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I was drinking my morning coffee and reading the Federation Times when Commander Simonson, my second officer, dropped a PADD on the table and sat down opposite me.
She cheered, “Good morning, Captain T’Lon!”
“What’s this?” I asked.
On the PADD, she indicated a subsurface chamber clearly visible on the deep scan.
“Ensign Yerushalmi scanned the larger moon of Beradis as we passed by. There’s a kind of vault, or chamber, under the surface. I think it warrants investigation.”
“Well, you have my blessing,” I said. “Investigate.”
“I’d like to go in person,” she added. “The night crew beamed a probe over, then an environmental unit. Honestly, I don’t think we’ll find anything interesting.”
“Agreed.”
But….” She dangled the conjunction like a fishing pole.
“Yes?”
“Remember, you’re supposed to provide command opportunities for Lieutenant C’Mal. For her training…”
“She can command the away team,” I suggested.
“…on the bridge,” Simonson added. “It’s the perfect opportunity for her to get some command experience.”
“Because nothing can go wrong?” I asked.
“Exactly,” nodded Simonson.
“So, what will I be doing then?” I asked.
“You’re coming down to the moon with me, silly.”
On the one hand, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but on the other, I had been trying to think of what to do to fill the time for the next few days.
——————
Ordinarily, Lieutenant Martinez would be left in command, but since he was renovating all the panel couplings in engineering, and C’Mal needed practical hours to fulfill her coursework, I was pleased to put her in command just before I departed the bridge for the transporter room.
I can’t be certain, but I think she was purring.
Of all the worlds the U.S.S. Churchill visits in its assigned sector, the one with the saddest story can be found orbiting 16 Cygni A. Two thousand years ago, the planet was called Beradis. The Beradisians were an advanced civilization. They knew that an errant moon would one day devastate the planet unless something was done. Colossal sums of money were allocated to prevent the catastrophe. The money, to fund the mission to change the course of the moon, was instead wasted, stolen and lost. When the moon did impact, life was blown out like a birthday candle, and half the land mass turned into lava. Archeologists have been trying to dig up something meaningful from the debris ever since.
Every six months we stop near Beradis to survey and to dig in the ruins, while the crew wait patiently in orbit, tuning the engines, inventorying the supplies, and cleaning the ship. It would certainly be worth it if the researchers ever found anything remotely interesting, but they never do.
Down on the moon, the underground chamber was round, dirty, and empty, with a high, arched ceiling. Notably, a clear disk-like oculus, with a diameter of perhaps two meters, allowed us to view the planet Beradis, aligned above us. A pile of rocks surrounded and supported a kind of giant urn in the middle of the space.
Simonson and I approached the large cylinder. She scanned the object with her tricorder diligently for several minutes before she concluded, “It’s a container.”
I examined the series of symbols lining the outer perimeter of the object.
“Notice the repeating shape with sharp vertices?” I said. “Probably means ‘danger’ or something like that.”
Simonson turned her tricorder this way and that as she scanned, then said, “I think that it contains a statue of some sort.”
I could not suppress my sarcasm: “Considering what happened to Beradis, it’s probably a monument to the god of negligence.”
“Should we beam it up?” she questioned.
This particular command decision required zero actual deciding.
“No, that would be all risk, and zero benefit. Besides, I’m sure the probe took pictures and scans.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” she announced, handing me her tricorder. “Take an image.”
She posed demurely beside the tall object.
“What is this for?” I asked.
“For scale,” she replied.
The tricorder flooded the chamber with light as it captured the image. Simonson appeared to be having a seizure, then sneezed so loudly that the sound reverberated all around us.
“Tif-tor!” I exclaimed in Vulcan, which is kind of like “Bless you,” including the implied fence against evil.
That was when the alien object slowly teetered and fell. Simonson and I both watched it in shock, thinking it would simply land on its side.
But no, it shattered, and from beneath the shards emerged a large and angry man.
“Telakh! Telakh!” he shouted in a booming, baritone voice. Straightening, he was at least seven feet tall and quite muscular. His skin was bluish white, and he was completely hairless. He wore a simple, knee-length tunic and gaudy jewelry.
Simonson and I exchanged troubled looks.
“I…didn’t bring a universal translator,” she admitted.
The alien then said, “The meaning is, ‘I am free!’ You see, I am a talented psychopath. I can easily understand your thoughts and transmit mine.”
“Do you mean…telepath?” I asked.
“I shall now,” he proclaimed, “wreak vengeance on those callow ones who entombed me here.”
“You mean, on Beradis?” asked Simonson.
“Of course, where else? They shall all bow to my hideous wrath! The entire world!”
“Um,” I began, trying to calculate where this conversation would go, “what’s your name?”
“Dalmaris is my name. And soon, all those on Beradis will fear it.”
“Dalmaris,” I began, “I hate to be the bringer of bad news. But…have you seen Beradis lately?”
I pointed to the oculus, through which a brown, desolate planet was visible.
The towering man gazed upward, peering through the circular aperture for a very long time. He then looked at Simonson and me.
“I don’t understand,” he said weakly.
Simonson grabbed his forearm and gazed at him sympathetically.
“Beradis was struck by a giant meteor,” she explained, “a rock the size of a small moon. It turned the surface into magma. Everyone died. And that happened over two thousand years ago. Um, thirty-six hundred Beradis years ago.”
“So Tarondis the Twin, he who imprisoned me, is dead?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“And Salvonis the Bearded, he also is dead?”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“And Wynnis the Fair, she also is dead?”
Simonson nodded.
“Toldynis? Brakosis? Mirandis?”
“Dalmaris, if you know someone whose name ends in -is, they’re dead. You’re the only one left of your kind. I’m sorry.”
The sole remaining Beradisian deflated before our eyes like a cheap balloon. He descended to the dusty floor, sat on his rump, and slouched.
“Where will I go?” he asked sadly.
I approached and sat next to Dalmaris. Simonson followed my lead and also settled near him.
“Come with us, Dalmaris. We have a ship. We can take you to anywhere you wish to go. Those stars in the sky? Take your pick. You’ve lost your world, and no one should have to live through that, but…you’ve gained an entire galaxy to explore.”
“You two are really nice,” he replied tearfully.
“Well, we try,” I said.
“And you released me from my prison. No one else did that. I will tell you now that I have a special talent. I grant wishes. As a reward for freeing me, I will grant you a total of two wishes.”
Simonson and I exchanged questioning looks.
“Two wishes?” she asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“Well in my culture…oh, never mind,” she demurred.
“Go on….”
“Well, in my culture, you are typically granted three wishes. Not a big deal.”
“Three?” he repeated. “Why three? There are two of you. Two women, so two wishes. One each. I mean, three would be excessive. So, what do you wish for? I can grant any wish! Name your wish and I will grant it.”
“Well, this is unexpected,” I said. “I don’t know how you grant wishes, but we don’t deserve them anyway. We didn’t even know you were in the container. It just fell over when Simonson here sneezed. I think the pedestal under the container must have crumbled over the centuries.”
“I granted the wishes already,” protested Darmaris. “I can’t take them back.”
“I don’t wish for anything,” I said.
“Me neither,” added Simonson.
“Why are you skeptical?” he demanded.
Simonson explained, “Everyone knows the stories, Dalmaris. You wish for a ton of gold-pressed latinum. A ton falls on your head and kills you.”
He shook his head and said, “Well, I’m not a jackass, if that’s what you’re implying….”
I interrupted, “Of course not. It’s just, if you’re reasonably well adjusted in life, and basically happy with who you are, you shouldn’t need to make wishes. I personally don’t spend a lot of time wishing for things. If something would be beneficial, I make it happen. But if it’s impractical, I put it aside and move on.”
“Are you two really that ungrateful?” he asked, his tone indicating that frustration was beginning to mount.
“No, you misunderstand,” I countered.
He proudly announced, “I will prove to you both that my wishes are worthy of your desires.”
Suddenly rocketing upward, he stood before us reciting some magical incantation while we both attempted to mollify him. Feeling a bit light headed, I looked down and was shocked to see my body dissolving into glowing particles, like blue embers floating away. Simonson, similarly disintegrating, looked at me helplessly. Then everything faded.
——————
The Tale of Sovak T’Lon…
Amazingly, my body reintegrated in a sunny field, where I stood amid tall grass swaying in a gentle breeze. The sky was blue. White clouds, like floating cities, filled the sky to the horizon. I stood unsteadily, feeling the sun on my face and breathing the naturally scented air.
“What the—?”
I pressed my comm badge.
“Simonson? Simonson…respond please.” I waited. “Captain T’Lon to Commander Simonson, respond please.”
The badge replied with a standard Earth network error message: “The person you are calling is not within range. You may send a subspace recording. Projected delivery time is seven weeks.”
“Access public LCARS,” I directed. “What planet is this?”
Response: “The planet upon which you are currently located is Earth, in the Sol system.”
“Weird,” I said. “Then where am I?”
“North America, Oklahoma province.”
A voice on the wind caused me to turn and find an elderly human woman standing at the crest of a low hill, her long gray hair waving in the breeze.
“I made sandwiches!” she shouted, before disappearing over the horizon.
“I guess,” I told myself, “it’s time to practice believing impossible things,” and set out to follow the stranger.
——————
The Tale of Danise Simonson…
I opened my eyes. Before me, a vast rolling landscape of rock reflected the heat of the yellow-orange sun above. I was standing on an outcrop. The combination of desiccated air and the harsh sun caused me to swoon.
A strong pair of hands steadied me as my vision faded. I emerged from a dreamlike state to find someone pressing a glass of cool water to my lips. A handsome Vulcan face came into focus, with high cheekbones, a delicate mouth, and expressive eyes.
“You appear to be unwell,” he said. He spoke Vulcan, but I understood without difficulty, despite taking only a semester of Vulcan at the Academy.
“The temperature change…knocked me on my ass,” I said. “What the hell happened?”
The Vulcan appeared unsettled.
“Perhaps you should rest,” he suggested.
I was perched on a settee, staring about wide-eyed, trying to place myself. The room was fashioned from a kind of dark cement, whitewashed here and there, and had very long, open windows which looked out onto a desert plain. With evening falling, a number of tall candles feebly illuminated the room.
“How did I get here?” I asked.
“I carried you. You fainted. Perhaps we’ll call Dr. Sa’ura in the morning.”
“Is…is this the planet Vulcan?”
The Vulcan man regarded me uncertainly, then said, “Perhaps I’ll take you to hospital now.”
“No.” I waved my hands, trying to discourage him. “That was a joke. Of course I know where…I am.”
He nodded. “For my benefit, in the future, you might clearly demarcate your attempts at humor. Since you returned from Earth, I am frequently confused.”
“Well,” I said, “just so that no one is confused, remind me what I’m doing here.”
Exasperated, but apparently still willing to humor me, the Vulcan stared deeply into my eyes and said, “You are here, in my flat, located on the edge of the Vulcan city of ShiKahr, to study the logical precepts of Surak which apply to marriage. Because you, Sovak T’Lon, and I, S’Tek Qalbat, will soon be wedded.”
“What?” I jumped to my feet. “I’m Sovak T’Lon? And I’m to marry you? On Vulcan? Oh…oh, son of a bitch, I’m in the wrong wish!”
——————
The Tale of Sovak T’Lon…Continued
I found the older woman sitting in a swinging bench that was attached to the front portico of a small house. She appeared to regard me with some disdain, although I admit that Human emotional expressions are almost too numerous to parse.
The Earth environment was not unpleasant. A little chilly for my taste. The house was surrounded by a grouping of trees. Several large, scary flowers grew in giant pots near the house, black pupils surrounded by yellow irises.
“Why am I here?” I asked aloud, although I did not really expect the woman to know the answer.
“You tell me,” she countered. “Never thought I’d see you again once you got posted to that starship. What was it? The Chamberlain?”
“The Churchill,” I corrected. “Do you know me?”
“That’s really the question, isn’t it?”
The woman stood stiffly and went inside the house. Still ignorant of my purpose here, I followed.
The sandwiches she had made were insubstantial and highly processed.
“White bread,” I observed.
“I suppose white bread isn’t good enough for you?” she chided.
“It was a simple observation,” I said.
She placed a glass of bubbling dark liquid on the table before me, which I tasted.
“Soda. I should have guessed.”
“You haven’t changed at all!” she complained. She began to rant in an undignified and unhinged manner. “You leave America to go join that horrific Federation, with all those aliens. Those ridiculous Ferasaians, and those horrible, horrible Vulcans. How can you stand to be around those monsters? They should be wiped out.”
Oh my god, I realized, this woman is literally a Nazi.
Unable to listen further, I stopped her.
“Who do you think I am?” I demanded.
“Danise,” she replied, “that’s a question you will have to answer for yourself. I stopped thinking of you as my daughter a long time ago.”
“Danise?” I repeated. “Danise Simonson of Starfleet? Oh no. I’m in the wrong wish!”
——————
The Tale of Danise Simonson…Continued
“I need a mirror. A mirror!”
The poor Vulcan named S’Tek retrieved for me an antique hand mirror. My unbelieving Human face stared back at me.
“Do I look Vulcan to you?” I asked.
“You are to most comely Vulcan female that I am aware of.”
“Pointed ears?” I asked helplessly. I realized that, whatever I looked like to myself, he was seeing me as my captain, Sovak T’Lon. This was, after all, her wish.
“I’m certain I’ll become accustomed to the Earth humor eventually,” he said with hope. “In the meantime, let’s rest tonight. I believe you need rest.”
He guided me to the open patio, which overlooked a gorgeous arid vista and a starry, moonless sky. We sat side by side, staring out into the darkening night.
“Marriage…,” I said, then noticed the conspicuous absence of any ring on my finger, which I pointed out to him.
He looked confused. “You said you wanted an entirely Vulcan wedding, with no Earth trappings. Have you changed your mind?”
“Really, no cake? No dancing? No band?” I asked.
S’Tek’s confusion grew. “Vulcan wedding are highly ritualized affairs and leave little room for variation. Especially, non-Vulcan variation.”
“Of course, I know that,” I lied.
I could see Sovak together with this man. He seemed sincere, caring, and very earnest. He was handsome. Not muscled, but svelte. And very clean. I realized, as long as I’m using up T’Lon’s wish, I might as well make the best of it.
I leaned in to kiss him. He pushed me back, then raised two joined fingers. When I looked at him questioningly, he raised my hand, joined my two fingers, and crossed them with his.
“This,” he said, “means we are together.”
“Really, that’s it?” I asked.
He raised his brows. “At least until we are married.”
I frowned. “Something tells me it’s going to be a long engagement.”
——————
The Tale of Sovak T’Lon…Continued
“Dalmaris, you numbskull, you put me in the wrong wish! Do you hear me?”
I left the house, stood in the tall grass, and shouted up to the sky, more out of frustration than anything.
“Dalmaris! Dalmaris, unless you want the Beradisians to become truly extinct, get me out of here!”
The breeze and the sun were my answer.
I returned and sat in the porch swing, but was too disconsolate to swing.
Simonson’s mother grinned at me from the front door.
“I knew Starfleet would drive you crazy,” she gloated.
“I am curious how a decent, caring, thoughtful, empathetic, and worthy Human like Danise Simonson could possibly emerge from the cesspool that your motherhood must have been.”
“Don’t you have a high opinion of yourself?” she said.
I tried to reduce the problem to its simplest form.
“How do I get out of here?” I asked myself.
“Why don’t you call the same Fed shuttle to pick you up that dropped you off?”
I slapped my comm badge.
“T’Lon, I mean, this is the Captain of the U.S.S. Churchill to the Starfleet network.”
The comm was unhelpful: “The network you are pinging is out of range.”
“How can that be possible?” I asked myself.
“Reception is bad out here,” Danise’s mother replied.
I glanced around, studying the chipped paint, the tiny dead insects, the weather streaks.
“Danise couldn’t have remembered this level of detail. She hasn’t returned to Earth in years. It’s astounding…if this indeed is an illusion. But it must be an illusion.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” my tormenter replied dryly.
I turned to the old woman. “What is your name?”
“Mary Ellen Simonson, née Rupreck. Guess you forgot, huh?”
“Mary Ellen, why do you hate Vulcans?”
She did not hesitate. “I suppose because they stand for everything that I stand against. Consensus, for example. If you agree to compromise, then you agree to give up your rights. God gave me those rights, why would I give them up?”
“Vulcans believe in peace,” I pointed out. “What’s wrong with that?”
“They want us to believe in peace so they can walk all over us,” she rejoined.
“Or maybe,” I said, “they’re just more mature as a species.”
“Holy hell,” the woman scoffed, “if they are so advanced, why didn’t they put together the Federation?”
“I thought you didn’t like the Federation?” I pointed out.
“I don’t. Just a waste of Earth’s resources. Wasting all that energy and talent on other peoples and planets, when we have problems right here at home. Besides, God gave us the Earth for a reason—so we could use it as we please. God also put the Vulcans on that hellhole planet of theirs for a reason.” As if that were not enough, she added, “All I can say is, no Vulcan had better show up around here. That’s why I keep a phaser rifle in the house.”
“Excuse me?”
“The only good Vulcan is a dead Vulcan.”
I slapped my comm badge again.
“Hello? Anyone? Respond please!” I pleaded.
“The network you are pinging is out of range.”
——————
The Tale of Danise Simonson…Continued
S’Tek accompanied me on the quarter mile walk to Sovak T’Lon’s apartment, which was tiny. He wished me goodnight, leaving me alone.
I activated my comm badge.
“Simonson to T’Lon…,” I tried.
“The person you are calling is out of range.”
“Starfleet network?” I tried.
“The network you are calling is unavailable.”
That would be true, if I were really on Vulcan, which I doubted very much.
I paced. The plants in the window were dying. There were dirty dishes in the sink. A lot of books with bookmarks halfway through. This really seemed like it could be T’Lon’s flat on Vulcan. But she hadn’t been back to Vulcan in years. I doubted she still retained a place on that world.
“This is ridiculous,” I told myself. “Dalmaris, what the hell have you gotten me into? How do I escape this madness?”
I tried pinching myself, waking myself, opening my eyes. Screaming.
There had to be some “safe word,” I reasoned, that would return me to the moon above Beradis.
“Exit?” I tried. “End program. Open Sesame. Shazam! Abaracadabara? Vòila! Abraxas? Magic…Carpet. Magic…wand. Magic…Johnson. Oh—oh my god! What was that word Sovak used when I sneezed? Tiff…tiff…tiffany? Tiff-toof? Tral…famador?”
The tiny bed was unmade, of course.
But I wasn’t tired. I climbed out the widow and onto the sloping concrete roof, which faced the city. The air was very clear, the sky dark, and the city appeared like a sea of burning embers in the rising heat.
“This is really what you want, Sovak? A proper Vulcan wedding to a proper Vulcan gentleman? Leaving Starfleet behind? For what, domestic bliss? A teaching job? I guess I put you on a pedestal.”
——————
The Tale of Sovak T’Lon…Continued
I awoke in Danise’s bed to her mother singing patriotic songs dating to the time before individual nations were outlawed on Earth.
“And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air! Gave proof through the night, that our flag was still there!”
She sang this while frying eggs in a pan.
“What exactly is your attachment to a nation-state that ceased to exist two hundred years ago?” I asked, pouring myself a cup of coffee.
“One day,” she answered, “the Federation will fall, and then the US and A will rise again!”
I objected, “Wasn’t that the nation that prided itself on denying its citizens healthcare and civil rights?”
“Not all of its citizens. Just the ones that didn’t deserve them. I fried you some eggs.”
She shoved a plate of burned avian ova at me.
“No, thank you,” I declined. “I’m vegetarian.”
She steamed: “Eggs aren’t—oh, so contrary! Ever since you were ten years old!”
“Maybe that’s when I wisened up,” I muttered.
“Get out,” she responded, threatening to throw the plate at me.
I marched out onto the porch and stood blinking in the morning light. Earth was an attractive world, with life everywhere you looked. It’s a shame that life evolved into the sad creature living in this house.
Dalmaris appeared without warning, looking anxious and wringing his hands.
“How,” he asked, “is your wish?”
“Idiot,” I said. “Imbicile!”
“Is something not to your liking?” he asked, cowering.
“Something? This is not to anyone’s liking. In the first place, you put me in the wrong wish. This is Danise Simonson’s family home. You think I belong here? And secondly, her mom is a…a…I’m too polite to use the words I want to use. Get me out of here!”
“You’re…in the wrong wish?”
“Yes,” I yelled, physically threatening to hit him.
“I can’t get you out. You have to do it…by fulfilling the wish.”
“If the wish is reconciling with that…bitter…delusional…harpy, then that is not going to happen. I would rather eat broken glass. Dalmaris,…get…me…out of here.”
“You have to fulfill the wish,” he reiterated.
I pointed to the useless communication badge on my uniform’s jersey.
“At least,” I pleaded, “make it so that I can ask Danise what the hell I’m suppose to be doing here.”
The Beradisian began to shake physically before exclaiming, “I have to go.”
He disappeared just as Mary Ellen Simonson née Rupreck emerged from the house. She carried in her hands an ornate but worn doll representing an Earth girl, probably hand-sewn. She handed over the doll for my inspection.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“I’m not surprised you’ve forgotten. I made that for you, and you carried it around for years. When you left for Starfleet, I asked you to take it with you, so you could remember that at one time we were a family. You intentionally left it behind. You know, Danise, one day I won’t be around anymore. You won’t ever be able to apologize then.”
“Apologize? For what?”
“For being an ungrateful and uncaring daughter,” she explained succinctly.
I was at my wit’s end. “Wasn’t there anything we had in common?” I begged. “Something we enjoyed doing together?”
“There was the hair salon,” she suggested wistfully. “And…you are looking…a little gray.”
——————
The Tale of Danise Simonson…Continued
My—I mean, T'Lon's—fiancé took me to breakfast. They served Vulcan coffee, which I remembered was poisonous to Humans, and some type of fritter that wriggled pathetically.
“I thought Vulcans were vegetarians?” I asked.
“That is a vegetable.”
We then went to the monastery to practice the various hymns to logic which were part of the marriage service.
When S’Tek noticed my feeble attempt to feign singing, he opened my hymnal for me and pointed at the music, which was in a strange notation system. I was contemplating how to explain that I could no longer read the Vulcan fluently when the symbols resolved themselves into English.
S’Tek was concerned. “You seem unenthusiastic.”
“I’m more of a Stax and Motown girl myself,” I said.
We then moved on to a dress fitting. The dress was tight—too much so. I admit it was gorgeous—black silk with gold brocade, with dozens of miniscule bells. But I had to be sewn into it. I noted with envy that this was not now, nor ever was, the case for the men and their loose fitting outfits.
At one point I became short of breath and demanded the seamster undo the confining pieces before I ripped them off. I went outside to breathe some fresh, albeit dry, air.
“Sorry.”
Dalmaris had appeared out of thin air, begging for forgiveness.
My anger flared: “Do you realize you placed me in the—”
“—wrong wish, I know.” He added, “It’s not the first time this has happened to me.”
“It’s not happening to you. It’s happening to me. Fix it! Or at least make it stop!”
The tall Beradisian, visibly cringing, admitted, “I can’t. The wish has to be fulfilled, that’s how it works.”
“I’m not marrying that cold fish, Dalmaris. This is beyond reckless. For a wish granter, this is criminal negligence.”
“I’m…trying to think of something.”
He disappeared just as S’Tek appeared to check on me.
“Am I the ‘cold fish’ you were referring to?” he asked, plainly hurt.
“I’m—I’m just having a bad day, S’Tek.”
The Vulcan maintained his distance. He stood leaning against the railing, peering out into the city.
“When you left for Starfleet,” he began, “I wondered if the reason was to negate the promise made by our parents for our betrothal. But I accepted the loss, and was prepared to move on. Nevertheless, I remembered your attractive face, even from the time of our childhood. You…were a hellion in school, you disobeyed your parents, you questioned, and continue to question, our ways. But…I was nevertheless very pleased when you reappeared on Vulcan and contacted me. Your parents, as well, were pleased. When you asked for a traditional Vulcan wedding, I felt we had turned a corner, so to speak. From that point on, fulfillment awaited us. At least, that is what I thought.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to marry me any more?” I probed.
“I’m saying…you asked me for this wedding. Why do you now wish to shirk this?”
“S’Tek, I…I—,” at which point, my comm badge began to beep. “I have to take this call. Go back inside.”
He left, a sour look on his face.
“Simonson here!”
“It’s your Captain, where are you?”
I was never so glad to hear T’Lon’s voice.
“On Vulcan,” I replied, “about to marry a man named S’Tek Qalbat. Captain, where are you?”
“On Earth,” she answered, “about to kill your sole surviving parent. Look, Danise, what am I supposed to do here? I know you have unfinished business with your mother, but…how do I say this delicately…I guess there is no delicate way. I hate that woman. I really, deeply hate her.”
“I hate her too,” I said. “There is no way I would ever want to bury that hatchet. The only reason I would ever go back home is to burn down that stupid house of hers.”
There was silence, and I thought perhaps I had lost the signal.
“Thank you,” T’Lon said. “Look, regarding S’Tek Qalbat, that whole reprehensible child marriage contract thing has been hanging over my head my entire life. If I could burn it down, metaphorically speaking, I would. Because of that, I felt compelled to leave Vulcan and that’s how I ended up in Starfleet.”
“That’s what I needed to know,” I replied. “Thanks, Sovak. I have a much better appreciation for the crap you put up with on Vulcan, and why you left.”
“Danise, I don’t know how that horrible excuse for a Human produced a woman as wonderful as you. In fact, I withdraw any credit I was just giving her. You became a beautiful person in spite of her. Be proud. See you soon.”
“Aye.”
I smiled. This is my one happy memory from my time on Vulcan, or what passed for Vulcan in T’Lon’s wish-generated reality.
Later that night, at a group dinner attended by the T’Lon and the Qalbat families, I stood, gave a toast to myself, and described how happy and emotional I would be to finally toss the marriage contract in the trash, as well as to never have to sing in Vulcan or look at wriggling food or be sewn into a dress ever again.
I was slightly inebriated and forgot to record what surely was my greatest piece of oration, which is a shame.
——————
The Tale of Sovak T’Lon…Continued
“Mary Ellen,” I began, “please stand over there, by those trees.”
She shook her head sadly, as if exhausted by my theatrics.
I switched off the safety on my phaser and spoke to her the words I felt Danise herself would say if she were there.
“You are not only a horrible excuse for a mother. You’re the worst mother in the history of mothers. At least the pathological mothers who dump their newborns into the trash get it over with quickly. You had to spread it out over years.”
“I regret nothing, Danise.”
“Neither do I.”
With that, I aimed the phaser at Mary Ellen Simonson’s house and, with a sweeping motion, turned it into a flaming, collapsing pile of timbers.
——————
Lt. Commander Simonson and I opened our eyes simultaneously, standing precisely where we stood before the lunacy began.
“The wedding is off,” she annouced.
“I may have burned down your mother’s house…with my phaser…intentionally,” I admitted.
“That’s okay,” she said.
Dalmaris glanced at me sheepishly, drained of any confidence or bravado.
“You’re going to leave me here, aren’t you? Just like they did, thirty six hundred years ago.”
“Relax,” I said. “I truly think you mean well. I will give you passage, as long as you swear on your mother’s grave that you will not grant any wishes aboard my starship.”
He chuckled, noting, “You could have just wished that in the first place.”
Simonson said, “Listen, Dalmaris, I think you have a truly special ability, but you’re not using it correctly. You need to become a counselor, a therapist. You would offer a unique service that no one could match. People would line up and pay real money to confront their lingering issues, and to re-right old wrongs.”
“My god, she’s right,” I agreed.
“Really?” Dalmaris suddenly regained his full stature. “I feel like I’ve been given a new chance at life. I’m excited.”
“Are we ready to go?” I asked, about to signal the crew to beam the three of us up.
Since our “return,” Simonson had been staring at me with the most peculiar look on her face. She asked, “Captain, what’s with the….”
She raised her hands and indicated my hair.
I gasped.
“You mean it came through from the wish?”
She nodded, smiling.
“Well, if you must know, it’s…Dirty Orange, by Loréal.”
“It’s the new you!”
——————
Back on the ship, peering at myself in the mirror, I realized that a new me was staring back, a Vulcan woman, the daughter of Romulans, the betrothed of no one, the captain of the Starship Churchill.
I smiled at the new me.