Chapter Text
Part Five
“This is completely unnecessary.”
Klath growled and shifted again as he sat rigidly on the small bed in the Bounty’s medical bay, as Natasha continued to work on his left arm.
“Counterpoint,” Natasha smiled patiently, “It’s completely necessary.”
“You have already treated my injury onboard the Warbird. It is healing adequately.”
She sighed patiently and suppressed a wince from her own injuries on her back. She idly wondered how anyone could see the improvised bandage that she had managed to wrap around his wound as anything like an adequate treatment.
Klingons really did make the worst patients.
“That was just some basic field medicine,” she explained, “So you didn’t die. This is all so you don’t lose your arm.”
She checked the results of her scans and pointed the bulky tricorder-type device over at Klath for him to check. The scanner wasn’t exactly the sort of thing she had been used to in Starfleet, but it was as good as it got as far as medical supplies on the Bounty were concerned.
She made a mental note to resupply the entire medical bay whenever she next got a chance, even as she walked through the results for the Klingon in front of her.
“There we go, see? You still have massive secondary tissue damage from the disruptor blast, significant sections of necrotic cells below the scar tissue and a minor case of blood poisoning from the wound being exposed for so long. I need to treat this. All of this. Now.”
She fixed Klath with the sort of severe expression she used to reserve for the most reluctant of patients back in Starfleet. Headstrong first officers worried about missing any action on the bridge, eager young ensigns who thought they were invincible, CMOs convinced they knew better than their subordinates, those types of people.
Klath still didn’t seem overly convinced. He barely reacted to her grim prognosis at all. She turned away to prepare the first stage of treatment, failing to suppress a slight groan of misery from the pain in her back.
“Perhaps you should treat your own injuries,” Klath pointed out, “Rather than attempting further unnecessary work on my arm.”
“Physician, heal thyself?” she fired back with a smirk, “Eh, I might have fallen for that five years ago. But, unfortunately, I’m not just some ex-Starfleet officer. I’m a war veteran. Which means I’ve become an expert in the art of triage. Not to mention an expert at ignoring my own pain.”
She worked hard to suppress another flinch as she said that, trying to ignore the particular pain inside of her that was still connected to the last moments aboard the USS Navajo. That could definitely wait for another day, she told herself, as she grabbed the slightly basic cellular regenerator from her scant supplies and turned back to the increasingly grumpy Klingon.
For his part, Klath saw the same steely determination in her eyes that he had seen before. But he still felt his own sense of pride overriding anything else.
“As I have repeatedly stated,” he insisted, “I am—”
As he spoke, she calmly reached out to his injured arm and firmly squeezed down on the affected area, just above his elbow. The immediate roar of agony the Klingon emitted was loud enough to shake the walls of the medical bay itself.
“Sounds to me like you’re still in a lot of pain,” Natasha said calmly, still matching the Klingon’s gaze with a firm stare of her own, “Your move, Klath.”
Klath stared back with anger, but it soon changed into something else. Something that had possibly been lacking previously.
A look of respect.
He held his arm back out without further argument. “You may continue your treatment,” he nodded, “If you must.”
She smiled in satisfaction. Klath stared at her as she ran the cellular regenerator over the area.
“I have come to see that I may have underestimated you, Natasha Kinsen,” he added with a low growl, “You are a fearsome warrior.”
Natasha suppressed a smug smile as she continued to work.
“Damn right I am.”
* * * * *
The Bounty continued on its way at warp, the entire ship running on autopilot.
In the ship’s small dining area, Sunek sat alone, an untouched bowl of plomeek soup on the table in front of him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t hungry, he just couldn’t bring himself to eat it. For some reason, he wasn’t in the mood for Vulcan food.
So, instead, he just stared at the wall of the room in silence. To the point that it took him a while to realise that he was no longer alone.
“Crap,” Jirel said from the now open doorway, “I know that look.”
The Trill sighed and walked over to a storage locker in the wall next to the ship’s food replicator, opening it and retrieving a bottle and two glasses. He carried them back over and set them down on the table, pouring out two generous measures of Antarean brandy.
“I don’t really need that,” Sunek shrugged dismissively.
“Yeah,” Jirel countered knowingly, pushing one of the glasses over to him, “You do.”
Sunek looked down at the dark liquid in the glass, and then over at Jirel on the other side of the table as he sipped his drink.
“So, let’s talk,” the Trill prompted, after a moment of silence, “Call it payment for getting to share my favourite booze with me.”
“Maybe I don’t wanna talk.”
“Like hell you don’t. You’re Sunek. Talking is literally your thing.”
Sunek paused. He definitely had him there. Although, technically, Sunek only liked to talk about things that weren’t serious. Serious conversations really weren’t his thing at all. He took a long slug from the glass and stared down into the dregs of the deep blue liquid.
“It just sucks, y’know?” he managed eventually, “I finally see my friends - and my wife, for what that was worth - after all this time. And they’re all…”
“Crazy?” Jirel offered.
Sunek went to offer a counterclaim, but then stopped himself. The Trill had a point.
“Whatever you wanna call it, I guess. But now…I dunno, they’re probably gonna spend the rest of their lives in some Federation penal colony somewhere.. And that just…sucks.”
He took another sip from his drink. Jirel allowed the moment of silence to fester, waiting for the Vulcan to continue.
“I guess I’ve been wondering if the old T’Len and Sokar are still in there somewhere. Buried inside them. Regardless of what they’ve become. I just hope…maybe one day they might be able to find themselves again.”
He snorted at his own sincerity and reached for the brandy bottle to top off his glass.
“I hate it when you make me do this serious crap.”
“I know,” Jirel replied with a sad smile.
Another moment of silence descended. Sunek swirled the liquid around in his glass.
“Plus, I mean, whatever they’ve become, however bad what they were trying to do was, all that stuff that Sokar showed me in those melds. That was…messed up.”
Jirel considered this, recalling the little that Sunek had told him about Doctor Sevik since they had fled from the Tolaris. “You think that all really happened? Crazy Vulcan doctor, the works?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time Vulcan authorities had got a bit carried away in their stupid pursuit of logical perfection,” Sunek mused, before flashing Jirel a grin, “Rather than the more well-rounded vision of Vulcan perfection who sits before you now.”
“Naturally.”
Another silence descended. Sunek gently pushed his untouched bowl of soup away, deciding to focus entirely on the alternative form of liquid sustenance in his glass.
“You ever tried meditating?” he asked eventually, throwing Jirel off slightly.
“Not really,” he replied, “I had this old yoga holoprogram I was obsessed with when I was younger. But, full disclosure, I was a teenager, the instructor in the program wore a really tight leotard, and this really isn’t a sharing story.”
Sunek suppressed a smirk.
“There’s this old Vulcan technique. It’s, like, the first thing you get taught, as soon as you’re old enough to walk. You picture yourself on a ship, on the Voroth Sea, and everything’s calm and peaceful. And all you have to do is balance. Except, Sokar’s obsessed with how it’s all out of whack, cos the real Voroth Sea is all murky and stormy and really not all that great for balancing on.”
“Sounds lovely,” Jirel mused.
“Yeah, well, the more I’ve thought about it, the more I’ve started to realise that he’s got it all wrong. The calm sea wasn’t a lie. It was part of the meditation. Like, it was all about being able to picture serenity in the unlikeliest of places. Right?”
Jirel didn’t answer. Sunek idly spun his now-empty glass around on the table.
“They really should just explain that to you at the time,” he added, “But, then, I guess figuring that out is kinda the point.”
Jirel toyed with his own glass, feeling as uncomfortable hearing Sunek talk this deeply about anything as Sunek did in discussing it in the first place.
“I guess…I hope Sokar figures that out. I hope they all do.”
“You know,” Jirel offered, “We can try to go back for her.”
Sunek stared down at the table. He knew what he wanted to say. But he also knew what he should say. Sunek the talker. Sunek the joker. So he forced the truth to the back of his mind.
“Nah,” he said with a grin, “I mean, if we’re really supposed to have been married all this time, then I’ve cheated on her…a lot.”
“A lot?”
“Well…a bit.”
Jirel’s face creased into a similar grin, as Sunek laughed on the other side of the table. Satisfied that he had done what he needed to do, Jirel stood up and walked back towards the doorway, leaving Sunek with the rest of the bottle. He paused as he got to the door and looked back at the Vulcan.
“You gonna be ok?”
Sunek thought about everything that had happened. He thought about T’Len, and how quickly they’d reconnected, and separated again. He thought about Sokar, the misery and pain he had suffered and the twisted man it had turned him into. He thought about how easily he’d been manipulated, and how many conflicting emotions still swirled around inside him.
He even thought about New Sunek. Or as he was now very much determined to call him, Temporary Sunek, and how worryingly quickly he had been able to seize control of his personality.
Nothing he thought about made him think he was going to be ok.
Still, he was Sunek. And Sunek didn’t worry about things like that. Sunek sat in the pilot’s seat and made jokes. That was where he felt most comfortable. So he decided to lie.
“Nothing that trip to Risa won’t fix,” he grinned.
Jirel smiled and shook his head, pausing one final time before he left. “You know earlier?” he asked, “With the cloaking device?”
Sunek nodded. Jirel licked his lips, internally debating whether he really wanted an answer to this question or not.
“Do I wanna know how close you came to shooting me instead of the cloak?”
Sunek smiled. And decided to lie about that as well.
“Come on, Jirel,” he chuckled, “Who do you think I am?”
Jirel smiled and nodded, walking out of the room. Ignoring the fact that he suddenly found that he wasn’t entirely sure he knew the answer to that question any more.
* * * * *
T’Len lay on the bed in her quarters, staring blankly at the ceiling as she recovered from the latest meld.
To one side, Sokar sat at the table and steepled his fingers.
“It really does hurt me to do that,” he said with an edge of sympathy, “But you understand why I have to. Especially now, after what has happened. I need to make sure you’re completely loyal to our cause, T’Len.”
She remained on the bed, but she nodded.
The Tolaris was limping away from Vulcan as fast as she could. The sudden destruction of the cloaking device, coupled with the shoddy repairs to the rest of the ship, had caused several cascade failures in other systems. So far, they managed to evade the Federation patrols that had attempted to intercept them, and Tepal was working hard back on the bridge to disguise their warp signature on any further sensor traces that they showed up on.
Their aim was to reach the Barvin Nebula, on the outskirts of Federation space. A region where sensors would be almost useless, and where the Tolaris could potentially hide for as long as they needed to. For as long as it took for them to rebuild the cloaking device, or to at least find an alternative mode of transport to get them out of Federation space.
But he still had no idea if they would make it that far. Decloaked in the middle of Federation space, it would be a minor miracle if they did.
“I have to be especially sure about you now,” he continued, “Now that Sunek has let us down, and betrayed us all.”
A tear escaped her eye, but she nodded again, feeling shame for ever having brought him aboard in the first place.
“I’m sorry Sokar,” she managed, “I really thought he would be one of us—”
“No matter,” he said, “We will escape, and then we will rebuild. I believe in that. And I will need you at my side, without question.”
He stood and walked over to her where she lay. She saw the determination in his eyes, and she felt the rage building inside her from the meld.
“Yes,” she nodded, “That is where I will be.”
“No matter what I ask you to do?”
“No matter what,” she replied.
“Even if I asked you to kill your husband?”
She surprised even herself with how quickly her response came.
“Yes,” she nodded.
* * * * *
Minister Levok steepled his fingers in front of him, raising an eyebrow at the information that was being presented to him. On the other side of his wide wooden desk, Sub-Minister T’Mar remained stoic and calm, having concluded her report.
They were in a large windowless office, deep in the bowels of the V’Shar’s main headquarters on the Vulcan Homeworld. The walls were dark, the lighting in the room kept low. Just as the minister liked it to be.
While they were a peaceful people, Vulcans also followed a rigorous approach to their own internal security matters, and the room was well shielded from any outside interference. An entirely logical step to take given the sensitivity of what they usually had to deal with.
“I understand,” Minister Levok said eventually, “And there has still been no contact from our agent aboard the vessel?”
“None at all,” T’Mar replied coldly, “The only logical conclusion is that she has been killed, or otherwise incapacitated in some way.”
Minister Levok considered this for a moment. She had been one of his most trusted and longest serving agents, and she still had an extensive family scattered across the Vulcan colonies.
“Unfortunate,” he replied eventually, “Especially given our lack of contact with the vessel since it was picked up on long range sensors by a patrol near the Gallos System.”
“Indeed, Minister,” T’Mar nodded, “However, we have numerous V’Shar ships conducting a full search, and we are coordinating with Starfleet’s own search teams and patrol vessels. We shall find them.”
“That is by no means certain,” he stated, “Nevertheless your report was welcome, Sub-Minister. Please, keep me informed of any developments. And if we do not hear from our agent within the next two days, make preparations to inform her family.”
T’Mar nodded curtly, but she didn’t leave. Not just yet.
“Is there something else I can assist you with?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.
She paused, almost as if she wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted to deliver this additional part of her report to her superior. Even though such a reaction would be deeply illogical.
“There is something else,” she said eventually, placing a padd on the table in front of him. Minister Levok picked up the padd and scanned the details on the screen.
“It is a requisition list,” she explained, slightly unnecessarily, “Additional requirements…for Project Sevik.”
The project name elicited no reaction from Levok.
Doctor Sevik’s private research into emotional purging had been uncovered by the authorities many years ago, and the doctor had indeed been sent into exile, where he had died in disgrace. Or at least, as close as a stoically logical Vulcan got to a state of disgrace.
But while he had been publicly shunned, his years of research lived on, having been seized by the V’Shar for further analysis. After all, it was entirely logical to take time to properly assess the validity of such an intensive study into emotional control. Even if the doctor had unquestionably crossed a moral line with his experiments on actual patients.
Minister Levok considered this as he surveyed the list on the padd.
“Very well,” he replied, “I will see to it that this list is actioned.”
T’Mar nodded, turned around and calmly walked out of the office, leaving Minister Levok alone with his thoughts.
Somewhere deep in the bowels of the V’Shar headquarters, the late Doctor Sevik’s research continued.
* * * * *
He stood on the deck of the ship, feeling faintly ridiculous.
It had been a long time since Sunek had done any sort of meditation. Ever since his emotional breakthrough with the V’tosh ka’tur, he’d always seen meditation as something that only boring stoic Vulcans bothered with.
But something about what he had been through the last few days made him curious about trying it again. And so, instead of spending the rest of the night drinking the rest of Jirel’s prized Antarean brandy, he had retreated to his cabin. And for the first time in a very long time, he had decided to meditate.
Surrounded by the clear, calm waters of the Voroth Sea, he closed his eyes, balancing on the deck below.
He couldn’t say that the meditation had completely cleared his mind, but he was definitely feeling more peaceful. Whether he was Old Sunek, New Sunek, or just plain old Sunek, he was a lot calmer. The anger that Sokar had infected him with seemed to have dissipated.
Maybe I should make this a regular thing, he thought to himself as he relaxed, maybe this’ll do me some good.
He opened his eyes and breathed out. The air was calm, the sea was at peace. He was in perfect balance.
And then he looked up, across the crystal clear waters of the Voroth Sea. And Sunek saw something way off in the far distance that made him feel slightly less balanced.
There was a storm on the horizon.
The End