Saveron

((Zell’s Quarters - Deck 6)) Zell: Just a moment! :: Another deep breath and a gaze out of the window later, he walked over and pushed the button to allow entry. The doors slid open… :: ::To reveal the only Brekkian Betazoid hybrid on the ship. She was wearing her gold tank-top and her black slacks and boots, her arms were crossed, and she was practically glaring at the Trill. But she smiled that angelic smile that told you “You’re in trouble”.:: Blake: Well Mister “I’m going to suddenly disappear off the face of the universe and then return without so much as saying “Hi” to his girlfriend”, you’ve got a lot of explaining to do. :: Once again, Deven was aghast at the situation. He'd barely thought about the incident on the Bridge and remembered he'd planned to sleep on it before asking to talk with her... but that plan was now shot. He was scrambling in his head to find something to respond will... :: Zell: I guess I do... ::She practically pushed past the Trill, and stood in the middle of the room, staring out the window, until she finally turned around to face him, the glare gone. Her arms seemed to be crossed uncomfortably as she stood there, looking at him.:: Blake: Look, if you didn’t want to be with me, you could have just . . . *told* me! I’ve been rejected for almost all my relationships, and another one isn’t likely to hurt anymore. Just tell me to my *face* that you don’t like being with me instead of disappearing and leaving me in a complete and utter *mess*! :: The lashing out was expected. Thankfully the medication had worn off a bit more which allowed Deven to think a bit more, but he was now very scared... he had no idea how to explain the situation. :: Zell: That's not what happened at all... Blake: Then where the hell did you go?! Why didn’t you tell me you left the ship!? The *least* you could have done was leave a note somewhere on the system where I could have found it! :: If he'd been the man he was once, there wouldn't have been a hesitation. This time, though, he second-guessed every word he wanted to say. It showed in his eyes as they darted around the room. The uncomfortable shifts in weight and the heavy breathing kicked in next. He tried to look her in the eyes but kept trying to focus elsewhere. :: ::The fact that he hesitated and tried not to think was proof that he didn’t want to talk about it. She sighed, and wrapped her arms around his neck, her nose lightly rubbing against his.:: Blake: Just . . . tell me that I am *not* dreaming that you’re here, and that you are actually here? Please? :: Deven felt the same way... it wasn't until that moment that he felt he was really back and in Sky's presence. He relaxed and instinctively wrapped his arms around her, and then remembered she was in a fragile state. His touch was tender but also caring. :: Zell: I'm here... but... :: He closed his eyes to think of the words, but before he could say anything else a cool burst of air hit his left side. Deven jerked his eyes to the origin of the coldness and saw him... again. :: Fitzpatrick: ~~You left us Lieutenant...~~ :: The green-collared terran was pale with dark, sunken eyes. His uniform was in torn in several places and an obvious burn left the man's right side badly disfigured. Deven's heart began beating and the heavy breathing started again. His hands clenched into fists as the terror took hold. :: Fitzpatrick: ~~You left your post!~~ :: The Trill shut his eyes and let go of Sky. He dropped to his knees and started to hyperventilate as he tried to silence the Marine. :: Zell: NO! NOT AGAIN! WHY WON'T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE!?!? :: A sudden contraction from his stomach signaled he needed to get out, and Deven ran to the bathroom. The sounds of regurgitation were deafening. After it was over, the Trill fell back with his back against the bulkhead and sobbed with head in hands. Then he remembered Sky was still there. He looked over and there she was. :: Blake: Deven? Deven look at- Zell: ::crying:: I don't want to see them any more... ::The fact that he had flipped out back in the lounge was proof that something was wrong on its own, as was the sudden vomiting for no apparent reason. Now it was hitting far too close to home. Once upon a time, it was Deven in Sky’s position, trying to help the party that was hurt. Now it was the other way around, and this was no dream at all. This happened when they were both wide awake. She knelt down to his position.:: Blake: Deven, *look at me*. Don’t look at anything else, just look at *me* :: He hesitated but finally complied, Blake: Who’d you see? Zell: I... ::sniffle:: I can't talk about it. They said I couldn't talk about it... classified by Intelligence. Blake: oO [...]ed SFI. They’re ruining my life! Oo Look, if you can’t tell me who he is, describe him for me. Was he angry with you, was he trying to kill you, was he trying to touch you? Hell, picture him in your mind so *I* can see him if you want to. Zell: ::still breathing heavily:: No, I can't Sky. It's too much... Blake: Deven, I’m right here. He can’t hurt you, not when I’m right here. :: The memories were beginning to emerge again... and it took everything he had to stop thinking about it. Random images of consoles spattered with blood, a small room flooded with red light, klaxons blaring at different tones and intervals... it was all so horrible that it seemed more surreal than real. :: Zell: He didn't... I mean, I couldn't... it was just so... :: Deven just trailed off and continued breathing fast. :: Blake: He wants your attention. He wants to feel your fear when you look at him. You *can’t* give it to him, otherwise it will just worse. Now you need to slow down you’re breathing, you need to relax, and just focus on me. Zell: I'll try... ::And at that, she practically dove into his mind to face a complete mess of a Trill. Through his eyes, everything seemed that little bit scarier, and his thinking process was marginally worse than what it had been when he’d last been with her. Most things were still blocked for some reason or another, but the ideas were more clear.:: Zell: Did you see? Blake::She sighed.:: I think I’ve got a pretty good idea. StarFleet Intelligence or Security knock on your door when we’re on that diplomacy mission, you leave in perfect condition, told not to tell anyone or contact them – and I know you, you would have left a note at *least*. Something bad happens while you’re with them, something to do with the person you’re seeing, scaring and scarring you. You start seeing things, dreaming things that you don’t want to dream that turn into nightmares, and the only support that you got was from counselors that you didn’t know, and doctors giving you medication that you know nothing about or still don’t understand, more or less making the situation worse. You come back to the Mercury, for whatever reason I don’t know, still in bad shape mentally. ::There was a pause.:: Did I get it right? Zell: ::finally calming down:: I think you have the basics... Blake: Good. I’ll make your explanation for leaving. ::She grinned.:: Come on, let’s get you up. I think you’ve had a long trip – might be time to sleep. Zell: You're probably right. :: Before she could help him up, an automated message came through the Brekkian/Betazoid's comm badge. :: Computer: =/\= Emergency, Chief of Security report to Strategic Operations Office. =/\= Blake: Response :: Deven forced a smile. He was a mess now on both the outside and in his head, but at least he knew he had some help. :: Zell: It's ok. I'll clean myself up and go to sleep. Blake: Response :: She leaned in a kissed him on the cheek before rushing out the door. Deven, now alone again, took a few more deep breaths. He sighed aloud before once again talking to himself. :: Zell: Threw up in front of a beautiful woman... classy as ever Deven. Classy as ever... TBC Lt. Sky Blake Chief of Security USS Mercury and Ltjg. Deven Zell Chief Operations Officer USS Mercury

((Menthar Anchorage, A Seedy No Name Bar)) Harrigan: And what brings you to the Menthar Anchorage, Tobias Walker? Walker: Oh, just taking in the sights... ::If 'the sights' meant the bottom of his glass then he was certainly speaking the truth. Karen was looking for some of those sights herself.:: Harrigan: Did you see Starfleet are aboard? I get the feeling they're here to ruin our day... Walker: Yeah, I saw them come aboard, not one much for worrying about them, though. ::It was out of the corner of her eye that Karen saw movement on the floor. With a suspicious expression, she tried to get a clearer look, craning her neck to see over one of the intervening tables. She could see a tail disappearing out of sight.:: Harrigan: Ugh. Just what I need. This place is infested. You see that? Walker: Yeah, I saw that too... Any idea what is was? ::The barman put her burger and a drink down on the table in front of her, and she immediately seized the beer bottle, downing half of it.:: Harrigan: It looked like a mouse or a rat. I don't know, whatever it was, it better not come near me. ::She looked at her fork, which looked sharp enough to drive into a rodent's skull.:: Walker: Yeah, I think I will go check it out... ::Walker stood, a strange chirp emanating from him, followed by a session of him fiddling with something that looked like it could be in the top pocket of his overcoat. Again, Karen found herself craning her neck to see what was going on.:: Walker: =/\= This is Walker, say again... =/\= ::No response:: =/\= Walker to the Mercury =/\= ::Still more silence:: =/\= Walker to the away team =/\= ::Away Team? Wait, he wasn't getting something from his pocket, he had a badge attached to his chest!:: Harrigan: ::Disbelieving:: You're Starfleet... Walker: Yeah, did the com badge give it away? Harrigan: You might as well have had that triangle thing you use as a symbol painted on your face. Away team? You got people sweeping the station? Walker: I'm not here to ruin anyone's day, but rather just get on with mine and get in touch with my ship... Any idea what the hell is going on right now? ::Maybe it was her newly heightened suspicions about Walker, or just the fact that she'd had time for her natural thought process to work through the alcohol-induced fog, but the first things that flashed into her mind at that question was that tail, disappearing out of sight. It looked awfully familiar. Could it have been...?:: ::No. Surely the Ferengi couldn't have been that stupid...:: Harrigan: I hope I don't, but I'm starting to thing we should go see the owners. Walker: Something must be playing willy nilly with the power grid to keep a signal from coming through... Can you get a hold of your ship? ::She tapped at a button on her cuff.:: Harrigan: =/\= Harrigan to the Hornet, come in please. =/\= ::A quick answer came in the form of some sparks shooting from one of the bulkheads as the lights quickly dimmed. Karen leapt about a mile off her seat, partly through shock and partly through anger, as she saw another rat scurry frantically from one side of the bar to the other in plain sight.:: Harrigan: FRACK! Frack that stupid, witless, tangerine beach ball of a tube grub!!! Walker: Response ::She locked eyes with Walker... sort of. She managed to hold his gaze for about a couple of seconds before having to blink herself back from dizziness.:: Harrigan: Oh no, no, no... you keep your Starfleet ears out of this. This ain't my fault. I just... ::she paused covering her mouth for a barely concealed burp.:: Walker: Response ::Turning towards the bar, Karen grabbed her half-empty beer bottle and yanked the burger off her plate, sending scratty pieces of salad flying in several directions. As one of the blackened onion rings toppled off the plate, a little furry visitor poked his face out from a gap between two of the panels on the bar and dragged it back inside, leaving only a greasy smear as evidence that it was ever there.:: Harrigan: Don't worry, Starfleet. I'm going to fix this. Fix it real good. ::She stormed a few paces towards the door before realising she was still ravenous, and so stopped to take a large bite from the burger.:: Walker: Response Harrigan: I'm going to go and visit the fat slug who got me into all this, and I'm going to insert some of his merchandise where even the rains of Ferenginar won't be able to reach. ::She downed the rest of the beer and threw the bottle at the wall, hoping it would break. Instead, it just clattered to the floor with a loud chime, leaving her feeling distinctly disappointed.:: GOLT! Walker: Response Harrigan: Oh, you are more than welcome to tag along. Just do me a favour and make sure I don't kill him! ::Again, she was in motion, purposefully headed towards the exit. When she found herself instead bumping into one of the couches a few feet to the left of the door, she stopped, confused, and turned to plant a hand on Walker's shoulder.:: Harrigan: Maybe you could help me get to the top of the promenade? Walker: Response TAG/TBC PNPC Karen Harrigan Freighter Captain SS Hornet as SIMmed by Captain Tallis Rhul Commanding Officer USS Mercury NCC-99812

The Celtic tradition of handfasting follows that concept. A couple were handfasted for a year and a day and at the end of that time they were either married or, providing there had been no children, could choose to go their seperate ways. I think it's very sensible.

Congratulations, welcome to the fleet.

Congratulations on your graduation and welcome to the fleet.

Exactly. One's emotions should not be permitted to affect one's actions and descisions. Embrace logic!

Fascinating. Presumably the medical tests are to ensure that a) neither have any STDs or in the case of cross-species marriages are likely to cause each other physical damage during sexual intercourse and that any children resulting from the union would be healthy. It's interesting that no mention is made of the sexes of those involved, but the assumption appears to be one male, one female based on the clause about genetic deficiencies and children. I would assume that by that time in the future the sex of those involved would not be an issue and that same-sex unions would be quite normal, and of course there are species such as the Andorians who have four sexes. Hmm, another interesting point. How might these regulations recognise relationships involving more than two individuals, given that one of the five founding species of the Federation requires unions between four individuals? There is also the whole question of extra-marital relationships and species who make their own arrangements, e.g. Vulcans. "Marriage contract? Who needs a marriage contract. We're bonded."

Congratulations and welcome to the fleet!

I really enjoyed reading this piece, and I love the way it feels like a snapshot onto so many larger stories. It leaves me wanting to know the rest of it!

Welcome to the fleet! Yes, medical officers don't bite, we just catch people unawares with hyposprays.

(( Deck 8,Parkers' Office )) :: Even during shore leave, there were always things to do...it seems the paperwork never stops and you never catch up to it. After a two hour workout and a quick shower, Hannibal was now tackling the assortment of PADDS on his desk...Breen and Tholian intelligence reports, ships' supply status, fuel consumption reports...all awaiting his signature and approval. He decided to take care of ships' business first, then get to the intelligence reports. When his door chime rang, he was surprised...he had not seen Maya in two days, and he hoped it was her. With great eagerness he shouted at ther door...:: Parker: COME! To Parker's surprise, it was Sky...and from what she was wearing, there was no longer any doubt about her condition...she was pregnant...and he was instantly furious....if he had known Sky was pregnant, he would have neveer allowed her to go down to that asteroid....he instantly began to growl at her for keeping this from him for so long. He got up from his desk and began to walk towards her..he wanted her to look him in the eyes and tell him who he was going to kill for this transgression.....:: Blake: Before you go and rip the child out of my womb, or choke the life out of Alix, you’ve got a few things that you need to know. Parker:: enraged:: HIM! YOU CARRY HIS CHIILD?!!! I'M GOING TO STAKE HIM TO THE NEAREST BULKHEAD AND SKIN HIM ALIVE! :: Parker turned abruptly away from Sky, realising how hard this must be for her. He growled again before turning back towards her. The coffee mug he was holding shattered in his hand, the remainder of his coffee now on the floor..:: Parker: Just how far along are you? Why didn't you tell anyone? Why didn't you tell me? :: Parker would never admit it, but he cared deeply for Sky, and he would have protected her even more than he already had...and he would have killed that slimy [...] a lot sooner than he would have...:: Blake: I’m three months pregnant – fifteen, sixteen weeks. The reason I didn’t tell anyone is because I was afraid of what everyone might do. So far, you’re the only one that’s had a negative opinion. Parker: I do not have a negative opinion of you being pregnant...I have a negative, brutally homocidal feeling towards the father of your child...I am going to make him suffer mightily before he dies...some of the things you have done since you were pregnant could have ...caused you to lose your child, Sky...I will kill him for putting you in this position, inpregnating you, sneaking out like a thief in the night...Where is the little pe'taq? I hope you have said your goodbyes to him...soon he will be breathing vacuum....I'm going to.... Blake: I’m not finished. ::She snapped.:: The child inside of me is very much alive. Take her father away from me, and I will find a way to make you pay. :: Parker was little concerned about her threat..she was oh for two in the attempting to kill him department...:: Parker: Did you say....her? Blake: Yes, *her*. ::She said lightly.:: The baby is a girl. :: Parker had never had much exposure to babies, or children for that matter. He still felt an attraction to her, but not the overwhelming desire to immediately bed her. Parker wasn't jealous, but part of him wanted that baby to be his...a very small part of him. He had Maya. He had Kamela. And Sky had....this baby...and part of him. The baby would give her someone to love, who would never leave her in the middle of the night...and he would protect them both. Parker allowed himself mentally to open himself to her..to let her know he would be there to protect her and the baby. He walked up to her, and gently put his massive arms around her, then lightly kissed her. He looked into her eyes for a few more seconds, then they both broke the hold..the last thing that needed to happen right then was for Maya to walk in and see them that way...:: ::There was another pause. Sky thought during it; a baby girl. A girl that was currently the size of a large apple, but would grow. A daughter that she would, naturally, love and treasure. ::Parker’s thoughts floated into hers, and then she looked up. Gently, he put his arms around her and kissed her lightly. Parker: I am happy for you Sky..very happy.... ::So he lead her over to a chair and sat her down, and turned to the replicator.:: Parker: Want something to drink? Blake: Not at the moment. Why? Parker: I'm getting something...I kinda destroyed my last drink.... ::Kinda was an understatement. It was still on the floor in pieces. Blake: Yeah. ::She paused.:: You certainly had a reaction, didn’t you. ::He growled again, and got somewhat of a horrible smelling drink, and sat down across from her.:: Blake: I want your word that you won’t hurt Alix. Parker: You want what? ::Sky rolled her eyes.:: Blake: I want your word that you won’t touch Alix. Parker: Dammit Sky...I do not trust him...I do not like him...never did... Blake: If we were married and on the Ronin or Earth, you wouldn’t be saying that. Parker:: growling:: You have my word. I will not kill him.. ~~Allright,maybe wound him just a little..~~ Blake: Parker . . . Parker: Allright...he stays completely intact. I...won't harm a hair on him.... ::He went over to his desk and opened a draw, pulling out a box. He walked back to Sky, and handed it to her.:: Parker: Do not allow Kitty to eat it..... ::Don’t allow . . . what? Instinctively, she cautiously opened, the box, still eyeing him as she wasn’t exactly sure what would come out. That “what” was white Brekkian chocolate. It didn’t look replicated, it didn’t smell replicated, and knowing Parker, it probably *wasn’t* replicated. She smiled and laughed.:: Blake: Where the hell did you find this stuff? Parker: I got it on 375. It was supposed to be another gift for you taking over Security, but i nevr got a good time to give it to you. Until now.... Blake: Do you *know* how much of this stuff I’ve gone through since I found out I was pregnant? Parker::smiling:: Most likely a bunch... :: Sky laughed again, shook her head, then put hte lid back on the box..:: Blake: Look, I just . . . I just want your support. Parker: Sky..I've been protecting you a while now..that will not change....I would kill to protect you and the baby. You know that....

Congratulations and welcome ot the fleet.

Congratulations! Welcome to the fleet and I hope you enjoy your new sims.

For those who like to get the full story, this links in with other competition entries I've written, The Price We Pay and She Comes Back to Tell Me She's Gone written for Flashback Week.

It is often said that Vulcans have no emotions; it is a common misconception. The emotionless state is the ideal, but with the exception of those talented and dedicated individuals who achieve Kohlinar, it could not be further from the truth. Vulcans have extremely powerful emotions, with which they do battle on a daily basis, lest they be consumed by them. Perhaps Vulcans themselves are wont to lay claim to this emotionless state as the ultimate in wishful thinking; if it is said sufficiently often, perhaps it will come to pass. Just as it is said that Vulcans do not lie, this is exactly the kind of lie that Vulcans tell. And most of all they lie to themselves. ((27th floor corridor, Temok-Sbah Residential Complex, ShirKahr, Vulcan)) “Do you derive some form of satisfaction from flaunting our peoples’ traditions?” The clipped, precise voice echoed slightly in the otherwise empty corridor. Saveron stopped, the charcoal folds of his robe swirling around his ankles as he turned to face the voice that had sounded behind him. Serok. He had only seen the man twice before, and once had been earlier that day, when the man had passed briefly through the apartment that he with his bond-mate T’Rel. That was something they had in common, regrettably. T’Rel had been hosting the family in recognition of their daughter S’Rel’s graduation from the Vulcan Academy of Science; she had achieved a PhD in Astrophysics. They had been joined by their son Teron, his bond-mate T’Rayel and their newborn daughter T’Nai. Saveron had held his first grand-child. To the external observer the scene - with young Saavok peering over his father’s shoulder with interest at his young niece and T’Rel talking quietly with their other children - would have seemed the perfect Vulcan family gathering. But to the casual observer, the rift in that image would not have been visible. It had been felt however. T’Rel was serene and controlled as ever but to Saveron, who had been bonded to her for forty-nine years, she had been tense. That tension had increased, had spread to the rest of the family, when Serok had arrived. Forty-nine years, but no more, and he was the reason. He had declined to join them and left shortly afterwards, and the previous peaceful air had returned, or nearly. No Vulcan would own up to there having been a mood of quiet contentment, but the mood that hadn’t been there had been broken. Saveron and T’Rel had discussed Saavok’s schooling, and agreed that given the undecided nature of Saveron’s future posting the child would remain with his mother for the interim. Then Saveron had touched his palm briefly to that of each of his children – conveying in silence what could not be said in words – and had departed. He would never touch T’Rel again. And the reason had called out to him down that empty corridor. Grey eyes flicked over the other man’s frame. He was classically Golic; tanned skin, dark hair in the stereotypical cut, dark eyes. He wore temple robes as T’Rel did, they were of the same culture, the same convictions and both now Temple initiates; the perfect couple. He was the only hiccup in that picture. “To derive satisfaction from such a pointless activity would be illogical.” Saveron replied, endeavouring to fathom Serok’s purpose in asking the question. “I do not ‘flaunt’ our traditions, I do what is logical and necessary.” Serok approached on quiet feet. There was an intensity in his gaze and, oddly, a flush to his cheeks. There was a stiffness to his movements, almost a stalk. He had seemed restless in that brief period he had passed through the apartment as well, but Saveron didn’t know the man, had no desire to know the man, and could not judge whether that was his normal demeanour. “On the contrary, you abandon your peoples for aliens and their customs. Do not deny it.” Serok returned. “The pursuit of knowledge is the only defence against ignorance and chaos; that pursuit has taken me beyond Vulcan.” Saveron acknowledged. “But to embrace further learning does not imply a rejection of what has gone before.” He endeavoured to determine the logic behind the other man’s sudden accusations, but could not. Was the flaw in his thinking, or in Serok’s? The man did not look well. Some sort of brain fever perhaps? Saveron debated alerting emergency medical staff. Serok allowed for no such move however as he stepped forward, right into Saveron’s personal space and right up in his face. He might have tried to loom over the other man but Saveron was far taller if thinner, typical of the Nel-Gathic peoples. Serok’s behaviour was entirely different from what Saveron had expected; the man was an initiate of the strictest mental order on Vulcan, the Temple of Gol. Like T’Rel he should be preparing for the Kohlinar. This was not the serene, logical behaviour he had come to associate with such. “It does not imply it but for you it involves it.” Serok snapped. “I know of your lack of conviction, of your rejection of the Temple.” That would be from T’Rel. “You are v’tosh ka’tur!” If he’d been human it would have been an appropriate time to use the phrase ‘Them’s fightin’ words.’ To declare another a Vulcan Without Logic was a deliberate and grievous insult. But despite Serok’s claims he was Vulcan; just not the kind of Vulcan that Serok and T’Rel were. “It is you who lack logic.” Saveron replied in a flat monotone. But the penny had dropped. Saavok was, after all, six years old and T’Rel had neglected to tell Saveron that she was pregnant when he left because she’d thought the child wasn’t his. “Go and see T’Rel, I cannot talk with you at this time. When you are more logical I will debate Temple discipline versus the IDIC principle if you so wish.” Not that he had any desire to do so. Serok was everything he was not – no doubt the reason he appealed to T’Rel – and Saveron could only see them disagreeing. Saveron found no appeal in the numbness to the world’s wonder that lay with Kohlinar, and Serok would never agree that when they had embraced logic they had lost something. Saveron held an appreciation for certain aspects of life prior to Surak’s Awakening, even as the violence they had indulged in was abhorrent. He felt a particular resonance with his distant ancestor, a man known as Valoren Silver Eyes; musician, poet, lover, Warlord of the Ayein Clan; more so now than ever. He would never have stood for Serok’s insults. Saveron favoured Serok with a flat look, sometimes referred to by his colleagues as the ‘Vulcan Stink Eye’, then spun on his heel, intending to put an end to this encounter before it went any further. But Serok had other ideas. As he turned, Saveron felt a hand close on his elbow, the grip hard enough to make the bones grind, and something in him snapped. His wife, his children, his comfortable life on Vulcan had all been lost in an instant, because of this man. This arrogant Golic caricature of strength without substance and logic without meaning, he was everything that Saveron found disagreeable in the dominant Vulcan culture. He dared to talk to him about tradition? Millennia ago his ancestor had stood and faced enemies far greater and more terrible, and had suffered no insult, taking from them all they held dear, including their lives. There were paintings in the Cultural Museum in Kal-an depicting such scenes, and people looked at Saveron oddly when he stood too close; he bore an uncanny resemblance to his ancestor. Perhaps that was why he felt such a connection. In that instant it felt as though Valoren Silver Eyes was with him, guiding his hand as his deep fury, nursed over seven years, broke loose. As Serok’s hand closed on his arm Saveron spun with an animal snarl and caught the other man by the throat, lifting him bodily and slamming him into the wall with a thud like a piece of meat, pinning him there and leaning all his weight on Serok’s throat, denying him the thin Vulcan air. It was his fault T’Rel had left him, his fault that he had lost all that he held dear, his fault that the Temple was staffed by the blind and unbending, by priests and priestesses who spent so much time looking inwards that all they heard in their minds was their own hollow denials of their own natures, rather than look out and see the wonder of the universe. It was Serok’s fault that Saveron had to follow his beloved half-way around the planet to live amongst a people who didn’t understand him, who rejected his children’s mixed racial heritage, who ultimately had to be left behind for the even more unfamiliar beyond their world. It was Serok’s fault that Saveron was always drifting, that he never found a home. Saveron’s fury was all-consuming. Pinned against the wall, Serok struggled. He couldn’t grab Saveron to hurt him in turn, the Nel-Gathic man was both taller and longer-limbed and with his elbow locked was beyond the shorter man’s reach, though he tried. Then he tried to prise Saveron’s fingers from his throat, tanned fingers on pale, his nails digging gouges in Saveron’s skin until green started to smear on it, but he could gain no release. A fury drove Saveron that had been tempered by seven years of suppression; it had only grown stronger. “You wish to observe our peoples’ traditions?” Saveron growled, and it was a unique feature of Vulcan physiology – the same which allowed them to pronounce consonants no other species could – that he could talk and growl at the same time. “Then let us do so. Long before logic and Surak and your closed-minded Temple, there were ways of dealing with an argument over a woman.” The rite of kun-ut-kal-if-fee was one of the ancient ways that had survived the Awakening; logic had no place when the blood fever ran riot. Through his grip on Serok’s throat Saveron could feel the other man’s senseless, helpless rage, driven by hormonal changes he could not control. It only fuelled Saveron’s on fury. As green blood trickled over his hand from where Serok’s nails dug into him, Saveron knew that he could end it all right now. Kun-ut-kal-if-fee was enshrined in their peoples’ culture. Yes, it should happen on the formal grounds before a priestess, but it didn’t always. Sometimes it happened like this, in some random location, because two males met and the time was right. There would be no repercussions if he killed Serok now; he had been challenged, he had that right. And as he deprived Serok of precious oxygen he knew that he could do so. Right here, right now. Once, the Nel-Gathic peoples had been chided by Surak’s followers for maintaining their marshal skills in the face of growing logic. Their response was famous. “We do not seek war,” Saveron hissed, quoting a long-dead kinsman, “but he that would bring war to us, let him beware.” Serok had underestimated the doctor, to his detriment. With Serok dead he could claim T’Rel, by the very traditions that she held so dear. The woman whom he had never stopped loving, whom he had let go. His love, his life, his family, his home. Grey eyes narrowed as he watched Serok’s face, the man’s lips already turning a deoxygenated brown. Through his skin contact Saveron could feel the other man’s hormone-driven fury fading as his body registered that he was in life-threatening danger. It was an acknowledged fact that loss of such a fight would resolve Pon Farr, it made evolutionary sense. Survival over reproduction; live first, mate later. But Serok was unlikely to survive, through their contact he would perceive that Saveron was in a killing mood. As the drive to fight drained away along with his chances of survival, Serok’s expression turned from anger to fear, both strange on a normally impassive face, and with a sudden shock Saveron realised how young he must be, that in that fearful look he still had the bloom youth about him. Younger than Saveron, younger than T’Rel; perhaps only half their age. This might only be his second time. It would be seven years before it would happen again; would T'Rel thank him? What had drawn T’Rel to him? Or had he been drawn to T’Rel, the gifted priestess, destined for greatness? Had Serok merely been convenient to a woman whose stubbornly moderate bond-mate limited her ability to progress through the Temple’s teachings and hierarchy? Had the man simply been in the right place at the right time? After all, it was almost unfathomable that T’Rel would have chosen him for illogical reasons, like love. In that moment Saveron looked into the other man’s dark, frightened eyes, and could almost feel sorry for him. It wasn’t his fault, none of it was. Some of it was the fault of his and T’Rel’s parents, though they had acted in what they believed was their children’s’ best interests. Some of it was Saveron’s fault, if blame can be placed for simply being true to one’s nature. He was a wanderer, a seeker. So were his children. S’Rel had said as much at her brother’s bonding ceremony; T’Rel did not wish to be left alone, when all of her children went to space. Teron was already in Starfleet, S’Rel could not follow her profession easily from Vulcan and Saavok was as restless and questioning as his father. T’Rel in her logic had predicted the future, and had found it disagreeable. So she had chosen another. And that other now hung from Saveron’s grip, the strength in Serok’s own hands fading as his consciousness soon would. Yes, Valoren Silver Eyes would have finished the other man in an instant, but Saveron was not his ancestor. He appreciated the beauty of their music and the vision of their stories, but not the savagery of their pride. He was not a killer. He was not a killer. With an effort Saveron reined in his anger, his fury. Surak had shown them how to tame the beast, and it had saved their peoples. Seven years ago Saveron had learned of his wife’s preference for Serok. Tradition held that when one of them entered Pon Farr there would be a declaration of kun-ut-kal-if-fee, a challenge, and one of them would die. Saveron had seen no logic in killing or being killed for the sake of a woman who did not want him; he still didn’t. He had elected to be Unbound, to release T’Rel from her commitment to him, rather than face Serok in combat. He still held true to the logic of that decision. “Be grateful that I am not the traditionalist you would have me be.” He said, the same words he had said to T’Rel seven years ago, and let Serok go. The younger Vulcan slid to the floor, relief in his eyes, taking great gasps of air into his lungs. Saveron turned away, striding briskly along the corridor and out, away from Serok, from T’Rel, from any temptation to finish what had been started. As he walked his face was once more a mask, but inside he struggled to restrain the beast he had unleashed, a loss of control that was not certain he could forgive in himself. It was frightening. It had been far too easy. ((Shore Leave Accomodations, Star Fleet Complex, ShirKahr.)) Once he returned to his temporary quarters in the Starfleet shore-leave accommodations Saveron locked the door and immediately began setting up his meditation candles. He would not eat tonight, or sleep. He would meditate and regain the control that was his bastion against the consuming dark. It was a night of struggle and strength, of remorse and resolve, but at last it brought resolution. Morning came, and with it a renewed sense of peace. Saveron was satisfied that he had regained his control, his logic, his emotional suppression. He would not permit the previous day’s events to affect him. He would not. He had told his friend Counsellor Yael that he had resolved himself over the separation from his wife, told his family that he had moved on; he had lied. Most of all he had lied to himself. But despite the disturbing nature of his encounter with Serok, it had brought with it a new measure of peace. He knew now that he could have won the challenge, could have claimed what he had lost, and he had chosen not to. It reaffirmed his old decision whilst at the same time it changed it; changed it from running from a problem to walking away from an act that he could not conscience, leaving Serok and T’Rel to each other and may they find contentment. It was the closing of a door, but with each that closes a new one opens. He did not doubt that T’Rel was right, his children would join him amongst the stars. That was an agreeable prospect. And who knew what fascinations the future might bring? As he replicated his breakfast his PADD beeped, displaying his newly-arrived assignment orders from Starfleet. He would be joining the recently commissioned USS Mercury, under the command of his old XO, Captain Tallis. It was an arrangement that he found… agreeable. As he acknowledged the order and set the PADD aside, he did not smile. But he could have. ----------------- Lieutenant Saveron Medical Officer USS Mercury

Congratulations all and welcome to the fleet.

Congratulations and welcome, or welcome back as the case may be.

Congratulations and welcome! I hope that you enjoy your new postings and your membership in the fleet.

Congratulations and welcome to the fleet! Glad to have you with us.

Congratulations and welcome to the fleet!

Congratulations Cameron, welcome to the fleet.

Wow, a big class. Congratulations all and welcome to the fleet!