"So, Vulcan Rigel, and Andoria are throwing fits that we didn't consult them before engaging in diplomatic dialogue with the Gorn." Admiral Sanderson commented between swigs at the bottle of beer he held between his forefinger and thumb, doing his best not to grin.
"Ya snooze, ya lose." Black fired back as he rotated a cigar, lips pursed at the tip as e applied the lit match to the end.
Forrest was less amused, "Going unilateral doesn't set a very good example if we're planning on a federation."
"The Gorn contacted us, they wanted to talk to us, not Vulcan, not Andoria, nothing about the Rigellians or Telar or Coridinites…they wanted Earth and we gave them Earth." Sanderson shot back.
Black took a puff from the box-cut parejo, "Any idea how the initial talks are going?"
Forrest leaned back against the wall overlooking the bay, sun bathing the building as it started to dip into the pacific. "Archer has been out there for three days now, he's reported nothing beyond the proceedings being 'positive'."
"There's so little known about them that I was initially pretty damn worried." Black acknowledged, looking back from where he sat with his feet dangling over the edge of the balcony outside Gardner's office suite.
"There's a story about how about a century ago some Orion pirate king decided to raid their territory and was never seen or heard from again. Took ten ships in, nothing came back out." Sanderson ruminated, taking a sip from the beer, then lowering it again, "And that was the end of it, no Gorn expedition fleet came out trying to track down where they had come from, no declarations were issued, they just stayed as silent as they've always been and the galaxy was minus about seventeen hundred Orions."
Black nodded, puffed at the cigar, then nodded again, "I love stories with a happy ending."
Sanderson let out a hearty laugh at this, but Forrest seemed less than amused by the tale, or, perhaps, Black's reaction. "Did we even send out the first feeler about a diplomatic mission to our allies?"
The doors from the office to the Balcony opened and Gardner stopped, staring at the three other admirals, "What the hell are you doing on my terrace?"
Sanderson turned, "Eey! Look who it is!"
"Happy Birthday!" Black shouted as he turned and pelted Gardner with a cigar tube containing a parejo like the one he was smoking.
Gardner caught the falling container then moved to where Sanderson sat, holding out his hand, "Beer me."
Sanderson complied, handing a bottle to the other Admiral who made his way over to the edge of the balcony. "Not drinking Max?"
"He's pouting." Black answered.
Gardner frowned, or rather, frowned more, "What for?"
"He's vicariously pissed off for the Vulcans, Andorians, and Rigellians." The shorter man answered as he rolled the cigar between his fingers.
"Oh, no this shit again…" Gardner threw his hands up in exasperation, then popped open the beer bottle, "if the Gorn really wanted to talk to them, they'd have sent them an invite too. Seems to me they just want to know what foot they're on with us since we're projecting power all over the quadrant."
Sanderson shrugged, "That's what I thought."
"Hell, by the time Archer is done talking them up they'll probably want to meet with the others anyway. Way I figure it they've probably had access to everyone anyway and figured they weren't worth talking to."
Forrest pushed off the wall and walked over to where Black and Gardner were, "What do you mean?"
"Oldest charts we've gotten our hands on for this area of space have the Gorn Hegemony indicated. Those charts show their territory as pretty much exactly what it is now. They've been holding the same area of space for about the last five hundred years. They're there for the long haul, so if they wanted to play at diplomacy with anybody else they'd have done so by now." Gardner explained as he had been largely responsible for the mission to meet with their diplomats just inside their space. "Besides, if they want to play ball with us they're going to have to play with our friends anyway. Let the diplomats wring their hands over it and gripe, it's about the only thing they're good for anyway."
"I'm worried we've set our diplomacy back with our other allies by years, we didn't include them, didn't consult them, didn't ask their opinions or for input." Forrest declared.
"It means we're growing up…they're going to have to accept that sooner or later." Gardner replied, "If they can't make that step, then honestly, we don't need them. A kid eventually has to leave their parents' house, it's about time we did the same."
Jon sat, looking at the desk in the cramped office off the bridge, specifically at the place he had always, mechanically, placed his mug of coffee. Day in, day out, for close on six years now, the laminate surface was indelibly marked in that spot now. It could no longer be buffed out or painted over or wiped away, it was permanent. The difference was the mark he had left on the ship would be torn out and tossed away, but the mark this ship left on him was never going to go away. Up to this moment, it felt as if it had been the culmination of his life; the single greatest thing he had ever done and would likely ever do. This was the final port of call for the ship, grown old through service, worn and torn at the edges, lived in, probably as alive now as any member of the crew, and in eighteen hours he would be leaving it for the last time in its life…hell…in his life. Saxon would not be Enterprise, like a hermit crab taking over a shell, the old being, the old life would be gone. In six hours they'd be pulling the eagles off his collar and pinning stars there, in six hours he'd make that step into the final lap of the race his career had been. In six hours he'd be Admiral Jonathan Archer, in six hours he'd be saying hello to his impending posting to CA-01…but all of that would mean saying goodbye to CGX-01 and there was a strange and distant sadness he felt because of it.
In saying goodbye to the ship he would also be saying goodbye to many of the faces that had come to be part of his life. Malcolm Reed had a pending reposting to the gunnery control command out of Utopia Planetia, Kelby was being poached by the Tirpitz which at once filled him with slight consternation that Trip was, once again, taking a member of his crew, but there was a strange logic to it that he could accept, Hoshi was going to be staying as was Travis Mayweather, Anna Hess and Rostov would still be in Engineering with Hess moving up to division chief, Phlox was still trying to decide if he wanted to go back to San Francisco to the active think-tank of the Interspecies Medical Exchange or whether he wanted to stay on one of the boats, Hayes was being moved back to Coronado to work with the Naval Special Warfare training program. And of course…there was Erika. He wasn't sure what her future would be, where she would be going, what ship she'd be on or department of the Navy she would be going to.
He found he didn't want to consider what being separate from her would do at this point in his life, he'd grown so attached to her, so dependent on her, she had become a rock he could lash himself to when life was buffeting him at its hardest, and with her gone he was not sure how long he would be able to remain strong. Their relationship had taken a turn to the fiery ever since that night she had contacted him from the Gorn Cruiser five months prior. Sometimes he forgot how beautiful she was, how sexy she could be, but on top of all that he realized how she was far beyond just the best lay and best friend he'd ever had, she was part of what made him, him. Her unique brand of moral support had been what had led to the first talks with the Gorn being so successful.
In less than three days, they had managed to convince a species that had cloistered itself for close to seven hundred years to join, albeit in a limited capacity, their galactic neighbors. Even now an embassy was being built for the Gorn diplomatic mission to Earth, and to be fair, he had to place a lot of the credit for that squarely at Hernandez's feet, not just for her diplomatic acumen while acting as de facto hostage to the reptilian race but also for the way she built him up with the nightly calls she made to him on Enterprise.
To hell with it…
There was no more use in ruminating, it was time to move forward. As he left the office he saw in the distance the LaGrange 2 construction yards where the Royal Oak and Missouri were being constructed, the long, low lines of the battleships striking a chord of emotional fervor in him. As a people, they were growing stronger, and these ships helped symbolize it. He was just about to look away as he saw the same long aggressive lines heading towards one of the open docking berths.
Tirpitz
He could see discoloration, indications of damage, slight to be certain, but a clear sign she had taken fire. She didn't seem to be so much limping into port as skulking, like some palpable edge of violence had seized upon the ship and it was as alive as its crew; all blood and fire and the direst of consequences. To look at is he couldn't help but marvel at Trip's genius at taking their design curve that far away and ahead of what had initially been their plans. Constitution was a fine looking ship, a marvel of engineering, but everything it did it did inefficiently and for show. The Iowas took that performance curve, improved on it, and did it in a way that was unmistakable for anything but a warship. The specs and diagrams he'd seen for the Revenge and Triumph class cruisers invoked many of the same lines as the Iowa but in a less martial looking form. They were regal as opposed to just intimidating, a king on his charger rather than long-lances riding high in the saddle ready to bear down on an enemy. They were every bit and Admiral's ship, as comfortable on missions of diplomacy as on missions of war. It was the best possible natural evolution of the CGX/CG design.
He marched over to the communications station and punched up Tirpitz's hail and identification credentials and sent over a message on ULF.
"Tirpitz, Tirpitz, this is Enterprise, come back, over."
The voice that came in reply had the usual muted and flattened quality of ULF communication, "Enterprise, this is Tirpitz, we copy, send traffic."
"Tirpitz, this is Enterprise actual, request permission to come aboard."
There was a pause that Archer knew was the request being relayed to the officer of the watch who might, in turn, need to relay it to the CO or XO. The voice that came back was immediately recognizable. "Keepin' the light on for us?"
"You know how it is, dad has to wait until everyone gets home for the night."
There was a chuckle, a sound that ULF rendered into a series of stuttering pops, "Well shit, c'mon over then."
The halls of Tirpitz were a bustle of activity as everyone seemed to be doing their best to secure their stations and gather their belongings in order to return dirtside now that they were in port for the long haul. It was possible they were finally going to get those final shake-down fixes put into place since they'd been sortied ahead of schedule this last time and hadn't been able to put back in for close to six months. It was hard to believe the ship was only a little over a year old at this point as the crew seemed to behave like they had been serving with one another for years. Of course, they had been thrust into the thick of it early on and clearly had been forced by dint of their duty to quickly adapt to being a full-fledged vanguard battleship.
He hadn't even gotten halfway to the turbolift when he saw Trip coming tromping in his direction. He looked haggard, worn out, beaten up, just generally put-through-the-ringer and Archer had to wonder what exactly he'd been up to the last five months. But he was grinning as he approached, not the forced kind either, his right hand cocked up and away from his body in anticipation as he drew closer. Jon reached his fellow captain and slapped his right hand into the waiting hand of Tucker.
"How the hell are ya', Jon!" Trip crowed.
"Mighty fine, mighty fine. What the hell did you get yourselves into?"
Trip grunted, the grin diminishing, "Orions and some Naussican raiders were goin' nuts out there for some God awful reason."
Archer arched a brow, "Really?"
"Yeah, they were hittin' anything and everything they could, sloppy, desperate like. We put down five of the larger privateer groups 'fore we were called to put back in."
"So they were who dinged the paint or was that from…wherever you guys disappeared to?"
Archer watched Trip's expression turn painfully serious, "I can't talk about that Jon."
He suspected Trip was being coy, "Can't or won't?"
"Either, this is jisscog tier stuff." Trip replied in a low tone.
JSSCG meant one thing and one thing only, major concern to the strategic wellbeing of there are of the known galaxy as a whole. It was starting to seem like the universe was going mad, all the things that had happened in the last four years just seemed to indicate that something huge was brewing just on the horizon and he suddenly felt stabs of apprehension over whether this had not already been foreseen and was the primary reason for the accelerated timetable of modernization for the fleet.
"Bad news…"
Trip half frowned, "Tell me about it. Somethin' else is going on otherwise we wouldn't'a been recalled, they were gonna let us do a full year tour without finalization to get a better break-test idea for the second block boats but after the pirates started actin' up they decided somethin' bigger was brewin'."
"They calling you in for debrief?"
Trip nodded, "Day after t'morraw, which means I've actually got a bit a free time seein' as how I make sure all my reports are written in advance." He gave Archer's shoulder a bit of a jab, an obvious crack at how Jon never seemed to have all his paperwork done until they'd been in port for at least a week.
"We can't all be boring uninvolved captains, Trip." He fired back with a twinkle in his eye.
Tucker laughed long and hard, "Okay, you got me!"
"I'm betting you want to get home."
Trip shrugged, something Archer had counted on, "Actually, if you don' have anything goin' on I've gotta invitation from Black and Sanderson to grab a few drinks down in Frisco, wanna be my plus one?"
Archer shrugged, "Figured you'd be taking your XO."
"They're gonna meet with him separate, I get the feelin' they're 'bout ready to pin his eagle and give him a boat of his own again."
"When were you set to meet up?"
Trip shrugged this time, then folded his arms across his chest, "Three hours but nothin' says I can't start getting' one tied on now, 'sides, if I'm already two sheets to the wind before they show up I can beg off earlier."
Archer smirked, "Planning ahead, huh?"
"All those years as a engineer taught me a few things about bein' prepared."
It was already a little past midnight when Trip materialized in front of the bungalow on Satellite Beach. He'd volunteered to be a guinea pig for the multi-hop site-to-site transport protocols that were being put into place only after he'd had a long talk with the transportation chief at Headquarters about the pattern-buffer redundancy to allow instantaneous recall if a hop went wrong. It was a three leg hop from San Francisco to Grand Forks, Grand Forks to NSW Crane Division in Indiana, Crane to Quantico, then finally Quantico to his house via a relay hop from Canaveral. He had spent about thirty seconds in the matter stream trying to convince himself of all the ways it couldn't go wrong and in his drunken state he had done a physical once-over once he'd materialized to make sure nothing was missing as immediately evident from a physical touch test.
After he was certain all the pasts of his head, hands, feet, arms, legs, and testicles were there he'd gone up to the porch, taking a second to breath in some salt air and make sure he wasn't wobbling too much before he opened the door. He knew Solan would be asleep, as would Teeth probably, but he wasn't sure about T'Pol and part of him wondered if he should have called ahead.
As he put the key in the door he projected a thought to her, Hey, I'm home.
As the door opened he stepped in to see her standing in the hall, eyes wide with surprise and his own vision stuck for a minute on her surprised expression before following the line down to the partially swollen abdomen she carried.
"You're…" The words stuck in his throat.
"Why did you not contact us to tell us you were returning?"
"I thought I'd be surprised…" He bumbled, "I mean…I thought I'd let it be a surprise."
"I was about to get the gun."
He stared at her belly, "Why…? Why didn't you tell me?"
"I thought it would be best if I did not distract you with the news."
He dropped his seabag and walked over to her, dropping to a knee in front of the display of her pregnancy, looking at it and bringing his hands up to touch it, "I…"
He was at a loss for words.
"You are drunk." She admonished.
"I was until a few seconds ago." He quipped with a measure of bitterness but clearly to mesmerized by what her physical condition said, "How long?"
She sighed, "Since the basic series of events has seemed to elude you, five months."
"So when we…?"
"That would be the logical assumption barring it being another's child."
This brought his eyes back up to hers, a measure of confusion and worry there as the words seemed to reach his mind on an alcohol delayed timeline.
"Of course it is yours Trip." She was irritated that he would think otherwise, but also slightly amused by his reaction.
"Put a baby in me." He recalled.
She reached down to stroke his face, because he clearly needed the physical affirmation, "You succeeded admirably in that regard."
"Do we know what it is?" He asked, his voice tinged with wonder.
"If by we you mean to say the present company, then no as you are not currently aware, if by we you mean the collective family unit, then a portion of that unit is currently aware."
He frowned, "Why are you givin' me a hard time about this? Because I didn't call? Because I'm drunk?"
Fair point, she was being unnecessarily adversarial when it was not called for. A single lapse of courtesy on his part was not grounds for this level of confrontation. She could also grasp why he felt the need to prepare himself mentally for the return home after the events of the pon farr and the level of mistreatment he had experienced at her hands even after she became lucid. Once she returned to her senses she had once again become violent as he became the outlet for her frustration except now it was in a far more pointed fashion that during her outbursts caused by Trellium-D usage.
She placed her other hand on the side of his face, directing his gaze to hers, "We are going to have a daughter."
He made a silent gasp then shot to his feet, "Really? Really and truly?"
"Yes, she is currently in excellent health. I believe our agreement was if we had a daughter she would be named for your sister."
Trip's mouthed moved but seemed momentarily incapable of forming words, "I…uh…I thought you said if our first born was…"
"Since Solan is named for my father I believe it is only fair if we extend our original plan to this child."
Trip knelt again, kissing her abdomen and rubbing it cherishingly, "Do my folks know?"
T'Pol felt the initial waves of frustration begin to sink through her feet into the floor boards, her initial partially-inwardly-directed frustrations at her treatment of her mate had begun to manifest in a sort of resentment of him for providing an outlet to her anger. During the waning two days of the fever she had attacked him both physically and verbally about his liaisons prior to the development of their relationship. She grew angry that he would not in turn use her as an outlet for his frustration, the more she abused him the guiltier she felt, the guiltier she felt the more angry at him she got. The sex had gotten violent again but this time she was fully in control of her faculties as she tried to punish him at the same time she was seeking pleasure and biological fulfillment from him and his attempts to restrain her while simultaneously copulating made the event something that gnawed at the spirit of him. He felt guilt for raping-her-by-proxy while she was raping-him-by-proxy, and all the sensations of guilt were directed to him. He had been ashamed, had a hard time looking her in the eyes that final day before she left for the flight back to Earth. When he kissed her goodbye, he had not made eye contact.
"They are aware that I am pregnant, but they possess no further details as I believed it would be unfair for them to find out before you." She replied as she ran fingers through his hair, "You need a haircut."
She was surprised when she felt his arms wrap around her, pulling her closer into him as he kissed her abdomen again and stroked the small of her back, "What about your mom?"
It felt good, his touch was laden with affection, love, a bit of desire and the pressing of lips through the clothes were suddenly directed to her flesh and not to that being that resided there-in. This wasn't a kiss for his child-to-be, it was for her. "She has general information regarding the approximate time the conception occurred and the gender of the baby, but only in as much as it was needed for research purposes."
Her own hands were now roaming across his head, pulling at his hair and scalp, stroking his face, no longer merely affectionate.
"Let's celebrate." He muttered into her skin as he'd already undone three of the buttons of her top and was now letting his lips touch the bared flesh.
Her voice was pinched, labored by increased breathing, "Did you not already do that ahead of schedule?"
"I'm already drunk, which means all that's left is to hop in bed."
The same hormones that had been making here short-tempered were now screaming for the fulfillment of sex and her body prickled in anticipation of it, "I was certain you'd spent enough time in bed with me after the fever to not want to consider it for quite some time."
He'd already stood up and snaked a hand into her pajama pants by that point, rubbing at her through her undergarments, "Just don't try to choke me or go for my eyes this time."
She grabbed at the arm, trying to steady herself on it, but definitely not to stop it from doing was it was doing, "What about insulting you?"
"I could live without it, but if that's what it takes to get you off…"
She said nothing else, just grabbed his head and pulled his lips into hers.
T'Pol awoke with a squeaking sigh as she stretched her limbs, suddenly so devoid of tension. The sheets to her right had been thrown to the side and she could still smell where her mate had been earlier. The softness of the cotton bed clothes tickled her naked flesh as she rolled from her side to her back and felt the cooled fluids Trip left inside her move. She arched a pleased brow, Trip was still in love with her, still wanted her, still felt a need for her even after he had seen the monster she could be. The sex had been vigorous, involved, thorough and had lasted until the early hours of the morning after he had spent himself in her twice. He had not neglected her pleasure either she reflected as her buttocks hit the wet spot she had left where her pleasure had culminated on one of several times during their love-making.
From down the hall she heard Solan babbling something to his father occasionally prompting a yowl from the sehlat and laughter from her husband. Moments later she heard footfalls coming down the hallway; light and powerful at the same time heralding her mate's approach. When the door opened he was holding a tray in his hands, on it several plates, a mug, and glass of what could only be orange juice.
"Mornin' baby."
She stretched again, the sheets coming away from her breasts to rest upon her enlarged belly. She looked at his appraisingly, he wore a pair of athletic pants but no shirt and she eyed the musculature with a critical and pleased eye. "Perhaps you could stimulate my appetite."
He chuckled as he drew closer, sitting down at the edge of the bed adjacent to her, "With Solan just down the hall?"
"I am certain you could put on a children's program that would distract him just long enough to complete a pre-gustatory round of coitus." She reached up and pointed to his large right deltoid. "We also have the standard course of noise-suppression available to us."
He grinned, "How can you possibly still be horny?"
"It is either that or I can become hormonal and belligerent again."
He chuckled, "God forbid…"
She sat up, dropping the sheet from off her stomach, she still did not look excessively pregnant, but it was clear she was with child and something about her skin seemed to look all the more healthy as a result a fact she was keenly aware of as she felt the surge of sexual excitement go through his body. She sensed the compulsion from him, to push the door shut, to move the train to the dresser, to drop the athletic pants and get inside of her. But he fought it back for some reason.
"Tell 'ya what. Go ahead and get somethin' on your stomach and then we'll think about it. You're eatin' for two remember, and you've barely been eatin' enough for one."
She arched a brow, "How do you know that?"
"Cuz our boy tol' me so." He winked, Then leaned in to kiss her softly before leaning down to plant a quick peck on her left breast then belly. "Eat up, eggs, savas, toast n' juice."
He placed the tray over her lap and she looked down at the meticulously prepared breakfast. He had pan-seared pears and pla-savas, a pair of neatly fried eggs, and whole grain toast cut into meticulous isosceles triangles. The mug contained wu long green tea with honey and the glass of orange juice had a wedge of pineapple wedged on the brim sitting part way in the juice itself.
She arched a brow at her mate, "Are you attempting to woo me again, Trip? I was led to believe the level of effort dropped off once a man had secured a female's affections or sexual attentions."
He adjusted the waist of the athletic pants, setting them teasingly low on his hips, "Maybe I'm just tryin' t'get you all fired up so I can have my pon farr."
She felt his sexual urge become her own, as it seeped through the bond and set her skin on fire. "So I will need the energy as well."
"Yep."
"And what about Solan being just down the hall as you asserted?"
He winked at her, "He woke up at oh five fifteen when he realized I was home and I think he's about plum tuckered out and ready for a nap anyway."
She immediately detected the potential to make play on his words, "So he's tired of you or just tired?"
He cocked a confused brow, "Huh?"
"Tuckered…out?"
"Oh…" He walked back over again, leaning in with a suggestive look in his eyes, "What about you? Aren't you Tuckered out?"
She cocked a defiant brow in return, "Take off your clothes and we shall find out."
Kuhrd had been surprised when the first order he had received once they returned to communications range with Ganalda had been to head to Qo'nos. They had spent two months with the qarDaSgnan filling their holds with technology and trade goods while Duras attended conference after conference trying to begin an initial framework of trade and joint defense of the trade routes. They had been positively disposed towards the concept but had insisted on an exhaustively written framework that had to be ratified in their government before agreeing to begin sending and receiving ships. Duras, to his credit, had acquitted himself well and the qarDaSgnan praised him as honest, honorable, and frank, they had also given him the dubious honor of being called the most non-diplomatic diplomat they had ever met, which at first seemed like a couched insult except for the immense popularity it had garnered him among their elite. Indeed, there had been no end to the dinners and socials they had been obligated to attend. One of the first things Kuhrd was looking forward to was some real Klingon food after being wined and dined but what seemed to be the entirety of the qarDaSgnan military and political elite.
When they arrived above Qo'nos they had noted the increased number of ships above, the capitol was always busy but the sheer number of ships seemed to indicate a war footing or some great disaster had befallen their people. When he had beamed down Goral was already waiting for them. His demeanor was agitated and judging by the bustle of activity, there was something major occurring.
"What is going on?" Kuhrd led off, not giving time for the usual greetings between siblings.
"The Chancellor is dead, they attempted to assassinate him five months ago and he succumbed to his injuries last week."
Duras looked to Kuhrd with plain alarm on his face, "I must find my father."
Goral shook his head, "He is in session right now, the moderate factions are trying to prop him up for chancellorship to have a moderate voice on Qo'nos."
"Who is the opposition?" Kuhrd inquired, knowing that this was all pretext to war with the humans or at the very least, a renewed drive to annex new territory.
"No leader has materialized from their camp," Goral declared, clearly bristling with rage, "our Father and yours," he nodded to Duras, "think they want to find out who they have to run against before putting forth a candidate or candidates."
Duras knit his brows, "But why my father? Why not yours?"
Goral turned to face his future brother-in-law, taking the unexpected step of placing a hand on his left shoulder, "Your father is probably the wisest man in the Empire. He's shrewd but honest, clever but truthful. He can smell out the threats and the opportunities and given the necessity he could probably destroy any house foolish enough to come up against him."
Duras grunted at the assessment, it wasn't entire flattering, "The ideal Klingon."
"For leadership, yes he is. What good is a Chancellor who can't reign in the houses? Left to our own devices we'd eat each other." Goral insisted.
He had to respect the logic of that assessment, he wasn't sure if Goral was aping the word of Dhe'bekt or Lo'wahl, but the point was well made and valid. "We are a small house though, it will be hard for us to bring a sword to bear if need be."
"We will be your house's sword." Goral insisted, "There are four other houses with substantial military and financial strength as well, we can enforce the will of Chancellor Toral should it be willed so."
Krapt approached, and spoke up, his voice even and smooth as always, "Why are all the warships in orbit powered for battle?"
Goral's frown deepened, "When the assassination attempt occurred, a human warship we had not previously detected in the task group that patrols our boarder came out of hiding, its radiological payload was off the charts and it laid in a course for Qo'nos. Fifty parsecs out its turned around and retreated back to the task group."
Duras felt physically ill, "How large was the payload they were they carrying?"
"Probably enough to wipe all life off the planet if they had committed." Goral replied in a low haunted grumble.
Kuhrd stiffened, "The others will use this as pretext for war."
"How could they not?" Krapt inquired, doing little to hide his surprise at his brother's incredulity, "They stood ready to wipe our capital world, a large portion of our people, out entirely!"
"Would we not be willing to do the same if they had attacked us without provocation?" The elder brother snapped.
"If we had attacked them we would not have been content to merely corral them, they would have been wiped out or impressed to service." Krapt retorted.
"Precisely, and they deigned fit not to do so, I have no desire to test their forbearance and neither should you." Kuhrd snapped, pulling himself to his full height, staring down his younger sibling.
For the time being, the youngest brother was cowed, but Duras felt a strange sort of dread as he watched, for the first time, as the family dynamic between the Sons-of-Lo'wahl took on an air of hostility. It was peculiar and maybe a little frightening to watch a schism even in miniature take place in a family famed for its filial integrity. Part of him hoped this wasn't an example of what was to come and hoped even more that he wasn't the catalyst that began it.
V'Karra could read the fear on Minister T'Pau even if nobody else would be able too. To be summoned to the hospital on the human Garrison could only be taken as a sign something had happened to Colonel Shelby. She would not have been operating under the premise that the Colonel was here seeking therapeutic options, in her mind it would only be a disaster and V'Karra realized that it would necessitate just this level of shock to get the minister to focus again on her responsibility vis-à-vis the stricken human. Her approach slowed when she saw the human doctor, as if she could stave off disaster by refusing to approach it, in not knowing, she could make it not so.
The human spoke, "Minister T'Pau, I'm doctor Danvers, a neurologist. I learned that you are currently acting as executor for Colonel Shelby, I'd like to talk to you about his condition."
"Is the colonel ill, what is his condition?"
The human smiled, a sign that he either had not been on Vulcan long or simply did not care to affect Vulcan cultural mores when interacting with them, "The Colonel is fine, minister. However, I believe that the initial assessments regarding his loss of faculty were incorrect. Nurse V'Karra noticed that the Colonel still seemed to demonstrate and understanding of written and spoken information, but lacked the ability to effectively contextualize responses. He understands words, understands their meaning, and reacts accordingly, but he lacks the capacity to translate his own thoughts into written or spoken responses." The doctor explained.
T'Pau looked at V'Karra, "You noticed this?"
"I did, we spoke about it once approximately eight months ago." She replied evenly, knowing the recrimination was implied in the minister's words.
"In all our tests we found that the Colonel was capable of following complex directions both written and spoken and completed the tasks with a level of correctness and accuracy that would indicated full capacity to synthesize spoken and written information." The male human continued, gesturing as he did so. "What we did find, however, was when prompted to write an explanation about his method of task completion the parts of his brain involved with language output showed scattered neurological activity that corresponded to the damage in the Broca's region. The result is that his attempts to provide communication output show hyper-pronounced aphasia as would be expected with damage to that region of the brain."
T'Pau blinked, then found words of her own to address the revelation, seeming to suffer, momentarily, from her own form of aphasia, "Did colonel Shelby always possess the capacity to understand language post-injury or did the ability return gradually?"
"We can't determine that at this time, but based on his level of comprehension even where-in it involves complex direction sets and complex language I would have to assume any loss of capacity as the result of his injuries was marginal. Barring his inability to provide direct input his IQ scores were well within the accepted range of ability pre-injury." The doctor replied in what seemed to be a pleased tone.
Perhaps this was something of a coupe for humanity as it showed that their brains were far more robust than most had initially believed based on the Colonel's level of injury.
"May I see him?" T'Pau inquired, cutting her eyes over to V'Karra.
The doctor arched his brows, "I believe you should address that question to his primary health provider, Mrs. V'Karra has been, here to fore, responsible for all his health care decisions and brought this to our attention in the first place. I am merely providing additional diagnostic information at this time. If you will excuse me."
With that, the human walked away, his pristine white lab coat seeming somehow strangely out of place over desert issue camouflage and boots. When he had cleared the end of the hall and rounded the corner T'Pau spoke.
"I would have found it agreeable to have been consulted before you took this step."
V'Karra fixed the younger Vulcan with a critical glare, "You found it acceptable to completely overlook his existence for seven months prior; why was I to believe that you were willing to see to his mental well-being now?"
T'Pau did not visibly react but her eyes betrayed her where no other part of her body would, "Every concession I have put into place was with the colonel's well-being in mind."
"With the exception of providing him with familiar contact."
T'Pau did flinch at this, "My process of thought was compromised with the colonel and it was my impression that it would be better for me to remain aloof from him."
"For your own good, not his."The nurse fired back.
"It was my concern that barring his ability to properly process input that he would not know what to make of my attempts to interact with him." The minister countered, "I did not desire to provide additional stressors on his fragile mental state."
V'Karra shook her head, an unusually direct form of expression for a Vulcan her age, "The primary confusion in this situation was your own. You cannot or could not accept your attraction to the colonel and rather than properly process and analyze the logic of those reactions you retreated from them without the first acknowledgement of the process itself. I received no instruction or updates from you regarding your willingness or unwillingness to continue to interact with your charge and being unable to provide rational explanation for you absence I was able to watch the emotional confusion effect the colonel."
"An emotional reaction on his part was illogical."
"He is human, minister, they are supposed to be emotional."
Silence overtook T'Pau, leaving her without a way to respond to that. Indeed, it was true, emotion was a core component of the human psyche and to deprive him of outlet for those emotions was cruel, perhaps crueler than anything else she could have done.
"I would like to see him." T'Pau finally said softly.
"You may do as you see fit, I seek immediate release from this position as I do now find the idea of watching his emotional and psychological decay proceed any further from neglect." V'Karra declared firmly.
T'Pau tried not to gape, "How will he react without your supervision and contact?"
"That is not my concern, minister. If I were to offer recommendation I would suggest him being returned to his own people where they will understand how to react to him and assist in his wellbeing. I will not preside over this man's death. Peace and long life, minister."
With that the elder Vulcan turned and left, some mote of logic in T'Pau told her that V'Karra had been right and that she would have to purge herself of her feelings for the colonel in order to be worthy as the individual responsible for his wellbeing. For now all that could done was to provide immediate oversight until a new caregiver could be located, and at the moment the only option that seemed rationale in the interstice was to quarter him in her apartments in Shi'kahr.
Trip looked out the observation cupola of the LaGrange 1 dock three as worker-bees and EVA crews worked to free the nacelle pylons from the U.S.S. Potemkin. This ship wasn't even six years old and was already being gutted, a bizarre reverse cocooning that would allow the ship to emerge as the FFG-04 U.S.S. Iroquois sometime within the next twenty four months. Two docks down, roughly five kilometers away, he could just make out the ribbing be put into place for another first, the saucer for the CA-01 U.S.S. Enterprise.
"I still can' believe y'all went and decided to pin stars to Jonathan Archer." He stated with a chuckle, eliciting a punch to his right arm from the man whom he had named.
Both Gardner and Nguyen chuckled as Tucker smirked at his former CO.
Tucker looked back out at the docks and shook his head slowly, "God, y'all must be burnin' through the appropriations like money is goin' out of style."
"That's isn't the half of it, Tucker. When they sortie you out to take over for De Guello, you're going to have the phase one hub for our first DSS in tow." Gardner declared.
"So our first Deep Space Station is gonna be right in the Klingon's front yard, I bet that's gonna go over big with the klinks." Tucker replied with a halting chuckle.
"It's going to give the task group a permanent port of call and facilitate coordination for the whole area." Nguyen offered, "It's going to give us at least another fifteen years of life on the Mississaugas and Ernest E. Evanses and it means we won't have to constantly sorties ships back and forth all the way from Sol."
Tucker nodded, "So how long as I'm gonna be sittin' out there with my ass hangin' out?"
"We're looking at seven months until Royal Oak has completed sea trials and they'll be putting in to relieve you on the line, then another two months at Kilo Seven." Gardner answered this time.
Trip sighed in response, "And I get to miss my daughter bein' born. Funny part is T'Pol is the one who talked me int'ah not resignin' my commission in the first place."
Archer turned to stare at his former engineer and 3IC, "T'Pol's pregnant?"
Trip grinned, "Yeah, five months."
Archer arched a brow, "But…Trip…you were at sea five months ago."
Tucker dropped his voice low, "We got medical dispensation because of her pon farr."
Gardner's expression grew severe, "And it'll probably be the last time that'll happen."
Tucker cut eyes over at the admiral, "I'll just make sure my commission is resigned before the next one."
Nguyen cut in before the exchange could get heated, "We'll just have to be more cautious with how we sortie next time."
Gardner took a few steps away, knowing his mouth was about to get him in trouble, not that he couldn't just court-martial Tucker if he stepped out of line, but that would also require he survive if the captain felt there had been a mortal slight against his Vulcan woman, a potential he wasn't exactly keen to take odds on. As he stepped away he saw Admiral Black on approach with Sanderson and General Lester. The trio approached Tucker, Archer, and Nguyen.
"Something else aren't they?" Black declared on approach.
"I was just sayin' how y'all had to be burnin' money like crazy on all this. And y'all are workin' on a Deep Space Station too."
Sanderson nodded with a smile, "Which reminds me…Jon, you and Enterprise are going to be acting as theatre command at K seven once it's done."
Archer smirked, "You think it's a good idea putting me out in a combat zone, sir?"
"We're putting Hernandez as chief of operations for K seven, so there won't be too much you can screw up." Black replied with a teasing edge to his voice.
Trip, used the fact both he and Archer had their backs presented to the others looking out the observation cupola to cut eyes over to the newly minted admiral. When he saw Archer look back he mouthed the words, You and Erika?
He bobbed his brows to emphasize the question element, Jon knew what it meant, he needed no further prompting and nodded then winked. Trip did his best to try to keep his face cracking open with a grin, he didn't do well enough.
