Lieutenant JG Yogan Yalu — A privilege worth the cost
jkpbem
Zhian’tara III
(( Symbiosis Institute Compound, Leran Manev, Trill — Sunday morning ))
The room in which Yogan waited felt uncomfortably warm, and after a few particularly sweaty minutes, he finally removed his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. It was early, just after sunrise, and despite going to bed early the night before, he’d tossed and turned for hours in fits and starts of unsatisfying sleep. Rather than waste more time sitting alone in his hotel, he decided to get dressed and walk across the still-sleeping capital city to the Symbiosis Institute compound.
Returning to the compound for the first time in so long was a surreal experience. This had been his home during his Initiate period, and during his four years of training and preparation for joining, he only infrequently left the premises. As he passed through the security checkpoint, he saw his old Symbiosis Commission ID photo from eight years ago appear on the monitor. It wasn’t hyperbole to say that he was a different person then. Each long, winding corridor brought back new memories. The compound was exactly as he had remembered it, from both his own lifetime and those of his previous hosts. In this way, the Institute was timeless.
The waiting room doors slid open and in walked Rohjess Beem, the Guardian who would be overseeing the zhian’tara. Yogan stood to greet him, and the older man immediately looked perturbed.
Beem: Mr Yalu. What are you doing here?
Yalu: I was pacing the floor of my hotel room this morning and decided I might as well make my way over here. I am ready to get started.
Beem: ::sighs:: When people show up early, it is almost as obnoxious as when they show up late. ::beat, brow furrows:: My goodness, you’re tall.
Yalu: Thank... you?
Beem set a pack down on a nearby table and started removing its contents, only occasionally looking back at Yogan with a ruffled, slightly annoyed expression.
Beem: Your brother should be here any minute. I was hoping to have some time to set up and prepare, but I guess I’ll just have to work around your… eagerness.
Yogan understood that Guardians weren’t particularly known for their social skills, and that it was best to give them a wide berth. During his years as an Initiate, he’d learned not to take their brusque demeanour personally, but even he was starting to wonder if he’d done something to offend Rohjess Beem.
Yalu: I can wait outside, if you’d prefer.
Beem: I was starting to think you’d never ask. ::gestures toward the door:: Out you go.
Bewildered, Yogan would only smirk as he turned on his heels and exited into the corridor. On his way out, he heard clattering behind him, suggesting the Guardian was moving equipment around inside the room. He paced the corridor a few times, hoping the physical activity might trick his body into calming his nerves, but to no avail. He finally took a seat on one of the benches arranged at regular intervals along the walls.
Being in this part of the compound felt foreign and familiar to him at the same time. While he wasn’t certain if there were other hosts performing zhian’tara in the neighbouring rooms, he knew that cohorts of Initiates would be nearby, in various stages of their training and preparation. He also knew that before the end of the day, at least one of those Initiates would be pulled aside and discreetly informed that they’d been washed out of the program. They wouldn’t be given a reason, only told that the Symbiosis Commission and its Evaluation Board had determined that they were not a suitable candidate for Joining. There would be little time for them to process the news before they were hastily escorted out of the compound and back into the city, the double indignity of having one's lifelong dream extinguished in a most unceremonious way.
The process of reducing the thousands of hopefuls accepted into the Initiate Program in a given year down to the handful of successful ones was dispassionate, procedural, some might even say cruel. With odds stacked so steeply against them, it didn’t take much for an Initiate’s candidacy to be terminated. Yogan had heard rumours of Initiates being washed out for looking the wrong way at a Board member, for being late to a training seminar, or for dozens of other minor infractions. There was no way any of these rumours could be substantiated, however, because the only indication someone had washed out was that they simply vanished from the compound. In this rigorous, highly competitive, years-long process, Initiates learned quickly not to become friendly with each other. It was too difficult to make friends only to lose them, and the repeated pain from that tended to turn one cynical. By his fourth year, Yogan understood well that it was to his benefit for others to fail and be washed out, because that kept him in the program for another day.
As if it were predestined, a trio of Initiates came down the corridor in single file, interrupting Yogan’s ruminations on his own time in the program. He looked up at them and nodded a polite greeting, but none of them spoke, and they hurried past him as though his making eye contact with them was a test of their focus. He hoped they passed. Despite the difficulty and the competition and the anxiety and everything else, he would do it all over again. Being Joined was something he’d wanted since he was eleven years old, and the fact that he beat insurmountable odds and received the privilege of a symbiont was absolutely worth everything it cost him. He smiled ruefully. If odds could be relied upon, at least one of those three Initiates would be kicked out of the program by week’s end.
N. Verso: Yogan.
Yogan turned around at the sound of his brother’s voice. So engrossed was he in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice Nedal walking up the corridor. He was smiling, something the most serious of the three Verso children seldom did when they were young. Dressed in buff-colored Guardian’s vestments, Nedal looked surprisingly fit and healthy, his formerly slight frame now sturdy and well-built. Yogan stood and greeted his brother with a hug, and felt a strength in his brother’s body that had never been there before.
Yalu: Neddo. ::sitting back down:: It’s good to see you.
N. Verso: You too. ::taking a seat beside Yogan:: Are you excited?
Yalu: Yes. This has been a long time coming.
N. Verso: Good. I’m excited for you, too. And I’m honoured that you wanted me to be a part of it.
Yogan nodded, deciding to forego telling his brother that he’d actually been quite stressed about his family’s involvement in his zhian’tara. Neddo was the only one of his family Yogan hadn’t yet seen, and if the previous family reunions were any prediction, this encounter would be an emotional one as well.
Yalu: It was quite the coincidence that my Guardian is also training you.
N. Verso: ::running a hand through his hair:: Rohjess Beem is a skilled Guardian. I’ve learned a lot from him and I respect him tremendously. But he’s also a major jerk.
Nedal laughed, as if he’d just got away with saying something against the rules. Yogan was surprised to see his brother so animated. Not only was his demeanour uncharacteristic of a Guardian, but it was also uncharacteristic of Nedal himself. At least, the Nedal that Yogan remembered.
Yalu: He’s not been effusive in his compliments, that’s for sure. ::beat:: How have you been? Kejana says that she hasn’t heard from you in almost a year. Is everything all right?
Nedal’s cheerful disposition wore away slightly, his easygoing smile replaced with a wince and a slightly furrowed brow.
N. Verso: I’m in the Caves a lot. It’s hard to get away to call home. And… it’s unpleasant. ::sighs:: Can I be honest with you, Yogan?
Yalu: ::nodding:: Please.
N. Verso: I don’t like seeing Mother the way she is. Every time I see her, so feeble, so confused, it’s like it steals my good memories of her. Sometimes when I talk with her, it’s like I can feel the memories turn grey, fuzzy. I’m scared I won’t have any left.
Yogan didn’t know what to say to make Nedal feel better. Probably nothing would. He wanted to ask more about his brother’s new life as a Guardian. Nedal’s choice of such an ascetic, cloistered existence was abrupt and, to Yogan, illogical. He envied his younger brother’s poetic prowess, and it seemed as though Nedal was on the verge of greatness when he suddenly withdrew. Of course, Yogan had no authority to lecture anyone about withdrawing from the family circle. Hopefully there would be time later, but at the moment, it would have to wait. The doors before them parted and the Guardian stepped out into the corridor.
Beem: Ah, Nedal. At least someone in your family knows how to show up at the proper time. ::beat:: Come, we are ready to begin.
Nedal gave Yogan a raised eyebrow and a smile at the Guardian’s ascerbic tone. The two brothers then followed the Guardian back into the room, which looked quite different from the way Yogan had left it just minutes before. The chairs and tables had been moved against one wall, the lights were dimmed, and a triangular altar occupied the centre of the room. A cauldron of whitish, viscous liquid bubbled over a flame, and several sections of the altar’s surface were reflective, like small mirrors, bouncing flickering light all across the room.
Beem: Nedal, you will embody Yalu’s first host. Pay careful attention to my words, the placement of my hands, and the feeling of the host’s consciousness entering you. Try your best to relax. You will be overseeing the rest of the ceremony, so this is a rare opportunity for some experiential learning. Good luck, and don’t screw it up.
N. Verso: I understand.
The Guardian waved the brothers over to the altar, and indicated with gestures where each should stand. Yogan, positioned to the Guardian’s left, stared into the burning flame, trying to focus himself and relax. Rohjess Beam began to recite the ancient ritual text, his voice taking on a calming, almost melodic quality. Yogan immediately felt at ease and closed his eyes.
Beem: I’nora, ja’kala Yalu. Zhian’shee Zedro tanus rem. Gon’dar Yogan tor.
Yogan felt the Guardian’s hand on the small of his back. He breathed deeply, using the mental image of the flame burning in the cauldron as an anchor. He wondered how it would feel when the transfer happened, whether he would feel anything at all. He didn’t have to wait long.
Beem: Yogan, zhian’tara vok. Tu Yalu, zhian’tani ress. Zhian’par Zedro garu’koj.
Yogan had no words to describe the feeling of his first host’s memories being removed. His breathing quickened as Zedro became more and more distant to him, memories that for six years had been an integral part of him losing their detail, becoming vague, formless blobs of color and emotion in his mind. After a few seconds, they were gone completely, and Yogan opened his eyes. He looked at the Guardian, and then at Nedal, whose head had fallen so far forward that his chin rested on his chest.
Rohjess Beem removed his hand from Yogan’s back and stepped aside. Nedal remained idle for a long moment, then drew a sharp breath. He lifted his head, his body suddenly full of life once again. Yogan looked at his brother with quiet wonderment. Nedal’s expression was pleasant, if a bit stern, and he now stood upright in a disciplined, almost military bearing.
Yalu: Nedal?
His brother shook his head, his serious expression now moderated by a slightly upturned corner of the mouth.
N. Verso (as Z. Yalu): Zedro.
TBC
PNPC Rohjess Beem
Trill Guardian
PNPC Nedal Verso (embodying Zedro Yalu)
Trill Guardian Apprentice & Yogan Yalu’s brother
with, and simmed by
Lieutenant JG Yogan Yalu
Helm Officer
USS Resolution NCC-78145
Justin
D238804DS0
As you liberate yourself in metaphor, think of others, those who have lost the right to speak.
— Mahmoud Darwish