The Needs of The Few

XIV

One week in deep meditation. One week with no food, water, or sleep.

Mac'hla stared up at the ceiling, their stomach aching. They had eaten, finally, but it seemed that their empty stomach was having trouble processing the food.

Seven days is a long time to go without food, but fortunately because of her Netrekan heritage, she was able to hold onto the weight she had.

They groaned and rolled onto their side, clutching their abdomen.

Pain is in the mind.

Taking a deep breath, she stretched and stood, preparing to go to the garden to meditate some more, hoping to potentially go into shallow meditation. If she were to slip into the same deep trance they had just been in it could be disastrous. While their mind could certainly benefit from it, there was only so much the body could tolerate.

Her bare feet padded along the cold, stone, temple floor. Her hair had since fallen from its braid and veil, curling out around her shoulders like a fluffy halo.

"Misses Tirok." Priestess Malar said, "Where are you going?"

"I am going to the garden to meditate." they answered, their voice gravelly from having not spoken.

"Is that a wise decision?" She asked.

Mac'hla's head tilted to the side, "I fail to see any reason for it not to be."

"Your katra is rather... should we say, loose. Are you able to prevent yourself from detaching again?"

"If I had any doubt I would not be going." Mac'hla replied calmly, slowing her strides so that Malar could walk alongside her.

Malar was the youngest priestess in the temple, only being a few years Mac'hla's senior. While she had completed kolinahr and was completely logical, Mac'hla found her to be quite pleasant. They trusted her deeply and was more than willing to consider her advice.

"Your progress has been impressive." Malar noted, "You would make a fine priestess."

"It is my intention to return to Starfleet once the ritual is over. It could benefit from more logic."

"That does not seem logical. Why waste your time on Starfleet when you could remain here?" Malor inquired.

"Perhaps my choice will change. However, as of now, my plan remains." Mac'hla said, brushing away her wiley hair.

"Come," Malar said, "Allow me to braid it."

Mac'hla sat on the steps of the garden, Malar behind them with her hands in their hair.

"The logical way to tame your hair would be to cut it." Malar noted, separating the curls.

"It is culturally significant to grow it long and wrap it."

"And why is that, Misses Tirok?"

"Our hair grows with us. It holds our past. Hair is typically only cut while in mourning." Mac'hla explained, tucking a loose strand behind their ear.

"Why hold onto your past? Would it not be more logical to move forward?"

"That precise question is what separated the Netrekans from the rest of Vulcan hundreds of years ago. To leave behind the past and forget our mistakes would be illogical, as nothing would be learned from it. Holding onto what we have done and comparing it to who we are now defines us. But when the time comes to start anew, we will cut our hair in a sacred ritual."

"You have cut your hair, then?" Malar asked.

"When I was young, after the plague. I had lost my sister and father. Cutting my hair was a representation of severing the connection to that time. Not forgetting them, but starting a new chapter." Mac'hla whispered, fearing if she went too far into detail she might allow herself to feel, "I cut it again before attending Starfleet academy to start over. I was leaving behind Netrek and starting a new life."

"It would be logical to assume that you will be cutting your hair after completing kolinahr."

"I will be, yes." Mac'hla agreed, "And I will be keeping it short. I will no longer have the illogical attachment to the practices of my culture."

"That is wise, Misses Tirok."

"You may call me Mac'hla," Mac'hla said as they admired the neat braid, "My mother is Misses Tirok."

"You are not married? You wore a wedding necklace when you first arrived." Malar asked.

"I am..." Mac'hla whispered, and the beautiful face of her wife popped into her mind. She quickly pushed the thoughts and feelings away as she knew it would create undue internal conflict.

They didn't need any more distractions. When they were finished with Kolinahr they would see their wife once more. They will have children together and raise them, and nothing more. Love is illogical and to waste time on such an emotional thing would be utterly ridiculous.

"How does your husband feel about this?" Malar inquired, sitting next to Mac'hla on the steps and pulling out The Teachings of Surak.

"My wife does not know." Mac'hla whispered.

"Are you trying to spare her emotions?"

"No. That would be illogical," Mac'hla lied, "I do not want her to stop me."

Mac'hla did, indeed, want to spare T'Ve's emotions. T'Ve, her beloved wife was everything to her. If she knew Mac'hla's plan then she would be destroyed.

But there was something else– something more selfish. Mac'hla didn't want her to stop them. They wanted so deeply to feel nothing anymore that they were willing to risk the damage it could potentially cause their brain.

Before they went to the academy they underwent a procedure to rebuild the part of their brain that had atrophied from their trauma in the past. They had been told that the atrophy had stopped, but if anything with that level of trauma happened again it would be damaged irreparably. But Mac'hla had dealt with so much since that procedure, surely they could handle this. They were well aware of the meld that would be coming somewhere in the next few weeks, but they had time to prepare. They had coped before and they could do it again.

But if it didn't work and she died... she was okay with that. If that was the only way that she could prevent feeling, then it was worth it.

They wanted the pain to end– and they'd do anything to achieve that.