Chapter Text
She met him at one of the transporter pads, and they walked to her office. His overnight bag gave them away, but neither cared. There were no secrets in Starfleet. During their six months as a couple, they’d taken several trips together. Seeing one or both of them carrying a bag at the end of the week no longer raised eyebrows.
“Here we are.” She tapped the control panel and the door whooshed open, revealing a good-sized but bland office with a view of San Francisco Bay. “I still haven’t unpacked my decor from Voyager.”
“It’s only been what? Three months?” Picard looked around at the sterile furniture, noting the standard Federation star chart on the wall–the only decoration. He smiled and set down his bag. “What’s the rush?”
“Maybe this is all a dream, and I’ll be demoted as soon as they realize they’ve made a mistake.”
“Maybe?” He put his hands on her shoulders, looking at her face intently. “You were the talk of Starfleet for years before you returned from the Delta Quadrant.”
Before she could reply, he kissed her, lingering over the feel of her, her scent, the warmth he felt spreading outward from his heart whenever he was near her. He tried to bring it to memory every night while he was gone, but it wasn’t the same.
When they pulled apart, she was breathless. “It’s been too long.”
“How long had it been?” He gazed at the ceiling as he calculated. “Three weeks?”
“Much too long.” She gazed into his eyes until she felt she might fall into those two blue pools. “My mother warned me to stay away from Starfleet men. I’d be lonely.”
He wasn’t sure how to take that message. “You’re nothing if not adaptable,” he reminded her. “And we both have a lot of shore leave accrued.”
“Two weeks together this time.”
“I’ll try to help you forget feeling lonely…”
She pointed to her own overnight bag, tucked away in a corner. “I’ve made all the arrangements. We leave for Vulcan in three hours.” Her gift to him – two weeks volunteering at a Vulcan archaeological dig.
“And between now and then?”
She grabbed his neck with both hands, then whispered into his ear. “I booked you a V.I.P. suite for the day.”
Laughing, he realized she did indeed think of everything. “Well, then, I can take a nap while you’re wrapping up loose ends…”
She picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. “They’re all tied up.” She winked at him. “No napping today.” Thinking of everything, included everything.
Their instructions were to visit the Vulcan Museum of History before checking in to their hotel. An automated narrator read the plaque at the entrance to the grand room. “Two thousand years ago, the Time of Awakening.”
“It was a time of war, division, and illogic. After spreading his message of logic and peace throughout Vulcan, Surak’s death from radiation would be one of the last. His mission of peace and philosophy of logic brought peace to the Vulcan people. May we never forget the before and the after. May we always honor his sacrifice and his message.”
Janeway and Picard knew all this, of course, but the introductory plaque and narration slowed all visitors, inspiring reverence, silencing all chatter. It’s like visiting an old cathedral, Janeway thought. She glanced at Picard, who was silent, his eyes closed as he listened. She took deep, relaxing breaths as she waited for him to be ready. “I thought you’ve been here before,” she whispered.
“I have.” His voice betrayed sorrow and humility that she hadn’t heard in him before. His eyes regarded her with sympathy. “Some of this will be hard to see,” he warned.
The room was indeed grand. The ceiling, painted a dusty red hue, measured in terran terms, was at least four storeys tall. Holographic displays on either side of a wide central walkway, stretched far enough to make the ceiling seem closer. Though modern Vulcans suppressed their emotions, the room seemed designed to create a seriousness and awe in even Vulcan visitors.
Picard led Janeway by the elbow, directing her to the display representing the earliest known history of Vulcan. As soon as they entered the display, they heard shouts and cries from a horde of scantily-clad warriors approaching from the left. At the right, a small village exploded with activity. Men and women in primitive garb pushed rocks into windows, then escaped into doorways.
The warriors ignored them, running toward the village, using ladders they’d carried on their backs to climb to the roofs of the stucco houses, then dropping into the unprotected courtyards. They were out of sight for several moments as shouts and screams rang out from the courtyards. Soon, they began to appear, most carrying a woman or child, climbing to the roof, then back down.
Occasionally, a man armed with a primitive club climbed the roof behind one of the attackers. One after the other, they were killed by spears pulled from secret compartments in the ladders. Some, left for dead, rose up on their knees, yelling to the skies in an unrecognizable language. Then, one by one, they ceased their cries and fell again, pools of green blood forming around them.
Janeway expected a depiction of Vulcan’s violent past, but not something as realistic. Instinctively, she put a hand over her mouth, watching in horror as warriors ran past with their captives. The captives wailed and tried to beat the warriors with their fists, but they didn’t even slow them down.
Finally, the last warrior emerged from the scene, with a hog-tied woman strapped to his back. As he passed them, he looked each in the eye. “You could be next,” he growled.
They watched as the woman cried out to them, “Help me. If you don’t help, you are complicit!”
Janeway stood in stunned silence as Picard began walking casually toward the village.
The holo-program, sensing his movement, removed the stones blocking the windows. He looked into the closest window, observing a primitive kitchen with a wood-burning fireplace and a table with four chairs. On the floor lay a man with characteristic Vulcan ears, bleeding green blood from a headwound.
He returned to Janeway. She looked a bit nauseated. “Brutal, but would human history look different?”
Blinking back tears, she looked from the homes to the warriors’ escape route, following their paths. “Is the whole museum like this?”
“As realistic, yes.” He put an arm around her shoulder and spoke softly. “But you know the ending. The Vulcan of today.”
She nodded. “Thank you for the warning.” She turned toward the exit, leaving the comfort of his embrace. As was her style, she steeled herself against any emotional pain, walking almost in “at attention” posture, lips pulled into a tight line. “Then let’s get going.
Picard watched her for a moment, wondering if Vulcans reacted the same way. He caught up to her, triggering the automated narration.
“The Massacre of Poru’Shen was just one of many raids on early villages.”