Author's Note: Nope, T'Pol doesn't know her final transfer orders came through (or that they have been altered). That one happened while the Enterprise was incommunicado. She's about to find out...
Also, for those who haven't, check out YouTube for a video called "STAR TREK 40th Anniversary Tribute 1966-2006". Whoever made it truly gets Trek in ways few others seem to in this day and age.
…
"I've been drivin' all night, my hand's wet on the wheel
There's a voice in my head that drives my heel
It's my baby callin', says I need you here
And it's a half past four and I'm shiftin' gear
When she is lonely and the longing gets too much
She sends a cable comin' in from above
Don't need no phone at all
We've got a thing that's called Radar Love"
-Golden Earring, "Radar Love"
…
Enterprise, In Orbit, Gamma Hydra II Trading Colony
Gamma Hydra was not a populous system. The small Tellarite trading colony on the second planet from the sun had a thriving population of six thousand, and on a busy day you would see as many as three freighters in the system. Which meant, basically, that the ten Starfleet vessels, lone Vulcan and Andorian vessels and two Tellarite cruisers, all in orbit, were more excitement than the locals had seen since the founding some hundred and fifty human years earlier.
Captain Jonathan Archer walked down hallways busy with repair work, crew running back and forth carrying messages to sections where comms were out, the occasional crewman ending a long shift...but they were alive. Most of them. Crewman Hengis approached him from the nearby hallway, a familiar face in her arms.
"Porthos! How are you, buddy?" The beagle crawled out of her grip and into Archer's and eagerly licked his face, seemingly unaware of the tight wrapping on his own front right paw. A small injury only, but since the number of casualties had been so low it had been no problem for Phlox to help out. The stitches would be in for a few days, though. "I know, I know..."
"Will there be anything else, sir?" Hengis looked worried. Oh, right. Crewman Torres. Regulations frowned on that sort of thing, but...
"No, thank you. You can go about your business." He paused. "She likes chocolates."
Hengis blushed furiously, but nodded. "Yessir. I know."
…
His quarters were not entirely in order. Even the locker had rattled loose from the wall, which said something about the hits they'd been taking considering his quarters hadn't been in the targeted areas. Setting Porthos down he set to work straightening up, putting clothes back in their drawers, adjusting crooked photographs, even setting aright his sheets, though he had only himself to blame for the mussed-up bed.
With great effort he resisted lying down on it. Sleep was something to be undertaken very soon, but first he had things to do. People to talk to. Including Trip.
The comms bleeped. "Bridge to captain Archer."
"Go ahead, bridge."
There was definite amusement in Hoshi's voice. "Incoming call from the Heronas. You want to-"
"I'll take it in here, thanks."
Heronas. Something familiar about that name. Damned if he could remember, though. However, since the second Buran-class to arrive was named the James Watt he guessed it had something to do with engineers or inventors. The JW was the prototype, and had up until a month ago been known as the BX-01. Did this mean the NX-class was going to be renamed some day soon?
The image of Trip appeared on his screen, and he had to remove his fallen award box from the seat before sitting down on it.
"Messy apartment, Jon?"
"Very funny, Trip. So how's being captain agreeing with you?"
"Not amazingly. Double the work, triple the responsibilities. But you know that. Speaking of...I have some bad news for you."
"Oh? What might that be?"
Trip actually did look ill at ease with what he was about to say, which suggested something wasn't entirely right. "Well, I'm sad to say I'm going to have to steal an officer from you..."
…
Ten minutes later Archer stood in front of his first officer's quarters, hand poised to knock. He'd been forced to order her off the bridge after she'd started lapsing into speaking Vulcan every now and then. That was ten hours ago. He was just about to-
"Enter."
Okay...he really had to start remembering the hearing thing. The door slid open, and he was faced with a science officer who didn't look quite as exhausted as she had earlier. Not that she looked all that healthy or happy, as far as Vulcans went. If he didn't know better he might even call her haggard.
"Captain." She didn't even look up, or open her eyes for that matter. Seated for meditation, candles lit, the lights dimmed...oh.
"I...ah - it's good that you're sitting down, I guess. Sorry for interrupting your...I have some news for you."
She looked up, now, one eyebrow curious. "Oh?"
"You know that admiral Gardner had petitioned for you to be transferred to the Copernicus?"
She nodded. "I am aware. It is not a choice of posting I would select."
In other words, you hate the very idea. Great. Something tells me you won't be thrilled about this either.
"Well, those orders were changed, shortly before Gardner apparently fell ill. Heart condition." He folded his hands together, fingers interlocking. It was a nervous habit of his that he'd never been able to rid himself of. "You're no longer to be posted on the Copernicus. You're to take the position of first officer as well as science officer on the USS Heronas. Effective...well, the moment you set foot on board that ship, I suppose."
A muscle in her left cheek twitched, and her eyes briefly flicked from one end of the room to the other. "I see."
Somehow this calm veneer frightened him even more than if she'd showed a little of the old T'Pol, the barely held-back emotion, the slight flaring of nostrils, the raising of eyebrows. Instead she merely nodded. "I will be packed within twenty-four hours. Is there a replacement ready?"
"Ah, yeah...the Vulcan High...Council suggested that, in order to maintain the relations harmed by their neutrality in this war, they'd send an officer to replace you. I'd argue against it, but...like it or not, Vulcan is ahead of us in most scientific matters."
Now the curious brow rose again. "Who did they send?"
"Some whiz kid named Skohn."
She frowned, searching her memory. "I know his name. He was held back six times from promotions by the previous government. Rumor had it he was considered volatile and unorthodox, and that his scientific credentials were...questionable."
Archer winced. "Yeah, well, it seems he might just have been a victim of politics, because in the file we got, he's a former Syrranite, and has gone up the ranks to sub-commander in less than a year. He's currently serving on the Surak as a weapons officer, so he'll transfer over the moment he's free. They took a few hits in the battle, and he's also examining the devices Trip dreamed up."
"If he was recommended by the current government then his former reputation was no doubt not entirely deserved. He will probably be an adequate replacement."
"Yeah. If this works out, Starfleet might start a new tradition of Vulcans on board our ships. But...he's not you." He rubbed his face to push some of the weariness out of it. This wasn't how he wanted this to go. Altogether too morose. Time to change that. "I hereby invite you to your own farewell party, in the mess, twelve hours from now. Get your rest. You'll need it."
The frown deepened, minutely. "I fail to see the point of such an event."
He smiled, hoping he didn't look as sad as he felt. "Well, to be honest it's not entirely for you. With the deaths of several of our crew in the battle and the funerals having been done, everyone's in a foul mood. Double shifts on repairs isn't helping, either. So you're going to be there, you're going to mingle, accept going-away presents scrounged up in the nick of time and pretend as if it's enjoyable. Well, acceptable in your case."
She looked at him, and he resisted the urge to flinch. There was something behind those eyes... "Am I to believe I have no choice?"
"Not really, no."
…
Sleep, when it came, was an ineffectual balm on jagged nerves. T'Pol had never entirely appreciated actual sleep, much preferring the calm solitude and contemplative opportunity of meditation. But during her relationship with Trip she had learned that luxuriating in a few extra hours of sleep could provide much of the clarity and focus she usually found while meditating, and supplementing sleep with a somewhat lessened such regimen was most adequate.
But the dream had come back this time. The drowning, the sensation of losing all spatial orientation and the sensation of being unable to breathe...she woke up twice in six hours, and though she was physically rested, it was not a good rest. By the time she gave up on both practices, her mild headache had intensified, and she decided to visit the doctor for a minor exam.
"Migraine."
She gave him a look of disbelief. "Vulcans do not get migraines."
"This one does." Phlox smiled at her in return, putting his medical scanner aside. The practice of using so-called tricorders had become common among medical professionals everywhere, and she sometimes felt a minor desire to possess something equally finely tuned and sensitive for general examinations during away missions. But the sheer amount of sensors necessary - not to mention the power requirements - would make such a device unbearably clumsy. Still...it was something to consider. The hand-scanners currently in use were woefully inadequate.
Trip would likely have a solution.
She frowned at the thought, unbidden and unwelcome as it was.
"...commander?"
She blinked, and realized Phlox had been speaking to her for some time. "My apologies. I was distracted."
"So I see. Well, it's nothing serious, as I was saying. Minor swelling of blood vessels due to stress, fatigue and lack of sleep. It'll pass in a few hours. If you would like a mild analgesic..."
"Thank you, but that will not be necessary. I have duties to perform, and I must finish packing."
The doctor nodded, watching her as she hopped off the biobed and picked up her padd. As she was almost out the door, however, he called out. She turned, raising an eyebrow in query.
"I...Denobulans do not look at working or familial relationships quite the same as humans do. When a co-worker or friend leaves for another posting or other reason, we do not celebrate, nor do we grieve. Usually we remain in correspondence with them in some form, because as far as we're concerned, distance is easy to overcome. However, I hope you don't mind that I state that some human customs...some of their customs are both admirable and worth borrowing. It has been a pleasure serving with you, commander. Know that."
She stared at him. Emotional displays usually did nonplus her, mainly because she was always uncertain as to how to proceed in return. Learning to recognize an emotion for what it was, was one thing, knowing how to respond was quite another. Finally, she nodded. "It has been quite agreeable working with you as well, doctor Phlox."
He smiled his unsettlingly wide smile, and then said something that disturbed her as well as pleased her.
"Did you know you're the first Vulcan I ever met who ever said 'thank you' to me?"
…
For a pilot, prolonged repair work and downtime was about the dullest time possible. For a very good reason, too; if the ship was in orbit being repaired, the pilot was completely useless. So Travis Mayweather tried to catch up on his reading, then watched a couple grav-ball games he'd queued up, then worked out for two hours, and finally gave up. He was bored. Bored, bored, bored.
After some waffling back and forth he decided he was hungry, so he made his way to the mess and grabbed some quiche from the dispenser, made himself a cup of strong coffee and joined the others in the informally named gossip corner.
"Did you hear? The commander is transferring." That was Milligan from maintenance.
He frowned. "They're really sending her to the Copernicus? That's stupid."
Hoshi shook her head. "No, her orders were changed. She's going to the Heronas."
For a moment, he just gawked. Then he sat down, hard. "The...she's going to Trip's ship?"
An irrational part of him told him she was lucky. He'd seen the ship in action from the sensor readings, and had gotten to watch it from a distance as it glided past them a few hours ago. It wasn't pretty, but the things he could do with a ship that fast...
"Uh-huh. Someone thought it'd be a good idea. Me, I'm not so sure about that right now."
"Why's that?" The quiche went down more through inhalation than mastication. Must have been hungrier than I thought.
"Well, you didn't hear this from any of us, but rumors have it that the commander is not happy with her returned-from-the-dead beau. No idea why, she's just unusually frosty when anyone brings him up."
He frowned. "How can you tell? Honestly?"
"Oh, you can tell. Even Vulcans show when they're not happy about something. Or 'pleased', I think they'd say."
"Well, have they met up yet?" Good coffee. Damned good coffee. Might be the caffeine talking, though.
"Nope. He's busy helping out everywhere it's needed, she's busy making sure stuff works and getting ready to transfer...I bet they haven't even spoken on comms yet. He's coming aboard in an hour or so, though. Captain's business."
Travis nodded, not saying anything. People often said he was a quiet one, but he'd been told over and over at an early age that it was better to keep your mouth shut and look a little dopey than opening it and proving you were the dope of dopes. Besides, you learned more by listening than by talking. Still, you'd have to be blind not to know something was going on between their Vulcan science officer and their former chief engineer returned from the grave.
That part kept bothering him. Hadn't witness reports said he was vaporized? As far as he knew, Romulan disruptors didn't leave much behind. How could he have been kidnapped and put to work as slave labor in some unknown mining camp if anyone who saw him last reported him being reduced to glowing motes of green energy?
...wait, did the Romulans even have transporter technology yet? They didn't even use standard warp drives, instead using some kind of weird slipstream thing using cosmic super-strings to get the closest equivalent, or tagging along in the warp wake of other ships. Or at least that was the working theory. Nobody knew for sure since the Romulans never allowed their technology to fall into human hands. Presumably the flagship they'd been up against this time had used the latter, following them for...God, how long did they follow the Enterprise?
Coffee is going cold.
He finished his beverage and started to listen for real now...
…
Chef Drexler frowned at the menu. Was it too much to ask for a little variety? A shrimp? Maybe two? But since the parting party was Vulcan, there had been a strict ban on any and all animal, piscine or avian protein, meat or other such products. Nothing but vegan options. Including cooking fats and such. Fine. Two could play that game. He'd make the best damn vegan buffet ever, and they'd be happy about it. Or else. Thank God the Vulcans didn't mind yeast. Not being able to make any kind of bread-product would have been truly crippling.
In the end he was faced with a large stir-fry using peanuts, cashews, fresh mushrooms, baby onions, bell peppers and bamboo shoots, served with wild rice and a side sauce made from soy, roasted and pureed mild chili and pine nuts. Then hors d'oeuvre consisting of finely chopped and fried leek and mushrooms, not to mention the assortment of raw, finely sliced root vegetables and various dips using not a single dairy product. A masterpiece, even for himself. And the only seasonings he'd allowed himself were salt, ginger, coriander and black pepper.
Damn pointy-eared woman better be happy with it. Six years, and not a single word of praise. Not one. Might as well serve her rocks. Still, could be worse. Could be still working under Namber and Garba in Starfleet Accounting & Resources. Those guys were weird. No, being a chef is much better than being an accountant.
He turned around, grumbling softly to himself, and found himself face to face with the subject of the evening's party.
"Commander? Uh, I, w-what are you doing in here? Uh, I mean, that is-"
The Vulcan raised an eyebrow, then glanced over his shoulder. "Is that the menu for tonight?"
"Uh, yeah, yeah it is. Nothing animal, no fish, no birds, no pork, beef, dairy, not even bugs or grubs. All vegetarian."
She simply nodded. "Very well."
Then she glanced at him. "I suspect I have been somewhat less than forthcoming with verbal praise in my time here. You may perhaps find some consolation in the fact that Vulcans rarely, if ever, praise efforts above the average. More often, such efforts are simply accepted as they are. If we are not satisfied with something, we generally let them know."
He blinked. The commander nodded briefly, then vanished as quietly as she had arrived.
Huh. So what she's saying is that Vulcans believe in letting their appetite speak for itself.
He grinned. Well, maybe she wasn't such a bad person after all.
I wonder if I have time to make some pecan pie...
…
"Major."
Amanda Cole glanced over at her approaching superior officer and acknowledged him with a nod. "Sir."
"I was wondering if you had a few of your best EVA-cleared men available for some repair work duty. The torpedo launchers have some exterior damage that I want fixed before today's shifts are over."
A brief mental rundown of who knew what provided her with an answer. "I'll have Jenkins and Vanderwelt get a couple of teams ready."
"Excellent. Let me know how it goes." Lieutenant commander Reed started to walk away again, but then hesitated, turned around, and looked at her. "Why are you here by the airlocks, I don't recall there being..." He fell silent, then smirked slightly. "Ah."
In spite of herself she felt her neck heat up a bit. "Sir?"
The smirk turned into the faint, sarcastic sneer he developed when he found something amusing. "Oh, nothing. Just...don't get in the way."
The blush threatened to reach her cheeks now. "I have no idea what you're talking about, sir."
The amusement went away. "I'm serious, major. Your health might depend on it."
She frowned. "Sir?"
"Let me put it this way; do you remember the broken collar bone you had back in the Expanse a few years ago? I believe you had taken up commander T'Pol on an offer of Vulcan neuropressure?"
For a moment she was confused. Wait, that was way back when - oh... "I see your point. I'll proceed with caution, if I do."
Reed smiled, a little friendlier this time. "See that you do. If he asks about me or any of the others, we'll be in the mess."
"Will do, sir."
When he was gone she resumed her position by the airlock entrance and her current hobby of mild fretting.
Okay, sure. She kind of suspected all along that there was something going on with the first officer and Trip. A hairline fracture in her collar bone that had put her out of the fighting for a month after was a pretty big hint that you simply did not express admiration for him in the Vulcan woman's presence. Especially if she was in a position to hurt you, whether unintentionally or not.
But that had been a long time ago, and as far as she knew they'd been separated at the time he seemingly died...so surely there was a shot? Yeah, she still had a bit of a torch going for him. He was the one that got away, after all. And now she might have another go at it. Yeah, maybe invite him over for some dinner, drinks, a movie...he liked old movies, just like her, so there was an advantage.
The airlock began to cycle, and she stood at attention. Okay. Was she wearing too much make-up? No, just the minimum allowed, no problem there. But as she got ready to pounce (in a totally casual, non-interested way, of course) a pair of voices drifting down the hall made her heart sink into her stomach.
"...and the starboard nacelle needs extensive repairs before using it again. I have taken the liberty of putting together a full list of all the necessary-"
"I'm sure you have, commander, and I'll read it in a short while. But if you don't mind, we have visitors?"
There was a brief, awkward pause, and then; "Certainly."
Crap.
"Major."
"Captain." Wow. She was really giving her the stink-eye. Not just the standard command crew sneering at the brute squad, either, no, this was personal. Funny how she could radiate animosity without her expression changing by so much as a hair.
"Commander."
"Major." Oh yeah. That was a pondscum glare if ever she saw one.
Okay. So. Maybe not as much of a shoo-in as she'd thought.
And then the door opened and he sauntered in like it was only yesterday he'd left.
…
Jonathan Archer had never claimed to be one to understand the opposite sex all that well, as evidenced by his distinct lack of success with it. He did know that some men knew how to manipulate, which unerringly came back to bite them on the ass later, and that some men would always have problems with socializing with their preferred gender. A lot of it came down to confidence issues. But sometimes there were these guys who just...well, no matter what they did women tended to chase them, and usually these men were totally unaware of it. Usually it took fairly blatant actions for them to get it.
Trip was one of those.
QED.
Two women glaring daggers at one another, and all he could say and do was look straight at Jon and smile. "Permission to come aboard, cap'n?"
"Permission granted." He followed that up by closing the distance and giving his oldest, best friend a bear hug that was somewhat less than professional in conduct. "Welcome aboard, captain Tucker."
…
"Ow, ow, ow, not so tight! Good to see you, cap'n."
"Oh, please, it's Jon now. I'm not your captain anymore, remember?"
Amanda held down an amused smirk.
" Hell, you'll always be cap'n to me. Even when I'm admiral and you're demoted to some garbage tug off Jupiter Station." The grin took the edge of the comment, and Archer snorted in response.
"You wish. So, I take it this is a social call?"
Trip looked a bit embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck as he replied. "Not quite. I'm sort of ferrying over a future crew member for you, he was done with his tasks and decided he'd use the extra time to get acquainted with everyone."
Stepping aside he revealed a second passenger from inside the docked shuttlepod, a tall, dour-looking Vulcan in full robes, his hair the standard bowl-cut, and...wait, was he wearing a Starfleet badge?
"I'd like to introduce subcommander Skohn, subcommander, meet Jonathan Archer and the woman whose shoes you're gonna have a hard time trying to fill, commander T'Pol."
Skohn nodded, briefly, then raised his hand in the split-fingered salute. "Live long and prosper, captain Archer. Commander T'Pol. I take it I have been assigned quarters?"
Archer nodded. "We'll get to that. First I'd like for us to take this to my ready room. If you'll follow me?"
The four walked away, and Amanda took the opportunity to take a closer look at the newcomer. His behind to be exact.
Hmmm. Not bad. Not bad at all.
…
T'Pol remained silent for most of the idle conversation between captain Archer and Trip. Not too far from them stood major Cole, but as subcommander Skohn was introduced and they made their way to the captain's quarters the major was forced to remain behind, not being invited. She had to admit to a slight sense of relief at that, though she could not say why.
"So, I hear you've made quite the rise in the ranks, subcommander?"
Skohn inclined his head slightly. "According to my wife I was long overdue. Personally I find ambition for higher positions illogical other than as a means of betterment for all."
Major Cole's mouth twitched, and Archer looked surprised. "You're a married man, Skohn?"
"Yes. Her name is T'Rama. She remains on Alpha Centauri where I was stationed before being accepted back into service to Vulcan."
"That's right, during the last few years of the old High Command you worked at the Cochrane Institute?"
"Indeed. It was a highly stimulating experience."
She felt her eyes widen slightly in shock. He had smiled. When mentioning his time at Alpha Centauri, he had smiled, however minutely.
And captain Archer and Trip had noticed. The captain glanced briefly at T'Pol, who suddenly found her hands in her lap to be highly interesting subjects of study. "I...see. Were you the only non-human there?"
"No. Several Denobulans were there as well, and I found many an opportunity for interesting conversation with a Trill named Tobin Dax. We were colleagues on the warp 7 project."
The captain leaned in closer, his interest piqued. "I'm not familiar with the species."
"The Trill are an intriguing phenomenon. A sizable minority enter into a co-dependent symbiosis with a native species of symbiotes. The resulting individual is generally a mixture of both personalities, and the benefits for the host is a prolonged lifespan and access to several lifetimes of memories from previous such host-symbiote relationships. I believe the symbiotes themselves resemble soft cephalopods."
Trip looked visibly disturbed, and the captain wrinkled his brow in that way he did when unsure how to respond. "You mean they volunteer to put a - a squid in their head?"
"On the contrary. They resemble Terran sea slugs more aptly than octopi, and they reside in the torso near the spine, behind the internal organs."
...she could have sworn Trip's face had gained a healthy Vulcan blush for a moment, then she remembered that turning green was a sign of nausea in humans. To his relief, the captain steered the conversation away from the Trill, possibly to save face for his friend.
"You mentioned a wife...any children?"
"Not yet. Though we are planning for two boys. My house is an old one, and of late there has been a surplus of female births."
"Your house?"
She could help there. "A remnant of the familial structures from before the Awakening. Several noble houses have remained to this day, though some have lost power in tandem with gaining enlightenment. I believe you have met a member of his house before."
Archer blinked. "Who?"
Skohn inclined his head in that gentle gesture of humility he had used before. "A very distant cousin of mine. Minister T'Pau."
"Oh."
…
The conversation continued for some time, and then finally Jonathan volunteered to show the subcommander his quarters. It had been agreed that since the new science officer would not be first officer, that dubious honor had fallen on Malcolm, he would have his quarters with the rest of the crew. It didn't hurt that he had less of a reaction to the smell of humans than his predecessor did.
But this left Trip alone in the ready room with T'Pol.
In a seldom seen display of total honesty with himself he admitted that he had dreaded this since the day his mission in Romulan space had been completed.
"So..."
She raised an eyebrow at him. Not the amused one. Definitely not the curious one. The indifferent one.
"I like the hair. Looks good on you." Not what he had intended to say. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She kept the eyebrow up. "I found that cutting my own hair would be clumsy, and the ship's barber is busy enough as it is with the regular crew."
"Not what I meant."
Now the second eyebrow joined the first. "What did you mean, then?"
For a moment he pondered telling her, then decided against it. This was not a good time to have that discussion. "...never mind."
The awkward silence fell on the room like a thick blanket, drowning out everything else. He fidgeted, glanced at the captain's model ships on the shelves. He frowned slightly. Was that a radio-controlled model ship hidden behind his desk? Why was the nacelle all busted?
"...you look thin."
He suppressed a start, and blinked at her in slight confusion. Then he shrugged. "Yeah. Didn't eat real well the past year or so."
"I see."
That seemed to be the end of it. But when he got up to make his way back to the shuttlepod, she grabbed his arm, tight. Painfully so. Her face displayed nothing, not anger, not sadness, not anything. But the wave of emotion that rushed through him when she touched his arm let him know that she was...not pleased.
"We will discuss the past year." She might as well have been ordering a pizza for all the inflection she used. Still, her fingers were digging into his arm in an almost painful manner.
He nodded. "Yeah. Soon."
She let go of his arm with a nod. "Soon."
…
T'Pol requisitioned two large suitcases from the quartermaster, her usual duffel was inadequate for the sheer amount of personal belongings she had accumulated over the past six years, and so she was carrying both of the empty containers towards her quarters when her replacement caught up with her.
"Commander. I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time?"
She hesitated. "Very well. If you don't mind speaking while I pack."
"Not at all. It is an efficient way of utilizing your time."
She went inside, placing one suitcase by the end of the bed, lifting and opening the second and placing it on top her her sheets. "Do you have questions about your tasks on the ship?"
He shook his head no. "I am fairly certain I will be mainly engaged in monitoring results from sensor sweeps, coming up with scientific solutions to unorthodox problems and general 'troubleshooting', as the humans name it. Not too dissimilar to my daily routines at the Cochrane Institute. Though perhaps more stressful. I look forward to it."
There was that faint smile again.
"Then what is the nature of your concern?" The silk robes and pajamas at the very bottom, to be pressed by the weight of the other clothes. The functional underwear next. Then blouses, undershirts, shirts, trousers, jumpsuits...
"How long have you and captain Tucker been bonded as mates?"
She froze. Then continued folding away her clothes.
"I ask because I recognize it. While you were in proximity, you both displayed subconscious signs of synchronized behavior similar to that of those in the early stages of a mating bond. Me and my wife tend to do the same."
Hygiene products went into a small case made of plastic, towels and extra sheets next to it, excursion clothes on top of those. Done.
"I fail to see the relevance."
Skohn used the wide sleeves of his robe to cover his hands. It was a common habit for many who wore such garments, even among humans. "Perhaps there is none. I am aware of the stigma the previous government placed on admitting that touch telepathy is a fairly common, if undeveloped, feature in our species, and was wondering if perhaps the unease you both showed in the presence of one another was a sign of this bond being unwelcome."
"It was not. His being human seems to have made it unusually strong, but-"
"You misunderstand." He glanced at her shelves, and the figure of Frankenstein's Monster placed upon one of them. "I am not disapproving, merely asking if your bond is something you find unwelcome. In spite of the attitudes of the previous Science Council, mating bonds with other species are rare, but not unheard of. It appears all that is necessary is a mutual, deeply held attraction and willingness to pursue it. It is neither casual nor shallow. That said, sometimes a bond is formed with a mated pair that loses their attraction to one another."
That little incoherent ball of emotions that she kept suppressed at all times suggested she throttle the life out of this smug Syrranite, but as usual she refused to listen to it. "The attraction is not lost. But I can only speak for myself. Our bond has been...suppressed, for a year. It may be erratic."
He raised an eyebrow. It was unsettling how insufferable such a gesture could be when someone else was doing it. "Fascinating. I suggest you make certain of one another's intentions, and soon. Mating bonds that are left undeveloped can sometimes turn towards the negative. But I believe I have taken enough of your time. Live long and prosper."
"Peace and long life." She watched the man who would take her place on the Enterprise leave her quarters and found that peace was the farthest thing from her mind at the moment.
…
…
The party was a fairly subdued affair, but everyone was in good humor and since the food was excellent, the drinks were plentiful and the company was actually fairly social, everyone was enjoying themselves. A few complained jokingly that the drinks were non-alcoholic, but they were in the minority.
T'Pol had to admit, finally, that this was...acceptable.
But then came the farewell gifts. And for each heartfelt little speech from those who presented them to her, she found her emotional control eroding ever so slightly.
Lieutenant commander Hess spoke for the crew Engineering as she presented their gift; a whole bowl of peaches. The brunette smiled at her. "Well, turns out Trip gave us all some peaches from this shipment he got a couple years ago, and we only managed to go through about half of them...so we collected the last ones and decided you'd like them a lot more than we did. Thank God for stasis units, huh?"
Did they know? No, likely not. They only counted on her having a vegetarian diet and appreciating a gift of fruit. Still, the scent brought back a sense memory of a time in the Expanse when...she blinked, and inclined her head in acceptance. "It is a thoughtful gift. I will savor it."
Hess smiled again, scratched her head in embarrassment, then made way for the next in line. Hoshi.
"Well, I figured with your taste in human literature and media being what it was..." She presented a box filled with-
"Fascinating." Several bound volumes of books, more precisely the works of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley in High Vulcan. Going by the brief glance at the contents, the translation was very well done. The other volumes included contained several other works by human science fiction authors from the following century and a half. It appeared she knew T'Pol too well.
"This could not be something you prepared recently, how did you..."
"Well, I translate stuff. Mostly cultural bits. Since I always liked holding real books over padds, I had Perkins in Maintenance help me with the printing. And when I heard Skohn was working on a translation of the Kir'Shara to English, I figured it was about time the cultural exchange got broadened beyond music and movies. I'm also working on translating Shakespeare to Klingon and Andorian, though those are taking a bit more effort. Klingons lack several human concepts, and the Andorians have several genders to pick and choose from, so..."
T'Pol nodded. "An intriguing gift. It will be much appreciated."
She refrained from acknowledging the hidden implication that Vulcans and humans had more in common culturally and linguistically than the other two dominant species in the sector. Since Hoshi did not comment either she hypothesized that the linguist either hadn't noticed, which was unlikely, or had too much tact to bring it up, knowing that most Vulcans did not enjoy being compared to the volatile humans. She had no need for such worries, however, since T'Pol had come to the same conclusion long ago.
Lieutenant commander...no, commander Reed, now, gave her a carefully wrapped package to be opened later. He suggested that opening it now would be somewhat too personal for this occasion, and though this piqued her curiosity she decided to follow his advice. For now. He then gave her a separate parcel to hand to captain Tucker when they next met, and she agreed to do so. "He'll know what I mean by it. Tell him he owes me a drink, too."
"I will endeavor to do so."
Lieutenant Mayweather presented her with a surprising gift, an earring in the form of the IDIC symbol. "Well, my mom bought this years ago off a merchant from some place called Bajor, apparently earrings are a way of showing religious or philosophical statements there."
"I am aware of the Bajorans. I did not know Terran cargo vessels had traveled so far?"
He smiled. "Well, it wasn't so much the Horizon that went that far out as they came close to us. Apparently you gotta take it easy when talking to them, they tend to get a bit pushy about their religion."
She simply nodded. The first Vulcan travelers to Bajor had returned with reports on the proselytizing species, and that their faith in unprovable non-corporeal omnipotent entities seemed unusually strong for an advanced spacefaring civilization. "Thank you."
Mayweather looked a little embarrassed. "You know, if you don't want to wear it as an earring I'm sure it could easily be made into a necklace, or-"
"I'm sure it can. It was a very thoughtful gift, lieutenant." She carefully replaced the piece of jewelery in the small box it had arrived in, and placed it next to the other gifts on the table. The somewhat ceremonial presenting of gifts had so far been agreeable, if mildly abrasive to her emotional control. She was coping.
But the next gift actually upset her equilibrium slightly.
It was a small velvet box, about the size of a padd. It resembled the jewelery box in which the earring had been given, but the design was more angular. On the lid was the new Starfleet insignia, the delta-wing, and surrounding it was a single golden laurel. She blinked, and looked up. Captain Archer had that slight crease to his brow that he only gained when concerned or worried. She opened the box.
"I cannot accept this, captain." She closed it up and began to hand the box back, but Archer pushed it away.
"It's my gift, and it's about time." He cleared his throat, and lightly tapped the side of his glass with a dessert spoon. "If I may have everyone's attention, please? I'd like to say a few words."
Scattered shouts of "Hear, hear!" and "Speech!" could be heard, and from the very back someone unseen shouted "Do the one with the gazelles!"
Archer smiled, briefly, then nodded in that general direction. "One more like that and it's a week of scrubbing oxygen filters, Ferrell." He paused, then let his gaze sweep around the room at the assembled crew. "When we first started out, more than six years ago, I was told...that we would be forced to have a Vulcan observer in order to leave spacedock."
Another pause. "I was furious. To me, the Vulcans represented being held back, being patted on the head like an idiot child." He smiled grimly. "In hindsight, they were right. Smug, but right. We really weren't ready for a lot of what we've faced out here. Some of the species we've faced, some of the phenomenon...we had no idea. But even though they were right about that, they were also wrong about one thing. Because when it comes right down to it, no-one is ready for what comes their way. You have to face the unknown head-on, because anything else is to stagnate. Even the Vulcans know this. And especially you, commander T'Pol. When the High Command ordered you to return, you resigned rather than obey the whims of a stagnant, prejudiced regime, and joined Starfleet as the very first Vulcan. Without you, we would have perished in the Expanse many times over. Without you, we would have lost a good ship, a good crew, and lost any chance at lasting peace between humans, Vulcans, Andorians and Tellarites."
T'Pol raised an eyebrow. Granted, her presence had been beneficial to the crew and Starfleet, but she had hardly been alone in this. And...her motives for remaining had not been entirely pure even then, though it had taken some time to admit this to herself.
"And so it is with the very greatest personal pleasure that I award her with what should have been hers long ago." He took the box from her grasp, opened it, and pulled out a small colorful ribbon, no longer than a little finger, to which a gilded stylized starburst medallion was attached. In fine writing on the metal was the captain's own name. "The Star Cross. For performing her duty above and beyond the required, for great courage and insight, and for boldly going with us where no Man had gone before. Thank you. Live long, and prosper."
He gave her the required military salute before following up with the traditional Vulcan split-fingered greeting. She returned both, though she was slightly less aggressive in the former. "Peace and long life, captain Archer."
To her intense personal shock and dismay, he picked her up in a strong embrace, lifting her off the floor. If not for her sturdy Vulcan physique she would likely have cracked a rib. She made a silent thank you to providence that he hadn't touched her bare hands or face in doing so. "Godspeed, T'Pol. May you always find what you seek, and may you always have safe harbor."
After that, the farewell party became a bit...hazy.
…
By the time she returned to her quarters she was tired and in dire need of either sleep or meditation. Neither was anything she was looking forward to. Instead she sat down and placed the many gifts in her second suitcase, along with her meditation paraphernalia, her IDIC plaque and the small portable stasis unit she was using to transport perishables. The peaches fit only barely, though she supposed that meant they would not tumble around inside it. Bruised peaches were...not aesthetically pleasing.
As she began to place the gift from commander Reed, she paused. She had promised to open it in a less public setting, and this was, after all, by definition, not a public space. The gift for Trip she placed in the suitcase, but the one for her...
If her opening was slightly less than methodical, she didn't notice. The paper was neatly disposed of, and the small cardboard box inside was quickly opened and...she stared at the contents. She had seen it before, in a way.
A small figurine of plastic, cheaply made in what had to be hundreds of years ago. A woman dressed in a ragged evening gown and bandages, staring in fright at something, raising her right arm as if to ward off whatever she was looking at. The woman had corpse-pale skin and visible seams along shoulders, arms, neck and face, and her tightly kinked hair was in a somewhat illogical and odd shape, standing up in what had to require a gallon of shaping product. Her hair was black except for white streaks at the temples, and on the base of the stand the figure was attached to was a printed title. 'Bride of Frankenstein'.
For what had to be hours, T'Pol of Vulcan sat on her bed staring at the little plastic statue, her face inscrutable.
…
…
USS Heronas. In Orbit, Gamma Hydra II Trading Colony
Captain Charles Anthony Tucker III ("Call me Trip.") handed over a padd to his chief of engineering and finished giving instructions. "Now remember, the conduits are a mite touchy, and I want the coolant system to be back in tip-top before we disembark. This has the latest anti-matter mix ratios, and I want you to at least try and fix the damn environmentals before morning. I don't care if you have to put someone else on it, just get it done. Gotta be at least a hundred degrees in my quarters."
"Yessir." The Hispanic man glanced at the padd, eyes running down the pages, then nodded. "Looks good. I'll be right on it."
"Oh, and Gutierrez?"
"...yessir?"
"This time wait until you've checked the hull diagnostics before you declare us fit for high warp?"
Gutierrez reddened slightly, but simply nodded. "Yessir. Sorry sir. Won't happen a-"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Like I haven't done that mistake myself once or twice. Remind me to point out the spot on Enterprise's hull that still has a ding from where I clipped it with a worker bee. Now git."
He watched the junior officer rush off with a slight smile on his face. Gutierrez was fresh-baked, so to speak, this was his first chief of engineering job, and he was pretty good. Could get better, needed more confidence and not so much bowing and scraping, but you had to start somewhere, right? A padd appeared from out of nowhere, and he sighed. "Another one, Jonsson?"
"You need to approve for the ten barrels of warp plasma we got from the Tellarites, and you need to sign off on the inspected nacelles. Lieutenant Hall from the Van Vogt double-checked. Oh, and some of the survivors from the freighters are wondering if we can give them a lift back to Venus."
He signed for the plasma, but handed the other padd right back. "Run it by Sawyer in engineering, then get back to me. If he says they're fit for use, they are. And tell the boomers we got too little room for that, and besides we're heading in the other direction."
"Yessir. Oh, and the shuttle from Enterprise is on approach. Just thought you'd like to know."
The crewman walked off, not a care in he world. Trip, on the other hand, was finding it mighty hard to find that smile again. He sighed. Well, best take that bull by the horns. Or pointy ears, as the case might be.
…
The airlock hissed open, and T'Pol stepped into it. She glanced around, finding the space somewhat more cramped than the same area on Enterprise. A MACO was...not standing guard. Instead, she was busy welding something to the bulkhead. Trip on he other hand simply stood there, hands clasped behind his back.
"Permission to come aboard, captain."
He smiled, but it was a weary, strained smile. "Permission granted, commander."
She stepped over the threshold and was officially on the Heronas. Handing the padd with her orders to him she couldn't help but look more closely at her surroundings. There was a sense of mild chaos, crewmen carrying equipment and pieces of decking rushing by, flickering lights, and the air was - a very pleasant temperature, though she imagined the humans found it less balmy than she did. "My orders. Signed by admirals Gardner and Black, inspected and verified by captain Archer."
He glanced at them. "Verified. Your quarters are this way, if you don't mind? Crewman Jonsson will take your suitcases. Hey! Jonsson! Get over here! Did you bring the padd to-"
"Yessir. He's inspecting them himself now, sir."
"Good. Take her suitcases, would ya?"
Inclining her head she followed her bondmate through the cramped, badly lit corridors towards the crew quarters.
…
He was talking as they went. Mentioning the troubles they'd had getting the warp engine functioning, the repairs they'd had to make after something, quote unquote, 'fell off', talking about the crew, though not to their faces...everything except what truly mattered. Perhaps he wished for a more private venue for that conversation. Behind them trundled the slightly overweight crew-member with the Scandinavian-sounding name. Judging by his troubles following them at a decent pace he had likely not gone through the required physicals in some time.
After what had to be only minutes they reached the crew quarters. She noticed that her own quarters were...quite a ways from his. Had he chosen them? Or was it coincidence? Most likely coincidence.
"Pardon the mess, but we kind of had to leave spacedock before we got everything looking pretty and snug. Upside is that we can soundproof the walls for you since the external paneling isn't in yet."
He began to say something else, stopped himself, then opened the door. She could feel little sporadic waves of anxiety and unease through the bond, though it was only faint. There was also, now that she focused slightly, a constant sense of melancholy that had not been there before.
Before he died.
Crewman Jonsson lugged her suitcases inside. He smelled faintly of cabbage. Not an odor she favored. Trip paused only to make sure nothing was obviously out of order and that the crewman had left before he stood by the door, rubbed the back of his neck nervously, and finally nodded, as if deciding on something. She felt his unease lessen, though the anxiety and constant moroseness remained.
"My ready room, in half an hour? Down the corridor, to the left, past the turbolift. We - like you said..." He took a deep breath. "We need to talk."
After she nodded he vanished out into the hall, leaving her to her new quarters.
Unpacking took less than ten minutes. Her clothes put away, her perishable foodstuffs in the stasis unit, her personal belongings placed neatly on the shelf in order of viewing importance. After some hesitation, she placed the Bride on the opposite side of the shelf from the Monster, with her newly gifted collection of bound paper books in between. She was grateful that Hoshi had not used animal hide to bind the paper copies of her translations, though where she had acquired the synthetic materials and paper in the first place was quite puzzling.
The earring was a bit of a conundrum. She had no intention to have an ear pierced, for several reasons, one being that Vulcan ears had about nine thousand more nerve endings than their human or Bajoran counterparts. In fact, the Bajorans were so close to humans in their physiology that the resemblance was uncanny. Vulcans only resembled humans closely, the Bajorans could probably exchange internal organs without fear of rejection. There was a thesis in there somewhere, she was almost certain of it. But as for the small piece of jewelery...
An amulet.
She placed the small trinket back in its box.
…
Trip paced his ready room, padd in hand. On the display were several of his minor design alterations and improvements on the Buran-class, but he wasn't really looking at them. Well, only a little. When the door-chime finally sounded he almost jumped out of his shoes. The back of his head felt...feverish, somehow, but a brief check with his hand turned up nothing but normal skin temperature. Maybe he was coming down with something.
She entered the room and he felt his heart skip a beat, again. Gorgeous as a morning. Though maybe a little tired-looking. Not that he'd mention it. As the door hissed closed behind her he seated himself at the desk, then motioned for her to take one of the chairs on the other side of it. She sat down, hands in her lap, knees together. Staring at him expectantly.
He'd considered using the carefully doctored and outrageous lie Section 31 had concocted, but it felt wrong. In fact, any alteration of the truth felt wrong. Not just because he suspected she'd know about it if he tried. In fact, the only option he had was to give her the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Even if it was classified. Though most of the details weren't really needed. He took a deep breath.
Well, here goes nothing.
"How much do you know?" Opening with a question was a good way to buy time. Well, maybe.
She raised one eyebrow. It wasn't the amused one. "I know that you contacted the Aenar of Andoria, falsified your own death and...severed...our bond somehow. I know that you have since managed to restore it, though it feels...erratic."
He nodded. "Yeah. Well, no. I didn't sever it. It was just...muted. Blocked. At the time I felt I had to do it that way. Now, I don't know."
He watched her, carefully. God, she was beautiful.
"I'm gonna tell you a lot of things that are actually highly classified. If Harris knew I was telling you any of this, he'd probably pop a gasket." Sitting down felt wrong, so he stood up. When T'Pol began to rise as well he motioned for her to remain seated. Then he began to tell her everything while pacing back and forth in the ready room. And he told her everything. Well, apart from the details she had no interest in.
He told her about how it all started with baby Lizzie, after her funeral. How when they returned back to Earth he was going through some of the remnants of the Terra Prime mobile base when he found something unexpected. Something that explained a lot of things about them, like for example just where they got the medical know-how to combine human and Vulcan DNA when even doctors like Phlox had no clue how to do so. Because in the remains of the Orpheus mining base he had found a power conduit that he recognized, but had only seen once before. It was kind of distinctive.
He stopped pacing, grabbed onto the metal cabinet by the door to the small galley beyond, and continued on.
"The technology, a lot of the funding and most of the genetic know-how they used came from the Romulans. Most of it untraceable. The only evidence I had was the conduit, and that was generic enough to be usable by a dozen species. But I know Romulan work when I see it. They're as perfectionist as..."
There was a subtle shift to her features. Where before she had been reserved but attentive she now seemed more obviously attentive and...pensive? Something like that.
"About a week after that I got a message from Section 31." Pushing off from the cabinet he paced back to his desk, but instead of sitting down he leaned against the wall. "Man named Harris told me he had an offer for me. A one-time mission to sabotage the Romulan warp project and hopefully set them back enough to even the game a bit. Only trouble is, the Romulans don't trust anyone not Romulan. So me and the other agent had to...change."
This made her raise The Eyebrow. "Change?"
"Yeah. If you're gonna infiltrate the Romulan Star Empire, you gotta look like a Romulan." He looked straight at her. "Like a Vulcan."
Her eyes widened and he heard her take a quick breath. Had she already known? Or was this as much a surprise to her as it was when Harris told him the Section already knew exactly what Romulans looked like, they were just keeping mum because alliance with the Vulcans was far more important than giving the populace a face to their enemy. He didn't push her on the subject, especially since he agreed with that judgment.
At a point like this, during war, when relations with the Vulcans were already tense because of their neutrality, well...and this also meant he understood why they were neutral. If they joined in, no matter how much they might like to, all the Romulans had to do to break up such an alliance at the worst possible moment would be to reveal what they looked like. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Unless...
"Me and another agent spent the better part of seven months recovering from the surgery and infiltrating the Romulan underground on Vulcan. When the war ends we'll hand the Council a list of every known agent, but right now they're too useful to bust. Anyway, once we were accepted as Romulan infiltrators it was easy to get the smuggler's routes they use to sneak into our systems and backtrack through'em to their own turf. We never went near the capitol world, though. Too risky. Spent almost four months there, wandering the space lanes, looking for leads, then a month or so infiltrating the planet where they were holding their trials. They were close. Damn close. They were...well, let's just say if they'd gotten away with it we'd all be hailing our Romulan overlords by now. Once we were done, we came home. The rest you know."
Through it all T'Pol had listened, never commenting, just taking it all in. When he was finally done she merely looked at him with that same calm expression. Though her left cheek was twitching slightly. Usually a bad sign. He had to admit she was taking it pretty well, considering the circumstances.
"You have told me where you have been this past year. You have also told me how. What you have not told me is why."
Crap. The one question I don't want to answer.
He took a deep breath, holding it. Exhaling slowly. Another. She raised an eyebrow, and he realized he was doing one of the breath exercises she'd taught him. "Like I said, it all started with baby Lizzie."
This didn't seem to explain much, so he continued. "When she died...we both grieved separately. Now I guess that's how you Vulcans do it, but me, I needed..."
You.
"...I needed something more. I already turned in on myself once when my sister died, and I didn't want to fall into that trap again, so I started looking for something to do. Anything. I buried myself in sifting through the Terra Prime base, I even - I even went to see a grief counselor. Didn't really work out all that well."
He sat down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "When Harris contacted me, it felt like...well, at first my only thought was to get back at'em for what they did to us. Even in war there are things you just don't do, and we weren't even at war yet. But as I started preparing it got...bigger. I mean, we weren't exactly the perfect couple, much like your people and mine aren't exactly the best of friends. At best we had a sort of big brother-little brother thing going, up until the day we launched the Enterprise. So I figured if I pulled this off, if I did this one job, maybe it'd help more people than just myself. It'd certainly help in keeping us allies. What's that bit you liked quoting when we were in the Expanse, 'the needs...'"
"'...of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Or the one.' It is...an admirable sentiment, provided the few or one are volunteering."
He nodded. "Yeah. So I went from wanting a little payback to wanting to keep everyone back home safe. Did a lot of things I'm not proud of. At the time I thought it was necessary, even unavoidable. Now, I'm not so sure."
Running his hands through his hair he noticed that he needed a shower. When was the last time he washed up? Oh, right after he woke up. About...yesterday.
"Now, the bond...when I decided to do this thing and he told me I had to fake my death...well, I knew Romulans had a lot in common with Vulcans. I didn't know if they could tell about the bond or if they knew I had one with you, but considering they have several highly placed moles in your intelligence I wouldn't put it beyond'em. Thing was, it had to be real to everyone. No-one could know. And I was...I was still kind of in a bad place, so I figured if anyone knew how to mask a telepathic bond it'd be the Aenar."
He looked up at her. "I never told Harris why I needed to speak to them, though. Made up some cockamamie story about Romulans being rumored to be telepathic. For all I know it's true."
That feverish sensation was running hot and cold now, prickling, needling his scalp. Maybe Phlox had something. Oh, wait, Phlox was on the Enterprise, wasn't he? They didn't have a doctor, yet. All they had was one of the MACO who had nurse training. "Anyway, I didn't sever it. The bond. It was just...frozen. Hurt like a bastard, too. Guess the Aenar didn't know that would happen."
"Yes."
He nodded. "Yeah. Last thing I heard when they beamed me out of engineering back then was you screaming."
I've heard that scream every night since. On the few times I don't see the faces of the people I got killed.
He'd never been one for pop music. Blues, R'n'B, country rock was more his thing. But even with that, he still found a certain phrase that was quite appropriate for what followed. The sound of silence. Well, he was hearing it right now.
…
Her mind was racing. It was illogical. Irrational. Making such a decision on his own, and - but he was human. And at the time they were not close. Was it her fault? Had she pushed him away? She had told him she needed time to grieve, to heal. She had believed he understood, but perhaps she had assumed Vulcan logic from him when she should have expected human emotion.
He seemed to realize what she was thinking, because all of a sudden he looked at her with no small amount of distress. "No. No, this was not your fault. It wasn't because of you that I did what I did. It was all me. I was being stupid, I was -"
"You are human." Her previous irritation with his behavior resurfaced. "Your decision was irrational and founded in flawed logic. That is human. You treated our bond as if it was something that can be put aside. It is not."
She gathered up her thoughts. "We are going to work together on this vessel for quite some time. I suggest we leave things the way they are for now. In time, perhaps we may re-examine the bond. This is not that time."
With that she stood up, smoothed out the wrinkles on her pant legs, inclined her head in goodbye, and left.
…
He just sat there for a good long while, and then he sighed. "Well, that went better than I thought it would."
…
The End (sort of)