...Touching and Touched

Disclaimer: Star Trek: Enterprise is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.

Chapter 3: The Ridiculous and the Sublime

No one was expecting the noise.

It hit Archer and his delegation from Enterprise as they filed out of their transport shuttle...an angry swell outside the Starfleet compound, kept at bay by gates and guards, but allowed to sully the pristine morning air because of the right of free speech, however misguided.

Starfleet had carefully choreographed the memorial for the victims of the bombing of Earth's embassy on Vulcan. It was to be a respectful, sedate affair, honoring those killed while pointedly avoiding casting aspersions on the Vulcan race, or any aliens who had a presence on Earth. But late last night, the carefully guarded identities of the perpetrators—the Vulcan perpetrators—had somehow been leaked to the hordes of press that had gathered to cover the memorial. By morning, the news had spread throughout the system, threatening to overshadow the ceremony itself.

The demonstrators—doubtless responsible for the leak—took full advantage of the attention. In the absence of weapons, they armed themselves with dogma and denial, and an apparently inexhaustible capacity for shouting. They surrounded the Starfleet complex, standing ten deep in spots, making it impossible for guests to proceed inside without running a gauntlet of slogans, placards, and xenophobic outrage. The heavy presence of Starfleet security prevented any physical contact between guests and protesters, but the mere act of passing through the front gates became an exercise in fortitude.

Many of the dignitaries attending the memorial were able to avoid contact with the demonstrators by arriving on shuttles that landed inside the compound. The Vulcan delegation, however, chose to meet the conflict directly, traveling overland from the embassy and entering on foot through the front gates. Their arrival was met by a firestorm of hurled invectives, accusations, and death threats from the rabble. As the phalanx of Starfleet guards held back the sea of fury, Ambassador Soval solemnly led his group past the frenzied, frightening mob without flinching. The protesters' demands followed the Vulcans as they disappeared inside: Leave Starfleet! Leave Earth! Leave the system! Leave!

Inside Memorial Hall, there was, at last, respect. For those lost, and among those who had come to honor them.

The hall was filled to capacity with dozens of dignitaries and hundreds of Starfleet personnel, including contingents from Enterprise and Columbia. Among the attendees was the entire former crew of Lorian's Enterprise, reunited for the first time since several dozen of them had taken off to travel their new world, or meet family members—a privilege reluctantly granted, with numerous restrictions, by security-conscious Starfleet HQ following Admiral Forrest's insistence. They sat together now, a mixture of civilian dress and Starfleet blue, adults and children, humans and aliens, joined by their former captain and first officer, now Commander Lorian and Lieutenant Archer of the starship Columbia. Admiral Forrest had welcomed them all with open arms to this world they helped to save. He gave them new futures here, and now they were here to honor him.

Archer sat at the head of the fifty-strong Enterprise group, flanked by Trip and T'Pol, and gazed down at the forty-three portraits on display below the podium, one for each of the victims of the bombing. He was happy to see that they had used Forrest's official Starfleet portrait. Eschewing the solemn mien that so many higher-ups adopted for their pictures, Forrest wore a thoughtful little smile that always struck Archer as a promise of wonders to come.

Even now, Archer still found it hard to believe that Forrest was gone. He had always been there, a sturdy, reliable presence, since Archer could remember. He'd been there to pick up the pieces after Dad died, and again after Mom died. He was there to mentor Archer through Starfleet, to praise him and chew him out and share drinks with him at the 602 Club on way too many late nights. Forrest had seen him off when Enterprise launched, run interference for him with the VHC, been his sounding board, confessor, friend, surrogate father. It had been easy to imagine that he would always be there...

Archer had thought his grief would be almost crippling, once he allowed himself to let down his guard after the mission to Vulcan was over and Enterprise was en route home. But he hadn't counted on the lingering wisdom of Surak, or the entirely unexpected assistance of Soval. The ambassador and the captain found themselves drawn together by their mutual loss during the journey home, sharing their memories of their friend Forrest over meals, or after discussions of the Kir'Shara with T'Pol and Trip. The memories made the hurt more bearable for Archer. Even the daily meditation lessons became a source of companionship that he hadn't even realized he so desperately needed.

He and Soval had come a long way since that first awkward handshake in February.

Trip had started referring to them all as an "extended family," and Archer found the idea oddly satisfying. He'd refused for years to dwell on his solitary existence, because he knew deep down that if he thought about it, he would realize what he was missing and be all the more forlorn. But everything had changed with Karyn, who had added extraordinary depth to his life simply by embracing him as her family. Through her, he had gained Lorian. Now his two best friends were sort of married, and sort of his family, too, because of Lorian. And Soval, long T'Pol's mentor, now seemed to have taken on that same role for all of them—Lorian at Starfleet, Trip during the Vulcan mission, Archer himself on the journey home.

It felt good to be part of a family again. Especially now, with the heightened awareness that came with sudden loss.

In the weeks since the bombing, Archer had noticed an increased closeness among the crew as well...an extra attentiveness to friendships and working relationships. A consciousness of opportunities not to be missed, lest they be suddenly stolen away.

Looking down his row of Starfleet blue, Archer caught the eye of Erika Hernandez and smiled at her. She smiled briefly back, before her attention was pulled away by one of her officers. Archer watched her thoughtfully. She was certainly an opportunity not to be missed—he saw that with crystal clarity now.

The first speaker to take the podium was Ambassador Shaw, the longtime embassy official who had accompanied the dead back from Vulcan. Archer thought the man looked, if anything, more drawn and haggard than he had during the journey home...but now, there was a new element to his demeanor. He looked damned angry.

As Abner Shaw eyed the cluster of cameras trained on him, beaming his image to the far reaches of the system, he held up a padd. "I had this eulogy all written out," he began. "One of those typical, reverential jobs you always hear at funerals. The press already has a copy. But it's not what I want to say anymore." He tossed the padd aside and gripped the podium, white-knuckled.

Archer exchanged glances with Trip and T'Pol. T'Pol raised an eyebrow, and Trip silently mouthed, "Stress?" True, Shaw had suffered a tremendous loss with the deaths of his colleagues, and had only begun to open up and talk about them during the trip home from Vulcan. Perhaps the stress had finally outdone him.

"I've been a diplomat all my life," Shaw went on. "I've always chosen my words with care. But today I must speak for those who cannot speak." He gestured below the podium, to the forty-three portraits on display. "For these forty-three, who now have something more important to do than correct the outlandish misstatements of those clowns outside."

Holy shit. Archer's mouth dropped open. This man was a diplomat! But not for long, if the warning glare that Admiral Gardner was giving him was any indication.

As if sensing the thunderclouds gathering, Shaw turned toward Gardner, seated on the dais behind him. Looked him right in the eye, in fact. "This may very well be my last speech," he continued, with a touch of wryness, "so I'll make it pithy." He pointed toward the exit doors of Memorial Hall. "Those demonstrators out there are saying that we—everyone on Earth—want Vulcans to leave, that we want no part of them, because Vulcans were responsible for the bombing. They say the victims shouldn't have been on Vulcan in the first place, they were there out of obligation, they were under orders."

Shaw's fiery gaze swept over the assemblage. "I don't presume to speak for any of you. But unlike those fools outside, I can speak for the dead, because I knew them, every one of them. I worked with them, ate with them, laughed with them. And let me tell you, they loved their work. They had great respect for Vulcan and its people. Nine of the Vulcans who died were part of our staff—they were our people. The other three worked with us regularly. The point is, we worked together—trusting each other, cooperating with each other, sharing ideas, sharing cultures."

Shaw pointed to one of the Vulcan portraits, a striking man who looked to have been in the prime of his life. "Starna went clubbing in the human quarter with his co-workers one night and ate the finger food with his fingers. Earned the respect of the whole place." He gestured to another portrait—a young human man in his twenties. "Dmetriev learned Vulcan so he could converse with his Vulcan colleagues in their own tongue." Two more pictures, two women—a fresh-faced young human, and an older, gray-haired Vulcan. "Nitika studied The Teachings of Surak with T'Kaal to better understand the Vulcan way." Another pair of portraits, a Vulcan man and a human woman. "Keval learned ballroom dancing from Thornton to better understand human romance."

The audience was listening in rapt silence to Shaw's heartfelt words. Several of the camera operators were now focused on the portraits. Archer was filled with admiration for Abner Shaw. If this was his professional swan song, he could go out knowing he'd done right by his fallen colleagues.

Shaw swallowed hard as a more poignant emotion began to replace his anger. He gazed down at the dozens of portraits as he continued more quietly. "These forty-three were not hypocrites, like their killers. They didn't have their heads in the sand, like those people shouting outside. These men and women worked hard to find common ground between wildly divergent cultures, and stand on it, and learn. They believed in what they were doing. They died for it..." He stopped again, this time unashamedly blinking back tears. After regaining his composure, he looked out at the crowd and smiled, his anger spent, replaced by a kind of peace. "That's the truth, ladies and gentlemen. I wanted you to know it."

He returned to his seat on the dais, next to Gardner. The admiral's face was carefully composed now, unreadable. In a low voice only Gardner could hear, Shaw said calmly, "My resignation will be on your desk by the end of the day."

"Don't bother," Gardner replied, in the same low tone. "I'm not sacking you."

It was all Shaw could do not to gape at Gardner. After what he just said, in front of God and man and the entire system? "Why not?"

"Because you said what the rest of us wish we could say, but can't. And ironically, you're probably the only one who's going to get away with it." Gardner met the ambassador's eyes, adding pointedly, "If you graciously decline further comment from this point on."

"Yes, sir," Shaw said. He shut his eyes as he fought back a sudden wave of overwhelming grief.

He felt Gardner's hand on his shoulder. "Just hang on a little while longer, Abner," Gardner said softly.

Shaw felt a light touch on his other shoulder, and looked up to see Ambassador Soval standing before him, on his way to the podium. The empathy in the old Vulcan's eyes was unmistakable. Shaw managed a faint smile. Soval nodded before proceeding on.

The longtime Vulcan ambassador to Earth surveyed the packed hall for a long moment, his eyes picking out numerous acquaintances, several friends...and five individuals in particular whom he was, against all logic, beginning to think of as family. Then his gaze dropped to the portraits arrayed below him, and to one portrait in particular.

He spoke, his voice quiet but clear in the silent hall. "Vulcan grieves with you for these forty-three, as I grieve for my friend, Maxwell Forrest. I shared with him his greatest goal, and his fondest wish—to bring humans and Vulcans together as equal allies. He was fortunate enough to see that his goal was already a reality in microcosm, in an embassy on Vulcan, and on a starship patrolling the quadrant." Soval glanced up at Trip and T'Pol. She nodded respectfully, while Trip smiled at him. As Soval continued, his gaze shifted to Lorian. "He saw a promising future for our two worlds." Lorian inclined his head in acknowledgment.

Soval contemplated Forrest's portrait once more. "Admiral Forrest died in service to this goal, by giving his life to save the life of a Vulcan. He saved my life." There was a rustle of reaction from the crowd; Soval's admission was not common knowledge. As his gaze lingered on his friend's portrait, the observing cameras caught the moment, capturing the respect and sadness in the ambassador's eyes and beaming it out to the billions watching throughout the system.

Soval addressed the assemblage again. "When I first came here over three decades ago, I was quite intolerant." He thought back to the day he first arrived, newly widowed, distressingly pessimistic. The High Command had thought him ideal for a posting on Earth. "I fully expected to find a species in thrall to its emotions, wildly illogical, still unprepared to venture into space without guidance. But gradually I was enlightened by Admiral Forrest, the first human with whom I worked closely, and by the personnel in his charge. I found humans to be emotional, and illogical, at times...but also determined, resourceful, and fueled in equal measure by stubbornness and boundless curiosity. I saw an admirable nobility of purpose in your quest to reach for the stars."

He looked down at the portraits again, somberly. "The forty-three we grieve today were victims of intolerance, but they did not die needlessly. The attention focused on my world by their sacrifice has led to a planetwide enlightenment. The prejudices and secrecy that have shadowed my people for decades are falling away, and the ideals of truth and tolerance are again being embraced." Soval looked up, meeting Captain Archer's eyes. The captain tapped his temple with a little smile. "The new Vulcan High Council sees the logic in Admiral Forrest's goal," Soval continued, "and we have already begun taking steps to make it a reality."

Soval's gaze swept over the entire hall. "These forty-three are our teachers. In life, they demonstrated fellowship and trust. In death, they exposed injustice. Now, as we remember and honor them, they offer us continued enlightenment. We must not forget what they already knew. Vulcans are not superior; humans are not unprepared. We are merely different. Let us rejoice in our differences. They can be our strength, if we work together. We have much to offer each other as equals."

As Soval took his seat again, Archer found himself wishing he could do the less-than-dignified thing and applaud the hell out of Soval. And Shaw. Then, somewhere in the back, someone did start clapping. Others joined in almost immediately—undoubtedly of the same mind as Archer—and soon the entire hall was ringing with applause. Soval accepted the kudos with his usual equanimity, while Shaw laughed softly to himself, even as he swiped at his wet eyes. Gardner just looked relieved.

-tbc-