Author's note:

So it's been ten years since The Thin Man Beams Aboard. I had always meant to write this story, but after the fiasco that was the end of the series, I just lost heart after a while. Then life went on, like it does.

Recently I had a little revival, rewatching some of my favorite shows on Netflix and Amazon Prime: The X-Files (still amazing), Highlander (how cheesy was that show, huh?), TNG (every episode is a classic), and, you guessed it, Enterprise.

Once again I enjoyed the tension and drama of season 3, the only season that, to me, felt fresh and unique. Then I watched season 4. I used to think Enterprise basically ended at Terra Prime—These Are the Voyages was too awful and convoluted to serve as a swan song for the Star Trek television franchise (read my fic Doomed to Repeat It if you want to see that whole debacle reverse engineered). After having re-watched Demons and Terra Prime, however, I have to amend my earlier decision. As far as I'm concerned, the show ended with Bound, the last episode that had a semi-coherent plot and that didn't push viewers into artificially contrived angst just for the sake of…well, I don't know what all that angst was supposed to be about. All I know is, my own Enterprise universe timeline will never make it to Demons, Terra Prime, dying hybrid babies (angst, I tell you, angst!), or crazy flying moon bases. That is my promise to you all.

My Enterprise timeline is filled with episodes that could have, should have happened. I never wanted anything grand or overwhelming from the show, just another season of good, solid storylines that explored both the mysteries of space and the relationships among the crew (all of them—not just Trip and T'Pol).

These are the thoughts that led me to write the following piece of fiction. It is intended to basically be an episode of Enterprise (probably a two-parter). This story also makes several references to The Thin Man Beams Aboard, another story in the same vein, but should still make sense if you haven't read it.

Please enjoy!

The Maltese Vulcan

Chapter 1: Bell, Book, and Scandal

One of them had done it, that much was certain. The evidence kept coming back to this point, she couldn't deny it any longer. Though not naturally given to distrust, T'Pol grimly surveyed her crewmates from her science station with something approaching suspicion. Who could it be? She ticked off the suspects in her mind, assessing their means, motives, and opportunities.

Malcolm was an obvious first choice. As head of security, he had access to every part of the ship, including the data logs. His motive? Misplaced friendship, perhaps. His opportunities? Infinite. He could have easily committed the offense at almost any time and covered his tracks. She hoped it wasn't him, as proving his guilt would be difficult if not impossible.

Captain Archer was another possibility, but she doubted that the captain would be involved in this affair. It was beneath him, plus he was the most scrutinized member of the crew. He had to know that he would get caught in such a venture, which made his participation highly unlikely. He respected her deductive skills too much to attempt to evade them, she felt sure.

Hoshi? Ah, Hoshi. Ensign Sato was a promising candidate. She had the necessary access and would have plenty of opportunity to abuse that access. Her motive was simple: belief that she was doing the right thing, acting in the best interests of the crew. It was an age-old story of ends justifying means, of papering the road to hell with good intentions. Or maybe cementing the road. She could not quite recall the exact wording of the quote, but no matter. The more T'Pol thought about it, the likelier it seemed that Hoshi was somehow involved.

"Did you need something Commander?"

T'Pol realized she had been staring thoughtfully at Hoshi. Head cocked to one side and her hands paused above her console, Hoshi was now looking quizzically back at her.

T'Pol drew herself together. This was neither the time nor the place for personal contemplation. Her suspicions would have to be satisfied later, in a more appropriate venue. The first officer neatly folded up her thoughts and after a fraction of a second answered Hoshi's inquiry. "I would like to incorporate your translation program upgrades into the long-distance communications array. When you have time, Ensign, perhaps we can schedule preliminary testing of the relays."

Hoshi's eyes lit up. "I've been making improvements to the program," she said eagerly. "I think long-distance communications would be the perfect place to integrate the new system. The more unknown syntax you feed it, the faster it learns, so giving it a chance to hear new languages will be so important to its success." The communications officer was beaming as she spoke. The translation program was her special project, T'Pol knew.

Watching her talk about it with enthusiasm made the Vulcan feel a twinge of regret at what she must do. T'Pol brushed aside the errant emotion. It was ridiculous, the way this bond with Trip sometimes affected her. Her mind wandering while on duty on the bridge, sentimentality affecting her judgment, what was next? Weeping at movie night? Telling jokes at staff meetings? Well, probably not that last one. Trip had tried with no success to get her to master the telling of a joke. There was something about the timing she could never get right. In the end Trip told her to "stick with the straight man routine," which apparently meant she should just be herself.

Right now being herself meant running scans at her science station, so she turned her full attention to tracking particle charges within a nearby fledgling nebula. Others might find this task tedious, but she found the simplicity of the science to be quite beautiful.

Two hours later, when her shift ended, she felt quite composed as she entered the turbolift with Hoshi. "Deck E," she instructed, then turned to her companion. "Would you care to stop at the mess hall for a cup of tea?" she asked politely.

Hoshi smiled. It wasn't often that T'Pol reached out to her human shipmates and she always felt slightly honored to be the recipient of the Vulcan's overtures of friendship. "Sure."

The mess hall was almost empty, but for an Engineering ensign sipping coffee as he pored tiredly over a PADD. Hoshi chose a seat at a small table near the viewports while T'Pol selected tea from the dispenser. She could easily have had better tea in her own quarters, but she had a purpose here. She set the steaming beverage in from of Hoshi and sat down, pondering the best way to broach the subject. Hoshi interrupted her thoughts.

"What do you think the next Movie Night will be?" she asked, looking around the mess. "I missed the last one because I was on shift, but I hear it was standing room only in here."

The last movie had been an action adventure movie from the late 2000s featuring some rather fantastical predictions on the perils of deep space travel. T'Pol found it rather boring, but her crewmates had enjoyed it immensely.

"It was quite popular," she conceded. "I am not sure what Trip will choose as the next film." Something with fewer explosions, she hoped. Why were humans so fascinated with the violent and fiery destruction of property?

"Oh." Hoshi fell quiet and for a moment, neither spoke for a moment. T'Pol observed that Hoshi was uncomfortable with the silence the stretched between them. Perhaps this was a sign of guilt? On the other hand, the Vulcan had noted that humans generally disliked long pauses in the flow of their conversations, so perhaps not.

"Are you reading anything new?" the communications officer finally asked, sounding a little frustrated.

"Yes," T'Pol answered, "as a matter of fact I am." This was her opportunity, and she took it. "I am currently reading The Maltese Falcon, which is another book by Dashiell Hammett."

"He wrote the Thin Man," Hoshi remembered. "A great book and a great movie! It's so stylish, it makes you want to go back in time to the 1930s to see if people really were like that." She sipped her tea and leaned in. "Are you reading this on a PADD or…do you have your own copy?" She grinned. It was a well-known secret that Trip had given the Vulcan an actual copy of The Thin Man as a gift. There was a lot of speculation about the nature of the relationship between the science officer and the chief engineer.

A-ha! This was, to T'Pol, as good as a confession. "I am reading a paper copy," she said evenly, "which Commander Tucker presented to mark the occasion of my birthday."

Hoshi's jaw practically dropped. "He got you a birthday present?!" she asked. This was certainly news!

"Yes," T'Pol confirmed calmly. "Although I do not know how he knew it was my birthday." She looked at Hoshi pointedly. "Do you have any idea how he could have come across that information?"

The young ensign's eyes grew wide and round as she understood the implication of T'Pol's question. "How did he know it was your birthday?" Hoshi knew that Vulcans considered information such as age and birthdays to be…sensitive. "You don't think I…I wouldn't…I really don't know how he knew," she stuttered. "Are you accusing me of accessing your personnel file and telling him your birth date?"

"I am not accusing you of anything." T'Pol stirred her tea. "I am simply asking if you have any theories as to how Commander Tucker might have come across that information."

"N-no," she stammered, thinking about it. "I swear it wasn't me. I wouldn't do that." T'Pol looked at the young woman carefully and relented. Hoshi was a very trustworthy colleague. She monitored all of the ship's communications and had access to a lot of private information. She would not achieve such a position by being prone to giving out that information. But this placed T'Pol back at the starting point.

"If not you, then who?" she wondered.

"Why not just ask the Commander?" Hoshi offered.

T'Pol shifted in her seat. "I have."

"What did he say?"

"He refused to reveal his source."

Hoshi tried very hard not to laugh and almost succeeded.

"Figured it out yet?"

"Are you referring to the plot of the book or to the secret you insist on keeping?" T'Pol kept her eyes lightly closed but could feel Trip's presence in the white space of her meditating mind.

"Both. Either."

She opened her eyes and found him sitting cross-legged in front of her. He was in a meditation pose that she had taught him, she was pleased to see. His form was terrible, but still.

"I fail to understand the need for subterfuge." Though she spoke without emotion, her arched eyebrow indicated the depth of her annoyance with him. "Or the need to bring your colleagues into this matter."

"I must protect my sources," he said solemnly, then smiled. "Besides, what's the big deal? I already knew your age. This is the next logical step." She pursed her lips slightly and he knew she wanted to comment on his use of "logic," so he continued before she had the chance. "What makes you think I didn't find this information by myself, anyway? I am the chief engineer of the most celebrated starship of my species. You think I couldn't find one little birth record?"

"Did you?" she asked, point-blank.

"Well…no." Her look was unsurprised. "But I could have!"

"So you did get the information from someone," T'Pol stated definitively. "It is only a matter of time before I discover your collaborator."

Trip leaned back, propping himself on his elbows. He unfolded his legs, stretching them next to her, just barely touching one of her knees. "Admit it, you like playing detective," he cajoled.

He was right, but she would not admit it. Not at the moment.

Truthfully, she was unsure how to react to the gift he had given her. On Vulcan, birthdays were not cause for celebration. They were a time for thoughtful and realistic reflection on one's life. She had never celebrated with more than a few words to her family and an extra hour of reading or meditation. Human birthdays, by contrast, were emotionally charged events. They seemed to love birthdays…or hate them.

She had always had a hard time deciphering the human/birthday relationship. When she had first arrived on Earth she had been instructed to wish a person a "happy birthday" when appropriate, but she found it difficult to judge when and where such greetings should be made. T'Pol had politely wished a happy birthday to an ambassador's aide one morning as they both waited for a turbolift. The woman thanked her and had smiled, until T'Pol inquired as to her age.

"40," she replied. "Can you believe it?"

"Yes," T'Pol answered honestly. The woman did look approximately 40 human years of age. The woman stopped smiling, and T'Pol rode the turbolift alone.

After this incident, she wondered if perhaps human birthday greetings were best left to friends and family, but had found that this too could be a breach of etiquette when one day in the mess hall several people were wishing Ensign Hess a happy birthday. T'Pol had simply nodded to the young woman, which inexplicably had a dampening effect on everyone present, especially Ensign Hess. As she was leaving the area, she had heard someone murmur that she was a "Debbie Downer," which she guessed was not a flattering term. T'Pol didn't miss Vulcan often, but when she did, it was at times like these.

"Hey, penny for your thoughts," Trip's leg nudged her knee.

She was familiar with this colloquialism. "I was thinking about the Maltese Falcon," she told him, changing the subject. Birthdays were complicated, human detective novels were not.

"Oh yeah? What do you think so far?"

T'Pol was prepared for this question. They had developed a tradition. When he recommended—or gave—her a book, he became very intent on her opinion of it. She would offer her review, he would debate several points with her, and then he would try to entice her into guessing the ending of the book (she almost always could). If he really stayed true to form, a film version of the Maltese Falcon (assuming there was one) would make its way to Movie Night in the near future. Knowing this, she always made sure to read if not the entire book, at least enough to make astute observations about the work. His choices of literature were, as a rule, quite good, so she enjoyed their discussions.

"While I do not yet know who killed Miles Archer or who has the Maltese Falcon, I find the style of the book to be most interesting. It is very…human."

"What does that mean?" he wanted to know.

"It consists almost entirely of the actions of the characters, with very little inner reflection on their part or the part of an outside narrator," she said. "It moves very quickly and is highly visual in its storytelling."

"So humans have little inner reflection, move very quickly, and are highly visual?" he asked teasingly.

"Yes," she answered, cocking her head to the side. She did not show it, but he heard the smile in her voice. "It is very enjoyable." This time he raised his eyebrows. "The book, that is."

"Ah."

She cleared her throat slightly. "Thank you, Trip," she said, not quite looking at him, "for the gift."

He watched her for a moment, thinking, then sat up swiftly and put a hand over one of hers, which was still spread over her crossed knees. He leaned in quickly, before she had a moment to react, and kissed her softly.

It was funny that in this place that wasn't a real place, with bodies that were not physical, that she should feel the most electrical of sensations from such a small gesture. It had only happened inside her mind, but she felt its jolt through all of her senses. Trip pulled back as though stung. Wide-eyed, he stared at her, having clearly felt it too. He lifted his hand to her face and she tipped her head towards his again—

"This is the captain," came a distant voice. Where was that coming from? Captain? Captain who? Everything seemed a little vague right now.

"Senior staff report to the situation room," Captain Archer instructed over the comm.

T'Pol opened her eyes, back in her own quarters. She took a deep breath before blowing out her meditation candle and standing. She hit the comm button. "On my way."