Here's the next two characters. I evidently decided that I'm intruducing all of the pieces onto the chessboard before I start moving them around. And I also decided to use some weird chess metaphor. Um, I don't know who is coming next though. Pfft, I don't even know what I'm doing with this, so we'll see. But just another note that this is different to the mirror episodes themselves, as awesome and hysterical as they are. So this is a mirror-type universe, not THE mirror universe. Darkly. Arr.
Part 2
The Imperial Star Ship Helos had the distinction of being the only Imperial vessel not in Earth's direct command. Unless local command was overridden by an admiral it remained solely with Captain Malcolm Reed, who knew his priorities very clearly.
Captain Reed had a specially selected crew and his ship was run with the ancient and classic naval discipline left over from the days that the British navy ruled the oceans with their sailing ships. For the tight ship that Malcolm ran, the term 'pirate' had come up more than once.
The ship looked nothing like any other ISS ship, especially the mass of alien technology that covered the hill, but there was more inside, making the Helos capable of warp six. It also had no markings on the hull that it was a human vessel, which gave them an advantage against the human prejudice in the galaxy.
Malcolm's crew lived in fear for the more part. Upon accepting placement among his crew, their Starfleet records were whipped clean, both of blemishes and of existence. Along with command authority, discipline and punishment rested with the Captain, not Starfleet. But once one got over the fear of punishment, crewmen usually found service on the Helos to be a rewarding experience. The crew compliment consisted mostly of humans, but occasionally, Reed accepted a non-human, only if they met his requirements for service.
The man himself could be intimidating to observe, and he more than made up for his smaller than average height with ferocity. Malcolm had dark hair, nearly black, and an English shaped face with high cheek bones, grey eyes and a scar that cut from his forehead diagonally across his eyebrow and barely missing his eye. He wore it like a trophy, despite that he could have gotten it removed when it happened, but he wanted to prove that he survived the encounter.
He sat in the command chair on the bridge of the Helos, leaning to the side with his elbow on the armrest and his fist in front of his mouth. The viewscreen was filled with stars racing by them at warp five, and Reed's grey eyes were boring a hole in the screen, as if somehow if he stared hard enough, that the object they were pursuing would appear.
"Sir, the specter has dropped out of warp ahead of us," the tactical officer reported from the sensor console. He was a large man who had the title of being the only crewmember to attempt to fight the captain, during which he had found that his size didn't matter against him. Malcolm Reed fought dirty. Since then, Dax Carnahan viewed his captain with respect and not challenge.
Reed kept his eyes on the screen. "Drop us out of warp when we get close, but leave some distance. Bring shields online, but charge the weapons to 50 power—we don't need to make him suspicious."
"Sir." The comm. officer looked up. "There is a message incoming from Earth."
The statement from the orange haired humanoid caused Reed's gaze to be ripped away from the screen. "I'm occupied. Tell them it'll have to wait."
Maliki had found himself under the wrath of the captain several times before, and he flinched at the icy tone. "Sir. It is marked urgent."
Reed scowled and slammed his fist on the armrest. "Then send it to my ready room, and keep the specter in range. If it goes to warp again, then chase it." Then he stood and walked smartly to the adjoining room.
Once the door shut behind him, Reed sat down at the desk, seething at the empty monitor. The room was a place of emotion. A captain, by his standards, was to remain cold and powerful in front of his crew. Anger and discipline was acceptable, but within reason—not to be shown out of control. As he stared at the empty screen, Reed slammed his hand on the desk, yelling several choice expletives, then he drew in a deep breath and he pressed the button for the call to go through to Earth. He had some kind of idea what it might be about.
The image that appeared on the screen was of Admiral Gardner; Reed's direct overseer—no other admiral handled the Helos. Gardner had a shady reputation, and was highly xenophobic, but even his more questionable acts were ignored for unknown reasons. There were theories of money, power, or blackmail, but Gardner rarely had to answer for anything, making him one of the most feared men in Starfleet. Needless to say, Malcolm Reed got along with him very well.
Reed straightened up in his chair, the expression on his face turning icy again. "Admiral."
"You're being recalled to Earth, Reed." Gardner leaned back, folding his arms. "Effective immediately."
A shadow of annoyance flickered across his eyes. "With respect sir, now is not a good time."
Gardner raised both of his eyebrows in interest. "You've found something?"
"A specter, sir. It's.. a sensor shadow, we only pick it up at certain times, but the intervals are too mechanical to be an anomaly."
"And you think it might be something.. important? Like what?"
"A ship. Or any other manmade object. Can you imagine even if this was some sort of probe, and it reached Earth? It could be sending back information to its source without our sensors detecting it at all." Reed folded his arms. "I want to pursue it further, then I will return to Earth."
The Admiral drew in a long breath through his nose, pressing his lips together tightly. "No, Reed, now. This is important. That's an interesting fiction, and you can play with your sensor shadow when this is over."
"Sir," he started in an annoyed tone, but then he stopped and looked off to one side, continuing to work his jaw. Reed looked back to the viewscreen, and he narrowed his eyes a little. "Very well, sir."
A native, sinister smile crossed Gardner's face. "Good man. I think you'll enjoy this next assignment, it's right up your alley."
The screen went black again and Reed sat with his hands gripping the arms of the chair to avoid throwing something.
T'Pol stood after the transmission with her mother ended. She had always found it difficult to communicate with that woman, and though the conscience thought never occurred to her, she was not fond of her either. Her mother rarely considered her daughter's thoughts, or ambitions or desires when she decided upon things.
She had relayed many times that she did not wish to go through with the betrothal that was arranged when she was a child. She found Jaurrel quite undesirable—which her mother also objected to, however T'Pol blamed it on her father's death shortly after she was born and because of it, she deduced, she was unaccustomed to men. It gave her a convenient way to ignore her desire not to be married, at least not at this point in her life.
As she walked to the bathroom adjoined to her quarters, she shed her clothes and left them on the floor behind her. Someone would come to pick them up, she was not terribly concerned by it. A bath was just what she needed. Even without speaking to Jaurrel, she felt the need to wash the very thought of him off of her skin.
Logically, Jaurrel was a good choice of a husband, but she could not stand him. T'Pol was often viewed as radical for actions such as her preference not to marry. She had been offered several high positions in the High Command because she had always shown the promise of greatness, but she had turned them down. Instead, she purchased her own ship, crew and servants, and she went where she pleased.
Sighing, she leaned back against the edge of the bathtub. Evidently, getting away from her planet was not enough to get away from her people. She found them hypocritical and prone to overreaction, which was ironic considering their devotion to logic and the purging of emotions. Somehow T'Pol imagined that Surak's teachings had been badly misinterpreted. But she had always had trouble following them. As a child, she had cried, which abhorred her mother, and she still struggled at times to keep her emotions suppressed. However, she partially blamed it on her exposure to the cultures of the rest of the universe.
For a long time, she laid in the warm water of the bath and let the thoughts of Jaurrel drift away. Perhaps she would find a better way to avoid their marriage this time. But she could not do that while laying in the bath all day, and with some reluctance she got out and dried off.
When she walked back into the main room with the towel wrapped around herself, the discarded clothes had been picked up and her maidservant was waiting with clean ones. Without a word, she began to help T'Pol get dressed again.
"Selar, I want you to inform the bridge that we will be returning to Vulcan. There is no rush," T'Pol said in a stately voice as she adjusted her robes.
"Very well," Selar replied, bowing her head. "Is there anything else?"
T'Pol waved her off with her hand, and she turned to look at one of the windows out into space from her quarters. With a bow, Selar picked up the robes and began to take them out, but before she reached the door, T'Pol turned to her. "Wait."
Quickly, Selar turned to face her again, with her pointed eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Yes, milady?"
"Selar… you are not married, but what is your experience with love?"
"Love? I've..never experienced love." She paused briefly, watching her lady's emotionless face. "Is this about Jaurrel?"
T'Pol raised an eyebrow at her. "Do you have an opinion on him?"
"I do not like him, milady."
She sighed. "Neither do I. Even if we were married, I would not love him. I could not learn to love him."
"Milady, then… you should not marry him."
"Vulcans do not marry for love, Selar. That is a human trait."
"Then perhaps our people must learn from the humans."
T'Pol turned away again and waved her hand again for Selar to leave. "Inform the bridge."
"Yes, milady," Selar said quickly, and left the room.
As soon as the door was closed, T'Pol glided over to the window to watch the stars. Somehow she had always expected to marry for love. Her mother would also be abhorred to hear that, but it was not her concern. T'Pol would make her own choices, despite what her people thought.