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Solkar had always known that he would meet the other half of his heart and soul—his k'hat'n'dlawa—off-world. The swirling line of Vulcan script trailing down his left forearm spelled out a name no Vulcan would ever give to a child: Zefram Cochrane. So that was the only logical conclusion.
When the inky sigils had first appeared on his skin, after seven planetary rotations, Solkar’s parents had been somewhat apprehensive. While the concept of “soul-mates” was common enough throughout the galaxy, off-worlders did not possess a tangible way to identify their ideal mate. The writing on his arm, known as katra-kitaun—writing which told him the name of the person who was most compatible with him physically, telepathically and romantically—was unique to Vulcans. Which meant that sometimes off-worlders did not comprehend its significance, and did not agree to be bonded.
However, despite all apparent difficulties, Solkar attempted to remain optimistic about his prospects. After all, he was not the first Vulcan to have a non-Vulcan name inscribed on his body. That had occurred many generations prior when his people had first journeyed across the stars. And the success rate of such interspecies pairs was high. Ninety-two-point-three-four percent of recorded unions between Vulcans and off-worlders brought together by katra-kitaun, had produced long and prosperous marriages.
As Solkar mulled this over, he sat in the command chair of his survey ship, the T’Plana-Hath. From there, he gazed out of the wide viewscreen in front of him into the bleak, dark, expanse of space.
In order to facilitate meeting this Zefram Cochrane individual, Solkar had joined the Vulcan Interstellar Service. And he trusted his katra to guide him.
But as Solkar stared at the sparse, twinkling lights ahead, he began to wonder if they would ever meet.
It was illogical to worry. In all of Vulcan history, katra-kitaun had never failed to produce at least one encounter. But after several decades, Solkar began to experience a measure of impatience.
Fifty-three planetary rotations had passed since the letters had first appeared on his arm. And Solkar had still not met Zefram Cochrane. Which he believed was rather unfair.
Forty planetary rotations ago, he was forced to take a temporary mate in order to survive his first pon farr and any subsequent cycles that occurred before he met his k'hat'n'dlawa. Her name was T’Lera, and she was a Vulcan in a similar predicament. Her katra-kitaun spelled something Solkar could not even guess how to pronounce.
At the time, Solkar had been reluctant to marry someone whose name was not written on his person. But reflecting on the past, he could not entirely regret what had happened. Despite the unusual circumstances that brought them together, for four decades they had shared an amicable marriage.
But the fact remained that neither had expected to be together for so long. Nor had they planned to conceive a child together four planetary rotations ago, whom they had named Skon.
As he reflected on it now, Solkar hoped that Zefram Cochrane would understand. That he would not harbor any resentment over these facts when they eventually met.
Solkar did not believe jealousy would be a logical reaction. T’Lera had recently met the off-worlder whose name was inscribed on her person, and Solkar had released her from their marriage so they could be together. So she was no longer in the picture.
Plus, while they had been married, Solkar had only done what was necessary to survive.
But like katra-kitaun, pon farr was exclusive to Vulcans. And as such, there was a chance his future mate would not understand. Especially if Solkar was forced to bond with another Vulcan out of simple need, before he met Zefram Cochrane.
One marriage of convenience he was confident he could explain to his future mate. But two?
Fortunately, that would not be necessary.
Just as Solkar was beginning to consider who he might choose, if pressed to take a new mate, a shrill beeping noise cut through the stale air of the ship. Immediately afterwards, Solkar’s first officer spoke the words that would change history.
“Sir, we have detected a warp-signature originating from the third planet in the Sol-system.”
Solkar raised both eyebrows, stunned. “The last survey conducted of this system indicated that the indigenous civilization of that planet was barely post-industrial. Are you certain you have correctly identified the warp-signature’s origin?”
“Affirmative,” Solkar’s first officer replied, absolutely certain.
Trusting his second-in-command’s judgement, Solkar gave the only logical order. “Set a course for the third planet and have the crew briefed on all first contact protocols.”
“Aye, sir,” his first officer replied.
Solkar heard the hum of the warp drive activating. Then, while the T’Plana-Hath maneuvered toward the third planet to investigate the warp-signature, he felt the swirling line of Vulcan script trailing down from his left wrist begin to burn, signifying that his k'hat'n'dlawa was nearby.
Lifting the long, heavy sleeve of his robes to investigate, Solkar noted the letters had changed color. This he had expected—it happened to all Vulcans as they approached their destined partners for the first time. However, the scripts of most Vulcans turned silver under these conditions. Solkar’s, instead, had transformed from the standard, inky black, to a bright, shimmering gold.
Solkar struggled not to gape at the sight.
All Vulcan children were instructed of the significance of such an event. But Solkar had never imagined that he would be lucky enough to be destined for the strongest, and most sacred type of bond known to his people. It was not something every Vulcan could enjoy. In fact, less than a hundred pairs with golden marks were known to recorded history. There was even a special word for it—a t’hy’la bond.
Stunned, and uncertain he could maintain his composure for much longer if he kept staring at his forearm, Solkar tugged his sleeve back down to hide the shimmering golden letters. He then attempted not to hyperventilate as his ship began its gentle descent toward Earth’s surface.
Solkar did not inform the rest of the crew of his discovery. He did not wish for anything to interfere with their mission. Nor did he believe it was truly necessary to disclose such personal information. Until he and his t’hy’la were formally bonded, their unrealized connection was strictly a private matter.
Under the circumstances, Solkar thought he did an admirable job concealing his emotions from the other Vulcans aboard the ship. He maintained a tightly controlled expressionless façade, despite the veritable tidal wave of emotion roiling beneath the surface, threatening to sweep him under. He also kept his mental shields—the only thing preventing his feelings from seeping out of his skin and clogging the air around them—tightly in place.
But even as a life-long devotee of Surak, Solkar could not entirely stymie the sensations. His blood rushed, and his mind buzzed as their ship gradually sank lower into the alien atmosphere.
The romances between t’hy’la were legendary. Solkar could hardly wait for his to begin.
Logically, Solkar knew the probability of difficulty was high. Especially in those first few days. T’hy’la or not, soon Solkar would make first contact with an alien species. A process that was somewhat akin to dancing on a lirpa’s edge.
The rewards of a successful First Contact were tremendous. But a single incorrect gesture or word could forever mar relations between their species. Or worse, be the first gaffe in an exchange of offenses that would precipitate a long, bloody interstellar war.
But Solkar was confident in his abilities as a diplomat. Strictly metaphorically speaking, this was a dance he had done many times. And he had not failed yet.
When the T’Plana-Hath, touched down on the planet, Solkar waited, diligently and dutifully, near the off-boarding doors. When the doors hissed open, Solkar began to make a slow and steady descent down the metal ramp that extended from the ship to the ground below.
The inscription on Solkar’s arm became steadily warmer underneath his long robe sleeves with each step. As he descended the ramp, every very primal instinct within his body clamored for him to chase it—to utilize the increasing heat under his skin to locate his mate.
Only a lifetime of rigorous practice suppressing his emotions kept Solkar's face impassive, and his pace steady.
As Solkar progressed further down the ramp, he noticed a crowd of humans were gathered around the craft. One of them was the person who was making his mark glow. But Solkar ignored that for a moment to study their expressions.
Humans, unlike Vulcans, did not conceal their emotions, but rather wore them openly. It was a somewhat jarring sight for a Vulcan raised solely in the company of other Vulcans who adhered to Surak’s principles. But Solkar had to admit it was incredibly useful for ascertaining their moods and formulating an appropriate response.
Some of his audience looked on at the T’Plana-Hath in awe. Others in confusion. But a significant number eyed his vessel with wariness and disgust.
Solkar swallowed uneasily. Hopefully he would be able to assuage their fears soon.
As he approached the end of the ramp, Solkar’s first and second officer came trailing out of the ship a fair distance behind him. When Solkar reached the bottom, a man suddenly stepped forward out of the crowd.
He was wearing a bulky beige coat, trimmed with some kind of animal fur, likely skinned from a creature indigenous to this planet. A wide strip of beaded cloth was tied around his head. And rather than robes, he wore pants, splattered with engine fuel and mud.
As Solkar watched this man, he noticed the man's skin was a similar shade as his own, only tinged pink instead of yellow-green—likely a result of his red blood. He also had blue eyes instead of brown. And his features were handsome in a rather ordinary way.
Solkar’s heart skipped a beat. Could this be Zefram Cochrane? Could this be my mate? He wondered.
The man in the fur-trimmed coat regarded Solkar warily as he approached him. Then they both halted, only a few meters apart.
When their eyes locked, Solkar’s arm burned hotter than ever before, and he felt a strange sensation—as if his katra had begun to sing. The same sensation that ancient poets had spoken of. The sensation which was the subject of hundreds of thousands of contemporary Vulcan songs.
Solkar’s heart beat erratically in his side. This man had to be his t’hy’la.
For a brief moment, Solkar considered it unusual that his katra had chosen the man in front of him to be his mate. Zefram Cochrane, in person, was not the pinnacle of aesthetic beauty. And it was evident, to Solkar’s sensitive nose, that Mr. Cochrane had not bathed in far longer than was advisable for his species.
But those were superficial concerns. Underneath the somewhat unpleasant exterior, was the brilliant mind that had discovered warp-technology amidst circumstances the Vulcan Science Academy had once deemed utterly impossible. A mind that would, no doubt, be fascinating to explore more intimately. So Solkar saw no logic in arguing with hundreds of thousands of years of Vulcan genetics and tradition. His katra knew best who would complete him, after all.
There were also many potential benefits to others besides himself in a union between them. It was easy to imagine a marriage between a Vulcan and an Earthling could bring their peoples closer together. Perhaps it could be the first step toward a beautiful and lasting kinship across the stars.
All of these thoughts rushed through Solkar’s mind in an instant. When they departed, Solkar wanted nothing more than to fling himself forward and embrace his other half.
Fortunately, his logic prevailed once again.
Gradually, Solkar lowered his hood to reveal his pointed ears. Then raised the ta’al—the traditional Vulcan gesture of greeting.
Zefram Cochrane regarded Solkar with even more suspicion now. Several faces in the crowd mirrored his apprehension. Apparently, the unfamiliar gesture put them ill at ease.
“Live long, and prosper,” Solkar offered cordially to his t’hy’la, hoping the greeting would diffuse the tense atmosphere somewhat.
For a moment, it appeared to work. Zefram’s expression softened marginally, and he raised his right hand in an attempt at mimicry of Solkar’s gesture. However, he struggled to make his fingers separate. Eventually, with a disappointed look, he dropped his hand in defeat.
Desperate to recover what was quickly turning into a botched first meeting, Solkar considered offering the traditional greeting used in this region of Earth—a handshake.
Solkar had wanted to refrain if possible, from such an intimate gesture. He knew it was perfectly casual to the people of Earth. But as a species of touch-telepaths with extremely sensitive fingers, who grazed fingertips as a form of affection, a handshake bordered on pornographic.
Solkar doubted his colleagues would appreciate being subjected to the sight. Additionally, there was also the nonzero chance, as a touch telepath, that making physical contact with his t’hy’la would cement their bond. Which was not ideal.
Solkar surmised it would be rude to essentially marry the man without his permission. Particularly on their first encounter.
Despite all this, Solkar was willing to perform a handshake if it was necessary to salvage relations between their peoples. In fact, the prospect of tenderly embracing his t’hy’la’s fingers with his own in front of such a large audience, secretly thrilled him.
Unfortunately, Solkar never got the chance. Just as soon as he began to extend his arm, Zefram Cochrane reached into his coat and withdrew a concealed weapon.
A loud bang assaulted Solkar’s sensitive ears. At the same time, something tore through his side—directly through his heart.
Searing pain lanced through him, causing Solkar to crumple to the ground. Then he laid there, rivulets of viridian seeping out of his skin, through the heavy layers of his robes, into the dirt.
Solkar’s vision swam, blurring the dark skies and stars above him. He was losing consciousness, fast. Dimly, he heard the voices of the crowd around him shouting.
“Board his ship! Take everything you can!”
The ground rumbled with their footsteps as the crowd charged up the platform and onto the T’Plana-Hath. The loud sounds of primitive weapons discharging reached Solkar’s ears. Wincing, he guessed his first and second officer had probably met a similar fate as he.
Amid the chaos, and pain, Solkar strained to look for the man who had shot him. But he could no longer lift his head. And it rapidly became clear to him that he never would again.
Solkar’s vision was fading. His fingers and toes were getting cold. His head was spinning.
In short, he was dying. And as the life quickly left his body, his mind coursed with betrayal.
Why? Why would you betray me this way, t’hy’la?
Solkar had no answers. He did not understand why his diplomacy had failed so spectacularly. Nor why his katra had yearned for his mind to join with the mind of his own murderer.
Logically, it did not make any sense.
But just before Solkar succumbed to oblivion, he remembered something from his research. It was theorized, by the studiers of quantum multiverse theory at the Vulcan Science Academy, that t’hy’la were always t’hy’la, no matter which parallel reality they occupied. T’hy’la were universal constants.
If Solkar was to accept this theory, then his katra had not been mistaken at all. Zefram Cochrane was his perfect mate. In some parallel reality out there, they were happily bonded. This Solkar, had simply been unfortunate enough to have been born in the wrong universe.
Solkar silently cursed his luck. It all seemed terribly anti-climatic that his life should end here. Making First Contact with humanity and meeting his t’hy’la should have been the beginning of his life’s story, not the end.
Unfortunately, Solkar did not have a say in the matter.
Without having established a link with his psi-null t’hy’la, there was no way for Zefram Cochrane to hear him from a distance. No way Solkar could communicate why the man should offer him medical assistance.
So, unable to do anything besides, Solkar lied back in the dry grass. And he resigned himself to knowing that Zefram Cochrane would never even hear his t’hy’la’s lament.