Disclaimer: the characters of Star Trek belong to Paramount. Any other characters sprang out of my own strange head. If I receive any checks of compensation, I will dutifully forward them to Paramount ;)
Author's notes:The plot bunny for this one hopped straight out of my chemistry book, page 87, the bit on osmium tetroxide.
The story is completed (25 chapters) and has been expertly betaed by LoyaulteMeLie, to whom a big warm thanks, especially for making sure Malcolm doesn't sound like some damn yank ;)
I will post about one chapter per day. Reviews would make me dizzy with delight, even critical ones, because then at least I know someone is reading it. On the other hand, if there are no reviews at all, I might get cranky and hold further chapters hostage, huaaha.
Chapter 1: Archer
Captain's log, February 2, 2153
Enterprise has arrived at Andoria, where we have been invited to attend the first stage of cultural exchanges between the Vulcans and Andorians in the wake of their recent peace treaty, which Enterprise helped negotiate. It is a great honor for us to take part in this historic event. Along with the Vulcan delegation, we are attending their annual Sun Festival, to celebrate the Andorian summer solstice. We are looking forward to a weeklong showcase of Andorian culture and celebrations.
Captain's personal log, February…whatever.
Well, here we go again. The next eight days are going to be…interesting. Once again, we find ourselves stuck in the middle between two peoples who'd rather have nothing to do with one another. At least this time, intentions are good and honorable, and with a bit of luck we'll get through this without any diplomatic incidents. I tried to convince the Brass at Starfleet that now we've done our part ensuring a peace we should be allowed to go back to our original mandate and go exploring, and let the Vulcans and Andorians work out the wrinkles by themselves. But no, our presence may "favorably influence future interactions with either planet", blah blah, so here we are, playing at diplomats again.
The Vulcans arrived this morning, looking rather uninterested in the whole thing. They had brought whatever passes for winter gear on their planet, which turned out to be woefully inadequate on a 'gentle Andorian summer day', as Shran wistfully called it, or in earth terms, cold enough to freeze your balls into a rock-hard little set of marbles. We supplemented the Vulcans with some Starfleet issue cold weather long johns, which they accepted with raised eyebrows, but gratefully enough. The ears had been a problem though, being, as they were, prone to frostbite. As it turns out, the Andorians had foreseen this and had graciously provided the Vulcan delegation with multiple pairs of earmuffs, made from some fluffy fake fur and dyed with thoroughly un-Vulcan colors, such as powdery pink and mint green. I'm not so sure if these were meant as an insult or a true gesture of friendly concern. The only other person I saw wearing something similar in the crowd was an Andorian toddler perched on her father's shoulders. T'Pol was spared this indignity because I was able to talk her into wearing my old sheep wool hat, although Phlox confided in me that she made an appearance in sickbay to ask for an extra strong dose of nasal numbing agent.
The Vulcans were real troopers and stood ramrod straight through the ceremony, looking uncomfortable but dignified. Shran, at some point, leaned over to me and whispered wickedly, "Aren't they adorable, Pinkskin?" I caught Soval's gaze under his pink earmuffs, and he couldn't have looked grumpier if they'd tarred and feathered him and asked him to dance the funky chicken. Maybe he was already planning a revenge move for when the Andorians, in a few weeks, are required to sit through an equivalent ceremony in the scathing heat of Vulcan.
Freezing Vulcans, melting Andorians. The delights of trying to reconcile a hot blooded species from a cold planet with a cold blooded species from a hot planet. Well, if there's one thing I've learned on this mission it's that interplanetary diplomacy occasionally involves a certain modicum of….well, humiliation. If I can wield a chainsaw while half naked and hung with baubles like a Christmas tree, then Soval could damn well endure some pink earmuffs.
But all of this would be easy enough if it hadn't been for the unexpected emergence of a third variable: the Tellarites. Two days ago Soval contacted me on a private channel and informed me that the Tellarites have approached the Vulcans with a request for help. Tellar Prime is experiencing an outbreak of a highly contagious viral brain disease that affects children before the onset of puberty. Over a hundred children have fallen ill in the capital, and there are fears the disease may be spreading despite efforts to quarantine the sick. There is a cure, but it requires medication based on a refined form of osmium, a metallic element that is rare on most planets and absent on Tellar. The Tellarites' stored supply of the stuff was exhausted when something went wrong in the refinement process required to make the medication. They'll have to start over, but their planet has no osmium supplies. The Vulcans have agreed to provide some osmium, under the strictest condition that the delivery be kept absolutely secret from the Andorians. Andorians and Tellarites hate each other with a flaming passion, and no doubt the Vulcans fear that if it became known they had dealings with the Tellarites, their new fragile peace with Andoria would shatter like thin ice.
Personally, I think the Vulcans got it all wrong. Andorians, if Shran and others I have met are any indication, are temperamental, easy to anger, but not cruel. Surely, no matter how much they hate Tellarites, they wouldn't object to a simple charitable mission aimed at saving innocent children? Then again, if the Vulcans asked for any favors in return for the osmium, it's known only to themselves and the Tellarites.
I offered to have the osmium delivered to Tellar by one of our shuttle craft, but both the High Command and Starfleet were adamant that neither the Vulcans nor Enterprise must be caught in any backdoor dealings with Tellarites while making love to the Andorians at the front door. The whole tangled mess makes my head spin – no one can accuse these diplomats of making a thing easy if they can throw a few boots into the machine to muck it up instead.
And so the Tellarites have sent a private cargo pilot of their choice to pick up the osmium. Such small cargo runners are common enough between the major inhabited planets, and it wouldn't be unusual for some of them to approach larger ships in orbit in hopes of a good trade. The Tellarites selected this particular pilot based on some past dealings they've had with her; someone apparently thought her honorable enough to be trusted with the job but not so conspicuous as to attract attention. Oddly enough, she's human. There are few humans this far out who aren't part of Starfleet. Clearly, the Tellarites thought that a human cargo pilot approaching a human starship would not raise too much suspicion. Her real name is unknown to the Tellarites, but I've been told she goes by the pseudonym 'Amelia Earhart'. Well. That may not mean much to a Tellarite, but to this old human aviator it sounds like some kind of blasphemy. I only hope, whoever this woman is, that she does honor to that name.
Starfleet and the Vulcans apparently shared my misgivings, considering few of those private cargo runners are reputed to be trustworthy. They have agreed to let me send my tactical officer along on the journey to make sure that the osmium gets where it is intended. If anyone should miss Lieutenant Reed during the next eight days, he is officially quarantined in his quarters with a highly contagious case of the Tellarite version of the Chicken pox (oh yes, the irony). Only myself, the senior staff and some of his armory crew know the real story, and they have all been sworn to secrecy.
I must admit I was envying Malcolm – surely a little diverting run to Tellar would be a great deal more exciting than sitting through eight days of dance performances and diplomatic speeches while freezing your nuts off.
That is, until I saw the small cargo vessel arrive in our launch bay. Now I wasn't so sure I shouldn't pity him instead….