Star Trek: Eventide 777 - ┊t′lauk-household

The entrance hall was neat and empty. Remun was perfectly indifferent to the fact that his parents weren’t welcoming him. His father was probably still at work, and he heard soft music coming from the living room, indicating where his mother would be. Remun left his shoes by the door, storing them neatly away in the shoe shelf. Then, with his travel bag in one hand, he went towards the origins of the music. The living room was grand, high windows on one side of the room let in a massive amount of sunlight - something that would have troubled Renakir- wait, why was Remun thinking about Renakir? He pushed the thought away. The room was elegantly furnished, but simplistic. Everything was rectangular or round and everything was practical in design. The windows opened towards the gardens, and the colour schemes of the room matched the red and orange of Ni’var.

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Sonval was seated on the couch. Strands of black hair framed her symmetrical face as she strummed a tune on the lyre that was resting on her lap. Her eyes were closed, she was listening to the music she made. And then she heard footsteps approaching. Ah. Her son. She didn’t stop playing.

Remun came to stand next to the couch. He looked at his adoptive mother and waited. She’d gotten older. Of course she had. He hadn’t seen her in years, not in person anyways. He waited for the melody to end - not wanting to interrupt - and then he said, “Mother. I have arrived.”

Sonval looked up. Her eyes scanned Remun, going up and down his body, taking in his outfit and his hair, that glint inside of his copper brown eyes, the freckles on his cheeks. Older. Grown up. She wondered what had made him visit all of a sudden - something he didn’t usually do - but she didn’t ask. “I can see that, son,” said Sonval plainly, a perfect monotone. “You may go up to your room to store away your belongings.” No sentimental reunion. No questions about his well-being. No nothing.

Remun nodded. He hadn’t been expecting anything else. “Yes, mother.” He went towards the staircase, but before he left the room he asked, “When is father returning home?”

“The Council meeting may take up to another two hours,” replied Sonval and picked up her lyre again. “He told me he would return promptly after the meeting to eat with us.” She looked at her son. “Perhaps you could help me in the kitchen in 50 minutes.”

He nodded again. “I will be there.” And then he went up to his room. The only reason why it was still there and hadn’t been used for anything else yet, was that his parents could not think of a logical purpose for the room. And so, it had remained relatively unused ever since Remun’s last departure from Vulcan. The room was simplistically furnished and just as characterless as Remun himself. Bland and lonely and with too many edges. Very telling. Almost poetic. There was one small window through which Remun could see reddish hills, a lake in the distance, and a couple of houses. Remun stored away his things, sat down on the bed and that was when a PADD message reached him.

I will make sure to come home to you, Takov. Why did that sentence make him feel warm and fuzzy? Was he not acclimated to the Vulcan heat anymore? Was it all that time in the cold quarters? Remun only had time for a short reply. Then he went to help his mother in the kitchen.

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Sonval was preparing to make Pok Tar from fresh ingredients from their garden. She was cleaning all of the vegetables and she looked up when her son came down the stairs. It still seemed to take her by surprise just how tall, how grown up he was now, even though it should seem logical to her. She was not used to it. “Remun,” she said and moved slightly to make space next to her. “I am just now cleaning the plants.”

Remun nodded in response to that and he came to stand next to her. His mother smelled faintly of something flowery and sweet. He recognised the scent, some kind of nostalgia welling up inside of him. When had he last stood so closely by his mother? When had she last touched him? Held him? He couldn’t remember. Too long. His green, freckled hands reached for the vegetables and he started cleaning them with a sonic cleaning device.

1

“How is your new posting? Is your work improving?”, asked Sonval, her feminine voice completely void of emotion. Though she hoped that her son was improving. It was best to strive for improvement in a world that would never fully accept him, she though it was the only way he would be able to earn his place.

It shouldn’t be a difficult question, and yet there was a pause before Remun answered. On the one hand side, the posting was surely not bad. His work was not unsatisfactory. And yet, he felt insufficient. It was always difficult to feel sufficient, especially with Sonval’s eyes resting on him. “I have no complaints about the posting. I have been perfecting a recent security algorithm, it is fair to say that my work is going well.”

Going well, but not improving? She nodded. “I see. How are you studies of music coming along?”

“My lyre play is improving,” he said, for once satisfied with himself. Yes, he knew that he would never be as good as his mother, but he felt relatively confident in his music playing. “I have recently played the lyre for my roommate. He wanted to learn about and experience Vulcan culture.”

“Who is your roommate?”, asked Sonval, clinically, the same way you would ask a scientist what a chemical is named. It felt like she was just accumulating information, not actually making personally inquiries.

“Lieutenant Junior Grade Renakir Torre’vnau, a Reman-Romulan hybrid,” responded Remun in the same clinical tone of voice. (edited)

“Why is he interested in Vulcan culture?” It was impossible to tell if there was judgement in her expression or if that was just Her Face.

’Maybe because of me,’ Remun thought, but what he said was something else. “He told me his interest is caused by the fact that Romulans and Vulcans are distant ancestors to each other.”

“Understandable,” said Sonval and started cutting the vegetables.

Remun joined in. For a while they simply worked in silence, both of them cutting vegetables into perfectly even pieces. The red sun shone in through the tall windows, illuminating the kitchen, covering Remun’s green hands. It was warm and quiet and in some way peaceful. But Remun’s mind was not at peace. He was at war with thoughts about Renakir and Alizati and the things that Men had said to him at the lake. He thought of Renakir’s messages, of the way he’d joked about them sounding like they were married. Illogical. He thought about Renakir’s silver eyes that reminded him of the stars. And he thought about Renakir’s grey hands, covered in flour and Kreyla dough, delicate and beautiful and… Illogical. Illogical. He tried to shake it off and focus on the cooking.

2

Eventually, they got to a point where they simply had to let the vegetables cook for a while. Sonval wanted to keep an eye on the pan herself, so there was nothing else for her son to do here anymore. “Remun,” she said, “Now that you are here, your father wishes to take you to the lakes at the outskirts of the city.”

Remun was cleaning his hands and the knife he had used while she spoke to him. No expression came over his face as he asked, “For what purpose?”

“He wishes to speak to you and show you the changes in the environment.”

“I see.” Remun refrained from speculating about whether or not his father might have ulterior motives. His eyes fell on the window. “I will go into the gardens for a while. Call me inside when father arrives.”

2

Sonval merely nodded.

Remun headed out into the gardens.

1

On the round table in the dining room, a bowl of fresh Pok Tar was standing in the middle, three sets of cutlery and plates next to it. Sonval’s husband had already sat down and Sonval was now taking the seat opposite from him.

T’Lauk was short for a Vulcan, had creases around his dark eyes, and when he spotted his adoptive son, his facial expression remained unchanged. One would think that after years of little to no contact with Remun, the two of them - father and son - would have a lot to say to one another. However, all that T’Lauk said was a very sterile, “Greetings, son. Have a seat.”

Remun stood for a moment in front of the chair, his father’s stern voice echoing in his ears. He hadn’t heard that voice in a long time. Though Remun had occasionally called his mother, he had not spoken to his father in years. The man to whom Remun owed his last name still had as much of an authoritative voice as Remun remembered. It hadn’t changed. As a child, the Orion had once wondered whether T’Lauk was capable of sounding different. Now, Remun was sure that his father was capable of changing his tone. His father simply didn’t want to. “Greetings.” Remun took a seat, as he was told.

“Let us eat,” announced T’Lauk, looking from his green skinned son to his wife. “Remun, tell me how your career has been coming along.”

Sonval caught his glance and started putting food on each plate.

Meanwhile, Remun began speaking. “It has been continuing appropriately. I have been working on a security algorithm for the station 777. I am working efficiently.”

T’Lauk nodded. That was good to hear. “Do you believe you will continue to?”

“Yes, father.” Remun took a forkful of Pok Tar and started eating. Finding this conversation pleasant or unpleasant was… illogical. What was however not illogical was to enjoy his mother’s cooking. The Pok Tar was excellent, much better than replicated. Though logically they had the same nutrients, Pok Tar made from the vegetables from their garden was simply a whole different thing.

“I wish to speak to you after dinner. Perhaps we can take a walk.”

“Mother has already informed me. I am not opposed,” replied Remun plainly. His mother was quiet, as always during dinner. They hadn’t had a family dinner in years, and yet this was just like how Remun remembered it. Everyone was quiet, the conversation was sparse and cut down to the essentials. As always.

“Good,” said T’Lauk and then followed his wife’s example and fell silent. He, too, enjoyed the Pok Tar.

Remun spent the rest of the dinner quietly eating and thinking about the fact that his parents seemed so old, suddenly. And at the same time, so unchanged. How? In a world that was ever-changing, how did they manage to stay so… stagnant? His father was still stoic and decisive and his mother was still perfectionistic and strict and orderly. No change. Not even their hair styles had changed, only their skin - a few creases here and there. Sometimes Remun felt like they weren’t even looking at him with their dark eyes. They weren’t seeing him, it was like he was transparent. Maybe they weren’t seeing him, because they were always looking down on him. Even though he was on eye level with them. At least that’s what he liked to think. He liked to think he was… equal. Especially after all that Alizati had said. Remun hoped that Men had relayed his apology to Alizati. He also hoped that Renakir was doing ok. Why he was being concerned was unfathomable and illogical! Surely, Renakir knew how to handle himself! And yet, he was emotional and he might do something illogical and impulsive and what if he got into trouble? Remun stopped his train of thought and willed his emotions away. He had come to Vulcan to clear his head and reconnect with his parents, not to think about Renakir even more than he already did!

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