The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [12]
“We should go,” he heard her say, but all the strength was gone from her voice. She may not have been crying outwardly- her face displayed no emotion- but Trip had never heard her sound so… crushed.
As T’Pol walked away, he couldn’t help but wonder if this was really the moment when their relationship finally ended.
The torchlight flickered over the chamber walls of the room chosen to commemorate T’Les. Each of the Syrrannites who had fallen at the sanctuary was interred in a different chamber, with each commemorated by a small monument to mark his or her sacrifice.
T’Pol had initially been surprised at the presence of the monuments, since it seemed an extravagant, almost emotional response to death, mandated by T’Pau. But the minister had reminded her that symbols helped to focus memories, and focused memories were more easily controlled and brought to heel with the stern rigors of logic. While she couldn’t argue with the statement, T’Pol still perceived a certain sentimentality attached to the various obelisks, spires, and markers.
As she attempted to meditate, kneeling on the floor opposite Commander Tucker, T’Pol recalled one of the last conversations she had had with her mother, elsewhere in this very sanctuary. They had argued about the Syrrannites, whom T’Pol had opposed. They had quarreled over the aims of Surak’s teachings, the efficacy of the leadership of the High Command, and the overly forceful manner in which T’Pau had tried to retrieve Surak’s katra from Captain Archer. “I shouldn’t have come here looking for you, and I don’t want anything more to do with you,” T’Pol had told her. Minutes later, when the High Command attacked, her mother had been mortally wounded.
T’Pol was holding her when she died, shortly after T’Les had admitted that she had joined the Syrrannites’ cause to help her daughter learn to control her emotions. “I have always been so proud of you,” T’Les had said, just moments before drawing her last breath.
Much had changed for T’Pol since then, at least concerning her understanding of Vulcan philosophies. Although she had always steadfastly refused to believe in the existence of the katra, the experiences that Captain Archer shared- with what he felt was the living spirit of Surak dwelling inside him- were difficult to dismiss. Something had led Archer to the Kir’Shara, and had given him the knowledge required to activate it, thereby revealing the true, undiluted teachings of Surak. Whether that was actually Surak’s katra was something she still debated even now, but even if it was solely some kind of trace memory engram of a man thousands of years gone, it was proof that Surak had lived on past his death, at least in some limited fashion.
And if he had- or if his katra had- then it was not hard to imagine the katra s of others surviving somehow still, beyond the physical bounds of living flesh.
Meditating here, in front of the sepulchers that contained the remains of her mother and of her own daughter, T’Pol felt herself clinging to the hope that neither of them was truly gone. That perhaps their katra s did exist, perhaps embedded in the very stone, sand, and soil of this hallowed place.
Of course, she also had to admit to herself that her hope was undeniably born of emotion. Her mother had often admonished her for having so little control over her emotions, and while she didn’t agree with that assessment, in the nearly one-year period since she had conquered her addiction to trellium- the substance that allowed her to free herself from the grip of logic and emotional constraint- she had known that her ability to control her emotions was now clearly, perhaps irrevocably, damaged.
There were times when she blamed this damage for her continued feelings for Charles Tucker, and yet she knew that even that explanation was disingenuous. Love, while commonly thought of as an emotion, was certainly possible for even the most logical