A Helping Hand

Jon was seriously considering asking the quartermaster to make a sign that read 'do not salute me'. He could wear it around his neck. All he wanted was to tour Earth's first Warp 5 ship. He knew of course that protocol and regulations demanded that noncoms salute before an officer, but it was patently impractical, especially on a ship in the final stage of completion.

There were toolboxes, measuring equipment and ladders everywhere and people hurriedly climbing down the ladder, just to stand at attention for the moment he passed them was simply ridiculous. It was bordering on the dangerous actually. He would deal with that in a first standing order. It was more than enough to acknowledge his existence with a nod and only if they were on the same altitude.

That young engineering crewman, who had jumped off the ladder and botched the landing could have seriously injured herself if it wasn't for the fact that she had practically landed in his arms. It had taken him quite some time to convince her that she wasn't going to be spaced for her 'improper conduct'. He knew of course that his reputation preceded him – that was the disadvantage of carrying the name Archer – but he didn't like the hero worship. He hadn't done a single thing yet as a Captain that would warrant any fawning over. He directed his thoughts back to Enterprise.

It sure was an impressive ship. There were loose ends to tie up everywhere, but the sheer size of it was a clear sign that humanity was ready to make the next step. She might be looking small in comparison to some of the Vulcan cruisers, but the pointy eared know-it-alls had a century or two of a head start. For Earth this was a monumental achievement. The Vulcans had more than once tried to offer a technology transfer, but thankfully Starfleet had resisted the temptation, as that would have meant more Vulcan influence and more Vulcan nannying. And that was something they needed least of all.

Every single bit on this ship was designed, developed and manufactured by humans. And the man mostly responsible for keeping this going was Trip. He had walked the corridors and laboratories for three hours now and he had encountered Trip no less than five times in different areas of the ship. That man was simply always on the move. One time he explained welding techniques to a young crewman, the next time he could be seen instructing one of his engineers on the finer points of calibrating the flow regulators of an EPS conduit.

He made a mental note to invite Trip to a chat and a game of water polo the next days. That man needed to wind down a bit. As the ranking officer until Starfleet could finally come to a decision whether A.G. or him would be the skipper, Trip had overseen most of the recruiting, so there was a lot he had to pick his buddy's brain about.

He saw Subcommander T'Pol coming out of what would be one of the science labs, if he remembered the deck plan right.

"One minute please, Subcommander," he called out. He saw the Vulcan stop. She acknowledged his request with a wordless nod.

"Care to join me for a few meters?" he asked and indicated the direction in which he planned to continue.

"Of course, Captain."

"I was wondering if the Vulcan compound had any medic to spare, who has experience with both Vulcan and human physiology," he asked.

"May I ask why you would wish for a Vulcan medical officer?" she asked back and there was that raised eyebrow again. "I got the impression that you were not too satisfied with Vulcan influence on your mission."

"You are right about that," he admitted. "But since your people aren't very forthcoming with details about – well anything – there is no human medic qualified enough to treat Vulcans. Even though you are only assigned to us temporarily, I will not leave space dock until we have a chief medical officer, who can treat you as well as the rest of the crew."

He spared her a sideways glance. She walked beside him, steps perfectly synchronized with her hands clasped behind her back. He could see that she gave his proposal some thought.

"Your consideration honors you, Captain. I believe there is another option that may be more agreeable to you. There is an Interspecies Medical Exchange, organized by the Vulcan Academy of Science. As part of that operation there are several medics working on Earth. Most of them are Vulcan, but there is a Denobulan doctor, named Phlox."

"Denobulan?"

"A planet that has been visited by Earth freighters regularly over the past twenty years. They are a species that has no problem with open expression of emotions, which would make it easier for the crew to interact with him. They are highly advanced in medical and genetic science. A Denobulan medic is not taken seriously on their world if he doesn't hold at least five degrees."

"And this Phlox is here on Earth and willing to join the crew?" he asked her.

"If he is willing to join the crew is a question that only he can answer himself. I do know however that he is fascinated by humanity. I would venture to suspect that he would be unable to withstand the temptation of being part of humanity's first deep space mission."

"Thank you, Subcommander," he said with a smile as they came to stop in front of the turbo lift. "I don't want to keep you from your tasks any longer. You've been a great help."

"You are welcome Captain. Do you perhaps know where I can find Commander Tucker? I seem to be unable to locate him and my request does not warrant the use of a biosensor sweep."

"Good luck with that," Jon said with a chuckle and he saw that mysterious eyebrow creep up again. "He's been all over the ship. Why don't you just contact him with your communicator?"

"Starfleet apparently saw no necessity to issue me any communication devices nor any communication codes."

Jon fought down a flash of anger that quickly turned to shame, when he realized that two days ago he would probably have seconded that decision. That was before he finally had a chance to talk to her. Ashamed by his own prejudice, he zipped open the arm pocket of his uniform.

"Have mine," he said and handed her the device. "Ask Ensign Sato to establish a communication profile for you and reprogram the communicator. And if you find the time please consider yourself invited to dinner in the Captain's mess at nineteen hundred. Tell Commander Tucker to come, too when you find him."

"Thank you, Captain."

John did a double take as the slender Subcommander disappeared into the turbo lift. Did a Vulcan really just say 'thank you'?

=/\=

Trip was buried deep in the bowels of access hatch D17, lying on his back. He looked at the chaos before him. Who the hell had devised that layout? He looked up and taxed the moody plasma flow regulator. These things were known to be slightly fragile, so why did they put them in places that would require Houdini to pry them out? He swore out his disapproval and kept working on the part that he had fought with for the better part of half an hour.

When he looked down along his own body he could see two legs in front of the opening of the hatch. They were clad in brown cloth and only one person wore brown carpet colored suits – their new science officer.

"Can I do something for you, Subcommander?" he called out and of course he knew something must be on her mind, else she wouldn't have contacted him on Jon's com frequency about twenty minutes ago.

"Maybe, my request can wait until later."

"Bullcrap," he replied and prepared to crawl out, before he remembered something.

"Subcommander, can you open my toolbox? There should be a number of small V-shaped clips in the top drawer."

"There are." she answered after a while.

"You better put one on your nose to clamp it shut. I'm not exactly smelling like roses right now," he warned her.

When he had wiggled his way out of the cramped space, he had to fight hard not to laugh. She looked simply ridiculous with the clamp over her nose, but considering that he could barely stand his own odor right now, it was a worthwhile trade-off.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said and indicated her face. "But I've spent the last half hour in a cramped space at over 40 centigrade. I'm stinking like a polecat. I don't know much about Vulcans, but I've heard about your sense of smell."

"Your consideration is noted," she replied with a distorted voice.

"What can I do for you?"

"I was meaning to ask if you could spare a crewman to adjust the life support system in my quarters. The environmental controls do not let me select any temperature above 25 degrees centigrade."

"Right, you come from a desert planet," he contemplated. "That's nothing a crewman should do. When does your shift end?"

"Eighteen hundred," she quacked in her distorted voice and Trip realized it sounded somewhat cute. But what really impressed him was the way she accepted this. Most other Vulcans would have just gone mute for fear of their precious dignity being tainted. "We have been invited to dine with the Captain at nineteen hundred after the shift though."

"How high do you need to adjust it?" he asked, acknowledging her info with a nod and poking away at a PADD with the specs of the life support systems.

"Mean temperatures on Vulcan are at about thirty-five degrees centigrade. Unless I can raise the temperature in my quarters to at least thirty degrees, I would need to sleep in full uniform or order a much more substantial duvet."

"Got thermal lining in it, doesn't it? The uniform, I mean." he asked.

She nodded. He didn't remember having seen a Vulcan use that gesture before.

"Tell you what, T'Pol," he said. Suddenly catching his error, he added: "Sorry, may I call you that?"

"You just did," she replied dryly, but it did not sound the least bit offended.

"My friends call me Trip," he offered in return.

"I'm sure they do," she shot back deadpan.

"Anyway," he continued, ignoring her cold rebuff. "Dinner probably takes an hour or so. I'll drop by afterwards and adjust your systems."

"I am sure one of your engineering crew members can do that?" she argued. "I don't think my personal comfort warrants inconveniencing the chief engineer."

"First of all, crewmen have no business entering the quarters of an officer, unless it is an emergency," he explained. "Much less one from a species that values privacy as much as you do. And without wanting to toot my own horn, I think I'll get the job done faster than most of my people."

"As you wish, Commander," she said with that clamp-induced distorted voice of hers. "Do I need to keep this device?"

"Well, I'm gonna take a shower before I show up at dinner," he promised. "But I would keep it. There's more people working in hot environments and you really don't wanna know what it smells like if the captain's dog gets wet. So I'd recommend you keep it to use whenever neccessary until we have a doctor, who can maybe numb down your sense of smell. We work with a lot of substances around here that are unbearable to humans. I don't want to find out what they'd do to that pretty nose 'o yours."

"Very well, Commander. I will expected you in the evening."

"Better keep that thing on until you're out the door," he advised her with an apologetic smile.

=/\=

Hoshi was programming the communication profile for Subcommander T'Pol. She looked over and saw the Vulcan stand patiently with her hands clasped behind her back. She pressed the com button on her console.

"Ensign Sato to Lieutenant Reed."

"Reed here."

"Lieutenant I need your approval for a line officer communications profile. Where should I send it?"

"The security office is currently powered down and crawling with engineers. Where are you Ensign?"

"In the linguistics lab on E deck."

"I'll be with you in fifteen minutes, Ensign. Reed out."

The connection went silent.

"I can't believe they didn't even give you a communicator," Hoshi said grumpily. "I thought Earth and Vulcan were allies."

"There is still a lot of distrust between humans and Vulcans," T'Pol said. "And considering some of the decisions the High Command has made lately I would call it an understandable sentiment."

"Are you sure I was supposed to know that?" Hoshi said with a smile.

"Unless you prepare to report it to the Vulcan authorities I fail to see a problem."

"Don't worry," she said affording the Vulcan another bright smile. "It all stays in here. How did your first few days go? I suppose it isn't too easy getting used to be among so many humans."

"I have been posted at the Embassy long enough. I am quite used to be among humans. I find my tasks here much more challenging than the discomfort of being exposed to so many emotions."

"Problems?" Hoshi asked back, surprised by the Vulcan's openness. Their pointy-eared allies weren't exactly known to speak openly about their problems.

"As the science officer I have many crewmen under my command, including you. My style of command has not been overly effective so far."

"That will take time," Hoshi explained. "We are all not used to take orders from a Vulcan and with all due respect, you need to learn how to handle some people. If you want my advice, I'd say you might want to consult with Commander Tucker once in a while. I've only been here as long as you, but I've already noticed that his department is by far the most popular."

"That could prove to be difficult. I have noticed Commander Tucker's willingness to help, but consultations with him could be somewhat inefficient as I often find myself unable to comprehend his language."

"That drawl is something else, isn't it," Hoshi said with a giggle.

"When I assured him that my request was not important enough to warrant interrupting the work he was doing at the time, he replied with the term 'bullcrap', which as far as I know is a vulgar term for the excrement of a male bovine. It did not make any sense in the context of our conversation."

Hoshi laughed softly. The subcommander was really in for a tricky endeavor if she wanted to make sense of Commander Tucker's colorful language.

"'Bullcrap' or 'bullshit' are euphemisms for nonsense," she explained. "His language can be a bit colorful, especially if he's annoyed or angry. Was there anything that could have left him irritated?"

"He was working in an access hatch with little room for movement and high temperatures that were most discomforting. As far as I could overhear before he acknowledged my presence, he wanted to insert his boot into someone's derrière for placing a plasma flow regulator in an inaccessible place he did not approve of. He did not seem to know the person, but felt compelled to refer to him or her in rather disparaging terms."

Hoshi couldn't help but laugh about the Vulcan's bafflement when presented with Commander Tucker's vocabulary.

"I'm sorry, Subcommander," Hoshi apologized for laughing. "Since I am the communications officer, maybe I can help you with that. I'll set up a database for you and you can collect the phrases that confuse you. When you have the time you can drop by and I'll try to explain them to you."

"That would take up a significant amount of your free time, Ensign. Commander Tucker's predilection for colorful metaphors would fill up the database most rapidly, especially if I were to consult with him about my command style on a regular basis."

"I don't mind giving up my free time and my offer isn't entirely unselfish," Hoshi said, smiling at her superior officer. She liked how easily the Vulcan engaged in conversation. "I was hoping to practice my Vulcan, too. There are several dialects that I need to improve on, Golic for instance. From the way you pronounce the e's and o's I'd say you come from the Rh'Lar region. I haven't had much chances to practice that dialect."

She saw a very elevated eyebrow on the face of the subcommander.

"Most impressive. My residence is indeed in Rh'lar," the subcommander answered in her native Vulcan.

"I find your approval most gratifying," Hoshi answered in kind. She really started to like the subcommander and in a way it was sad that her stay on the ship would be temporary. She pledged to use any possible opportunity to practice her language skills. Before they could launch into a full-fledged conversation in Vulcan, the entrance of Lieutenant Reed interrupted them.

Hoshi looked at him and had to stiffle a giggle. He had been so cute when her topless act in Brazil had flustered him. Maybe if the opportunity presented itself, she could put in a repeat performance. His blush was so adorable. Too bad the rules made it impossible getting to know him better and since she was still on probation for breaking her superiors arm, she couldn't really risk it, even for Enterprise's enigmatic but definitely interesting security chief.

"What can I do for you Ensign?" he asked and acknowledged subcommander T'Pol's presence with a nod.

"I've created a communication profile for Subcommander T'Pol, but I'm not sure what security clearance I should attach. There is no precedent for a line-officer from a foreign force on one of our star ships."

"What is your assignment status, Subcommander?"

Hoshi was surprised about the stern undertone in his voice.

"I am assigned to the diplomatic corps of the Vulcan High Command. For the duration of my assignment to Enterprise, my association with the High Command is suspended. I do not have any obligations to them and I have no plans to introduce any on my own volition."

She doesn't like the High Command, Hoshi mouthed and signaled the same in sign language behind the subcommander's back. The Lieutenant nodded and she was surprised that he understood sign language. She knew he did, when he signaled 'take'. It was just a random word, but to the subcommander it would look like a halfway natural hand movement, while he was still getting the message across that he had understood her.

"Ensign," she heard him say as if the clandestine conversation had not happened. "Apply the security clearance of an O-4 line officer. Additional clearances can be added as needed."

"Aye, Sir," she acknowledged and added the necessary flags to the profile. She handed him the PADD and he added his approval. Hoshi smiled when their hands touched lightly while he returned it to her.

"Ensign, Subcommander."

After nodding to both of them he left. Hoshi was still smiling.