Chapter Three – Of Conversations and Confessions
Three days later, there was still no sign of the Tanaar. T'Pol had taken on the assignment of searching for any sign of the Ikaaran ship on long range scans. Fully recovered, Esilia worked alongside the Vulcan in the Command Center, updating maps and filling in information from her own ship's databases. As a scout on her small ship, she had traveled extensively in the Expanse, and was willing to supplement Enterprise's data as partial payment for the starship's hospitality.
Plus, she felt comfortable in the Vulcan's company. She was sure the human crew did not mean to stare at her, but stare they did. Having been briefed on their original mission, and understanding the predicament they found themselves in, she could not fault them, really, for their suspicion. Truly, given the sheer number of hostile beings Enterprise had encountered, she was astonished that the crew had not simply left her in her frozen tomb and headed in the other direction. She mentioned as much to T'Pol.
The First Officer continued working as she answered carefully, "Humans have certain innate characteristics; compassion is one of them. It would be vastly out of character for them to leave a person, even a stranger, in distress, if they believe they have the capacity to assist." She glanced at Esilia briefly, then back to her task. "I do not believe I have ever known Captain Archer to ignore a call for help."
Esilia studied her. "You don't approve," she observed.
"It isn't for me to approve or disapprove," T'Pol responded. "He is the captain and it is up to him to make those decisions." She paused. "Humans are different from Vulcans. My people determine their actions through logic; emotions do not come into play in the decision-making process. Humans are guided by their inner feelings."
"He risked his ship to rescue me," Esilia pointed out. "It seems humans use very little logic, if any."
T'Pol felt a tingle of annoyance. "Captain Archer believes that all life is of value. If he can preserve it, he will." She thought briefly about that first mission, when the captain had come back for her, under heavy Suliban fire, and had been wounded for his effort. "Had he determined that the risk to the ship was too great, I am sure he would have left you where you were," she added pointedly.
"You defend him," Esilia said, "even though his actions were not precisely logical. Is he your mate?"
T'Pol was taken aback by the bluntness of the question. She allowed her eyebrows to climb up a millimeter, indicating without words how rude she thought the intrusion was. The Ikaaran just stared at her, waiting for an answer. Finally, T'Pol said, "He is not. I am married to another."
"Another human."
The Vulcan sighed. "Yes. Commander Tucker." Was there no limit to this creature's discourtesy?
"And you do not find it difficult to cope with the humans' lack of logic?" Esilia pressed.
T'Pol found that she was gripping her padd tightly and set it down. "I did not say that humans lacked logic," she said carefully, "only that they use their emotions to make decisions as well. Does Captain Archer seem to you an illogical person?"
Esilia shrugged, a gesture she had picked up from her new friend Hoshi and had decided she liked. "I have not spoken to or seen Captain Archer since our first conversation," she answered, "so I could not say."
Whatever T'Pol would have replied was lost, as the door to the Command Center opened, and the object of their discussion stepped in. To the Vulcan's eye, it seemed as if Captain Archer hesitated briefly before crossing the room, coming at last to stand before the large screen displaying the map in progress. He greeted them both politely, then began to transfer calculations from his padd to the main computer.
The three continued to work in silence, itself a strange occurrence, given the captain's penchant for using "small talk" to help himself concentrate. From time to time, he would glance over at the Ikaaran with an expression that T'Pol could not quite identify.
Esilia eventually broke the silence. "Your measurement is wrong." Archer stopped tapping on the console buttons and looked up. "That one," Esilia clarified, pointing. "It should be ten thousand two hundred kilometers between the first and second planets, not eleven thousand four hundred twenty. It throws that whole system off." She entered the correct measurement, and the map re-oriented itself slightly.
Archer decided to be big about it, and to ignore her abrasive manner. "Thanks. I don't think I would have picked that up." He went back to his work.
After a moment, a thought occurred to him and he looked up. "Is your planet, Ikaar, anywhere on this map?"
Esilia drew close and peered at the image, studying it, then pointed with a long finger toward the outer edge of the map. "Ikaar is approximately sixteen light years from our current position," she said. "If this star chart were complete, it would be the fifth planet in this system."
Archer leaned in as well, fingers playing across the controls to magnify the binary system she indicated. As he drew his hand away, it brushed against hers. A tingle, not unlike a low electrical charge, buzzed up his arm. He snatched his hand back and stared at it.
Esilia seemed not to notice. "We call those stars Dar and Falor. Of the nine planets in their orbit, only four are inhabited. Ikaar is the main world; the other three are colonies."
Archer moved a pace away, trying not to be obvious about it. The odd sensation in his hand gradually faded. "Uh, you're very far from home, then," he observed just to say something as he rubbed his fingertips together.
The Ikaaran nodded. "Our natural resources are thin, so we have long range ships like the Tanaar for scouting and trade." She went on in this vein, but Archer missed most of it. He found himself increasingly fascinated by her hair, the long, shiny fall of it swept over her left shoulder. Almost of its own accord, his hand floated up to touch the silky silver strands. He caught himself abruptly, and for the second time in less than a minute, pulled it back to his side. What the hell am I doing? And T'Pol's just a few feet away. Get control of yourself, Jon. He took a deep breath.
"Can you show me your world?" Esilia asked, interrupting his train of thought. "I have visited many planets, but I have not heard of one called Earth. How far away is it?"
"About ninety light-years," Archer responded, and, with a few key clicks, called up a picture he had avoided looking at for the past several years: the Sol system. "That's our sun, and the third planet in is Earth."
Most non-humans commented about the blueness of the planet, or noticed the cloud cover. Not Esilia. "It's tiny," she said. "No wonder you took to the stars."
Archer bit back a terse response. Since the realization that he would never see his home world again had sunk in, he found himself peculiarly defensive about Earth. Any criticism, real or perceived, of the planet or her people stung. All irritation vanished, though, when Esilia pointed to the sixth planet in the system. "I believe that must be the most beautiful thing I have ever seen," she said. "Tell me about that planet."
The conversation started with the vital statistics of Saturn, then moved on to the characteristics of the other members of the Sol system, in such excruciating detail that T'Pol eventually lost interest completely and excused herself from the room. The topic swerved back to Earth, and Archer found himself peppered with questions on subjects ranging from its diverse population to its extreme climate differences to its literature and music.
A famous author, Archer couldn't remember the name, once wrote an essay purporting to examine the "essential characteristics" of both humans and Vulcans. She concluded that humans were defined by their "sense of adventure" and their "limitless capacity to love, whether selfishly or unconditionally." Vulcans, on the other hand, were consumed with the need to eliminate the extraneous. "Even the art and music of Vulcan," the author supposed, "are pared down to logical necessity." Having grown up among both humans and Vulcans, and having spent the last six years in close quarters on Enterprise, Archer had decided the author was full of crap.
If the author had ever met Esilia, she may have deduced that the "essential characteristics" of Ikaarans were curiosity and bluntness, or as Archer might have described them that day, nosiness and total lack of tact. By the time he left the Command Center, after a blessedly welcome inquiry from the Bridge, it was two hours later, and he felt as if he had been grilled like a doctoral candidate defending his thesis. But as he made his way to the Bridge, he lifted his hand to his face. The smell of the Ikaaran's perfume – if aliens even wore perfume – clung to his skin.
The captain was tense and uncomfortable around the Ikaaran, T'Pol reflected later, resting in her quarters. She found that odd for the usually open-minded captain, which was the only reason she mentioned it to Trip. Her husband agreed that it was not like Jon to avoid or ignore a guest on the ship. That led to an off-handed comm inquiry regarding dinner that night. The captain, tired of eating off a tray in his Ready Room, invited his First Officer and his Chief Engineer for a meal in the Captain's Mess. On the heels of that invitation, Trip suggested inviting their Ikaaran guest. Thoroughly boxed in, the captain acquiesced, saving his groan until after the comm had been shut off.
Which was how the captain found himself seated directly across the table from Esilia in the tiny dining room, flanked by T'Pol and Trip on either side, trying to make casual conversation. He listened with amusement as Trip tried to coax T'Pol to put more food on her plate. "The baby needs the calories," Trip said finally.
T'Pol stared at her husband for a moment, then placed another few carrot sticks on the dish. "That was easy," the engineer commented, surprised. "You usually put up a bigger fight."
"It occurred to me," T'Pol replied, deadpan, "that I should yield to your judgment."
Trip eyed her suspiciously. "Really."
The Vulcan nodded. "Indeed, since you have significantly more experience being pregnant than I do at this stage." Archer rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to hide a smile. T'Pol speared a single carrot stick and placed it delicately in her mouth.
As T'Pol, like most Vulcans, was disinclined to carry on a conversation over a meal, and Trip always pouted whenever he was reminded of his accidental pregnancy, the conversation reached a lull.
Fortunately, Esilia was a talker. The three officers learned a great deal about Ikaar. The planet's climate was as hot as Vulcan's, but with nearly ninety-eight percent humidity all the time. There had not been a war or armed conflict on Ikaar in living memory, which allowed Ikaarans to concentrate on space flight and exploration. Esilia explained that, as a single female, she was encouraged to serve aboard an exploratory vessel like the Tanaar, until she was of an ideal age to marry. That age, she confided, had come and gone, and she had no intention of giving up space travel, despite the increasingly impatient messages she received from her family.
"Of course, until the Tanaar is located, I have a little peace from them," she finished, studying the pile of petite green peas on her plate. She looked around the table under cover of her long lashes, trying to determine how she was supposed to get the tiny things from her plate to her mouth with the instruments provided. "You are not mated to anyone, Captain Archer?" she asked, finally following Trip's lead and stabbing a few of the peas with the multi-pronged metal stick.
The captain froze with a mouthful of iced tea, forced himself to swallow, and slowly placed his glass down before answering. "No, I'm not."
"You are quite old to be unmated, aren't you?" Esilia's expression was innocent.
Archer gave a ghost of a smile. "I suppose. Not everyone marries, though. It's just not in the cards for me."
Esilia's forehead creased at the unfamiliar turn of phrase, an interesting effect, since she had no eyebrows. "You do not consider it a good example to set as a captain, taking a mate?"
Archer glared at T'Pol, then Trip, but got no help from either quarter. Trip, especially, seemed to find his mashed potatoes suddenly fascinating and amusing. "Well, first of all," the captain answered, "humans choose 'spouses,' not 'mates.' We leave mating to the animal kingdom. And secondly, there are regulations against, er, fraternizing with people you command. So there really aren't any options for me, since I command everyone on the ship."
The Ikaaran seemed every bit as skeptical of this reason as Trip had. "There are plenty of cargo ships and other vessels whose captains, er, take spouses and have families. The Tanaar's captain has several children."
Archer coughed. "Well, this ship is quasi-military, at least in terms of rank. It would be difficult to avoid undue favoritism. I need to know that I can make unbiased decisions, especially if we're engaged in battle."
"But you have not had a battle in several years, true?"
Trip shifted in his seat. Archer was getting that hunted look, the one that said he wouldn't mind a Tactical Alert right about now. Trip knew that no matter how uncomfortable the conversation got, the captain would continue to extend every courtesy to his guest. Even Captain Vanik, the Vulcan to whom Trip would award Most Obnoxiously Rude Person In The Galaxy status, had had the benefit of Archer's civility right to the end of that infamous dinner. But, then again, Captain Vanik had not been asking about "mating."
"Anyway," Archer went on as if Esilia hadn't spoken, "just about everyone on board is . . . significantly younger than me. It just wouldn't be appropriate." He stuffed a forkful of steak into his mouth and chewed furiously.
Esilia studied him for a moment, completely oblivious to the "shut up" vibes emanating from the other three people at the table. She picked up her glass and took a sip, then sighed and commented, "You've given several excuses, Captain, but no reasons."
Archer glanced at Trip, who was now full out staring at the Ikaaran, appalled. T'Pol was doing that Vulcan thing, where she refused to acknowledge an embarrassing situation in order to spare the subject further discomfort. He was on his own, then. He put his utensils down, and folded his long fingers on top of the table. Nothing for it but to do it, he thought to himself. "Well," he answered simply, "the bottom line is, the one I would have chosen . . . chose someone else." He held her gaze for as long as it took the lavender blush to reach her hairline. The only sound in the room was the hum of the ventilation system.
He let a few profoundly awkward beats go by before he folded his napkin and placed it gently on his half-full plate. He rose. "I . . . have some paperwork to finish up. Please, stay and enjoy the rest of your meal. I know Chef has come up with something really special for dessert." With most of his dignity intact, Archer left the room.