—Chapter 02—
Malcolm scrambled to climb atop a twenty foot hill of packed snow in order to gain a better vantage point from which to sight his quarry. Talrood, the Andorian Emperor was right behind him, Lieutenant Talas a few feet behind her liege. Both Andorians carried spears, Talas two of them, while Malcolm carried a slug throwing rifle. A bullet caused less damage to the meat of the animal, than a phaser's energy bolt, and the large unwort they'd been tracking had to be killed suddenly, or the taste of its flesh would be unfavorably affected.
The unwort was one of the many animals imported to Andoria from other ice planets by the Emperor. It came from Betek 7, and it was a curious creature. A large lizard, warm blooded due to its evolution, some fifteen feet on average for a male, not counting the slender ten foot tail, it was a mid to high-level predator in Andoria's ecology, and its rich flesh had the texture of chicken or perhaps swordfish, and a taste strongly reminiscent of crab, and so it was highly valued by Andorians. That it was dangerous to hunt this animal only made it more desirable to the Andorians.
Falling to their knees, and then moving slowly to the top of the hill on their bellies, the human and his two Andorian companions spotted the unwort, some seventy feet away, ripping at some sort of carrion. That he was the only one visible was troubling, for unworts lived and hunted in packs. That meant his pack was aware of them, and closing in on the humanoids as well, each species both hunter, and hunted.
"Highness," said a voice in Talrood's ear piece, from one of the dozen Imperial Guards keeping close watch on their Emperor from several hundred feet above them, in a hovering heli-pad. "You have three large females and a junior male closing in on your position."
"Acknowledged," said Talrood.
"May I suggest that a sniper should eliminate one of the females, Highness?"
"Don't take the sport out of it, Guardsman," said Talrood.
"Yes, Highness," said the unnamed Guard, then looked at the three snipers already set up on the heli-pad: they were ready, and they'd do as they thought best if things got bad enough, no matter what the Emperor commanded. They had their duty.
"Take the shot, Malcolm," said Talrood. "We're about to have company."
A moment's concentration, the timing of the shot to coincide with his breathing and Malcolm pressed the trigger. It was a direct hit to the brain, and a clean kill.
"Malcolm!" said Talas, throwing Malcolm one of two spears she carried, for just as she spoke, the unwort pack started running up the their snow hill.
It was a tense twenty minutes, as unworts snapped and rushed to clamp jaws on the three, while humanoids thrust spears and avoided attacks, until the unworts finally retreated, for there was easier game on the ice for these lizards.
Finding himself once more on Vulcan, Trip was now certain that T'Pol meant to kill him here, and quietly dispose of his body in some underhanded manner. He suspected that she meant to chop him up, and feed him to the sehlats.
"I can't do it, T'Pol!" said Trip. "I can't, and I won't!"
"You can, and you will, Captain," said T'Pol ruthlessly, as she adjusted the formal Vulcan robes Trip was wearing.
"It's insane, T'Pol!" said Trip. "You want me to wear robes in this heat? It's seven o'clock in the evening, and it's still ninety-eight degrees out there!"
"Yes, but it is a dry heat," said T'Pol. "In any case, this is our cool season."
"Is any of that supposed to be funny?"
"Stop fussing, Trip! You only have to wear these robes for the initial greeting, and then you can take them off. I will not introduce you to my clan looking like a hobo! Better yet, take off your clothes and simply wear the robes. You would be much cooler."
"Is that so, T'Pol?"
"Yes, that is so, Captain. But I have long since given up hope of you ever acting logically."
"Fine!" said Trip, tugging at robes and clothes both. "I hope the wind blows my robes apart and I flash your clan's matriarch, T'Pol."
"Keep your underwear on, Captain Tucker!" said T'Pol. "I can not emphasize that forcefully enough!"
"Oh, God forbid your matriarch should see some human junk," said Trip, stepping on his pants to aid him in their removal. "She'd probably faint."
"Stop playing around, Trip! I have to get ready as well."
"So, go! I can dress myself, T'Pol. I'm not a child, you know!"
"You could have fooled me, Captain Tucker."
"Today's news from Vulcan," said Talrood, looking at Malcolm.
They dined in a private garden dining room, Talrood's companion, his consort Elarann, along with Malcolm's companion, Lieutenant Talas of the Imperial Guards.
"It seems," said Talrood, "that T'Pol and her mate have found their way to Vulcan. They still have two months of leave, but two months of Vulcan's heat, and he'll be begging to pay us a visit on Andoria."
"It'll be great to see them, Highness," said Malcolm.
Malcolm's eye was suddenly drawn by Elarann whispering something in Talas' ear, as they both looked at him, their antennas dancing. Talas nodded her head, spoke a few words in Elarann's ear, and they both giggled. When Malcolm brought his attention to bear on Talas, her antennas straightened for a moment, then reached out in his direction as Talas put on her wide-eyed innocent look for Malcolm's benefit, a look which could be quite convincing to one unacquainted with Talas' treacherous nature.
"It's been good having you here, Malcolm," said Talrood. "Are you comfortable?"
When the Black Wind Fleet had returned home, he chose to accompany Talas back to her home on Andoria for his four month leave, and when Talrood found out he was there, he'd invited the man to take rooms at the Imperial Palace. Refusing would have been impolite, and rudeness to the Emperor was usually not well received, so Malcolm's path was clear. It actually gave him easy access to Talas, and he and Talrood had struck up a friendship surprisingly enough, and spent long hours discussing the challenges ahead of them all, in dealing with the Romulans, in building of this temporary Federation which Talrood had created, a more stable and long lasting union.
"More than comfortable," said Malcolm. "I've never enjoyed such luxury, Highness. Although…"
"You're a guest and a friend, Malcolm," said Talrood. "Give name to your desire and see it fulfilled."
"It's just that Lieutenant Talas has been quite a thorn in my side lately," said Malcolm, looking for payback from Talas for her clearly conspiratorial exchange with Elarann. "She can be quite difficult at times. As an Imperial Guard, she is duty bound to obey her Emperor's commands, no?"
"She is," said Talrood, smiling, for he knew Malcolm's request would be something that would test Lieutenant Talas' mettle. "To the letter."
"I will suggest to you that Lieutenant Talas needs a dose of discipline. If you agree, then perhaps you'll be good enough to order the good Lieutenant to fulfill my every request for the next thirty days," said Malcolm, giving Talas the grin of a scoundrel. "It would help me rise above the pain she's caused me, Highness."
Talas looked at Malcolm, and though her expression was sweet, and a smile graced her face, there was a murderous glint in her eyes.
"Lieutenant," said Talrood, eyes fixed on Talas, "you've heard Lt-Commander Reed's request, and he is an honored guest here. His desires, my orders."
"Yes, Highness," said Talas, then looked back at Malcolm, her glance inscrutable now.
"Ah," said Malcolm with a sigh. "I expect the next thirty days of my life to be the best I've ever had, after which, I'll probably slip and fall on a Guards dagger, a dozen times or more, or perhaps I'll sleep walk off my balcony, to fall to the ground below."
Talas smiled and looked innocently at Malcolm, as her right hand caressed the hilt of her Guards dagger, then said, "It will be the dagger, Lt-Commander Reed. You can be so clumsy at times."
"That would be shame, Malcolm," said Talrood, laughing, "but we will give you a state funeral, full of pomp and circumstance, to mourn you properly."
"Do not mourn for me, Highness," said Malcolm. "I plan to do a lot of living in these next thirty days."
"There, Captain," said T'Pol, "that was not that bad, was it?"
Trip silently begged to differ, for he'd met and paid his respects not just to the clan matriarch, but also to another hundred or so of the clan's elders and leaders, all while sweating like a runaway hog in the Florida swamps, beneath the heavy Vulcan robes which T'Pol had claimed would feel so cool. Grudgingly though, he admitted that he would have been twice as hot, wearing his uniform beneath his robes.
"No, it was great," said Trip, allowing only the slightest trace of irony to color his voice.
He still had to meet hundreds of other members of T'Pol's clan who had chosen to attend the ceremony, after the meal was concluded, though thankfully that would take place indoors, and out of consideration for Trip, the air conditioning systems had brought the temperature down to a downright chilly seventy-eight degrees.
A Vulcan teen, brought two silver trays and set them before Trip and T'Pol.
"Thank you, young lady," said Trip with a smile, for he had not yet met the girl.
"A pleasure, Fleet Captain Tucker," said the girl, with a slight smile, for she was still young enough to display some degree of emotions openly. "Welcome to the clan. I am Serra."
"It's good to meet you Serra," said Trip. "I imagine you're a bit disturbed at the thought of having an emotional human admitted to your clan."
"Quite the contrary, Captain Tucker," said Serra. "We are glad to have you, and the consensus is that T'Pol did quite well for herself, when she snared you in her machinations."
"Snared him in my machinations?" said T'Pol, left brow raised. "He claimed me despite my desires, Serra. Believe me, it is a fate I would have rather avoided."
"I am young T'Pol, but do not mistake me for a fool," said Serra. "I see the way you look at your mate."
"She's obsessed with me, Serra, beyond all reason and logic," said Trip, nodding sagely, "and you are wise beyond your years."
Serra gave Trip a small curtsy, a slight smile, and said, "Thank you, Captain. Now I will let you enjoy your food."
"Thanks again, Serra," said Trip, and T'Pol nodded her thanks.
"She's got a great smile," said Trip to T'Pol. "Vulcan diplomatic ventures would go much better if you allowed yourselves at least that degree of emotion."
"Umm, hmm," said T'Pol absently, licking her lips as she looked intently down at her food.
Trip looked down to see a mess tray, divided into nine different sections. At first glance, he made out two kinds of legumes, white basmati rice from Earth, some fried cauliflower lightly spiced, some deep fried pastry triangles stuffed with peas and onions which he'd eaten before, creamed spinach, some relishes, a bowl of soup and some kind of tasty looking cake.
Yum, he thought, looking twice at the cake, and once he tucked into the food, he found it tasty enough.
"Are you going to eat your cake later?" said Trip, hopeful at heart, for T'Pol was not as enslaved by sugar cravings, as he.
"Yes, I am," said T'Pol, then noted Trip's crestfallen look at her answer. "There is plenty of cake, Captain, never fear. Given how good you have been tonight, I will see you stuffed like a goose with honey cake, if that is your desire."
Trip relaxed at that, and turned his attention to the food. Moments later, T'Pol's slight sounds of satisfaction caused Trip to turn his head in order to look at her. She looked back at him and Trip smiled openly, while T'Pol gave him the merest hint of a smile. No matter, he knew his girl was happy.
Later than night, after T'Pol had turned in early, exhausted by the vigorous workout he'd put her through, Trip took the opportunity to look over some of the maintenance and upgrade reports coming from the Black Wind, when he saw T'Les enter the living room, a grumpy look on her face. He smiled.
"Can't sleep?" said Trip.
"No," said T'Les, fiddling around in the kitchen. "I think I ate too much."
"How illogical of you, T'Les," said Trip, teasing his mother-in-law.
"Indeed," said T'Les, and soon after, a hissing sound came from the kitchen, along with the strong scent of coffee.
T'Les had become hooked on coffee since Trip had Bonded T'Pol, seduced by its scent on a daily basis, as Trip had brought the Human drug into her house. Though Vulcans were not affected by caffeine, she found the bitter taste agreeable, and considered Trip's habit of sweetening coffee an outrage. More to the point, T'Les had become something of a coffee snob, and with her sensitive Vulcan sense of smell, and taste, T'Les could name the type of coffee bean, the region in which it was grown, how it was processed, and a number of other meaningless minutia about Earth's coffee.
A few moments later, T'Les joined Trip, setting an expresso cup in front of him, a twin to her own.
"Do not tell T'Pol that I made you coffee this late," said T'Les. "She would kill me."
"Your secret is safe with me, T'Les," said Trip with a smile.
He took a sip and moaned. T'Les really did make the best coffee.
"You were quite a hit today," said T'Les, "though it is hard to see how you could have screwed it up. You have built up a lot of goodwill among Vulcans as the Fleet Captain of the Black Wind on that fateful day."
Trip nodded, looked shrewdly at T'Les, and said, "Something on your mind, T'Les?"
"May I ask a personal question?" said T'Les.
"Why stop now?" said Trip. "Since I've Bonded your daughter, you've already proven that you have no problem asking even the most personal of questions, T'Les. Go for it."
T'Les nodded, and said, "I happen to know for a fact that Vulcan strength and endurance exceeds the Human norm, so how is it that you constantly gain the upper hand over T'Pol in your sexual encounters?"
"Eh?" said Trip, blushing. "What's that?"
"The frequency of your sexual encounters is shocking enough, scandalous even, but given my hearing I find it impossible to ignore the way she begs, pleads, whimpers, sighs and moans when you are bedding her," said T'Les. "Not that I purposefully listen, you understand, but it I overhear things occasionally as I move through the house. She sounds quite emotional. That would be considered a somewhat undesirable trait to many Vulcan males."
"Well, I consider it a virtue, my dear Vulcan mother," said Trip, saved from saying more by T'Pol's sudden appearance.
The recently promoted captain of the Ares gave her mother a jaundiced look and said, "I have asked you repeatedly not to make my mate any coffee past the lunch hour, mother. It will keep him up all night."
"He begged and pleaded relentlessly, T'Pol," said T'Les. "I could not bear it."
"Nevertheless, mother."
"Well, perhaps you two could find some way to amuse each other through the night, if he can not sleep," said T'Les, straight faced, but with a wink for Trip. "Well, I'll have no trouble sleeping. Good night then."
"You are starting to sound like Trip now, mother!" said T'Pol loudly to her mother's back. "Illogical!"
T'Les refused to be drawn out and made a stately exit from the room, as Trip laughed and finished his expresso quickly, lest T'Pol should come to her senses, and toss it out.
"The two of you are conspiring to drive me insane, no? For once she approves of the course my life's choices have taken me," said T'Pol, climbing on Trip's lap, after her mother had left the room, "yet she is still difficult to deal with, even if more pleasant."
"Well, I find her delightful, T'Pol," said Trip, peppering T'Pol's neck with kisses.
"You've been insufferable all night long, Malcolm!" said Talas, antennas waving gently. "Now, I've rubbed your shoulders, massaged your calves, even cooked you a meal."
"Well, we won't mention that, love," said Malcolm. "You have many talents, but cooking is not one of them."
"I'm no chef!" said Talas, through gritted teeth, antennas stiff in her outrage. "You ordered me to cook you a meal!"
"And I paid the price for it, didn't I," said Malcolm with a snort, which brought some color, a deeper blue, to Talas' cheeks.
"Can we do something fun now, Malcolm?" said Talas, running her left hand over Malcolm's bare chest. "Maybe we can salvage what's left of this night."
"Nicely, Talas, don't pout. Be sweet," said Malcolm. "That's an order."
Talas sighed and said, "Fine. Will m'lord Malcolm deign to sport with this wretched wench tonight? Please, m'lord!"
"I knew nothing good would come of you reading Shakespeare," said Malcolm, gently caressing Talas' left antenna, as she gasped. "All right then, I've got some new tricks to show you."
Talas brightened at that. These Pinkskins were most imaginative in their pleasures, and she counted herself fortunate to be on the cutting edge of experimentation with Lt-Commander Reed.