TWO YEARS AGO.....
Cessan Selar barely remembered any of her trip from the Atlantis to Vulcan. Instead, all of her attention was focused inward: inward to the urges that were rampaging through her body, to the drives that were sending her home as fast as the transport was able to carry her.
She felt as if her brain were being divided, with one part of her observing the other part in a kind of distant fascination. The cool, calm, emotionless assessment that had enabled her to diagnose so many people with clinical efficiency, was now contemplating her own state of mind. So this is what Farr'Pon is like, the Vulcan doctor mused. A most----interesting phenomenon. Accelerated heart rate, unsteady breathing, a curious pounding that seems to mask out all other sensory input. I find it impossible to dwell on any topic other than mating.
She had known of the Vulcan mating drive, had even seen it in action. But Selar had always imagined that she herself would somehow be less impacted by the primal urge. Actually, that was a common belief (some would say failing) among many Vulcans. So proud, so confident were they in their discipline and logic that, despite their thorough knowledge of their own biology, they had a great deal of difficulty intellectually accepting the concept of Farr'Pon. The problem was that Farr'Pon, of course, was the antithesis of logical acceptance.
Even when the first stages of Farr'Pon were setting in, Selar had not recognized the for what they were. "Physician, heal thyself" was a perfectly fine axiom, but the truth was that a physician was oftentimes not in the best position to judge what was going on in his/her own body. Such was most definitely the case for Selar.
The timing was perfectly bad. She had enjoyed her duties on the Atlantis, and had looked forward to the many challenges that her position on the medical staff had offered her. But her personal physiology would not be denied. What had been difficult was having to be less than truthful with Janet Frasier. She had not lied outright; she had just told Frasier that certain duties on Vulcan could not be ignored, and that she would have to take an extended leave of absence. Despite the fact that it was one doctor to another, Selar could not bring herself to discuss such personal matters with an alien. It just wasn't done.
Of course, Frasier wasn't stupid. It was entirely possible that Janet knew exactly what was up. But if that was the case, then she respected Selar's privacy sufficiently not to press her on the matter.
So the leave was not a problem, and obtaining transport to Vulcan was not a problem.
The problem, unfortunately, was Chudor Voltak. Chudor, her husband, Chudor, her mate. Chudor, of whom she had only the vaguest of memories.
Despite her drive, despite her desire, there was something that lay at the core of Farr'Pon which was very daunting to her, and that was basically fear. Never in her life had Dr. Selar felt so vulnerable. Actually, never in her life had she felt vulnerable at all. She had always been supremely gifted and capable. But now, with her inner core laid bare for what she felt was for all the world to see, she was driven to mate with someone she barely knew. Oh, they'd kept up a correspondence, as much as her schedule and his had allowed, for Chudor had his own life and ventures to pursue. Chudor was an archaeologist, forever off on one dig or another, frequently in places where any kind of communication was problematic at best.
It was an infantile, childish attitude for her to possess, but Selar nonetheless felt as if this was all profoundly unfair, somehow. She was a private person, as were most Vulcans. And now she was destined to have no privacy, no barrier, nothing to hide behind, to be fully and totally exposed to a male who was, to all intents and purposes, an acquaintance at best.
And so it scared her. Fear was something she could deal with fairly easily when she was in her normal state of mind. As she was, though, she was hardly equipped to handle even the most casual emotions, much less spine-tingling horror.
The next hours were a blur to her, a red haze. She was met at the port by Krami. an old friend of hers who was serving as the equivalent of what would be considered the "maid of honor." She was escorted by Krami to a great hall. As was the custom, her parents were absent. It was not felt appropriate for parents to see their children during the time when such raw, naked sexuality ran rampant through them.
She sensed him before she actually saw him. She turned and saw Chudor enter from the back of the room.
Chudor Voltak was tall and strong, and although he was similarly in the grip of Farr'Pon, he was managing to maintain some degree of composure. Intensity radiated from him, drawing her like a beacon. Not only could she resist, but she had no desire to do so. Instead her desire was for him, and only for him.
"Chudor," she said, her voice low and intense. "I am summoned. I am here."
She looked into his eyes and realized, to her amazement, that he had likewise been seized with similar doubts just before he'd set eyes on her. Oddly it had never occurred to her that the male would have anything approximating her concerns. But it was surely not unreasonable. Chudor was no less proud, no less confident than Selar, and no less subject to the same apprehensions.
Those worries washed away from both of them when they looked into each other's eyes. They had been joined when they were mere children in a ceremony that neither of them could even really recall. But it all came rushing back to them, as the link which had been forged years ago finally took its full hold on them.
Selar loved him. Loved him, wanted him, needed him. Her life would not be complete without him. She had no idea whether the feelings were genuine, or whether they were a product of the heat of Farr'Pon. Ultimately, she did not care either way. All she wanted was Chudor's body against hers, to have the two of them join and mate, and fulfill the obligations that their race and biology put upon them.
The fear was forgotten. Only the need and hunger remained. Why? Because they were the only logical courses of action.
The Joining Place had been in Chudor's family for generations. Whenever one of the Voltak line took a mate, it was there that the Joining was consummated.
The room was ornate and sumptuously furnished, in stark contrast to the typically more Spartan feel of most Vulcan households. The lighting was low, the room temperature moderate. There was not the slightest discomforting element to distract them from each other---although, considering the mental and physical state of mind, nothing short of a full-scale phaser barrage could have pulled their attention from each other.
Chudor pulled Selar into the room and closed the heavy door. They stood apart from one another for a long moment, trying to focus on something other than the drive that had taken hold of them.....although they could not, for the life of them, figure out why they should be interested in anything but that.
"We are not animals," Selar managed to say. "We are---intelligent, rational beings."
"Yes," Chudor agreed readily. He hesitated. "Your point being...?"
"My point," and she tried to remember what it was. It took her a moment. "Yes. My point is that rather than just giving in to rutting impulses, we should----should---talk first."
"Absolutely, yes----I have no problem with that." In point of fact, Chudor looked as if he were ready to paw the ground. But instead he drew himself up, pulled together his Vulcan calm and utterly self-possessed demeanor. "What shall we talk about?"
"We shall discuss matters that are of intellectual interest. And as we do that, we can----introduce ourselves to the physical aspect of our relationship----in a calm, mature manner."
"That sounds reasonable, Cessan."
They sat near one another on the bed, and Chudor extended two fingers. Selar returned the gesture, her fingers against his.
It was such a simple thing, this touch. And yet it felt like a bolt of lightning had leaped between the two of them. Selar had trouble steadying her breath. This was insanity. She was a rational person, a serious and sober-minded person. It was utter lunacy that some primordial mating urge could strip from her everything that made her unique. It was---illogical.
"So---tell me, Cessan,' said Chudor, sounding no more steady than Selar. "Do you feel that your---medical skills have been sufficiently challenged in your positon on the Atlantis? Or do you feel that you might have been of---greater service to the common good---if you had remained with pure research, as I understand you originally intended to do."
Selar nodded, trying to remember what the question had been. "I am---quite fulfilled, yes. I feel I made the---the right decision." Her fingers slowly moved away from his and reached up, tracing the strong curve of his chin. "And---you---you spoke once of teaching, but instead have remained with---with fieldwork. To instruct others in the discipline of doing that which gives me the most satisfaction----did not appear the logical course." He paused, then said, "Cessan?"
Her voice low and throaty, she said, "Yes?"
"I do not wish----to talk----anymore."
"That would be----fine with me."
Within moments---with the utmost efficiency and concern for order---they were naked with each other. He drew her to him, and his fingers touched her temples. She put her fingers to his temples as well, and their minds moved closer.
There was so much coldness in the day-to-day life of a Vulcan, so much remoteness. Yet the Vulcan Mind-Meld was the antithesis of the isolation provided by that prized Vulcan logic. It was as if nature and evolution had enhanced the Vulcan telepathic ability to compensate for the shields they erected around themselves. As distant as they held themselves from each other, the mind-meld enabled them to cut through defenses and drop shields more thoroughly than most other races. Thus were Vulcans a paradoxical combination of standoffishness and yet intimate.
And never was that intimacy more thorough than in a couple about to mate.
They probed each other, drawn to each other's strengths and weaknesses. Chudor felt Selar's deep compassion, her care for all living beans masked behind a façade of Vulcan detachment, and brought it into his heart. Selar savored Chudor's thoroughness and dedication, his insight and fascination with the past and how it might bear on the future, and she took pride in him.
And then their minds went behind the depth already provided by the meld, deeper and deeper and even as their bodies came together their minds, their intellects were merged. In her mind's eye, Selar saw the two of them intertwined, impossible to discern where one left off and the other started. Her breath came in short gasps, her consciousness and control spinning away as she allowed the joy of union to overwhelm her totally....the joy and ecstasy and heat, the heat building in her loins, her chest...
....her chest....
.....and the heat starting to grip her, and suddenly there was something wrong. God, there was something horribly wrong...
.....her chest was on fire. The euphoria, the glorious blood-frenzy of joining, were slipping away. Instead there was pain in her torso, a vice-grip on her bosom, and she couldn't breathe.
Selar's back arched in agony, and she gasped desperately for air, unable to pull any into her lungs, and her mind screamed to her, You're having a heart attack! And then she heard a howl of anguish that reverberated in her body and in her soul, and she realized what was happening. It wasn't her. It was Chudor. Chudor was having a massive coronary!
And Selar's mind was linked into his!
She had no command over his body, over her faculties. She tried to move, to struggle, to focus. She tried desperately to push Chudor out of her mind so she could do something other than writhe in pain. But Chudor, his emotions already laid bare and raw due to the Joining, was responding to this hideous turn of events in a most un-Vulcanlike manner. He was scared. Terrified. And because of that, rather than breaking his telepathic bond with Selar, he held on to her all the more desperately. It's impossible to convince the drowning man that the only chance he's got is to toss aside the life preserver.
Calm! her mind screamed at him, calm! But Chudor was unable to find the peaceful center within him, that intellectual height from which his logic and icy demeanor could project.
And in her mind's eye, she could see him. She could see him as if he were being surrounded by blackness, tendrils reaching out and pulling him down, far and away. Paralyzed, pain stabbing her through the chest, she didn't know whether to reach out to him as raw emotion dictated, or try to break off as logic commanded so that she might still have a chance of saving him. She elected the latter because it was the only sane thing to do, she might still have a prayer....
And as she began to pull away, Selar suddenly realized her error, because Chudor called to her in her mind, My katra....
His soul. His Vulcan soul, all that made him what he was, his spirt and essence. Under ordinary circumstances, a mind-meld would preserve his katra and bring it to a place of honor with his ancestors. But these were not ordinary circumstances.
To accept the katra was to accept the death of the other, and Dr. Selar was not ready or willing to accept that Chudor Voltak was beyond hope, beyond saving. She was a doctor, there were things she could do, if she could only battle past the accursed mental and physical paralysis that the mind-meld had trapped her in.
And in a fading voice she heard again, katra, and she knew that he was lost. That it was too late. Desperately Selar, who only instants earlier had been trying to pull free, reversed himself and plunged toward him. She could "see" his hand outstretched to her, and in the palm of his hand something small and glowing and precious, and she reached toward him, desperately, mental fingers outstretched, almost pulling it from his grasp, a mere second or two more to bring them sufficiently close together....
.....and the blackness claimed him. Claimed him and claimed her as death closed around the two of them. Coldness cut through Selar, and for a moment the void opened to her, and she saw the other side and it was terrifying and barren to her. So much emptiness, so much desolation, so much nothingness. As life was the celebration of everything that was, there was death, the consecration of everything that wasn't. And from the darkness, something seemed to look back at her, and reject her, pushing her away, pushing Chudor and his soul forever out of her reach, for it was too late.
His katra, his essence, his life force, extinguished as easily as a candle snuffed out by a vagrant breeze, and Selar called out repeatedly in a lonely agony, called out into the blackness, raged at the void, felt his death, felt the passing of his life force, clutched frantically at it as if trying to ensnare passing wisps of smoke, and having about as much success.
No, please no, come back, come back to me!
But there was no one and nothing there to hear her.
And Selar felt a sudden jolt to her head even as the pain in her chest abruptly evaporated. Pulling her scattered senses together, she realized that she had fallen off the bed. She scrambled to her feet and there was Chudor, lying on the bed, eyes open, the nothingness of the void reflected in the soullessness of his eyes.
She quickly tried to minister to him, calling his name, trying to massage his heart, trying to will him back to life as if she could infuse some of her own life force into him.
And slowly----
----slowly-----
----she stopped. She stopped as she realized that he was gone, and not all her efforts were going to bring him back.
She realized that her face was covered with tears. She wiped them away, composing her demeanor, pulling herself together, stitching herself back together using her training as a Vulcan and as a doctor as the thread. Her breathing returned to its normal rhythm, her pulse was restored to its natural beat, and she checked a chronometer to establish the time of death.
And Dr. Selar, as she calmly dressed, told herself that something valuable had been accomplished this day. Something far more valuable than just another mating for the purpose of propagating the race.
She had learned the true folly of allowing emotions to sweep one up and carry one away. Oh, she'd known it intellectually from studying the history of her race. But she had experienced it firsthand now, and she was the better for it. She had left herself vulnerable, allowed someone else into her psyche, into her soul. Certainly she had been dragged there by the demands of Farr'Pon, but she was over that now. The demands of her "rutting instinct" had cost a man---a man whom she'd perhaps "loved"---not only his life, but his soul.
She would never, under any circumstance, allow herself to be ruled either by arbitrary physical demands, or by anything approaching any aspect of emotionality. She would be the perfect Vulcan, the perfect doctor. That, and only that, would be her new life's goal. For, to Selar, states of mind such as love, tenderness, or vulnerability were more than just an embarrassment or an inconvenience. They were tantamount to death sentences. And the premier credo of medicine was that, first and foremost, the physician shall do no harm.
That was something that Selar was all too prepared to live by.
Forever.
ns 15.158.61.7da2
