I have to stop listening to these old songs, while I drive to work: I get these crazy ideas…
Well, I hope you enjoy what popped into my head this time.
Reviews are greatly appreciated!
Grateful thanks, as always, to my beta readers, Sita Z and RoaringMice, who not only correct my mistakes but invariably make such interesting suggestions.
"By the look on your face, I'd say you haven't managed to convince the Capt'n that we should carry side arms," Trip teasingly probed as he accepted Malcolm's offer to sit in his desk chair.
After the shift had ended, Trip had not been able to find his friend anywhere, so he had come to Reed's quarters, certain that Malcolm would be brooding there all alone. He offered him one of two bottles of beer he had brought along to cheer the man up, and Reed accepted it with a nod of thanks.
"What else is new?" Malcolm replied, with a disgusted expression, "After all, we're only going down to an unknown planet, to meet an unknown species, with unknown culinary tastes: for all we know armoury officers and engineers are much-sought-after delicacies on Herion," he quipped with a grimace. He raised the bottle in a silent 'cheers' and took a swig.
"Ah, but you're forgetting T'Pol has downloaded all the info sent by the delightful governess and is going to brief us about their uses and customs before we leave. So don't worry: we'll know in advance what sauce they prefer with deep-fried armoury officers." Trip bantered, patting Malcolm's leg.
Reed groaned and let himself fall back on the bed like a dead weight.
"Aw, stop worrying Malcolm. You're incorrigible, you know that?" the engineer playfully scolded.
"Fine. I may well be," Reed pushed himself back up onto his elbows, scowling, "But up to now I've managed to keep us all in one piece. And that's no slight task, if I may say so myself, considering Captain Archer's resolve to test our transience with such bloody regularity," he concluded in his clipped accent, which anger seemed to exaggerate.
"Transience?" Trip laughed out, "Well, I'll admit, our transit through space has been rather eventful so far."
Malcolm tilted his head and hinted, suddenly tongue-in-cheek, "Talking of being incorrigible and of eventful adventures, Commander, I would be careful if I were you: Tara III… Charles Tucker III… there is an odd assonance. Make sure T'Pol reads all there is to know about this species' mating customs: with your record, before you know it you might find yourself lawfully wedded to the ruler of Fan'her. And I'm not sure anyone would want that, if you ask me; she doesn't look like a very sweet lady."
"Ha. Ha. Very funny. Go on, admit it. You're jealous of my romances with beautiful aliens," Trip countered.
"'Beautiful aliens': let's see, does that include those two on Risa as well?" Malcolm asked innocently.
Their eyes met and they burst into laughter. The crew, Captain included, were still trying to find out why Commander Trip Tucker and Lieutenant Malcolm Reed had returned from their two days' shore leave on Risa clad only in their skivvies; but Trip and Malcolm were not ready to reveal that they had followed two 'gorgeous aliens' into a cellar only to see them transform into ugly male muggers.
"I'm sure everythin' will go just fine," Trip offered soothingly, after a moment. "In any case, those damn dress uniforms are so stiff that, even if we had phase pistols, we wouldn't be able to bend our arm to reach for them!" he finished with a chuckle.
That morning, on the bridge
"Stop bouncing your leg, Trip!" Archer finally exploded. He regretted sounding like a father quashing an insubordinate child, but the repetitive movement was beginning to get on his nerves.
The engineer shot his captain a rueful glance.
It had been quiet lately on the bridge of the Enterprise. A bit too quiet, Captain Jonathan Archer silently complained, shifting on that instrument of penance that went by the high-sounding name of 'the Captain's chair'. The ship had been cruising in deep space for the past few days without coming across so much as a damn speckle of interesting dust. No planets of any sort, no comets, no aliens – bad or good –, not even an ion storm.
Archer looked around him at the alpha shift crew.
Hoshi was desperately pressing the ear-piece into her left ear: she would probably jump up in celebration to hear so much as a Klingon warrior swearing.
Travis was leaning against the back of his seat looking completely apathetic. Having only a rear view of the helmsman, Archer wondered if he was even awake: for all he had to do he could have piloted the ship with his eyes closed and standing on his head.
T'Pol didn't seem at all affected by the recent lack of activity. Nothing new, of course: her impassivity made it difficult to tell if she was actually bothered by it or not.
Archer turned to his right.
Malcolm looks bored stiff. And although 'stiff' suited the Armoury Officer just fine, 'bored' really didn't. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was a chronic workaholic. But to make things irksome for him, tactical systems had been working perfectly well for an unprecedented number of days now. Malcolm was sitting at his post, staring at the monitor with even less enthusiasm he might show for a bowl of goldfish.
I bet Malcolm would love it right now if the targeting sensors went out of alignment, Archer mused. He had a suspicion that fine-tuning the ill-behaved contraptions had become a sort of ritual which the lieutenant secretly enjoyed. But no, the targeting sensors were behaving properly these days, the little bastards.
Trip – well, Trip was Trip. Almost nothing could dampen his optimistic nature; yet even he was not his typical self lately. Sitting at the engineering console near a cataleptic Malcolm, Trip was fidgeting. Of course it didn't help that he had never been crazy about bridge duty to start with - it kept him away from his beloved engines. The lack of problems to solve and challenges to meet meant that all the energy which the engineer usually put into his job had no natural outlet. So he used it, among other things, to bug his crewmates, T'Pol and Malcolm seeming to be his preferred victims.
"It's awfully quiet in this patch of the universe, Subcommander. Why don't you take a peek at those Vulcan star charts and tell us if we're ever bound to find anythin' of interest?" Trip teased. "I don't know, some asteroid to blow up, just to give our Armoury Officer somethin' to do. I'm gettin' real worried about him; he looks pretty out of it, and with no bad guys to shoot at he might lose it altogether and turn his bellicose instincts against us."
The engineer shot a provocative look at Reed, who just glared at him. Then he continued, "Tell you what: the person whose monitor shows somethin' first gets to choose the movie for next week."
Archer chuckled and turned to his left to watch T'Pol's reaction. Or lack thereof.
"The Vulcans never explored this region of space, Commander," T'Pol commented, raising her head only enough to cast a level glance at Trip across the bridge. "Consulting our star charts would be of no use. As for your proposal, it is illogical to reward a person for something over which he or she has no influence; in addition, I'd be hardly qualified to select a …" A 'beep' interrupted her.
A second later Archer heard a stereophonic 'Captain', as his Science and Armoury Officers reacted simultaneously to readings on their monitors.
He looked left and then right, and saw Reed on the verge of speaking. But then the Lieutenant gave a curt nod to his Vulcan superior, deferring to her higher rank.
"Captain, long range sensors are picking up a system, approximately one light year from here. One planet appears to be M class," T'Pol calmly stated.
Archer's eyes twinkled as he took a deep breath and perched himself on the edge of his seat.
"Great! Looks like our collective prayers were finally answered. Travis, lay in a course. T'Pol, Malcolm: see what you can find out about this M-class planet before we get there. Hoshi, keep your ears open. Trip, see if you can give us a bit of extra steam. We might be looking at a new first contact," the Captain finished with a satisfied smile.
A chorus of "Aye, Sir" answered him as the spirits of the crew suddenly perked up.
The ship had zoomed through space, quickly closing the distance that separated her from the system.
The bridge's view-screen now showed the image of a large planet, not unlike earth, with mountains and plains, deserts and waters. Scans had revealed that it was inhabited. The species was technologically advanced but not yet capable of warp speed. Needless to say, Archer had decided to make contact and instructed Hoshi to send a message to one of the biggest cities they had detected.
"Sir, we are being hailed," Hoshi informed her Captain.
Archer nodded and stood up, feeling the rush of excitement he always experienced when he was about to set eyes on a species no human had ever seen before. "On screen," he ordered the young linguist.
All eyes converged onto the view-screen. The humanoid alien that appeared was quite a sight. She – Archer felt pretty sure it was a she – was rather matronly and exuded an air of self-assurance. Hair the colour of ripe wheat, shoulder-long and neatly combed back, framed a remarkable face, where a small and comely nose was topped by eyes that seemed to have all the colours of the rainbow, translucently interchanging. The effect was almost hypnotizing.
"I am Captain Jonathan Archer, of the starship Enterprise," The Captain began, launching into his standard introduction.
Then the alien began speaking in a guttural, consonant laden language. After a few sentences the UT started to work and everyone could understand what was being said
"Pleased to meet you, Captain. My name is Tara III, and I am the governess of Fan'her, which is the capital city of Herion, our homeworld. What brings you to this region of space?"
The alpha shift crew watched as Archer went through the usual explanations and pleasantries. The short conversation ended with a formal invitation for some of Enterprise's command staff to visit Fan'her. Archer immediately accepted, even though he knew that his Armoury Officer would most certainly have something to object.
"I will give instructions so that you are sent information on our culture, Captain," Tara III authoritatively ended. "I would appreciate if you did the same, so that we can both learn something about each other before we meet. You will also receive landing coordinates and protocols."
"It will be my pleasure to do so, Governess. Thank you for the invitation. Archer out."
The screen went blank and the Captain had to stop himself from rubbing his hands in satisfaction. With a wide smile, he turned to his crew. "Get that done right away, Hoshi. You, T'Pol, Trip and Malcolm will be coming with me to the planet tomorrow. Time to brush your dress uniforms and polish your boots!"
"Ensign Sato and I have reviewed the information that Governess Tara III has sent us. It is most interesting," T'Pol explained, looking pointedly at each member of the away team, who were standing before her in the situation room.
"This is a matriarchal society," she continued. "Which means, as I am sure you understand, that women are the most prominent part of the population, holding all positions of significance. The Governess, in her region, has absolute power for a period of five years, after which democratic elections are held. Only women can vote, of course."
"You call that democratic?" Trip cut in with an outraged cry. He was slowly but surely becoming far less enthusiastic about this first contact.
"It is, for their culture, Commander," T'Pol replied unfazed. "Must I remind you that we are not to judge other species by human or Vulcan standards?"
As Trip opened his mouth to interrupt again, Archer admonished, "Trip, that's enough!" He shot an irritated look at his chief engineer, then returned his gaze to T'Pol.
"Men are considered inferior and treated accordingly. Captain, I suggest that we adapt to their customs, as a gesture of friendliness: I shall exit the shuttlepod first, followed by Ensign Sato; then the male officers can disembark in order of rank."
"Brilliant," Reed commented under his breath to Trip, mentally adding, That's great security. Fan-bloody-tastic!
"Do you have a question, Lieutenant?" T'Pol asked, raising one eyebrow.
Damned Vulcan heightened sense of hearing, Reed silently cursed, while he replied with a characteristic jerk of his head, "I was only considering what that means in terms of security, Subcommander."
"It means, Lieutenant," Archer cut in, with a meaningful look at his armoury officer, "That you'd better start relaxing about our visit to Herion."
Reed drew his lips in a tight line and nodded curtly, biting back a reply that might have landed him in the brig.
"Of course the Governess will treat male officers with respect," T'Pol continued. "Ensign Sato sent her enough information on Earth's customs for her to understand that they are different from those of Fan'her. I urge you, however, to behave in a gentlemanly way," she stressed, looking pointedly at Commander Tucker, who frowned back, "And to refrain from commenting about any interactions between persons of different sexes you might witness: you will probably find them unacceptable."
"Anything else, T'Pol?" Archer asked expectantly. Every time T'Pol briefed them, he felt back in school. He hoped he didn't make the same impression on his officers.
The Vulcan surveyed them all one last time; then answered "No, Captain. We may proceed to the launch bay."
Reed saw Archer break into a wide smile – he looked as excited as Porthos in front of a plate full of cheese – and clenched his jaw, this was going to be a very long day. He felt Trip elbow his ribs and, turning to look at him, saw the engineer suppressing a chuckle at the incensed look that he must've unconsciously been shooting at their captain.
TBC