I apologize for any reference inconsistencies or spelling errors. Hope you like it. :D
Stardate 2260.24 San Francisco, The Vulcan Embassy
"I shall not return to New Vulcan."
Those words echoed across the cutting silence. A simple statement. Yet one that troubled Lady T'Pau as she stared at the tele-com nestled into the wall of the private study; her face never betrayed her concern though.
She recalled the man filling the view screen before her, while stubborn in his youth, had an intelligence that far outshined his peers. So it was perplexing to her how Spock brushed off the the gravity of the situation so casually. While it was not the most desirable of subject matters, often never spoken of, it could no longer be ignored. They were to few to do so. Which left decorum by the wayside.
"Spock," she stated, eyebrow lifting disapprovingly, "I urge you to reconsidered your actions. While your duty to Starfleet is noteworthy you must take into consideration your health as the only other heir to the house of Surak. More males are falling unto the throes of pon'farr⎯some as young as thirteen. Most likely a biological reaction to the destruction of our homeworld and our near extinction. You must return. The situation is dire. If you do not embark soon the viable candidates with whom I have acquired for you may be taken by others in similar circumstance. You must make a claim known."
A slight flush of green splayed upon the first officers cheeks, the only sign to his obvious discomfort toward the conversation. It was to be expected. Their discussion should have been one between father and son, but Sarek was predisposed. Seeking the help of a healer as opposed to taking up another bondmate so soon after the death of his previous one. A sentiment, while understandable, was entirely foolish. Should the healer fail, the option exhausted, there was a high probability a suitable mate would no longer be available. The chances of Sarek succeeding were 22.395%. Which was why Spock's return was so important.
"It would be illogical for me to do so," he spoke, inclining his head in apology, "As it is, there are few viable females left thus my sterility would only hinder our repopulation efforts; appropriating a possible mate away from a virile male. I would best serve the Vulcan people by continuing my commission upon the Enterprise; strengthening the Federation with new alliances, resources and scientific advancements. Furthermore, with my mixed heritage, it is highly unlikely I would experience the blood fever. Lady T'Pau, ko'mekh-il {grandmother}, while I appreciate your diligence and care for my personal well being I propose we discuss this topic no further. It would prove a futile endeavor to change my decision. Kadith{What is is}. I will not leave Starfleet."
The elder Vulcan raised her eyebrow. "I see. Then as I cannot change your mind I will bid thee farewell. Live long and prosper," she stated, lifting her hand up in taal—middle finger and ring finger separating the others into a V. Spock stoically returned the gesture, "Peace and long life."
The transmission abruptly cut off with the prompt end of the call. It was clear she had upset her grandson, from the length of his rebuttal he had gone on the defensive, but she didn't dwell upon that. After all, if she could not bring him back to Vulcan to procure a Bondmate then she would have to look toward other avenues to ensure his future. T'Pau would never say so out loud, but she cared deeply for each of her family members. Especially with many perishing on Vulcan. It was that very knowledge that would spur her to any means necessary to ensure Spocks survival. Even if she had to go through an unlikely outside source.
While Spock's argument had been strong, and she could see the logic of not taking a female from another, he had given her a different alternative. Another option without even realizing it. If he wouldn't leave Starfleet to bond then she would find him a match within the confines of the organization itself. Though the thought of a non-Vulcan mate unsettled T'Pau she would have to do what was logical. Her own preferences mattered not.
Straightening her posture to appear more imposing, she folded her arms neatly behind her. It was time to call in a few favors. "Computer call Grand Admiral Archer."
The black screen beeped, signaling it's compliance of her request. 80.2 seconds later an angry wrinkled face appeared. "Who the hell is calling me at-," a disheveled Archer sputtered grouchily before his eyes focused on the woman before him. Instantly the cantankerous old man froze, face paling, before he awkwardly cleared his throat. "Apologies Lady T'Pau. I didn't know it was-ahem-what can Starfleet do for you at this hour."
She cocked an eyebrow toward his blatant display of emotions. Humans, with all their idiosyncrasies, were such strange brash creatures. It never failed to astound and irritate her with the variety of intimate feelings they chose to broadcast so blatantly. "I'll be to the point as I have interrupted your sleep cycle. I wish to, I believe the appropriate human idiom is, cash in a favor. Two, precisely."
Archer eyed her warily, his gut told him there was an ulterior motive that he probably wasn't going to like. However if she was personally asking for help it would be important. She had never done so before and to be honest not only starfleet but the federation owed her a debt. Quite a few actually. On more than one occasion she had helped alleviate tense situations within the federation, averting a few inter-species disasters. Honestly, the Admiral thought the only reason everyone was so amendable to change their minds was because there were scared shitless of the tiny emotionless woman. No one said no to her, Archer included himself on that list. He'd have to acquiesce. "Alright, what am I going to have to do?"
"I need access to some of your personnel files. More specifically the cerebral patterns, mapping, and wavelengths documented during esper readings upon Academy admittance."
"Well," the Admiral frowned, "that would be a little difficult seeing as they're confidential. Now I'm sure you wouldn't be doing anything deplorable with them, but that's private information on a large scale. If I were to send them to you over the deep space communications they could be intercepted and fall into the wrong hands. I'm really-"
"I do not require the files be sent," T'Pau hastily interjected, "Only access. Currently I am residing within the Vulcan embassy on Earth and shall be returning to New Vulcan tomorrow at nine hundred hours. What I require of the files takes time, thus it can not be waste with explanation."
"Alright. Alright. Don't get upset," Archer apologized, hands placed before him in surrender. He realized, as she slightly cocked her head to the side, that she was about to correct his statement. Why Vulcan's insisted they had no emotions was beyond him.
"Vulcans do not get upset."
"Of course. But if you're so pressed on time why don't you tell me what you're after and I can do it for you," Archer reasoned. It was a logical compromise, one T'Pau was reluctant to take, but one she might have to. "It is of a sensitive nature. One not spoken of to outsiders. It would best be handled by myself. My request is not unreasonable."
Blue eyes widened marginally at a phrase spoken, it niggled at the back of old memories for attention. He had heard it before once, a long time ago. During his prime as a captain. Taking into account her shifty attitude and avoidance of the topic Archer decided to take an embarrassing shot in the dark. "Are you talking about pon'farr?"
The elder stilled at the mention, confirming his assumption. Well, that made things awkward. The woman narrowed her eyes so slightly, one would mistake it never taking place. "How is it you are aware of the affliction?"
"You forget, my first officer was Vulcan. It came up during a mission. Don't blame her though, she wasn't at fault."
"I see," T'Pau stated, recalculating her approach. His knowledge, though troubling, could be advantageous. He would know why the information she sought would be important. Thus giving her a greater chance of compliance, more so toward the last endeavor.
"Then I shall send a Vulcan Science Academy algorithm to your personal PADD. Upload the program, initiate it, then access Commander Spock's file. It will take approximately 3.87 hours to finish where hence a new folder shall appear on your desktop. I will need to review the files catalogued inside, as well as service and academic records for each individual."
"Right," he commented moving off screen to grab the aforementioned device, "and what exactly do you need these for? How will this help with th-the problem."
T'Pau twitched, controlling the urge to shift uncomfortably. Humans with their lack of propriety. Not wishing to state more than was necessary she opted for a short answer. "Mental compatibility."
"Alright," the man shifted back onto the screen once more, PADD in hand, "You going to explain what that has to do with pon'farr and my commander?"
Silence. Clearly the Vulcan wasn't going to divulge anything more. Something to be expected. They were a tightlipped lot. It was like pulling teeth to get them to even give a simple yes or no on occasion. Something that always annoyed Archer when he was captain. Always with the secrets. Secrets have a way of causing more problems than fixing them. "So...not going to elaborate I see. Alright, what's the other favor you required since that's only one."
"After all matches have been calculated I would like to have the three highest candidates transfered permanently to the enterprise till further notice. I shall meet with you at your office in 3.86 hours, to review the canidates. Till then Admiral," T'Pau nodded, ending the call as not to prolong it with questions. Satisfied with her results she decided to retire for a short meditation on the days events; where as to gain more clarity and ease her weary mind.
As Lady T'Pau set off to do just that a shocked, slightly curmudgeon, Archer stared at his blank view screen. He grumbled under his breath about how they were Starfleet, not a damn match making service, before shuffling off to change out of his sleepwear. There'd be no falling asleep now. The perks of being Grand Admiral.
Throwing the PADD out of his hand to the rumpled bedspread, the program began streaming through data, then pinged as files started to move into a temporary folder. Archer paused mid-stride to glance back at the item, feeling slightly guilty. It was highly unethical, necessary, but unethical.
With Vulcans so few now even one death could send shockwaves through a universal community still grieving from the previous senseless loss. If it were ever to be learned that Starfleet could have prevented said singular death public out cry would possibly destroy them. Not to mention the political aspects of the whole thing.
Vulcans were Earths strongest, not to mention first, allies. If they were kept "happy" everyone else was happy, which in turn left him happy as he wouldn't have to deal with whiney world leaders. It also facilitated shared technology for the fleet from the Vulcan Science Academy. And no one loved new tech like Starfleet bureaucracy. But who ever ended up chosen, who ever became bonded to the hybrid, would have to endure a drastically different lifestyle. Which was fine for a Vulcan, who was from that constrained cultural background, but to a federation citizen, especially an earth citizen, well, Archer was already expecting some future resistance. Thus, the guilt was forming from the foreknowledge of having to crush any attempt to fight any bonding laws.
The admiral shook his head wistfully, "Poor kid."
Stardate 2260.25 San Francisco, The Daystrom Building
Actions unbecoming of a Superior Officer.
Ensign Artemis, or rather "Arty", Greenway stared at the reprimand for the millionth time. It'd been over a year and a half since she received the demotion and passive aggressive exile to the Millennium Archive underneath Starfleet HQ. Well, everyone called it an archive, but in actuality it was where antiquated machinery and texts went to die. Basically it was one big storage room that no one ever visited. Arty was pretty sure the only other time someone else, beside herself, had been down there was when she went to relieve the previous sap⎯yeoman⎯watching the place. He all but ran over her in his joy to leave. That was a year and a half ago!
How she ended up in the archive wasn't all her fault. It had been a pretty disastrous day. Mistakes were made and people had died as a result. Maybe that was why she never fought the stripping of her rank or the reassignment. Granted the negligence hadn't been by her hand, but as the previous chief engineer she was held responsible. After all, she was in-charge. All the others had just been cadets. They were green, not yet graduated, and held no experience what so ever. Even though she was only their superior by a semester, Arty had plenty of experience with ships. She'd lived on them most her life. But the horrors of that moment still remained. The survivors guilt never faded.
It started with an emergency call from Vulcan and ended when Nero's ship pierced the hull of the Enterprise. Her ship! At least for one thrilling moment at space dock it had been Arty's. But that breach had caused a surge, and a cadet, who she'd assigned to watch the relays, didn't catch it in time. To frozen in fear to move. It wasn't till she heard the high pitched whine of the tesla couplings that Arty realized what was about to transpire. In that last second, as a last ditch effort, she managed to reroute the power to a secondary system, saving the ship from a full shield collapse mid-battle, but it's previous path lit a half capped oxygen tank that very same cadet overlooked during system inspections at dry dock. One second she reading an engineering screen the next fire erupted in a blast all around her. It wasn't till a month an a half later she regained consciousness.
The medical team did a hell of a job fixing her up. Not a burn left. Though sometimes Arty will still wake up screaming, skin ablaze with a phantom pains she just couldn't quite excise. Sometimes her hands would tingle with numbness that should have dissipated. Or she'd suddenly smell burning flesh and chemicals that just wasn't there. It didn't matter though. When Arty woke up from her medically induced coma judgement had already been sentenced and passed. Thirty-two people had died from that explosion. Out of all of them, the cadet who froze had survived. It should have been a relief, she had tried to take most of the blow and shield him, but he was quick to point the finger to advance his career. Testifying that he was the one to reroute power and avert mid-shield collapse. That Arty was to blame, that she had been the one to freeze and miss-inspect the oxygen tank. That it was her fault everyone had died as a result. To be honest he probably thought she'd never awake from the coma when he'd testified so who was she to contradict his story. She had survived never to contest the rulings.
Truth be told at the time, with all the shoulda coulda woulda's floating around in her head, the guilt from living when others hadn't, Arty didn't really believe she deserved to clear her name. To set the record straight. To be some sort of hero they made, newly promoted, Lt. Winsworth out to be. Hell, even if she had tried to clear the air it would've just looked like she was making excuses, in effect making her appear more guilty. He who talks first is telling the truth, as they saw in law. So she let the notion stand. Which is what brought her back to staring at the damn report anyway. A reminder of why she was exiled. The amount of criticism and denigrating remarks were startling every time she re-read it.
There were somedays, when the silence and the boredom became to much to bear, Arty regretted her decision. Her lack of action. But there was nothing to be done. Que sera sera as the saying went.
With a heavy sigh Arty closed the report on the computer and leaned back into the ratty swivel chair, twisting languidly back and fourth in thought. The one nice thing about her predicament was the lack of formality. Here, in her junkyard kingdom, there was no requirement of proper uniform. Which was dandy as the dresses didn't make working on projects very easy. Arty remembered flashing an ensign or two when fixing a nacelle during her junior chiefdom upon the USS Reliant. Started wearing black leggings underneath after that, but those easily ripped. However, there, in the silence, Arty was free to do as she so pleased.
If anything her current ensemble resembled a textbook nerd⎯not that she cared or had anything against nerds. Not when she sported some tweed jacket like a 21st century professor; even marred with a few fresh ink stains, though where she ran into the ink was beyond her⎯they stopped making that stuff in the late twenty-one Nineties. Didn't help either that she wore large black square rimmed glasses, hastily taped together in the middle from a shelving accident⎯she only had glasses because she was to chicken shit to let someone go at her eye with a laser. AS for the rest of her, she wore an oil stained grey vest with silver buttons that were forever crooked and well used rumpled slacks, dirtied from the passing dust that laden every machine down there. She very much embodied the stereotype, quite fondly in fact. The odd style fit her personality well.
Being a bit of an introvert she never was really great with talking to people. Unless it was about machinery. Anything technological and Arty couldn't shut up about it, probably the only reason Pike made her his chief engineer when he got the new ship. She was proficient enough to order people around cause it dealt with something she was confidant in. Other than that she was a piss poor conversationalist. Arty never knew if she was saying the right or wrong thing. Never really having any friends did that to a person. Not a lot of kids to play with living on a merchant ship. For the most part it was just her and her grandfather. Sometimes he'd hire the occasional ship hand, but they never stayed long. His dying wish had been for her to join starfleet and experience life, among other things. Just like her parents had. A touchy subject for another time.
Clang! Arty jumped five feet in the air swirling around toward the intrusion, arming herself with whatever could be found. In this case the weapon of chance, a long ancient wooden ruler. On the other side of the mahogany doughnut desk an ion scrubber rolled uselessly on the concrete floor, having tumbled off it's metal shelf. A Barillian monkey, it's huge glossy amber eyes taking up most of its skull, raised it's large brown bat like ears up in surprise. The clear culprit.
"Dammit Orvil! Stop mucking around, just because this place is already a lost cause doesn't mean you should add to the mess! Little bastard, trying to give me a heart attack," Arty grumbled the last part, placing the ruler on a pile of books.
Stepping out from the middle of the desk she walked over to grab the item and return it to it's proper place, before waving a reprimanding finger at the other mammal. "Oi! Those big eyes won't work on me. Now where have you been? I asked for a stylus almost thirty minutes ago."
Orvil trilled indignantly, waving little furry hands to and fro, his twin tails twisting and curling. Usually a clear indicator he was hiding something. Which became evident when he held out a black stylus covered in orange snack residue. Exotic blue eyes narrowed as she snatch it out of his little monkey hand. "Aha, J'accuse! You've got freetah puffs stashed away somewhere! Oh, you sneak! I knew you were a bit to eager to run off to the front office and retrieve this. Alright, where are they. We can either do this the hard way or the easy way, but be warned. I haven't snacked for three hours. That's practically a lifetime."
Arty folded her arms across her chest, curved hip cocking defiantly. Orvil, the little miscreant, copied the gesture verbatim. But monkey see monkey do wasn't at play there. Sarcasm and rebellion flash in those big ole eyes of his. And it was not her emotions reflecting back at her, as she'd been corrected time after time by others. Orvil was intelligent, don't let the cute fuzzy features steer you wrong. But Arty truly must have been bored to be harassing an animal for food. Something that had turned into a regular occurrence after the first two months of exile.
And there she was, about to jump over and strangle the little bastard, when a gruff cough interrupted the tentative silence. Arty froze for a millisecond. The noise definitely humaniod in it's origin and one that she hadn't made. In an instant she was a mess of awkward feet and limbs turning toward the owner of the sound. Social anxieties kept any smart ass responses at bay. The ones she felt no judgement to spew in the company of her small mammalian friend.
It only further doubled, eyes widening, heart speeding up, when Arty found herself face to face with an admiral. Not just any Admiral though. The "Puba" of Admirals. The Grand of Admiral. And of all things, oddly enough, accompanied by a female Vulcan who was just as old and withered as himself. This was it. They were coming to tell her to get lost. She had wondered when they'd discharge her, send her packing in shame and ridicule. Arty had to swallow down the lump forming in her throat as it constricted at the thought. Starfleet was all she knew. The only home she'd ever have. Panicking she did the only thing that came to mind and stood to attention. An instinctual response. "Grand Admiral Archer, sir!"
His brows furrowed together, as if he'd been expecting something else, something more, some other person to be there to greet him. Not the academic mess before him. With untamed blonde hair that waved and curled every which direction, as if it didn't know how it wanted to settle. Big blue doe eyes darting around nervously, not knowing where to linger. Full pink pouty lips trying in vain not to frown. Or a tall slim voluptuous build hiding underneath the fashion disaster she called clothes. She didn't look like a power abusing incompetent fool that cost lives and almost lost the federation, just a fool. But looks were always rather deceiving. He grumbled indignantly at getting distracted by her appearance, "At ease ensign."
Ouch. Arty had to stop herself from wincing at the term. Another reason her solitude was a blessing in disguise. She was never reminded of her lack of rank. But Arty managed to stifle the response, curious and frightful of why the sudden abundance of visitors. Even more so of the Vulcan who was so studiously cataloguing her every move. But no one made any attempts at conversation. Only breathing echoed in the silence. Perhaps they were waiting on her to start. That'd be a long wait.
The Vulcan, not bothered by the tense atmosphere, shifted her attention. Falling upon the three digital easer boards cluttered around the desk and the piles of papers littered and pinned near them, filled with more scribbled equations and formulas. Her work! In a flash Arty rushed over, grabbing an easer, and removed bits of the mathematical specs of her malfunctioning pet project. One small personal cloaking device that worked for seven seconds till it sputtered and re-mattered into a forcefield. Something it was not supposed to do. Arty's initial hope was to create a working prototype then remodel the specs to retro-fit a constellation class ship with. But it was still a work in progress, thus she didn't wish to share her failure. Just like the ones she had on improving impulse and warp engines.
"Uh...sorry about the mess, um, what can I do for you," Arty shakily asked, turning over papers so they faced down. Hiding them from roaming eyes. The alien female raised a brow at the odd behavior. Which in turn caused another shot of anxiety to bubble up compelling Arty to wring her hands together. Oh god, why were they there.
Archer seemed to snap out of whatever train of thought he'd disappeared into and leveled an intense gaze up the fidgety engineer. "Right. I'm not one to mince words so I'm just going to level with you. Even after everything that occurred over a year ago you've been re-assigned effective immediately."
Arty blinked, fearing she'd heard wrong. It had to be a joke or at least a delusion brought on by panic induced fear. No admiral in there right mind would personally come down to reassign her...unless. Unless! Unless it was to Delta Vega and they wished to see with a perverse sense of satisfaction the horrified look upon her face as they gave her the news. That made sense. Dreading the worst she found herself asking the question before she could second guess herself on it. "S-should I be packing warm?"
A flash of puzzlement drew across the Admirals features before amused understanding took it's place. Apparently getting the reference. He was glad to know all engineers feared crossing him or else suffer the freezing temperatures of Delta Vega. And having no pity for her he felt no need to correct the assumption to put the nervous engineer out of her misery. In fact, he decided to have a bit of fun with it. "That remains entirely up to you. Though I would suggest packing light, possibly for heat. We can beam the rest of your belongs to you later," Archer replied cryptically. This sent Arty's mind into a tailspin of different scenarios. Each worse than the last. But his emphasis on packing light and for heat could only mean one thing. At least to her.
Oh god, they were sending her to Delta Sol! The unbearably hot planet with six suns, no night, and terrain that was mostly covered by shifting lava. She'd shrivel up like a prune and cook like a lobster! At least on Vega Arty could put on more clothes to combat the cold, but there was only so much she could do against heat. She'd even heard that the air conditioning never worked on that base. They didn't just want to humiliate and punish her, they wanted to kill her! Oh why, oh why, did she keep her mouth shut.
"Your lack of instruction is ill-advised Admiral," the Vulcan spoke to her counterpart almost chastisingly, "as many situations may arise it would only be logical Miss Greenway account for all weather climates and pack accordingly. I do not understand why you would attempt to leave an officer unprepared to the dangers of space exploration. It would be negligent to do so."
Archer looked throughly ruffled and agitated at being, what was the equivalent, of scolded by the vulcan. It made him seem like some greenhorn and undermined his authority, but if he were to explain the meaning of his statement it could be construed as harassment. So he remained tactfully silent on the matter and moved on. "Right...Ensign Greenway you are to report to the Daystrom long range beaming pad thirty-five minutes from now. That should be ample time to collect a few items and your uniform, though you're likely not gonna have time to change. As you won't be on duty when you beam aboard the Enterprise it shouldn't be a problem."
All breath left Arty with a violent swoosh of air. The Enterprise, the Enterprise! They were sending her there! Of all the ships in the fleet why'd it have to be that one. They could have chosen a number of different ones! Hell, she'd rather have death by Delta Sol than resume commission on the Enterprise. Arty's mouth fluttered and floundered to voice her objection. To scream no! But how could she? To question an Admiral was grounds enough to get her another court marshal. This time probably getting her kicked out of Starfleet for good. Now that was a thought. A very tempting thought. But she just didn't have the heart to take the easy way out, no matter how much she wished or wanted to. Arty had made a promise she intended to keep. One that unfortunately involved her continued association with the organization.
Frowning, Arty shakingly lifted her hand in a salute. Per protocol. "Y-yes-s Sir."
"Then I'll see you at the transporter room at 8:00 hours. Dismissed ensign."
With a dash Arty scrambled to grab an accordion file holder to collect what ever data that could be carried, she barely noticed the other two leaving. Nor did she even realize the Vulcan woman had never been introduced to her. Of course, much later, she would learn that was by design. So while the engineer calculated approximately how long it would take to amass the essentials from home and return to HQ the two co-conspirators left to quietly converse out in the deserted hallway.
"Did you see what you needed to see," Archer grumbled glancing down at the woman walking along side him. Lady T'Pau pulled out the PADD hidden within the folds of her robes, gazing at the window already open on the screen stoically. Greenway had been the last one on the list; they had met the others earlier. "I believe so."
The man snorted, "It's hard to comprehend that she got the highest compatibility."
"Yes, it's quite a waste," she agreed, "Her academic career had been promising, however the tribunal and all it's implications were rather unfortunate. Miss Greenway would have been perfect were it not for that."
"Are you ever going to inform the commander of what you're doing?"
"I shall give him a few weeks to familiarize himself with each of the women. I am sure you will send the enterprise appropriate missions that would utilize each of them specifically in some capacity alongside the commander."
It wasn't a suggestion, it was an order. A very presumptuous one too. Archer could feel his blood pressure rise when T'Pau turned to him expectantly with a raised eyebrow. It took all his self control not to start shouting at the nerve. The woman was pushing it, but Commander Spock was a damned fine officer. One that couldn't be afforded to be lost. Which meant he'd have to rope Pike into the scheme. After all, he was directly in charge of the lot and had a fierce loyalty to the Enterprise crew. Which was why it admittedly shouldn't be to hard, the newly ordained Admiral cared for the hybrid and also needed the political backing that Archer could provide. Especially with the starship family addendum he was putting on the agenda next admiralty meeting. Archer just didn't want to have to explain why he needed the help.
"I'll see what I can do," he gritted out overly polite. Not that T'Pau noticed. Vulcans rarely caught on to the nuances of an emotional species. And he assumed he was correct in that knowledge as she made no indication of catching on to his hidden hostility. "Then I depart knowing my grandson is in capable hands. Peace and long life Grand Admiral Archer."
Returning Archer's PADD unto his care she left unhindered to catch the shuttle for New Vulcan. Not that they dared leave without her. As she disappeared down a corridor Archer stood with uncertainty. If the three women ever caught on things would get complicated. What would the public think to learn that a well respected Admiral was basically pimping out his officers. Of course Starfleet would do everything in it's power to burry that information rather than risk the bad publicity. Which in the long run was better than the shit storm that would occur if he did nothing to save the hybrid. Something Archer wasn't about to let happen.
As the doors to the Millennium Archive burst open with a loud resounding shutter, ensign Greenway rushed out at warp speed, struggling to juggle an arm full of schematics and four accordion briefcases. Archer was quick to hide the tablet. The tablet in his hand that showed a service picture of Arty, attached with the usual standard information, but more pressingly a big 99.9% match flashing across the screen. She rushed past so consumed in her panic, that she didn't even notice him. Much to the Admirals relief.
When she vanished into a turbo lift only then did Archer look down at the device. Hard to believe she beat the other two candidates by an overwhelming thirty percent. If only the woman hadn't been such a colossal screw up he would have been sending only one person verses the three. A waste indeed.
Thirty minutes later; Somewhere near the Gamma Quadrant One Montgomery Scott jumped up from his seat with a holler.
"Ican'na will'na have 'er upon my ship! Dat' woman's a blight and nothin' good could come from 'aving 'er here! Send 'er back captain, I beg of yah! I canna' trust 'er on managin' repairs, maintenance, or even regulatin' the Enterprise."
Scotty was livid, absolutely livid. Had he known before hand who he was about to beam aboard his ship he'd have broken the damned transporter to keep that nasty wench from harming his lovely lass again. He couldn't believe the gall she had to even come back in the first place.
"I'm sorry Scotty but it's not our call. The reassignment came from the Grand Admiral himself. My hands are tied," Jim sighed wearily. He himself wasn't very enthused about the decision either. He'd heard about the incident second hand, from what he was told and had read the woman wasn't a good fit for his crew. Scotty however took it as another personal affront. "Ach! Of course it was Admiral Archer! E's 'ad it in for me ever since tha' accident. This is just another bloody attempt at punishin' me! I swear I'll punch tha' old blow 'ard next I see 'em for this!"
"Be that as it may Mr. Scott I would suggest you cease broadcasting threats against your superior or I'll be forced to report you," Spock blankly admonished. This however only seemed to further infuriate the Scotsman, causing his face to flush an alarming shade of purple red and puce. Jim didn't even think the man was breathing. But, noticing the chief engineer was about to blow a gasket, and likely take a swing at his first officer, Jim stepped in between the two; hoping he could diffuse the situation. The woman wasn't even there yet and she was already causing problems.
"Look, I know this isn't ideal, but there's nothing to be done about it. Just assign her to inventory or something. I don't think even she could manage to screw that up."
"Fine," Scotty shouted, flopping back down to the control station, "But let the record show that I donna' like it, not one bit."
"Duly noted," Jim exhaled before whirling his hands up in the air, "Now lets get this show on the road. It's not like were just getting her anyway. We're receiving two other lovely ladies as well."
With a clap, the captain grinned and wiggled his eyebrows up and down lewdly. Always one to try an lighten the mood with harmless flirtatious comments. Everyone besides Spock returned a knowing smile, amused by the playboy ruse. Of course Jim's mind would immediately go there. "What's this I hear about new personnel," a grumpy voice growled.
Jim turned to see an irate Bones enter the transporter room. He winced as his best friend crossed his arms over his chest. Damn. The blonde purposely hadn't informed the country doctor for a reason. He knew Bones would be upset about the new crew members. Which was why Jim was going to give who ever informed the man of the meet-and-greet beta shift for the next five weeks when he found them. Plastering on a quick smile he tried to play it off, "Bones! What're you doing here? Did you miss this handsome face so much you had to come all the way up here to see me. Aww, you shouldn't have."
"Dammit kid, I get enough of that stupid face down in my sickbay why'd I go out of my merry way to see it on purpose. And don't you Bones me! I've been asking for more nurses for weeks and what do we get!? A barely useful botanist, an obsolete historian, and an inept engineer. What the hell Jim!"
"Ah," Jim scratched the back of his head, "see, I knew you were going to get upset. That's why I wasn't going to say anything."
"Dammi-"
"Captain we're receiving three signals from headquarters," an ensign interrupted unwisely, wilting when the doctor shot him a scathing glare. It was clear a shouting match was about to occur but the arrival of guests, female guests, waylaid that bitch fest. If only for a moment. Bones shook a threatening finger in the Captain's direction. "This isn't over Jim. We're going to discuss this later. And while we're at it there's a few hypo's with your name on 'em!"
The captain visibly cringed at the reference of the aforementioned medical device. Why was it he was getting punished when he hadn't done anything. Suddenly the poor idiot who'd informed McCoy would be receiving double beta shifts. Changing his stance to a more professional one he nodded his assent to Scotty, "Lock onto the signals and please make it quick. We've got five more minutes before we're no longer in range. And don't try to pull a fast one. I'm going to see what I can do to send Ensign Greenway back but, we have to do this through the proper channels. Else Archer will send more people you don't like onto the ship."
The Scotsman made a constipated face thinking of a ship full of everyone he ever hated or feared and shivered. That thought spurred him to type on the controls faster than he would have liked. After all, he was not looking forward to the new addition to engineering.
With a tale tell hum, the pad spurred to life, swirling with three golden lights. Each life inside the swarming glow became clearer and clearer till finally they materialized back into existence. All eyes falling onto the new members in slight surprise. The women looked like an odd collection of human beauty at its best. Each unique in their own way.
The one on right had an aura of calming grace that seemed to fit her small quiet delicate Indonesian features. It was the eyes though that warranted the most attention, a dark tropical green that almost seemed in conflict with her heritage. Judging by her appearance, and the snug science blues hugging her slim frame, she was the newly added botanist Saloni Shasthri. Of course, the plants she had on a small rollaway cart near her bag were a dead give away. The identities of the other two though were a bit harder to decipher, as appeared to have had short notice of their reassignment. Each wearing civilian clothes.
While the one in the middle was a pear shaped vixen with long luminous red hair, tied in a ponytail, it was clear as day those brandy eyes held no interest in the situation. In fact she almost resembled a doll, devoid of expression. Kirk decided that she was the infamous Greenway and moved onto the last woman. Scotty himself must've come to the same conclusion, having never met the last chief, and glared something fierce at the ginger dressed in a yellow flirty sundress.
Which meant the woman on the end was Marla McGivers. An odd lithe with expressive electric blues and moon kissed skin. She shook like a rabbit being eyed by wolves as she tried to maintain the scrolls and file holders piled in her arms. She definitely fit the historian bill. Paper was very old school. Not to mention the academic vibe her outfit screamed to the world gave her away. Because who wore big think glasses anymore!? It was the 23rd century, they were so antiquated. Still, the outfit gave Kirk a naughty teacher fantasy that if she was't a crew member he might have pursued.
"Welcome aboard everyone. I'm Captain Kirk. In a minute I'll have a yeoman show you each to your assigned rooms, but first lets get to the introductions going shall we."
Throwing on the charm he took a step towards the science officer and held her hands in his, "You must be our new botanist Miss Shasthri. I look forward to working with you."
Saloni smiled politely and inclined her head, "As do I Captain. But please call me Saloni. I find people have a much better time pronouncing my first name than my last, though your elocution is impeccable."
"Thanks. In that case you call me Jim," he grinned. But instead of receiving the cute blush he was aiming for Saloni just nodded. Clearly unflappable. Jim grinned, he was going to work on that.
Stepping over to the engineer with a strained smile he made no move to shake her hand. "Ensign Greenway. Welcome back."
That unmarred doll face suddenly scrunched up with indignation. "Sorry sir, but I'm Marla McGivers. Ensign Greenway is on the end."
All eyes swerved to Arty as she stopped breathing at the attention. Panicked worried eyes took in the hostile faces peering at her, some worse than others, and it took all her control not to shrink back. Well, mostly hostile. Vulcans don't really count. What Arty wouldn't give to have a working cloaking device and disappear at that moment. She should have tried for another court-martial. Would have been more preferable than the scrutiny she found herself under.
Jim rolled over the folly and returned to grin at the new crewmen, albeit less at the engineer. "Right...well, let's see about those rooms."
Arty tried not to frown at the cold dread forming in her stomach. She just had that detached feeling like things weren't going to go well for her. The older man glaring from his controls did nothing to help ease matters either. Delta Sol definitely would've been much preferable. At least it would've been less hostile. And that was saying something.
So how did I do? Not to bad I hope. They'll be more Spock/Arty interaction next chapter promise.