Command
Author: Transwarp
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Action/Drama
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek names, and related intellectual property.
Summary: War breaks out with the Romulan Empire, and T'Pol assumes command of a Starfleet frigate. This is the third story in a series (order of stories: 'Commissioning', then 'Liaison', then 'Command').
TEN
Romulus, 2 years, 321 days after the war's beginning (7 Feb 2159)
Grand Marshal Vokalus pulled his field cloak a little tighter as the icy wind picked up. A light dusting of snow swirled across the deserted boulevard and crunched beneath the measured stride of his boots. I could have had Mezdal bring me to the palace in my plush, heated staff car, he thought ruefully. I impress no one when I eschew the trappings of my post. But Vokalus didn't do it to impress anyone; at heart he was a soldier. A soldier first, last, and always. He hadn't reached his current position by indulging in creature comforts. He got where he was by being physically and mentally tougher than his fellow officers. And tougher than the Praetor's many enemies.
The wind subsided as he approached the broad steps of the Callium, the Praetor's imperial residence. Despite the biting cold, he paused for a long moment at the bottom of the steps. He was not looking forward to this audience with the Praetor. He had not been told the reason for his summons, but he suspected he knew. The war is not going well, and His Magnificence is not known for His Patience.
He brushed a wayward flake of snow from his cloak and resolutely started up the steps. He was a soldier, and soldiers did not shirk their duty.
The doors swung open at his approach, and a Corporal of the Palace Guard stepped out to execute a crisp salute and usher him inside. Vokalus returned the salute with as much, if not more, precision than the Corporal. In my day we stood our posts outside, regardless of the elements.
He was shown to the small briefing room the Praetor favored for strategy sessions, and stood outside the door while another guard announced his presence. One did not just walk in on the Praetor.
Vokalus idly scanned the familiar tapestries decorating the hall while he awaited the Praetor's pleasure. His eyes were drawn to the tapestry depicting Ramius' heroic stand against the Ashkolian hoards. Significantly outnumbered, his regiment had fought to the last soldier, and bought the time needed for reinforcements to arrive and turn the tide of battle. Has a child, it had always been his favorite story. Even now, it could still inspire him.
After some time--longer than the normal wait--the guard returned and held the door open for him to enter.
It took all the discipline he had acquired through a lifetime of military service to keep from breaking stride when he saw the room's other occupants. There was the Praetor, of course, and his various ministers and advisers, as expected. But there also was Admiral Krotash, standing at the Praetor's right side, with a smile that was entirely too self-satisfied.
Krotash. He has hated me since we were cadets together at the Academy. I reciprocate the feeling.
"Ah, Vokalus," the Praetor said, "Come join us. We have much to discuss."
Vokalus took his place at the briefing table with its built-in holographic display. He shot a quick glance at the display--it showed current dispositions of Romulan and Coalition forces in all theaters of operation--before turning his full attention to the Praetor. They've been discussing MY strategies without me. Nothing good can come from that, especially with Krotash involved.
"Tell me, how goes the war?" The Praetor asked. His tone was devoid of interest, almost lackadaisical, as if he already knew the answer. Or didn't care.
Vokalus took a moment to collect his thoughts. I must be careful. This is clearly more than a normal status update. How much more, I cannot yet say. He shook off his discomfort and approached the holographic map, calm and confident. He was the Grand Marshal, Supreme Commander of the combined forces of all military services, directly responsible for the largest, most powerful war machine the Romulan Star Empire had ever fielded. He would not be intimidated by the presence of an unimaginative thug like Krotash.
He accepted a pointer from the Praetor's aide. "As you know, Magnificence, we took Lanus last month. We are consolidating our position there, building our defenses and preparing for a strike against Lalande. After we take Lalande, we will finally be positioned for offensive operations against Earth." As he spoke, his pointer moved along an arc of stars, from Rho Virginis in Romulan space, through Calder, Vadalla, Chi Eridani, 61 Virginis, Beta Hydri, 6 Virginis, and Lanus. The tip of his pointer swept through the arc in seconds, but it had taken his forces over two and a half years of vicious, bloody fighting to make the same trip. The Coalition had fought like cornered ter'ak at every step. In the end, their planets had fallen, and those star systems now formed a dagger aimed at the very heart of the Coalition.
Now for the bad news. His pointer moved downward, to a region of space below the main Romulan axis of advance. He indicated a Coalition salient in Romulan space, comprised of the Romulan star systems Alpha Mensae, Alpha Hydri and Eta Corvi. All captured and held by the Coalition.
"There has been no activity along the Eta Corvi salient. Coalition losses have left them too weak to push farther into our space, but we have insufficient forces in the region to dislodge them. We are currently at a stalemate on that front."
Vokalus' pointer moved again, up to the region above the main Romulan effort, where a second Coalition salient pushed into Romulan space. The Coalition held the Romulan star systems Dessica, Epsilon Virginis, Devron, and Zeta Trianguli.
"Last week, I launched an attack to reclaim Zeta Trianguli. The attack was repulsed, but Coalition defenses were seriously weakened. I am diverting forces from the main axis to reinforce our fleet at Terix. Once they are in place, we will strike again, and close this salient."
Vokalus faced the Praetor squarely, the pointer clutched behind his back. "That is the current situation, Magnificence. May I answer any questions?"
The Praetor's expression was unreadable as he considered Vokalus' words. He turned to Krotash, who had a strangely eager gleam in his eyes. "Admiral, would you comment on the Grand Marshal's analysis?"
"Certainly, Praetor. It is nothing but crallit dung." He favored Vokalus with a malicious smile, clearly enjoying himself. "Vokalus has squandered our forces and mismanaged this war from the beginning. We went into this conflict with a three-to-one advantage in ships. It now stands at two-to-one, under the Grand Marshal's careful leadership. He took Lanus the second month of the war, but could not hold it. Just last month he took it again, after nearly three years. Instead of exploiting our victory, he is shifting forces to another front. His over-cautious strategy will bleed us dry before we ever claim the victory we should have seen in the war's first year."
Vokalus gritted his teeth and stoically endured Krotash's smug tirade, although at that moment he would have liked nothing more than to reach across the holographic display and choke the life from him. Instead, he appealed to the Praetor's memory. "Magnificence, surely you remember the reasons for my strategy? We lost Lanus the first time because we over-reached. We fought the Coalition as if they were Klingons. They are not. They have a cleverness and cunning the Klingons have never shown. The Coalition did not launch a frontal attack against our warships in the Lanus system. They searched for and interdicted our auxiliary vessels. We lost our repair tenders. Our supply ships. Spare parts. Torpedoes. Without our logistic tail, we could not hold Lanus."
"Yes," Krotash sneered, "Under your leadership, a small force of Starfleet frigates--frigates!--was able to find and destroy the resupply convoy of an entire fleet. Weren't they led by that very same frigate that somehow destroyed an entire battle group at Pearl Haven? And wasn't it that same frigate that delayed the arrival of your reserves long enough for the remnants of the Coalition fleet to escape at Chi Eridani? Your inability to decisively defeat these vermin sickens me."
That Krotash had the confidence to hurl such grave insults at the Grand Marshal in the presence of the Praetor was quite revealing. I am being replaced, Vokalus realized. He made one last appeal to the Praetor, "Magnificence, we learned much from the first Lanus campaign. We learned not to over-extend our supply lines. We learned to consolidate our gains before launching our next offensive. It is not fast and it is not glorious, but it is the only way to fight these Coalition devils. They have an uncanny way of seeking out and exploiting every exposed weakness. That is why I am reinforcing the Zeta Tri salient. Surely you can see the Coalition's strategy? These two fronts form a set of pincers that threaten Rho Virginis. That is where the major installations, depots and ship yards supporting our main effort are all located. Should they succeed in taking Rho Virginis, our whole axis of advance into Coalition space collapses. I cannot allow that, even if it delays the offensive to take Lalande."
The Praetor sighed. "And I cannot allow this war to drag on endlessly. Admiral Krotash is right, you do not have the stomach to do what is required. I am sorry, Vokalus, but it is time Romulus had a new Grand Marshal." He turned to Krotash. "Are you prepared to take on this responsibility?"
"Yes, Magnificence," Krotash affirmed, making no attempt to hide his satisfaction.
I wonder which pleases him more, Vokalus thought, his appointment or my downfall?
"Congratulations, Krotash," Vokalus said, wearily, "You are now Grand Marshal of the Romulan Star Empire. What will you do with that responsibility?"
"What you should have done years ago, had you the stomach. I am going to consolidate our fleets and launch an immediate assault on Earth. I will use our numerical advantage to smash any Coalition forces that stand in my way. I will demand the human's surrender, and punish them heavily if they refuse. I will do the same with the Andorians, and the Tellarites. And finally the Vulcans."
Vokalus could barely believe what he heard. Krotash is a fool. He has learned nothing from the fighting over the past three years. "Your plan will not work," Vokalus stated.
Krotash showed no anger at Vokalus' disparagement. Why should he? Today, he finally received what he had always craved: Power and recognition. "Such arrogance does not become you, Vokalus. You cannot believe you are the only one who can win this war."
All is lost, Vokalus thought. I have lost my office, replaced by a bloodthirsty fool. The Praetor needs to hear the truth, even if he will not heed it. And even if I am punished for daring to speak it.
Vokalus turned to the Praetor. "Magnificence, not even I can win this war. It is time you heard the truth. You will never hear this from Krotash, and I regret that you did not hear it from me sooner, but... the war is lost. It was lost in the first month, when we failed to keep Vulcan out of the conflict. Our best strategy is the one I was pursuing--a steady, methodical advance to minimize our losses, until we can negotiate a treaty. What Krotash plans is madness. It will result in a bloodbath for both sides."
"You speak treason!" Krotash hissed.
The Praetor silenced him with an upraised hand, but his eyes were locked on Vokalus. "My own Grand Marshal was convinced my cause was lost the whole time he prosecuted the war on my behalf? Is this truly what you would have me believe, Vokalus? Speak!"
Vokalus bowed his head, "I am but a soldier," he said, "and service to the Praetor is my highest calling. I judged that I served you best by preserving your military forces in the face of an enemy we could never defeat."
The Praetor's face turned a dark shade of green. "And I judge that you have exhibited craven cowardice in the face of the enemy, and treason and treachery in the face of your Praetor. You will stand before an Imperial Commission to answer for these crimes." He turned to his Chief Minister, "Pyral, summon the Palace Guard and have Vokalus confined. Immediately."
Krotash could barely contain his glee. In the space of a single day--no, a single hour--he had been elevated to the highest position in the Romulan military, AND the self-righteous, arrogant Vokalus charged with treason. Had there ever been a more perfect day in the history of Romulus?
Vokalus did not struggle as he was lead away. His Praetor had spoken. I am a soldier, first, last and always, and a soldier obeys his Praetor.
#####
Chosin, with 2nd Fleet at Lalande III, 12 Feb 2159
T'Pol approved the supply requisition and sent it on to Second Fleet, clearing her in-box of the last of her administrative tasks. Tomorrow would bring another influx of forms and memorandums, up from her department heads and down from Fleet, but she did not mind. Unlike Trip, the routine tasks involved in running a ship--what he called 'paperwork'--did not bother her. Rather, she found the mindless, repetitive nature of the tasks to be soothing; almost meditative.
She shut down the terminal and stood, considering her next move. She had two hours before Admiral Chu's operations briefing at Starbase 7, but no ship's business was currently demanding her attention. T'Pol reflected back on the initial days of the war, when every waking moment of every day had been filled with urgent tasks. She took a moment to appreciated the difference that a fully-manned vessel with sixty-nine experienced crewmen made in reducing her daily workload.
She realized that could change drastically following the op brief, depending on the nature of whatever operation had escaped from the staff sections of the Joint Coalition Command. The entire fleet might become a beehive of frantic activity, or it might only effect one squadron. She could only wait and see.
Early evening was normally the time she set aside for physical conditioning with Trip, but he was meeting with the BuShips Detachment on Starbase 7, passing on yet another engineering innovation from his fertile mind. T'Pol allowed herself a small surge of pride at her mate's acknowledged expertise in his chosen field. Early in the war, she had been concerned that such displays of engineering prowess would strengthen BuShip's determination to have Trip transferred back to Earth. That was before Chosin and her crew distinguished themselves by earning an unprecedented four Starfleet Unit Citations: The Pearl Haven raid; interdicting the Romulan resupply convoy at the First Battle of Lanus; the rear-guard action off of Chi Eridani; and a series of screening operations at 6 Virginis.
Admiral Chu, convinced that Commander Tucker's presence on Chosin was essential to T'Pol's continued success, fought tooth and nail to keep him in Second Fleet. BuShips eventually capitulated in the face of Chu's dogged resistance, and their attempts to get Trip reassigned to Earth ceased. At least for the moment.
A pang of hunger reminded T'Pol that she had eaten a light breakfast and completely skipped lunch. If past history were any guide, Chu's op brief would be a marathon; not something she wanted to face on an empty stomach. She left her small office adjoining the Captain's stateroom and made her way to the mess deck. The serving line had already closed, but there was usually something suitable in stasis left over from dinner, and if not, the cooks would not mind preparing her a simple salad.
The mess deck was not empty when she arrived. In fact, it was rarely empty; between meals it became the crew's de facto gathering place. The table closest to the drink dispenser was occupied by no less than seven off-duty crewmen.
Petty Officer Trinh was the first to notice her presence. "Khart-lan! Why aren't you at Chu's op brief?"
"It was delayed until 2000 to give his staff more time to prepare," T'Pol answered.
Trinh shook his head. "Must be nice to get all the extra time you need. When the plan finally gets down to us, it'll be the last minute. Mark my words; we'll all be jumping through our asses to get it done."
His statement was met by grins and snorts of laughter from the others, although T'Pol could find nothing amusing about it. "I must concur with your assessment," she said, "I have also noticed a propensity for the upper echelons of command to consume most of the planning and preparation time for any operation."
"Any idea what they've got in the works for us, Captain?" The question was from Crewman Leach, one of Trip's electricians. She was fairly new to Chosin, aboard less than six months, but she'd seen action at the second battle of Lanus and its aftermath, when Chosin provided cover for the Coalition's retreat to Lalande III. T'Pol noted again that only members of Operations Department ever addressed her as 'Khart-lan'; it seemed to be an unspoken rule, one that existed for reasons she would probably never understand.
"I have some ideas, but it would be premature to discuss them," T'Pol replied.
"Not premature at all," Trinh said, with a smug look. "It's pretty clear what's going on."
"And that is what, exactly?" Leach inquired. The occupants of the table all turned expectant looks toward Trinh.
"Just look out there," he said, gesturing toward the mess deck's large window. "Quite a sight, isn't it?" Warships were everywhere, moored together in clusters. Shuttlepods and cargo lighters swarmed between the clusters, carrying supplies, provisions and personnel. In the distance, the still-unfinished structure of Starbase 7 glittered in the light of Lalande 25372, dwarfing the nearby vessels. "Lot of ships, huh? Look over there--a flotilla of Vulcan cruisers. And there--an Andorian battle squadron. And more new construction coming out of spacedock all the time."
"Yes," Leach agreed, impatiently, "It's very impressive. But you said you know what's going on."
"And so I do. I monitor the bridge displays every day. Half the corvettes in Second Fleet are out on picket duty, making sure Romulan scouts and probes stay beyond sensor range. And there are the decoy drones, hundreds of them, warping out a couple of light years, then back again. And every day, there are fewer ships moored here. They are quietly slipping away, amid all the decoys, two or three at a time, always departing on random vectors."
Trinh paused, taking a moment to bask in the undivided attention he was receiving, "Starfleet is clearly redeploying Second and Third Fleets, and they don't want the Romulans to know they're doing it. That can only mean one thing. We're reinforcing Zeta Tri, Eta Corvi, or both, in preparation for a strike at the Romulan bases on Rho Virginis."
"So, Chosin is going to Zeta Tri or Eta Corvi?" The question was from Crewman Froehner, another recent addition to the crew. She had reported aboard about the same time as Crewman Leach, and worked in Stores Division.
Trinh shook his head. "I didn't say that. In fact, I believe Chosin is staying here. Starfleet will keep a small force behind to harass the Romulans and keep them occupied. Who do you think Admiral Chu will assign to a mission like that?"
"Chosin."
"Exactly."
T'Pol was impressed by Trinh's strategic analysis. He had reached the same conclusion as her, but had done so with much less raw data. "I must concur with your assessment," she told him. "It mirrors my own analysis."
Trinh smiled, obviously pleased by T'Pol's concurrence.
"However," she continued, addressing the whole table, "operational security requires that you keep this speculation to yourselves."
They nodded their agreement, "Yes, Khart-lan."
T'Pol turned to go to the stasis unit, but her path was blocked by Petty Officer McCourtney, bearing a tray of food.
"Dinner is served," he proclaimed, grandly. "Have a seat, Cap'n."
T'Pol took the indicated seat, and McCourtney placed the tray in front of her. It held a salad without dressing, a small bowl of sliced peaches, a cup of chamomile tea, and silverware. "Thank you," she said, "this is quite satisfactory."
McCourtney smiled and nodded. "Not bad for a plumber, eh?" It was a standing joke. PO3 McCourtney, one of Chosin's original crew members, had signed on as a cook, but for the first year of the war he had been required to work as a pipe fitter. He eventually reclaimed a position in the galley, but was still known to one and all as 'the plumber'.
"Let me know if I can get you anything else, ma'am," he said. "There's still some blackberry cobbler, but no ice cream, I'm afraid."
"Ooh! Ooh! I'll have some cobbler," PO3 Hodges exclaimed from across the table. He was a Torpedo Tech, and like McCourtney, an original Chosin crew member.
"Like hell you will," McCourtney growled. "You had three helpings at dinner. You're probably the reason we're out of ice cream."
Hodges feigned an injured expression. "It takes a lot of food to sustain me. Down in the torpedo rooms we work--something you wouldn't know about."
"Is that so? Truth is, you wouldn't last a week cooking for the hungry mob on this ship."
"That's a load of crap." Hodges turned to T'Pol, "Khart-lan, you know what we both do. Tell him who has the toughest job."
An expectant hush fell over the table as they awaited her judgment. She gave each of them a calculating look. "Based on the way you are both loitering on the mess deck, it would appear that neither of your jobs are especially challenging. I will ask Chief Verley to rectify that situation at his earliest opportunity." She calmly sipped her tea as the table exploded into loud hoots and guffaws.
After the last strain of laughter subsided, Crewman Froehner began to speak, "Captain, is it true that you, uh, that you have a, ummm..." Her voice trailed away into uncertain silence, and she blushed as all eyes at the table turned in her direction.
She gathered her courage and forged ahead. "Captain, do you really keep a stuffed bear in your pocket?" she blurted.
McCourtney recoiled in horror. "Moose! You can't ask the Captain that. It's personal."
Froehner seemed to shrink into herself at McCourtney's admonition. T'Pol glanced around the table; from the expressions she saw, it seemed everyone shared McCourtney's indignation at Froehner's forwardness. They are trying to protect my privacy, she realized.
Then McCourtney's exact words sank in. "Crewman Froehner, is your first name not Linda?" T'Pol asked.
"Yes ma'am, it is," Froehner replied, in a subdued voice. "I'm sorry if I pried--"
T'Pol silenced her with an upraised hand, and turned to McCourtney. "You called her 'Moose'. Why?"
A puzzled expression crossed McCourtney's face. "Uh, that's her nickname, ma'am."
A nickname. I thought as much. T'Pol's eyes narrowed fractionally. She had her own experiences with a nickname, none of them pleasant. As an adolescent, she had reached the age when Vulcans were expected to begin exercising a modicum of discipline over their emotions. It was a trying time for T'Pol. She lagged well behind her peers in the ability to control her feelings, and her active mind and restless spirit only made things worse. When the elders gathered the youth for their daily instruction in meditation, she was always the last to enter a meditative state, and the first to leave it. She would then have to endure the elders disapproving attention as she unsuccessfully tried not to fidget. Her constant (for a Vulcan) state of motion caused her peers to name her padan-grazhiv, literally 'spinning dust'. In human terms, a dust devil.
T'Pol found the moniker to be extremely hurtful, yet any attempt to complain or retaliate brought charges that she could not control her emotions. She could only endure in silence, while her peers used the name ruthlessly. They were adolescents, after all, and while they had better control than T'Pol, they were still subject to childish cruelties and petty impulses, especially toward those who didn't quite fit in.
T'Pol looked McCourtney in the eye. "Petty Officer McCourtney, you will address Crewman Froehner by her proper name."
McCourtney's puzzled look mutated into bewilderment. "Uh, aye, Captain."
Froehner had her own bewildered look. "Dear God, no! Please ma'am, don't make them call me Linda!"
T'Pol began to suspect that she had misjudged the situation. "You prefer the name of a large, ungainly mammal to your own given name?"
"Absolutely, ma'am."
T'Pol could detect no hesitation or uncertainty in Froehner's answer. "Why?" she asked.
"I played sweeper on my high school soccer team. As you can see, I'm a pretty big girl, and I'm faster than I look. Any attacker who entered my half of the field did so at her own risk. She was gonna lose the ball, and she usually ended up on her butt. I earned the name Moose." Froehner's pride was evident, even to T'Pol.
"Just look at me, ma'am," she continued, "I'm a plain-looking girl, and that's being charitable. I'm certainly no swan. Sure, when I was younger, that bothered me some, but I've since accepted what I am. I'm a moose. A big, strong moose. I wouldn't want to be a swan, now, even if I could."
"Very well, you may continue to be 'Moose' to your shipmates, although I will not use the term. My own experience with nicknames was less positive than yours."
"Really?" Froehner asked, "You had a nickname?"
"When I was young. They called me Padan-grazhiv. Dust devil."
T'Pol saw the barely-restrained delight at her revelation on the faces around the table. She was not quite sure why she had told them--she had never willingly talked about it with anyone else before, save Trip--but it had felt like the right thing to do. The longer she was around humans, the more she trusted those feelings, even when they led her to do things that would have appalled her seven years ago.
"Dust devil? Ma'am, that's an AWESOME nickname!" Froehner exclaimed.
"Not in the manner it was used. I was not pleased to be known as such."
"Don't worry, Captain. No one will hear it from us." Froehner looked around, defying anyone to disagree. There were solemn nods from around the table.
"And Captain?" she continued, "Just forget the question I asked. I was out of line. I'm sorry."
T'Pol considered Froehner's earnest expression, and decided to make another leap of faith. She reached into her side pocket and pulled out a small, stuffed bear. "You were not out of line," she said, "A stranger has no business asking that question, but you are a member of my crew."
She handed the bear to Froehner. "His name is Hey-you, and he was a gift from my husband, given to me when I left for the Vulcan cruiser Ki'Vaar."
Froehner took the bear, her eyes wide with wonder, "Awww, he's SO cute!" To T'Pol's amusement, Froehner's next statements were directed at Hey-you; "So you were with the Captain on Ki'Vaar, huh? Wow, I'll bet you have some stories to tell."
"I suppose this will now become common knowledge around the ship," T'Pol observed.
Crewman Leach spoke up, "Uh, actually, Captain, it's already common knowledge down in Engineering. We just don't speak of it outside the department."
"Indeed?" T'Pol said. "I did not know. Your forbearance is appreciated, but it is no longer required."
Froehner handed Hey-you back to T'Pol, who returned him to the pocket where he spent his days. The table lapsed into a comfortable silence, and T'Pol took advantage of the opportunity to resume her meal. With seven humans present, she knew the silence was only temporary.
PO1 Nayar from Life Support proved her right, "Captain, is there anything to the rumors that a USO show is coming to the Starbase?"
T'Pol nodded. "They have tentatively scheduled something for next week, but that is all I know."
"You're going, aren't you?" he asked, his face the picture of innocent curiosity.
"I have been to one USO show," T'Pol said, firmly. "It was enough."
They all knew the show she referred to. Everyone in Second Fleet knew of it. The featured act was the comedian Vance Digby, a balding little gnome of a man...
##
Starbase 3, Beta Hydri system, 7 April, 2158
"...So the Admiral says to me, You can't tell that joke. Why not? I say. Because it's insulting to the Tellarites, he says."
Digby slowly pans the audience, "Insulting to the Tellarites? Don't they LIKE that?"
He smirks, and waits for the laughter to subside. "So I tell the Admiral another joke. Sorry, he says, can't use that one, either. The Vulcans will consider it vulgar. REALLY? I said. But don't Vulcans think ANYTHING a human says is vulgar? I mean, I could quote Surak to a Vulcan, and he'd say I was vulgar. Am I right?"
"I give it another try. Nope, the Admiral says. That'll make the Andorians mad. You gotta be kidding me. Just my BREATHING makes an Andorian mad!"
"Well, I didn't give up. I finally found a joke the Admiral would approve. You wanna hear it? You sure? Okay, here it is: A Vulcan, a Tellarite, and an Andorian walk into a bar... AND THEY DON'T DO A DAMN THING!!!"
He waits for the laughter to subside. "Thank you all, you were great tonight. Thank you. And how about that Mandy Knight? What a voice, Huh? Am I right?" More applause, even louder.
"Before we go, I'm told there's another celebrity here tonight. One of Starfleet's own, in fact. Would you like to meet her? Yeah? Okay, then." Digby peers out into the audience. "Commander T'Pol, please stand up."
The show is in the repair hanger of Starbase 3; actually four bays that open into one large space. Makeshift bleachers have been installed, and three thousand are in attendance, mostly from Second and Third fleets, but also MACO's and civilian support personnel. T'Pol is sitting behind the section reserved for Chosin's crew, next to Trip.
Digby continues, more insistently. "Commander T'Pol, You can't hide. I know you're out there. Admiral Chu said so."
Her own crew gives her up; shouting, whooping, and pointing. "Over here! She's over here!"
Digby follows the commotion and picks her out of the crowd. "Ah, there you are. Come on up, Commander. I promise I won't bite."
A grinning Trip encourages her. *Go ahead, darling. Your public awaits. This is your big chance to break into show biz!*
T'Pol casts a suspicious look at Trip. *If I discover you had ANYTHING to do with this,* she sends, *I will turn you over to BuShips myself. Immediately after I exact my revenge on Admiral Chu.*
*I thought Vulcans didn't partake of primitive emotions like revenge.*
*In this case, I will make an exception.*
Reluctantly, she stands and makes her way to the stage, amid enthusiastic applause. Chosin's crew seems to be intent on destroying their own vocal chords; if it is possible for sixty-nine humans to out-yell three thousand, they are doing it. T'Pol considers the whole affair to be unseemly and lacking in dignity, but... but her crew is enjoying it. They have given so much of themselves for me, she thinks, I can certainly spare a little of my dignity on their behalf.
Digby motions her over next to him, then presents her to the audience with an exaggerated flourish, "I give you Starfleet's own Commander T'Pol, terror of the Romulan Empire!" There is thunderous applause. T'Pol pushes her discomfort aside and waits calmly as events, quite beyond her ability to control, unfold around her. Digby hands her a microphone, which she takes gingerly, as if it might be a venomous life form.
"You're Captain of the USS Chosin?" he asks.
"Yes."
The ship that has three Unit Citations?"
"Yes."
And destroyed over three dozen Romulan vessels, including fourteen in one engagement?"
"Yes."
He waits, expectantly. T'Pol regards him with a calm gaze. "Uh... can you say anything other than 'Yes'?" he asks, when it's clear no amplification will be forthcoming.
"Yes." The titters of amusement from the audience become full-fledged laughs, and Digby laughs along with them. He is clearly being upstaged, but his audience is loving it. "Okay then, please do."
She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Perhaps if you ask a question requiring more than a one-word response?"
"Ah. Right." Digby scratches his head, and the audience waits expectantly. "So, Commander, what's it like living among humans?"
"You do not know?"
More laughter from the crowd; Digby snorts his amusement. "I mean, what's it like for a Vulcan living among humans?"
T'Pol takes a moment to consider her answer. "Imagine a room full of wild primates. Now imagine they have been doused with scalding-hot water. Living with humans is not unlike that."
Digby almost hurts himself, he is laughing so hard. T'Pol stands with a bland expression and waits for him to recover.
"Other than acting... like scalded apes," he gasps between chuckles, "how has your crew taken to serving under the only Vulcan officer in Starfleet?"
T'Pol turns and looks directly at the section where Chosin's crew is sitting. There is a noticeable pause before she answers. "They have honored me with their acceptance, and they serve me with courage and integrity. Any success Chosin has achieved is a direct result of their hard work and dedication. No captain could ask for more than they have given to me."
Digby's first instinct is the humorous response, but he realizes this moment does not call for humor. Instead, he nods approvingly as the audience applauds T'Pol's response. He notices the crew of Chosin have sprung to their feet, clapping furiously. Their pride in their Captain is obvious, and Digby has the answer to his question...
##
"I will not attend another USO show without assurance that I will not become part of the entertainment," T'Pol stated firmly. "That is something with which I am not comfortable."
Trinh was not convinced. "Really? You seemed perfectly comfortable to me. In fact, you were great up there. You played Digby like a cat toying with a mouse. The poor guy never had a chance."
Hodges took up the refrain, "C'mon, Khart-lan, you HAVE to go. The whole ship will be--OW!"
'Moose' Froehner kicked Hodges under the table and glared at him. "Captain said she's not going, so drop it," she hissed.
Hodges looked around the table, "Did you see that?" he said, in a hurt tone. "She assaulted me! Damn near broke my leg."
"Yes, a most grievous injury," T'Pol agreed, "potentially life-threatening. Chief Boryez must be informed of your condition immediately."
"Anyone else want to bother the Captain about the USO show?" Froehner looked around the room, a belligerent expression on her face. "If so, they're gonna have to deal with the Moose. And in that case, not even Boryez will save you." There were many amused grins, but nobody accepted her offer.
"Thank you, Crewman," T'Pol said to Froehner. "Your methods, while unorthodox, appear to be effective."
"Oh, they're effective, alright."
T'Pol took the last sip of tea, "I must leave for the Admiral's op brief," she said. "Thank you for the food, and for the conversation."
She stood to leave, and McCourtney hurried to her side, relieving her of the food tray. "I'll take that, ma'am."
She nodded, and left the room. Nobody spoke until she was well out of earshot--Vulcan earshot--then Trinh shook his head. "A teddy bear. Who would've thought it?"
#####
Trip boarded the shuttlepod, still chuckling at BuShips latest attempt to lure him to Earth. A promotion to Captain; my own private, multi-million dollar warp research facility; a team of the Coalition's leading warp scientists and propulsion engineers; and an unlimited research budget. They must think I'm a blooming idiot to turn down such a sweet deal, Trip thought. But then, none of them are married to T'Pol. No warp core I've ever worked on can quicken my heart or leave me breathless like she does. No set of field equations can match the passion she conceals beneath that stoic Vulcan exterior, a passion she reveals only to me.
Once again, as he did so often, Trip thanked God that neither of them had given up on the other during the tumultuous, confusing, and painful early years of their relationship. The sense of fulfillment, the completeness, the rightness he now felt with T'Pol was worth all the pain they had both experienced, and more.
"Back to Chosin, Commander?"
"No, Emeku, I have another appointment, on Enterprise. Shouldn't take more than an hour, though."
"No hurry, Commander, I don't mind waiting. In fact, I'll enjoy the chance to see Enterprise. She was my second choice for a duty assignment."
"Really? What was your first choice?"
"Chosin, of course."
Trip gave the pilot a closer look. Crewman Emeku was busy at the shuttlepod's controls, pulling clear of the docking bay. The sheer wall of Starbase 7 slowly receded, then spun from view as he turned onto a heading for Enterprise. "And why was Chosin your first choice?" Trip ask.
"I was living on Pearl Haven when the Romulans attacked," he replied, simply, "I'd been hiding in the hills for weeks when Captain T'Pol brought in the MACO's and destroyed the Romulan battle group. We were liberated that day, and I enlisted in Starfleet as soon afterward as I could. You must understand what the survivors of the Pearl Haven colony feel for Captain T'Pol and Chosin. I can promise you that after the war, anyone from Chosin will be welcome on Pearl Haven with open arms. Especially Captain T'Pol. They might even erect a statue of her in front of Town Hall." Emeku was grinning when he said it, but Trip wasn't at all sure he was kidding. Wouldn't that be a sight? T'Pol, immortalized in some heroic pose. The thought brought a smile to Trip's face.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at Enterprise. Emeku called the watch officer on duty--nobody Trip knew--for permission to dock, then maneuvered the shuttlepod onto the indicated port with practiced ease. Trip made a point of complimenting him on his skill before boarding Enterprise.
He waved-off the crewman who was waiting to greet him--also nobody he knew. "I think I can find my way around," he told him, with a smile. He set off at a rapid pace, wanting to be back on Chosin before T'Pol returned from the op brief. The old girl hasn't changed much, he thought, as he navigated through Enterprise's familiar passageways.
In short order he arrived at his destination, and pressed the door chime to announce his presence. "Evening, Hoshi," he said, as the door slid open.
Lieutenant Hoshi Sato greeted him with a quick hug and a bright smile. "Come in, Commander."
He followed her into her quarters. "Sochya eh dif, Hoshi." Peace and long life, Hoshi.
She gave him a surprised look, but responded smoothly, "Dif-tor heh smusma, Zhel-lan. Vuhlkansu t'du weh-rom." Live long and prosper, Commander. Your Vulcan is much improved.
"Nirsh-dvel nash-veh; saven-tor nash-veh T'Pol." I have no choice; T'Pol is teaching me.
Hoshi giggled, and Trip relished the sound. He had not realized how much he missed her bubbly personality until she was no longer around. "What can I do for you, Commander?" she asked, reverting to English.
"I want to learn T'Pol's clan name," Trip said. "I was hoping you could help me with that."
"Oh. Ummm... I don't know, Commander. Vulcan clan names are very... difficult... for humans."
"Believe me, Hoshi, I know. That's why I came to you. I figured you could help me, if anyone can."
"I can try. But it seems to me that T'Pol might actually be better suited for the job."
Trip acknowledged Hoshi's observation with a grin, "Well, yeah, except that I want it to be a surprise. Today is our fourth wedding anniversary, and this is my gift to her."
The romantic in Hoshi melted at that. "A worthy cause, Commander; I will do my best. Uh, what is her clan name?"
Trip extended a piece of paper. Hoshi took it and studied it silently for nearly a minute. "Sh'hiran'lin'iijyliunh'rei'iy'iukn'hy'wen'lhia'ehrm'n," she said, slowly. Then again, faster, "Sh'hiran'lin'iijyliunh'rei'iy'iukn'hy'wen'lhia'ehrm'n"
"That's it!" Trip said, enthusiastically. "How the hell do you DO that?"
Hoshi shrugged. "It's a gift. I think the best thing to do is to break it down into small chunks for you..."
After fifteen minutes of Hoshi's tutelage, T'Pol's clan name was rolling from Trip's tongue with the ease of a native. Hoshi was duly impressed, and said as much.
Trip responded with a self-deprecating shrug, "I help T'Pol with her emotions, and she helps me with... well, with everything else. In addition to learning Vulcan, She's helping me with my memory, and my analytical abilities. I've got the entire table of normalized warp coefficients memorized to three decimal places, and I can solve a fourth-degree polynomial in my head. Not a big deal, really--T'Pol can do a fifth-degree in hers. Still, it comes in handy on the job."
Hoshi shook her head. "I don't know, it sounds like a real grind, to me."
"It does, doesn't it?" Trip agreed. "But here's the dirty little secret." He lowered his voice, conspiratorially, "It's easy. T'Pol just slips into my mind, and shows me what to do, then--poof--I can do it. I became fluent in Vulcan in just two years. We work out In the evenings, and she's teaching me a Vulcan fighting style called suus mahna. We've only been doing it, off and on, since the war started, but now I'm nearly as good as T'Pol. Not as strong or as fast as her, but I know the techniques. I could probably give Malcolm a run for his money."
Hoshi giggled again, "Malcolm would be jealous if he knew. He collects martial art techniques like a kid collects baseball cards, and he's been wanting to learn Vulcan styles for a long time."
Trip observed the way Hoshi's eyes lit up when the topic turned to Malcolm. "Speaking of Malcolm, how are you two doing?" he asked, gently.
She blushed, but recovered quickly. "I'm sure Commander Reed is doing just fine."
Trip crossed his arms and gazed sternly at her, "Don't give me that crap. This is me, Trip. Not 'Commander Tucker', but Trip. The guy that's known you since you were a wet-behind-the-ears Ensign. Now, tell me about you and Mal. The truth."
Hoshi sighed. "The truth is, I'm completely smitten with him, and sometimes I think he reciprocates. But then he gets all... all First-Officery with me. All by-the-book. You know how Malcolm is."
"Yeah, I know."
Hoshi shakes her head. "Sometimes I just want to give up on him, I get so frustrated. Then I remember how you and T'Pol used to butt heads all the time, and... well, just look at you now."
"Hoshi, have you told him how you feel?"
She cast her eyes downward, a miserable look on her face. "No."
Trip shook his head. "You can talk to every alien species we've ever met, but you can't talk to Malcolm. Where's the sense in that?"
"The problem is I never know who I'm talking to--Malcolm, or the First Officer. He just doesn't seem to know how to juggle the two roles."
"I've had similar issues with T'Pol," Trip admitted. "Sometimes when we're alone, she'll--how did you say it?--she'll get all Captainy with me."
"What do you do?"
Trip grimaced. "Last time it happened I'm afraid I lost my temper. It had been a long, frustrating day, and I snapped at her. I--I ripped into her pretty bad."
Hoshi's eyes widened as she tried to imagine the magnitude of a confrontation between the indomitable T'Pol and the irrepressible Trip. "Oh, my. That must have been quite a scene."
"You would think so, wouldn't you?" Trip said, "But it wasn't." He was silent for a long time, before continuing, "Instead of slapping me down, she apologized to me. I mean, I was being a jerk to her, and she... she thought... she actually thought she deserved the things I said. She was practically begging me to forgive her."
Hoshi began to feel a little uncomfortable at Trip's evident shame. "I'm sorry, Commander."
"No need to be sorry, Hoshi; the story has a happy ending. After I cooled off, I made damn sure T'Pol knew she'd done nothing wrong, and I apologized to her. Profusely. She accepted my apologies with her typical grace. Didn't even make me grovel, which is much more than I deserved. In public, she's the Captain, no questions asked. I've always supported her. In private, she's learning--no, we're both learning--to keep the two roles separate; Captain and Wife, Chief Engineer and Husband. Malcolm can do the same, but he needs someone to show him how."
Hoshi looked doubtful, "I don't know. He can be pretty stubborn..."
"More stubborn than T'Pol?"
She had to smile at that.
#####
"You have a message, Commander," Crewman Emeku said, when Trip returned to the shuttlepod.
"Who's it from?"
"Chosin. They've received a comm addressed to you from someone at the civilian passenger terminal. A Vulcan."
"A Vulcan?" Trip's brow wrinkled as he tried to imagine who it could be. He drew a blank. "Let's see the message."
Emeku called it up on one of the shuttlepod's data displays, and Trip leaned in to read it. "I'll be damned. It's from Kov!"
"Kov?"
"Yeah. A Vulcan I met once." Trip gazed absently at the message on the screen while recalling past events, "I helped him with some repairs to his ship--nice kid, but not much of an engineer. He was with a group of outcast Vulcans, uh, the v'tosh ka'tur. Vulcans without logic. They don't suppress their emotions like normal Vulcans."
"Does he need more repairs?"
"Don't think so. It says he wants to meet me." Trip looked up from the display, "Feel like making a side trip? How long to get to the PAX terminal from here?"
Emeku entered coordinates into the nav system. "Twenty minutes, sir."
"Sounds good," Trip said, let's go."
"Aye, sir."
Thirty minutes later, Trip was standing in the small central lobby of Lalande III's only orbital passenger terminal. Eight gates were evenly spaced around the perimeter, each one leading to a docking port. A small snack bar and a news stand were the only amenities. There were dozens of chairs, and a scattering of people, but only one with pointed ears.
Trip grinned and made his way to the lone figure. "Hello, Kov."
Kov turned at the sound of Trip's voice, and quickly stood. "Commander Tucker. Thank you for coming."
Trip looked him up and down. He appeared to have lost some weight; it looked good on him. "What, no smile for me?"
"No commander. I am no longer v'tosh ka'tur. I have embraced the disciplines of Surak. The true disciplines, that were revealed when the Kir'shara was found, not the High Command's self-serving fabrications."
"Did you come in on your old ship? The Vahklas?" Trip asked the question nonchalantly, as if he were inquiring about the weather, but he was very much interested in the answer. If Vahklas was in-system, then Trip was going to arrange a meeting with a certain Vulcan named Tolaris, and it would not be to exchange pleasantries. He has much to answer for, Trip thought, grimly, starting with the forced mind-rape of my wife. I will relish practicing my suus mahna skills on his smug face.
"No, Commander. I left Vahklas over a year ago. I have booked passage on the commercial ship Polaris Maru." Trip didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved, although disappointment seemed to be the preponderate emotion.
"What brings you to Lalande III?" Trip asked. "Especially now? In about three weeks, we're gonna be up to our eyebrows in Romulans."
Kov's confusion at the figure of speech was quite evident, and not at all surprising. Even T'Pol is stumped by the occasional human expression, Trip thought, although it happens to her much less frequently, these days.
Trip switched to Vulcan, partly to clarify his statement, and partly to show off; "I meant that a Romulan attack is expected in three weeks and Lalande III will not be safe. All civilians are being evacuated from the colony; why come here now?"
Kov masked his surprise at Trip's unexpected facility with Vulcan, and replied in kind, "I am on my way to Earth. I stopped here specifically to speak with you."
"Indeed. Of what would you speak?" Trip asked.
Kov reverted to English. "I wish to join Starfleet, and I believe that a favorable recommendation from you would help me attain that goal."
Trip stared in disbelief for several seconds, before he spoke "Starfleet?" He sat in a chair, and motioned for Kov to join him.
"Yes," Kov confirmed, taking the seat next to Trip, "the Romulans must be stopped, and I wish to do my part."
"I see," Trip said, although he really didn't. "Just out of curiosity, why not join Vulcan's fleet?"
"They would not have me. Not with my past association with the v'tosh ka'tur. But even if I could serve in the Vulcan fleet, my preference would still be Starfleet."
Trip was mystified. "Why?"
"From the start of the war, Romulan strategy was clearly directed at Earth, even though Earth was militarily the weakest member of the Coalition. The Romulans realize that Earth is the glue holding the coalition together. Defeat Earth, and the Coalition falls apart."
"That's all well and good," Trip agreed, "but it doesn't explain why you would want to join Starfleet."
"Vulcan's fleet has had a presence in this region of space for hundreds of years, yet what have they done in that time?" Kov answered his own question, "They have fought two wars and countless skirmishes with the Andorians. Meanwhile, Nausicaan raiders and other pirates still prey on merchant ships throughout the sector. The Orion Syndicate is virtually unchecked as it traffics in slavery and drugs. The Romulans and Klingons built ever-larger military forces without opposition. It appears to me that Starfleet has done more good in this sector in just a few short years than the Vulcan fleet has in centuries. That is why I wish to join Starfleet."
"It sounds like you've given the matter some thought," Trip conceded. "Still... you'll be living with humans. Constantly. On a ship. There'll be no escape from us. Are you sure?"
"I am sure. Humans are certainly worth the effort. Look at the way Commander T'Pol has been accepted by Starfleet. What other species is so tolerant? Would Vulcan give you command of a ship, much less a commission in their service? Would the Andorians? The Tellarites? You know the answer. Only Starfleet is so open."
Trip regarded Kov silently for several moments. He may have embraced Vulcan disciplines, Trip thought, but the passion is still there, not far beneath the surface. "I will give you my recommendation," Trip said, "and I will ask T'Pol to give you one, as well. With her recommendation, Starfleet will not say no."
"Thank you, Commander. I appreciate that." Kov paused, before continuing in a more hesitant voice, "How is Commander T'Pol?"
Trip had to grin. Kov was just about the most transparent Vulcan he had ever met. "You mean 'how is Mrs. Tucker', don't you?"
Kov dropped his eyes. If he had been human, he would have blushed. "Yes. I am sorry, Commander, I do not mean to pry."
"No need to apologize. If you're going to live among humans, you need to learn that it's not a breach of privacy to ask someone how his wife and kids are."
Kov's eyes enlarged fractionally. "Kids? Children? I had not heard--"
"No, no. No kids. It's a figure of speech," Trip said, laughing. "But in answer to your question, Commander T'Pol is doing very well. And so is Mrs. Tucker. In fact, I'm pleased to say she is quite satisfied with our relationship."
Kov seemed pleased as well, in his subdued Vulcan fashion. "I am gratified to hear that. I was astonished when I first learned of your marriage to Commander T'Pol, as were all Vulcans. News of the event spread quickly, though many of my people did not approve."
"Yes, so I've been told."
Kov hesitated again, "Is it true what I have heard? Do you share a mating bond with Commander T'Pol?"
"It's true."
"That is also astonishing," Kov stated. "Your people show no evidence of telepathic abilities. Most Vulcans are convinced that rumors of your bond are exaggerated; that a true mating bond between a Vulcan and a human is not possible."
"I assure you, telepathic abilities or not, my bond with T'Pol is quite real, and also quite strong. And only slightly modified from the Vulcan norm."
"In what way is it modified?" Kov's eyes were bright with interest.
For a Vulcan, he seems to be unusually curious about this topic, Trip thought, but he obliged him with an answer, "Human males have a strong attraction to the opposite sex. That attraction continues after marriage; it's a biological imperative. By comparison, bonded Vulcans lose all desire for anyone other than their mates. T'Pol is completely uninterested in any man but me--it's hard-coded into her genes. I, on the other hand, still feel some attraction to other women."
Kov could barely believe what he was hearing. "Even with the bond?"
"Yes, even with the bond. I'm wired that way. It's human nature."
"Commander T'Pol must have been very disturbed when she discovered this." For some reason, Kov seemed to be unsettled by what Trip was telling him.
Trip nodded in agreement. "She was mortified. Her first thought was that something was wrong with our bond, and that scared the hell out of her."
"I can well understand her fear. For a Vulcan, any dysfunction in the bond with your mate is a terrible thing," Kov confirmed.
"Yes. It took me a while, but I finally explained to her what it really meant. Now, she is quite content with the nature of our bond." More than content, Trip added to himself. She cherishes its nature.
"I do not see how any Vulcan could be content with such a bond."
"I'll try to explain," Trip said. He paused to consider how to phrase his thoughts in a manner a Vulcan would understand, "There was a moment when T'Pol had to make a conscious choice to take me as her mate. It was the biggest decision she has ever made, or will ever make, because it was permanent. There was no going back. Once she chose, the bond made her choice irrevocable."
Trip continued as Kov listened, raptly. "I made that same choice. I chose T'Pol to be my partner, my soul-mate, my wife. But unlike T'Pol, I do not make that choice just one time; I must make it every day. Every day, of every year, for the rest of my life. And every day, I choose her, over all others. Now do you understand?"
"Yes," Kov said, slowly, "yes, I believe I do." He was silent for a moment before continuing, "but I do not understand how you could contemplate such a choice while bonded to T'Pol."
"I'm no expert on Vulcan mating bonds, but I tend to believe that our bond would dissolve if I were to stop caring for T'Pol. At least my side of the bond, anyway. That may sound shocking to a Vulcan, but it's a hard, cold reality of human relationships. To put it in other words, I don't love T'Pol because we're bonded, we're bonded because I love her."
As Trip suspected they might, his words seemed to upset Kov. "Commander, do married human females have a similar biological attraction to other men?" he asked.
"To some degree. It's certainly not as strong." Suspicion bloomed in Trip's mind as the implication of Kov's question sank in, "Now, wait just a second... Kov, you're not... You are! Kov, you're thinking of taking a human mate!"
Kov appeared startled that Trip had so easily discerned his intentions, but did not deny it. "It is doubtful I could ever find a mate among my own kind. Not with my background. My own childhood betrothal did not survive my time with the v'tosh ka'tur. Logically, it seems a human female is my best, perhaps my only, option."
Trip whistled. "You need to have a long talk with T'Pol and me. There's a LOT you need to know that we can tell you."
"I concur," Kov said, "however, my remaining time here is short. My ship departs in a few hours."
"In that case, promise me that T'Pol and I will get an invitation to the wedding."
"I would be honored to have you both present, if such an event ever occurs."
"And, Kov?"
"Yes Commander?"
"Be very careful. Remember, you can only choose once. She must choose every day."
"I--I will remember."
#####
It was late when T'Pol returned to Chosin from the op brief. She had expected a marathon, and Admiral Chu had not disappointed. Her first stop after her return was the bridge, for a quick update from the watch officer. The bridge was deserted, except for Ensign Koussa and Chief Verley. They were sitting and talking quietly, each holding a mug of coffee. They stood when T'Pol entered the room.
"Evening, Khart-lan," Koussa said.
"Please, keep your seats," T'Pol told them. "What is our status, Ensign Koussa?"
"Everything's quiet, ma'am. Nothing to report."
"Very well. I will see you in the morning." She turned to leave, but stopped at a question from Chief Verley.
"Do we have a mission, Captain?"
"Yes, Chief."
"Is it a lulu?"
"No Chief. This one, I believe, is a humdinger."
Verley grinned. "Oh my. That bad? We skipped doozy, and went straight to humdinger?"
"Yes. Second and Third Fleets are being deployed to Eta Corvi for a strike at Rho Virginis. A small Task Force will remain behind at Lalande III to impede the pending Romulan attack, and to inflict as much damage on the attacking forces as possible. Chosin will be part of that Task Force.
"Who will be in charge?"
"Captain Makaroff, on Redoubtable."
Verley grunted. "He'll do. Has a cool head on his shoulders."
"He struck me as a competent officer," T'Pol agreed.
"How many ships in the task force?"
"Nineteen. The cruiser Redoubtable, seven frigates, and eleven corvettes."
Verley shook his head, "You were right Captain, this one's a humdinger. Nineteen ships to slow down the main Romulan effort? That's like sending a mouse to slow down a lion."
"Or sending a frigate against a Battle Group?" T'Pol suggested, in her most innocuous tone.
Verley and Koussa both chuckled at her veiled reference to the Pearl Haven raid. "Yes, ma'am, or that," Verley said. "One thing's for sure, you still know how to draw the tough assignments."
"It is a talent I would just as soon not possess," T'Pol said, dryly. "Captain Makaroff has called a meeting of all his Commanders for tomorrow at 1300. I would like you to accompany me. I will want your opinion of his op order." Over the course of the war, T'Pol had come to rely heavily on Chief Verley's judgment in matters pertaining to planning and operations. He seemed to have a genius for it.
"I'll be there," Verley said. "Would you like the Board of Dirty Tricks to meet afterward?"
The Board of Dirty Tricks was the name Chief Verley had given to a group of Chosin's crew--officers and enlisted--that met before every operation, employing a human technique called 'Brainstorming'. The Captain and her Department Heads were all permanent members, as were most of the senior enlisted personnel on board. The rest of the board members were drawn from Chosin's junior enlisted ranks, and served on a rotating basis, according to a schedule that only Chief Verley seemed to understand. The official mission statement of the board was to 'Confound, confuse and bemuse the forces of the Romulan Star Empire wherever we may find them, through the judicious application of various schemes, preferably those that are foul, dirty, sneaky, underhanded, or just plain unfair.'
Meetings of the board tended to be boisterous affairs. There were only two rules: Rank had no meaning while the board was in session, and no suggestion was too stupid or outlandish to be mentioned. T'Pol became secretly convinced that several board members were deliberately trying to find exceptions to the second rule.
It was hard for T'Pol to understand how anything productive could come from the uncontrolled chaos of these brainstorming sessions, and yet... and yet there had never been a meeting of the Board where she had not come away with modifications to her plans, some of them quite significant.
She vividly recalled one meeting of the board, when Ensign Walder had complained that sometimes she lost her subspace data link with Second Fleet when the countermeasure drones were launched. She had demanded that something be done about it. Trip had explained how interactions between the ship's and a drone's warp fields could create a series of collapsing subspace bubbles, and proceeded to describe the pertinent warp equations. Chief Verley cut him off when he noticed everyone's eyes glazing over. Trip had lapsed into an uncharacteristic silence while he doodled on his PADD, oblivious to the bedlam around him. A good half-hour later, he looked up and announced loudly, to the room at large, "Subspace Chaff."
The comment was so wildly out-of-place that everyone at the meeting stopped talking and turned to stare at him.
He elaborated in the ensuing silence. "I've figured out a way to create sub-space chaff. We build a torpedo with two warp reactors. If the two fields are properly modulated, they will create the same kind of disturbance that we see when the drones are deployed. It will create an affect that acts like a smokescreen to long-range sensors."
T'Pol was very familiar with the concept of chaff. Coalition ships made heavy use of chaff rockets, which were effective against electromagnetic sensors, but useless against subspace sensors. She had immediately grasped the tactical significance of a device like Trip was describing, and his idea had been forwarded to Starfleet. A crash program was instituted, and prototypes, based on the Mark 2 torpedo with a second warp drive in lieu of a warhead, were rushed to the field.
The Romulan fleet was completely unprepared for what they encountered in their first attack on Beta Hydri. Their subspace sensors were rendered ineffective, seriously degrading their fire control and torpedo guidance systems. The Romulan fleet was decisively defeated, and Beta Hydri remained in Coalition hands for several more months. It was the first time in the war that a Romulan Fleet had been denied it's objective. It was also a psychological turning point; the moment when Romulan victory no longer seemed assured, and the idea of a Coalition victory was suddenly more than just wishful thinking.
"Have the Board convene at 1800 tomorrow," T'Pol said, in answer to Verley's question. "That should leave us ample time to return from Makaroff's meeting."
"Aye, Captain."
"If you need me, I will be in my quarters."
"Yes, ma'am. Good night, ma'am."
T'Pol left the bridge, and went down one level to her stateroom. Trip was at the data terminal, working through the items in his in-box.
"Hey, darling. How was the op brief?"
"We received a mission."
"Is it a lulu or a doozy?" Trip asked.
"It is a humdinger."
"Ahhh. That figures. Chosin always gets the tough ones."
"That is what Chief Verley said," T'Pol remarked. "Would you care to hear the details?"
"Not right now. I assume there will be a meeting of the Board?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll hear all about it at the Board. Right now, I only need to know one thing: Do we leave before next Tuesday?
"No. We probably have three weeks."
Trip grinned. "Good. Because I just got a message that the USO has a show coming to Starbase 7 next Tuesday. We're going."
"Trip. I will not go."
"T'Pol, you have to go. You're the Captain. The whole crew will be there."
"I do not wish to become part of Mr. Digby's comedic act."
"That's good, because Digby won't be there."
"There will be no comedian?"
Trip hesitated. "Uh, well, yeah, there'll be a comedian. But it won't be Digby."
"I will not go," T'Pol said, reaffirming her position.
"But you'll be missing out on all the fun."
T'Pol shrugged.
"You need to consider--" Trip stopped mid-sentence, his point completely forgotten, "T'Pol, did you just shrug?
"Yes. I've found it to be a useful gesture. Whenever I am uncertain how to respond to an inane human comment, I can just shrug."
"That's very--Hey, wait a minute! What do you mean, inane?"
"I mean pointless, purposeless. Devoid of intelligence--"
"I know what the word means, T'Pol."
"Did you not ask?"
Trip grinned and rubbed a hand through his hair. "Okay. That's it. I'm putting my foot down. You're going, and I will not take no for an answer."
T'Pol regarded Trip with what he called her 'Vulcan eyes'. "Trip, have you ever been attacked by a moose?"
Trip was rendered completely speechless by the incongruous nature of her question, and T'Pol seized the opportunity to change the subject. "Do you know what today is?" she asked.
All thoughts of the USO show and rampaging mooses (though Trip resolved to inquire about that later) fled from his mind. "Of course, darling. Our anniversary. You didn't think I'd forget, did you?"
"You are only human, as you are so fond of reminding me when you forget other things of equal import."
"T'Pol, nothing else is of equal import. Not to me."
"Nor to me, my love. Remain there; do not move." T'Pol crossed the room and opened a drawer, removing an unadorned wooden box.
"According to my research, the customary gift for a fourth wedding anniversary is fruit or flowers." She extended the box to Trip.
Trip opened the box. Within were many small, colorful fruit, looking somewhat like multi-colored grapes. "They are called hirat," T'Pol said, "They grow wild in the southern lowlands of the Gol province. I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoyed the gift of Georgia peaches you once gave me."
"They look good," Trip said, examining the fruit more closely, "where in the world did you get them?"
"There is a squadron of Vulcan cruisers attached to Second Fleet. They were pleased to help when I explained my purpose."
"We've come a long way, darling," Trip pointed out. "There was a time, not that long ago, when they would have been decidedly unpleased to help you find an appropriate gift for your human husband."
"Indeed. As much tragedy and destruction as this war has caused, it has also undeniably strengthened the bonds of respect and understanding between all Coalition members. I wonder if the Romulans realize just how badly they have miscalculated?"
Trip popped a hirat into his mouth. It was less juicy than a grape--more pulpy but also sweeter. "Mmmm. Not bad," he observed, "Thank you, T'Pol."
"You are welcome, my love."
"T'Pol, we had a traditional human wedding. Do you ever regret not having a Vulcan ceremony?"
"I had a Vulcan ceremony. You must remember--you were there."
Trip grimaced as he recalled the day T'Pol was joined with Koss in a marriage of convenience. It was not a day he remembered with fondness. "I try to forget that day," he said. "It was the day I thought I had lost you forever."
T'Pol raised a hand and lightly touched his cheek. "I will never forget that day," she replied. "It was the day I found you forever. The day our bond first formed. Koss may have been kneeling before me, but in my heart and mind, the vows were for you, my love. In that moment, I knew there would never be anyone else for me. It is a moment I will always cherish."
Trip was silent as he absorbed the feelings of love and contentment that flowed through the light touch on his face. T'Pol let her hand return to her side. "If past history is a guide, you also have a gift that you are 'just itching' to give to me."
Trip blinked rapidly, and swallowed to relieve the tightness that gripped his throat. "Uh, yes, I do. Stand here," He said pointing to the deck in front of him.
He took both of her hands into his, and looked directly into her eyes. Then he cleared his throat and began speaking in Vulcan. "You, of all people, know my heart. You know my mind. You know that I am free to take anyone I wish as my partner. But this I now proclaim, before you, and before God, and upon my honor: T'Pol of clan Sh'hiran'lin'iijyliunh'rei'iy'iukn'hy'wen'lhia'ehrm'n, daughter of T'Les, Captain of Chosin; on this day, at this moment, I choose you, above all others, to be my bonded mate and life partner. As I choose you now, I will choose you again, every moment of every day for the rest of my life. You will forever be my chosen one. T'Pol--my T'Pol--my K'diwa, I am proud to call you adun'a."
T'Pol looked deep into Trip's eyes as he spoke, and felt the warmth of his katra through the hands clasping hers. She could feel emotions surging up from her Vulcan heart; emotions, powerful and unquenchable, that once unleashed, she would be unable to control. At that moment, she also had a choice to make. She could exercise her Vulcan disciplines, and contain the insurgent emotions, or she could allow them free reign, trusting that her adun--her Trip!--would not allow her to be harmed by them. With a sense of exultation that she, perhaps uniquely among her kind, could make such a choice, she gave herself over to her emotions and into the hands of her mate.
Continued in Chapter 11