"She said I was his favorite person on the ship."
It took more than two weeks for Lieutenant Paxton to return to the Shenzhou owing to the ship's mildly erratic exploratory route through the sector and the unpredictable availability of shuttlecraft for nonessential personnel transport, but return he had, with a gift of dried seaweed as justification for his presence on Saru's doorstep. Now he was prattling on as if their prior conversation had never ended.
From Paxton's perspective, perhaps it hadn't. His first words to Saru were, "I've been thinking about what you said," and then he launched into recounting the general details of Ensign Tackett's memorial and Saru wondered how long was an appropriate length of time to entertain this unexpected exchange of words without seeming rude. Paxton had brought a gift and lost a friend, both things which merited extra consideration, but would the human lieutenant be aware of the point at which his presence became an intolerable imposition? Paxton's obtuseness went above and beyond the norm. Most people were unaware of the point at which their presence became uncomfortable owing to a hefty degree of self-involvement, whereas Paxton seemed completely aware of it but unable to stop himself.
The subject of Paxton's present description was Harold Tackett's sister, Evelyn. "So I told her what you said about proximity, that Hack probably would've stopped talking to me and disappeared eventually. And he did, sort of."
Standing there, box of seaweed in hand, Saru was shocked. It did not sound like an entirely appropriate conversational tangent for a memorial. His mental image of Paxton relaying this information to the grieving girl was borderline unforgivable.
"Do you know what she said?"
"I do not," said Saru.
"She said there's no such thing as proximity, because everywhere you've ever been is a fixed point in time and nothing can change it. So every moment you spend with someone in the past is permanent, for better or worse, and that means Harry's only gone if you think the past stops existing, and I don't think that, so..." Paxton smiled, weakly hopeful.
It was a very cerebral sentiment to conjure up on the spot. Saru wondered if Evelyn Tackett had known loss already or formulated the concept as a result of something else. "That is one way of looking at it."
"Yeah. Make sense, the future is fixed as much as the past because they both continually exist." (Saru avoided engaging on the subject and was relieved when Paxton moved on.) "Though, she also said Hack wouldn't have stopped talking to me, which is an easy thing to say of a dead man, but she said she'd prove it."
Saru's head tilted. "How?"
"I don't know."
"What does Ensign Tackett's sister do for a living?" Perhaps she was a quantum engineer or theoretical physicist engaged in applied temporal mechanics working on some sort of mirror or bridge in time, making that statement optimistically plausible.
"She's a researcher for GNN."
A journalist would not possess the requisite scientific training to breach time itself. Perhaps she had worked on a story involving temporal science. If so, she had likely been misled by the sensationalist tendency of journalists to reinterpret research into pithy headlines, conflating experiments with effective technology. Journalism was very good at igniting public imaginations and wildly ineffective at conveying the true rigors and incremental developments of real science.
Thankfully, Paxton either realized he was imposing on Saru or ran out of conversational points to make. His voice took on a tone of finality as he said, "Anyway, I know Kelpiens don't like processed food, so I promise there's no additives or anything in the seaweed. My gamma prepped it herself."
"Thank you," said Saru.
"I'll see you around, lieutenant."
Saru closed the door at last, glad for the chance to return to spending his off-duty hours reviewing new species reports. He opened the corner of the gift box and took a piece of seaweed. It had the delightfully robust, salty taste of Earth's Pacific Ocean. Kelp for a Kelpien. Anyone else might have been making a joke at Saru's expense, but there was no denying his species loved the stuff. Coming from Paxton the gesture was, he decided, entirely a thoughtful one.
It was entirely obvious to Captain Georgiou. In the weeks since Tackett's and Combs' deaths, Ensign Hasimova's work had suffered. The young officer was struggling in a way reminiscent of her first few weeks on the ship and Georgiou decided it was time to intercede.
The pot of tea was already ready when Hasimova arrived in the ready room, looking the very picture of youthful promise and potential. The soft lighting seemed almost to glow across her dusky cheekbones and the coil of hair atop her head was as elegant as it was stiffly unmoving. She greeted Georgiou with confident deference and took the seat and cup of tea Georgiou offered.
"It has come to my attention that, since the incident on Tonnata VII, you have not been entirely yourself."
To her credit, Hasimova did not reply immediately. After a considered moment, she angled her head expressively and looked at Georgiou with widely sympathetic eyes. "It's been hard since what happened."
"Of course," said Georgiou, entirely neutral. "It was a violent event you witnessed. More so because it was unexpected."
"They were just, there one moment and the next..." Hasimova dabbed at her eye with her finger. "But I'm fine, captain, really. It's simply the nature of life out here. Sometimes it surprises you in terrible ways."
Georgiou sipped at her tea. "Terrible indeed. But death is unavoidable, you must be resilient when you encounter it. You never know when we will find ourselves in a position which requires us all to be at our best. Especially in this sector."
The finger dropped away from Hasimova's eye. "Yes, captain. I won't let this affect me again."
For all the trauma, Hasimova pivoted from distress to resolve admirably quick. "It is important as well that we take time to process and mourn. My ready room is available if you need to talk."
"Thank you, captain. I'm promise, you won't need to call me in again. I'll make sure my work going forward is top notch."
The assertiveness, the intensity. It hinted at an ambition within the younger woman. Georgiou's lips pressed together in approval. Hasimova reminded her a lot of herself at that age. Did the young ensign have the same steel and the same hunger? Georgiou returned her teacup to the surface of the table. "I have always found martial arts to be a fine method of focusing one's thoughts. Do you have experience in hand-to-hand combat?"
Hasimova seemed to instinctively shift forward to the edge of her seat, leaning towards Georgiou with eager interest. "Only the basics at the Academy."
"Were you any good?"
"Promising," said Hasimova with a faintly hapless shrug. "I would have liked to have done more."
"Why didn't you?"
"I already had enough credits in Communications and I wanted to graduate. There was an opening on your ship."
Georgiou's finger traced the thin curve of the teacup's handle. There was no mistaking the fact Hasimova was on the ship because Georgiou was in command of it and this fit well with the reason Georgiou had assigned Hasimova to the bridge.
Taking the silence as invitation, Hasimova ventured, "If you have any suggestions as to martial arts I could use to supplement my workout routine, I'd love to hear them. Not that I want any special treatment, captain. It's enough that I get to be on the bridge. I know how lucky I am."
Index finger curling around the handle, Georgiou lifted the teacup to her lips with another smile. "Nonsense. It is my honor to mentor young officers in Starfleet. Exceptional potential deserves exceptional recognition."
The loose pants and top of the basic white practice uniform did far less to display Hasimova's assets than the snug lines of a Starfleet uniform, but as Georgiou observed the ensign's inexpert attempts to replicate the basic forms of wushu, she was pleased by the potential on display. "It will take many years, but you may yet have the makings of a fine martial artist. If you keep with it and practice daily."
They were in Georgiou's private gym, a small room with an exercise mat and palm fronds decorating the back wall for a touch of subtle tropical nostalgia. Hasimova's work had entirely returned to form the past few days, meriting the minor reward of a private review to ensure Hasimova's initial forays into martial arts were proceeding soundly. Far be it for Georgiou to let a beginner under her general guidance develop bad habits in the absence of competent oversight.
The doors swooshed and T'Vora entered. Her textured, slate grey Vulcan outfit was more form-fitting than the humans' attire, but the design and function were similar. "Captain, ensign," she greeted. Hasimova straightened to attention.
"I thought it would be worth showing you what these skills can do at a high level of expertise."
Hasimova bowed her head stiffly and backed off the mat. T'Vora took a moment to stretch with some Sha'mura exercises then stood ready for Georgiou's approach.
The demonstration that followed was slow enough to follow, but brutally forceful. Georgiou drew herself straight up, locked eyes with T'Vora, and launched into a quick forward jab. T'Vora only barely avoided the full force of it, shifting her torso just enough for the jab to slide past her waist and responding by bringing her own arm down, attempting to lock it around Georgiou's, but Georgiou was expecting the counter and pivoted in a twist designed to turn T'Vora's locking motion against her. A leg sweep followed that, while it did not connect, forced T'Vora to give up the advantage of her balanced stance and enabled Georgiou's responsive arm-lock to fully engage.
The grapple lasted only a moment. Georgiou flipped T'Vora over her shoulder and onto the mat. T'Vora landed with a graceful roll and was instantly back on her feet, as smoothly if she had never hit the ground. She came at Georgiou with a leg sweep that succeeded in throwing the captain onto her back, but Georgiou rolled away before a second attack could land and kipped-up into a ready position again.
T'Vora began the second salvo, pushing close to Georgiou in a rapid exchange of jabs and punches almost balletic in pattern. The quick succession of perfectly matched strikes was a masterclass in physical strategy. The two combatants struck and countered with speed and precision, the muffled smacks of contact through their clothes like an uneven staccato of sharp applause. Neither took the clear upper hand—though attempts were made on both sides to sneak in attacks that might tip the balance—and after a minute both withdrew to a short distance to reset.
In the third clash, they kept more distance, circling with a focused intensity that momentarily rendered the ensign in the room functionally nonexistent. Georgiou's gaze was dark and unblinking, T'Vora's almost reptilian in its calm. When they launched at once another, Hasimova flinched in surprise, totally unable to predict their attacks and timing. All she could do was watch in awe as Georgiou kicked and T'Vora blocked and ducked under a punch, her own punch going wide. Georgiou danced away with a sharp spin that made her sleeves ripple and snap in the air.
Georgiou seemed to turn on a pinpoint so small she might have been one of a thousand dancing angels. Her retreat transformed into an attack: a ferocious left kick slammed across T'Vora's torso and staggered her. Giving no sign as to the pain she must be experiencing, T'Vora attempted to hook Georgiou's leg with her arm, but Georgiou flexed out of reach. T'Vora wove beneath Georgiou's leg and came up on the other side with a backhand fist that struck Georgiou in the shoulder. Not being a Vulcan trained to hide all semblance of emotion, Georgiou winced and air hissed through her teeth.
Undaunted, Georgiou used T'Vora's proximity to her advantage, finally executing the long-threatened leg sweep, but it was like no leg sweep Hasimova had ever seen. Without even fully bringing her left leg down, Georgiou leapt up, her right leg hooking T'Vora and propelling both of them into the air in a spin. The impact of Georgiou's leg into T'Vora's body transferred all the upward force into the Vulcan, pushing Georgiou back down towards the mat as T'Vora continued her ascent. Georgiou landed easily on her back. T'Vora had to bring her hands up to avoid landing on her head and went sprawling. For all it seemed ungraceful, the fall was reflexively adroit. A single muscle out of place and T'Vora could have broken her neck.
Hasimova was oblivious to the danger. To her, it seemed simply a wonderful display of strength, skill, and tactics. She lightly clapped her hands.
T'Vora and Georgiou rose from the mat. T'Vora pressed a fist into her palm and bowed to Georgiou. Georgiou mirrored the action and turned to Hasimova. The applause had already faded into memory, but even at its peak, the sound had completely failed to convey the immense respect and wonder in Hasimova's eyes. She was thoroughly awed. Georgiou said warmly, "There is as much potential in your body as there is in an entire starship. More, because a starship cannot do more than it was built to do, whereas you have the ability to shape yourself in any way you choose." Hasimova only nodded, still overwhelmed. "Continue with your practice, and when we have time, we will check the progress of your forms. Remember, foundational knowledge is the key to mastery."
"Yes, captain." Hasimova copied the fist and palm bow and left.
Absent the ensign, Georgiou hastily chided T'Vora, "You did not need to make it so easy."
T'Vora stared unflinchingly. "If you wished to make an impression on the ensign, then it would seem to have served its point."
Out in the hall, Hasimova smiled to herself. Being called into the ready room as a result of poor performance could have gone any number of ways, but by God's own grace, the encounter had turned into an entirely advantageous opportunity, and Georgiou was none the wiser as to the real reason behind the dip and recovery in performance.
When Saru saw Paxton again, it was in the usual place: the mess hall as Paxton's breakfast crossed with Saru's lunch. Today, though, there was no oatmeal. Paxton was sitting at a table along the wall by the door, bent over a padd, intently reading something.
Saru took his lunch—a salad of kale, parsley, and beets—and was intending to conduct a circuit of the ship's corridors as he ate when he noticed Paxton furtively dab his sleeve against his eyes and then wipe it across the padd in front of him.
"Lieutenant?"
Paxton looked up, his eyes as salty as Saru's preferred food flavoring. "Oh, hi, Saru."
Saru wondered what to make of this latest disparity between emotion and tone. "I do not wish to pry, but perhaps you should speak to Dr. Channick regarding your recent loss. She is an excellent resource for crew welfare."
Paxton blinked. "It's not... I mean, yeah, it is about that, but it isn't. It's..." He looked down at the padd, momentarily lost for words, then offered it up to Saru.
It was a letter. Glancing at the first few sentences, Saru could tell the source of the letter was Evelyn Tackett. She was thanking Paxton for attending the memorial, though from the details she provided, it seemed Paxton had elected not to fully participate in the service. Despite this, she was grateful for the time they had spent talking afterwards. "This seems personal."
"Isn't it the most beautiful letter you've ever read?"
Saru scanned a little further. Nestled in the third paragraph was an assurance Ensign Tackett would never have abandoned Paxton as a friend, and since he was dead, she intended to continue contacting Paxton in his stead. No temporal science required.
More interestingly, in the next paragraph, she asked three questions: why did Paxton not initiate contact when people were removed from proximity, what would he conclude from the lack of contact if he were in their position, and what question would he ask someone on the other side of the situation if he could be assured of an answer of complete honesty? The letter ended a two lines after with a promise that Paxton need not answer anything or reply and she would continue to write him, and the valediction "Enduringly Yours, Evie."
Saru immediately grokked Evelyn's meaning: it took two sides of zero contact to break a connection. He also saw the flaw in her logic. It did take two sides, but the fact was no one on the other side had ever made any effort to remain in contact with Saru. Either everyone was too shy to reach out or, more likely, the true impetus to do so was far rarer than Evelyn suggested. Proximity still potentially won out.
"It is... nice," Saru concluded, the words an exercise in forced politeness. He returned the padd. "Are you not eating today?"
A quick look at the nearest time display confirmed the end of the hour was approaching. Paxton's eyes went wide. He jumped up and ran off to procure some oatmeal before his shift started, providing Saru the perfect opportunity to exit the mess hall and eat his lunch in peace.
When Saru's shift ended four hours later—an uneventful one, mostly spent surveying an asteroid field—he found himself thinking about Evelyn's letter. As dismissive as he had been in the moment, it did potentially merit investigation. A small scientific experiment.
Problem was, he had no idea how to reach his intended subject. There seemed to be no active listing for her on the Federation registry. On a hunch, he called Risa.
The man who answered would have been deemed alluringly attractive by most species in the quadrant, but Risians, like humans, had a bit more hair than Saru found appealing. His greeting was the standard "warm welcomes" line that practically served as a planetary motto. "Forgive me for the imposition, but a friend of mine was traveling to Risa and I was wondering if she had arrived and might still be present."
"Certainly, it's no trouble at all, I'm happy to help. Name and species?"
"Lalana. Her species is called lului."
The man paled. "Could you please hold a moment?"
"Certainly," said Saru, far more calmly than he felt because something was clearly not right.
A minute later, a new face appeared—one Georgiou would have recognized, though the woman was not presently wearing the low-cut top that had left such an impression on the captain and everyone else in the ready room. She was dressed in a floral print robe and the waves of hair that normally fall around her shoulders were twisted into a set of rollers on her head. "Hello—" She froze, a glimmer of realization overtaking the worry in her eyes. "You must be Saru."
Tendrils of ganglia wriggled out into view. "Yes, I am Lieutenant Saru, of the Federation starship Shenzhou. Who are you?"
A twist of ugliness marred the woman's otherwise perfect features as the worry returned and spread without reserve across her face. "My name's Sollis."
"I am attempting to reach Lalana."
The next two words were a full confirmation of Saru's rising fears—fears Sollis seemed to share:
"She's missing."
