[T'Shen monastery, Shi'Al province]
19th Day in the month of et'Khior, YS 9022
While Yyaio was quite correct in pointing out both factors and displaying polite modestly in downplaying her contribution, the way she presented events was ... Savant. As was the curiosity. The logical conclusion that since there was knowledge not yet attained, it had to be sought.
One might have believed she had strolled from the academy gardens after a small unexpected sandstorm had ruffled her robes – and she'd had an unfortunate run-in with a mother Sehlat. In a sense, the woman in her dust-caked robes was the embodiment of what every Vulcan strove to be, and Sakarra could not help but appreciate the irony.
She studied the Gespar slices before her, Nevasa's evening rays bathing the deep red fruit in a sheen of gold and copper. Even now, the urge to laugh was there. After issuing a few colorful metaphors, for even this slight motion had caused muscles and skin to protest with surges of pain and in its wake … no, she did not regret that it had not been her who killed the Vaek'Riov with her own hands, though the desire to do just that had been overwhelming. Nor could she bring herself to regret that she had learned … things about herself she had never believed she might experience. One might question the merit of many, but not that each had a purpose. It did not alleviate the anger, the rebellion.
"Writings and philosophy." So gentle was the voice floating on the breeze, even Vulcanoid ears would have to strain to hear it "Margins of error." Random chance, or intuition.
Kaiidth. What is, is.
Liquid-black eyes glanced up to study the android seated with quiet pride on the couch, holding the stone bowl containing broth with a grace and perfection that would put a trained diplomat to shame. Savant's eyes, blue and bright, but something was … different.
"A gap, Yyaio?"
She could not rein in a flash of concern – true, T'Meni had taken the time to let her know how repairs on Charon were progressing and even found it prudent to mention the presence of an AI who was assisting in the cleanup of her home - but the android's presence was as unexpected as it was inexplicable. Both a stark reminder of recent … troubles and the manner of equanimity with which one should face them, Yyaio still was a part of Savant, at least in the Vulcan's mind.
Ah, at some point she should really attempt to get a handle of her volatile emotional surges.
Weariness overtook her again and she gave a small huff of disdain, prompting a massive ball of fur resting under the old conifer at the garden's center to raise its head and rumble softly deep in its throat.
"I must ask forgiveness, it seems my … recovery is progressing apace only in the physical aspect."
"You know that you don't need to give it. But thank you. My only regret is in being unable to save you from some of that pain, and being unable to save the lives that were lost. Too much potential was lost in those events." Savant measured lives in a curious fashion, by the measure of what they could potentially do or experience. Sentient beings, with their boundless creativities and insatiable desires, were wellsprings of potential, and every loss was an unacceptable tragedy. Even the Romulan deaths weighed heavily upon the AI, for her optimization processes cared little for sub-species or political alliances.
"And your own injuries upset me greatly," she continued, "I hope that you are taking all available avenues to effect your recovery." Yyaio knew, after all, just how irrationally stubborn Sakarra could be. A funny thing for a Vulcan, but Sakarra always did have stronger emotions than most. Considering the average Vulcan, this was saying something.
She also knew that Sakarra was sensitive on this topic, so she did not pause longer than the time it took to drink and clear her raw throat. Whatever it was that had turned her voice gravelly, water seemed to give little more help. The vocal chords were damaged, and she could not repair them.
"To examine the positive effects of your injuries, however, it appears to have given you time to visit with your grandfather. I'm happy to properly make his acquaintance again." Savant inclined a nod to the man in the shadows nearby, "It has been some time since I have spoken to him."
"It was." Potential. Memory. Souls, lives, call it what you may. Unique, irreplaceable, every single one. Sakarra was well aware of Savant's curious definition, and though their views might differ in parts, at the core there was agreement.
To some, there was a vast difference between destroying a world or taking one life.
There were Vulcans who believed unless you treated each as an equal loss, you failed to comprehend one of the fundamental truths.
And there were those walking the rope above the abyss, weighing each life as if it were a world and still held fast to the belief that the needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few … or the one. Who forever continued to weigh and choose and choose again and then carry the burden.
Even him. Him. The Other knew, she could not find it in her heart to grieve his death and that alone was hard. Hard to admit, hard to face, so very hard to accept. But what he might have been, what … potential had been lost, that she grieved. He had been a boy once, with hopes, with dreams, not unlike her gifted with two unique heritages to draw upon, with the potential to make of the self more than the sum of what he was. So much more.
And all the others. Fallen before her blades, lives cut short because they had crossed the path of an enraged Vulcan; the wrong place, the wrong time, nothing more. Knowledge, ambitions, experience, sparkling gems, flickering lights in the dark, shattered and snuffed out by her hands, her breath.
She could accept it, accept the grief, the burden.
As far as possible, do not kill.
Then, be slow to take life …
She could accept it if there were not the memory of how she had delighted in the fury, how she had reveled in the heat coursing through her veins, her own laughter ringing in her ears like bronze gongs. She could accept it if she did not know in her heart of hearts she wanted it again.
And this was not the worst.
Slender fingers picked a piece of fruit and she examined it like one would a precious jewel, reveling in the way light and shadow danced on the amaranth red slice, made the drop of juice sparkle.
"All avenues … no. Though you may be certain the healers, not to mention my Companion are quite persistent in me making use of all that are available and practical. With the recent arrival of reinforcements …" a quick glance to Solkar was rewarded with a brief nod and eloquent glance at the yet uneaten fruit "… it has in fact become the only logical course open to me to … acquiesce."
As if to prove her point, Sakarra cleaned the bowl in short order, relishing every bite though it was clear her appetite was not quite what it had been.
Savant - no, Yyaio did not seem to recognize the trauma that turned within Sakarra in the spaces between those words. The simulated Vulcan watched and listened, pausing to drink from time to time, otherwise nodding when the conversation demanded or when Sakarra began to slow down or pause. These were delicate procedures, especially for the stoic Vulcans. Encouraging conversation that strikes to the core of a Vulcan's emotional state was a difficult task at the best of times; it was a far more fragile condition when one was injured or traumatized. She did what she could to drop those silent cues which would make Sakarra feel more at ease within the languid warmth of the day.
But she was no superhuman, and eventually words run dry, This was not a bad thing - it took a well-adjusted Vulcan considerable effort to open up the emotional floodgates and converse with their hearts open. Savant and Yyaio both took the opportunity for the rare and valuable occurrence it was.
Like a floating cloud the abbot soundlessly withdrew, leaving the Vulcan in his somber dark blue tunic to place the fresh flowers on the table and give the traveler another polite half-bow. "I am gratified as well, madam." Solkar showed no surprise that the android he had met those months past had differed much from the one sitting in the pergola's shade now, nor that his grandchild and the being which had created both were obviously on amicable terms. The latter was actually quite logical, considering the young one's nature and Savant's graceful acceptance of biological lifeforms.
"However, I must point out that while your concern for my grandchild is valid, your own state would indicate a need for repair as well."
[To be continued …]
Yyaio/Savant
Seeker of wisdom
LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax
Executive Officer
USS Charon
Solkar
Senior Professor / Vulcan Science Academy
