Part One
Planet Redrax, neutral space. Present day.
"Three…!"
Sunek wasn't like most other Vulcans. He'd known that for a long time. But as he allowed himself a moment of indulgence to look back at the life that he'd led, he was also okay with that. Because he had never really wanted to be like other Vulcans. And right now, as he listened to the countdown heading towards its inevitable conclusion, that fact continued to bring him comfort.
From a young age, he'd felt that he was different. Plenty of young Vulcans have emotional moments. The goal of his species was to control and master their emotions, after all, they had never claimed to have eradicated them.
During his formative years, that was exactly what Sunek had done. He'd worked to contain his emotions, tried to keep them in check. Even, through a combination of peer pressure and a period of unseasonably high self-confidence, briefly been part of the Kolinahr training programme.
Very briefly.
"...Two…!"
But none of that had worked. His parents had run out of options for how to help their son and his troublesome feelings. And then Sunek had discovered the V'tosh ka'tur. The Vulcans without logic.
To call it an organisation would be far too grandiose a term. It was barely even anything, a loosely defined collective of Vulcans throughout his people's history who chose to embrace and cultivate their emotions, rather than look to suppress them.
Originally, many centuries ago, the group had sought to find a true balance between logic and emotion. But in the present day, the already loose ties of the V'tosh ka'tur had splintered even further, their beliefs and their ambitions fragmenting as time went on.
And Sunek happened to have found a particularly anarchic chapter during his time studying at the ShiKahr Learning Institute. A group of free thinking Vulcans who wanted nothing more than to explore and embrace their emotions as much as possible.
Sunek had fitted right in.
"...One…!"
More than that, he had flourished. His confidence grew immeasurably as he realised that the part of him he had been taught to fight against all this time wasn't an affliction. It was a strength. He left Vulcan behind under a cloud of familial disapproval and headed out into the cosmos to start really living his life. A process which had taken him all over the galaxy and back again, and eventually brought him here.
To the end of the countdown.
"...Now!"
He took a deep breath, and along with the four other figures around the table, picked up the small glass of lurid orange-tinged liquid and slammed it down.
Five empty glasses thudded back onto the table, as the crew of the Bounty flinched in unison.
They had arrived on Redrax earlier that day, ostensibly to attend a sector-wide trade fair from which they hoped to find a spot of gainful employment. But thanks to Sunek, they had first decided to pay a visit to a bar called the Pride of Andor. A bar that every one of his contacts the length and breadth of the quadrant had told him was the best hangout on all of Redrax. Or at least, the best one that didn't have a dress code.
And here they had stayed. For drink after terrible drink.
"Ugh," Denella, the Bounty's Orion engineer, winced, as she wagged a finger at the empty glass in front of her, "That's...that one was the worst yet."
"Yep," Sunek grimaced, absently scratching the unruly mop of hair on top of his head, "That really smarts."
"Feeling the heat, Sunek?" Jirel, the unjoined Trill captain of the Bounty, grinned at him from the other side of the table, "You're always welcome to back out."
Sunek matched Jirel's grin, despite the residual pain from the alcohol in his stomach. "Never!" he replied with a dramatic flourish, "It's just Rigellian brandy reacts badly with the Vulcan metabolism. If you ask me, that whole last round was a cheat."
"I do not think it reacts well with anyone's metabolism," the booming voice of Klath, the disgraced Klingon who made up the Bounty's crew, sounded out unhappily.
Sunek paused as he looked over at Klath. There was still a mild amount of distance between them since their recent run in with a vengeful Klingon named Kolar. During which Sunek had discovered the full details behind his crewmate's discommendation from the empire, after a ship he commanded had attacked and destroyed an unarmed freighter during the Klingon Civil War.
He had repeatedly made it clear to Klath that he wasn't interested in gossiping about his secrets with anyone else, but he suspected that the Klingon didn't entirely believe him, hence the awkward distance.
Still, Sunek could hardly blame him for not believing him. Part of his reputation since he had fully embraced his emotional side revolved around his big mouth. He had a distinct inability to stop talking, regardless of the situation.
Because Sunek was a talker. More than that, he was a joker. It wasn't a reputation he especially hated. Nor was his reputation as the Bounty's resident drinker in chief. Which snapped him back to their current situation.
"Still," he went on, keeping his trademark grin beaming wide, "The good news is that it's my round."
He gestured amiably to a passing Andorian waitress, who uncertainly teetered over to him in a pair of gratuitously uncomfortably heels which by all accounts represented a vital component of the staff uniform at the Pride of Andor.
"Five Ferengi stardusters. No ice."
The waitress, already hoping she was in line for a big enough tip to justify the amount of time she had spent carrying trays of drinks to this particular table in these particular shoes during her shift so far, nodded demurely and awkwardly tip-toed away.
"I do not care for that drink either," Klath growled, "We should order a good bloodwine."
"You drink too much of that stuff as it is," Denella said admonishingly, "You're becoming a walking cliche."
"Watch out," Jirel chimed in, "If you keep goading him like that, we'll end up hearing the story about how he once shared a bottle of the 2309 with Martok himself. Again."
"That did happen," Klath muttered, folding his arms in front of him in something approximating a pout.
Sunek couldn't help but chuckle along with the others. The sound of laughter energised him in a way he couldn't explain. Having spent so much of his formative years being told to repress or be ashamed of such outbursts, the feeling of unencumbered laughter and joy was like a drug to him.
Probably why I tell so many bad jokes, he mused to himself.
As the blue-skinned waitress returned and set down five glasses filled with a gaudy pink liquid and topped off with neon straws, which earned a look of disgust from Klath, the fifth member of the group finally piped up.
Natasha Kinsen was still a mystery to Sunek. A former Starfleet doctor who they had rescued almost by accident while on a salvage mission for one of Jirel's contacts. And now, for reasons that Sunek was not privy to, and frankly wasn't all that interested in, she had left Starfleet behind to join them. Right now, given the groggy look on her face, it seemed as though she might be regretting it.
"Hey," she managed, slurring her words slightly, "I don't wanna spoil all the fun, but what happened to the trade fair?"
"How do you mean?" Jirel asked, the lion's share of his focus now intently on trying to balance a damp beermat on its edge.
"I mean, when are we getting there? What's our strategy?"
Jirel tutted as the mat fell back onto the table, before glancing around at the others and smiling knowingly. "Newbie over here doesn't know about the pecking order."
"Don't patronise me," the human woman shot back with as pointed a glare as she could manage in her current state of inebriation, before looking a tad confused, "Also, what pecking order?"
"We have to wait our turn at these things," Jirel explained as he lined up the beer mat for another attempt, "Right now, the big jobs are getting pitched. Long-term deals, exclusive supply runs, mining contracts, that sort of thing."
"They'll go to the big conglomerates," Denella said, picking up the story as Jirel made a sad tutting sound to accompany the sight of the mat toppling over again, "Or Ferengi merchants with very deep pockets. Then the medium sized stuff gets thrown around. Not super high value stuff, but the kind of thing you still need a decent fleet of shuttles for. Again, way out of our league."
"Ok," Natasha nodded, slowly processing this through her booze-soaked brain, "And then?"
"Bandits," Klath stated simply, "They take their pick of the more...disreputable jobs on offer."
"Really best we don't get involved at that point," Jirel added, as he stuck his tongue out in a farcical display of concentration in the beermat game.
"Right," Natasha replied with a sigh, "So, we get…?"
"Whatever's left," Sunek chimed in, as he slurped a generous mouthful of Ferengi starduster through his straw.
Now it definitely looked like she was regretting joining them. It didn't happen often, and maybe it was the drink talking, but Sunek couldn't help but feel a little sorry for her.
"Hey doc," he continued, trying to put on his most convincing sympathetic tone, "Relax. These things always…"
And then he forgot all about being sympathetic. Because, over the somewhat inebriated doctor's shoulder, he saw her walk in.
"Well, I'll be the son of a Tal-Shanar minister…"
Before anyone had the chance to ask him what the hell that meant, he stood up out of his seat and bellowed across the Pride of Andor, ignoring the annoyed looks his actions generated from several of the bar's other patrons. Not to mention from a number of precariously balanced waitresses.
"Hey! Hey! T'Len! Over here!"
The others at the table turned to see a Vulcan woman on the other side of the bar turn and look over in the direction of Sunek's voice. She immediately recognised him and began to walk over. She wore her jet black hair tied up in a ponytail, revealing pointed ears either side of her porcelain face, and she was clad in a simple blue dress.
She was also smiling broadly.
As she reached the table, and the other four members of the Bounty's crew mentally asked themselves who the mysterious smiling stranger might be, the two Vulcans embraced in a warm, lengthy hug.
Sunek eventually broke the hug and turned to his confused crewmates, his grin now wider than it had ever been.
"Guys, you're not gonna believe it," he said gleefully, "My wife's in town!"
The four seated figures froze in shock. Several moments passed without anyone saying anything. It was safe to say that none of the others had been expecting him to say that.
"Curious," T'Len said, with an amused smile of her own, "Your shipmates appear to be trapped in some sort of temporal anomaly."
Sunek just tutted. He knew they were going to embarrass him.
'*'*'
'*'*'
It took another round of Ferengi stardusters for the Bounty's crew to finally break free of the temporal anomaly.
And after the following round of Maparian ales with Andorian whiskey chasers, they were almost used to the idea that T'Len was indeed Sunek's wife. At least, as much as anyone could get used to that idea.
"You know," T'Len observed as the still-suffering Andorian waitress dropped off another round of drinks, "I am beginning to suspect that Sunek never told any of you about me."
"He did not," Klath stated flatly, still eyeing the newcomer uncertainly and recalling something that the Bounty's pilot had recently said to him about skeletons in closets.
"Guys, come on," Sunek managed, slightly awkwardly, "There's not much to tell."
Although he was delighted to see T'Len, he wasn't entirely overjoyed with the idea of revealing too many personal details to the others. He was here to crack jokes, not bare his soul, after all.
"You're a member of the V'tosh ka'tur as well?" Natasha managed.
"Yes," she nodded, "I realise that me having been here for more than ten minutes without once being condescending towards you rather gives it away."
Her mouth curled into a smile at her own joke. Something that Natasha still couldn't help but find mildly disconcerting coming from a Vulcan.
"So," Klath muttered, "She is another member of your cult."
"Not a cult, Klath," Sunek said with a wag of his finger, "We're just a few friendly Vulcans who prefer expressing our emotions freely, rather than bottling them up behind social norms."
"Hippies," Natasha murmured.
The others turned to the doctor, who flushed slightly when she realised she'd been speaking out loud, and had now become the focus of everyone's attention, before forcing herself to continue. "Um, an old subculture on Earth. A bunch of young, disenfranchised humans who tried to escape from the trappings of society through alternative thinking, free love, that sort of thing."
"Huh," Sunek mused, "Well, there was no free love in the V'tosh ka'tur, unfortunately."
"There was," T'Len smiled, "But you were not invited."
Sunek's grin slipped slightly. He wasn't averse to a bit of self-deprecation from time to time, but didn't enjoy it quite so much when other people made him the butt of the joke. Though, from the smirks on the other faces around the table, he was in a minority on that matter.
"But," Denella finally managed, gesturing to the two Vulcans, "What…? When…? Why…?"
"I think what my engineer is going for is: How did you end up getting married?" Jirel said, stepping in to translate, "Specifically, to Sunek?"
"What?" Sunek, grin restored, shot back, "My rugged masculinity isn't enough of a reason-?"
"No," Denella answered immediately, causing Sunek's grin to vanish all over again.
"Come on," Jirel persisted, "You can't just drop the 'I was married all along' bombshell on us after this long. Do we get an actual explanation, or do I have to set Klath on you?"
The Klingon, playing along with the bit, folded his arms across his chest and stared at the Vulcan couple with a menacing glower.
"I've already told you," Sunek sighed, "There's really not much to tell. We got married on the Vulcan colony on Hexis Prime...I dunno, thirty years ago?"
"Thirty years, six months and fourteen days ago," T'Len nodded, confirming Sunek's statement and clearing up any remaining doubts about her Vulcan heritage in one fell swoop.
"So," Natasha asked, "You were betrothed then? Or-?"
"Oh, wait," Denella said, her face lighting up in drunken excitement, "Did you have to challenge someone to a fight with those big stick-y blade-y things? Because those look amazing."
"It's called a Lirpa, Professor," Sunek shot back sarcastically, "And, no. I guess the easiest way to explain it would be a...marriage of convenience?"
He tried his hardest not to take any further offence from the looks of understanding that now cascaded around the table, as if everything about the situation suddenly made complete sense.
"We were both from very traditional families," T'Len continued, "Neither of them were especially supportive of our desire to be part of the V'tosh ka'tur, and did what they could to prevent us from having any part of it. But once we were married, we were able to make our own decisions."
"Yeah," Sunek nodded, "We found a more liberally minded priestess to preside over it, did the whole ceremony, and...honestly, we haven't seen much of each other since."
He absently glanced over at T'Len, and made a mental note to avoid thinking too much about the sudden pang of longing he felt inside.
"How very romantic," Jirel deadpanned.
"How very bite me," Sunek countered, getting his mind back to normal.
"Well, I was always grateful for what Sunek did for me back there," T'Len replied, "You can only imagine what it is like to deal with having to tell your parents that you want to embrace your emotions. But Sunek was always so supportive."
"Supportive?" Jirel said with a look of feigned shock, "You, Sunek?"
"Continue to bite me, Jirel."
"Actually, Sunek was quite the activist in his youth," T'Len continued, with no lack of pride, "He helped many young Vulcans at the ShiKahr Learning Institute come to terms with the possibility of exploring their emotional side."
Sunek felt himself squirm in his seat. Ironically, the emotion he was currently exploring was one of his least favourites. Embarrassment. "Yeah, well," he managed to shrug, "Everyone's an activist when they're a student, right?"
"And now," T'Len continued, gently placing her hand on top of his, "Something in our cosmic destiny has brought us back together."
Despite his continued discomfort, he couldn't help it as his face creased into the dopiest of smiles at this comment. Seconds later, not quite soon enough to disguise it, he turned back to the wider group and adjusted his features into his more usual cocky grin.
"So, that's the whole story," he said, going back on the offensive as cover for his initial reaction, "And now, the way I see it, you guys all owe us a drink."
"How'd you figure that?" Denella asked, slightly nonplussed.
"None of you ever got us a wedding present!"
'*'*'
'*'*'
Several belated wedding presents later, the Andorian waitress in the cumbersome heels was no nearer to her least favourite table of the night settling up.
"I cannot believe you tried to bribe the Sheliak Corporate!" T'Len managed to get out through a burst of laughter as Sunek finished his latest tale of life onboard the Bounty.
"Hey," Sunek replied as he sipped his latest drink, "The alternative was reading a five thousand page trading contract. Besides, it very nearly worked."
"How very nearly?"
"We...may technically still be wanted felons in Sheliak space."
T'Len laughed some more. Sunek couldn't help but join in. There was something infectious about it.
"But," he added, "The good news is that the warrant out in our name is filled with so many clauses, there's not a bounty hunter in the galaxy who'll bother to take it on!"
Neither half of the atypical Vulcan couple could remember exactly when the rest of the Bounty's crew had called it a night.
If they'd really put their minds to it, they'd have to say it had been somewhere between the shots of Aldebaran whiskey and the round of unpronounceable Klingon cocktails that Klath had taken great delight in ordering, and that had caused both Jirel and Natasha to take long separate bathroom breaks that neither of them were in the mood to talk about when they returned.
But they didn't bother putting their minds to it, because it didn't really matter to either of them. They had spent most of the night talking to each other anyway. After all, they did have precisely thirty years, six months and fourteen days worth of anecdotes to catch up on.
"Hey, I meant to ask you," Sunek continued, changing the subject, "Are you still in touch with any of the old gang? Y'know, from the old days at the Learning Institute?"
T'Len slowly calmed her laughter. It sounded natural enough, and Sunek had no way of knowing that she was simply taking long enough to make her reply seem believable.
"Not especially. As I'm sure you remember, I left in something of a hurry after our…"
"Right," Sunek nodded, dismissing the latest sense of longing just as quickly as he had done with the others.
Taking advantage of the rare moment of silence that followed, the Andorian waitress shuffled over as fast as her footwear would safely allow and politely informed them that the Pride of Andor was about to close, dropping off their final bill at the same time. Without waiting, T'Len checked the bill and deposited a small pile of latinum on the table.
"Wow," Sunek grinned, forgetting all about pursuing his previous question any further, "Do I have the best wife or what?"
"You know," she said, more seriously, "I meant what I said earlier."
"About how you can tie a Kaferian apple stalk in a knot with your tongue? Cos I'd definitely be up for seeing-"
"No," she interrupted with a patient smile, "About how grateful I was for your...help back on Hexis Prime. I can see you prefer to act like it was nothing around your friends. But being able to leave that place changed my life. So much for the better."
"Hey," Sunek shrugged nonchalantly, quite enjoying his ego being massaged, "What's the concept of marriage for if not to be completely undermined in order to run away from your parents?"
She stifled a chuckle and shuffled slightly closer to him, placing her hand on his arm. It was only a small gesture, but it was also one that made Sunek's arm suddenly crackle with electricity. He suppressed a gulp.
"Well, I was thinking," she said quietly, "I mean, it was a shame that I had to leave as quickly as I did. We never really got to say goodbye. We never got to do...many things that a married couple might usually do."
She ran her hand slowly up his arm. Sunek completely failed to suppress the second gulp, nor the first dirty grin.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yes," she said with a flirtatious smile, "But now we find ourselves back together. And my lodgings here on Redrax are only a few streets away…"
Sunek's grin grew thirty percent wider, and at least fifty percent dirtier.
"Perhaps," she concluded, running her finger back down his arm, "You would care for a nightcap?"
By the time the Andorian waitress had tottered back over to find that the most obnoxious table she had dealt with for some time had also left one of the stingiest tips, the two Vulcans had vanished into the night.
'*'*'
'*'*'
She was right. She knew she'd been right. Even at the time, it had been obvious to anyone how completely right she'd been.
It didn't matter who you were, staying out as late as they had, drinking the amount that they had the night before they were due to attend a trade fair was a terrible idea.
And yet, Natasha couldn't take any real satisfaction from being so entirely and unequivocally right. Because at this precise point in time, she felt worse then any of them.
It was already after midday, and even then, they were short two of their number. Jirel had been unable to raise Klath from a gently snoring slumber, while Sunek had been nowhere to be found at all. So, instead, Natasha, Jirel and Denella had headed to the fair by themselves. And it was safe to say that they weren't making much of an impression.
The main auditorium that was hosting the fair was a bustling hub of commerce in the middle of Redrax's main city. It was an enormous expansive room, filled with life forms from every corner of the quadrant and beyond. The auditorium itself was situated on the top levels of the largest building in the city, spanning several floors of the building and topped off with a huge glass dome which gave an uninterrupted view of the surrounding area.
If she hadn't been so hungover, Natasha might have taken more time to appreciate the architecture, and the view from the dome itself. But she was hungover. Very, very hungover. So all she really noted was how the glass of the dome was reflecting the harsh sunlight straight at her face.
All around them, there were elaborate stands, displays and tables staffed by Ferengi, Benzites, Gorn, Capellans and dozens of other species. At one point, she could have sworn she saw a Calamarain floating through the crowd in the distance, though she was willing to concede that may have just been a trick of the light.
Some of the stalls were decked out with samples of the wares they were looking to move. Fine fabrics, sparkling gems and fragrant foodstuffs. Some stall owners handed out padds filled with advertising material, or excitedly pointed at displays that pitched some wild new post-war business opportunity in the Gamma Quadrant. Others displayed glossy holographic projections that showed off fleets of polished fleets of transport craft, or images of their crews, men and women who looked slightly too chisel-jawed and toned to be real people working in real jobs.
Among this orgy of tacky advertisements, excessive self-promotion and elaborate promises, the Bounty's hungover trio of dishevelled representatives at the largest trade fair in Redrax's calendar year shuffled onwards through the crowds. They couldn't have looked less employable if they tried.
Natasha forced herself to hurry up and catch up to Denella and Jirel, who were walking fast, but seemingly without any destination in mind.
"So, what's the plan?"
"Plan," Jirel mused, rolling the word around on his tongue, "Honestly? Don't really have one. But, at a fair this big, something's bound to jump out at us sooner or later-"
"Jirel!"
Something jumped out at them from behind a particularly gaudy stand for a delivery company whose promotional display promised the unlikely claim that they could 'Get your parcels from Andor to Risa in two days, or your latinum back!' in garish neon letters.
Natasha noted that he was Boslic, the thick-set brow and ridged forehead above his eyes standing him out from the crowd.
"Darhall!" Jirel beamed, holding his arms out in friendly greeting, "How's the family-?"
Without bothering to reply, Darhall stepped up to the Trill and delivered a single punch to his face, sending him flying back onto the ground.
Natasha and Denella rushed over to help their shipmate up, though the other attendees of the fair barely paid the little scuffle any attention. It wasn't the first such disagreement that had flared up since the fair had begun, and it wouldn't be the last.
"That's for the stunt you pulled on Sentrick III," Darhall spat out as Jirel gently rubbed his swollen cheek.
"I thought you said he'd forgiven you for that?" Denella asked with a wry smile.
"I have," the Boslic replied, "Now."
"Glad we could get that sorted out," Jirel managed with a wince.
"Not as much as I am," Darhall leered with clear satisfaction, "And now that we're even for that, I have a little business opportunity for you and your crew."
The Boslic's leer grew wider. Jirel turned to Natasha and shrugged.
"See? Told you something'd come up."
'*'*'
'*'*'
"You know, when you think about it, this was all very logical."
Sunek reclined on the bed and shouted in the direction of the bathroom, but he didn't get an immediate answer. Not that he really cared, because himself talking was Sunek's favourite part of just about any conversation anyway.
He was in a fairly unassuming hostel room, containing little more than the bed, a small replicator and dining table and a doorway leading off to the bathroom. But the way he was feeling, he may as well have been in an executive suite on Wrigley's Pleasure Planet.
"I mean, you were right," he continued, idly toying with a loose thread on his bathrobe, "We did the other marriage stuff. The blessings, the offerings, the creepy old priestess, but we never did any of the fun stuff. Logically, if we're husband and wife, it's only right that we get to do the fun stuff."
The bathroom door opened and T'Len padded out, wearing a robe of her own. He looked over at her and smirked. "And I really like the fun stuff. A lot."
She grabbed a glass of water from the replicator and perched on the edge of the bed, as he smiled back at her. "So many jokes," she muttered eventually with a sigh, "You didn't tell nearly as many when we were younger."
He smiled and leaned over to her, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows for effect. "Hey, there's a lot of things I didn't do a lot of when I was younger-Wait, no, ignore that. All of that. Immediately. Please."
His smirk disappeared in an instant as he leaned back in defeat, abandoning that particularly disastrous line of improvised flirting. T'Len stifled a slight chuckle as he shrank back, then grew more serious once again.
"I remember what you were like back then," she mused, "I remember the man that spoke so passionately at our meetings at the institute in ShiKahr. The one that stood up for our emotions, when our elders looked down on us. The one who helped so many young Vulcans to embrace what they were feeling. That young man was so...inspiring."
Sunek didn't entirely hate this latest round of ego massage. But he still shifted uncomfortably on the bed. He didn't tend to spend much time thinking of his life back then. "Nah, I was an idiot," he managed eventually, "All I was saying was a bunch of rebellious student politics mixed in with some cod philosophy. Anyone could've done it."
"You really think that?"
"I dunno, T'Len," he admitted, "I mean, everyone's like that when they're younger, right? We all think we know how to fix everything that's wrong with the universe, even though we've barely started living in the real world, and then you just...grow out of it. You grow up."
She looked over at him with an amused aside. "You've grown up?"
He glared at her for a moment, then leaned back, propping his head on his arm and staring at the ceiling. She leaned back and rested her head on his stomach. He felt another crackle of electricity. After a moment of silence, she continued.
"Have you ever been to the Voroth Sea?" she asked in a passive tone.
"On Vulcan?" he replied, slightly thrown by the non sequitur, "The one from that dumb old meditation technique?"
She turned to look up at him and nodded. It was the first meditation technique pretty much any Vulcan child learned, not exactly a stretch that he had known about it. But she continued. "In the meditation, you are told to picture a crystal clear reservoir of water, an island of calm. But the real Voroth Sea is nothing like that. It is a harsh, violent place. Ironic that such a famous pillar of Vulcan meditation is so illogical, don't you think?"
"I guess I always thought that was weird, but-Hang on," Sunek paused for a moment, looking back at her with confusion, "Are you preaching to me right now? Is this some new bit you're trying out for your next V'tosh ka'tur meeting?"
She shook her head, not entirely happily. "No," she replied, "Although I'm sure you could make it into quite a speech."
He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as she circled the conversation back around to his past. Not a show of intrigue, but one of frustration. "Maybe," he managed, "Still, I guess I just prefer my life now."
"Making deliveries?"
It was said with innocence, and without malice, but Sunek could have sworn he detected a darker note in her tone. A sliver of derision, a slightly superior sneer. Even a touch of anger.
"Hey," he chided with a smile, "That's not fair-"
His smile disappeared in a moment of realisation. "Crap, the fair," he muttered, "I was supposed to be at that stupid trade fair thing! The others are gonna be so pissed…"
He slid off the bed, leaving her behind, and rushed over to the bathroom to grab a sonic shower. As he neared the door, she called out after him.
"Could I come with you?"
He stopped in his tracks and turned back around, a dopey smile forming on his face. "You wanna go make some deliveries?" he couldn't help but fire back.
"Well," she replied, a suggestive twinkle in her eyes, "We do still have thirty years, six months and fourteen days of married life to catch up on."
Had Sunek's mind been more logically attuned, he might have spent some time weighing up this somewhat out of the blue suggestion. But while he could still operate with supremely Vulcan levels of concentration when he wanted to, right now his decidedly un-Vulcan libido passed an immediate resolution to ignore any more rational considerations on the matter.
And his dopey smile grew wider.
"You know, I could definitely get used to married life," he grinned as he walked on into the bathroom.
A second later, she heard the sonic shower start up. She reached over to a small rucksack that sat next to the bed and pulled out a stubby communicator. She clicked open the channel, knowing that they would be waiting for her transmission.
"It's me," she said, her voice hidden from Sunek by the sound of the shower, "Everything is proceeding as planned…"
'*'*'
'*'*'
The figure on the other end of the comms link sat in darkness.
After a brief discussion with T'Len, he allowed her to return to her mission, and tapped the controls on the desk in front of him to terminate the link before leaning back and closing his eyes, now seeing darkness upon darkness.
It comforted him.
After a moment, he opened his eyes and allowed them to adjust to the dank conditions inside his quarters. He could have asked the computer to turn up the lights, but he preferred it like this.
The vast expanse of the space around him was not built with comfort in mind. It may have been an elaborately large room, but it was utilitarian in design. The walls were a mix of dark green and rusty orange, the room almost bereft of furniture save for his desk and a dining table off to one side. It was also free of any sort of personal effects. He had little time for them these days.
Still, as he looked around at the blank slate in which he now resided, he allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. The final pieces of the jigsaw were beginning to slot into place.
He knew there was still plenty of work to do if they were going to be ready on time, and he also knew that he would have to oversee every last part of it to be truly satisfied that every eventuality had been covered and prepared for. But for the time being, he decided to allow himself a moment of indulgence.
Closing his eyes again, he focused on a familiar meditative scene. The Voroth Sea.
But not the fictional Voroth Sea that had been forced into his mind as a youth by his parents and his teachers. The real thing. The pure, unflinching truth behind the lies.
He stood on the deck of the sailing ship with great difficulty, as a harsh gale blew across the deck. The tumultuous, writhing surface of the sea churned around beneath him, crashing waves of murky silt-filled water up and over the bow.
The wind picked up, even more aggressively, sending salty spray into his face and causing him to stumble slightly as he tried to maintain his footing on the slippery deck.
But he did hold his footing, because he was well versed in this meditative exercise. He saw the true face of the Voroth Sea, and he had conquered it after years of practice. It energised him, even as he sat peacefully at his desk in his quarters.
He stood head-on to the storm, and allowed it to feed his rage.
'*'*'
'*'*'
Klath roared with effort as he lifted the heavy tritanium sheet above his head and set off up the Bounty's cargo ramp once again.
The ship was parked in a loading area on the outskirts of the main city of Redrax, surrounded by the cargo that they were loading onboard. As Klath headed up the ramp, Jirel and Natasha headed back down, midway through loading crates of other miscellaneous supplies.
To one side, Darhall had propped himself against a pile of crates, watching on and very much not offering to help, while Denella checked off what was being loaded on a small padd, and offered Klath a sympathetic look as he continued up the ramp.
"Sorry, Klath. All the anti-grav units for this section were booked out."
"Still," Jirel smiled as the unhappy Klingon struggled on towards the top of the ramp, "That's what you get for oversleeping."
The still somewhat hungover Klath grumbled quietly to himself as he disappeared inside the Bounty's cargo bay.
"Anyway," Jirel said to Natasha with a wink as she assessed the weight of the next crate, "Told you we'd find a job."
"Although I'm still trying to figure out what the catch is," Denella added with an uncertain glance at the Boslic next to her.
"No catch," Darhall replied, "Frankly, you should all be thanking me for giving you such lucrative work."
"Presumably it was more lucrative before you took your cut," Jirel fired back.
"Call it a finder's fee. I had intended to do this job myself, but something else came up. A shipment of tulaberry wine destined for a resort on Risa. Pays twice as much as this little shuttle run, and comes with a complimentary weekend in one of their suites."
When he put it like that, it made sense that he was giving the Bounty this alternative delivery. An altogether less glamorous run to Sector Gamma 432 with a collection of engineering components, tritanium, ODN relays and isolinear chips.
"Always thought you needed to work on that tan, Darhall," Jirel replied.
The Boslic ignored him and stepped over to Denella, with a knowing leer on his face. "The suite is for two, you know," he muttered, "Private pool, so no need to pack a swimsuit."
Denella suppressed her shudder internally and kept her well-practiced defences raised as she politely stared down the lecherous Boslic. "Darhall, do you remember our little agreement?" she replied, casually reaching for the Orion dagger on her belt and flashing it at him, "You don't say things like that to me, and in return I don't introduce my favourite dagger here to your favourite part of your body."
Darhall shrank back slightly, still maintaining his leer.
"If you two are done flirting," Jirel chimed out as he descended back down the ramp, "We'd get all this loaded a lot faster if-"
"Hey guys, need some help?"
The unexpected question was enough to stop Jirel in his tracks. It had certainly sounded like Sunek, but it couldn't possibly have been him. Because he was offering to help. Yet, as he looked over to where the voice had come from, there was an unmistakably Sunek-shaped figure approaching them from the far side of the landing area, with T'Len beside him.
"Who are you?" Jirel asked, "And what have you done with the real Sunek?"
"Yeah, ok, very funny," Sunek sighed patiently, "Do you want my help or not?"
Jirel and the rest of those present in the landing area watched on with open mouths as Sunek walked over to the nearest stack of crates and picked one up. Then, without any complaints, sarcastic comments or attempts to feign a back injury, the wiry Vulcan carried the crate up the ramp.
"By the way," Sunek added, pausing halfway up the ramp and gesturing to T'Len, "Is it cool if my wife tags along with us for a bit?"
"Sunek," Jirel replied with complete sincerity, "If it means you're gonna help out like this, she can take my cabin."
"Ah, that definitely won't be necessary," the Vulcan grinned with an unsubtle glint in his eye.
"...Right," Jirel nodded, slightly uncomfortably.
"Y'know, cos we're totally doing it-"
"Yep. Got it."
Sunek turned and continued on up the ramp, whistling a jaunty tune as he did so. T'Len followed him, carrying a crate of her own. Jirel turned and looked at Denella with no small amount of astonishment. She shrugged.
"Cute couple."
'*'*'
'*'*'
Sector Gamma 432 was an unremarkable part of the galaxy. In fact, it was downright boring.
It was within a few hours travel of several populated star systems, and therefore perhaps should have been busier than it was. But it was one of those sectors where there was always a more convenient route to get where you needed to go without passing through Sector Gamma 432 itself.
No exploration vessel would ever consider visiting either. The entire sector contained just three planetary star systems, all three both uninhabited and uninhabitable, along with half a dozen brown dwarfs and a run of the mill type-4 emission nebula.
The rogue planet designated Epsilon-543-tau by Federation scientists was set to traverse Sector Gamma 432 on its current course, and had been identified as a body of scientific interest. But it wasn't due to pass into the sector's boundaries for another 300 years, which wasn't much use in the here and now.
In the here and now, Sector Gamma 432 wasn't exactly flush with strange new worlds. In fact, it wasn't exactly flush with anything.
And as the Bounty slowed to sublight speeds at the end of its overnight journey to this particular position, it looked to be the only ship for light years in any direction. Which, given that Darhall had told them they were headed here to rendezvous with another ship and drop off the cargo in their hold, was more than a little troubling.
"Nothing," Klath reported with an unhappy grunt from his tactical station, "Sensors detect no ships in the entire sector."
"Maybe they're running late?" Natasha offered, from where she sat behind her own console on the right of the cockpit.
She still felt a little silly sitting there. Partly because she felt the presence of T'Len where she stood over her shoulder. But mainly because the console itself still hadn't been set up to serve any specific function, the dirty bank of controls and monitors in front of her were all still powered down and dark.
Still, in her previous life as a Starfleet medical officer, she spent her time stuck down in sickbay, so for the time being she was just glad to have a front row seat. Even if she felt a little bit like a competition winner manning a pretend station.
"Maybe someone wrote the coordinates down wrong," Sunek offered, his good spirits continuing despite their current setback. They were mainly continuing because, since they'd left Redrax, he and T'Len had barely left his cabin.
"Maybe someone input the coordinates into the guidance computer wrong," Denella fired back from her engineering console at the rear of the room.
After a moment of silence, Jirel emitted a despondent sigh from where he sat in his tatty centre chair. "Darhall."
"You believe this is a trap?" Klath glowered, tensing up in anticipation.
"Not exactly," the Trill replied, "But I think that after that stunt we pulled on Sentrick III, just punching me in the face wasn't gonna be enough to level the score."
"So, he set this whole thing up?" Natasha asked.
"We just spent most of yesterday putting our backs out lugging all that useless scrap onboard and wasted another day flying all the way out to the middle of literally nowhere. I'd say our Boslic friend is on his way to that suite on Risa laughing himself stupid right now."
The others in the cockpit considered this for a moment.
"Ok," Denella said eventually, "But if that's true, how come he gave us our share of the payment up front?"
Jirel turned back to look out of the cockpit window, in lieu of having an answer for that question.
"Besides," Sunek said, swinging back around to the rest of the group and grinning, "If he really wanted to get his own back, couldn't he have just slugged you in the face a couple more times?"
He let out a chuckle, even as he saw that the others didn't seem to be in the mood to join in. Instead, they were all staring at something over his shoulder.
"What?" he continued, obliviously, "Guys, why are you being so-?"
He swung back around, following their collective gaze until he arrived back on the view out of the cockpit window. And all he could see was a wall of green metal.
"Oh," he managed, "I see."
The Bounty hung in space in the middle of Sector Gamma 432, the tiny ship now dwarfed by the immense form of the decloaked Romulan Warbird.