THE LOST YEARS
by Soledad
PRELUDE: CROSSROADS
Disclaimer: see Introduction.
Rating: PG, for this chapter – just to be on the safe side.
Author's notes:
Just one thing: should you be a devoted fan of Captain Kirk, this story isn't the right one for you. Heck, the whole series isn't the right thing for you. He won't appear in this particular chapter, but I thought a little warning would be necessary.
Also, forgive me the lack of special speech patterns for Scotty and Chekov – English is a challenge in itself, and I'd rather not mess around with it.
Oh, and the whole religious stuff is my doing, of course. Although the Swahili word uhuru means freedom indeed. But the cults are my invention, based on theories about matriarchal cultures.
CHAPTER 4: NEW ACQUAINTANCESUhura spent the next few days partly with orientation, partly with getting used to the workings of the local computers and the quirks of the Unicom – the communication system of the colonial fleet. Working aboard the Galactica proved more difficult in certain areas than they'd have thought. Artificial gravitation was some ten percent higher than the Federation standard used on all Starfleet ships, while the average temperature at least eight degrees Celsius lower. Uhura assumed, the reason for that was the need to save energy, but that didn't mean that he would feel less cold, and she could imagine how much Spock had to suffer, although the Vulcan, naturally, never voiced a complaint over the inconveniences. At least the higher gravity was less of a burden for him than for his human shipmates.
Besides, two days ago both he and Mr. Scott were transferred to the Celestra, the fleet's so-called science ship, where – according to Scotty's enthusiastic reports – they felt like two kids in a candy shop. After the first day Scott asked for permission to bring half a dozen of his engineers and technicians over to the Celestra, where they started happily helping the local folks with the long overdue repairs.
Lieutenant Commander Giotto was working on battle plans all day with Adama, Tigh and Captain Apollo. Spock's calculations let assume that the singularity won't collapse before the Cylons reached it, so they had to be prepared for all possibilities. Lieutenant Palmer had informed the landing party that reinforcements will arrive in another two standard days, and Adama intended to present several strategic plans by then.
After spending a few hours in the Life Center, Dr. McCoy asked for additional personnel, too, in the person of medical technician Cindy Lou Johnson, the first assistant of Dr. M'Benga in the exobiology lab. He also asked Uhura, to establish a constant link between the two medical sections, so that he could transfer the data about all the so far unknown viral and bacterial agents Dr. Salik and his colleagues had met on their way directly into the med-computers of the Enterprise. At the same time, they started mass inoculations on both the Enterprise and the colonial ships, so that all those harmless viruses and bacteria one party had developed an immunity for hundreds of years, won't cause deadly epidemics by the other party.
Uhura's primary assignment was the recording of the whole cooperative process, so she had to be very inventive to find the time for her own research. To her greatest regret, she had to leave the whole historical and cultural database to Lieutenant Carolyn Palamas, leader of the A&A section, without as much as a look into it; time was too short to get involved with them. All he could do was to study the different idioms spoken on the individual colonies; and even that only courtesy of Lieutenant Brent, one of his Andorian subordinates, who offered to take over a good part of recording from her.
For four days, she'd barely left the computer room she was offered to use; she only got over to the O Club for something to eat because Colonel Tigh came and dragged her over with the usual calm authority. That wasn't such a nuisance, though; a colonel was a pleasant company, and kept his promise to avoid all overly personal contacts. Truth be told, after twelve to sixteen working hours a day, a break was more than welcome.
Having sent the summary of the day's work – including her own report – to the Enterprise, she saved the data and decided to call it a day. She couldn't hope to finish at least a cursory overview of that ungodly amount of information in the near future anyway; she hoped to ask for an extended leave after this five-year-mission, the end of which was mere weeks away, and to finally start writing her thesis. She couldn't hope to find any better topic – not to mention one that hadn't been discussed to dead at least a dozen times before. Besides, the ship was due to spend a long time in the drydock at the end of their mission. If she asked for permission to do scientific research during the repairs, she could avoid getting assigned to a different ship. It wasn't necessarily Kirk's person that made her want to stay – more the good working atmosphere created among long-time colleagues (actually more personal friends by now), who, of that she was certain, were going to use similar methods to avoid a transfer.
With the help of her tricorder, she found out on the first day that Tigh's terminals were directly linked to the ship's main database – as it could be accepted in case of the commander's aide – and she figured out rather quickly how to upload data from those databases. Among other things, she found out such practical details as how long the duty shift of his host lasted, and after translating it into standard, she assumed that she'd still have enough time to take a shower and change before the colonel arrived to take her to dinner.
However, either her calculations had been wrong, or she'd struggled with the strange shower controls longer than expected, the result was that she was just leaving the shower tube when Tigh returned. The dull surface of the cylindrical chamber mirrored the wet glimmer of her naked arms and shoulders above the white towel she was wrapped into.
"Oh!" she said, a little surprised. "I haven't counted on you so early. If you'll be willing to wait just a minute... I'm almost done. "
"No need to hurry, Siress Uhura," Tigh went to one of the unpainted steel cupboards and took another towel out of it "I'll have to hit the shower myself first. After sixteen centrons on duty it's inevitable. But I won't need more than ten of your standard minutes."
"Take it easy," Uhura laughed. "I'm not starving yet."
"But I am, very nearly," Tigh replied, and with a parting look at her bare shoulder he vanished into the hygienic chamber.
Tigh's open interest – aside of the generally low room temperature all aboard the Galactica – inspired Uhura to wear civilian clothes whenever they happened to have dinner together. Civvies were simply less revealing and thus warmer than the standard Starfleet uniform. Tonight she chose a long-sleeved, scarlet wool dress that reached till her ankles and above which she wore a flower-patterned orange and white gauze robe, complete with ankle-high, soft leather shoes. She put up her hair with practiced ease, clicked into place her golden spiral earrings and laid on the necklace of gold and ebony that symbolized her status inside her tribe – if one knew enough to understand its significance.
One more critical look into the mirror to check out her appearance, then she swung into the computer room... and very nearly collided with his host who was about to leave the shower unit.
Tigh didn't show any embarrassment. He simply pulled the towel draped around his waist tighter. Truth be told, he had nothing to be ashamed of. He was short but nicely built, his muscles well-defined, his dark skin shone like polished bronze, and he moved in the smooth manner of a hunting cat.
"Just a moment, Siress," he said, unperturbed, "and I'm all yours."
He sounded innocent enough to assume that he was not aware of the double meaning of his words... or he was a very good actor. Uhura assumed the first. She had already found out that playing games was not one of the colonel's strengths.
"Wait a minute," she stopped him with a gesture of his hand, "I want to enjoy this moment thoroughly. Very few men are capable of looking elegant, wrapped only in a towel."
He gave the man a critical look-over. Tigh took it without the smallest sign if discomfort.
"Well, you are a little short," she stated pragmatically, "but you still look great, for a staff member, who spends his whole life on a few square meters of rusty metal. I'll have to give you that."
"Unlikely as it might sound, I used to be one of those cocky young pilots once," a quick smile showed even, white teeth behind those full lips. "Besides, I believe the matching expression would be in Federations Standard: 'it's the quality that counts, not the quantity'."
He vanished into his bedroom, and Uhura needed a moment to realize that the typical Terran expression hadn't come through her intradermal translator chip but directly from Tigh's mouth. In Standard.
"When did you have the time to learn Standard?" she asked in surprise when Tigh appeared again, in a fresh uniform and wearing a short, circular cloak that was held together by a decorative silver chain.
"I didn't," Tigh bowed in a ceremonial manner and offered her his arm. "But people often make remarks about my height… or the lack thereof, so I've asked your translator for a matching expression. May we go now?"
"Certainly," Uhura accepted the proffered arm, friendly, but keeping her distance, as she would do towards any pleasant but not very close companion, and Tigh seemed to understand the wordless message. "If you'd show the way, Colonel."
"There's no need for formalities, Siress Uhura. You are my guest; and you know my name already."
"Still, I find it proper to address you by your rank, as long as we are aboard the Galactica, where you have to protect your authority," Uhura replied. "By the way, do you all have only one name?"
"As far as I know, the custom had been established on all Colonies from the beginning," Tigh answered thoughtfully, "although the reason is not known to me. And since most of our ancient scrolls have been destroyed with our worlds, there is hardly a chance to check it now."
"Maybe personal aspects had an important role in the name-giving," Uhura speculated, warming up to professional details. "Do your names have individual meanings?"
"Some of them," the colonel nodded, "although even those have been in use for hundreds of yahrens. My name, for example, means flame in the old Libran dialect. To be more accurate, the dark heart of a flame, where the burning comes to a halt and all is quiet."
"The name suits you," Uhura said. "It matches the controlled inner fire, the collected strength I can feel in you."
"Yes, I think so," Tigh shrugged, without any false modesty. "Of course, it's only my outer name. The one I use publicly. Dream-names are much more personal in nature," he paused, then added, a little embarrassed. "Please forgive me, but I'm not allowed to discuss this. It's a religious taboo."
"I understand," Uhura assured him. "We have got a similar custom in my tribe."
"Does your name have a meaning?" Tigh inquired.
Uhura nodded. "A rather important one. It reveals to those who understand our customs both the clan I belong to and my status in the cult."
"Would you be willing to tell me more?"
"Sure, why not? Well, my clan-name is Nyota, which means roughly she from the stars. Most people mistake it for a given name, but it's not one. Uhura is my personal name, and it comes from the Swahili word uhuru, which means freedom. It's a cult-name, always worn by the eldest daughter of the clan, as it comes with a certain… religious authority."
Tigh remained silent until they reached the end of the corridor.
"Well," he then said, "I've certainly not expected to host a priestess. I'm impressed. And my mother would be very happy now – she came from the priest caste."
"Such classifications aren't used among us," Uhura replied, wondering, why would all outsiders (the few ones she had ever chosen to tell about her people) always ask the same questions. "I am the Eldest Daughter of an Old Family, and our assignment is to protect the customs and traditions. My whole 'power' is to lead certain ceremonies, assumed I am on Earth at the time at all… which, unfortunately, hasn't happened during the recent decade. Theoretically, my voice would be of ultimate importance in tribal affairs. But since I chose to go to the stars, my younger sister Kamala has to act as my substitute, in all these things."
They reached the O Club. A few young men, wearing the beige-brown uniform of fighter pilots, politely stepped aside to let them enter, and Tigh guided his guest to one of the empty tables on the farther side.
"This table is reserved for staff officers," he explained, "and for visiting prominence from other ships, of course, in case we have any."
"Is that such a rare occasion?" Mr. Scott, just returning from the Celestra in Captain Boomer's company, inquired.
"Rare enough," Boomer replied. "The civilian government prefers ships with a lot more luxury that we could ever offer, and other civilians are not allowed to visit a Battlestar Class warship. May we join you, Siress Uhura?"
"Of course, Uhura nodded, although she could clearly feel the resistance from Tigh's side; obviously, the colonel would have preferred to be alone with her. Theoretically, Uhura would have liked that, too – Tigh was a fascinating man – but on the other hand, she didn't want to give any fuel to gossip. At least not yet. Not as long as she hadn't decided whether her interest for the colonel exceeded natural curiosity.
Captain Boomer took her offer eagerly and sat down on the empty chair on Uhura's other side. Strangely enough, that caused jealous looks coming from the other pilots, who were sitting by the nearby tables. The seemingly all very young men made no secret of the fact that thy would just love to change places with their commanding officers, and the manner with which they gazed at the unknown woman reminded Uhura of lovesick puppies.
"I find this a little strange," she turned to Boomer, as she didn't want to bother her host with all awkward questions. "One would think that your people are accustomed to working with women. I had the impression that half of your bridge officers are female, aren't they? And yet are those pilots staring at me like little boys in the full blow of puberty."
Boomer, catching himself by the same reaction, lowered his gaze in utter embarrassment. Fortunately, Tigh had mercy with him and came to his aid.
"You forget an important aspect, Siress Uhura," he said. "Sure, we do have female officers aboard, but most of them are barely more than young girls whom this long war took the chance to become women. Many of our young men have rarely the chance to meet a mature woman; most civilians died on the Colonies. On most ships, save the Senior Ship, we have nothing but children on board. Children who had to age much too quickly. Small wonder that they got off-balance due to your beauty and inner strength."
"In that case you must prepare yourselves for a great deal of psychological problems," said a precisely articulated voice behind the colonel. "If your young men lose control in the mere presence of a Terran woman, what will happen when they are faced with Deltans later? Or Argelians?"
"Good evening, Mr. Spock," Uhura said patiently. "I wasn't aware of the fact that you are back already. Would you honour us with your company?"
"Naturally, Lieutenant," the Vulcan replied, completely unfazed by the gentle irony in her voice. "Otherwise, it would barely be logical to come here."
Spock had arrived in the company of a thin, silver-haired man with sparkling eyes and a very mobile face. The patrician-looking newcomer in grey uniform barely reached to the Vulcan's shoulder, and his whole mannerism gave him away as a scientist. Both Tigh and Boomer stood as a sign of respect seeing him; obviously, scientists were highly valued aboard the Galactica.
The Vulcan sat down next to Scott, and the scientist followed suit. Uhura noticed that the stranger carefully avoided touching Spock. They had apparently come to some sort of understanding already.
"Are you satisfied with your accommodations?" Tigh inquired politely. "Aboard the Enterprise you certainly have more comfort; unfortunately, this is all we have to offer."
"Vulcans prefer a rather ascetic lifestyle, Colonel," Spock replied calmly. "Our mental discipline enables us to distance ourselves from eventual physically uncomfortable circumstances to a level that would not influence our intellectual efficiency. Not even by temperatures that we usually find much too low."
Tigh exchanged an uncertain look with Boomer whose only reply was a barely visible shrug. Dr. Wilker suppressed a grin and shook his head; apparently, he had had the chance to get used to the Vulcan's speech patterns during the recent days.
"He means, as long as he finds his work interesting, he doesn't care for the circumstances, although he is freezing to death," Uhura translated the Vulcan's announcement for the locals.
Spock raised an eyebrow, which gave his pale face a slightly depressed – or insulted – look, as usual. Without lowering himself to the level of such trivial reactions, of course.
"My statement was surely free of such exaggerations, Lieutenant Uhura," he said. "Besides, I am certain that I have expressed myself precisely enough for anyone to understand."
"NO!" Uhura and Scott replied in unison; then, turning to Tigh, the chief engineer of the Enterprise added helpfully. "Vulcans rarely use expressions that could be understood by other species. Don't be bothered, sir. Given enough time, you get used to it… in about twenty or thirty years."
Everyone laughed. Only Spock stared at the table without a blink.
"As far as your speech patterns are concerned, Mr. Scott," he said when the overall mirth ebbed a little, "they could benefit from a minimum of efficiency… considering the unnumbered examples of brilliantly illogical reactions you usually offer your audience."
Scott rolled his eyes. "Remember never to indulge in a discussion with a Vulcan," he warned the locals. "You just can't have the last word with them. That's a natural law in our corner of the Universe."
Uhura smiled at the Vulcan fondly. "Mr. Spock, you are hopeless."
"Just precise, Lieutenant," the strangely shaped, dark Vulcan eyes glittered with an amusement that never showed in the stern features. "Just precise. Could we fulfill the reason of our presence now? I still have much work to do today."
"Did he just mean that we should eat?" Tigh asked, a little uncertainly, and winked to the waiter. Uhura laughed, impressed.
"You are a quick study, Colonel; my compliments. I needed a lot longer to sort through Mr. Spock's speech patterns and to translate them to a language understandable for common peasants. Of course, I'm not a man," she added, thoughtfully, "and certain female philosophers support the theory that male thinking patterns are generally alike, everywhere in the Universe, even among methane-breathers and amorphous creatures."
All humans present laughed, but Spock nodded in agreement.
"That's not as unlikely as you might think," he stated, after having ordered his dinner. "In any case, my mother always said that there are more profound differences between males and females than between Vulcans and humans. And you must admit that the latter differences are quite… significant."
"By all respect, Commander," Boomer said, a little bewildered, "how could your mother say such a thing? Different species have very different character traits. If I only think of the Borellans… and they used to be humans once, just like us!"
"My mother is the ultimate expert in this area," Spock replied calmly. "Although she hails from Earth, she has lived for many decades on Vulcan, and as the wife of a high-ranking Federation diplomat, she had the unique chance to study many sentient species in their natural environments."
"Wait a minute!" Boomer said in surprise. "Do you mean that you are…"
"I am half human, that is correct," Spock nodded matter-of-factly. "I have to add, however, that human and Vulcan biology is for a spontaneous cross-breeding much to different. It took four Vulcan years for the best gene-technicians of our Science Academy to make my existence possible. After the technology had been developed, the next candidates did not need such a long time, of course."
Boomer's eyes widened in shock, his dark face became ash grey. He stared at Spock as if he had seen some monster, taken shape from the horror stories of his childhood – a homunculus, a golem or some other creature of the same sort.
"What ails you?" the Vulcan asked politely. "Do you happen to have xenophobic tendencies?"
"That, too, would be understandable, Mr. Spock," Scott hurried to the young captain's aide. "You must consider that for these people an alien intelligence usually meant mortal danger."
"That is not entirely correct," Dr. Wilker intervened. "However, we had to learn to be very careful in our dealings with other species."
"Xenophobia is a common weakness, shared by practically all intelligent species," Uhura added. "Even by a not-so-small percentage of Vulcans."
"Unfortunately, that is correct," Spock admitted dryly. "However, we do not give those individuals access to Starfleet."
"Well, you'll have to show some more patience towards us, Commander Spock," Tigh replied, not minder dryly, accepting the silver tray with the menu of the day from the steward. "We don't have to luxury to reject any volunteers who want to fight to protect the rest of our people. Everyone who can start a Viper is sorely needed, regardless of their personal philosophies."
"You shouldn't create a false picture about our so-called superiority, Colonel," Uhura knew she couldn't completely filter out the anger of her voice. "We are not that superior, after all. Granted, our technology is of a somewhat higher level than yours, but that doesn't tell a thing about human qualities – and I'm using the word human in the widest possible meaning here. Mr. Spock might hold the philosophy of his choice in higher esteem, but I for my part find that we, mere humans, don't need to feel ashamed either.
"And you, Colonel, you don't need to feel inferior, in any way. After all, you have managed to save the remains of your civilization without any outside help, despite incredible dangers you had to face. If the Federation decides to do something against the Cylon threat, that wouldn't happen out of Samaritan reasons alone but to protect ourselves. We don't need to pretend that we are doing you any favour."
She fell silent, surprised a little by her own outburst. Spock watched her wordlessly for a few seconds, poking on the salad leaves on his plate.
"It surprises me, Lieutenant, that you are accusing me of arrogance, after all these years," he finally said. "I thought you would know by now that I follow the IDIC-principle and do not consider other people – even humans – inferior, based on our differences."
Uhura made conscious efforts to calm down. She had already realized that she had been out of line and had probably insulted Spock who – contrary to common belief – could be insulted. Especially by someone who had known him so long and so well as she had.
"I am aware of that, sir," she answered gently. "But for these people, who are about to collect experiences with non-human cultures probably for the very first time, your reaction seemed dangerously close to arrogance."
"I see," Spock considered the problem for a few moments, then reached his fork again. "Thank you for the warning, Uhura. I shall consider this aspect for the near future carefully."
"You are welcome, sir. Please accept my apologies in case I was out of line."
"Apologies are not necessary," the Vulcan replied. "A long time ago, we once agreed to behave according to our nature, do you remember?"
"Of course, sir."
"Well, a rather… emotional reaction is as normal for your own nature as logic and rationality are for mine. Consequently, I think that things are now set straight between the two of us – or am I mistaken?"
"That is hardly possible with you, Mr. Spock," Uhura replied with mild irony and reached for her fork as well.
After dinner Tigh was ordered back to the bridge, as Adama and Lieutenant Commander Giotto wanted to clear some more details with him. Uhura waited for a while for him, but seeing that he wasn't likely to return any time soon, she joined Cassiopeia, who was just going off-duty, to ask her questions about the Gemini dialect. This particular dialect (just like the one of the Librans) was so different, that not even the people born and raised on other colonies could understand it, and Uhura would never miss the chance to do some research in his own are of expertise... which was the reason why she wouldn't go anywhere aboard the Galactica without her tricorder.
Cassiopeia was willing enough to help her, so they spent the next hour discussing the different dialects of the many colonial languages that, surprisingly enough, did have a common root, after all. A former socialator, Cassiopeia was well versed in languages, philosophy, history and sociology, and though she had given up her old profession aboard the Galactica, she enjoyed the chance to put part of her old training to good use.
About an hour later Uhura decided that it would be selfish to keep her from her well-earned rest any longer and returned to Tigh's quarters to process the newly-won data and transfer them to the library computer of the Enterprise. When she finished, it was nearly midnight, and her eyes burned so badly that she could barely keep them open. So she decided to change and turn in for the rest of the night.
There were, however, parsecs between decision and execution. She had always had problems with sleeping in an alien environment, at least in the first couple of nights, and the Galactica was no exception from under this rule. Beyond that, she found the bunk in Tigh's guest room extremely uncomfortable – she might have slept better on the rough slab of stone Mr. Spock used for meditations. The silver-coloured thermal blanket did its duty well enough, but it had an unpleasant feel to the touch, and it wasn't thicker than five millimeters. Which, despite the hard facts, made the impression that it couldn't be warm enough.
After an hour and a half, spent turning back and forth on her bunk – and never catching more than a few minutes of sleep – Uhura gave up the fruitless struggle. She got up, pulled her long robe over her pajamas, slipped into her soft leather moccasins and sneaked into the study. Since she couldn't sleep anyway, at least she could spend the time more usefully.
To her surprise, the door to Tigh's bedroom stood wide open. Maybe he grew unaccustomed to closing it during the long, lonely years of duty, or probably he had never done so in the first place, how could guess. When Uhura got up in the morning – and she was an early riser – her host had gone on duty already, so she had no choice to learn about his routine so far.
Driven by curiosity, she sneaked closer and peered through the open door. It was dark in there, but her eyes were adapted already, and she could see that the room was empty. Apparently, long duty hours were the standard aboard the Galactica – especially for the first officer, even if he was off-duty.
"Can I help you, Siress Uhura?"
Tigh's question came so unexpectedly that Uhura nearly got a heart attack. Turning around, she saw the colonel rising slowly from an armchair in front of the computer, where he apparently had been sitting for who knew how long.
"Is there anything I can do for you?" he rephrased the question, and Uhura finally pulled herself together. After having caught red-handed, that certainly cost her some effort.
"I don't think so, Colonel, but thanks anyway. I had trouble sleeping, so I came out to read something. Then I saw your door open..."
"I never seal it," Tigh shrugged and came slowly closer. "That would it make for my people more complicated to reach me... and as for my private life, I ceased to have one since we are on the run."
"Do you even sleep in your uniform," Uhura teased gently.
Tigh laughed – it sounded a little strained, as if he had forgotten how to do it.
"Of course not. I've come from an unexpected second duty shift just a few microns ago and was simply too exhausted to go straight to bed. Actually, I was considering taking a hot shower, but I was afraid I'd wake you."
"Well, since I'm awake anyway, you should probably do just that," Uhura suggested.
Tigh nodded. "I intend to. Otherwise I'd lie awake all night... in screaming agony due to my damaged back. "
"You have problems with your back?" Uhura walked behind his back and probed his nape with careful fingers. "Small wonder; you are all tensed up..."
"That's a long story," Tigh tried to relax his shoulders but to little effect. "Shortly before the end of my career as a combat pilot, I'd had an accident and broke my back. Dr. Salik patched me together well enough, but it still hurts like hell after a long shift."
"You should ask Dr. McCoy to take a look at it, " Uhura advised. "He's the best surgeon in the Fleet, and our medical knowledge is a little better developed than yours. "
While speaking, she kept loosening the tense muscles in the colonel's neck and shoulders. Tigh sighed, barely audible.
"Ah... that feels good. Don't stop, please, don't stop..."
"Oh, but I have to," Uhura laughed, "or you'll fall asleep in my very hands. Maybe you should take that hot shower now... or do you expect me to scrub your back, too?"
"My wife used to scrub my back every time I was able to go home for a few days," Tigh murmured sleepily, "but that was an eternity ago."
"You are married?" asked Uhura in surprise. "You've never mentioned your wife."
"She is dead," Tigh moved away from her, "and so are my children. Forgive me, but I don't feel like talking about her. Not yet."
"Of course, Colonel. I apologize for my curiosity."
Tigh shrugged. "You couldn't know. One day… when I am ready, I might tell you about my former life. But not today."
TBC
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P.S. : I'm very sorry it took me this long to update. I'll try to do better with the next chapter, honestly.