222
"It's beautiful down there," Commander Tucker exclaimed as he guided the Shuttlepod to the landing coordinates, "Lush, sunny, mild temperature, and the city looks stunning!"
"Yes, it is rather impressive," Captain Archer agreed, as he took in the pristine appearance of Fan'her. They could see that the city had large streets and magnificent palaces, which, with their stately stairways, almost looked like temples.
"Perhaps a matriarchal society is not such a bad idea after all," Hoshi joked, her eyes wide with wonder.
"It's not everyday you get to be treated better than the Capt'n," Trip replied with a wink, "Enjoy it while it lasts!"
Archer chuckled and T'Pol chose not to comment. Humans would never change. They had to find something funny in every situation. Perhaps not all of them, she corrected herself, studying Lieutenant Reed's expression. Here was one human, on the other hand, who always seemed to take things very seriously. She was grateful, however, for this one member of the crew whose poised personality came so close to that of a Vulcan. There is an officer one can rely upon, she thought.
The pod touched down gently on a large square and Trip immediately began the shut down procedures. "We hope you enjoyed your flight and thank you for choosing Starfleet!" he bantered.
T'Pol looked meaningfully at Archer, and the Captain cleared his throat and frowned at the commander, "That's enough joking now, Trip. Remember that we represent Earth here. Let's try and make a good impression." Then he turned to Hoshi and T'Pol and said, with a sweeping gesture towards the hatch, "Well, then. Ladies first."
Tara III and her retinue were waiting some twenty metres away from the pod, on a podium-like raised area. Even at a distance Archer could recognize the Governess: she had donned a brightly-coloured, loose-fitting tunic over her plump form, but the figure she cut was still a fascinating one and the Captain found himself thinking that at a younger age she must have been quite a lovely… lady? If that's what you call a female alien, he mused.
T'Pol led her human crewmates towards the group of Herionites, who were climbing down the stairs of the podium.
Governess Tara had brought with her a few dignitaries, all females of course, and if truth be told some of them were rather good-looking, Archer thought.
Colour seemed a distinctive feature of this species. Aside from their outfits, which were far from 'dull', they all had hair of very bright shades ranging from pale blond to deep red. But the most incredible feature remained their eyes, which kept changing colour with a mesmerising effect.
Archer felt powerless to divert his gaze from one of Tara's young aides, a fascinating creature, to be sure: her hair was a deep blond and her features were finely chiselled. Her bearing was elegant, almost noble, and she had floated down the stairs with sensual steps, passing her hand over her silky locks, as if to comb them back. The Captain's breath had caught at the sight and now he felt riveted to the ground, completely rapt in wonder.
Trip surreptitiously pulled Malcolm's sleeve, and the two exchanged an eloquent look: was this the man who had just lectured them about representing Earth and making a good impression?
Hoshi caught their silent communication – her training came in handy sometimes – and stifled a giggle. She saw T'Pol study the Captain and wondered if the green on her cheeks was envy – God forbid! – or her natural complexion. She stifled another giggle.
The two groups met, and the Vulcan Subcommander bowed her head and introduced herself and Hoshi, the Captain, and then Trip and Malcolm. The Governess did the same with herself and her aides. Trip and Malcolm pricked up their ears to catch the name of the fair lady who had captured the Captain's attention, it sounded something like Peg'ir.
"I am honoured to meet you, Captain," Tara III formally declared.
"And I you," Archer replied. Then he bowed low, shifting his eyes as he did so to catch the look on T'Pol's face. Am I doing this right, Subcommander? By now he had pretty well learnt to interpret the Vulcan's facial expressions, but he wasn't so sure that what he read there now was approval.
Trip and Malcolm followed suit, and the engineer took advantage of their bent down position to murmur to his friend, "Stop starin', you old scoundrel, the Capt'n saw her first!" The lieutenant just shot him an incinerating side glance.
An open four-wheel vehicle, oddly looking like a parade carriage, was parked a short distance away, at the beginning of a long avenue that led to the city centre. Trees in bloom lined this boulevard, the flowers filling the air with sweet perfume.
The Governess invited T'Pol, Hoshi and the Captain to ride with her and her aids in the vehicle. She did not even deign to glance at Trip and Malcolm.
Reed looked at Tucker with outraged bewilderment. "Grand," he muttered under his breath "Are we two expected to walk behind? Or perhaps drag ourselves on our knees?"
Trip shrugged, mildly amused at his friend's indignation; then he caught sight of Archer taking a seat beside his blond beauty and, smiling, jerked his head in the Captain's direction, to draw Malcolm's attention to the scene.
Suddenly and without any noise the carriage's wheels somehow were set in motion and, with them, also those in Tucker's mind: What the hell, where's the damn engine? And who's driving?
Malcolm sighed, resigned to having to play slave and follow on foot. He started walking, grabbing his thoughtful friend by a sleeve and pulling him forward with him. Fortunately the vehicle's pace was quite slow, allowing them to stroll comfortably in its wake.
They had been going for a few minutes when Trip was shaken out of his technical ponderings by an odd sound, as if air were escaping from a punctured tube. For a moment he thought the carriage might have got a flat. But those he saw on the wheels were definitely not tyres, plus the sound was coming from his left.
Pfff
He turned and was amazed to see the generally over-apprehensive and stiff Armoury Officer on the verge of exploding into laughter.
"Shush, Mal! What's got into you?" Trip whispered, grabbing his arm and giving it a light shake.
Good thing there's no one else walking with us and on the carriage they are all busy talking, he thought with some relief. Humans and Herionites were indeed pleasantly engaged in several parallel conversations, and Trip welcomed the resulting buzz, which, to some extent, covered their own voices.
Malcolm grinned like an idiot and whispered back, conspiratorially, "Something just popped into my head."
Trip shot him a curious look. "What?" he enquired, after making sure that T'Pol's Vulcan hearing had not gone on tactical alert.
Malcolm's eyes were dancing with mirth as he began to sing softly, "'As we marched down to Faneri-o, as we marched down to Faneri-o, our Captain fell in love with a lady like a dove, and they called her name pretty Peggy-o'."
Then, with another foolish grin, he looked expectantly at Tucker, as if asking "Aren't you getting it?"
Trip frowned, turned to look at the carriage, where Archer seemed completely hypnotized, and then at Malcolm again. After a moment he broke into a grin of his own.
"You devil! How did you think of that old song?" he murmured, "It is kinda weird… Faneri-o -- Fan'her, Peggy-o -- Peg'ir, they sound almost the same!"
Pfff!
Malcolm was having a very hard time repressing his laughter, and Trip, needless to say, found his hilarity quite infectious.
In a low voice he admonished, "Be careful, Lieutenant! You don't want to alert the Subcommander's super hearing."
Then, with a conniving glance at his friend, he murmured, "Remember the second verse? It's quite fitting," and he leaned over to Malcolm, singing softly, "'Come running down the stairs pretty Peg'ir-o, come running down the stairs pretty Peg'ir-o, come running down the stairs combing back your yellow hair, you're the prettiest little girl I've ever seen-o'."
Reed swayed as he held his midsection in an effort to refrain from guffawing and Trip grabbed him by the arm again, slightly concerned. "Hey," he whispered, "Are you ok?"
"Never better," Malcolm managed to utter, regaining a semblance of composure. He took in a deep, audible breath, trying to get a hold of himself, only to find that it was almost impossible.
Pfff…
Uh, oh! There we go again! Trip thought, his lips curving upwards. He'd never seen Malcolm like this, but it sure beat the by-the-book version.
"Come on, take another deep breath for me, Lieutenant, and that's an order," he quietly instructed. He did not want to restrain Malcolm's good spirits, but neither did he care to be at the centre of the umpteenth diplomatic incident.
"Right-o!" Reed saluted, standing at attention; then he obeyed the order and breathed deeply - in through the nose, out through the mouth - successfully recovering some self-control.
After a few more metres, Malcolm leaned towards Trip waggling his eyebrows, "The third verse is bloody perfect, seems composed just for the occasion: 'In a carriage you will ride, pretty Peg'ir-o, in a carriage you will ride, pretty Peg'ir-o, in a carriage you will ride, with your true love by your side, as fair as any maiden in the are-o'."
"Son of a…" Trip softy chuckled. They both looked at their Captain, who was still lost in conversation with the charming alien, and shook their heads with one accord, in mock reproach.
Malcolm giggled, swayed again and stumbled, and Trip this time had to grab him with both hands to stop him from falling. Tucker cast a worried glance first at the carriage – where they were all still in deep conversation and blessedly unaware of what was going on behind them – and then at his friend. Malcolm didn't look ill or anything, but this was getting to be a bit too out of character for him.
"Mal, are you sure you're feeling ok?" he enquired with concern, "You're not usually this happy."
"I'm fine, Commander," Reed mumbled back. Then, in mock offence, he slurred, "Why, don't you like me in a silly mood?"
"Have you been drinking on duty?" Trip frowned.
"You know, that's just brilliant, Mr. Tucker, why didn't I think of it before!" Reed replied, holding his chin and knitting his brow as if seriously considering the idea, "As the Captain doesn't seem to realise that I have a duty to carry out, I might as well get pissed."
Trip studied Malcolm. Maybe he's finally learned to relax on away missions, he tried to reassure himself.
Reed took another deep breath and asked, not all that quietly this time, "So, Commander, aren't you going to sing us the next verse?"
"Shush! Not so loud!" Tucker grabbed him by the sleeve and held him back a little, to put a bit more distance between them and the carriage.
He saw T'Pol stir on her seat, but the Vulcan kept talking and did not turn around, probably not wanting to attract the attention of the others.
"Have you lost your voice?" Malcolm joked, his own voice low again.
Trip wondered if he shouldn't put an end to their repartee. He considered. He'd spent months encouraging the formal armoury officer to be more laid-back: was he supposed to subdue him the one time he finally let go a little?
What the hell, we are only having a little innocent fun, he thought, smothering the nagging little voice that kept insisting that something wasn't right with Reed.
He narrowed his eyes in concentration, trying to recall the song's next lines, "Let me think… oh, yeah: 'What will your mother say pretty Peg'ir-o, what will your mother say pretty Peg'ir-o, what will your mother say when she finds you've gone away, to places far and strange to Fan'her-io'"
Malcolm stopped abruptly in his tracks. "Do you suppose the Captain will take her with us?" He sounded dead serious, and the fact that he didn't seem to be joking sent Trip's anxiety up a few notches. He examined his friend more closely. Malcolm's eyes didn't seem normal.
Suddenly Reed giggled and commented, completely unmindful of the volume of his voice, "Ha! Imagine if Peg'ir's mother is someone like this Tara III: I don't even dare to think what she would say if her daughter decided to leave on Enterprise. Her vocabulary can probably make my sailor ancestors blush in their graves!"
By now Trip was sure that it was time to put an end to their bantering. T'Pol had suddenly straightened her back and even the Captain had briefly diverted his eyes from Peg'ir, to cast a suspicious glance over his shoulders. Hoshi had cleared her throat in warning.
"Time to get a grip, Mal," he cautiously whispered to his friend.
"Get a grip on what?" Malcolm exclaimed, as he resumed walking "Or, I should say, on whom? I wouldn't mind getting a grip on that lovely…"
Trip quickly clamped a hand on Reed's mouth and just as quickly removed it, stifling a cry, "You bit me, you…!"
Malcolm shot him a totally unrepentant look, "Just practising, in case I get to…"
"Shush! Malcolm!" Trip was quite worried now. Even the Herionites were beginning to turn, curious about what was going on behind the carriage.
"Commander, you are aware that there is a last verse to that song, are you not?" Malcolm now all but shouted, leaning on Trip's shoulder to steady himself. "Ha! It is my very favourite one!"
T'Pol turned all the way and gave them the Vulcan version of an angry look. Tara III had stopped talking, as had all the other occupants of the carriage. Everybody turned to look at them.
Trip swallowed hard. He made a mental fast forward of the song and his eyes widened in horror. He stepped in front of Malcolm and waved his hands in a desperate effort to prevent disaster.
"Oh, no, Mal, you don't really want to…" But Reed was already singing at the top of his lungs, "'If ever I return, pretty Peg'ir-o, if ever I return, pretty Peg'ir-o, if ever I return all your cities I will burn, destroying all the ladies in the are-o, destroying all the ladies in the are-o'!"
The vehicle stopped and a heavy silence fell.
Malcolm snorted. "Actually, I wouldn't burn them, I would blow them up. Burning cities sounds so… medieval," he remarked, his voice ringing out in the still air. "Pity, though, to destroy so many lovely ladies!" he sighed ecstatically.
Another voice barked out, that of Tara III. "Guards!" She spoke into a sort of communicator. A moment later five Herionite guards armed with phase pistols materialised beside the carriage. They were male and quite a bit smaller in size than the females of their species.
"Arrest him!" the Governess ordered pointing to Reed.
"Bugger off, you midgets!" Reed exclaimed, and burst into laughter.
"I don't believe this!" Archer moaned, standing up unsteadily, "The one time Trip behaves, Malcolm goes nuts!"
T'Pol was looking at Reed as if she had never seen the man before. Well, she had never seen the man like this before. So much for the officer one could rely upon.
"Capt'n, you've got to do somethin'," Trip cried out, standing protectively in front of his friend, "You can't allow them to arrest him, he's obviously not himself!"
"Apprehend him too!" the Governess bellowed, pointing at Trip now.
Trip saw Hoshi put a hand to her mouth and stifle a cry. Damn, damn, damn, he silently cursed, why can't we ever have a smooth first contact?
TBC