A.N
-cringes- Yes I know it's been over a week and it's not exactly last weekend, but considering I started back school on Wednesday I'd say ten days before a new update isn't bad going, also considering I was finally updating pieces that had been left for weeks and months now.
Well the direction this story's taking, as of last chapter, seems to be as good as it has been, so I suppose I can march on without the flames of hatred. Be warned though, the rating of this piece will probably be upped soon for individual future chapters, and I will be returning to that mean, evil mode I used earlier on in the story against T'Pol. Heed what is said at the end of this chapter.
And with that I will leave you and let you all read on.
……………
She groaned again. She turned as devastation shot through her body. She opened her eyes and realised she had finally been caught.
Not a shred of her sickly mind could find and collect itself amidst the failing clarity of her vision and the taunting mist of her memory. She tried to sit up, but found no power in her arm muscles to do so. She tried to speak, but could not think of what to say. She tried to see but found for a second time she had been forced into blindness.
Her nose tingled. She twitched it but in vain as the sensation continued to haunt her nostrils. Still without either the strength or the want to move the sensation soon flared and seconds later she sneezed violently. She had not sneezed since having a childhood take of tow (best known as a fever to humans) when she was just gracing twelve. Neither she nor her stomach nor her head cared much for the bodily reflex.
She coughed slightly afterwards. The air was thick, heavily recycled and too clean. She found its taste sweet and tangy on every shallow intake of breath. Eventually she slowly closed over her eyes again.
Time past, the only thing she was certain of. But neither knowing the hour nor the length for which she had been unconscious she had little bearings on which to collect and reassure herself. Only her stiff muscles and numb right arm told her she had been still and dormant for far too long.
She sighed. She had not sighed since she was twenty and had found her first year learning under a High Command's University course about Newtonian and Quantum physics patronisingly easy, and that summer particularly warm.
As she contemplated over this memory time continued to pass. The air continued to catch the back of her throat until she was certain her stomach would react and force her to vomit, although she hadn't anything in her stomach in which to vomit with. Carefully she curled into herself as she lay along a cool steel bench and, wrapping her shivering arms around her tense torso, she willed herself unsteadily into a trembling sleep.
Apart from helping time pass, the sleep did nothing more than force her to remember with lingering remorse what she had left behind on Earth. It also reminded her of what it was to dream, and why it was that she religiously meditated.
……………
For a moment he forgot everything. For just a small sweet moment he forgot his situation, his duty, his heavy burden of dependability, the fact that he was again responsible for an entire crew's life and instead he allowed himself and his soaring heart to be taken away by the sights before him.
Jonathan had wanted Enterprise. He had fought tongue and word for his old ship back, but nothing he suggested, bargained or negotiated with was to get him his ship back, his ship. Instead Columbia was to be taken out of her stable and given the responsibility with her new Captain of chasing after their invisible enemy, and unfortunately Jonathan could see why. Her weapons reigned supreme, her hull outshone Enterprise's, her speed was a flawless 6.2 and she was not, so very unlike Enterprise, in need of necessary repairs and re-cooperation. Columbia essentially did not disappoint in the end.
Jonathan climbed tentatively out of the turbo lift. Behind him were his crew – minus Phlox and Trip – and a new Vulcan science officer. They slowly came in after him and only the science officer did not stop to fill his plain brown eyes with the scene that lay before them.
The bridge was easily half a bridge bigger than her sister's. The floor space was generous and the roof that bit taller. The screen stretched a spectacular length along the front and rose to an equally impressive height. Each station had been expanded almost to the size of an opulent office cubical and each panel before them boasted an extra stretch of settings and commands. Malcolm had more weapons on hand and Hoshi had more languages. Travis had more manual settings and their science officer had a spectacular compact super-computer that would surely have impressed even T'Pol.
Archer himself had his chair. His taller, wider blue leather swivel chair. Very carefully he sat down and slowly eased himself back in it. Travis sat in front of him and Hoshi positioned herself to his left. Malcolm sat slightly behind on the right and almost directly behind him was his science officer.
To know Jonathan as Captain Archer was to understand why, even in such a crucial and dire time, he found it easy to lose himself for just a brief moment as he found himself back in command of a spectacular feat of technology. Against the odds he even managed a weak, wavering smile.
Suddenly the room came alive. Like a wave from a restless yellow ocean the lights on the panels and walls flickered on one by one, the colourful ripple moving forward to the front where lastly the screen came alive with the infinity of space for the grand finale of the powering up of the Columbia NX-02. Archer felt the floor underneath his boots shake and then settle into a steady slight vibration. On the right arm of his chair the comm. was activated.
"Sir, we're all ready down here."
Archer nodded. "Right Trip."
Then his hazel gaze fell upon Travis who had already turned to his Captain, his fingers lying restless and eager on the controls before him. Between then they nodded and the Helmsman dared a smile. Archer moved his fingers over the comm. again, treating the entire ship to the sound of his voice now. He spoke with grim humour, understanding that now being in such a situation, crew morale was essential.
"Crew, this is your Captain speaking. If you want to go down in history, or even have something to tell the grandkids when you're older then you'll forget your doubts, listen carefully to me and get this ship moving. Engineering prepare to go to Impulse. Hull team release the docking clamps. Tactical set up the shields and arm the ship as well as yourselves. Everyone else, cancel your reservations and report to your stations."
Lingering in silence for a few seconds he finally shut off the comm. and nodded once again to his pilot. To hell, he suddenly thought, with Soval's concerns over his personal indulgent with this matter. Of course he had personal concerns and of course they would cloud his judgment. But his grit determination to bring back the Vulcan who had changed him as much as he had surely changed her would be the edge that any other suitable Captain in this situation lacked. It would be the push that saw him and his crew victorious, and the renegades Shran seemed to hate and fear so much brought to a timely diminish. It was the edge that had worked for seven years and now, sparked with this insane concern he had for his old First Officer, it was the edge that would turn him almost into a tyrant against the new enemy.
So he gazed upon his pilot with eyes set ablaze in the light of this edge and fists clenched to signal his readiness. He pointed to the infinity of space that sat just beyond them.
"Mr Mayweather, take her out."
As the clamps were released the ship suddenly found herself in motion and those standing held on as she took her first few tentative steps out into space for the third time, this time to be her first wholly successful run.
Archer's heart soared again and he sat forward in his chair, thinking only briefly about how spectacular this moment would be if it were only under much better of circumstances.
"Remember, keep her in orbit Travis. No point in asking for a chase if they're only going to end up invisible on our tail."
Without turning around the Ensign nodded, heeding the instruction that had already been issued to him several dozen times by apprehensive tongues already. Archer knew this but it offered him a strange comfort to repeat the only thing that was concrete for the moment, his own orders issued to him by the Admiral. He could not help but think as he watched the stars fly by, how very Vulcan of him that was.
……………
Her fingers fumbled over the hot skin of her agitated red neck until her nails were able to rip themselves across the patch that burned with an itch. She scratched feverishly then tenderly touched the lump of skin that had swollen with the pointed tip of the dart. It ached with a rash and finally she let it be. Reluctantly, pulling the cool of her fingertips away from the epicentre of the angry area of skin she allowed the reaction to continue healing on its own, knowing that trying to interfere with the process would have its consequences in the next few hours to come.
She began to feel an awkward clarity pass by as the warm fuzz of her subconscious lifted and let through the cold reality around her along with a slight confusion which skirted the edges of her awakening mind. She refrained from groaning again though.
As she forced her stiff body up and slid her back against a wall until she had levered herself into a comfortable sitting position she came to realise a few things that had escaped her when first she had tried to come awake. Most predominantly and perhaps most disturbingly she was not surrounded in darkness. Hardly at all in fact as her cell was well lit with a homely orange light and even boasted a barred window across the steel door. There weren't any shadows to shroud her, or cold wispy breezes to taunt her bare face. Although this place was hardly her quarters on Enterprise it was a far cry from the soiled box she had been forced to take residency in on the Phae. It was bare but it was dry. It was silent but also odourless. She was alone in it but had some mild warmth to surround her. The result of the matter was that she did not feel threatened.
T'Pol finally stood up, taking a few seconds to seize her balance as she teetered on the balls of her feet. She could not allow herself to feel safe, or comforted in any way. She had been tricked by a false sense of security only a few times before, yet every time scolded herself for it afterwards. This was unknown territory and was to be treated with the same scepticism and wariness one would possess being aboard a Klingon ship.
She dared herself to walk forward and slowly but steadily she did, towards the cold steel door ahead. Her eyes were narrow only because they were stiff themselves in the new light and new consciousness. She kept her sights focused on the door, or more specifically on the window that carved into the door. Beyond that there was a pitch of blue that on a guess seemed to be a wall, and therefore a corridor beyond her prison. Just like her cell it was empty and silent, although she could not tell exactly if it was warm. Far from being her top concern, the temperature outside, she kept her thoughts focused instead on where she was, who had her and where perhaps the cavalry were at this time. The 'who' of the matter soon came back to her though in her fragmented memory.
"Andorians…"
She whispered it on a warm current of air that billowed gently by her face as she continued to head towards the window. She did not say it with doubt or question – who had her was now inevitable with the memory that she had of just before she had hit the floor on the Phae. The sight of the antenna was unmistakable.
Footsteps came alive just as quickly as she uttered the name of the species. The sound made her muscles flinched and she stopped in her path towards the window for apprehension that a gun may come between the bars. The echoes were heavy heeled and quick, eager almost and important. She began to fall back, stepping over again to the bench that she had awoken on, subconsciously seeing it as a haven from harm although she did not consciously realise this.
There were no voices but an atmosphere of grim pleasure began to thicken the clammy air around her. Shadows bounced along the blue backdrop of outside, moving with the beat of the footsteps, grey reflections of antennae waving back and forth, outlines of weapons and armoury haunting her vision. Almost abruptly she sat back down again.
And then the commotion stopped. The shadows were no more, and now she was faced with the bodily reality.
"Andorians."
This time the whisper became a clear ring in her throat and she said it with the accompaniment of fierce brown eyes and coursing dirty-green veins. She amused them and painted on their blue faces mocking blue smiles.
"Observant Vulcan she is. I see why her superiors abandoned her. Become too observant, you soon realise that the High Command has a corruptive streak. That the High Command just isn't quite for everyone."
Of the three faces she could see in a crowd of perhaps six or more not one set of lips moved to speak. They sneered, but they were obediently silent. The voice instead came from the back, from the left of behind the door. It was a pleased voice that seemed to be enjoying the taste of a fresh victory and savouring the sensations it played along his wretched tongue. T'Pol hardly moved, quickly dried herself of any emotion or any expression as the flare died across her face and watched quietly as the crowd parted to let the voice through. Then she tensed.
His crimson eyes focused on her like an angry heat, setting her nerves ablaze simply with a striking gaze that was like one of a hungry and skilled predator. His expression was something of a crude personification of evil, not quiet a sickly, hellish evil but a playful, young one ready to hurt and torture in new and unusual ways. It was a modern evil for modern methods of extracting what information one wanted from a stubborn victim. T'Pol sat back from this.
His smile was daunting, almost unnatural but very undeniably genuine. He seemed to laps up the sight of his prisoner greedily with scarred and twisted lips and hungry teeth that flashed an unbearable grin to her. She almost cringed.
The sight of this burly, broad shouldered and crudely intelligent looking figure put defining emphasis in his voice when finally he spoken again, and it was blatantly clear from that alone who was in charge on the ship.
"And you would know all about that T'Pol. You've had too much experience of the real universe to ever be content again with the religion of laws that your people have laid down for you, haven't you?"
As expected he did not get an answer, but did receive a stony glare. It gave him all the more reason to continue smiling.
"Clever little Vulcan we are as well, probably too much so or you wouldn't be here right now."
There was a commotion of wires and technology and the steel door began to open on its whirring automated hinges.
"This is hardly the place for us to be getting properly aquatinted in though, is it? Perhaps some food, some fine ale before I begin on the interrogation. We can swap details, and then we can begin a start on why you are here, no?"
T'Pol said nothing. Her captor motioned to two of his men.
"Be gentle now, she has had a generous bout of copper chloride running through her system for the past twenty-four hours now. She'll be… tender."
Two guns poured down over her, aiming steadily at her temples. She looked slowly from one to the other and saw her situation left her no room to gamble an attack or less likely still an escape. Carefully she stood, understanding as the guards moved a few steps away from her that they would indeed not touch her unless she provoked reason for them to.
"Wise Vulcan. Still has her sense of logic still. Good, good."
Why this pleased the Andorian she did not know. From the mad glint that hid in the back of his eyes it seemed evident that he wanted any excuse to out and out murder her there and then, probably with his own powerful, trembling fists. Only his keen smile gave her any reason to doubt this theory, and even it faltered every few seconds.
"Take her to my quarters. Have the chef prepare something… fresh. Bring out the finest ale and have the documents sent up with it."
One guard from the back left down the corridor, his name not even uttered but his responsibilities clearly understood.
T'Pol stood at the doorway, a coldness settling in her eyes which was all that flawed her monotone expression now. The Andorian extended a hand for her to take.
"Shall we then?"
She stared at the dry sallow palm blankly. He nodded and the guards departed ahead, opening doors and keeping their guns trained as they went.
"I think we shall. My name is Yulae. You will never utter it to another soul outside of this ship because before the week is over you will, my dear, be dead."
……………
T'Pol is a Vulcan. To her people, or more importantly to her superiors, she is as human as one can be without having physical human D.N.A. However despite her nature she is a pure breed, and began life with only one flaw from being a perfect specimen; she was born female.
Humans learned a long time ago that sexism was an illogical and discriminative act. They figured that women deserved as equal share to the world as her other half did. What most lacked in physical strength they compensated well for with traits such as a smart mind, a good nature and above all the ability to carry new life. By 2030 any signs of the unbalanced past between the sexes was gone and the rare acts of sexism that were still committed punishable by life in prison.
The problem with the Vulcan race is that most all members, male and female, have these traits (minus the very latter), making the men clearly superior with the added bonus of extra bodily strength (although it is ignored that only the females can carry life). Although it is never discussed, because of this it is obvious that every father wishes for a son, which would then be his child's first strong advantage in life. Unfortunately thirty-five percent of fathers receive a daughter, and Taron was one of these fathers.
Many Vulcans forgave Taron for showing obvious pride in his two sons, one with a keen eye, the other a keen mind. They sailed easily through school, quickly adapted to the apt standards of behavior demanded in Vulcan society and no one ever doubted they would go on to serve the High Command well just as their parents had. With offspring doing so well Taron and T'Chall saw it only reasonable, and many strongly agreed, that they have one more son.
T'Chall gave birth to a daughter one year later.
Taron never showed any bond with his daughter. He demanded more of her than he ever did his sons and was far stricter throughout her childhood with her, becoming more of a feared mentor than even just a detached father. It served her well though as she did do spectacularly well in school, better than either of her brothers, and was taken in by the High Command's Science Directory where she served dutifully on several Starships under the command of several highly respected Captains for many years.
However she was for many other years before this a rogue, and nothing her father did could stamp this out of her. She sometimes showed emotion and had difficulty seeing why this was on some occasions wrong. She yearned to be expressive and this often devastated what weak relationship she had with her relatives and the race in general.
She was also weak. Stronger than a human but weak for a Vulcan, even a female, it was a harsh reality both father and daughter learnt on the Toch'mir hills.
"What insanity of the Vulcan race are you T'Pol? Today I catch you drawing. Not less than a week ago I caught you singing. What will these give to you in your future? Make you a fool I fear. Read through these, and if you dare to run off again I will have your collection for it."
With tears held back by fierce restraint she ran her slim fingers over her collection of photographs of other worlds and species that night. Often Taron would feel disgust over his daughter's hunger to explore, a very uncommon and illogical passion for a Vulcan to have. She was of fifteen years before finally the flare was seemingly dragged out of her, needless to say the collection burned to ashes to flag post that day.
Others knew how hard the unfortunate female worked. She followed the life of V'Lar and drew much needed inspiration from her, took her on as the role model she had been lacking as she grew up. She wondered over how the Vulcan Ambassador related so well to other species, treated them fairly and reasonably in accordance to how they treated her. She had a glint in her eye that even the young prodigy lacked. But her father was making sure she would eventually become the Vulcan she was supposed to be, even if it did take time.
It was by fate that this happened though, not any deliberate act of her fathers but an unfortunate three day placement on a prototype Vulcan Starship with new engines that saw her fall in line with her kind.
Andorians
She had heard the species' name whispered before, almost nervously on elders' tongues. Of course she had heard of the race's reputation, heard what had to be said about them. But she had never seen one, and never actually judged the race for herself, would not until she actually, if ever, met one. She felt it was again one of those occasions where her own race's arrogance got the better of itself, and mislabeled another kind because they were simply more primitive, or naïve than they.
She was one of twenty on that ship that learned the most difficult and direct way what a fugitive Andorian fleet was capable of.
At her station T'Pol had been keen to prove herself through enthusiastic work, which did not go unnoticed. She prided herself on the congratulations she received, the nods that went her way and even the respect of her Captain that she won over, a post she yearned to hold one day.
She simply had scanning duties to execute but she was thorough and quick, and never miscalculated. So when she stated that she had detected a ship with an abundance of Andorian life signs on it she was rather… disappointed that no one believed her readings.
"We are still in Vulcan space Ensign, no Andorian would dare to come into this region."
Later on she received many apologies for that comment.
The ship was stuck critically several times in one swift attack. The Captain had demanded to see on screen what was out there, but they could see nothing more than a blank patch of space. Only T'Pol's scans had shown any signs of a source for the abrupt attack, signs of a ship with an abundance of Andorian life signs aboard. It was then that their engines had been destroyed and they suddenly became no more than a floating hull. Everyone in the engine rooms that day had lost their lives. More casualties were yet to come.
The ship's Captain had hung doubtfully over T'Pol's shoulder for what could be considered a mistakably long amount of time. In the time it took him to realise that his Ensign had indeed been right the ship was struck again and a hull breech erupted on D Deck. They had had to seal off that section, and watch as they lost another seven of the crew.
The ultimate truth that they were being attacked by Andorians came when one appeared on the bridge's view screen.
He had said nothing. He had barely moved. He had just looked on with an incredible crimson glare and a hatred that was poisonously pure.
The next attack was for the bridge. There had been a tremor and then an eruption as the entire bridge seemed to tip forward, sending every posted Vulcan forward across the room. T'Pol had flown into the screen, her shoulder blades cracking the haunting vision that had watched the events with dizzy pleasure. She had barely survived the attack, because she was weak, and it was the first thing her father reminded her of when she had woken up three weeks later.
Her recollection, if ever she is asked about those events, is shaky, but she does remember and always will remember that face. She will tell you in a bare whisper that she was there when that face was put on trial and then one week later executed without question or doubt. She was there when she watched his son weep and his wife beg for mercy. It was there that she became a model Vulcan and showed no pity for the Andorian family, and no emotion for forty years thereafter.
She is here now with that son, and is about to pay for the distant past sins of her superiors.
……………
Yulae sat before T'Pol on the opposite side of a sturdy wooden table, quickly settling back in a chair before placing his boots on the table comfortably. He motioned for T'Pol to join him and behind her the guards insisted so. Thereafter they were left alone together in a quiet, stale room, his supposed quarters.
"You have more history behind you now than most any fully aged Vulcan will ever have, you know. They should be talking about you for years to come yet. I imagine your name will appear more than a couple of hundred times in archives and books, most likely ones found in human libraries. Your death should be spectacularly well recorded."
T'Pol sat stiff and expressionless. She fought off the tormented screams as she remembered why the crimson eyes struck such a cord in her, and not because of their striking irregularity. If he was not the son then he was a relation of some sort, and most likely with a grudge buried within his irrational state of mind. She watched the slight insanity that continued to echo in the glint of his gaze, or the drumming of his fingers, or in his twisted blue smile. There was very little doubt that anything he said was no less than the hard, delightful truth.
"I know you won't talk, not until I tell you why you will. But I'm a curious creature, and I'm dying to know what this is about, so we'll see if you wont say something to me first, before I have to start prying."
From under his chair he gathered in his hand a thick pile of papers and threw them across the desk, watching the documents scatter in front of his captive and watching closer still for any chance of a reaction across her tight olive face.
"I insist that you take a look through that little lot. It's quite relevant to both our species, I do promise you."
She kept her hands on her lap, did not dare to move and instead kept her gaze held across the table. She raised a brow though.
"Those are human documents."
His smile lit up.
"You do have an accent."
She fell silent and dropped her brow. He nudged the papers closer to her.
"I know that. I need you to explain what's inside for me."
She dared to glance down at the folder cover, which supported a heavy black inked title atop an unmarked beige cover. There was one word on it, and that was, 'Federation'.
"My work over the last seven years has involved neither the doings of my Government nor the humans' Government. I was simply a Science Officer aboard a human Starship. What new plans either of these Governments have been working on will not have concerned me in any way, and so I have been told nothing and know nothing of this 'Federation'."
He nodded slowly, the smile muting somewhat.
"Well I did say you wouldn't talk until I gave you incentive to. No smart Vulcan is just going to give away information to a rogue Andorian when she knows she will be killed by him anyway, I understand that."
She watched him stand up and rise above her, his height and build intimidating although she did not show any signs of fear and withdrawal from him this time. He ran a hand through his dark hair and then leant on a comm. built into the corner of the desk.
"Tell Chef we're hungry now, not in an hour and let Dulac come in."
There was never a responding voice but Yulae hung up all the same as it seemed his orders had been taken.
"I wont play about too much with the suspense. Dulac is the reason why you will talk, even if it would be logical just to consider you're going to die anyway and silence is the best option for this 'Federation's' sake. No?"
Her eyes focused on the table. She brought forth one consoling thought – that there had to be a crew out there looking for the missing captives of the Phae by now. She forced herself to forget about the several fleets of captives before who had gone missing and of whom no one had ever tried to recover. As back up for that Jonathan became her second comforting hope and it surged on a little more confidence.
"You're very caring for a Vulcan."
Yulae began to pace back and forth behind her, enjoying the sensation of the flickering muscles he could feel beginning to emit from her wary body. He could not catch her gaze but enjoyed the gentle torment nonetheless.
"You have emotions just dying to show themselves. You're practically bursting at the seams. You've worked with humans for seven years, no one can blame you. You must have felt some scary emotions in that time; anger, hate, remorse… love."
She visibly tensed and her head dropped slightly. He nodded.
"Love, that's the one, isn't it? That's the one every Vulcan tries to avoids the most. Love, it makes you do dangerous irrational things. Makes you want to fight, want to protect, want to lay your own life down for someone else's. Very dangerous that. Makes you needy, makes you desire, tempts you. Leads to passion, leads to untimely mating, carrying out the most intimate of acts when it's not even time for your pon farr. Worse than hate, worse than regret, worse than pride, love will make you crazy. And you've felt it first hand, not once but twice. That makes you an extremely dangerous Vulcan, certainly more so than if you were just a universally experienced Vulcan."
Her eyes narrowed and her fists clenched. Not in anger but in sudden panic. It was the first crack she dared to show Yulae and he beamed when he saw it.
First Commander Tucker, now the Captain. You are in a bit of a mess my dear."
She stood up quickly, suddenly as a tempered heat ran through her body, daring to stand directly before Yulae's brunt figure with her chin raise high as she pierced into his eyes with her own.
"They know nothing as I know nothing. It would be unwise and a waste of time to harm them over these documents."
His laughter was like a smiling growl. He towered over her lithe but slight figure with utter dominance.
"Are you making threats Vulcan? Because that's just as unwise."
She was clearly eager to retaliate with a bold, reckless tongue but they were unwittingly interrupted.
"Both dinner and Dulac are ready Sir."
He suddenly turned away with an eager smile to the door and the panel at the side of it. With hunger that both reflected his stomach and him impatience he opened it up and let the said items in. Dinner was Andorian cattle and ale. Dulac was a Klingon.
T'Pol felt a tremor in her heartbeat as the flow of her blood seemed to seize and then move on again, creeping by slowly in fear. She had the peculiar sensation of hairs rising along the back of her neck and goose pimples shooting down her arms. She felt her eyes betray her new apprehension and cursed at the lack of self-control. All because in the Klingon's eyes was the same eager insanity that dwelled in Yulae's crimson glare.
"Now we eat."
Again it was insisted upon that T'Pol sit, with her two companions across from her and a generous plateful of rare cooked meat and a tall glass of ale accompanying the barbaric meal before her. She felt her stomach curl and avoided at all costs to look at the sight laid in front of her by a tall and timid chef who followed in on the hulking wake of the Klingon. He served them quickly, clearly willing to leave them alone together just as quick.
Yulae sighed a breath of contentment. Enjoying the aromas that fed his nostrils he first savored the taste of ale across his tongue before again addressing T'Pol. At his side he let the Klingon eat ahead with surprising manner and restraint about it. It was an almost impossible and impressive sight, but T'Pol did indeed witness a Klingon using a fork. A bizarre oxymoron, she noted – Klingon's and manners.
"Now, Vulcan, let me play enlightenment on you, as I promised. I know it's wise to die nobly and hold the information to yourself. I know it's logical to suffer torment over allowing privileged information to spill into rogue Andorian intelligence. And I know despite your rebel against your own people, you would not betray two Governments when death is an inevitable outcome. But I also know how to make things complicated."
He took another drink and insisted with a nod that she eat up. She ignored the prompt.
"Like I said, love is a dangerous thing, as we both know. It makes you do irrational things, such as sacrifice. Sacrifice of anything from your own life to classified information, information that I need."
Yulae leant forward, his smile beginning to fade and his true natural expression beginning to crack through as his words became low and stressed. The Klingon was watching them but kept his mouth prioritized with food, until Yulae addressed him.
"Tell her who you are Dulac."
It was the command he had been waiting for as he put down his glass and swallowed his food almost un-chewed. His chest swelled and his eyes focused sharply on the Vulcan across from him as he spoke in a deep, powerful rumble.
"I am Dulac, son of Thernason, heir to the Bird of Prey K'nos, and brother," here was were he let rage and upset leak into his tone, "to Duras."
T'Pol stiffened, every nervy muscle forcing her to sit up straighter in attention and her eyes forcing her to look stunned.
"Duras?"
The Klingon nodded and turned to Yulae who was giving him the silence to carry on.
"My brother who was disgraced by that walking filth that you call Captain Archer. Disgraced not once but twice, in front of his own father and brother. And then he was slaughtered trying no less than to regain the status your Captain had stripped him of, the status and respect he used to receive amongst his superiors. Something you would never understand."
There was no sparing of spite in each word that was spat across the table and into T'Pol's food. She at least gave him the honor of looking him in the eye as the situation began to fall into place and reveal its horrendous nature.
"You are going to blackmail me?"
She was talking now to Yulae who smiled without the spark in his eyes.
"Would you talk unless I gave you an incentive to? Doubtfully. The bounty over Archer's head was not the same one over yours, as Shran may have thought. Dulac has been my ally for many years now, trading his technology for the information I have on your Captain. However, he will not take the situation as far as to a kill him anymore if I am to receive some information from you. It is an entirely fair deal I believe. Archer would be dead by now without the restraint I hold on Dulac here."
The Klingon seemed to snort slightly into his ale, obviously not keen on being labeled as some sort of pet to the Andorians. Yulae ignored him.
"Do we have a deal then?"
T'Pol turned her eyes away. "I know nothing, I have already told you."
"Liar!"
The table shook as Yulae suddenly shot to his feet and pounded the table with a heavy fist. The cracks had become gaping holes and she saw now the complete severity of his madness.
"Liar like the rest of your people! Like when you boasted that you were a non-violent species that did not murder! Like when you said you did not have listening posts dotted all over your world, in P'Jem even! Liars when they told me they would not kill my father! You are scum, you are as much a scum as the High Command, as the next piece of Vulcan dirt that walks along your holy planet preying and mediating and planning your wars. Not all of the galaxy's fooled you know. Us, the Klingons, the Coridans, the Salan to name but a few. The humans may be your lapdogs but you have far more enemies than you will ever have allies, I can assure you that. Now take my deal or I will have to execute a far more inventive way of getting that information."
T'Pol was unmoved by neither his speech nor his threats. However she did understand what danger the Klingon opposed on Jonathan, and bearing to think she could somehow prevent harm or even death upon him she knew she needed time to think. She needed to return to the cell.
"I will tell you nothing. Two lives are no tragic scarifies if it keeps the Federation a secrete from the rogues of the galaxy."
She feared she was far too good at this role-play act, but it served her well again. Yulae carried on his rage.
"So I have been given the opportunity to vent a little anger and frustration out on you. It will be something I look forward to."
He slammed his palm into the comm. his eyes grimacing and his mouth twisted.
"Take her out of here. I think she needs time to consider her Captain's and her own circumstance."
The door opened in an instant and a lone, heavily kitted guard walked in, taking T'Pol by the forearm and not waiting for her to even stand before he began to take her away. She gave herself no praise for the small victory she had just won and went in silence.
Yulae sat down slowly, draped in his own silence with a flat expression and contemplating eyes. He was still and angry but quiet about it as he quickly begun conjuring forth new muses and plans. He eventually turned to his Klingon partner.
"Would you mind making a call for me?"
……………
Cocking his head to one side Archer planted a finger in his ear and scratched feverishly. He frowned curiously at the quick passing of pain before straightening his neck and shaking his head slightly. As unexplained and random as it was he heeded the short headache no more and his actions went unnoticed on the bridge. He soon forgot about it.
The bridge was aptly silent. Often when there was little more to do than wait for a shift to be over with the crew would happily talk amongst themselves. Hoshi and Travis would commonly discuss the latest or upcoming movie night, or make plans to meet later in the mess hall or even each other's quarters. Malcolm would occasionally wind up reciting enthusiastic monologues about his old weaponry field training or the latest adjustments he was making to the plasma cannons. Uncannily enough though he was often interesting to listen to. Archer himself would always be more than happy to make conversation with these topics, or talk, almost boast even, about his father and his work or more than once get sidetracked with water polo. It was usually when he lost his crowd.
Unless directly spoken to T'Pol would remain silent and working. What no one figured out however was how much she listened to and even learnt from these times. Malcolm was unaware for instance that she knew he sometimes suffered from altitude sickness, which he had once lied about to participate in a hike up Mount St. Helen with a group of his colleges, later to be discovered on the truth when he threw up on every fifth step he took.
Travis did not know that she knew his favourite movie genre was, unsurprisingly, horror, and that his favourite movie to date was The Fog by a movie director called John Carpenter, although he preferred the book, which was written by a celebrated author called James Herbert. In that same conversation Hoshi had unwittingly revealed to her that she often wished she had been alive during an actor, Pierce Brosnan's, own lifetime and rise to fame, specifically in his reign as movie character James Bond.
Perhaps the most interesting thing she had leant about though was how much Jonathan had loved and adored his father, something she did not understand and could only wonder about.
It was only now that Archer sat up a little straighter with a quizzing look upon his face and realised that she must have been listening to them. He put his chin to his hand and frowned over this, then smiled sadly.
The new science officer behind him, the second Vulcan science officer that had been forced upon him, was silent as she had been, although in fairness no one spoke much amongst the senior crew right now, even in these tedious, eventless hours. Without him noticing Archer turned to look at him. It was not the first time in the last hour that he had done so, and the last two times he had been caught.
There was a sense of déjà vu that hung over his head, was all Archer could say at first about the Vulcan. He had dull, steady brown eyes, a paler complexion than most Vulcans but was still a distinct deep olive, had thicker lips, a bowl cut of coarse brown hair and a lithe build. He sat still and had a flawless concentration. His orders and his work were his only priority on the bridge. The silence did not bother him, nor how long time seemed to be taking to pass, although to him an hour was probably just an hour and could feel no more than that.
Archer sat up a little more and then clarity began to brighten the déjà vu. He finally had his finger on it and the truth almost made him laugh.
"Sulak, could I see you in my ready room for just a moment?"
Archer stood, trying to keep a steady smile on his weary face as he became worn down with the waiting in orbit. The science officer looked up at him blankly.
"Have I done something wrong Sir?"
The entire bridge was listening with diverted eyes now.
"No, no, I'd just like to see if we could get to know each other a little better for the time being."
"I believe we already know all of what is necessary to know about each other."
Archer pleaded him a smile. "Please, I just want to talk with you for five minutes. You've done more than enough work for now and I wont interrupt you again, I promise."
The Vulcan finally reluctantly nodded and stood, following Archer out to his ready room. Three wildly curiously glances were exchanged between three itching expressions accompanied by three senses of déjà vu as they made their exits.
Despite the bridge's generous extension on Columbia, Archer's ready room was more or less its same cozy but apt size. He had only been in it once yet so far but was finding it awkward to settle in. He was finding it difficult in general to accept the new ship. For now he put it down to the mission he had on his head to carry out. In reality and harsh truth he knew he was missing home – Enterprise.
His science officer seemed just as uncomfortable to be aboard the human Starship. His nose twitched and curled in obvious distaste to the smell of human in such close quarters and his stance was unsure as he stood before his new Captain for the first time alone. His brown gaze hovered unsteadily just out of reach of eye contact with Archer and he offered no spoken word to him at first. He remained silent and waited for the real reason as to why he was called here.
"Please, sit."
Archer moved to the porthole window, glad to see that although his ship had changed, the view, obviously, had not.
Looking behind him at a stiff blue leather chair the Vulcan scientist named Sulak slowly and warily sat as was insisted. He peered back up at Archer and continued to wait.
"I don't suppose you understand the concept of coincidence, or even irony, do you Sulak?"
"I have heard of such human-like terms, yes, and their concepts are understandable in some cases. Why do you ask?"
Archer shrugged and laughed slightly, shaking his head as he looked upon the officer with genuine amusement.
"I just think it's ironic I suppose that the second Vulcan science officer I get forced on to my crew is none other than the brother of the first one that was forced on to my crew."
That steady brown gaze suddenly sharpened and Archer watched as he hit a nerve in a Vulcan, something he had only rarely ever managed with T'Pol before.
"That information was meant as classified."
Archer shook his head. "Sulak, there may be many differences between our people, but biology is biology and the same general rules apply to almost very species – siblings look alike."
Sulak's plain brown gaze suddenly disappeared from under his hazel grip.
"I do not recognized her as my sister anymore, nor is she recognized within the rest of my family as one of our bloodline."
Archer's gaze darkened. He fought off every temptation to begin fighting T'Pol's family feud for her and very nearly lost.
"And is that the view of both your parents or just your father?"
The Vulcan's eyes dropped lower.
"Sir if you have no other questions that concern my duties then may I please be allowed to return to my post?"
The Captain was not amused. He was clearly ready with a sharp comeback when Hoshi's urgent voice spilled through the comm.
"Sir I suggest you return to the bridge immediately. I have an urgent hail waiting for you."
Archer did not give Sulak a second more consideration as he shot through the room and threw open the door that led directly on to the bridge. Only one horrific sight dominated his vision when he got there.
"Captain Archer," the Klingon launched into an audacious introduction before he was even addressed by Archer, "I am Dulac, son of Thernason, heir to the Bird of Prey K'nos, and brother to the deceased Duras, a Klingon you knew very well I understand, when he was alive."
His blank gaze soon turned to silent dismay as Archer's mind raced ahead of itself, remembering.
Dulac – the Klingon he had killed five years ago, the one who's Bird of Prey he had destroyed moments before he entered into the Expanse, who he had escaped custody from and learnt to have a distinct disliking of the race from. Who he had learned the hard way from what a Klingon's pride could do, and who gave him an idea now of what his brother now wanted from him.
"I also understand we have something of yours that you would like back."
Archer chilled. He had been warned by Soval, and it would have been best if he had been listening more than scolding, but what was done was done, that the Andorains would not have first hand resources to invent and construct as sophisticated equipment as a cloaking devise that rendered a ship utterly invisible to technology. The recourses had to be second hand, the Ambassador had insisted, and the second hand would most likely have been leant by the Klingons.
"We?"
It was time for Archer to suddenly awaken himself and step up again as the notorious Captain he was, draw forth his seven years of hardcore experience and begin to win this abrupt war. The Klingon smiled crudely.
"I am not here to humour you Archer, you can figure that one for yourself."
It was unlikely a Klingon would bluff about a situation such as this, so Archer did not dare to put a questioning doubt forward, instead prompting the warrior to continue on with a slow nod and a frown.
"The Phae's prisoners are all dead, somewhere out in space. If you're lucky one may pay a floating visit past your window tonight." It was clear he was enjoying his own sense of humour with the light that flared viciously in his keen dirty-brown eyes. "However, of course, there is one still alive, and she will remain as so if we get full compliance to our demands."
Archer felt a quiver run through the balled fists that sat patiently at his side, waiting to strike down upon anything to create a vent for him frustrated anger on hearing about the Phae's prisoners, which again was very unlikely to be a bluff. Dulac saw he understood his words perfectly.
"And those demands are that we receive some information, information that could be the key to the war the Vulcans are teetering on against my race and others."
Finally a stump ran into Archer's understanding, settling forth a plague of confusion on him. Dulac carried on.
"So tell me now about the Federation and it could become very likely that her life will be spared, to some degree."
Mortified silence fell upon the bridge. The thoughts of the senior crew quickly ran along a single wavelength as the Klingon hung in silence waiting eagerly for an answer. They all knew that Archer knew nothing about this 'Federation', that Archer had no information to give him, that he would not be able to convince him of this truth and that they had just lost their colleague without the opening chance of even hosting a fight for her.
"I do not know of any Federation."
There was a sharp intake of breath in the air as they watched their Captain with wide eyes as he threw away any chance of a bluff to call his own, and immediately infuriated their hailer.
"Liar!"
Archer stepped forward closer to the screen with a calm gaze but hot palms.
"Now hold on a minute. I could offer you far more than just information here. Now you've led me to assume you work for Andorians, right?"
A fist fell down on the console that the Klingon sat at as his nostrils flared and his chest heaved. Archer did not give him time to raise a note through his throat though.
"Now why would Klingons be working for Andorians? To be truthful it tells me you guys are a little short of currency and options for getting some."
Hoshi felt her breath shallow, Malcolm itched to stand and Travis could hardly brave himself to look up at the Captain, feeling he was just as well murdering his own First Officer. True enough the fury in the Klingon seemed to beginning itself on a steady climax to outrage. Archer carried on, slowly edging towards Hoshi's console now.
"We have more than enough of what you Klingons would find valuable to easily cut you another deal. Say ten thousand?"
The Klingon now stood, the murky whites of his eyes showing the rising level of his fury.
"You will follow my demands and my word and be silent unless you have something to say that I want to hear!"
Finally Archer arrived at Hoshi's station. She looked up and him, and he down at her. His look told it all along with where he rested his palm. Seven years between a Captain and an Ensign meant they learned to communicate perfectly, even in silence.
"Don't tell me you're not tempted, em… Dulac, did you say your name was?"
As he watched the Klingon's nerves twist tightly he walked in front of Hoshi, blocking any view of her working hands. Immediately she began to do as she was ordered.
"Death will not come quickly to your First Officer Archer, I hope you understand that. Nor will it for you."
It was as he spat Jonathan's second name that the image and sound across the screen began to falter. A few seconds later Dulac's own side of the transmission began to flicker with static and failure.
"Dulac, I think we're losing you. Dulac?"
Seconds later still his infuriated face was gone and the stars reigned supreme in their sights once again.
Archer turned to his bridge crew with a gaze scorned.
"He is not joking around. The Phae's passengers will have all been killed and T'Pol is only alive for insurance. She will be tortured and because I know she won't talk she will eventually be killed if we don't find her first. So Sulak, I want her found, Malcolm I want a security team ready to dispatch as soon as we have them in our sights and Travis I want us at Warp Six in ten minutes. Let Commander Tucker know."
Without pardoning his absence Archer marched over to the door of his ready room.
"You have the bridge for now Lieutenant."
He stood, uttered a respectful "Eye Sir," and then moved to the chair in the middle of the bridge. Archer disappeared into his room.
For a while silence ruled and he stood utterly still in the middle of the small cold room, his eyes fixed on nothing but the porthole ahead of him. Then he threw his fist into the steel wall and cried out to hell itself.