Party Time!

Commander Qaren calculated, based upon the length of our time jump into the past and the duration of time we spent to catch back up with the present, that today my age measures exactly nine standard Terran years. As such, she has arranged a "birthday party" ritual for me. I was given a variety of gifts and foodstuffs, most of which were replicated and consequently could have just as easily been replicated by me, but … some of them were so cute! I excused myself to another room and had the computer soundproof it with whitenoise audio dampening before squealing with delight.

Mommy Evil Storvik and Auntie'Vit seemed to be avoiding each other. They think that I don't notice, but during the many years when the four of us lived by ourselves on the Ankh, the friction between the two of them was often obvious even to me. In this case, I assume it has something to do with the fact that Mommy Storvik will be going away for a while. No one talks about it (at least, not in front of me) but I can't imagine a worst-kept secret.

Speaking of secrets, however, I wrote up a full report on my experiences controlling and repairing Counsellor Lothar (omitting only the side effects of the T'Lothvik mind meld) and sent it to the Starfleet Intelligence Research department of the Daystrom Institute (whose logo I saw on some of Lothar's inner workings). They classified the entire report Top Secret and ordered me not to discuss it with anyone outside of the USS Murgatroid's command staff (all of whom knew the story already anyway). I'm no stranger to secrets, as the Vulcan Science Academy considers my genitalia to be classified. In any event, the Daystrom Institute apparently felt that a bribe was in order, and I was certainly not going to tell them otherwise, because they conferred upon me an honorary degree – my first! I am now Doctor T'Sorvik.

I only wish that Qaren would stop calling me "Doogie", or at least explain the reference.

T'Sorvik-Doll Maker

Not Within My Counsellor

T'Sorvik woke up in a bed in sickbay and was surounded by her parents and two doctor Kahns.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine, and that finger will be grown back pretty soon," said the doctor. He didn't mention that he had cloned a couple of extra T'Sorvik fingers for himself, for research or a late-nite snack.

"You are on painkillers now because you needed sleep.." her father Storvik said "but when they wear off you'll have to practice suppressing the pain like we taught you."

T'Sorvik suddenly felt herself supressing a violent urge to stick one of Khan's instruments deep into Strovik's pointy ears to see how well he suppressed the pain. "Where did that come from??" she asked herself.

Oblivius to what was going through his daughter's head, Storvik continued "You did a good job today, repairing Lothar. None of us could have fit inside to do that."

"Some of the crew are not happy that Lothar is mobile again," said T'Vit, interrupting.

"Anyway, do not disappear and perform any dangerous tasks like that again without aksing us first," Storvik ordered.

As the Vulcan adults left the sickbay, Kahn slipped a lollipop to the little girl. "Go ahead, enjoy it. I won't make you suppress it."


Moves Like Lightning

T'Lothvik flexed his fingers. He danced a little jig, and made a mental note to pummel the next person who told him that he'd never be a dancer. All of the parts of his body seemed responsive. A few more tests, and T'Lothvik would be able to separate into Lothar and T'Sorvik again. It was time to test his quick reflexes and fine coordination.

T'Lothvik called out to the computer to access the holographic routines, and commanded it to produce a chess board. Setting the computer's skill on the highest difficulty level, T'Lothvik proceeded to play chess as fast as possible, moving the little pieces around the board with lightning speed.

Unfortunately, the mind meld was beginning to unravel; after all, T'Sorvik was still young and inexperienced, and Lothar was naturally rebellious and uncooperative. The two minds were pulling apart in different directions.

T'Lothvik continued to play chess, as quickly as possible, but it became obvious to the spectators that he was losing. Those who knew the game of chess were surprised that he was doing as well as he was against the computer's advanced gambits. He continued to move as quickly and precisely as before (there was nothing wrong with the new neural connections after all), but his moves were becoming less and less a matter of countering the computer's strategy, and more and more a matter of eating the pieces which angered him.

"Queen to queen's rook my ass; take that, you Petroff Gambit-using freak!" Munch munch munch…


Brain And Brain! What Is Brain?

While Captain/Daddy Storvik lectured Doctor Mib Khan on the difference between transvesticism and homosexuality, I "T'Lothvik" continued to repair myself. Because of the joining of our minds, it was possible for me to test different combinations of circuits with T'Sorvik's hands and feel the effects with Lothar's body, thus vastly accelerating the trial-and-error process of reconnecting Lothar's brain to his body. This instant-feedback methodology reminded me of an incident which once occurred with Ambassador Spock's brain. "Stop thinking and keep working!" I reminded myself.

T'Sorvik-Doll Maker

Personal Log - Emotion

According to one of my reference files, "emotion" is defined as "agitation or disturbance of mind; vehement or excited mental state." Standard Vulcan protocol adds that it is also "a powerful and irrational master".

My parents are not educating me in the typical Vulcan fashion, which requires the suppression (elimination, if possible) of emotional sensations and motivations. They took me away from Vulcan to ensure than I was not subjected to this regimen. Still, they are requiring that I control my emotions, rather than being controlled by them, and that my intellect be dominant. Further, they are teaching me the importance of hiding my emotions, to conform (in external appearance, if not in reality) with Vulcan norms. This will make it far easier for me, as a Vulcan, to move through Vulcan society … and through the larger, galactic society which has certain expectations where Vulcans are concerned.

Furthermore, Daddy Storvik has explained what an advantage these preconceptions and stereotypes can be. He has not hesistated to exploit the fact that most humans automatically trust in the honesty and dependability of Vulcans, even those whom they have never met before. Even those, most importantly, for which their exists ample evidence that they should be so blithely trusted.

It is for these reasons, among others, that I must learn to discipline my mind in private, and act the part of a "proper" Vulcan in public. It is for these reasons, among others, that I really should not be enjoying my work on Lothar's internal systems as much as I am. My intention is, and always has been, to attempt to repair what went wrong, to restore Lothar's autonomy and physical control. However, I am undeniably having fun exercising control over him as well.

But, however undeniable it is, I shall be denying it once I am faced with my parents and forced to explain myself.


Circuit Short, But Not For Long

"One last connection, and I should have the power re-routed," T'Sorvik thought as she tweaked a power lead, ignoring the voices outside. "I am fortunate that I do not have to deal with plasma conduits with my bare hands. In fact, given my current location, I am fortunate not to be dealing with any types of gas." Half of the status indicators turned green, and she re-seated an isolinear chip in its socket. "Now, we shall see which of us has control." She tried to raise both of the counsellor's arms…

"Hey, stop that!" complained Lothar, as his left arm went up over his head. He dropped the ensign in his right hand, and reached up to pull his left arm back down. It seemed that he now had control over the right side of his body, but the annoying little brat still had his left side. It was better than no control at all, but that didn't stop Lothar from getting angry again. As his left arm resisted his attempts to bring it down, he began to pummel his left shoulder with his right fist.

"Why is Lothar trying to beat himself up now?" Storvik asked, as the ensign dragged himself away as quickly as he could manage.

"I don't know," Mib Khan replied. "Maybe the rest of us just aren't a challenge anymore?"

T'Sorvik-Doll Maker


I cannot see where we are going.

Fortunately, I had previously memorized the current layout of the USS Murgatroid, so I have been navigating Lothar by intuition and recollection. I have also been listening for aural clues as to our location and surroundings. Our movements have been … less than graceful … as I am still acclimating myself to the controls.

I have found a video screen in here, which was (presumably) intended to be used by a person inside Lothar to see the outside; but I cannot get it to function properly. I have activated it, but all it will display is "GWIII Mecha Mode – General Protection Fault" on a blue background. I do not understand why they would have designed Lothar's implants to be controlled by an internal "pilot", since there is barely enough room in here for me. No adult would be able to fit.

"Mecha", if I recall correctly, is a word from a Terran language called "Nihongo" which describes bipedal combat machines controlled by a pilot. Even then, the term was mainly used in fiction; and no such devices have actually been used in practice for centuries. "Lothar," I called out loudly, "did you know that you were a mecha?"

T'Sorvik-Doll Maker

I'm In Ur Counselr...

Once I got into Lothar's internal extradimensional volume, I searched for power sources. Lothar had clearly regained consciousness after my Daddy Storvik supplied him with alcohol, but he was still unable to move. My theory was that Lothar's internal cybernetic systems needed to be recharged or restarted in some way; and that once they had been re-activated, he would once again be able to move.
The power generators and capacitors came on-line easily, but Lothar remained immobile. Although he was conscious, and his electronics were working, they did not appear to be communicating with each other. Next, I searched for control modules. I found a rather large, complex metal unit which appeared to be interfaced with his spinal cord on one side, with plasma conduits leading to the mechanical systems on the other side.
I carefully opened the unit's casing, and found it filled with a complex array of isolinear chips, indicator lights, switches, and small bio-gel packs. I toggled one of the switches, and felt Lothar moving around me.
"Stop that!" I heard him shout.
"Why are you hitting yourself, Lothar?" asked a passing crewman.
"Because I can't reach you!" I heard Lothar snarl back.
I restored the switch to its original position, and Lothar ceased his movement. Apparently, Lothar was (for some reason) no longer capable of consciously controlling his physical systems. Those systems remained fully functional, however, and I could control them from the inside. Unfortunately, there were no labels on any of the vast array of controls and lights, so I would be forced to learn their usage by trial and error.
I used my PADD to create a schematic of the controls and indicator lights, and labelled the first one that I had activated "self-abuse"…
T'Sorvik-Doll Maker

T'Sorvik At Play

When Auntie'Vit and I returned from dinner last night, we found Daddy Storvik and Counsellor Lothar still in the "living room" part of the suite; the first meditating, the second unconscious. Daddy snapped to alertness quickly as we came in, and gave a short explanation about Lothar's continued inability to move or regain full consciousness. Auntie'Vit, who does not appear to trust Lothar as much as my father, took me into their room and locked the door. From what I have read in the USS Murgatroid's records, a simple door ought not to even slow Lothar down if he were fully powered-up and desired entry.

In any event, before we went to sleep, Auntie'Vit hacked back into Starbase 668's security logs to see the incident to which Diziara had earlier alluded. I laughed aloud (we were not in public) and even Auntie'Vit barely suppressed a smile as Mommy Evil Storvik held off a squad of armed and angry security officers with peanuts and alcohol. "One wonders," she did comment, "why he did not attempt a simple Vulcan nerve pinch?"

"Probably," I replied, "because it would not have been … fun. In any evident, that Andorian cut the mêlée short before they got to the hand-to-hand phase of the conflict." I was impressed by both Mommy Storvik's improvisation and by Diziara's reflexes; I had only recently begun martial arts training myself and wondered how long it would take me to achieve a measure of proficiency suitable for defense against armed adults. I did, at least, already know the Vulcan nerve pinch.

After we had watched that security video (more than once; Auntie'Vit had replayed portions of it and asked me to comment on some of them – "One should never ignore an opportunity for education," she said), Auntie'Vit retired to bed and I made some further inquiries of the security systems. Just out of curiosity, I determined the identity of that seemingly-friendly blonde woman who was also out to dinner. Her name was Noelle Connor, and she was a master chief petty officer on the USS Takeda Shingen. With a bit of further digging, I found that Diziara was also going to be serving on the Takeda Shingen. Well, at least she would be in good company, I thought. And then I saw who else was assigned to the Takeda Shingen: Therav, the Andorian who stunned her in the bar. I wondered if Therav knew what he was in for.


No Class

The worst thing about being "ship-schooled" by my parents* is that I do not have any sporting events or dances to look forward to when I grow older. This is unfortunate, since I can be biologically eligible to fulfill the roles of Homecoming Queen and/or King.

When I say "my parents", I refer to my biological parents Storvik and Evil Storvik as well as to Storvik's wife whom I call "Auntie'Vit".