Mestral’s Legacy: Chapter 13

April 3rd, 2119
Sprouts Cafe
San Francisco

“It’s been months.” Alaia poked listlessly at her lunch. The vegetarian cafe had been her idea, yet she had barely eaten anything.

“Patience, Alaia.” Vorak watched the despondent young Terran and wondered again whether he was mistaken in his assessment. Terran physiology was incapable of producing the symptoms that she claimed to experience, and yet, she could be quite persuasive.

“It’s not working.”

“Learning the meditation techniques takes time.”

“I’ve learned them. They don’t work.” The techniques themselves were not at fault, either the teacher or the student was failing. The difficulty was in determining which was the case.

“I don’t understand how meditating is supposed to keep half of San Francisco out of my head,” she whispered vehemently at him, lowering her voice so that the other patrons could not hear their conversation.

“You still hear . . . voices?”

“People,” she said, scowling at him. “I hear people. If I heard voices I really would be nuts,” she muttered. He was uncertain as to what she truly meant when she said that she heard people. Telepathy was unheard of in Terrans and once again he found himself thinking that it was merely a device for seeking attention.

He knew little about her other than she had run away from her family and supported herself by working at a nightclub. He had tried to learn more, but it was difficult. She refused to allow a complete genetic scan – the Indigenous Peoples Genetic Heritage Preservation Act of 2017 specifically prohibited such scans to prevent mining of genetic information by pharmaceutical and biotechnology companies – which only made verifying her claims that much more difficult.

In lieu of the scan, he had insisted that she visit a psychiatrist to ensure that she was not, in fact, mentally ill. She had gone once and returned assuring him that the psychiatrist had pronounced her sane. The psychiatrist, however, had declined to issue a medical report with his findings. Nevertheless, she was adamant.

“He knows I’m telling the truth.” There was a hint of a smile that he didn’t quite understand.

“How did he determine that?”

She blushed. Shrugging her shoulders she said nonchalantly, “His mind wandered during our session and I told him that I wasn’t into that sort of thing.”

“Perhaps you should keep an open mind.”

“I don’t think giving him a blow job would solve my problems, do you?” Seeing his puzzled look she sighed, “Never mind.” As frequently happened she had used a colloquialism that he did not understand, and that she refused to explain to him. He had looked up a few of them on the consulate database and had promptly decided that these were not the sorts of things that he should be investigating where his queries would be tracked.

“I see. You could hear his thoughts then?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for months.”

“You could have simply been guessing.”

“The things he was looking forward to doing to his secretary at lunch aren’t the kinds of things you just guess at. He just couldn’t put in the file how he knew that I was telling the truth because that would make him look crazier than me.”

Seeing his skeptical look, she lowered her voice and prompted him to look towards the window.

“See that woman? The blonde wearing the SFSU sweatshirt? She’s wondering if you’re, uh, green all over.” He watched Alaia’s cheeks flush and decided that, based on past experience, he did not want an explanation as to what that meant. The woman in question was watching him in a way that made him uncomfortable prompting an irrational urge to pull his cloak closer around him.

“See that old guy?” An elderly man was sitting at the counter casting disapproving glances their way.

Alaia leaned over the table and whispered in his ear. “He thinks that it’s disgraceful that you and I are together. He’s assuming that we’re a couple.” He forced himself not to recoil at the invasion of personal space that she usually respected.

“He’s thinking that if I don’t move away from you soon he’s going to come over here and give us a piece of his bigoted mind.” Alaia sat down again and he saw that the old man was now openly glaring at him. The young woman was frowning at Alaia, ostensibly for a different reason. Curious.

“Can you tell what I am thinking?” He was intrigued, but unconvinced that she was not simply a skilled liar or deluded. She shook her head negatively, looking almost apologetic. He studied her thoughtfully for a couple moments before pushing up the sleeve of his robe to expose his forearm.

“Touch my arm. Tell me if you can discern my thoughts.” She looked scandalised at his request. He whispered to her, “Call it an experiment.” She reached out tentatively and touched his forearm, taking a moment to cast a defiant look at the old man. The young woman fumed while pretending to be interested in her ebook.

Vorak watched Alaia concentrate on the task. At one point she closed her eyes, but after a few moments she opened them again.

“Nope. Nothing.” It was an unfair test. He had not lowered his mental shields. Without a bond or a mind meld it would be difficult for a Vulcan to discern his thoughts, but Alaia had no way of knowing that.

“Try again.” This time he allowed his mental shields to drop. For a long time she was quiet. While he waited, he watched her. Her ancestry was that of the original inhabitants of the continent and she retained their distinctive features, except for her lilac eyes. She had long dark hair with the occasional streak of reddish brown and smooth, bronze skin.

Her brow knit in deep concentration as she said tentatively, “You think that my eyes are pretty. You think that Surai is a–” she paused, puzzled, “uhm, I think you think he’s . . . I’m not sure of the right word: moron?”

“Inexact, but substantially correct.” he said dryly, withdrawing his arm. She smiled shyly at their shared opinion of the supercilious Vulcan.

His next words were drowned out by the screech of a ground car from outside. A sickening thud was followed by the rending of metal and then silence. For a moment no one moved and then there was chaos as the patrons gathered at the window or streamed outside. Vorak turned to Alaia only to find that she was gone.

A ground car had skidded through a pedestrian crossing, narrowly missing a woman. The young boy laying in the street had not been as fortunate. The child lay motionless in the crosswalk. Already sirens could be heard in the distance as the ambulance approached, summoned automatically by the ground car’s emergency system. Alaia was kneeling beside the boy with one hand on his temple and the other on his abdomen. As Vorak approached he saw that her eyes were closed and that her breath was synchronised with the boy’s. Bystanders moved around her and several people knelt to check the boy for injuries, but always, after a few moments, they moved away.

Emergency crews arrived. As they set about tending to the lightly injured ground car driver and the more severely injured boy, they noticed Alaia. She did not notice them.

Intervening before they could forcibly remove her, Vorak grasped her arm to pull her up but found that she was a dead weight. Her eyes moved beneath her eyelids, but otherwise she was unresponsive. He leaned down and whispered fiercely into her ear: “You must end this now. Leave him to the paramedics.”

This garnered a faint response. He felt her muscles loosen and took the opportunity to pull her to her feet. As the paramedics loaded the boy onto a stretcher he heard one of the paramedics comment that the boy’s vital signs had suddenly begun to deteriorate.

As the ambulance drove away, Vorak sensed the crowd’s interest shift to Alaia. The old man from the cafe looked at them suspiciously.

“What did you do to him?” Alaia shrank back as the man crowded her, leaning into Vorak who was standing behind her. The man looked warily at her and then at Vorak who decided that the fewer questions answered, the better.

“We must go.” Vorak said firmly, pulling Alaia bodily down the street before the man could continue questioning her. They walked several blocks in silence, with Alaia slowing the pace until she stopped, pulling her arm out of his grasp. Startled, he turned to her and for the first time he noticed how pale she was.

“I don’t feel so good,” she mumbled, leaning against the side of the building. She sank down slowly until she was crouching on the ground. A few passers-by looked at them disapprovingly, and one of them pointedly pulled out his portable comm to report loiterers. Perhaps it was best to keep moving.

Pulling Alaia to her feet they continued walking but after a few blocks she stopped again, protesting that she still felt unwell. She stumbled into an alley between two buildings and bent over breathing deeply.

“Alaia, you can rest later. It would be best if you told me where your accommodations were.”

“I really, really don’t feel–” As if to prove her point, she doubled over and vomited. He felt the liquid splash onto his shoes and robe as the contents of her stomach found their way onto the pavement. From the street he heard someone comment to another pedestrian about the drunk Indian girl, but the rest of the conversation was lost as they moved on. He had little time to consider the comment. Alaia collapsed scarcely leaving him enough time to catch her before she hit the ground.

* * *

When she woke up, her first thought was that her head was about to explode. The second thought was to revise the first one and consider that this was what it felt like after your head exploded. She also wondered why she was laying on a bed that was not her own. She tried to talk but all she could manage was a weak ‘ow’. It was enough.

A face appeared in her line of vision and she realised that the person sitting next to the bed was Vorak.

“How are you feeling?”

“Horrible. Where are we?”

“That is to be expected.” He handed her a glass of water and waited while she drank from it.

“You have been unconscious for five hours. You are very fortunate,” he said, taking the glass from her when she was finished.

“This is what fortunate feels like? What’s unfortunate?”

“Dead.” His expression was matter-of-fact as if he had just announced that it was going to be sunny tomorrow with a slight chance of rain. He told her that even for a trained Healer such interventions were dangerous. Done incorrectly the patient could have permanent neurological damage. At worst, if the patient died before the Healer disengaged, it could result in a coma for the Healer.

“Oh,” she said quietly. It had never occurred to her that she was putting the boy in danger. “Well how was I supposed to know that?”

She glared at him, channelling the pain she was feeling into anger, “How am I supposed to know anything?” She buried her throbbing head between her hands trying to make sense of things.

“How did you know that you could help him?”

She peeked at him warily from behind her hands, “My sister broke her leg once. I had to carry her to the clinic.”

A warm hand tentatively squeeze her shoulder as the mattress bowed beside her, accommodating the Vulcan’s weight.

He asked warily, “Are you going to vomit again?”

“No.” From her vantage point between her knees she could see stains on his usually meticulously clean cloak. “Sorry about throwing up on you earlier.” He dismissed her concern. The cloak was his father’s but he kept that to himself. It was the only item that he had brought with him to remind him of a father that had died when Vorak was thirteen. He had been foolish to wear it outside the consulate, but that was not Alaia’s fault.

“Where are we?” Alaia asked again as a door slammed next door and loud voices could be heard from a nearby room.

“I believe it is called a motel.” She looked at him questioningly, prompting him to add, “You have not told me where your accommodations are.” He had her there.

“Alaia, I apologise. You were correct.”

“About what?” She was distracted by the change in tone of the conversation in the next room. There were a few thumps like something or someone was being pushed around but it didn’t feel like a fight. She shook her head trying to clear it of the confusing thoughts that weren’t hers and concentrate on what Vorak was saying.

“The meditation techniques that I have been teaching you are insufficient.” He looked apologetic, “You need to learn the Vulcan mind arts.”

“I thought the meditation techniques were the Vulcan mind arts.” There was moaning from the room next door. She squeezed her eyes shut trying to push the unwanted thoughts and images from her mind.

“They are the first techniques to be taught –” He stopped, noticing her distress, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I just need to get out of here,” she said as she hastily gathered her things. The squeaking of the bed next door was now accompanied by a slow rhythmic thumping against the wall. Vorak was enviably oblivious to both. “Geez, what does this place do? Rent rooms by the hour?”

Vorak blinked in surprise, “Yes.” He was even more taken aback when she started giggling. Out on the sidewalk ten minutes later she was still trying to explain why.

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