Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 12 Mar 2004 03:41:37 -0800  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: missus_spock@yahoo.com.au (Mrs Spock) 
 

TITLE: Lipau
AUTHOR: Mrs Spock (missus_spock@yahoo.com.au)
&S
RA
CODES: KTING: G
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns Star Trek, not I - which is a pity, because
I'd particularly like to own Spock.
SUMMARY: Kirk starts wondering about all those weird weapons in
A/N: The first of two stories written in response to a 'knife'
challenge (not because I have a particular affinity for knives). I
think you will find them *quite* different.

The title and other Vulcan words come from the Vulcan Language
Institute (http://home.teleport.com/~vli/vlif.htm). Each word is
explained in the story.

~~~~~//o\\//o\\//o\\//o\\//o\\~~~~~

LIPAU
by Mrs Spock

"Come."

The door swooshed open to admit Captain Kirk into his first
officer's quarters. As always, he was struck by the heat of the room
that was still much hotter than the human-norm seventy-two degrees
of the rest of the ship, even after Spock had turned it down to
accommodate his friend. There was a faint aroma of Vulcan incense
wafting vaguely from the direction of the glowing fire-pot in the
sleeping area, a scent that was soothing, relaxing and would forever
remind him of Spock.

The Vulcan was walking towards the head, his hands held out in front
of him. "I will be with you momentarily, Jim. I'm afraid I am in
need of a brief shower. Please make yourself comfortable."

As Spock turned to speak, Kirk thought he had seen smears of emerald
green on the Vulcan's palms and a flicker of concern emerged as the
thought that Spock had hurt himself touched his mind. But the Vulcan
had not seemed concerned and he was not foolish enough to leave a
serious injury untreated, despite his regular complaints about
McCoy's ministrations.

Deciding to save his worry until he'd had a closer look at Spock,
Kirk wandered away from the Spartan living quarters to where the
heady smell originated. This area of Spock's quarters was the most
Vulcan. It seemed several degrees hotter here than in the grey,
functional living area and there was a closeness in the air. The
fire-pot beast bathed the area in a soft, orange-red glow and the
heavy red drapes seemed to enclose the room as the scarlet skies
blanketed Vulcan.

The captain had visited here many times since he had befriended his
shy first officer, the two men often choosing to play their regular
chess games in one or other of their quarters. The first time he had
come here, he had discovered that, not only did the Vulcan possess a
rare and beautiful traditional harp from his homeworld, but that he
played it with such skill and tenderness that Kirk wondered how
anyone could ever have thought Spock emotionless.

An oddity, Kirk thought, was the collection of dangerous-looking
weapons hanging on the curtain-clad walls. It somehow seemed
incongruous that someone from a race of peaceful, non-violent people
should possess such an array of blades in a variety of sizes and
shapes. Spock was the gentlest, most courteous, civilised man he
knew, yet this bed chamber was permeated with the smells and images
of an ancient, primitive Vulcan, a place where violence and
vengeance ruled. Not like Spock at all.

Just then, the Vulcan returned from the bathroom, his slightly damp
hair a sign that he had indulged in a real water shower. He was
dressed in an informal Vulcan robe in shades of green and blue, the
thick fabric looking warm and comfortable. Kirk was inwardly pleased
that his friend felt secure enough in their friendship to relax to
such an extent. It had been a long time into their mission before he
had ever seen Spock in anything other than his uniform. He let his
pleasure show in an easy smile and was rewarded with an answering
twinkle in the Vulcan's eyes.

Taking advantage of the casual atmosphere, Kirk felt bold enough to
ask his friend about the strange Vulcan weapons. "Ah, Spock…" he
began, still unsure of whether he was entering into a taboo subject.

Spock, noting the hesitancy and the curious frown, said, "You are
wondering about the traditional Vulcan weapons." His lips curled a
little at the corners. "I am surprised you have not asked before
now."

Sensing that the Vulcan was not insulted, the captain let out the
breath he was unaware he had been holding. "Well, yes. I've always
thought… It seems strange to me that you would keep a whole bunch of
knives and other weapons when you're so devoted to peace."

"Surely, you know that it has not always been our way to live in
peace." Kirk nodded. "These weapons belong to our past, that time
when our ancestors fought for land, power, wealth, and allowed their
emotions to rule them." His captain had sat down on the bed and he
joined him. "To a contemporary Vulcan, such as myself, they are a
reminder that the life we live today did not come easily, nor
without great cost. They remind us of the danger of letting one's
emotions control them. They remind us that freed emotions take
lives."

Seeing that Kirk understood, yet was still curious, he stood and
lifted a tall shaft out from one corner. "This is a li-woon, a
lance. Ancient warriors carried these while riding the Vulcan
equivalent of the Terran horse. Armies of riders would storm
villages, sweeping through quickly, killing anyone in their path and
taking what they wished." He sighed, returning the weapon to its
original place. "I feel no pride in the knowledge that my own clan
conquered many others in this manner."

Reaching up high on the wall, Spock took down a short dagger. "This
is a lipitah. Its compact size means that it is easily concealed
within one's clothing. Many high-ranking clansmen were assassinated
with this, as the killer was able to hide the weapon until the
moment of murder."

Replacing the lipitah, the Vulcan collected two more knives. "Our
word for knife is lipau. This one is called lipau mu'yor, which
translates as 'night blade' – so named because it was only ever used
in the dark. It was considered unlucky for the knife to be seen in
daylight and it was always sheathed completely until long after
sunset. Even the sharpening of the blades was performed at night, a
most illogical venture considering the darkness of the Vulcan night."

He placed the lipau mu'yor on the bed and handed the other knife to
Kirk. The human was intrigued with the intricate carved patterns on
the handle and the vicious points and curves of the blade. "This one
is called lipau t'dor, or 'knife of honour'. Its primary use was in
vengeance killing." He pointed to the unusual blade. "As you can
imagine, a death by this knife was both messy and unpleasant."

As Spock had shown Kirk the ancient weapons, the human had formed a
vivid picture of what life was like for Spock's ancestors. The
present-day Vulcans were not proud of their history but they also
made no attempt to hide it away and forget it. And, obviously, some
elements of their past heritage remained with them – Kirk still felt
a burning sensation when he remembered the slash on his chest caused
by the lirpa during their visit to Vulcan.

Spock put the two knives back on the wall and Kirk found his eyes
wandering over to a shiny blade sitting on a tray next to Spock's
bed. "Spock, what's that knife?" The blade was quite small, but
sharp, and the handle was even more beautifully carved than that of
the lipau t'dor. Seeing that the Vulcan was still occupied, trying
to replace a knife on a recalcitrant hook, Kirk stood up and went to
have a better look. The knife had a very sharp point and was covered
in green stains. Suddenly, he remembered the green on Spock's hands
when he had first come in.

"Spock, has this knife been used? Did you cut…" The Vulcan was now
standing beside him, a look of puzzlement etched in his features.
Kirk grabbed Spock's hands and held them out, palms up. They were
spotless, the smooth skin tinted the faintest olive from the blood
vessels beneath.

"Jim?" Spock was concerned at his friend's abrupt actions.

For answer, the human lifted the knife, quite clearly showing the
blood-coloured stains.

"Ah," breathed Spock, understanding at last. He took the knife from
Kirk's hands. "This knife is the most important of all. It is used
to cut the khaf-savas." At Kirk's confused look, he added, "Would
you like me to show you how it is used?"

"Um…" the captain muttered, uncertainly. Was it possible his gentle,
civilised friend had more of the ancient Vulcan warrior in him than
he had originally suspected?

Kirk stood transfixed as Spock reached down to get something out of
a cupboard. When the Vulcan stood up, he had in his hand two large
green fruits. "Khaf-savas," he announced. "Blood-fruit."

The captain felt an illogical relief and could instantly see from
where the fruit's name had come. When Spock cut one open, a thick,
emerald juice squirted out, leaving a messy residue on the knife.
The Vulcan offered two cut halves to Kirk.

The taste was nearly indescribable. Kirk's mouth was assaulted with
sensations of spicy heat, liquid sweetness and a bitter, almost
sour, aftertaste. "This is delicious!" he managed to say after
several bites, the juice beginning to trickle out one corner of his
mouth. "I had no idea Vulcan had anything like this."

Spock picked up a damp cloth from the tray where the knife had been
and handed it to Kirk. "It is a rare delicacy. As you know, the
Vulcan climate is not generally suited to growing juice-producing
fruits. The tree from which this fruit comes is found only in the
coolest regions of Vulcan and, even there, the harvesting season is
short."

"Wow. How did you manage to get some? I bet these don't come
cheaply."

"Indeed." Spock smiled a little ruefully. "Ambassadorial privileges
remain in place even to this day. My father acquires a shipment of
them each growing season. Mother always sends a parcel so that I do
not have to live entirely off 'that reconstituted excuse for real
food', as she puts it." Watching his friend messily consume the
fruit he asked, "Would you care for another, Jim?"

Remembering the value and rarity of the fruit, Kirk replied, "Only
if you have one to spare. I don't want to deprive you of something
you only get once a year."

"It is my pleasure to share them with a friend. Here," he said as he
handed the ornamental knife and another of the delectable fruits to
the human. "You can cut your own khaf-savas."

Kirk licked his lips with anticipation. The blood-fruit was the most
delicious food he had ever tasted and, knowing the health-conscious
Vulcans, it was good for him too. Bones would be pleased. Holding
the knife steadily in his right hand, he carved through the soft
skin and rich centre, the thick, aromatic juice suddenly spurting
out and covering his face. He quickly looked up at Spock through
green, syrupy lashes. "Don't you dare laugh!"

"Laugh, captain? It would never occur to me." The expression was
indignant, but the voice was light with humour and the elegant
eyebrow was raised.

Kirk wiped ineffectually at the green mess on his face, mock-
grouching about messy Vulcan foods. He glanced at the barely
concealed humour on his first officer's face. "You were teasing me."
Spock looked innocent. "You were quite content to let me think this
knife was a weapon, covered in real blood. You know, one day others
will cotton on to the fact that you're not as innocent as you make
out."

Again, the indignant eyebrow. "Really, Captain!"

The next night, they shared a batch of real chocolate-chip cookies
baked by Kirk's mother. There was no sticky mess, no juice and no
knives. Just crumbs.

And a relaxed, easy camaraderie that went with being best friends.

FIN

--
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Awards Tech Support

http://www.trekiverse.us/ASCAwards/commenting/

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