"T'Pol, would you like some tea, sweetie?" Elaine Tucker caught herself after the words had already left her mouth, ignoring the fact that Vulcans found such endearing appellations illogical, her daughter-in-law was also not her junior but, rather, her contemporary. In fact, Elaine was actually two years younger than the petite Vulcan who was literally ready to pop at any moment. Any day now, their grandson would be born and after a few days both she and Charles junior would be able to vacate the Satellite Beach home and leave it to the couple who seemed to be chafing under their continued presence but understood its necessity with Trip's demanding work schedule and T'Pol's delicate condition. Elaine found herself at once anticipating and dreading meeting T'Pol's mother who was even now days out from arriving to attend to her daughter and grandchild. She wondered how a Vulcan woman of 117 years would measure up in terms of graceful aging, how her personality would compare with that of her daughter. Trip spoke of her with some fondness, on the basis of that Elaine was able to assume that she, at least, was similarly tolerant of Trip.

She still found herself routinely shocked and unable to grasp it all, her son and this Vulcan, it set the precedent but more than that, there was clearly a strange alchemy between them that transcended mere sexual chemistry, they were strange compliments to one another. She had just sort of assumed that the evening conversation nine months prior had been just another encounter with on of Trip's long list of girlfriends or flings. She didn't want to think ill of her son, but even she had to admit that he was a bit flippant when it came to love and had broken more than his fair share of hearts over the years. But there was something about this outwardly cold, hard woman that awoke the greatest fire she had ever seen in her son. The way he looked at her, even with a face that was impassive and lacking in affect, she could see the raging passion burning just behind his eyes. There were moments where they would just stare at one another, neither saying a word, their faces letting the occasional emotive cue slip that something was going on, some sort of communication that only they were privy too. Physically, the couple was never affectionate in her presence, but Elaine suspected that there was indeed something undeniably powerful between them; Trip was always quieter and more staid in her presence, and T'Pol always seemed to be more vibrant when in his, almost as if they were both compensating for the preferences and personality of the other.

As she crossed into the sitting room she could almost immediately feel something was wrong before she even lay eyes on T'Pol. When the Vulcan looked up to her with eyes that bespoke alarm and confusion Elaine felt her heart leap for a moment before spying the soaked chair and dress. It only took a second for her to realize what had occurred and despite the usual composure T'Pol exhibited, Elaine knew in this moment she was nothing if not a terrified girl whose body had just done what was, quite possibly, the strangest thing it had ever done in her life up to that point. There was an almost primal fear that no amount of mental discipline or preparation could adequately manage to alleviate. She was certain that somewhere in that steely Vulcan mind she had to be wondering if something was wrong, was it supposed to happen like this, was the baby safe, was it too early, a thousand worries that no amount of calm thought would be able to assuage. Any words she could say would ring hollow, all she could do was take command of the situation as was a matriarch's purview and set about the task of readying Solan Tucker for his debut to the world.

"Your water broke, honey, just stay there, we'll get the car pulled around and get you to the hospital. It's time sweetheart, you're gonna have the baby." Mrs. Tucker cooed soothingly, she had been through this exact same thing enough times for it to be old hat by now, and for all of T'Pol's intelligence, discipline, and composure this was something she was completely unprepared for. "Charlie, get the car, our grandbaby wants out."

No sooner had to words left her mouth, the domestic communicator began chirping, snatching T'Pol's concerned gaze over to it, something desperate and needy in her eyes as she kept her hands clamped over her belly, fearing to rise. Elaine crossed over to the console and pressed a key to answer the incoming call, speaking tersely, "Hello?"

"Momma, I'm leavin' to head for the hospital now." His voice was skipping, the sound of duty boots clapping against linoleum an indicator that he was charging down a corridor at a brisk jog if not a full run.

Motherly instinct immediately took over and any possible link to the events transpiring immediately behind her was lost, "What happened?"

"Momma, T'Pol is havin' the baby!" He replied indignantly.

"What...how did you-" She didn't have time to finish.

"I'll call Doctor Kovel on the way." And with that he disconnected the call.

The Tucker matriarch stood dumbfounded, then called out, "Charlie! Did you call Trip?"

"Dangit woman, I thought you said to get the car!" His voice echoed back into the sitting room.

"I did!"

"Then you call the boy!" He thundered.

"He just called here!" She replied, turning away from the comm unit and heading over to where T'Pol sat.

"What?"

"Trip just called here." Elaine repeated with raised voice.

"Then why do I need to call him?"

"Nevermind!" Under her breath she mumbled, "Not a Tucker man with a lick of sense, the any of them. Alright, sweetie, let's go to the car, let me help you up."

Carefully she helped T'Pol to her feet and then taking station behind her began to gently guide her towards the foyer. The Vulcan took deliberate steps, moving very cautiously as if the payload in her womb ran the risk of exploding. Elaine had seen it before, experienced it herself, the "first time" jitters very evident regardless of the almost genetic stoicism.

"Unless there's something really different about how y'all are built down there, he's not gonna fall out, sweetheart." Elaine cajoled in a soft, even tone.

T'Pol just nodded, quickening her pace a little, still moving in a deliberate and careful fashion, feet wider apart than usual. As she approached the open door, Elaine could already hear the hum of the fuel-cell engine and drive motors of their car. The driver side and passenger rear doors open as Charles Jr. dropped the overnight bags in the trunk with the items the new mother would need. Elaine saw her husband spy their approach and he quickly closed the trunk, crossing to the porch where he could render assistance to the pregnant Vulcan as she began to descend the steps. He took his daughter-in-law's hand giving her someone to lean on as he helped her down each step in his at-once gentle and powerful way.

"Don't you fret a bit, lil lady, Tucker boys always were ones to do things on their own schedule, this is just par for the course." He glanced over to his wife with a wink, "Elaine about popped with both of ours, they shot out like lil pink canon rounds."

"Charlie Tucker!" Elaine scolded, a frown on her face.

"Oh come off it, Elly, she's gonna hear all these stories sooner or later."

"Will it be this...abrupt, every time?" T'Pol squeaked with a slightly breathless tone.

"You'll know what to expect next time, dear." Elaine cooed, "The first time is always the most frightening."

"I am not frightened." T'Pol tried to retort feebly, her words in utter contradiction to her tone. Her eyes wide and face flushed a verdant green she wasn't managing an adequate bluff on that front either.

"Honey, everyone is frightened the first time." Mrs. Tucker countered, her tone pragmatic and indicating that she did not believe T'Pol's assertion one iota.


"My daughter is giving birth to her first born, I believe it would be prudent that I help attend to the birthing process." T'Les was doing very little to hold her irritation in check with the petty bureaucrat of a ensign at MCS Transport Depot, San Francisco who wanted to ensure every "i" was doubly dotted and every "t" triply crossed.

"Ma'am, transport to the Vulcan compound in Sausalito can be authorized, but these coordinates are in Florida." The tone was almost condescending, and for a moment T'Les felt a thread of ancestral rage float up towards the surface of her layer of logic. She looked at the skinny brat, clearly little more than months out of the academy and a position of some authority giving him delusions of grandeur and wondered for a fraction of a second just how easy to would be to snap him in two.

"I am aware of the coordinates I have provided, my daughter is not in Sausalito."

"I was not informed of that." He replied snippily, his know-it-all response clearly failing him.

"It is above your pay grade." T'Les let the words slide of her tongue with some relish, she had hear humans use the term many times since the liberation of Vulcan and at the moment it fit so perfectly with the events occurring before her.

The Ensign began tapping at the console before him as a Lieutenant Commander approached the registration counter, concern and maybe just a touch of irritation painted on this senior officer's face, "What's the story here?"

"Transport authorization, sir."

"That goes without saying, ensign, what is the hold up?" The taller officer's tone was curt but he kept his voice low, trying to maintain some semblance of propriety. "These coordinates are for the Canaveral area, authorize the transport and get on with it."

"Sir, the story doesn't seem right." The Ensign protested.

"That's not your position to decide, ensign." The lieutenant commander looked up to T'Les, "I apologize for the holdup ma'am, what business did you have in the Cape Canaveral area?"

"My daughter is giving birth to her first child there." T'Les replied evenly, knowing that at least with the more senior officer her authorization would be expedited.

"And your name, ma'am?" He began tapping on the console, prompting the ensign to step back and fold his arms across his chest with a petulant expression.

"T'Les."

"Yes ma'am, we have you on record right here, daughter; T'Pol, care of..." He paused, sensing that he was perhaps reading privileged information, "If you'll step this way we'll get you there directly, ma'am."

T'Les nodded and, upon grabbing her bags, began to follow the officer to one of the transport pads. This was her first visit to earth and she found the planet decidedly alien and strange, still, she found comfort in having solid ground beneath her feet as the twelve day trip from Vulcan had been trying on her nerves. It was the first journey of the variety that she had completed and while it was hardly the most stressful episode of her life, she found that she did not view extended space travel as something she felt she would benefit from doing more of in the future.


Trip tore out of the subspace dynamics lab annex, throwing the double doors wide open and almost flattening a pair of General Dynamics lab jockeys on his way out. He turned just long enough to make an apology, then broke into a full sprint, tearing towards the staff parking area as fast as his legs would carry him. In the immediate moment, nothing was more important than reaching his car and he allowed the bee-line course to carry him off the paved sidewalks and onto the grass plots that separated the various offices, labs, and warehouses of the Advanced Applications Campus. He was barely even mentally aware of the fact that he was hurtling the low chain and post barriers that separated grass lot from sidewalk and again the sidewalk from the next lot. He knew his car was about a quarter mile from the lab he had been in when he sensed T'Pol's water break, he knew that at his current rate of speed it would take me approximately a minute to reach the car. From the parking lot it would take him roughly twelve minutes to make it to the main gate, one minute down Mueller to the 1A, then another six minutes to the West Cocoa Beach Causeway and the Cape Canaveral Hospital.

Every minute that he wasn't there would be torture for T'Pol, and for each torturous moment she would have to endure without the support and succor of her mate, he would agonize over his inability to provide that most basic of comforts to her. Part of him hoped that Dr. Kovel would insist on running some basic tests before beginning the delivery process, at least then he could be there to hold her hand or, at the very least, act as a psychic punching bag for her as she completed the process that had begun as an idle conversation while fixing wall panels in her quarters months before.

It felt like it had been a lifetime since he ran with this kind of unvarnished desperation, the goal of the car just a step on a journey of such dire necessity, elemental and spiritual, not even his life itself was as precious as was the need that he get to the hospital; not in 10 minutes, not right now, but five minutes ago. Even while his brain was busy trying to force him to reconcile the fact that T'Pol and his parents would likely arrive after he did, he couldn't help but feel like he was holding up everything, that his wife was suffering untold agonies because he and he alone was not there to provide her with comfort as her spouse and the one who put her in the state. Ahead a trio of enlisted data entry personnel from the compliance office had exited their office complex and were ambling towards the parking lot. Trip didn't lessen his pace a second, bellowing as he came, "Make a hole! Make a hole!"

They stepped aside just in time for him to vault the first chain, his right foot touching the concrete just long enough to launch him into another leap over the second chain and back into the grass. Twenty minutes...these were likely going to be the longest and shortest twenty minutes of his life.


T'Pol felt a new growing sense of alarm, not over what was happening but rather what wasn't happening; she wasn't experiencing any contractions. Everything she had read regarding both Vulcan and Human pregnancies indicated that she should be experiencing strong contractions. Something wasn't going as planned, her water broke, but there was no indication that her body was trying to complete the birthing process beyond that. All she could sense from her child was an utterly unknowable and unfathomable chaos and confusion. It was almost as if all emotions imaginable had been rolled into one, a single mental process that encompassed everything that defined life and all its experiences bound together in a timeless and endless mixture of vibrant mayhem.

She found that the experience frightened her, it was almost as if she was getting to watch and listen to her child drown; the tiny mental process confused and scared and clawing at whatever it could to try to hold on. Any attempt she made to reach the tiny mind, to help calm it fell short and she began to feel her own sense of dread as she began to wonder if her baby was no, indeed, dying. When Doctor Kovel finally arrived T'Pol had been on the verge of emotional collapse as the worry continued to build. She managed to keep enough emotional reserve in place that her voice had totally betrayed her concern when she asked what was wrong.

Kovel had, as always, been blithely calm, "Your body believes there are still three more weeks of gestation necessary, the child, however, does not require that additional time, we will proceed with surgical extraction."

With that the Vulcan physician left to prepare for the procedure leaving T'Pol alone to worry herself over where her mate was. Her mother should be arriving any minute as well, was she even aware that she was about to have the baby? Why was she suddenly alone in the room without anyone to provide help if it was needed? She focused on the bond, trying to located Trip's consciousness but found that she couldn't focus on anything other than her own sense of panic and that of her child.

"Sir, you can't go in there." A muted voice protested just outside the room, halting a pair of steadfastly advancing footsteps.

"T'Hell I can't! My wife's in there!"

"Sir, you have the wrong room-"

T'Pol felt her heart leap at the familiar voice and called out loud enough to be heard, "Trip?"

The door flew open presenting her with a very relieved Charles A. Tucker III in the woodland NWU that had become his standard duty attire.

"Sir, this room is reserved for-" The nurse never got to finish speaking, Trip was already in the room and over to T'Pol's bedside, her hand already enclosed in his.

"Are you alright, darlin'?"

"I am acceptable, k'diwa. I believe in the future it would be prudent to announce yourself at the front desk rather than coming to look for me on your own." T'Pol looked over to the Nurse who seemed more than a little flabbergasted. She realized how thoroughly relieved she was that her mate was with her, it presented the opportunity to be embarrassed and critical of his behavior.

"I did...sort of..." He protested.

"She's your spouse?" The Nurse, still standing, at the door looked aghast. T'Pol was relatively certain how things had gone, Trip asked about a Vulcan woman and without any further amplification or explanation gone off looking while the nurses at their station worried about the privacy of the patient.

"Why else do you think I was lookin' for her?" Trip frowned.

"You didn't exactly make it clear, sir."

"You must learn to behave with less impulsiveness if you wish to be a proper 'vulcan' husband, k'diwa." T'Pol chided with an amused expression, all the sensations of worry and stress had managed to flow away now that he was present, it was almost as if by dint of his boisterous presence any potential ill that may be visited up the waiting-to-be-born child were forced to vacate under the weight of Trip's personality. "Logic would also dictate you provide more specific information in the future."

"Future, huh? Plannin' on doin' this a few more times, darlin'?" He gave her a rakish grin, the same one he had laid on her time and time again, the one that always seemed to creep on his face whenever she said something that even vaguely made an inference to sex; acknowledged the fact that she was as much a sexual creature as he was, acknowledged the fact that she loved it.

"We discussed three, did we not." Just as the last word rolled of her lips she felt a hard kick against her uterine walls, momentarily stealing her breath. Trip felt the momentary shock and alarm and placed a hand on her stomach, feeling another strong push against the restraining flesh.

"He wants out...now." Trip looked over to the nurse who had not dismissed herself from the room, still seeming to be viewing the father with some skepticism, "Where's the doc?"

"He's prepping for the cesarean, and on that note, if you want to be present you need to go scrub up as well, mister..." She lilted, prompting him to provide a confirmatory name.

"Tucker."

"You should go scrub up, mister Tucker, we need to prepare the mother for the procedure."

Trip looked down to T'Pol, "Will you be alright, darlin'?"

"I am certain I will be fine for a few more minutes, you should do as you are bade, I will desire your presence during the procedure itself."

"Alright, darlin', I'll go do that."


Admiral Black looked up as Admiral Gardner burst unceremoniously into his office. There had been no call from his aide, no knock, no notification that he was coming to his headquarters building, the door just flew open as Gardner, his face ruddy and eyes wide in an expression that looked a bit like alarm through a lens of inside-out toad. Gardner was angry frequently, his expressions often reflected this individual foible, but concern, alarm, mortal or philosophical terror was far less common and usually indicative of something truly awful.

"Did you see the news?"

Black sat down the PADD he had been reviewing, sudden waves of dread over what could possibly be heralded this time. He found out about the Xindi attack, the Klingon Offensive after it was already being announced in the media. The idea that some new horror had befallen mankind was first in his mind, "What is it? What happened?"

"That boy of yours...he did it."

"What are you talking about?" Black furrowed his brow, unsure what Gardner was blathering about this time but feeling at least a twinge of relief that humanity was apparently not at risk.

"Tucker...he really did it." Gardner turned the office's main view screen to a news feed with a report line coming from Cape Canaveral, Florida.

"What did he do?"

The feed audio answered the question, the anonymously flat tones of a news caster began to recap the story, "Once again, the first half human, half alien child confirmed as having been born at the Cape Canaveral Hospital at twelve seventeen this afternoon. We have been able to confirm that that mother of the child is Vulcan. At this time we have no further information or the identity of the parents beyond knowledge that the mother of the child is Vulcan and the father is human. We're being told that the doctors that oversaw the birth will be speaking to the press shortly to discuss some of the specifics. Again...one for the history books ladies and gentleman, the first half human child born today in Florida."

Gardner cut the volume on the feed, "We're not going to be able to suppress this for long. Their names are going to come out, and then everyone will know in short order that he was banging the cultural attaché while he was still serving with her. Then how do you think this is going to pan out when they find out you handed him lead on darkwater and that we'll have him helming the first Iowa class off the line?"

"I think most people will assume he's a pretty and unique snowflake that fell in love with a Vulcan and we'll be able to point at his career record to explain why we tossed him lead on our new line of battleships." Black answered with just a hint of acidity in his voice.

"You're going to be the one catching the flak on this one, they're not about to kill the program once they see what you've done, but don't be surprised if Tucker is left to twist in the wind on this. Until then, what are we going to do to keep this under wraps?" Gardner grumbled, folding his arms across his chest.

"You still don't see the big picture on this...it's a half human, half Vulcan baby. It means one of us and one of them loved each other so much that they wanted to have a baby. The differences seem pretty minor after that." Black let a wisp of a smile cross his face, "I'm telling you, it's just the beginning. Once this gets out there isn't going to be a voice to be heard asking what we're going to do to punish them for breaking regs. It's going to be all about 'where do we all go from here', what is the combined fate of our races now that we've goteen past one of the most intimate problems that could exist between them? It's going to lead to a big multi-national alliance. Mark my words."


T'Les looked down into the tiny face, eyes closed serenely concealing the striking blue he had inherited from his father. Tiny balled fists framing the gently upward swept brows and pointed ears and skin that was perhaps a bit more pink than bronze colored. Framing the face were the first few wispy flaxen strands of hair, another element inherited from his human father. She gently ran her fingers through the gossamer strands, marveling at its softness and the benign expression of her grandchild; like a little Kolinahr master already embracing the supreme calm of Surak. Still, something about the corners of its mouth, almost pointing upwards in a human smile intrigued her. It was almost as if Solan Tucker, not even two hours old, was already saying "I know something you don't know." This child was neither Vulcan nor human, and yet both at the same time, and in so being perhaps it would inherit the strengths of both with none of the weaknesses. To look at him now, T'Les couldn't help but believe that the only think that would ever try or challenge her grandson would be his ability and willingness to temper those disparate elements of himself to become his own unique being.

Emotions were overwhelming her as she cradled the tiny body; feelings of pride, admiration, and unconditional love strained her control. All the feelings she had experienced with the birth of T'Pol, but more vivid now than she remembered them in the past, and now with a strange element of sadness that her mate, for whom the child was named, would not be able to see this wondrous little culmination of a human's love for a Vulcan and a Vulcan's love for a human. Her grandchild, the words rolled through her mind as she accepted the weight and gravity of it. Her daughter, the child she herself had given birth too was not a mother as well, had become a woman and found for herself a mate in whom she could find both love and pride. Even as the joy threatened to drown her so did the ache in the part of her katra that still missed her mate.

"Solan ko'mekh-il kel'o." Trip intoned quietly as he walked over to where T'Les held the child, rocking it gently in her arms.

"Kel'o yuk-tor, Solan-kam. Du sa-fu vaksur." The elder Vulcan gently stroked the child's face again, "You should be proud, Charles."

"I didn't do anything, it's T'Pol who did such a good job." He looked down into the tiny face and was momentarily rewarded with opened eyes, twinkling blue back at his father You're retarded use of the world liberal before lids slid lazily shut once again.

"I am certain she would agree you did your part." T'Les arched her left brow and looked back to where her daughter lay asleep while Elaine and Charles jr. sat vigil. The surgery had been incredibly successful, doctors Kovel and Robertson decided on a rather non-conventional side-access incision and plucked the child out in less than three minutes. The first three swats cleared the lungs but failed to produce a cry from the child, with the fourth finally eliciting a single protesting screech after which Solan Tucker immediately quieted down. Kovel marveled that the child was calm and sedate even by Vulcan standards and there was some initial worry that perhaps there was something wrong with the newborn. A battery of scans latter they only conclusion that could be reached was that the child was very calm and content as evidenced by the large concentration of serotonin and endorphins in his neurochemistry.

The young family seemed to be experiencing an almost super natural level of attunement to one another. It was clear to T'Les that there was a strong bond between all three; mother to child, child to father, husband to wife, all three interconnected in some primal and unspoken consciousness that T'Les could only imagine was as ancient as Vulcan telepathy itself. Trip had been holding the child, and almost as if some unconscious cue had prompted him he handed the child to T'Pol who immediately brought the newborn to her breast where he quickly latched. There was no fanfare or fumbling on T'Pol's part, she simply did as was necessary while Solan fed contentedly and upon satisfying his hunger immediately fell asleep, prompting T'Pol to do the same. Trip, on the other hand, became hyper alert once both mother and child were asleep, almost as if his position in the family hierarchy had been established as protector as, logically, he would be given his skill set and genetic predilections. In a strange way, T'Les could understand the kind of comfort that would bring to T'Pol and Solan; an innate knowledge that Trip could and would bring horrible violence to bear on anything that could possibly threaten them. In T'Pol's case this was understanding born of knowledge of Trip's past, but for the hours old Solan there was a bizarre unconscious knowledge that was evident when his tiny body seemed to relax more into his grandmother's arms the second his father drew near.

There would be a few weeks to observe the phenomena as she stayed to provide aid to her daughter in the wake of giving birth to her first child, it would also serve to relieve Mr. and Mrs. Tucker who had kept vigil over T'Pol for close to two months now and were doubtlessly ready to return home. T'Pol would also certainly find some relaxation in having another Vulcan presence in the home rather than having her mental discipline constantly strained by the doting of a pair of emotive humans. T'Les was certain she would be able to read the cues indicating when she should leave the couple alone to bond with their child better than either Charles Jr. or Elaine would be able to, a fact that would certainly ease some tension for the new mother and father.

For all her concerns over the elements of Vulcan propriety, there was one distinct advantage she could think of that being on Earth presented; she could be permitted to indulge in the utterly illogical and emotional excess of demonstrating her affection for her grandchild. On Vulcan such behavior would not be considered permissible between anyone other than child and mother, not even fathers could expect to display such affection for their children, but on Earth it was all normal and expected. As she lifted the tiny head to press against her forehead she for a moment felt nothing but feelings of contentment and safety from the little mind and at that moment she felt dangerously close to allowing an emotional outburst to get the better of her; a fact, she reflected, would go utterly unnoticed since all she felt was an uncontrollable urge to smile, which, with back turned, she did where only Solan would be able to see, if his eyes had been open.


Commander Nassir al-Sistani was well aware of Captain Tucker as much by reputation as by the actual project itself, and the prospect of meeting the semi-legendary fighter/engineer had resulted in a whole week of nights where sleep eluded him. There were plenty of rumors floating around about a new posting, something better than commanding the U.S.S. Detroit but not a side-step onto a Frigate and definitely not a posting to one of the CG class boats. He could say with all modesty that he was a good attack boat skipper, every performance appraisal had said the same. During his year tour of the Romulan border as a component of the Argelius Patrol Flotilla he and his crew accounted for seven intercepts, forcing no fewer than eleven Romulan ships back across their border. He was a hard charger, a quality that served the fleet well during wartime. Tucker, was, according to everything he had heard, something of an eccentric; an engineering genius who would have been as comfortable in a lab as in a warship. Here was a man who could have had his entire career dirt-side without ever having to worry for a second about positioning or fleet politics. Most of his ilk had never gone past Mars or, at the furthest, Europa. They certainly didn't undertake the extensive cross training in Marine combat training, and special forces field procedure. Nothing about Tucker as the engineering genius jived with the multiple-awards-for-valor recipient that was in the files, so it was strange when someone suggested he show up to the meeting in standard NWUs with soft cover rather than the more popular Naval Service Utility Uniform favored on most ships. The separate jacket and trousers of the NWU felt more natural than the jumpsuit of the NSUU but something about the camouflage just seemed out of place and counter-intuitive, especially when he was standing in a docking arm at the LaGrange 2 fleet yard, thousands of miles from the nearest forest or anything resembling woodlands.

When al-Sistani caught view of the captain he immediately noted the jump wings with combat jump device, marksman badges, combat deployment badge and various elements of the uniform that reinforced his background as a war fighter par excellence. Attention to detail had always been something Nassir prided himself on and he immediately began looking for the details he would overlook; the smudges of dirt on his hands and forearms, the scrape on his forehead and the accompanying smudge, pockets stuffed with tools, a worn out PADD clenched in his right hand and the slight discoloration of lighter skin on his left ring finger where a wedding band usually resided. He would certainly remove the ring while working on some engineering issue. Corridors and cramped crawl spaces were often covered in films of dirt and dust just like that which was on his arms, hands, and forehead. Tucker had clearly been working on something just moments before, getting his hands dirty and into the thick of it as would befit and engineer of his pedigree.

The commander snapped his boots together and saluted Tucker who quickly and loosely returned the gesture without breaking stride, the PADD switching quickly from right hand to left in order to return the salute.

"Commander al-Sistani, pleasure to finally meet you." Tucker nodded, his right hand coming out as he closed the distance.

"Captain Tucker, sir, wouldn't have wanted to miss it." He returned the handshake, "There has been a lot of talk about the boat you're building up here."

"Today was a good day for you to come on up then, we're applyin' the designation today." Tucker gestured over to an observation copula further down the docking arm.

Al-Sistani fell into step behind the captain and followed to the observation windows. Seven months prior a major controversy surrounding the Captain almost derailed the entire project. When news broke that, then, Commander Tucker had been involved in a romantic relationship with Enterprise's cultural attaché, Sub-Commander T'Pol and that they had produced a child the Arms Committee had called for Tucker's head. Political pressure on the part of certain human apologist groups had fomented the trouble. What most common folk saw as a sign that humanity wasn't isolated and shunned by extant races the apologists, academics, and intellectuals were calling the violation of another race and humanity's corrupting influence. The few scholars and intellectuals that pointed to the fact that when races intermixed there was invariably interbreeding were mostly crucified in the media.

The circus around Tucker and his wife and child hit a fever pitch that suddenly broke when the first pictures of baby Solan Tucker grabbing "daddy's" nose were finally captured by a photographer. Suddenly the strange and abstract concept for a human/Vulcan hybrid child was put into a new light; it was just a little baby acting like a little baby. It was doing what any human, or Vulcan for that matter, baby might do. The fact that former-sub-commander T'Pol was beautiful and graceful helped a good bit too. Suddenly people started demanding that they be left alone, that the new mother and baby not be subjected to the scrutiny and intrusions by the media. Around that same time the MCS Admiralty crafted a careful PR campaign focusing on the new areas of cooperation between Earth, Vulcan, Andoria, Rigel, and Telar. The new Iowa class battleship, still only a name and idea without any tangible respresentation, became a symbol of human strength and cooperation with our galactic neighbors that would serve to protect all the races of the immediate interstellar community and crush aggression by any extant groups that would seek to harm Earth and its allies.

Nassir found it hard to think of Tucker in terms of the father and family man when his war record was being paraded around as justification for a number of things in sub-committee meetings, media debates, and among the brass of MCS. Most of the details about the Iowa class and the, as of yet, undisclosed six classes that were part of a phased restructuring of the Naval branch were highly secret, what was none was that Tucker was heavily involved in the development cycle though his level of involvement was still largely speculative. When Admiral Forrest contacted him a week earlier and informed him that he would be meeting with Captain Tucker, the designer of the Iowa class, as the Admiral put it.

"Exactly how much of this is your brain-child, sir?"

Tucker turned and gave Nassir a sheepish look, "All of it."

"All of it?"

"Stem to Stern, down to the bolts we'd use, the engine, the systems, I started workin' on the design and just threw out all the old plans and started from scratch." Tucker admitted as if it was a matter of some embarrassment rather than a moment to be imminently proud of.

As they approached the copula, Al-Sistani got his first view of the ship, the long squat sweep of it, the aggressive lines of the super-structures built above and below the saucer, the enlarge module section containing the deflector array and the colossal armored nacelles. It was almost too fast looking to bear the moniker battleship, it looked like it could outrun anything in space and was easily twice as big as the CG models.

"Is that her, sir?" It was a silly question, he already knew it had to be the ship.

"Yep, the U.S.S. Tirpitz." Tucker folded his arms across his chest.

"Tirpitz?" Al-Sistani cocked an amused brow, "I imagine that name went over like a bug in a punch bowl."

Tucker chuckled, "The appropriations committee 'bout had a fit."

"So, how did they get that name pushed through?" Nassir felt a grin starting to twist his lips, this was certain to be a good story.

"Well, you know Admiral Black...if he wants'ta do somethin' he usually gets it done. He did some sort of study or somethin', turns out certain names just sound more aggressive regardless of language or race. They did a study on a buncha different aliens and turns out 'Tirpitz' sounds aggressive to anyone regardless of language." Tucker shrugged, "So they decided BB zero one would be the Tirpitz just so we could let everyone know that we weren't kiddin'."

"What are those four protruding hull structures, sir?" Nassir pointed at the long aggressive looking structures that extended out above and below the saucer.

"Weapons emplacements...we've got batteries of phaser cannons and rail guns emplaced."

"How much firepower are we talking, sir, if I can ask?"

"We're talkin' about approximately six times the firepower of a CG that can be brought to bear on an given fire arc." Tucker pointed to one of the dorsal structures, a series of panels on the side indicating weapons emplaced inside the housing, "Each phase cannon battery consists of two pulse emitters and a pair of continuous projection arrays. There's six batteries total each side on the dorsal hull, three each ventral, with rail guns, photonic torpedoes, and capital grade missiles."

The commander whistled, "Look at all that freedom..."

Tucker grinned, "So, I take it from that you wouldn't mind bein' XO of the boat, huh?"

Nassir decided to play it cool, not give away that he was hoping beyond hope that the meeting today was to offer him a billet on the new ship, but part of him figured that he shouldn't seem too eager, he had to demonstrate he was a man that believed in pride and duty in equal measure, and while this would definitely be a step up over the Detroit or just about any other ship in the fleet, he considered the little DD class ship home and the crew, family. "I don't know, Captain, not sure if this is an upgrade over the Big D." He looked out at the lines of the massive warship again, it was begging for combat, "Big experimental rig like this will probably be stuck on in-system patrols for at least eighteen months before the suits are willing to let us take her out for a scrap."

Tucker's expression became suddenly very serious, leaving Al-Sistani to wonder if he hadn't perhaps over played his hand, offending the captain. "No such luck on that account...we're gonna be taken her right out of dock and onto the Romulan line. Fact is, we really need aggressive skippers on these boats, one's that'll use 'em to their fullest potential. There's nothin' official yet, but after the shake down..."

"I don't think they'd hand me command of a boat like this quite that quickly, sir."

"Nope, but they're ready to hand you XO right now..." Tucker allowed a bit of a grin onto his face, "Not like they're gonna give you much of an option, the orders have been cut, Detroit is bein' moved back for another round'a retrofits and you and your senior staff are gettin' moved to Tirpitz."

Any attempts to play it cool failed as a big grin crossed the Iraqi's face, "Thank you very much, sir. Mind if I ask who will be skipper?"

Tucker ran a hand through his hair, "Well, for the shakedown, I'll be cap'n of the boat. After our first six months on the line we'll be puttin' back in for any tweaks, and they'll figure out who'll be CO...I'm bankin' on A. G. Robinson, though."

Commander Al-Sistani turned to fully face the captain, "It'll be my privilege to be your XO, sir."

"Welcome aboard, commander...we've gotta good six more weeks'a work to get 'er in fightin' trim, then we'll be puttin' to sea." Tucker extended a hand which the commander took and shook firmly.

"Thank you, captain Tucker."

"I've got one rule before we go any further...call me Trip."


[!-Author's Note-!]

In the relevant story media section of my profile I have a link to the first images pertaining to the Infinite Diversities story line, namely an image of the Iowa Class for better idea of scale and appearance as well as an image of MCS small arms used by Trip and MARSOC.