The Helpers

Posted on Dec 18, 2016 @ 2:44pm by Selyara Chen
Edited on on Dec 18, 2016 @ 2:45pm

Mission: Aftermath

“The Helpers”

(Cont. “Parting Ways”)

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"My mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother's words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers — so many caring people in this world." -Mister Rogers

* * *=[/\]=* * *

Location: Earth

Scene: Outside the fallout zone of Paris

Stardate:2.16.1216.1910

If you had told Sareb even two days ago that he would be sharing the secrets of building Vre’katras with members of all the races of the Federation, he would have… Well, he wouldn’t have laughed, being a Vulcan, but he would have told you that the very idea was illogical.

Sareb was a member of the Kolinahru Order, Vulcan ascetics that guarded the Hall of Memory, where Vulcan Katras were kept. But Sareb had decided to leave the monastery in order to minister to Vulcans on other worlds, and because he felt that perhaps he needed to test his control over his emotions somewhere outside of the sedate confines of the monastery.

There had been as well, he had to admit, now that there was distance between him and his decision, a bit of conceit there as well. He thought that perhaps he would also test his mastery of the teachings of Sarek by attempting to proselytize to Humans, after all recently it seemed as though they could use some

Logic.

He had arrived on Earth only hours before the Aegis shield went up, and had been staying in Paris for a day or so, before he’d met Sister Mary Sophia. The woman was a Poor Clare, a follower of one of Earth’s multitude of religions. They’d exchanged notes, and found that they lived very similar lives, though one was devoted to Logic, and the other to the enrichment of the soul. It was she that had suggested that he might find it instructive to take the Camino Santiago, an ancient Terran religious pilgrimage, and understand a little bit more about Terrans through their philosophy. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, and he had been intrigued by the ideas and philosophy that Humans had built their civilization on. So he and Mary Sophia had set out to complete the pilgrimage, mere hours before the green light came down from the sky, irradiating Paris.

In this manner, deciding to delve into Terran religions had saved his life, which Mary Sophia insisted was proof that fate- although she had not called it fate, she had called it God- was protecting him for some reason. She was doubly convinced that it was fate after Sareb woke up after being hit with the psionic aftershocks and realized that his mind and the mind of other psionics was filled with the last thoughts of the citizens of Paris. The thoughts had been flung out into the psionic weft of the world as their owners had perished, and even here a being’s singular will for survival manifested, those thoughts desperately attached themselves, imbedded themselves, into the minds of telepaths which were capable of receiving these shreds of consciousness, in an attempt at immortality.


Sareb had found himself unwilling to purge himself of these bits of consciousness, even though that would have been the most logical course of action. Others telepaths, like the Betazoids and the Deltans, were vociferous in their disinclination to rid themselves of their psionic baggage, even though the wisps of thoughts caused them significantly more emotional distress than they did the Vulcans.

It was Sister Mary Sophia who had come up with the idea of using Vre’katras to provide a solution, a fitting memorial to the recent tragedy, and hopefully some closure and respite of grief to the friends and loved ones left behind. All through the day, Sister Mary Sophia, the Poor Clares, and a never ending stream of well meaning volunteers worked hard crafting the vessels, while Sareb and a small group of Vulcans performed mind melds with the other telepaths, gathering up the psionic debris and then filling the Vre’katras with them. Someday, once they’d collected them all up, Sareb and the others would sort all these thoughts where they could, find the pieces that fit together, and perhaps even put names to them.

Those non psionic species not occupied constructing the Vre’katras were busy constructing an undulating wall made of Lutetian limestone with hundreds of little alcoves deep enough to hold the Vre’katras, with one small flame flickering in front of each. When it was finished, the effect of the white limestone, the polished Vre’katras, and the flames would be a haunting memorial to the dead of Paris, a modern catacomb for the victims.

“I think you’ve got another visitor,” Mary Sophia said with a smile on her face, one hand falling gently onto Sareb’s shoulder as she pointed across the camp. Sareb followed her finger to see a tall Vulcan woman standing in the center of the clearing looking lost. He stood and walked towards her. As he drew nearer he could see that she wasn’t a pure Vulcan, her eyes were dark green and pupiless, like a Betazoid. An interesting combination, and possibly the only of it’s kind. She was dressed in a steel grey jumpsuit with gloves that covered her hands, and a hood attached to the shoulders by decorative clasps. She was lean and cagy looking, her eyes darting around the camp as though looking for threats.

“Hello, have you come to share your memories?” Sareb said automatically. The phrase was not his, it was Sister Mary Sophia’s. She insisted that the euphemistic phrasing would be more palatable to those who came seeking his help, and that his inclination for clinical descriptions might offend some of the more sensitive telepaths’ sensibilities. So far she seemed to be correct, and others didn’t find the phrasing as awkward as he.

“I have, yes.” The woman’s voice was tight, as controlled as her expression, and hard. He waited politely for her to elaborate, not sure what to expect of her behavior. When she didn’t continue, he motioned her towards his tent and directed her to the cushions in the center.

She settled down into the cushions, and he sat across from her.

“Have you performed a meld before?” Sareb asked.

“Yes.” Again she did not elaborate.

“Will we begin, then?” She nodded her assent.

The meld was brief, and the psionic equivalent of someone shoving a package out the door at you, then slamming said door in your face. If Sareb was capable of being insulted, he would have been. It was by most species standards, rather rude, but Sareb didn’t mind. In the last few weeks he’d come into more diversity of thought and emotion than he had in his entire time on Vulcan, and certainly more than his time at the monastery. It had been a true test of his control, of his dedication to the Kolinahr, and it had made him appreciate the idea of infinite diversity in infinite combinations.

The woman thanked him, and stood, moving back towards the crowds outside the tent. As she stepped into the light, a tall man in a Starfleet Uniform approached her. He wore the rank pips of a captain, and he would have been a handsome man in his youth, and indeed might still have been a handsome man, were it not for one yellow, mismatched eye, and an air of worldweariness.

“Selyara, I’d heard they’d released you today, I figured I’d find you here.” The man halted when he got close to her, at an awkward distance too close for a mere acquaintance, but too distant for an intimate friend. He paused, then crossed his arms, and tried to look casual.

“Or you asked them where I’d transported to,” she retorted, though it was light enough to let him know she was teasing. The woman was also surprisingly awkward around the man. She hesitated. “They didn’t say specifically, but I gather you had something to do with my release. Thank you.”

“Did… What are you going to do now?” the captain asked. Still the awkward dance.

“They gave me a job, so I guess there’s that.”

“Oh? Where?”

“Federation Spaceport Cargo Control. I’ll be the director of the lost cargo and complaints department.” Sareb could tell she was lying to the captain, though he had no idea why she would be. The man seemed oblivious.

“Oh.” The man looked disappointed, or something like that. The woman looked worried then reached out and gingerly grasped his hand

“No, really, it’s okay. I’ll be able to make up for lost time with my family. My mother’s talking to me again, my sister too. I’ll have lots of opportunity to see them, since I’ll be travelling around the ports. Da’s ready to retired now, he’s saying that he’ll use me as an excuse to travel. It may not be the most exciting of jobs, and I may be underutilized, but being with my family while I can is more important… And maybe you can come and see me, if we happen to be in the same place. I’d like that.”

“So would I…” There was another awkward pause as though he was trying to figure out what he wanted to say. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” She leaned forward and gave him a quick hug. “I hear you’ve got a ship again. That’s good. I can’t imagine you anywhere else. Stay safe. Live long and prosper, Michael.”

Then she was in motion again, pressing away through the crowd in the direction from whence she’d come, and the man was disappearing into the shimmer of a transport.

* * *=(/\)=* * *

Location: USS ANUBIS

Scene: Captain’s Ready Room

Whatever Selyara had expected a captain of a flagship of Koniki’s clandestine fleet to be like, Captain Morningstar wasn’t it. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with him, he just wasn’t as… scary… as she’d expected from someone handpicked by Koniki to be. But then perhaps Koniki didn’t want someone who might eventually challenge him? No, that was unfair. He had given her a job, after all, and looks were often deceiving, but-

**Stop it,** she told herself quietly, reining in the tangent her mind had taken. **Paranoia is not the appropriate way to approach this particular situation. Assume this is all in good faith, act accordingly. Don’t jump at shadows.**

“Captain. I’m Selyara Chen. Admiral Koniki informed you of my visit, and my current assignment?” Selyara drew herself to attention, but stopped short of saluting the man.

“He did. Section 31 coming to roost with SFI? That’s unexpected.”

“As unexpected as a whole fleet and top secret facility suddenly appearing out of nowhere to save Earth?” Selyara quipped. Captain Morningstar looked amused.

“Touche.”

“I’m glad you’re aware of my eventual position. I’ve had to tell everyone I know I’m the head the lost cargo division of Federation Cargo Control,” Selyara said, exploratorily.

“Ah. You’ll get used to his sense of humor, eventually. Now, the crew knows who you are, there’s no way to keep that particular piece of information under wraps on an intelligence vessel, but they don’t know what you will be doing. As far as they’re concerned, you’re a regular SFI agent, albeit one that Koniki chose for service despite or because of your recent checkered past. They also know of your particular skill set, although I see that you’ve taken steps to put them at ease in that regard.” He nodded to indicate her covered hands.

“The Admiral made me a challenge in that regard. I hate losing a challenge,” Selyara smiled her best charming smile at him, trying to ignore the niggling sensation that maybe, just maybe Morningstar was obfuscation just a teensy tiny bit.

“And I’m sure the Admiral knows that.” Morningstar smiled back. “Why don’t we let you get settled in your quarters, and then we can introduce you my department heads this evening?” He pressed a button. “Ensign Ya’Han? Please report to my ready room. Ensign Ya’Han is our chief of Security.” Morningstar said for Selyara’s benefit. She refrained from commenting about her security escort to her rooms.

**Take everything in good faith,** she reminded herself. **Not everyone is out to get you now.**

The doors hissed open to admit a lithe woman in a security uniform. Selyara’s usually keen skills of observation shuddered to a halt and got slighty stuck on the shock of green hair on the woman’s head. It wasn’t so much the color- she’d seen far more colorful locks on LIMBO- it was the unexpectedness in conjunction with Starfleet, combined with the fact that it looked natural. Selyara scrutinized Ensign Ya’Han, before she realized that her stare was beginning to border on inappropriate.

“You must be Ensign Ya’Han,” Selyara said in what she hoped was a graceful transition from staring. She reached out a hand. The other woman looked rather suspiciously at Selyara’s gloved hand, before grasping it firmly and giving it perfunctory shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Selyara.”

“Likewise.” Ya’Han said politely, but certainly without warmth. Selyara squirmed inwardly, hating her awkwardness, and wishing that she could fall back on one of her many personae. It was much easier to put on an act than to be oneself. “Follow me.”

Selyara turned and smiled at Captain Morningstar, mouthing “thank you” as she followed the woman from the room.

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NRPG: As of this post, Selyara's story moves to DH for an adventure with the USS ANUBIS! This means posts for her will no longer go to you, and you'll need to go to the DH website (http://startrekdistanthorizons.yolasite.com/) if you want to keep reading about her.

She will also be back in the Solo Play Section 31 setting eventually. I have an idea for a collection of one-shot short stories involving her, so keep an eye out there too in the spring.

Alix Fowler
as
Director Selyara Chen
Section 31
Starfleet Intelligence