Chapter 3: Now Where Have I Heard This Before?
Archer watched his crew disperse from the briefing table. T'Pol was heading for her station on the bridge when he called her back. "A word?" He gestured toward his ready room and she followed him inside.
"T'Pol, I'll get right to the point," the captain walked to his desk and leaned against it, surveying her. "There is a bit of a dilemma regarding your presence on this mission."
The Vulcan stiffened. "A dilemma?"
"Mmm. Seems that Serat is insistent that you be part of the detail for coordinating the investigations, but K'Met requested…" he frowned.
"She doesn't want me there," T'Pol concluded. "Why does she object to my presence?"
"I don't know. Whatever the reason, she'll have to get over it because you will be there and you will be helping with the investigation." Archer felt a surge of anger and suppressed it. He hated that there were still remnants of tension between T'Pol and her people. "I just felt you should know before we get there. You may get the cold shoulder."
"Thank you, sir," T'Pol answered calmly, taking this news in stride. "To be honest, I wouldn't expect anything less than a reserved reception." He admired her for this: she knew exactly what kind of welcome awaited her on her home planet, and wouldn't let it have the slightest effect on her professionalism.
"I guess it's better to walk into it with your eyes open. Just let me know if it impedes your work."
"It will not," she assured him. She had more confidence than he did on this matter. As she left he could not help but wonder what awaited them all this time on T'Pol's home world.
Unlike the captain, Trip was unable to hide his anger at the news that K'Met had asked that T'Pol be excluded from the mission.
"Who does she think she is?" he growled, his brow drawn into a deep frown. T'Pol immediately regretted initiating this conversation in Engineering. She should have waited until they were alone, but she had not suspected he would be quite so offended. He tore viciously at the stubborn power coupling he was in the process of replacing. A nearby crewman looked up, startled, then wisely edged away from the Commander's position as Trip swore at the errant device. Every once in a while one blew out unexpectedly—much like Trip's temper. "They ask for our help and think they can tell us who will or won't be part of the mission?"
T'Pol maintained her composure, mentally focusing her self-control on him through their bond. He stopped jabbing furiously at the coupling, but still scowled at it.
"Telling you about K'Met's request was not the primary purpose of my visit," she informed the chief engineer. "I came to ask you to look over the details of the security breach," she placed a hand on the power coupling and deftly pulled it free from its casing with one solid wrench. "When you have a free moment, of course."
"How…" Trip shook his head at the coupling and stopped himself. He straightened up and turned to face T'Pol, taking the PADD she offered. "Won't Malcolm be doing this?" he asked. "And won't he be doing a better job of it than me?"
"Perhaps," she conceded, "but I would like your opinion nonetheless. Another pair of eyes." There was something about the security records that bothered her, but she couldn't quite figure out what. Trip's input might prove useful alongside her own and Lt. Reed's.
"You got it," he gave a vague salute with the PADD. "I'll let you know what I find." He looked down at it thoughtfully. "Funny, huh?"
She cocked her head to one side. "What do you find amusing?"
"This mission, it's kind of a coincidence, isn't it?"
"A coincidence? With what does it coincide?"
"The Maltese Falcon." She stared at him, nonplussed. "Priceless artifacts being stolen? We're called in as investigators? C'mon, it's pretty serendipitous."
"You imagine that we are entering the role of Sam Spade." It was a statement rather than a question. "We are the hard-boiled detectives?"
"Yeah, who else would we be? Wait—did you just say 'hard-boiled'?" Trip squinted and leaned toward her.
"That is the correct phrase to describe Same Spade," she asserted.
"Did you do research on this book?"
"No," she said decisively. He looked somewhat disappointed by her blunt answer, so she relented. "I did some reading about the genre in general." He grinned. "And I read enough of The Maltese Falcon to know that if real life coincides with the fictional plot, we should be aware that the falcon is simply a plot device. The real theme of the book is that you don't know what something really is unless you look below the surface."
"I hadn't thought of that," he admitted, "but you're right. There may be plot twists in our future."
"Or perhaps the Maltese Falcon is a book and our mission is real life and they don't have much to do with each other." Humans were always looking for connections in random events.
Trip rolled his eyes in amusement. "Spoilsport." She didn't exactly know what the term meant, but she could guess. He cleared his throat as she turned to leave. "Uh, T'Pol?"
She turned back.
"What exactly was that, earlier, in the white room? When I kis—"
"Commander," she interrupted, "contact me when you have reviewed the Academy security logs." Engineering was definitely not the setting for this conversation. Her eyes darted to the crewman working at the adjacent work station, but the man was engrossed in using a laser welder to put together what looked like a small containment pod.
Trip stopped, then followed her gaze. "Ah," he mouthed.
Humans, she thought. No patience at all. It was their worst and best quality. "We will discuss it later," she assured him.
"You bet we will," she heard him say in a low voice as she left.