Over the next few days, T'Pol stayed in bed, resting. Although her doctor indicated it was for her safety, she wondered if it could help her child, too. Her symptoms were more pronounced - pains enough to require more aggressive medications and a splitting headache. The agony in her head sometimes caused her to vomit and her vision to blur.
During her bed rest, she researched the files from Enterprise that Phlox had provided it - from the time they were stuck in the Expanse, before Lorian freed them. Apparently, during the early years of being trapped, Phlox had run DNA tests, at the request of the T'Pol who was stuck there. That T'Pol had questions, even before beginning a relationship with Trip, if there was anyone on Enterprise compatible with her DNA. After all, their new mission was procreation to continue the effort to save Earth.
Logical to determine the most viable DNA, T'Pol had to agree.
Early on, the DNA of a few potential partners were ruled out, including Jonathan. His blood type (B-) was incompatible with hers (T+). In addition, he carried Clarke's Disease. Although oftentimes in humans Clarke's Disease manifested after middle age, Phlox determined that same disease would show sooner in a Vulcan, including impacting a child still forming in the womb. Both issues ruled that Captain Archer out. Trip's blood type was O+ with few genetic issues. He was younger as well, which meant he was a more viable match.
According to the other T'Pol, though, Trip's DNA wasn't the reason - or the primary reason - she chose him as a partner. Still, she reviewed the other T'Pol's personal logs to get more insight into why Jonathan's DNA was reviewed by hers to determine viability. To her dissatisfaction, there was no information. Whatever compelled that T'Pol to see if her captain was a match would remain a mystery.
Even now, T'Pol believed Clarke's Disease may have had some influence on Silthar Syndrome. Premature aging, including a brain that wasn't fully formed, had already shown in her unborn child.
But it wasn't just Jonathan's DNA that proved problematic. That Trip and T'Pol needed assistance from Phlox to create a child, including injections to keep from rejecting a baby. T'Pol had read through the reports that she'd had two miscarriages, one that died in the womb and another that was Lorian's younger sister. That girl, T'Lizbet, perished at six months.
During her research, she wasn't surprised to understand that Phlox had provided the data on human and Vulcan genetics to the Science Academy. Despite embracing more of Surak's teachings, including Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations (IDIC), it seemed the scientists there dismissed the information as unneeded. Those scientists indicated humans and Vulcans would never mate and have offspring.
T'Pol knew those relations would indeed become necessary. Yet, T'Pol knew - after some investigation - likely not to Jonathan and her. It seemed inevitable this child would die and she and her bondmate would be unable to have another.
What was interesting to T'Pol is she never considered she wanted to be mother. T'Pol had a busy career as a science officer, scientist, and ambassador. Besides, her relationship with her own mother was strained for many years. In the end, T'Pol knew something that humans often touted - that her mother cared for her deeply. That was not always true for Vulcan mothers. The decisions her mother had made were to her benefit, understanding her immense curiosity and interest in emotion. It seemed such a waste to learn how deep the bond between her and her mother was just before her death.
Ironically, Jonathan had met and liked her mother. And she knew that her mother approved of him. It gave her some - humans might say - comfort.
T'Pol had also read in her personal logs about Lorian. She had cared for him deeply but gathered was not able to show him in a way that humans would understand was care. It seems over the years, the closest she came to feeling like a mother was when Terra Prime created a baby with her and Trip's DNA. It hurt, physically, when the child died.
Closing her eyes, she let the thoughts ruminate and attempted to enter a healing trance. She believed that may have the greatest ability to save her child.
[-]
The Ushaan was a duel to the death.
Opponents used gloves tethered together so that each fighter only had a range of a few feet. The Ushaan - mining - tools were much like the ones Jon and Shran used on Enterprise all those years ago; they were silver metallic and sharp enough to slice a digit off. Krag indicated they were used on the main arteries of an Andorian. The general also seemed dismayed when Archer explained he cut off Shran's antennae. According to Krag that was a move so beyond dignity, another Andorian would never do so.
Krag trained Archer to fight it over the next few days. Much like Dr. Phlox suggested when Jon fought Shran all those years ago, Krag advised him to keep moving and wear the Orion out. The Orions' had a higher metabolism as well, tiring easily.
The combat ring they trained in seemed to Jon more like a dark gym. Unlike Earth exercise facilities that had exercise machines for running, rowing, and lifting weights, the Andorians seemed to settle on fighting. That was the only exercise happening in possibly all Andoria. The gym was filled with five fighting rings, all circular, which together made up a giant fighting ring. Along the rings were weapons to fight - Ushaan tools, spears, tridents, nets, pikes, hammers, ropes that had spikes along them, whips, and more.
Nearly every day he practiced, a few of the handmaids were there fighting as well and taunting him in their clicks and squeaks.
As Jon trained, he continued to be plagued by headaches, abdominal pain, vertigo, as well as occasional nausea. Through his bond with T'Pol, he understood that the pregnancy was anything but routine. He also understood what he felt was a fraction of what she felt. She only let him feel what she couldn't control. It affected his fighting skills but made him more determined to get back to Vulcan as quickly as he could.
I can't lose her.
As Archer got knocked on his butt yet again by Krag, the Andorian loomed over him with his antennae whirling in anger.
"Pink Skin, you've agreed to contact Krag today!" he said. "If you want to defeat him, you'll need to focus." It sounded like an order.
Jon stood up as he got the impression some of the handmaids across the room were laughing at him. He threw them a frown.
"I know," Jon agreed.
Krag said, "By the stories about you, I assumed you were more ... robust."
Jon, when standing, noted the Andorian was shorter than maybe even Shran. Deciding to stifle any quips, Jon brushed himself off.
Krag continued, "You'll lose unless you do as we planned."
"I know," Jon grumbled. Krag's antennae launched forward. "I know."
"I'm not sure you're ready. The queen and I should-"
Jon knew the sooner this happened, the sooner he could get to Vulcan. He also understood as the guardian (arat or avat) for Shran's family, he needed to do this to enable Thy'lek, Jhamel, and the kids to return to Andoria. If he won, he knew that the military could enter more fully the war, helping humans as well as unite Andoria. Maybe even, he wondered, he would be excused from going AWOL.
"No," Jon said. "I can do this."
Krag didn't seem convinced. "A lot is on the line."
"Don't I know it," Jon agreed.
They left the combat ring and headed back to the queen's throne room. As they walked through the dark caverns that led up, reminding Jon of an anthill, Krag indicated the queen's spies had discovered that Shran and his family had been given immunity on Earth.
"Good," Jon said.
In the throne room, the queen paced nervously, which was unlike her.
"Krag, it's time," she said. The musical tones in her voice sounded urgent.
His antennae straightened and the two hurried to a room behind the throne room. Jon winced understanding that they were mating. Looking around, Jon tried finding a handmaid that seemed to be ever-present. But there weren't any. As he was about to head back to his room on his own, Krag emerged. The sum total was maybe five minutes.
That was fast!
"How long does it take for humans to mate?"
"Uh …."
"Inefficient," Krag said. By his shiver, it was clear the concept disgusted him. "Apes. Mating all day."
Archer fumbled, thinking of how to respond, when Krag cut the thought short. "You should contact the imposter now, as we practiced."
Ensuring Krag was out of viewing range, Archer went to the viewing station in the throne room. The device was white and shimmering, nearly like everything else in the palace. Jon punched in a few keys until the imposter's image showed on the small monitor in front of him. Much like the Krag Jon knew, he was puffing out his chest with a perceivable frown.
"Pink Skin!" he said with irritation.
Archer smiled, puffing up his chest, too. "I hear you're spreading rumors about me among the military ranks. That I'm old and that I'm not a suitable partner to the queen."
"You mean telling the truth, off-worlder?"
Archer frowned. "I'm calling on you for the Ushaan on behalf of the worker caste."
"The worker caste?!" the imposter asked, faltering on what the actual ritual was.
"Yes, you've attacked them without reason. And the queen is unhappy." Archer asked, "Or are you scared?"
"An Andorian is never afraid!" the imposter bellowed.
"Then see you at sunup tomorrow, outside the palace grounds - in front of the Fountains of the Founders."
Archer then ended the communication, figuring the Orion would need time to figure out what the Ushaan was. Krag laughed, commenting the Orion's antennae didn't even move. Jon had noticed the same. He felt his eyebrow poke up in the same way T'Pol's might have.
"Why don't other Andorians notice?" Jon asked.
"The imposter has few interactions with them." He put a hand on Archer's shoulder. "Get some rest. I understand humans need an inordinate amount of time to sleep." Archer then heard him mutter, "Probably all that time mating."
About to correct him, Archer decided maybe it made sense to get some rest and take an analgesic to reduce the pain beginning to creep back into his head. He walked through the caverns that made up the palace, a handmaid escorting him. She seemed to size him up, and he shrugged to her.
"Spoken for," he said.
The handmaid laughed and before heading outside clicked something that the translator said: in your dreams. A chuckle left his lips and he laid on his bed thinking about his bondmate, sending her strength and peace as best he could. He knew that's what Surak would've done for his bondmate.
In an uneasy peace, he fell asleep.
[-]
Shran looked around and noted the move from the hotel to Starfleet grounds, now that he had immunity, was a step up in many ways. Yes, the room decor seemed like a giant advert for Starfleet - the crest on every towel, the crest on cards in case someone needed to physically write a note, the room decorated in blues and golds, and even the soaps pressed into the Starfleet triangles.
But the Starfleet accommodations included climate controls in a way the hotel didn't have. Instead of rush to the ice machine to refill bathtubs often, they could turn the thermostat down to nearly zero degrees Celsius. The food served met more of their nutritional requirements, too. Fresh seafood seemed easy to come by, including Andorian and Aenar appetites for live fish. Everyone ate heartily, after skipping meals for some time.
Best of all, his family was able to be with him and stay safe. Being away from Shras for so long made Shran feel like a bad father, despite his Aenar wife embracing the role of childrearing - something that Andorian fathers usually did.
His daughter complained the bed was too soft, but by this point Shran had become used to an overly soft bed with feathers. Shran even became used to closets where humans hung their clothes. In his own closet hung three black suits, two robes for Jhamel, and smaller black leather outfits for his children.
Really, the only thing that bothered Shran was that he was under the watch of Starfleet. Of course, it was necessary, but it made him feel confined.
A chime ring interrupted his thoughts as Jhamel bathed the child in ice saying Shran would need to open the door. It was Gral. He was dressed in a Starfleet robe that Shran guessed was for human women or children.
"There is no mud bath in my room!" Gral said, bursting in.
The Starfleet security officers next to him chuckled some as the pig grunted at them. He marched in and then curled his lips around his large teeth.
"It's freezing in here!" Gral said.
"Isn't it great?" Shran agreed. "Finally, a good temperature."
Gral sat on Shran's bed. "At least I can add humidity in my room. My temperature is set for nearly thirty degrees. Of course, I set the gravity lighter."
"I enjoy a strong gravity. Is Martog joining you?" Shran asked.
"She is safe on Tellar. Traveling would be risky."
"I'm glad she's safe." Shran put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I can't believe we just sit around and wait."
"Simon indicated we should. It's like Gendok's ploy for patience. It was one of the most difficult concepts to understand when arguing. I was never particularly good at it. Letting your opponent fumble is difficult to wait for."
Shran sighed, his antennae drooping. "Andorians have no stomach for patience either. The Vulcans though, they've perfected that maneuver."
Gral said, "Now that we are safe at Starfleet, we should contact Skinny."
Shran agreed, "Simon said Starfleet jams signals."
Gral said, "Simon also let me know that Skon is representing Vulcan."
"Skip?" Shran asked. "Why?"
"I don't know. But apparently, Skinny hasn't raised a fuss … a Vulcan fuss at least."
"You know a few months ago, I would've called T'Pau a tarpig for such a thing, but … Skip's shown he has fire."
Gral laughed, a squeal. "I wouldn't call it fire - more like loyalty to us."
"Yeah. Who would've thought?" Shran asked.
Considering loyalty, Sharan had a hard time believing Archer was a deserter. If an Andorian had ever left the Imperial Guard in such a way, we would've been executed. It also made the Andorian consider his own service, including his secret mission to help with the dilithium crystals. It caused his antenna to droop and he gave a sigh.
Still, Shran knew Archer would never abandon T'Pol unless it was necessary.
Gral said, "Archer has loyalty, but agreeing to mate with your queen …."
"Mating … with our queen." Shran felt a gag coming on, the eel he'd eaten earlier slithering back up. With a deep swallow, he felt it wriggle down again. "Our queen will consume the Pink Skin, and this will leave the Vulcan by herself."
"Why would your queen consume him?"
Sometimes Gral was thick. "Because after a successful mating, that's what happens. She uses the nutrients from his body to feed her babies."
Gral said, "That's strange. Always she consumes her mate?"
"Always," Shran said. "Maybe Archer won't be successful. And the queen's brother will change gender and lead us. I've heard he has a zha from the working class as his consort."
"Andorian customs are strange," Gral complained.
Shran would've been offended years ago, but now he gave a laugh. As if Gral shared in the humor, he grunted and then they both walked over to the Starfleet seal on a cabinet and activated the viewscreen. The doors gave way to a screen with the seal floating in midair.
"The humans must worship this logo," Gral said. "It's on every taglok thing!"
Shran hadn't considered that. Gral gave another grunt and then called up T'Pol on the nearby screen. Even to Shran, the Vulcan seemed a lighter green color, as if sick. Her forehead had small beads of sweat. Instantly, Shran's antennae fell.
"Shran. Gral," she said. Even the way she said it was with strained emotion. Shran could hear it in her voice.
"You all right?" Shran asked. "You look terrible. Not as green? Greener? I don't know what's normal."
"I'm with child," she told him.
This floored both Gral and Shran. Shran felt a smile emerge from antennae to antennae.
"I knew the two of you would end up tyla tora with a brood of your own."
Gral asked, "Is a Vulcan-human hybrid possible, Skinny?"
She was about to answer when Shran suddenly had a terrible thought. Despite just saying nice things about Skip, he wondered if the child belonged to the Vulcan.
"Is it Skip's?! If it's Skip's, I'll cut his ears off and feed them to the lystoka on -"
"No. No, my child belongs to Jonathan," T'Pol said, wincing, clearly in pain. Reaching over she provided an analgesic to her neck.
"Are you okay?" Gral asked.
"You asked if a Vulcan human hybrid is possible, Gral - perhaps, but it seems likely I will lose this child," she said.
This struck Shran and he frowned, his antennae nearly hitting his forehead. For a moment, he had imagined Shras playing with a little pinkish-green hairy ape with pointed ears. He decided the creature would have emotions and smile at the smallest joke. Shran even imagined helping this child with his fighting skills as neither of his parents would do an adequate job.
"I'm sorry," Gral said.
"Is there anything we can do?" Shran asked.
"Help Skon. He is helping Vulcan, including getting information about Coridan's minister."
Shran said, "There's little we can do there, T'Pol. Neither of us are in good standing with our government right now."
He and Gral explained what had happened since T'Pol and Archer left for the front. Though neither were incredibly happy with the humans, Shran and Gral indicated how the prime minister had agreed to provide immunity. Sanctuary. They even stated Neville Simon's role in their protection.
What neither told T'Pol was that it was in exchange for information about Archer. Shran was certain the humans would send people to Andoria to take Archer, maybe the mysterious spy organization Archer had mentioned once - a section of Starfleet. He hoped when the Pink Skin arrived on Earth, he could convince his fellow humans to let him go. The Pink Skin seemed skilled that way - the ability to avoid certain peril.
T'Pol said, "Jonathan is on Andoria now to help your family regain the ability to return to Andoria."
"I thought he was helping the queen," Shran said, surprised.
"That is what she wants people to believe," T'Pol responded.
"Great grendal!" Shran said. "He's there for me?"
"Your family, including your brother, and the allies."
"Sav?" Shran asked.
"Yes, he spoke with Sav recently," T'Pol responded.
It seemed another wave of pain came over her, more abrupt than the others. Gral grunted at her as Shran wondered what exactly Sav would have to say. These days, he'd heard his younger littermate was a mercenary who'd left the military. As a gem thief, he couldn't exactly admonish him for such a profession. Still, he thought his brother could serve their family well and would climb up the ranks to lead Andorian vessels.
"Skinny, you should be seeing a doctor," Gral said, concerned.
"I am under a physician's care," she said. "I've been resting for some time."
Shran wished they were there to assist her. After all, he recalled her being in his hospital room helping him. Gral seemed to exchange a worried glance as she squirmed, the pain seeming to increase.
"We'll call tomorrow," Gral said.
"Rest up," Shran told her.
When they ended the call, they both voiced how they wished they could get to Vulcan to help her. Maybe, they surmised, it was worth talking with Skon to get her additional help. In the meantime, Shran wondered whether he should talk with Reed. Although he wasn't sure the human was part of the secret spy organization, it stood to reason he may be. After all, Reed was the most Andorian of everyone on Enterprise.
[-]
Skon checked on T'Pol. He could tell she was unwell and hoped that resting would bring her back to health. She asked him to stay focused on T'Rama and Coridan, and he felt obliged to agree, despite his concern for T'Pol.
Skon prepared his short table and the pillows to welcome T'Rama to his home. Because it was low to the ground, Vulcans lay down amongst the pillow to chat and talk. The idea was that they were comfortable, but not too comfortable as to let emotion overtake them.
Like T'Rama, he enjoyed tapestries of colors not found in abundance on Vulcan - blues, greens, and purples. He also had acquired a few things while on Earth he enjoyed displaying - a small wooden replica of a ship with a sail and a watercolor of a turtle.
An orange liquid was on the table with two small glasses that looked like tubes. He'd spent time dusting the sand from crevices and sweeping it away as well as righting furniture. When the gong rang outside his home, he looked in the mirror using his hand to flatten his hair.
As a boy there was always a part that stood up. Even now, as an adult, he had to use oil to keep it down.
T'Rama produced the Vulcan greeting, but it was clear she wanted to be anywhere else. Her hair swept up with a ringlet hanging down. Instead of wearing the robes of her profession, she was dressed in attire more suited for an informal gathering. Her dress was green, metallic, and seemed to shimmer in the fading suns' light.
"Greetings," Skon said.
"I am here at your sister's request. Because she is our minister, the mother of Vulcan, I agreed to come here for your apology."
He swallowed. "I apologize."
Then, she turned on her heel as if she had better things to do.
"I was hoping we could discuss the disagreement," he said.
She stopped and turned to him, her eyes narrowed. "I believed our negotiation for a bond over."
"Is it?" he asked. "The end of our negotiation would be … unsatisfactory to me."
T'Rama said, "As an ambassador, I would think you would have more of a talent for negotiation."
It seemed she was about to turn to leave again, when Skon decided to do something that humans would call rash. He felt his voice uneven and his tone hurried.
Skon said, "You were correct when you said your work was important. You are a scientist and teacher, well renowned, who has identified an interesting hypothesis. You should remain on Vulcan."
This seemed to cause her to pause.
"I was …." He faltered, searching for the word and could only come up with an emotional one. "If we are to become bonded, you will know my feelings - I want a family."
"Want - it is an emotion."
"Vulcans have emotions, we just choose to control them," he told her. "Yes, I feel want. I want a family and a wife, a partner, to help me should I go to Earth. But your logic and your work have merit. I believe we can come to an agreement should you wish to continue our bond - you should stay here."
He figured it was a chance and she seemed intrigued rather than repelled.
"I appreciate your honesty," she said. "To me, that is more vital than emotional control. I want a family as well."
Inviting her in, he helped her sit on the pillows scattered out on the floor. He poured the orange liquid into the glasses and they discussed a variety of things - how her mate had perished and her brother's death. They discussed her interest in science and mathematics, but also her interest in other cultures. She collected trinkets from across the universe and seemed curious about other cultures, including Earth. It was something they had in common. She asked questions about him - how his wife had died as well as his relationship with T'Pau. The pok tar was ready and he served it for her as he played music from Earth - jazz - as they discussed the planet.
She asked about Earth customs, clearly astonished at so many. T'Rama was curious what a species would do with so much water. So Skon discussed how some humans soaked in it, which they both agreed was a waste of resources because it was inefficient. On Vulcan, they collected every drop of water that fell and often recycled that water. Skon even mentioned water sports, including the one he knew Archer had participated in - water polo.
He also enjoyed recalling strange human customs - how some solemn events (such as funerals) had laughter, that humans enjoyed comedians - people who told jokes as a profession, and how humans announced they needed to use the restroom. T'Rama was as perplexed as Skon was before he arrived on Earth. It tickled his stomach to tell these tales and gave him great satisfaction that she was equally mystified and enthralled.
Hardly any time seemed to pass at all, but it was already late in the evening and the second sun had finally set. They had talked about everything except their bond. As T'Rama was walking to the door, Skon used two fingers and ran them along her bare forearm. It was considered forward even among Vulcans, an embrace saved for those caught in the fires or bonded.
"You make assumptions," T'Rama said.
Skon was about to apologize when T'Rama placed her fingers on his lips. It was a gesture even more forward than his. His lips tingled and he knew at the connection she was just as attracted to him as he was to her.
"We should start a bond soon," she told him.
"Soon?"
"Tomorrow?" she asked.
"Yes," he agreed.
"Perhaps you can visit my abode after work."
"Yes," he said, almost too quickly.
"I look forward to exchanging a meld," she said.
Skon had to admit, the idea excited him, too. "As do I."
She raised two fingers and he met them. Although the touch was brief, he could sense her thoughts and knew it thrilled her. He hoped to impart it thrilled him, too.
She then left.
Skon reflected on their connection. Vulcan bondings were often arranged for convenience. It was intended to provide the best possible progeny and as a tool for alliances. Rarely was it used because of deeper feelings or a more meaningful connection. To have felt both in a short period of time bode well.
He'd have to meditate on the idea and prepare for the next day. Maybe after their bonding, he could ask about the Coridan's minister's son. He realized, with some dismay, this should've been more of his focus.