Surak's Soul - J.M. Dillard [16]
“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 crewmate 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. 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 planet. And the Oani (such was her 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