Vulcan Reforged

It was not, Dr. Celeste Smith, archivist of Musical Traditions in the Smithsonian Pan-Federation Institute, it was not, she thought insistently, that she was perturbed at the thought of her collection, carefully cataloged and tagged and set out just so for full visual impact and ...

She sighed and ruefully shook her head. It's not like I have any claim to these things at all. As a matter of fact, the Institute hadn't even realized that the items in question were Vulcan. The gongs and stands and mallet were seemingly displaced from history, almost as if they were from another time or an alternate path, perhaps they were even representative of a different sect or society than the modern Vulcan... maybe even pre-Surak...

She came abruptly back to herself. She needed to be packing these for travel, not daydreaming about the potential history and significance of the materials and construction and the fact that the Ambassador, upon seeing the collection in the new "Amanda Grayson Memorial Wing" immediately demanded their return to the Vulcan people.

It was very tempting however, to daydream a little about metallurgy processes, religious ceremonies, processions. Maybe this gong, with its sonorous resonance and shrill overtones, lived at a temple and called supplicants inside. Maybe this gong announced the logical joy of a marriage ceremony. Maybe this gong announced who exactly was the passerby ahead on the road. Did this gong sing differently depending on how it was struck?

There was no script on the gong and the only indication that it wasn't Terran was the materials used - a much hotter fire would have been used to anneal this gong than the multitude of its plain orchestral counterparts. Dr. Smith drew herself away from further contemplation of the avenues of study lost, the Vulcans were so secretive, she pouted silently, and placed the final block of packing foam over the top of the gong. She firmly smacked the lid down on the shipping crate, initiated the sequence to air-evac and vacuum seal, and walked away.

She was going to break for lunch, she decided, and bring her sketchbook; determined to have a few final drawings and daydream about descending tones over iced tea and a sandwich.