"The Orientation Of Mistress T'Shal"

as recalled and recorded by kitausu-dvinsu Salatrel

as recorded in the Hall of Records

As the formally dressed Vulcan woman passed through the imposing ancient wooden doors, she gazed around the unfamiliar surroundings. The caverns were dimly lit by candles and torches. Wafting sandalwood incense plumed from the crevices of the craggy walls. Soft typing and moaning and whispering echoed through the high ceiling cavern. : a secret place , forbidden to all but these brave chosen few.

The robed figure that had admitted her entrance, broke her silent inspection.

"Mistress T'Shal, step this way". His soft, deep voice reflected his youth and his colony accent. The great S'haile Selek's underling lead the lovely Vulcan woman to the back antechamber. The multitude of varied species of kitausu peered up from their keyboards as she floated past their ranks. They stared in awe and amazement that one, so obviously royal, would join their endeavor.

Her high headdress manifested her adherence to tradition. Her amber hued jeweled robes were well cut and flowed around her effortlessly. Her smooth movements caused the heavy rich fabric to gently rustle in the echoing chamber. Her regal bearing and purposeful strides revealed a woman of authority and certainty.

Vorik, the S'haile's young Vulcan assistant, tapped at the closed door of the back office. When there was no answer forthcoming, he cautiously undid the latch and slowly squeaked the heavy door ajar. In the past, he would have innocently flung the door open, but he has learned to give a measure of warning before entering. The taskmaster's private chamber was its usual neat and tidy arraignment. It had taken them an entire day to clean up after last week's fight in here. But the S'haile's person could not be found in here

"He was expecting you?" Vorik turned to the stately Vulcan woman.

Her hands were hidden within her sleeves. Her face implacably calm and unrevealing. "This was all arranged. . perhaps I am early? . I will wait in the reading area" As she had passed by the heavily laden shelves of ancient books, she had become intrigued.

Vorik closed the door and they proceeded to the quiet reading area. Faded tapestries hung from the stone walls, ancient figures adorned the tabletops, thick plush rugs covered the stone floors and a small fire crackled and sputtered in a massive fireplace. The wooden shelves sagged beneath the weight of countless volumes of ancient texts. A section in ancient Vulcan script caught the mistress's attention and she drew near the volumes. Vorik offered, ".. our most popular..

T'Shal's graceful hands selected a ragged leather-bound edition. As she reverentially opened the cover, her eyes imperceptibly widened in amazement as she spied the recognizable signature on the inside cover. It read "Lube long... and prosper, Spock" in a most elegant hand. With the open book still in her hand, she turned to Vorik and calmly inquired, "Many are signed?"

"Our Collection of signed copies is growing." Vorik answered with a hint of pride. He sentimentally fingered a copy he was very familiar with. The only story thus far written about himself by a humble Romulan amateur. Vorik had pinned his hopes upon her for his authentic Pon Farr story, but she had proved to be a disappointment. She was too easily distracted. It had gotten to the point where Selek had to chain her to the writing table in order to keep her focused on her work. Otherwise the young and overly enthusiastic Romulan would be flitting and flirting all over the campus. As it was, her time in the Sweatshop was extremely limited due to her demanding hru'hfe duties.

The edition T'Shal had selected remained opened in her hand. She fingered the dog-eared pages, noting how others had bent over the pages at their favorite parts. As she perused the volume, she noticed that the back page was stuck to the inside cover, 'Curious,' she thought.

As Vorik noticed her attempt to peel the pages apart, he quickly interjected. "Allow me."

He took the book form her hands and carefully peeled them apart. Seemed that his twin brother, Taurik had been lax in his cleaning duties this week. Since Taurik, had begun his moonlighting jobs, he too had become scarce around the sweatshop. Everyone seemed to be attending to T'sai T'Aitlu these days. Ever since she had been adopted into Selek's clan anyhow...

After he successfully separated the pages, he returned the edition to the outstretched hand of the Mistress. She gave her thanks and settled back into the soft leather high backed chair. Vorik offer to fetch her a drink. She suggested a kassa juice.

As he proceeded to the hidden stash in the S'haile's office, he noticed that the kitausu had stopped writing. Instead they were all whispering amongst themselves and gesturing to the seated T'Shal.

"Pst, Pst" he hissed and arched his eyebrow in a rectifying glance. The sounds of the typing resumed through out the hall.

One kitausu-dvinsu in particular did not follow the taskmaster's underlings' instructions. She frequently defied the young man and found great pleasure in frustrating him by undermining his authority in front of the others. The little Romulan hru'hfe had even picked the lock on her chains. Now she was free to roam where she wished. But this was still a secret to all.

This morning though, the S'haile had not fastened her chains. He was too concerned with T'Aitlu and her latest stories to see to Salatrel's confinement. Though her latest endeavor had been laid aside nearly completed, he did appreciate how she had been very productive and helpful around the sweatshop.

The younger kitausu next to Salatrel whispered, " Who is that?" At that question, they all turned to Salatrel believing she was the one who had the answers. The Romulan female's memory was suddenly jarred and she realized whom this mysterious Vulcan woman was. She shushed the other writing servants and commanded them back to work. It was curious how they were more willing to comply with her demands over the TaskMaster's underling.

The small female stood up from her desk. As she walked over to the reading area, she fluffed her curls around her shoulders, straightened her tunic, undid her top buttons and checked her breath. To meet someone so obviously from royalty, one must make a presentable impression. Her short sword thumped against her thigh, as she warily strode to the seated reader. Her clicking heels on the stone floor alerted the reader to an encroaching presence. T'Shal looked up from her novel and viewed the approaching writing servant. Her hands shut the book, but she remained seated, patiently awaiting this person's arrival.

Salatrel gave a slight bow to T'Shal. In a low steady voice, she began, "Greetings Mistress. I am Salatrel. On behalf of the kitausu, you are most welcome."

T'Shal raised a curious eyebrow at the Romulan's show of respect. The Mistress lay her book aside, rose from her seat and returned the bow in equal measure.

" I am honored by your welcome." T'Shal replied evenly.

Salatrel, unable to return the gaze continued, "We are honored by your presence. How may I serve you?" she asked willing to extend her hru'hfe role to this gracious lady as well.

Suddenly from the rear chamber, the booming voices of T'Aitlu and Selek could be heard. They approached T'Shal with restrained Vulcan enthusiasm. Selek raised his hand in the Vulcan salute welcoming his friend.

T'Aitlu stepped forward and inclined her head in a solemn greeting.

T'Shal took note of the curious fact that both Vulcans had damp hair. She would endeavor to ask them of that coincidence later.

"Forgive us for not being here to personally welcome you, Mistress T'Shal. We were...engaged in story research. " Selek uttered and glanced to T'Aitlu. Both Vulcan's lips trembled as they struggled to keep their knowing smiles from creeping onto their mouths.

"No explanations or apologies are required. I was early. The time passed rather pleasantly" and her gaze flickered to the closed book on the table.

Selek picked up the copy, "Ah a most suitable choice" The tittle read, 'Tome 4'.

T'Aitlu flipped her damp hair back and straightened her robes. She gestured to T'Shal. "A tour of the facilities would be in order?" The two Vulcan females stepped away from the reading area and headed towards the rear of the cave.

Salatrel began to back away to return to her desk, when she felt a gentle hand enclose on her upper arm. Selek's hold prevented her from leaving. With an arched eyebrow and a flick of his eyes, he indicated to her that she should join them in the walk. The two walked behind the animate females. Salatrel heard T'Aitlu reciting the protocols customary to sweatshop interactions.

"We begin with Selek's joke of the day, to set the mood. Morning greetings and teasing are cc'ed to all. At times, unfortunately, Selek is off-line and the twin muses Vorik and Taurik are in charge. Not much gets done on those days. What else? Yes, ...we all talk amongst ourselves. At times, daily events or silly comments can lead to an intriguing scenario for your stories or sweatshop activities. Hmm..."

T'Aitlu trailed off thinking. She tapped her lip wondering if there was anything else. She craned her neck to turn to her friend Salatrel. "There is more she needs to know?"

"Yes, the most important custom in sweatshop protocol". Salatrel quietly offered as she walked with her hands clasped behind her back.

All four halted at the threshold to the back research chamber. Salatrel stepped up to T'Shal and shyly peered in to the calm Vulcan woman's face. Being this close, she noticed a faint trace of chocolate clinging to the corner of T'Shal's mouth.

"Permit me, Mistress" Salatrel gently reached for T'Shal's neckline. "Everyone has the two top clasps undone." One could hear the clicks of the Mistress's clasps in the narrow hall. Hidden in the faint light, a slight sly grin played across the face of the Romulan.

Selek stepped forward, opened the door and inquired. "Shall we proceed?" With a grand gesture, his ushered his three writing servants into the special secret research room. Into the candle lit room, the three women breezed past him, their robes brushing his front.

As Taskmaster Selek closed the door, on his face crept the slightest hint of a smile. As much of a smile as a Vulcan should muster.

Finis

"Welcome to The Cave, Mistress T'Shal"

Comments cheerfully accepted at [email protected]