Star Trek: Enterprise - Surak's Soul

by J. M. Dillard

  Come on. He was human. And you’re human, too, whether you like it or not. ...

  Archer had invited Trip to make the situation more comfortable; so it wouldn’t seem like he, the captain, was worried about Hoshi and Malcolm, but simply interested in discussing the situation. Trip knew nothing about what the landing party had seen on the planet’s surface; his presence would allow Hoshi and Malcolm to voice what they’d witnessed, and Archer knew well what a sympathetic listener Trip could be.

  “It was pretty hard to take,” Archer was telling Trip, who was leaning forward over a scraped-empty bowl of what had been chili with raw chopped onions, to which Trip had enthusiastically applied the greater part of a bottle of hot [41] pepper sauce. With a combined sense of horror and sympathy indigestion, Archer had watched him consume it swiftly, without pause or watery eyes; in fact, Trip hadn’t even touched his iced tea until after he’d eaten the entire bowl. Now he sipped it leisurely as he listened intently to his commanding officer’s words.

  Archer continued, sawing at a piece of uninspiring, synthesized chicken. “Each time T’Pol detected a life sign, by the time we got there, it was too late. ...” He stopped sawing and sighed, glancing surreptitiously over at Hoshi, hoping she would take the opportunity to open up about how she felt. When she didn’t speak, he kept on. “We ... we made it into a medical facility, where all these people were just sitting together, crowded into a waiting room like cattle. They died like that, just sitting, all of them with calm expressions on their faces, as if they’d just fallen asleep.”

  “Horrific,” Reed sighed, carefully balancing a meatball atop the perfect spaghetti mound he had created. “Like something out of a horror story. Whatever happened to them must have happened too fast for them to fight it. Like an invisible tidal wave, or one of the twenty-first-century designer plagues—so fast, they were alive when they inhaled, and dead by the time they let go the same breath.” He paused to poke the meatball with his fork. “Makes you wonder about life. To think we [42] could all be wiped out, our entire civilization, by something so small even our best microscanners can’t detect it. ... The universe is a damnably harsh place.”

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” Hoshi interrupted at last—her first words during the dinner—and pushed the plate from her. “I just don’t feel like eating.” Archer sensed she was about to stand up and excuse herself, but Trip spoke before she could.

  “I don’t blame you,” he said. “I don’t think I could if I’d witnessed the sort of tragedy you just have. It. was an awful lot to take in ... the loss of so many people at once.” He shot Reed a warning glance. “Don’t listen to the lieutenant here. Things like this don’t happen every day.”

  “An entire world,” Archer added softly. He put down his knife.

  “I have a theory,” Trip said. “The Vulcans are right in one way—”

  Archer ogled him owlishly and said, in an attempt at humor, “Call sickbay. The commander’s feverish.”

  Trip tsked at him, then continued. “No, I’m serious. They’re right in the fact that technology overtook us humans awfully quickly. We went from small villages where everybody knew each other to megacities in a matter of a few centuries—before we had the ability to evolve emotionally tougher hides. Think about it: We’re emotionally designed to live in small groups, where major [43] tragedies are really uncommon. The death of one person—we’re designed to handle that if we’re allowed to properly grieve, and have the support of our community. But all of a sudden, our communications advance to where we not only know what’s going on in our village, we know what’s going on all over the planet—and then the next planet, and the next ... We’re not designed to tolerate all the bad news.”

  “It makes sense.” Archer nodded, hoping to encourage an exchange.

  Hoshi frowned down at her glass of water and pinged it by flicking her forefinger off her thumb. “It does. But what happened still happened. Everyone died, and it’s just that ... we were useless down there.” She looked up at the men and said, almost argumentatively, “I don’t know about you three, sirs, but I came along for this ride because I wanted to make a difference. I wanted to help.”

  “Sometimes no matter what you do, you can’t help,” Trip said. “At least the people lived well, and had a wonderful culture. From what the captain and Malcolm have said, it sounds like they all died peacefully.”

  Hoshi shook her head. “Not one man.”

  “Uggh.” Reed shuddered. “That’s true. He had a ghastly time of it.”

  Archer turned to Trip. “In one of the medical treatment rooms, we found a female survivor—at least, she was alive when we found her. There was [44] a male who’d been standing over her bed—her doctor, maybe—and he’d died and fallen on top of her. When we lifted him up, we saw his face,. ...”

  “It was awful, Commander,” Hoshi said, at last showing some of the anguish she’d been trying to hold in. “His expression was contorted, as if he’d been angry, so angry at something, and so tormented by it. ...”

  The remembered image filled Archer with sadness; at the same time, he felt a sudden inspiration as to how to encourage Hoshi. “It was a horrible thing to have to see. That’s why I’m glad we have you, Hoshi. All their logs, including those we found in that hospital room—you’ll be able to help solve the mystery.”

  “But it’s too late to help them, sir,” Hoshi countered miserably. “That was my point. ...”

  “Maybe,” Archer” interjected. “But the records they left will help others, might stop the same thing from happening again. You’ll be helping them leave a legacy.”

  At that, Hoshi lifted her chin and gave him an appreciative look. “Thank you, Captain. You know, you really shouldn’t worry about me. I’ll be all right once I get to work. Besides, it had to have been just as hard on you to see what we did.”

  Archer felt a hint of a wry smile make its way to his lips.

  Reed leaned forward, watching the captain [45] expectantly, apparently hoping for similar encouragement; Archers smile became fixed as he gave Reed a little shrug. The smile vanished quickly as the door opened.

  T’Pol’s slender form appeared in the hatchway.

  “Come in,” Archer said warmly, grateful for the rescue.

  But the Vulcan lingered tentatively in the entry. “I had hoped to speak with you alone, sir. Now is clearly not an appropriate time. May I make an appointment?”

  “No need.” Archer rose and nodded at his dinner companions. “If you’ll excuse me ...”

  “I did not mean to interrupt you,” T’Pol insisted, but Archer was already beside her, and led her out into the empty common dining room. Once there, he faced her squarely.

  “What can I do for you, Sub-Commander?”

  “Sir,” she said smoothly, and though her finely drawn features remained composed in her customary placid expression, Archer sensed her unease. “I have come to a decision regarding my role in the death of the last survivor on the planet’s surface.”

  Once again, the captain considered the death of the alien from the Vulcan’s point of view: despite T’Pol’s apparent lack of reaction, the incident had had a profound effect on her; and while he felt some degree of success in terms of helping Hoshi to deal emotionally with her trauma, he had no [46] idea how to counsel a Vulcan—if, indeed, counseling would do any good. But he knew that T’Pol had to be reminded of the time, long ago, when she’d been forced to kill a Vulcan smuggler in self-defense. It had been very difficult for her to come to grips with it then. ... He hoped, in this case, it was easier for her now.

  “T’Pol,” he said earnestly, “as Hoshi said, it wasn’t your fault that the alien died. I was ready to fire at him myself; you just beat me to the punch. There was no way of predicting that he was going to—”

  She interrupted him. “I directly caused his death, Captain.”

  “Even so, you couldn’t have known it would happen. And the alternative was to let him kill Hoshi. Like I said, I was about to
fire at him myself.”

  “But you are a human. I am a Vulcan.”

  Archer fought not to rankle at the implication. “So I’ve noticed.”

  “As a Vulcan, I am responsible for living my life in as nonviolent a way as possible. I had several alternatives for rescuing Hoshi instead of firing my weapon; had I relied on my intelligence rather than my instincts, I would have realized the possible danger of stunning the alien.”

  “What alternatives?” Archer was honestly perplexed. “It all happened so fast. ...”

  She did not answer his question, but instead [47] continued, “I have reflected deeply on the situation. The only way to properly maintain my Vulcan ethics is to return to the strictest original teachings of Surak. For that reason, I cannot condone violence of any kind; and for that reason, I must inform you that I will no longer carry or use any type of weapon.”

  “Sub-Commander ...” Archer did his best to be understanding. “What happened was an accident. You couldn’t have prevented it.”

  “I could have, and should have. I have grown lax in my discipline.”

  He bowed his head, considering his next words carefully, trying to curtail the mounting frustration he suddenly felt. He realized that she had not blamed her “laxness” on being surrounded by humans—but he felt the implication, however subtle, was there.

  Yet Archer also knew he had a chip on his shoulder, especially on this day, of all days: Henry Archer had died without being able to see Enterprise leave spacedock because the Vulcans had delayed the launch, stating that humans weren’t “emotionally ready” for contact with other life-forms. You’ve put that all behind you, Archer reminded himself. T’Pol had made it clear enough that she was now voluntarily aboard Enterprise; she had proven her respect for her fellow officers enough times.

  “T’Pol ... you’ve become a real part of this [48] crew. And down there on the planet’s surface, you may well have saved Hoshi’s life. What if I need you to protect this vessel? What if, say, I’m down on the planet’s surface and you’re in charge of this ship, and Enterprise is suddenly attacked? Are you saying you won’t retaliate defensively? That you won’t protect yourself or my crew?”

  “Correct,” she replied evenly.

  Archers lips parted in amazement; unable to believe what he had just heard, he pressed. Certainly she would not endanger Enterprise! “You would disobey a direct order from me to use force?”

  T’Pol’s tone was respectful but firm. “I would, sir.”

  “That’s ... That’s ...” Archer’s anger caused the word to stick in his throat. He struggled and at last managed to gather himself, but he no longer bothered to maintain a sympathetic expression. “That’s all, Sub-Commander. We’ll discuss this further, after we’ve both had a chance to think about things.”

  She opened her mouth to speak; he already knew what she was going to say. I have already thought about things, Captain. I have already made my decision. Before she could utter a word, he turned on his heel and went back into the captain’s dining room.

  Hoshi and Trip were in relaxed midconversation, with Reed listening avidly, when Archer retook his seat—but at the sight of him, they both [49] fell silent; Hoshi’s dark eyes grew wide. He was fuming, Archer realized, and doing a poor job of hiding it; in fact, Hoshi stood up at once and said, “I appreciate the chance to talk about what happened down on the planet’s surface, sir. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be heading for my quarters. ...”

  Reed cleared his throat. “Yes. Yes, I’ll be going as well, sir. With your permission.”

  Archer gave a sullen nod.

  “Bye,” Hoshi told Trip, shot an uncertain glance at the captain, then eagerly made her way for the door; Reed followed suit.

  Once they were gone, Trip gave the captain a good look up and down at finally said, “Whoa. So just exactly what did she say that got you riled?”

  Archer did not need to ask which “she” Tucker referred to. “Dammit, Trip, she just told me to my face that she’d refuse my direct order.”

  “Hold on, now ... Back it up, Cap’n. T’Pol didn’t just come up to you and say ...”

  Archer let go an exasperated puff of air. “She stunned an alien who attacked Hoshi, and he wound up dying seconds after she shot him.”

  “T’Pol shot first?”

  Archer nodded.

  “Ouch. That must have gotten Reed’s goat. Outgunned by a Vulcan.”

  “A Vulcan who blames herself for the alien’s death,” Archer persisted, ignoring Trip’s amusement.

  [50] “But she couldn’t have known he’d die,” Trip said. “If her phase pistol was set on stun ...”

  “It was. But it’s worse than that. He was the last survivor. The only one left of his race ... maybe our last chance to solve the mystery of what killed them.”

  “Well, now, that I can understand.” Trip’s tone was mollifying. “And ... ?”

  “And so she feels she’s broken the Vulcan moral code against killing ... I guess we humans are a bad influence, so she feels the need to purify herself by returning to a stricter version of Surak’s code. No violence even in the name of self-defense. I asked her point-blank whether she would use defensive weaponry if the ship was under attack, and she said no.” Archer turned to his friend. “I mean, come on, Trip. I asked her if she’d defend a crew-mate or the ship if given a direct order to do so, and she said no. And that’s just plain insubordination.”

  “So it is,” Trip admitted, nodding noncommittally. For a time, he said nothing, and then he asked, “You ever kill anyone, Cap’n?”

  Archer didn’t answer; he stared at his friend, taken aback by the question. He did not mention T’Pol’s experience with killing Jossen, as she had revealed the fact to him in strictest confidence.

  “Didn’t think so,” Trip said. “Think how she must feel about it, raised in a culture that values nonviolence above all else—and now she’s gone and reacted instinctively, and killed someone. [51] Even if you and I knew the guy was dead anyway. And think about it—the last survivor of a race ... not an easy thing to deal with.”

  “But even the Vulcans allow killing in self-defense. It’d be absurd not to. You’ve got the right to protect yourself from someone who wishes violence on you, don’t you? Even Surak—”

  “Hold on right there,” Tucker said. “Surak’s earliest teachings taught complete nonviolence. Very Gandhi-esque, very turn-the-other-cheek. If they strike you down, rely on your survivors to take your place and speak out for peace. But never raise your hand against another.”

  “Really?” Archer’s interest was piqued.

  “The Vulcans’ll never admit it, but they squabble about the correct interpretation of Surak’s teachings on this matter all the time.”

  “So where do you get all your secret information on the Vulcans from?” Archer teased.

  “I’ll never tell,” Trip said. “Got to keep my sources hidden.” He paused; when he spoke again, his tone was once again serious. “Look, give T’Pol some leeway on this. She probably feels a whole lot of good old-fashioned guilt over this, even though she’ll never admit it. She’s bound to come around.”

  “I’ll give her time,” Archer said. “So long as she does nothing to jeopardize my people or my ship.” He almost said my father’s ship, and caught himself only at the last moment.

  Three

  “O-AH-NEE,” Hoshi repeated, staring mesmerized into her viewer in the small laboratory set up next to sickbay. Frozen there was the image of an alien who had spoken the warning that Enterprise had encountered before the landing party had gone down to the planet’s surface. Odd, after seeing so many of his peers dead, to see a healthy male alien alert, his face animated by the concern reflected in his resonant voice.

  “O-ah-nee,” Hoshi repeated again, mimicking the speaker. After two hours’ intense work, she had determined, after repeated viewings of several tapes, that this particular message was intended for any off-worlders who happened upon the stricken pla
net. And the Oani (such was her [53] phonetic spelling of the word) were the name of the people; their world was Oan.

  But she was having some difficulty replicating the precise pronunciation herself of the interesting pronunciation of the ah syllable; it combined a glottal stop with a click, causing her to use the muscles deep in her throat. Less than a minute before, she had practiced so vigorously that one of the medical aides in the next lab had come by for fear she was retching. She’d done her best to try to explain what she was doing, but the aide left with a disbelieving air.

  Ah, the joys of being a linguist. True, she merely needed to transcribe the phoneme into the computer, but there was deep personal satisfaction for her when she finally got the sound exactly right herself.

  “O-ah-nee.”

  That accomplished, Hoshi entered her rough translation into the computer, then recorded it onto tape so that she could play it back for the others.

  “We are the Oani. A warning to visitors: we suffer from an unknown disease. Please protect yourselves. If you can offer assistance, contact us and we will transmit medical data.”

  Again, it was rough; Hoshi knew nothing about the culture save what she had seen on the planet’s surface, so she had no idea whether the warning held any subtext or unspoken assumptions. Her [54] feeling—a perfectly nonscientific hunch—was that the warning was as straightforward as it appeared, and that the Oani were indeed concerned enough about outsiders to warn them to stay clear of the planet.

  But had they ever discovered what had killed them?

  Hoshi removed the disk of the warning and put in the first tape they’d discovered in the medical facility, in the room where Dr. Phlox had struggled unsuccessfully to keep the woman alive. Hoshi knew it was her job to study the tape—but she felt an enormous reluctance to face the image of the man who had died with an expression of such hatred, such fury on his features.