Upon Reflection
Posted on May 14th, 2007 by T'Kirr

“Upon Reflection”
T’Kirr

The room was quiet and dark, just the way T’Kirr preferred it. All dark, that is, for but a single candle flame burning consistently on the desk. T’Kirr sat with crossed legs on her bedspread, hands cradled in her lap and eyes closed. Blackthorne had insisted she sleep. She had performed her usual half hour of meditation and, while not feeling ready to sleep afterwards, had tried. Now, she was back up again.

T’Kirr let her mind wander where it would. She thought back to earlier that night when she had been in the corridor on the way to their secured stealth ship in the bay. At this point, she and McKnight had very little to go on and were getting desperate. Time was running out, and T’Kirr had known if she didn’t hurry, Blackthorne and Shelev would be lost forever.

Something about the way she had processed her thoughts while making her way down through the ship bothered her now that she was reflecting, something that had not been quite right. She had needed to think about it later, as to stop and analyze it at the time would have only delayed her further. T’Kirr recognized it as deception.

It had been easier to convince herself that her goal at the time had been purely professional. The two most senior officers of Atlantis had been kidnapped, and it was up to her to bring them back safely. Simple goal, simple plan. Find the solution, rescue the officers.

It hadn’t been simple, however. Yes, the method of recovery had yet been unknown, but the complexities of how to respond were directed by the basic application of logic. What she didn’t understand was why it had been damn difficult to keep her emotions in check ever since finding out they had been ripped from Atlantis.

Commander Shelev had stopped bothering T’Kirr a long time ago. Yes, it had taken meditation at first, but she had gotten over their past racial conflicts very soon after meeting him, unlike some she knew who hadn’t. Even so, she had no problem keeping him distant, and when pondering him didn’t rile up anything but the usual bit of annoyance at more emotional species, she knew it wasn’t him.

It was Blackthorne.

When McKnight’s team had secured the offending stealth ship from all sides and the admiral had stepped out onto the ramp in nothing but his pajama pants, T’Kirr had had the strange and almost overwhelming urge to laugh. The odd impulse, being recognized immediately as inappropriate and reflexively squashed, seemed completely out of place and sourceless. Nothing had shown on her face, but she had observed the impulse had still been there. Why would seeing Blackthorne, now safe back aboard, cause her to laugh?

In the past when she didn’t understand something, she would ask about it, and the opinions of others would help satisfy the curiosity. T’Kirr didn’t want to tell anyone about the strange impulse, however, and this form of secrecy made her uncomfortable. So, not wanting to encourage such feelings of embarrassment, she decided there was nothing else for it.

She would ask anyway.