Disclaimer:
I don't own it, I make no money of off it, and I really, really, don't want to be sued. The characters and the rest belong to Paramount and to Gene (God rest his happy little soul), I'm just borrowing them for a bit.
Chapter Two
"Sounds like you've got a bit of a problem there, First Daughter," Travis Mayweather looked over the star charts that the Betazed had brought as a gift for the Enterprise crew.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," the older woman smiled, with the warmest chocolate brown eyes, that now seemed almost familiar to the crew, "We've had many encounters with these Orion's they're not pleasant people."
"They're pirates" Travis responded, frowning deeply, "as bad as the Naussicans."
"Indeed," Mirana replied, with a concerned expression of her own, "but we've noticed that they usually stick to these routes here and here" she motioned to the screen. "If you steer clear of these systems they'll usually leave you alone. Not always."
"Thanks, our course was running right through that system." Mayweather pulled up the graphic representation of their projected course on the console of the situation room. Trip had brought her to the bridge as part of the getting-to-know-you tour and she'd immediately kicked if off with Enterprise's helmsman.
"It's the least we can do, as far as we know, no one who has been captured by the Orion's is ever heard from again. I wouldn't wish that on anyone." Mirana smiled at the young pilot.
The rest of the crew, those who hadn't gotten the opportunity for leave on Risa, were down on the surface, enjoying the hospitality of Beatazed, including Sub-Commander T'Pol, something that surprised some of the crew. Travis had been in the shuttlebay as the sub-Commander walked in.
No one had ever seen her out of uniform. Ever. But she walked into the shuttlebay as though she owned it, wearing soft, calf length boots, loose black pants, tucked into the boot tops, and an orange, slightly golden tunic. Her robe was jet black, with gold overstitching.
The decibel level cut by half the moment she walked in. Even the Captain, who was going down as well but more for diplomatic purposes, looked at T'Pol differently, and he was the one man on the ship who was the most used to her.
The Commander came over to where the First Daughter and Travis were discussing the new star charts. He'd been chatting it up with Hoshi's temporary replacement at the communications station.
"How's it going?" he asked.
"These are great commander," Travis enthused, "We were going to be in some serious trouble without them."
"What about the Vulcan starcharts?" Trip asked, almost pleased to prove them inaccurate "Is it not there?"
"No" Mirana interjected, shaking her head slightly; "The Orions don't bother Vulcan ships. Though they enslave others well enough."
"Slaves?" asked Trip with real alarm.
"Yes," the First-Daughter acknowledged, sadly, "They are slavers."
"Why don't they attack Vulcans?" asked Travis curiously. "Seems they'd be as good as any in the slave trade"
"Vulcans don't make good slaves" the First-Daughter said dryly, "They also have some very bad blood between the two cultures. I'm not quite sure what happened, but the Orions won't go near a Vulcan ship anymore. Vulcans are not violent, usually, but there's no quicker way to push the Vulcan Government into acting than to abduct one of their people."
"Yeah tell us about it," Trip joked, making Travis smile. "Our Sub-Commander is bad enough to make Klingons think twice."
"I don't doubt it, she's very strong woman," the First-Daughter smiled "I've never heard of a Vulcan voluntarily separating herself from the company of her fellows, for even a short time, let alone the years you plan to be away."
"Hell, the Sub-Commander can't stand them as much as we do sometimes," Trip said puzzled, "Now that don't sound very Vulcan does it?"
"She's a dedicated scientist," Mirana acknowledged, "And as open-minded as any Vulcan I've ever met."
"Well for a Vulcan I suppose…" Travis trailed away, "I guess I never have met a Vulcan like her before, though I can't say I ever met many."
"Anyway," Trip pulled the conversation back to topic, "About these Orions…how aggressive are these people?"
"If they think they can take your ship? Very." Miriana said sadly, as if remembering something tragic, "For a ship like Enterprise I don't think you'd have too many problems unless more than two or three warships got a hold of you."
"Sounds pretty good," Travis said happily.
"Just in case, do you think you could have some specifications sent up for the Orion warships, I think Lt. Reed would like all the information you could get."
"Consider it done," Mirana smiled, "Now Commander, if you would be so kind as to show me the rest of your lovely vessel…"
"Sure thing ma'am" he grinned his Tucker grin, "You wish is my command"
Down on the planet surface, things were proceeding just as smoothly, Captain Archer was very pleased with Betazed, the people were friendly, they were unstinting with hospitality, and they even got along well with the Vulcans.
Almost too well, he could tell that they thought Sub-Commander T'Pol was something of an oddity. They kept suddenly frowning in the middle of a conversation to look at her sharply. She sat, as always, by his side.
"So is there any kind of precedent like Surak among the human culture Captain Archer?" They'd been discussing the philosophy of Surak, and he'd been immediately grateful to T'Pol for giving him a translated copy of his teachings.
"I guess the closest to Surak would be the human Ghandi, who advocated civil and political rights though non-violent protest, but we really never had a cultural revolution like Vulcan did, until …well until Vulcan came to us nearly a century ago."
"Yes, there is something to that moment when you realize you're not alone in the universe" the First Minister smiled fondly, "nothing quite like it."
"No doubt" T'Pol had been surprisingly active in the conversation; usually she let him take the bulk of the 'small talk'. She'd also come to the meeting much more informally dressed than usual. He'd never seen that particular outfit of hers before, although it wasn't entirely surprising, she wore her uniform constantly. The only time he'd ever seen her out of it was that first time he met her and threatened to throw her on her ass.
"More berries Sub-Commander? I thought I understood from the First-Daughter that you enjoy them?" the Minister leaned over and offered her the bowl. She accepted it, but frowned slightly, bringing her brows together in a gesture of thought.
"I'm sorry Sub-commander, no offence was meant," the minister apologised suddenly. He sat up sharply, as if scalded. Jon realized that they'd been conversing without words.
He knew, intellectually, about telepathy. It had been a human fancy for aeons. But to be confronted with the actual reality was slightly disturbing. Not so much from T'Pol, he dealt with the consequences of her telepathy a long time ago. It was more the unknown factor of the Betazed populace that concerned him.
T'Pol responded to the Minister without turning a hair, "I am incapable of taking offence Minister, do not concern yourself."
"Yes, well…" he trailed off slightly, looking somewhat upset. He stood up, gesturing to the sliding glass doors that made up the entire left wall of the meeting room. "I don't suppose either of you have had a turn in the gardens? They are quite lush for this time of year."
"Ensign Sato said they were remarkable, I confess I have not had the opportunity to peruse them myself" T'Pol stood up easily, wrapping her robe closer about her lean frame. "Perhaps I shall."
"I'll join you," Archer offered, then was surprised at her sudden stiffness. It wasn't obvious to the average eye, but he'd been living and working with T'Pol for some time now.
He was no expert at Vulcan body language, but he'd made an effort since he realized that it would help him understand her better. 'Admit it Jon,' he chastised himself, 'you just like looking at her' He quashed that thought ruthlessly, no telling what these people could pick up on.
"I was not anticipating company," she said, still slightly averse to his presence, "but you may join me if you wish."
"I think I will" he got up and automatically opened the door for her into the gardens.
They walked. The Minister was right; the garden was lush and ripe. It smelt like heaven and teased the senses with bright colour and texture. He waited for her to talk, knowing that if she brought up the subject it would be a lot less awkward.
"You have questions, Captain." It was a statement. She still had her robe wrapped tightly around her body, the gold on black very stark in the lush greenness.
"Well first of all, have we irrevocably offended yet another head of state?" asked Archer somewhat deprecatingly. It seemed to be an unfortunate trend in human diplomacy.
"Quite the contrary, I believe he thinks he's irrevocably offended us." She sounded vaguely amused. Well, as much as a Vulcan could sound amused.
"The berries," Jon prodded. That at least was when the conversation went sour.
"Yes," T'Pol stopped to take in the view of an ornamental pond, stocked with what humans would call tropical fish. "The First-Daughter noticed that I particularly enjoyed the berries. She passed this observation on to the Minister. If I were as…strict as many Vulcans tend to be I would have left the place immediately and not returned."
"Why?" asked John, puzzled.
"Because I never said anything about the berries" she raised a brow introspectively, "She was monitoring my empathic projections to a degree that she could pick it up, which," she acknowledged distractedly, "is no small feat."
"That's not good, right?" he tried to understand the situation.
"It's considered highly impolite," T'Pol looked away, frowning at some unseen distance "At least by most standards"
"Not theirs apparently" Jon paused, "That's another thing… you're a telepath right?"
"Indeed," T'Pol said somewhat exasperated, "I am Vulcan"
"How…" he stopped, flustered, "I don't know, I can understand you being telepathic I think, a little better then these Betazeds. I know this is probably paranoid, but what exactly can they do, I mean, telepathically?"
"Could you be more specific?" she asked, even though she had a pretty good idea of what he was asking.
"The ethics of it" he prompted.
"I don't know" T'Pol responded simply, "they are not my people; I do not know what they consider intrusive or what is accepted as the norm. You can understand why I wanted to limit contact?"
"I think so" he kept walking, "I just don't understand it. Vulcans are so, well, they're so closed about it. These Betazeds don't have the same; I guess standards that you do."
"With all due respect Captain," T'Pol said dryly, "You're not a telepathic species; I would not expect you to understand it fully. It is a difference of philosophy. I don't believe they're any more malicious than a Vulcan would be, which is to say, not at all, but you are correct: they are far more open in the practice."
"I don't feel comfortable with it" he said finally, "If she could pick that up off of you, she could read me like a book."
"It is not so much an issue of if it can be done, Captain," T'Pol paused and turned to look at him directly, "I do not wish to offend, but as far as emotions go, it is harder to block out human emotions, than to try and read them. You are very open, mentally"
"You can read us like a book" he sighed.
"Not I" T'Pol said evenly, "Nor any other Vulcan"
"Because of your ethics," Jon for once was acknowledging the use of Vulcan privacy codes.
"No" T'Pol disagreed, "Although they are significant. Vulcans are almost exclusively touch telepaths. We cannot initiate telepathic contact without some kind of skin to skin contact. As far as I know, Betazeds suffer no such impediment."
"Is there anything I can do?" Jon asked, somewhat alarmed.
"About what?" T'Pol inquired.
"This, mental openness," he clarified, "Can I block them out?"
"If you were raised as a Vulcan, with a century or so to devote to the study of Kholinar, perhaps," T'Pol responded archly, "You are not a telepath, there is little that can be done."
"What about…"
"No" she cut him off before, he could finish his sentence, "Even if there was something I could do, I would not consider it"
"Why?" he asked. It wasn't like T'Pol to say something like that.
"Pa'Nar" she murmured, "I do not know if it can be transmitted cross-species, but I would not take that risk. A simple mind touch is one thing, what you are asking is an entirely different matter."
"I'm sorry," he was instantly contrite, "I didn't even think. I'd almost forgotten"
"I assure you, I have not" she kept walking, though blindly, caught up in a wash of emotions connected to the disease. Fear. Anger. Despair.
"How…" he started, "How are you doing?"
"As well as can be expected" she said softly, so softly he had to strain to hear, "The Doctor has arrested the physical deterioration, for the time being, it is simply a matter of control"
He stopped to look at her, but she would not meet his face. In the bright moonlight she seemed like such a slender, delicate being to shoulder such a burden. The shadow cast an angular, almost sharp look to her face. It could have been a play of shadows, but she seemed very sad.
"If there's anything…" he began to say.
"I will not hesitate." She tucked her hands more securely in the depths of her robe and inhaled deeply. Then walked forwards, crunching the gravel slightly.