Chapter Text
Healer Telk asked Tes to sit by the woman’s bedside, nothing more. Her name was Veth, and she was dying. Tes watched Veth’s eyes move restlessly beneath bruised lids, watched her brow crease in fits and starts and wondered where she traveled within her mind that caused such agitation. When the woman awakened with a gasp and reached and grasped her hand Tes did not pull away. Confused about her location, a formless anxiety came through – nothing overwhelming. Then Veth turned her head and saw someone else where Tes sat.
Relief. A wave of affection. She could not take back her hand then.
“You are late returning from the learning center, ko-fu. I needed your assistance in the shop.”
She should have corrected the woman’s misapprehension but could not. “I am here.”
Veth jiggled their entwined hands in playful admonition. “If you wish to retain the privilege of privacy between our minds, T’Surra, you must at least call me and inform me of your status and location.”
Tes swallowed a memory of her own and sent wordless reassurance through her fingertips.
“I could not sense you.” Veth squeezed her eyes closed against insistent pain. “It is distressing for a mother not to sense her child. I thought you were lost – I lost you.”
Memories commingled. A daughter, mouth open in a scream, bond snapped, severed, dead. A daughter late coming home from school, blocking the bond to her mother. Who would not prefer the gentler scenario?
“I am with you now,” Tes reassured her.
When the woman had drifted back into sleep, her breathing steady and her forehead smoothed of trouble, Tes slipped her hand out from between slackening fingers. Sensing Healer Telk behind her she turned. He gestured that she come with him. If he had observed her indulging the woman’s delusions…
It was only her third time volunteering at the hospice and now she might not be allowed to do so again.
In his office, she stood stiffly, waiting to be lectured and dismissed, but he offered her a chair instead.
“Veth believed you to be her daughter T’Surra. You did not correct her. Why?”
“Apologies, Healer—”
“Do not apologize. Explain your reasoning.”
“It seemed unnecessary and cruel, Healer.” Her chin came up. She looked him in the eye. “I did not claim to be her daughter. I merely assured her that I was present and listening.”
Telk’s features relaxed around the eyes and mouth, and he nodded. “Your reasoning was sound. If you are interested in pursuing the healing arts, there are several vocational pathways as professional assistant or surgical aide for example. I can offer training for those vocations here. But if you wish to become a medical healer such as myself you will be required to attend a medical school off world. New Vulcan will sponsor you.”
Yes! Yes, she wanted this. She knew before he’d finished speaking. But there were obstacles to consider.
“I am Sinti Clan Trazhu.”
“Do Clan Trazhu not believe in healers?” The question was rhetorical. At least his tone did not hold the mocking bias that she’d heard in others.
“Healers exist. It is not a question of belief.”
But there were no medically certified healers amongst Clan Trazhu. They had people skilled in traditional healing of course, but any education that required a prolonged absence from the family was simply – not done. Yet it seemed many prohibitions no longer applied to the Sinti women of Hellguard.
Prisu had left with Talu with no plans to return.
Her cousins Vareshi and Pikli, along with T’Izhlen from the Valencia now lived with Velwhi’s grandfather and all their children with more on the way. It was not a small house, but it was always noisy and untidy when she called. Pikli was pregnant with twins.
Her aunt Balev married a man outside the clan who farmed vegetables. They offered these and other goods every tenday at the Commons market. She’d seen her just this morning arranging peppers in a pleasing display with little cousin Saavik on her hip.
Tes was not yet 15. She still lived with Sanvi and Sasav, watched the children when they worked, prepared meals, kept the house neat. Prisu’s departure had not been favorably received. But when Tes left it would be with the understanding that she would return. Her family would see reason. Eventually. And if not, she would remind them she was guided by the tenets Spock set for her.
Telk gazed at her expectantly.
“If I might be allowed to continue my volunteer status until I reach my majority in eighty-eight days, I could begin training at that time.”
“That is acceptable,” Healer Telk said.
It was probably presumptuous of her to think that he seemed pleased. But the presumption made the walk home lighter.
***
Before Spock, the only things Jiekh knew about the “Sisters of the Lost Cause” were that they were radicals with traitorous ideas, had brutal tongues to go with their swords and could easily kill with either. Their uncompromising devotion to honesty was anathema to Romulan culture.
So, it seemed odd that an order of Qowat Milat would run a foundling home, let alone in a little town like Pirpae on a backwater planet like Artaleirh.
The first thing Sister Sindari said to him (with her sword to his throat) was, “You disguise yourself as a Norther. Why?”
He’d been living with the brow-ridge implants for over a year by then, no longer surprised at his own image in reflective surfaces. Speak truth to them, Spock told him, though it goes against every instinct for self-preservation you have.
“To accomplish my task.”
“Which is?”
“To find and reunite children with their mothers.”
Eight of the children at that first visit were half-Vulcan. He matched them to maternal DNA files in his trusty tablet. One boy around ten years of age had Perren’s unruly curls and sad eyes.
He owed Perren his life. If she hadn’t suggested asylum, he’d be dead. And though there was a time not long ago he’d wished he were dead, finding those eight children had greatly motivated him to continue the search.
Later, too late to do anything about it, Sindari showed him identical moles on three of her most recent half-Vulcan foundlings, all in the same exact location – 2.5 centimeters below the right armpit (with the arm raised), offset 1.75 centimeters to the left.
A quick scan showed these to be identifying markers for test subjects, like those used in health studies. Likely a means of relaying instructions as well, possibly embedded with sleeper activation codes or even more worrying, a way to “deactivate” the subject should it prove necessary. Any closer examination of the markers risked alerting Tal Shiar (if they weren’t already aware). It was reasonable to assume all the children of Hellguard were similarly tagged and they just hadn’t noticed.
Twenty children had already been moved, singly or in twos and threes via a remarkably straightforward network of Qowat Milat houses, foreign merchants and ships-for-hire traversing outposts along the neutral zone. After that, a rescue and recovery organization was supposed to ferry them into Federation space. He had yet to receive confirmation on the two most recent “packages.” And hadn’t been in communication with the Elder Spock in over a year now.
This morning he sits next to a child in a driverless groundcar headed to Caranam’s spaceport. The boy is called Sajvei – Puppy. He is nine years old. Jiekh bought him from a procurer in the Shortside warrens.
There are strict laws against the sexual exploitation of children, conviction of which could result in a prolonged and painful execution. But there was no deterrent strong enough to overcome some compulsions.
“When we are in public, you will refer to me as Daz, your family’s House warden.”
The boy continues to look out the window as if he hasn’t heard.
“Do you understand?” Silence. “I need your acknowledgment.”
Finally, a nod. Resigned. He’s done this before. Pretended for an adult intent on abuse.
“You’re expecting to be ill-used, I know. This is how the universe appears to operate so far in your short life. My intentions are not what you anticipate, but I don’t expect you to believe it, so I offer you information.” He opens the files on his tablet to the one matching Sajvei’s sampled DNA to that of his mother.
The boy looks in apathetic obedience for a short time, then closer – a slow blink of long lashes over smoke gray eyes. His narrow shoulders stiffen. He waves a hand at the screen. “Is that supposed to be my mother? She is Vulcan.”
“As are you. On your mother’s side.”
The boy scoffs, turns to look out the window again. “Does that make me worth more or less?”
Jiekh closes his eyes against an assault of emotion that won’t help either of them right now. He tables it for further examination later as he’s been taught. Takes a few steadying breaths.
“You were conceived on an outpost in a system near the border between our space and that claimed by the Federation. You spent the first four years of your life in a research facility in Ki Baratan and the next four in an institute for re-education. And after that, in circumstances that break my heart. But you are the son of the woman most dear to me, therefore you are my son. I will never harm you and I will not allow anyone else to harm you again. Not ever.”
The boy stares at him viciously for a moment, wanting to believe, unwilling to believe. Jiekh resigns himself to the fact that he may never believe.
But this is T’Maru’s child. He’ll bring the boy back to her himself. Together, they will show him a bright future.
***
Prisu ran to the cockpit and slipped into the pilot’s seat, running pre-flight checks, and ignoring as best she could the hissing breathes and padding footfalls of one hundred and thirty Daihe Zuqi youth moving swiftly up the ramp and into the hold. It only seemed loud she told herself, the combined effects of the need for subterfuge, and a night sky overcast at ninety-eight percent.
It was the third such operation in which she participated as part of the core team since joining the Interplanetary Rescue and Recovery Alliance.
Two minutes and forty-eight seconds left to get everyone loaded in the hold and buckled down before she had to power up the systems. Another ninety seconds, at least, to—
“Yebbi’s got our guests settled in, snug as bugs in rugs,” Mustafa said, sliding his bulk into the co-pilot’s chair. Normally she would have questioned the odd statement and they would have had an interesting exchange regarding idioms, but he started running his own systems checks and there was no time for that either.
“We are systems go,” Prisu said quickly, powering up before he could finish. Talu glanced sharply at her then buckled herself into the ops seat just behind Mustafa.
“I think we can spare twenty seconds for standard pre-flight protocols,” he said.
“We cannot.”
She felt the pressure of both pairs of eyes on her as the small ship lifted and balanced on a cushion of air. As soon as the bay’s aperture opened to allow the ship exit and ascent, alarms began to sound, jarring, alerting the militants to their departure.
They had expected alarms. Accounted for them. Her current sense of urgency was due to reasons her companions had not anticipated. Or had any prior notification about.
“What have you done, Prisu?”
Best to answer with a statement of fact. “It is dangerous to store thermally unstable compounds near plasma weapons.”
“Oh, hell no,” Mustafa breathed, eyes and hands flying over controls now.
“Dukhra Daihe could not be allowed to keep the weapons.” This was obvious. They could not in good conscience disagree with her on the matter.
“They can’t even access the cache until the Orions get their payment! Which, by the way, we have successfully liberated and are snug as bugs in rugs!”
“There is no need to raise your voice.”
“And now we’ll have Orions and Daihe rebels on our butts for the rest of eternity!”
“Again. You need not shout. We are sitting sixty-six centimeters apart.”
“What is the estimated time this explosion will occur?” Talu asked, words quick and over-enunciated, which was somehow worse than Mutasfa’s yelling.
“Ninety seconds.”
“Aaaand … they’re shooting at us.”
This had also been anticipated. The targeting systems relied too much on visibility which was why the weather was so fortuitous. Even so, near misses lit up the clouds through the view shields as the ship continued its ascent. Mustafa accused the ship of being purposefully slow. He told it to haul ass, then apologized, then begged and called it “baby” and “darling.”
His anxiety was irrational. Talu had disabled the rebels’ motley assortment of scout ships. There was little chance of a speedy pursuit. The destruction of the weapons cache was the only alteration to the plan.
The ship had just breached the stratosphere when the weapons cache exploded and gobbled up a section of the darkness below. In the weighty silence that followed, Prisu busied herself with escaping the planet’s gravity. She did not have to look at Talu to read her disappointment, so she offered reassurance.
“The Dukhra forces were likely still underground. There should be no resulting fatalities.”
Neither of her companions seemed reassured, though mission outcomes were considered most successful when no loss of life occurred. Another fact would support her assertion.
“The cache was 28.447 kilometers from their stronghold,” she said, yet neither seemed content.
Mustafa’s expression she interpreted as controlled fury. Reasonable justification for her actions was required. “Fewer weapons of torment and destruction in the quadrant seemed to me an optimal outcome for very little effort.”
“You think that’s why we’re pissed off?”
“Destruction of the weapons cache was not figured into the original cost-risk analysis of this specific operation,” Talu said. “Your actions were reckless.”
“Successful,” Prisu argued. She saw an opportunity and took it. Talu shook her head and turned back to her station.
“Here’s the deal, bebeğim.” Mustafa leaned sideways into her space – an action that would have severely disrupted her composure five years ago. “You put the people we’re trying to help in terrible and totally unnecessary danger. You risked the success of this operation to pursue your own agenda. If you pull anything like this ever ever again, I’ll have to cut you loose. Got it?”
Context was everything. She did not ask him to explain the expression. Nor did she waste any more time defending her choices. “I… got it.”
“Good. Now. Let’s get these kids back to their families.”