showing him it was possible, and how it was done, might aid the ambassador in eventually achieving his own balance.
They stood at the gates of her own mind again, the luminescent kaleidoscope of Lamont's thoughts merely an arm's reach away 'You have seen the doors. You know them, their nature, their very being. Remember. And build your own.'
Ian watched what seemed to be a wall before him fade to a passable door as Sakarra offered an invitation for him to enter. He silently stood in wonder. Resolved to learn, Ian accepted the invitation and stepped across the threshold into the consciousness of another. Sakarra, always the selfless teacher, attempted to explain what looked and felt like part dream, part reality, and part emotion wrapped in metaphor yet also possessing substance. It was as breathtaking as it was instructive.
Ian lost track of time as he slowly walked what might be considered halls gazing into opened doorways as well as ones blocked by seemingly sturdy doors. And then it was over. He was back standing in a sort of mental limbo in an area between minds perhaps within the conduit which connected them.
"Build my own", he mused. If he was going to learn and understand he had to practice. Concentrating on what he had just seen he managed to create a door of his own. Sticking his head inside the interior was perfectly familiar. He intimately knew every inch with everything being as it should.
He turned back toward Sakarra. "Please, after you." He motioned for her to enter his curiosity overriding his trepidation.
A silent chuckle seemed to be echoing in the very air itself, come and gone in the blink of an eye. 'You never left, Ian Lamont. But I am honored by the invitation all the same.'
It might take time for him to understand the very concept of leaving one's thoughts behind while still carrying them within, to 'be' the house his consciousness had so readily accepted as metaphor and leave it all the same.
Slowly and respectfully, she drew closer and allowed the outer fringes of her own consciousness to mingle with the ambassador's, stepping through the door without disturbing as much as a molecule of air. Before her, thoughts, emotions and memories fluttered and dispersed, some clear and defined, some vague and shrouded in mist.
She resisted the urge to pick those gems from the air to examine the beautiful details and stood silently, waiting. Whatever he wished to offer, he would. Whatever he wanted to learn, he would ask.
Lamont stood unmoving as Sakarra reached out and touched his consciousness with her own. Unlike the 'tour' he had been given before this seemed much different. He could sense her with a depth and clarity his eyes were incapable of providing. Unconsciously his physical hands which were joined with hers slowly tightened.
Like two separate drops of water merging together to form one, Lamont was speechless at the thoughts that were his own which were now co-mingled with those of another. It was the most fascinating and profound experience he could recall. There was an intimacy that existed in this state that went beyond the physical. She trusted him or else this contact would never have been permitted. She knew that he trusted her as well. Such thoughts were shared being both separate while at the same time being one.
Ian felt at ease with her near and now bound together as one in the realm of thought he realized there was nothing to fear. She would not step where she was not invited and he would do the same. He briefly contemplated what to do next as doing nothing seemed horribly awkward even in the midst of this unknown and spectacular mix of sensation and sensory stimulation. His mind drifted to memories and without effort the scenery suddenly twisted and morphed around them and was replaced by the long, gone halls of the Lamont estate engrained in the finest of detail within Ian's memory from his childhood. It was a fitting memory to share and he was proud to do so.
"Please, this way Sakarra", as he made his way into the memory.
[To be continued …]
Ambassador Ian Lamont
And
Lt. Commander Sakarra Tyrax
