It was near dusk, the sun setting on the island of Jamaica. The water shone with a golden hue as pink clouds painted across the twilight sky. A soft breeze blew, palm trees waving. The faint sound of waves lapping against the shore could be heard, especially with his Andorian antennae.
Thy'lek and his family along with Gral, hoping to blend in, had purchased cheap Hawaiian and tourist shirts, sandals, sunglasses, and twenty one containers – all that was left in the store – of sunscreen.
Strutting across the sandy beach in front of the hotel, Thy'lek fanned his shirt, the one with flamingoes covering it, and lowered his black sunglasses past the white that he'd smeared across his nose.
"It's hotter than Vulcan here," Shran complained. "How do the pink skins stand it?"
Gral grunted. The pig wore a pair of child sunglasses, the only kind that would fit his face, in bright green with turtles on them and sported a t-shirt that read: We be jammin'. His sandals, like his sunglasses, were only available in child sizes and he realized only later after he'd purchased them they had white plastic flowers.
"It is not the cool, wet clime of Tellar either, Blue. My snout feels warm."
"I thought I smelled bacon," Shran said, laughing. "I told you to use this sunscream."
"It smells like coconuts," he grunted. "Disgusting. I much prefer the smell of caked mud."
The two walked by the front desk when they heard the man cough. When neither slowed, the clerk spoke up and ran outside.
"Uhm, my manager has asked me to talk with you about limitations on the ice machine."
Shran froze in his tracks and whipped off his sunglasses. "What do you mean, limitations?"
The clerk sighed. "Since your arrival, the water bureau alerted us because they thought we may have a pipe leak."
"I recall you assuring me the ice was free and unlimited," Shran said, his antennae lurching forward.
"But—"
"Are you a man of your word?" Shran asked.
Gral held back the Andorian and shook his head. "Allow me to argue with him." The Tellarite pushed his stout belly out barely touching the human. "This Blue devil has paid good money for him and his family to fill their bathtub full of ice. Would you deny him and his family the only coolness they have felt since they left their home?"
The desk clerk tried to explain that the water bill alone would be enormous. Shran could tell Gral was preparing for the second wave of what the little pig had called 'Tigon's attack of reason' when finally the Andorian waved his hand in the air.
"Fine!" he shouted. "We will reduce our ice consumption."
Gral snorted in surprise and the blue man nodded toward the shuttle. "We have other business to attend to."
"Thank you," the clerk said.
Shran walked back into his hotel room and saw Tallah, wearing a shirt of the Jamaica flag, was sticking her hand in a bucket of ice and Shras instead of a leather onesie had a light blue one. The baby was busy gnawing on an ice cube. Jhamel meanwhile walked out from the bathroom wearing a pink Hawaiian-style muumuu.
"Tallah, your ice bath is ready!" she said.
The young Andorian typically would've thrown a fuss, but instead cheered with delight. As she was about to run into the hotel bathroom, Shran's antennae drooped.
"We have been requested to limit our ice consumption," Shran said. "This will be your last ice bath."
Jhamel's face fell and Tallah complained loudly. "But, I like ice baths!"
"The human operating this hotel has asked us to stop," Shran said.
"But the humans said it was free!" Tallah put her hand on a makeshift holster that contained the Andorian blade she typically wore at her side. "I should cut out his puny human tongue for lying to us."
Her father sat on the bed with a thud. "Normally I would agree, but … we should be careful until Gral and I talk with Simon."
Tallah scoffed, "He's another lying human."
Gral gave a grunt. "We don't know that for sure young Blueling, and to save you, your mother, and your brother, we must try."
The baby gurgled, his little antennae wiggling with delight. Gral picked up the child and then his snout twitched as the child grabbed the man's facial hair. "He smells like coconuts!"
Tallah was about to speak again, when Jhamel's antennae drooped as well. "Gral and your father are right. We'll do as you ask, Thy'lek."
The Andorian wrapped the Aenar in his arms as their antennae squirmed against each other, stroking gently – a gesture that made Tallah moan in annoyance and Gral snort. Eventually they separated.
"I'm sorry you and our children have to endure this," Shran said. "When I agreed to take this position, I had no idea it would lead here."
Jhamel held his face as her blind eyes looked elsewhere. "We are a family. And coming to Earth, up until today, has been the best decision you have ever made."
Shran produced a faint smile. "No, it was taking you to bed for mating and marriage."
This time when they embraced their antennae writhed against each other while Shran made a noise that sounded almost like a growl. A giggle left Jhamel's lips as his hand joined in caressing her antennae. Gral at first looked away, thinking it was a moment necessary between man and wife. But when he heard the Andorian use words the universal translator couldn't pick up, he turned back around to see Shran's long outstretched tongue wildly flicking against Jhamel's.
"Shran?" Gral asked, his sinewy fingers covering Shras' eyes as Tallah watched on.
The Andorian started backing her up against the dresser as her hand began to caress his antennae, his eyes closing at the touch. This time Tallah rolled her eyes and went over play with some toys she'd brought.
"Shran!" Gral yelled.
The baby laughed and clapped.
Shran panting looked over at his friend, his antennae stiff, arched forward. "Huh?"
The Tellarite grunted and used the moment to hand the baby back to Jhamel who seemed equally bothered by the intrusion. "We should go."
Shran frowned. "It would only take a minute!"
"We should go," Gral asserted again.
Shran grumbled under his breath, complaining about Tellar mating and then made clicking sounds as Gral frowned. The Aenar smiled and touched his jaw.
"Gral is right. There will be time for this."
Shran put a hand through his white hair. "There'd better be. A thaan who has gone all day without mating can become grumpy."
Gral shook his head and finally after a final goodbye between Shran and Jhamel, the two set off for the shuttle. The Tellarite entered the coordinates for Simon's house and plotted the course, his jalopy flying through the air as it creaked and moaned. Shran grumbling the entire way there.
[-]
It was late into the night, nearly 4 a.m., when T'Pol walked through the nearly empty ship. As she walked she tapped a few buttons from her PADD to disable hallway cameras – feeding a loop into them so in case they were being monitored. She made her way with her husband, who crept alongside her. Archer was dressed in a fur coat, green sweater, and brown wool pants followed along, his messy brown, shoulder-length hair moving along with him. She stopped suddenly, turning to him, as he scratched his full beard.
"It itches," he whispered.
Quiet, she urged him.
I think you can hear it, but I doubt human ears could pick it up.
Still, she thought to him. Be careful.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something on her PADD and then peeked around the corner. A lieutenant was sitting in front of the dock to Talon Station. He seemed bored, but watched a monitor that T'Pol knew provided false reports – indicating no one in the hallway – as he yawned. Straightening the woman sauntered out to greet him.
"Amabassador?" he asked with surprise.
She bowed slightly. "I wanted to determine if my shuttle is ready."
The man frowned and brought out his PADD. "Ma'am, I have it here that it's scheduled to leave dock at oh six twenty five." He paused. "I didn't see you on the monitors, did you—"
"May I have your PADD?" she interrupted. He it to her and she looked at it with Vulcanly disdain. "There seems to be an error. I asked for the ship to be available sooner. I have plans to reach Vulcan as quickly as possible."
He said, "I don't typically handle traffic coordination."
"Yes, of course," she said in what she hoped sounded like mild disappointment. "It is important to the war, very possibly could mean our victory and would help Starfleet, but if leaving sooner is impossible …." T'Pol knew it wasn't a lie. If Coridan was involved, it could very well mean the allied forces would be victorious.
"Well … uhm. I suppose I could see if Ensign Maddox is available. She could probably assist."
"I would not want to wake her or inconvenience you."
The man frowned and T'Pol could tell he was determining whether he could assist her. She was about to add more when she heard a voice in her head.
Let Lt. Green struggle with this so he thinks it's his idea. As T'Pol was about to let her husband know he was wrong, finally the lieutenant sighed.
He said, "I can help you, ma'am." He then walked over to the nearest terminal and started speaking into it, his back turned toward the docking bay door that led to the station. T'Pol turned behind her to see her husband barely in the shadows.
I love you, he thought.
Come back to me, she thought back to him.
He tossed her a wink and then she tapped a few buttons on her PADD opening the station door. He disappeared into it and she closed it just as quickly. The Vulcan wanted to give a sigh, but refrained and instead restored the cameras and sensors. As she finished, Lt. Green turned to her. It nearly startled her.
"Penny will be down in a minute to personally assist you."
"Thank you," T'Pol said. She used the time to make small talk, something she'd learned well in her years serving alongside the Terrans.
Eventually when Ensign Penny Maddox came, looking slightly disheveled as if she'd hurried into her uniform, the Vulcan made the same case to leave early. The Ensign explained that it had already been moved up to 6:25 a.m. as if they'd anticipated the earlier flight thanks to Skon alerting them. T'Pol reiterated she'd needed to leave sooner and would appreciate transport as quickly as possible. It wasn't until it seemed the young woman would not accommodate her that the ambassador reminded her she could commandeer a vehicle for allied service, quoting both Starfleet regulation as well as some of the basic foundations of the allied agreement.
T'Pol decided Archer's earlier suggestion of making it her idea had merit. The Vulcan touched her on the shoulder, a gesture she knew was rare among her people.
"I am concerned that if I do not reach Vulcan quickly that our forces may not win the war. I have learned new information. I must reach Ministers T'Pau and Soval right away."
She knew this wasn't a lie, she had learned new information – that General Krag was not who he seemed to be. Although she would not, could not, share that information with the Vulcans, her reaching her home world was urgent – both to hiding her husband's whereabouts and convincing them to provide reparations to the people of Coridan.
"Please," T'Pol said.
Maddox nodded and soon she and Green were making the arrangements necessary, both access to the station, and a ship she could fly herself. When they were done, Maddox explained her brother served in Starfleet under the science officer in the Expanse.
"Michael," T'Pol said. "I had not realized. He had a brilliant scientific mind." She lowered her gaze. "I know he perished on the Columbia. I grieve with thee."
"Yes," Maddox replied. "Don't let his death be in vain."
Within ten minutes, a shuttle was ready and T'Pol used the time to move some of her things into the vehicle. Waiting until she considered the last moment, she used the shuttle to contact Skon, knowing that he was still recovering for the mating fire, Pon Farr, and might actually be sleeping rather than merely resting as Vulcans were known to do.
"Yes?" his voice asked, groggy.
"I have again moved up the schedule for us to leave Vulcan."
"Oh?" he asked. "To what time?"
"I will leave in fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen minutes? I have -"
"I am on the shuttle now," she said.
This seemed to bring the Vulcan to life. "Ambassador -?"
Although she didn't like to be curt to her aide, considering him a friend, she cut him off and silently apologized at the need to keep up the ruse. She needed him to think she was making a hasty departure with her husband instead of buying him time to reach the Andorian shuttlecraft. Quickly, she closed the door between the cockpit and the cargo bay of the shuttle and then locked it. In fourteen minutes, Skon swept into the spacecraft, his usually neat appearance unkempt. He had light stubble, rare for Vulcans, and his normally perfectly coiffed bowl-haircut was more tousled.
"I apologize for the need to leave earlier, but … Jonathan requested it," T'Pol said. Her eyes made a motion to the back. Skon looked at the locked door and narrowed his eyes.
"I do not understand why Admiral Archer is joining us," Skon said. Even now T'Pol thought his voice teetered on annoyance. As if realizing his own tone he closed his eyes. "I did not have time to meditate this morning."
"You are only now recovering from the fires, I understand," she said. As she typed in a few buttons and nudged a couple controls, she spoke more casually than usual. "I take it things with T'Var went well?"
T'Pol thought Skon nearly flinched. "No."
Under other circumstances, she might discuss it, but her friend – it seemed – needed some "space" as Commander Tucker would've called it. Before she could inquire further, he looked behind him. "You have locked the cargo bay door."
"I have," T'Pol said. "Jonathan requested it."
"Then, assuming you do not need my assistance, I will meditate here."
T'Pol produced a short nod and then released the docking clamps to the small Andorian vessel Ensign Maddox had provided to her before setting a course for her home planet.
[-]
Keeping his head down, Archer walked through the corridors of the station until he reached something that made his PADD vibrate – an alert that he had arrived at his destination. Jon looked over the vehicle wondering who had given their permission for it to be deemed space-worthy.
Light blue in color, painting chipping, the hull was dented in several places decreasing the structural integrity. The windshield had debris on it, making it nearly impossible to see out of. And black spray paint had vandalized the vessel with something that looked like hieroglyphics to Archer. When he waved the PADD in front of it, the language spilling from his hand-held made him raise his eyebrows. The closest word the PADD could come up with for the vessel was "Excrement."
Containers floated in mid-air, loaded by a robot and a short Andorian male strutted by, checking off a PADD. Archer sauntered up to the alien.
"Sav purchased passage for me," Archer explained. The man's PADD hummed, whirled, and clicked in the Andorian language.
"Yes, yes, hold on." The Andorian continued to check off items and then turned to Archer nearly dropping his PADD. "Hairy thing, aren't you? What are you?"
Archer asked again. "Do I have passage or not?"
"We're headed to Ly'leh," the Andorian asked. As if commenting to himself, he said, "What interest does your kind have in our capital?"
"Sightseeing," Archer said.
The Andorian laughed. "I doubt it." And then nodding, he said, "You must be a speculator for a mining company." His antennae drooped. "Is that it, Pink Skin?"
Jon smiled, a gold cap on his incisor as he kept up the charade. "It's not salt I'm interested in. I'm thinking about how to sell water to those pointy-eared bastards. If I can buy an ice flow on Andoria …."
The Thaan laughed. "You're right. They might buy water from a human, even if it comes from Andoria. Although I hope you let me spit in it before it's swallowed by one of those desert tarpigs."
"Only after I spit in it." Archer nudged the man. Although Archer didn't like saying the words, he remembered a time when it wouldn't be far from the truth. For now, it seemed to buy him some trust.
He strapped himself into the pilot seat and glanced behind him. "Sit down and prepare for lift off."
The inside was neater, at least in the cargo area. The cockpit was just as filthy, grime seemingly covering everything. The seats were tattered, the control board looked like it was vintage – at least sixty years old – and in a device by the pilot's seat was a hookah like the kind he saw only yesterday in the bar Sav was at. The thaan sat down and then sucked deeply on the device, it gurgling, before he exhaled. Archer coughed thinking it stunk worse than boiled cabbage – something his grandmother loved making even when the weather was hot.
The Andorian spoke into a speaker with clicks that Archer's PADD only caught a few words that sounded like it was a request to set off. Doors began to open when the pilot turned around, blowing smoke into Jon's face. "Sav didn't say you should reach Andoria alive."
Jon climbed into it anyway, sighing as the seatbelt was broken, and the belt the seat buckle as if broken, springs jabbing into his rear end. Suddenly as being sling shot into space, the vehicle lunged forward, Archer gripping onto the sides of his seat as it creaked. It did this a few times as if the engine was clearing and then finally the ride smoothed somewhat. Now the vehicle just rattled and buzzed, shaking the passenger seat.
"How long is the flight?" Jon asked.
"Three Andorian hours," he said. And then a call came in. The vid screen fizzled into existence, lowering from a panel above the Andorian's head to show an Andorian female dressed in a black bikini, laying on what looked like a bed.
"I call at a bad time, Ty'ee?" she asked.
"Not at all," he said. He sucked on the pipe. According to Jon's PADD the nature of the call was intimate as he rushed to turn off his universal translator, he unfortunately found out information he didn't want to know about Ty'ee's personal life … and about Andorian anatomy.
Instead, he flipped on a reading program and turned to a book he'd abandoned before T'Pol came aboard. After only getting through the first page, he heard growls and clicks come from the pilot seat – eyes trained on the book, Archer decided he didn't want to know.
Only seven human hours to reach Andoria, he thought.
[-]
Gral pushed the button of an intercom at an apartment complex on the west-side of San Francisco. The building was tall made up mostly of windows. A voice called out from the metallic box and an image displayed on screen. Neville Simon.
"Yes?" Simon's smile fell. "Oh. It's you."
"Neville, I have business to discuss with you," Gral said. "Please."
"Gral, we can talk about it tomorrow," Simon said.
Shran intervened. "Simon, this is important!"
A sigh left the human's lips and he rubbed his hand over his face. Finally, he looked at the screen again. "Fine."
A buzzer sounded and the door opened to the building automatically. Simon said, "I'm on the tenth floor, apartment six."
The aliens entered the elevator in the main bank that went to the floors 1 – 10 and punched the button for 6. A woman sang overhead about a girl from Ipanema as Shran covered his ears, his antennae squirming.
"Who can stand this ruckus?" Shran asked.
Gral grunted. "Yes, this is as annoying as Klingon opera."
"Worse," Shran replied.
The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Simon was already dressed in sweats and was waiting at the door, leaning against it. Before the aliens could speak, he addressed them.
"What was so urgent?"
Gral pointed a skinny finger inside Simon's abode. "We should talk inside."
Simon was about to disagree when Shran pushed his way past, unable to wait any longer. He opened the door to the apartment labeled six and walked inside. Gral although apologizing followed eager to begin discussion as well. As they two entered they saw an average apartment. Classical music played overhead and a glass of wine was sitting on the coffee table as if waiting to be drunk. Shran's antennae lurched forward.
"Do you have a family? Children?"
"Hardly any time," Simon admitted.
The Andorian asked, "Are you meeting a mate?"
Neville furrowed his brows. "Mate?"
Shran explained, "Someone to be tyla tora with."
Neville was about to answer when the pig picked up a digital hologram of Neville and Nathan Samuels arms around each other smiling for the camera. The Tellarite guessed it was taken sometime after the original coalition met. He snorted.
"You two are friends, I sometimes forget."
"He helped me be who I am today," Neville agreed. "I was his aide for a number of years until he retired." He gave a mirthful laugh. "Sometimes being an aide is harder than being an ambassador."
Shran, uninvited sat down on the white leather couch his blue legs squeaking against it. Pushing up his sunglasses again on his head against his antennae he finally whipped them off and stuff them in his pocket.
"This isn't a social call," the Andorian asked. He paused scratching one of his antennae. "Unless asking a personal favor is a social call. Then this is." He turned to Gral. "I have a difficult time determining what humans identify as social calls."
Gral stroked his beard. "Yes, an excellent question and perhaps one to debate."
Neville interrupted and sat down, nabbing his wine glass. "You want a personal favor, Shran? Just the other day you threatened me."
Shran pointed at him. "You were spying on the Pink Skin." Before Neville could ask who that was, he clarified. "Archer."
"How do you know-?" Neville began.
"I have my sources," Shran said. "You've been getting information from Stiles and feeding it to Starfleet and the prime minister himself."
Neville took off his glasses. Rather than deny it he lounged back. "I remember the day I met then Captain Archer. Samuels had been on his ship, Enterprise – before it was decommissioned. Terra Prime had taken control of Mars and was threatening Earth. Samuels nearly had to give orders to start a war and all the while his name was dragged in the mud for something he'd done as an eighteen-year old boy." Neville frowned. "Archer swept in and suddenly people believe he saved the day instead of what Samuels had done. I have disliked Admiral Archer from that time on."
Shran scoffed, "I knew it."
"But how he rescued my fellow ambassadors and Stiles himself. His ingenuity so far in the war …." The man reached over and took a sip of his wine. "I may not like him, but I have come to respect Archer more over the course of the past several months."
Gral snorted at Shran. "What you think about Archer is irrelevant. Shran has been declared a traitor by his people. His aide, Tares, was sent to gather him and bring him back to Andoria to be killed. But we escaped." The Tellarite conveniently left out Tares had let them escape in case word got back to Krag. "No doubt General Krag will send someone else and this time to kill him."
This made the human put his drink down. "Shran, I'm sorry, but this is a matter between you and your government. If Earth was to get involved –"
Gral interrupted. "Earth is already involved. You have been plotting and scheming with Andoria regarding dilithium crystals."
"It was in the best interests of Earth and Andoria," Simon said. "It could help us win the war."
"Then all the allies should know," Gral urged.
The conversation continued and Gral found himself deploying several of the best Tellarite methods to win an argument. First there was Mol's defensive posture. This particular trick helped by ensuring the pig's belly protruded as he crossed his arms, standing tall as if unwilling to bend or change his mind. Neville seemed to continue to debate, so Gral deployed Tok's art of evasiveness – where every question was met with another question. Finally twos hours later, the Tellarite decided to use Gut's option. This one Gral wasn't particularly fond of – it meant he would negotiate.
The Tellarite's snout twitched. "I remember the early days of the coalition. Before Archer. Samuels I think was already interested in the job of prime minister."
Neville who had seemed mad, what little hair he had on his head was askew, finally nodded. "He did. But his involvement in Terra Prime made that impossible, no matter the prestige of his career and what he did to help humanity."
Shran swaggered over to him. "You may've been an aide at that time, placed on Earth, but Gral and I were among the aliens who made that moment possible – when we faced marauders … the Romulans. We were the ones en route to Babel One. We united as a coalition then."
Neville said, "I remember."
Gral said, "Our coalition has come a long way since then. Let us know we can count on you."
Neville set down his wine and closed his eyes. Gral wondered if the man was asleep and was about to jar him when he finally opened his eyes. Wringing his hands he frowned.
"Shran took a swing at me."
The Andorian gave a smirk. "Before Archer and I became friends, I took many more swings at him."
That didn't seem to help, so Gral motioned to him. "Shran is sorry."
Neville said, "He also accused me of spying … of being a traitor."
Shran said, pointing, "You were spying. And … I will admit I was … mistaken about you being a traitor." And then he said, "But your aide was one."
At this Neville frowned. "Why should I help you?"
Gral was the one who answered. "Because even if you do not like us, like Archer, you have grown to respect us and what we can do. You know what the right thing to do is."
At this, Neville Simon seemed to pause. Gral continued. "Perhaps you have more respect for us … just as we do you. We wouldn't have come to you otherwise."
Neville looked between the two, his eyes darting back and forth before he finally threw his head back and sighed deep and long. It was almost a moan of annoyance, even the aliens in front of him knew that.
"I will talk with the Prime Minister." Neville then turned to Shran. "You should ask for political asylum. Although asking asylum against our allies in the middle of a war isn't usually granted."
Gral squealed with joy as the Andorian clapped Neville Simon on the back. His antennae squirmed.
"You will not regret this, Simon."
Neville said, "From what you said, your family is safe?"
Shran narrowed his eyes. "For the time being."
Neville nodded. "Don't tell me where they are. I … do recommend you stay in San Francisco. No doubt the Prime Minister will want to talk with you himself."
Gral's glee ended quickly. "What assurances do we have you will not attempt to contact the Andorian government?"
"My word," Neville said.
The human reached out a hand and the Andorian shook it with Gral putting his hand on top. A cat meandered into the room giving a quick mew when Gral licked his lips before being chastised by Neville. At that, the three drank a toast.
[-]
On the view screen ahead was a planet swirling in a mass of brown, orange, and red. Its deserts covered at least sixty-five percent of the planet, mountains reaching toward the sky as two suns hung in view, heating up her world to a temperature she remembered Trip and Jonathan both called hell. Lava flows, volcanoes, geysers of fire, deserts, wind, and dust. Buildings rose up, red spires gleaming reaching to the twin suns catching their rays as shuttles flew around the capital for the Vulcan people. A place of commerce, politics, and of religious significance. ShiKahr.
Even at the sunlight coming into the shuttle, she could feel her nictitating membranes eclipse her eyes to shield them from the blinding light. And for some reason, despite them being in a shuttle with environmental controls, she felt the additional gravity of her world, a place rich with iron and copper.
Skon to the side of her tipped up an eyebrow, his native language rolling off his tongue.
"Ha-kel," he whispered. The words were spoken with reverence and homage.
She knew the words well: home.
"Landing protocols have begun, ambassador," he said.
A placid voice devoid of all emotion came over the loudspeaker. "You have arrived on Vulcan."
The shuttle found its way to an empty runway surrounded by statues in a black stone, their heads bent in meditation and their hands forming the triangle she knew as IDIC – infinite diversity in infinite combinations. A small party was there awaiting, what T'Pol recognized as a formal welcoming, one reserved for dignitaries. Vulcan males and females held musical instruments with tiny cymbals as three heads of state, all in their official red robes, peered into the distance.
Skon turned to T'Pol as the shuttle settled onto the hard desert land.
"My sister will want to engage in the familial bond." The Vulcan male kept his blue eyes on T'Pol. "She may glean things that have happened. How my fires were stoked."
"I understand," she said. "I have nothing to hide – Minister T'Pau is already aware of my relationship with Admiral Archer."
"It is not only your marriage …." T'Pol knew he was leaving out information and as he was about to say more, she touched his arm. It was a practice by now both had gotten used to, despite their Vulcan heritage.
T'Pol said, "Thank you for telling me. For warning me."
"Of course." Skon reached for his duffle bag and the door to the shuttle began to open.
Immediately music filled the compartment, tinny ringing as Minister T'Pau pushed back her cloak and held up a single hand.
"Kroikah," she said.
T'Pol took her own duffle bag and descended the steps examining the woman she now reported to. Although small in stature, T'Pau seemed regal – even more so now than when she had first met her. Her hair was darker, almost black, and her hairstyle was traditional – piled on top of her head supporting something that would've seemed like a crown on Earth. T'Pol knew the ornament was only one of state, to indicate she was the head minister, an achievement for a woman of such a young age.
The two other figures that flanked her were male. One was Soval, his face transforming into something that only T'Pol would see as amusement – his eyes twinkling with recognition. He bowed slightly, his hair whiter than she remembered and his red robes inscribed with ancient runes that indicated he represented the planet's Southern region.
Minister Kuvak, his eyes seeming tired and slowed with age, as his red robes swirled around him in the afternoon breeze. He was a minister from the Northern region, the one that had more mountains.
"Greetings. Peace and long life," T'Pau said. Her hand raised into the Vulcan greeting.
Skon and T'Pol returned the greeting and then the aide said, "Sister, you appear well."
"Diplomatic life agrees with you as well, my brother," she said.
The woman without a beat led them off the shuttle path as the ceremonial music again clanked near them. They entered an open-air shuttlepod as T'Pau lifted her chin and let the wind rush over her and unsettle her hair.
"You are bringing back old traditions," T'Pol said. "Shuttlepods into the plateau. Ceremonial music, the st'ator ringing for arrivals."
Soval agreed. "She is bringing back many of the old ways, introducing the ways during the time of Surak. And it is a welcome change."
T'Pau said, "Minister Soval, it is neither welcome nor unwelcome. Change is what is required to bring us back to Surak's teachings."
"Most logical," Kuvak agreed.
"I would surmise." Soval bowed his head slightly before turning to his old protégé, T'Pol. "They are calling her Vulcan's mother."
"An incorrect title. I am merely bringing us back on Surak's course. I have not birthed anything," she said.
Skon said, "It is just as well. I would dislike being called Vulcan's uncle."
At that, T'Pol felt the corners of her mouth twitch to form an imperceptible smile to anyone but another Vulcan. Skon titled his head to acknowledge it. The exchange was not missed by the others, including T'Pau.
"Ambassador T'Pol, I can see why you have succeeded as the diplomat for Earth; you have adopted many of their customs," T'Pau said. "As have you, Skon."
Her brother was the first to speak, his hair whipping in the breeze as they approached the capital building. "The humans have, I believe they would say, grown on me."
Soval pointed an eyebrow at the young man. "They do tend to do that, almost like the algae that grows on their planet."
The flitter finally stopped in front of a massive red building. Each of them exited as a gong sounded at their arrival rung by a large Vulcan male as he bowed at their greeting. One of the suns was setting, the other making its approach as the sky turned pink. T'Pol looked at the landscape, the buildings reaching into infinity and closed her eyes, letting the sunshine warm her skin, before following the others into the building to begin negotiation on Coridan.
She noticed as they walked Skon continued to look behind them at the vehicle. Finally he asked quietly, "He will be all right?"
T'Pol knew he meant her bondmate. Although Skon believed him to be in their vessel, she knew it was important for him to believe so for a while longer … until Vulcan had been notified he'd gone AWOL as the humans called it. She turned to Skon and lifted her eyebrows at him. "I hope so."
[-]
Approximately seven hours later, the Andorian heap of junk finally landed. As cargo was removed Archer stumbled from the rickety chair that seemed to be held together by two bolts, his body humming and buzzing from being jarred for several hours. Archer hadn't felt that ill since his first pilot simulation when he was only thirteen.
Leaning over, nearly spilling his stomach onto the docking bay floor, Archer was slapped on the back by the Andorian captain. It helped choke back what little he had for breakfast as the admiral coughed.
"You're welcome," the Andorian said. His antennae wiggled as he walked off.
Heavy snow fell, covering an already icy ground. Archer put the fur hood of his coat over his head and trudged forward passing various ships and Andorians going and coming on at the chief shuttle area for Andor, the capital. As he scanned the horizon he saw three giant moons hanging in the distance – one of them the gas giant in which the capital was named after.
He also saw shimmering blue light in the distance from what knew was the imperial fortress, where the queen was located. It was at the base of spring called La'lon – what he'd read seemed like Shangri-La, an Eden of sorts, where the temperature was milder and exotic plants grew.
Almost like Vatican City, it was under no governmental jurisdiction, operating under the rule of Andorian law that had been in place since the time of the Great Thaw back several millennium.
Shoving the duffle bag on his shoulder, he tapped the device of his PADD to find the nearest transportation to La'lon. As he did, a group of heavily-armed Andorians suddenly burst onto the transportation platform, one holding an alien plasma rifle high in the air.
"Andorians!" a woman said, her white hair flowing in the wind, undoing her braids. "We must rise up against our queen. She has murdered those in the province of Katin and plans to do so to those in Thalsal'ee."
Archer heard a few murmurs of agreement as the crowd stopped. One white-haired man, stockier than even Shran, held his weapons high, his antennae lurched forward.
"It is not our way! You do not speak for us!"
Looking around, it seemed almost as if a firefight would break out between opposing factions as more blue-skinned people came to shout at each other. Finally, as if tensions weren't high enough, a troop of men in black skinned armor came in, weapons immediately fired into the air. He knew this was the police, what locals called "the Black."
"Disperse!"
Archer hastened behind a barrel hoping to at least make it far enough to get to La'lon where the queen was.
The woman with the white flowing hair saw him and shouted. "An off-worlder! We are in the war because of him and his people."
She and a couple of others grabbed his coat and took in into the middle of the square where people were heading to and fro. As he fought, without much success, he saw blue angry faces glaring at him and his pilot slinking off into the night. He tried explaining he was just a simple miner when suddenly a female who had glittering blue skin greeted them.
She was angelic. An aura emanated from her making her seem to glow. And the shimmering silverfish white dress she wore was long covering her feet and making it seem as if she was floating. Her skin was almost iridescent blue and she sparkled against the night sky. Unlike most Andorian women, she was short with long-flowing white locks and large, purple eyes. An entourage accompanied her of women who reminded Archer of Amazons – tall, fit Andorian women – who held spears in their hands.
Almost like music, her voice tingled the air as Archer's handheld hummed soothingly.
"My people," she said. "There can be no more bloodshed."
A few Andorians quickly dropped to the ground, bowing their heads in reverence. The female Andorian who began the disagreement wasn't one of them – her antennae squirming.
"You have fired on us. My littermate was in Thil'assan and he said he was hit by heavy fire from your people. From General Krag."
She leveled her weapon at the woman who stood her ground, calling off her Amazonian warriors. She shook her head, her white tresses fluttering in the wind. Walking gracefully over to the rebel, calmly and serenely.
"I would never turn my weapons on my people," she said. "There can be no more war between Andorians."
Gently placing her hand on the weapon aimed at her, she used her other hand to touch the female rebel. Almost instantly that rebel bowed in homage and respect. And then the angelic creature looked over at Archer, a whimsical smile playing on her lips – something he wondered is what lulled the people into acceptance and joy at her existence.
"A human?" she asked, her voice like butter, cutting through the night easily.
"I need to speak with you-" he began.
Finding her was alone, the people who'd held him already dropped to their knees in respect, he wondered whether he should do the same. A guard came over – a woman taller than he – and placed her hand on his shoulder forcing him to kneel.
Archer said, "Please, I am the arat for children who need your help."
"I have never had a human ask for my help, especially on behalf of Andorian children."
When he gazed into her eyes, he felt the same wave of relaxation hit him that must've struck everyone else. It almost made him feel sleepy. She was about to answer when a thick-necked Andorian approached. He knew it was General Krag.
Archer whispered to her, "My name is Jonathan Archer and it's important I talk with you. Please."
There was recognition in her eyes and surprise. Pushing some of her long mane out of her face, waited until Krag approached. "I would like to talk with this man."
Krag stuck out his chest and bellowed, "He is just a human."
He called over some additional men, "the Black," and they started to take him when the queen asked again, her voice like chimes so melodious Archer couldn't help but nod in agreement. "I said I would like to with this man," the queen restated.
Krag bowed slightly. She smiled and then walked off as a few of what he guessed was the queen's guard grabbed Archer and stuffed him in irons before pushing him in a flitter than seemed too small for all of them. The queen, he saw from the porthole, entered a silver chariot-like flitter and without much pomp or circumstance, left. His flitter followed.
"You're lucky she knows of you, Admiral Archer," one of the Amazonians said in perfect English. "She's been wanting to meet with you and heard you might be en route to see her."
"She was expecting me?" Archer asked.
The Andorian woman laughed. "There's an old Andorian saying – the universe is too small to avoid destiny. She was told she'd meet you this moon by our soothsayer."
There were too many questions to ask at that juncture and Archer waited as the vehicle approached La'lon.
[-]
T'Pol walked into the ministry she'd once been held captive and noticed how much it had changed. Tapestries hung on the wall with scrolled letters from Surak's teachings – about harmony, peace, knowledge, logic, and more. T'Pau seemed to notice her amazement and pointed to a seat. Unlike under V'Las, there were chairs connected like a couch in a large circle. With some hesitation, she sat down with Soval next to her.
He said, "We have made changes here in the Great Hall. I believe these are more in line with the teachings of the Kir'Shara."
She looked around and sensed her old friend tried to ease her mind. "Yes," she told him.
T'Pau seemed to leave many of the pleasantries behind, not having initiated her familial bond with her brother. "I hear the circumstances of your arrival were to use a human term, harrowing."
"They were troubling," Skon agreed.
"According to your data logs, you veered off course toward Admiral Archer's vessel," T'Pau said.
T'Pol looked over at Skon and they both were silent. T'Pau said, "Omission of the truth is a lie."
"No," Skon said. "It is omission of the truth." He then glanced over at T'Pol. "The circumstances of how we reached Admiral Archer's ship are … personal. To both of us. "
Soval ratcheted up an eyebrow and T'Pol looked away. "I see," T'Pau said. "Once there, Admiral Gardner indicated you were useful – helping the allies. He suggested more vessels could have been destroyed if not for you two."
Minister Kuvak added his congratulations. "It seems fortuitous you were there, under whatever circumstances you arrived."
T'Pau pointed her fingers under her chin, a gesture T'Pol had seen Skon perform many times. "That does not change my mind on rejoining the allies."
"They are already our allies. And they are allies who need our assistance in order to defeat our ancient brethren," Skon said.
She blinked at him. "My brother, you act as if you are agitated."
Skon straightened, folding his hands in his lap almost serenely. "Agitation is an emotion."
"Yes," T'Pau agreed. "Perhaps you have been on Earth and among humans too long."
He shook his head, a gesture T'Pol knew was uniquely human. "It might be true that hiding my emotions is more difficult now that I have been to Earth, but that does not change who our enemy is. Those who left beneath the raptors wings are cunning and it will take our involvement to stop them. Our allies do not understand what they face."
"Our goal is not to serve our allies, but protect the Vulcans. Our newly reformed culture that harken back to the old ways of logic and peace." She was resolute. "I grieve with our allies, but I cannot sanction the Vulcan people to help. It would destabilize Vulcan."
T'Pol disagreed. "V'Las was duplicitous, hiding information from us as he worked with our brethren. It would be like his reign, where there was a Vulcan High Command, to do nothing."
Kuvak said, "You two have not been on Vulcan. You do not understand the renaissance, the enlightenment we are undergoing. It has been … transformative. To delve back into the politics of our allies would hinder our progress."
Soval said, "Amabassador and Aide, you should know that the three of us do not agree in totality on our response. Having served alongside former Ambassador Shran, I know a Vulcan presence is necessary."
T'Pau said, "That is true. We did not convene though to discuss our position. You asked us, T'Pol, to discuss Coridan. You want us to pay their reparations."
T'Pol was surprised to get right to the heart of the matter so quickly, but nodded in agreement. "The Vulcans have an uncanny ability to alienate even the cultures and people we want to befriend. We went to Coridan for trade and peace, but ended up taking part in the civil war. Because of our involvement, the Coridan people have asked me to pay them for our mistake."
T'Pau said, "We do not have an ambassador to Coridan."
"We have no ambassador there. We were asked to leave after the civil war concluded. As part of my work as the Earth ambassador, they've contacted me," T'Pol said.
Minister Kuvak took Vulcanly umbrage with that statement. "It took significant diplomatic effort for them to release the previous ambassador. It was not his fault he followed the orders of V'Las."
T'Pol said, "Not all Vulcans followed the orders of V'Las, minister. You for example." She looked around the room. "All of us played a part in bringing the Kir'Shara back to Vulcan society – in word, in deed. I do not wish Ambassador Stin harm, but we must acknowledge his part in what happened on Coridan. He could have betrayed what he knew to be unfair. He did not."
Soval exhaled in a way that made T'Pol think it was almost a chuckle. "I do not think we are here to dispute injustice – in some ways – was done to the people of Coridan. But to pay reparations?"
"Do we not have the money to give?" T'Pol asked.
"That is beside the point," T'Pau said.
"How so?" T'Pol asked. She pulled out a PADD from her robes and read from the Kir'Shara – a section only newly available. "'When the masses are insistent on blame, why not accept the blame and work to correct the problem? After all, logic can be restored when fault is settled.'"
T'Pau sat back. "Ambassador, the passage you read has no bearing on this matter. In that passage, Surak was taking blame for the departure of our brethren, the Romulans. He told the Vulcan princess – as he lay dying – that he was responsible for them and the destruction they wrought."
Skon nodded. "How is that not appropriate, sister? Ambassador T'Pol has not only called Coridan into question, but it seems this passage is applicable to our entry into the war as well."
"'Peace is the highest pursuit of all Vulcans. To wage war, even those that seem just, is the way to chaos. Chaos is the mind killer. It dissolves logic, forcing emotion to overcome us.' Our way … our new way is of peace. We can support, but can cannot join," T'Pau said.
They debated back and forth passages of Surak's that pertained to Coridan and the allied war against the Romulans until late. Vulcan's second sun set casting long shadows in the bright conference room where the Kir'Shara was once unveiled by then Captain Archer. T'Pol sat back observing her long-time friend and mentor, Soval. He seemed weary as did Minister Kuvak though neither would ask for a recess on their behalf. Skon and T'Pau continued when T'Pol rose from her seat.
"I must apologize. It has been a long day and I require rest," she said. It wasn't a lie, she felt more weary than usual and attributed it to the travel and the discussion.
She did notice Skon's eyes on her and she tried to reassure him. "Perhaps we can continue this tomorrow morning."
T'Pau rang a ceremonial gong, one that sent an assistant in to provide a PADD. She looked over it and then agreed. "Yes, tomorrow at sun up. I have a few meetings that may distract me later."
T'Pol knew sunup was a Vulcan slang - not that there were many – for five in the morning. It was used to mean after meditation and a light morning meal. At this T'Pol nodded and suddenly felt dizzy. Steadying her hand against the table she noticed no one else saw it. Quietly, she walked to the entrance way and bowed slightly before leaving. Soval followed alongside Minister Kuvak. Kuvak though turned down a long hall back to his desk saying he had to attend to a few things.
"You look … tired," Soval said to her.
"Today has been a long day," she responded.
"That Earth saying never made sense. We have many more hours in our day than they do."
Another wave of dizziness came over her and this time Soval steadied her, his hand wrapped around her bicep. "T'Pol?"
She looked up at her mentor. "I should rest."
"I would like time alone with you, if that is possible," he said.
"My friend, I would like nothing better."
He seemed content and walked with her to her abode, where she would stay on Vulcan – at the ministry. Vulcans, unlike humans, found it wasteful to have abodes and work places separate. Though T'Pol wanted to at least visit the house where her mother lived, before she joined the Syrannites. When she reached her room she slid into a chair and closed her eyes. She'd wanted to think and meditate, but instead fell asleep.