Chapter 6
Archer sat back from his table
in the captain's mess hall. His arms were
crossed, and he was staring down at nothing in particular.
He looked up as the
doors swished open and raised his eyebrows at his chief engineer,
smiling.
Trip staggered inside. Though
he was reasonably clean, he gave the
appearance of someone who had just finished a long, hard day.
"Trip," Archer greeted.
He responded with a nod and
a sigh, then he sank into his seat.
After a moment, the steward
entered and served them dinner. The captain
had some sort of chicken platter; Trip, on the other hand,
had a large steak - it
was accompanied by large potatoes. He perked up a bit.
"Going all out tonight?"
the captain asked.
"I'm starvin' to death,"
he sliced. "It was one thing after another today. This
is the first chance I've had to sit down and eat somethin'."
He took a healthy bite and savored.
Archer shook his head and reached for
the bottle.
"Well, I've got good news,"
he told him. "You can have tomorrow off."
He filled each of their glasses
with some red wine.
"I hope you're not pullin'
my leg," Trip chewed. "That wouldn't be right."
"I'm serious," Archer
smiled. "As a matter of fact, I think that-"
The doors to the captain's mess
slid open again, and T'Pol entered quickly.
Without looking up, she took her seat. The two men started
to stand, but she was
too fast for them. They glanced at each other and slowly
sat back down.
"I thought you said that
you weren't comin'!" Trip stared.
"I obviously changed my
mind," T'Pol said, and she placed a napkin on her lap.
"Well, it's a pleasant...surprise,"
Archer noted. "I was just about to tell Trip,
here, how I thought that the whole crew should get a chance
to see the...event."
Trip's knife clanked the plate,
and he froze mid-chew.
"The whole crew?"
"Not at the same time,"
Archer rolled, sipping his wine. "I figure half in the
morning and half in the afternoon. You're in charge."
"I thought you said I had
the day off!"
The captain squinted at him,
coolly.
"I would think that, compared
to tearing up my ship, managing a clipboard
and a couple of shuttle pods, would be a day off."
Trip shrugged his eyebrows and
resumed his assault on the steak.
The steward brought out a plate
of vegetables and a bowl of soup for T'Pol.
She quietly thanked him, and then she paused before speaking
to Archer.
"Captain, do you think
it is...wise for everyone to be exposed to the alien
atmosphere?"
Archer nodded his head several
times as he finished his bite.
"I've already talked to
Phlox about it," he explained. "He informed me that
there is no threat on that planet whatsoever."
T'Pol blinked.
"None that we have discovered,"
she qualified.
Archer gave her a side-ways
glance, then he fidgeted with his food.
"Well, there's no reward
without risk," he said to his chicken, then he raised
his head. "I think...the reward of witnessing something
that you'll remember as long
as you live is worth...whatever minimal risk there may or
may not be."
Trip looked up at him.
"It was that good?"
he chewed.
"It was that good."
He shook his head and forked
a potato. T'Pol considered her soup in silence.
"Don't you agree?"
Archer asked, brow high.
She paused and lowered her spoon.
"I suppose the crew is...due
for a rest," she said carefully. "Perhaps Chef can
prepare a..."
"A picnic!" Trip blurted.
"A lunch," she corrected.
"Same thing," he flipped,
pouring some more steak sauce.
"Well, whatever you call
it," Archer said. "I think it's a great idea. I'll speak
with Chef after dinner. Maybe Hoshi can coordinate that,
unless, of course, you
want to do it?"
"I'm perfectly happy with
my clipboard and my shuttlepods," Trip nodded.
"T'Pol, you're in charge
of selecting the picnic, er, the landing sites."
She looked at him and sipped
her water.
They continued their dining
with a recount of the day's events. Archer waxed
on about the butterflies; Trip, however, was somewhat evasive
about his adventures
down in engineering. T'Pol excused herself early, exiting
through the galley with the
claim that she desired an additional stick of celery.
She made her way to her quarters
via the least efficient route possible, and once inside, she
sighed and sat on the edge
of her bed. After a few moments, she moved to her computer
station and analyzed
some more data.
"You notice anything...funny
about her today?" Trip asked, leaning back in
his chair.
"Funny?"
"You know... Odd?
Peculiar? Strange?" he elaborated. "I mean, more
so
than usual?"
"Beats me," Archer
shrugged. "You know her better than I do."
"That's not sayin' much..."
"No more...magic fingers?"
Archer poked.
"They were neural node
treatments!"
"Must be rough," Archer
grimaced. "How do you sleep at night?"
"Not as good as I used
to," Trip muttered, then he leaned towards the captain
and whispered, "Did she ever...?"
"What?"
"Did she ever...? You
know..."
Trip held both hands in front
of his face and wiggled his fingers.
Archer slowly nodded his head.
"I'm afraid that's classified
information," he hemmed, finishing off his drink.
He set the glass on the table.
"Maybe she found out about...our
little bet," Trip said, rubbing his chin. "She's
got real good ears, ya know."
"I don't think so,"
Archer said. "If she did, she probably would have said
something."
"I'm not so sure,"
Trip shook his head. "I mean, think about it - she's a Vulcan
and she's a woman." His eyebrows shot up,
and he pointed his finger five or six
times.
"Well..."
"I mean, what if she thought
we were makin' fun of her or somethin'?" he
continued. "You ever met a woman who has a sense
of humor about her...fashion
choices? Huh?"
Archer conceded the point, but
he kept going.
"Now you factor that in
with the whole Vulcan thing..."
Trip squirmed.
"Well, I don't think that's
the case," Archer said, standing up. "But to be on
the safe side, let's not...make any more bets..."
Trip quickly nodded his head.
"Regardless," he added.
"If it doesn't clear up, I'll have a talk with her...or
try to."
He cracked his back, and Trip
got to his feet.
"You goin' to the movie?"
he asked.
"I'm afraid not,"
Archer said. "I've still got some...matters to attend to. How
'bout you?"
"Nah, I'd probably fall
asleep before the openin' credits were finished," he
yawned. "Besides, I figure I'd better try to come
up with some kind of crew rotation
for tomorrow, seein' how it's my day off and everything."
The captain cleared his throat.
"How are my plasma conduits
shaping up?" he smiled.
Trip suddenly looked very tired.
"Ok," he said.
"I'll quit my whinin'."
Trip stumbled back to his quarters
and fell asleep on his clipboard fifteen
minutes later. Archer informed Chef about the picnic,
then he retired to his room
and finished his preparations. He played with Porthos
for a while, then at 22:00
hours, he pushed the button on his comm.
"Archer to Sub-commander
T'Pol."
He cut a small chunk of cheddar
and motioned; Porthos trotted to his feet.
"You want some cheese?"
he asked.
"This is T'Pol."
"If you...have a moment,"
he said to the comm, "would you please stop by
my quarters?"
He released the button and waited
for her response, giving Porthos a pat.
Porthos yawned, then he scratched his ear. Archer yawned
and looked around
the room, then he furrowed and pressed the button again.
"T'Pol?"
After a long pause, she responded.
"I was...just preparing
for bed," she explained slowly. "Is it...urgent?"
Archer huffed, then he addressed
the comm.
"No," he said calmly.
"No, I wouldn't say that it's 'urgent', but it would be
best if I saw you tonight."
He released the button and offered
the small hunk of cheese to Porthos. The
dog wagged his tail.
"You gotta do better than
that," he nagged.
Archer held the chunk higher;
Porthos tilted his head and cocked his ears.
Finally, the captain relented and dropped the cheese, then
he rolled his eyes and
returned his finger to the button.
"T'Pol?"
After another long pause, he
heard what sounded like a sigh.
"Very well," she conceded.
Porthos managed to swindle
two more pieces before Archer cut him off. The
dog returned to his pillow, and a few minutes later, the door
beeped. The captain
flicked and rustled, then he spoke.
"Come."
The hatch slid open, and T'Pol
stood warily a full step back from the entrance.
She peered into the room.
As she seemed reticent to move,
Archer stood up and gestured.
"Please, Sub-commander..."
T'Pol hesitated, then she leaned,
placing her hand lightly on the bulkhead.
She quickly scanned the interior, then entered. The
door slid shut behind her, and
she seemed somewhat relieved. After a brief pause, she
spoke.
"Why did you need to see
me, Captain?"
"Have a seat," he
smiled. "What'd you think of the show today?"
"It was...memorable,"
she said.
"That's good, especially
when you consider..."
He reached between some books
on his shelf and grabbed something. He
held it behind his back, and his face betrayed a silly grin.
"Especially when you consider
the occasion," he said. "Happy birthday."
He swung his arm around and
revealed a tiny cake on a small dish. It held a
single, burning candle.
T'Pol looked up, and her eyes
widened ever-so-slightly.
"How...did you- ?"
"A few weeks ago, I received
a letter," Archer paced.
"From...whom?"
"From your mother,"
he declared.
T'Pol blinked and sat impossibly
straighter.
"Why would my mother write
to you?" she said slowly.
"Probably because I wrote
to her first," he grinned. "It's...blueberry. Now,
don't worry, I asked Chef to-"
"Why would you write to
my mother?" she said more slowly.
Archer set the plate on the
table, then he fetched two more, along with some
silverware. He clasped his hands in front of him and
resumed his pacing.
"You know I...try to keep
in touch with the families of my...crew, especially
my senior officers. And...of course...I wanted to know
when your birthday was..."
He stopped and presented her
with a somewhat nervous Cheshire cat.
"I see."
"Surprised?"
"Yes," she admitted,
then she eyed the door, ominously.
"Don't worry," he
said, raising his hands. "I didn't tell anybody."
She cautiously exhaled, then
slouched back to straight.
"I appreciate your...discretion,"
she nodded.
He looked down at the flaming
confection then back to T'Pol.
"Well," he pointed.
"Make a wish!"
She stared at him, then she
blinked, then she stared at him some more.
"Vulcans," she began.
She stopped herself, however, and paused, then she
looked down at the delicate flame.
T'Pol took a short breath, then
she closed her eyes and leaned. She hesitated,
briefly, and glanced up at the grinning Archer, then she daintily
blew out the candle.
"Don't tell me what you
wished for," he warned. "Or it won't come true."
She nodded slowly, but she did
not look up.
"Cut your muffin!"
he said.
She looked up.
"Pardon?"
"Your muffin! Don't
worry, there's almost no sugar in it."
She debated for a moment, then
she slowly reached for the small knife and
fork. She sliced the tiny cake in half, then she halved
the halves, then she forked
a quarter onto her plate and halved it.
Archer coaxed.
She looked at him.
"Please," she gestured.
Archer smiled and retrieved
a pitcher of water and some cups. He filled both
and joined her at the small table, where they quietly sat
and enjoyed T'Pol's muffin.
After a while, the captain excused
himself and walked across the room as
T'Pol looked on. He bent and opened the his lower desk
drawer, then he reached
inside. He pulled out a small package wrapped in colorful
paper and smiled as he
presented it to her.
She accepted it quietly and
placed it on the table.
Again, he coaxed, nodding, and
she paused, then carefully removed the
wrapping paper, eventually revealing a small, box-like box
made out of wood.
"Now I know it's a little
rough around the edges," Archer said, "but it gets a
whole lot better once you-"
"Thank you, Captain,"
she interrupted, placing her hands in her lap.
Archer pointed in tiny circles
and shook his head.
"No," he puffed.
"It's not that... It's what's inside!"
T'Pol looked up at him, then
back down to the box-like box. She carefully
reached out and lowered her head, and she found what probably
was a lid. Warily,
she grasped it with the fingertips of both hands and slowly
opened it. Music began
play, a soft piano, and a small hologram lit up, glowing a
warm red.
"It's Vulcan!" Archer
grinned.
"Yes."
For a long moment, she watched
her home world slowly revolve to the sounds
of the piano, then she reached again and closed the lid.
"Thank you, Captain,"
she said. "It was very...thoughtful."
He nodded and smiled, then he
paced some more.
"The music," he said,
"is from a...French composer from the late...nineteenth...
uhh, early twentieth...century."
T'Pol stared.
"Erik...Satie..."
T'Pol blinked.
"'Three Gym...nopodies'
- I think that's how it's pronounced, the...first one,"
he stumbled. "I...searched the Vulcan database
for something a bit more...Vulcan,
but I didn't find anything that...uhh, that..."
T'Pol completed his thought
for him.
"You didn't find anything
that you liked," she said flatly.
Archer flashed something of
a wincing-smile.
"I...always found this
music to be a little...introspective," he struggled. "Relaxing..."
T'Pol stared.
"I thought it...seemed...appropriate..."
T'Pol blinked.
"I thought...you...might...enjoy...uhh..."
Silence, ever threatening, decided
to set in full, and Archer appeared to be
at a loss.
"Well, I suppose I should
let you get to bed," he said, clearing his throat.
"Maybe this was a mistake... I don't know. Wouldn't
be the first time..."
T'Pol stood up and gently collected
her present, and she started for the door.
She hesitated, though, then turned around.
"I have been...thinking,"
she said to the floor, "about Vulcan...recently..."
She looked at him.
"I've been away for...quite
some time."
Jonathan smiled and nodded,
and he relaxed slightly. Then they listened to
the low hum of the engine for a few more moments until T'Pol
spoke again.
"Captain, I... I've..."
Archer kindly cleared his throat.
"Goodnight, T'Pol,"
he said, "and...Pah N'talla."
He pushed the button for her.
The door slid open, and T'Pol
stepped outside. She half-turned and glanced
back at him.
"Thank you," she said,
and she left, the door sliding shut behind her.
Archer stood there for a while,
then he completely deflated.
T'Pol returned directly to
her quarters. She stood beside her bed and paused,
considering the rough-hewn music box in her hand. She
sighed deeply and looked
around her room for a moment, then she finally made her decision
and walked
over to the wall. Standing on her tip-toes, she reached to
the highest shelf and
set it, then she backed up a few steps and studied. She returned
and, tip-toeing
again, she pushed the box back farther on the shelf with the ends
of her fingers.
T'Pol lit a candle and disrobed,
then she donned her silks and went to the
bathroom. After a few minutes, she returned and switched
off the lights, and the
room glowed a soft, warm orange.
Moving to her locker, she retrieved
her mat and unfurled it, then she placed it
on the floor in front of the flame. She sat and crossed her
legs and exhaled deeply,
then she closed her eyes and meditated for a good while. When
she was finished,
she rubbed her neck and leaned forward. T'Pol paused and
stared for a moment,
watching the flame as it wavered gently in the still air.
Finally, she blew, and the room
surrendered to shadow.
Standing up, T'Pol returned
both mat and candle, then she moved to her bed
and pulled down the covers. She climbed in and lay on
her back for a while, then
she drew up the sheets and closed her eyes. After a few minutes,
she turned on
her side, and shortly, she turned on the other. Later still,
she fluffed her pillow and
returned to her back, where she observed the muted ceiling and
listened to the
engine's low hum.
At last, she sighed. She
slowly drew back the covers and sat on the edge of
her bed, before standing and walking over to the shadowed wall.
T'Pol reached,
again on her tip-toes, to the high shelf, but could not manage
a proper grip. She
tried once more, then she looked around the darkened room.
T'Pol stepped over and picked
up her desk chair. Positioning it beneath the
high shelf, she climbed and reached. After retrieving
the box, she stepped lightly
down and walked back to her bed, where she delicately placed
it on the small
stand. She then removed the chair to its proper place.
Returning to bed, T'Pol rested on
her back. She considered the ceiling for
a few moments, then she rolled on her side and considered the box.
After quite
some time, she reached slowly towards the shadow and carefully
opened the lid.
Erik Satie, in perfect tune with the engine, played softly his
piano, as tiny Vulcan
rose to greet her, bathing her face in a warm red.
Putting her hands beneath her pillow,
T'Pol watched it slowly spin.
d.e.Miller © 2004
