Mestral’s Legacy: Chapter 33

“What’s kite-kill-lassaw?” Jonathan knew he was mangling the word, but Vulcan pronunciation was Hoshi’s specialty, not his. He watched T’Pol as she considered how to answer his question. Whatever she had found in Vorak’s file, it had left her more unsettled than he had seen her in a very long time. She was making a pretense of examining her fruit salad so he couldn’t see her eyes as she spoke.

“Do you remember Tolaris?”

“Yes.” He definitely remembered that son-of-a-bitch. “Why?”

“What he did–when I developed Pa’Naar–that is –Kae’at k’lasa”

“Vorak forced a mind-meld?” No wonder she was upset. They had not spoken of the incident since it had happened, and T’Pol did not discuss Pa’Naar with him–not since he had found out about it. He asked if the file gave any more details–insight as to why–but whatever else T’Pol had found, she was not inclined to share it with him.

They sat in silence for a while as they finished breakfast. He wasn’t sure what Vulcan law was, but he had no doubt that T’Pol felt compelled to do something–as soon as she figured out what that something should be. If Vorak had not saved her life several weeks ago, the choice would have been much simpler. As it was, the person that they had met briefly did not mesh with the person described in the file that she had accessed.

Jonathan got up from the table, scooping up his empty plate as he stood up. T’Pol was still picking at her breakfast, lost in thought. He wasn’t going to allow her to torment herself with the problem, revisiting old trauma, a second longer than was necessary; he knew all too well the futility of that approach.

“Hurry up and finish breakfast. We’ve got a trip to make.”

T’Pol finally looked up, if only to wonder what he was talking about. He did his best to arch an eyebrow at the obviousness of her question but simply ended up looking surprised, but she got the point. There was only one logical place to go.

* * *

They were almost at the glassworks when T’Pol paused. She held up her hand for Jonathan to stop and listen, apparently hearing something that he could not. When she started up the path again she was moving faster and he had to hurry to keep up with her. He was just about to ask her what she had heard when there was a new sound: phaser fire. They broke into a run.

Arriving at the glassworks, they tried to make sense of the chaos. A Vulcan flitter was sitting on the front lawn, and two Vulcan guards were in the process of dragging Vorak towards it; Vorak was doing his best to impede their progress. The captors and their prize had been brought to a standstill by Alaia, who was pointing a phaser in their direction–even Vorak stilled. Judging from the scorch mark on the flitter, she had just made her intention to use the phaser perfectly clear.

Jonathan could hear a faint whimpering; he finally found the source up on the deck around the house: a limp bundle of fur. Apparently Kaunshaya’s intentions had also been perfectly clear, and unappreciated by the guards. It was only then that he noticed that the door to the house had been kicked in and that the guards were armed with their own phasers.

“What’s going on?” he asked carefully, keeping everyone in his field of vision.

“We are arresting–”

“–going to kill him.”

They all spoke at once and it was impossible to sort out what they were saying. T’Pol said something in sharp Vulcan to the guards. They barely glanced at her, replying with an indifferent tone–apparently she was no longer anything to them; T’Pol seemed taken aback by their indifference. Archer took the opportunity to talk to Alaia while the guards were distracted.

“Lieutenant?”

“Why, sir? We weren’t a threat to anyone.”

“I don’t understand–”

“You told them where we were.”

“Lieutenant, we didn’t.”

“I may have,” T’Pol interrupted, “unintentionally.”

“How do you accidentally turn someone in?” Alaia asked bitterly.

“I accessed Vorak’s file at the Justice Ministry.”

Vorak said something in Vulcan that sounded vaguely like an epithet.

“The file must have been monitored,” T’Pol acknowledged.

“It’s not what you think,” Alaia said. Her attention was caught by a small movement by one of the guards. “Don’t even think about it,” she said evenly to the guard who was slowly reaching for his weapon. Turning back to Archer, she said, “He’s innocent, sir.”

“They seem to think he’s pretty guilty,” he said, nodding at the guards.

“How would they know? They weren’t even on the planet when it happened.”

“When what happened? Did he rape someone or not?”

“No.” Vorak said something else but was cut off by a blow from one of the guards.

Archer looked at T’Pol for translation.

“He says yes, but that he did not commit mind-rape.”

“How can he admit to being guilty and not guilty at the same time?” Archer asked. It was Alaia who answered without taking her eyes off of the two guards. “He was charged under Terran law. When they converted the charges, the closest Vulcan equivalent was mind-rape.”

“What was he originally charged with?”

“Statutory rape.”

Jonathan looked at T’Pol, but it was clear that this information had not been in the file.

“The grave.” T’Pol said quietly.

“Yes, the grave,” Alaia said. Archer gave T’Pol a questioning look.

“He was accused of the crime in 2119. Their child was born and died in 2120.”

“Lieutenant, you’re the victim?” Jonathan frowned. Turning to the guards he asked what they were intending to do with Vorak. They repeated their intention to arrest him, but other than that refused to divulge what would happen to him. Jonathan was Human and not entitled to know about Vulcan affairs, or so he was told.”Sir, he’ll die if they take him. He needs–he needs medical care,” Alaia insisted. The Vulcan had seemed unwell that last time that they had seen him, and he was sweating now–but then resisting arrest could do that too. Jonathan looked over at T’Pol who was doing the same assessment. She glanced at Alaia who was still holding a phaser on the guards.

“Our physicians can care for him,” one of guards said.

“No.” Alaia shouted. The husband and wife exchanged a look, and then, looking at Archer, ignoring both the guards and T’Pol, Vorak requested political asylum.
One of the guards wrenched Vorak’s arms back at an angle intended to inflict pain and solicit obedience. The Vulcan kept his eyes on Archer, taking his measure, and ignoring the guards as much as possible.

“The charges against you are criminal,” one guard said contemptuously. “He is dangerous, Captain. You would do best not to interfere with his arrest.”

“The charges are politically motivated,” Vorak said evenly, causing the guard to twist his arm harder. If it wasn’t dislocated already, it would be soon.

“What charges, exactly?” If Jonathan was going to crawl out on a limb, he at least wanted to know how far he was going.The guard spoke in English, but the charges were given in Vulcan: kam’nat, kae’at k’lasa, stron, nashiv-tor, talu-krik-tor, and tehnau pekaya–the last was added as an afterthought. Jonathan turned to T’Pol for a translation: treason, mind-rape, escape, attack, neck-pinching an officer, and resisting arrest. Jonathan asked Vorak whether he could prove that the charges were politically motivated.

“I believe so.”

“Good.” Turning to the guards, Jonathan told them to turn over the prisoner.

“He is a Vulcan citizen,” said a guard.

“Maybe, but you’re on my planet. If they can’t convince me, you can have him back. In the meantime, your government might not want to cause a fuss–” Jonathan saw movement in the bushes that he had been waiting for and relaxed. “Besides,” he said, tipping his head towards the emerging MACO, “his phaser is bigger than yours. You might want to do as he says.”

T’Pol looked over in surprise. Jonathan just shrugged and muttered something about boy scouts and preparedness.

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