Stardate 2260.75
The door closed behind the First Minister. "Is Voris ok?"
"I have been unable to communicate with him, but there is no reason to believe he has incurred harm," Sarek explained. "Earlier today he boarded a cargo vessel to treat its injured crew and passengers. A short time later, the New Vulcan High Council received a report that there was an outbreak of Orion lungworm on Bergeron Colony, a collective on the southern continent of Cestus III from which the cargo vessel originated."
"So what does that mean?" Dagny was so dizzy she had to grip the back of the couch to stay upright.
"The ship has been quarantined for a minimum of three days while New Vulcan health authorities investigate the matter."
"Is Orion lungworm very dangerous?"
"I have been informed it does not infect humans, though humans can transmit it. It causes a mild respiratory illness in Orions but it is far more serious for Vulcanoid species. It was eradicated in the Federation through an aggressive vaccination program and ten years after the last reported case, Vulcan physicians ceased vaccinating against the disease. While the report from Cestus III is dubious, the High Council is unwilling to risk exposing an unvaccinated population to Orion lungworm."
"So he isn't coming back for three days?" What was she going to do?
"Possibly longer," Sarek admitted. "I am working with the interim government to resolve the matter as quickly as possible but in the meantime, I invite you to stay with me."
"In your house?" Dagny asked, wishing she could unsay the ridiculous words as soon as they'd left her mouth. She doubted he would invite her to sleep in his outdoor storage shed.
"I believe that was the implication."
She nearly launched into a gracious refusal on instinct, ready to claim she didn't want to be a bother and didn't need anything, but that wasn't entirely true. She needed food. She would eventually need medical care. And she didn't know how to get those things without any money, or even where to get them.
"I am not in the habit of making offers to be polite," Sarek continued. "I offer because I appreciate the difficulty of your situation."
She nodded and said, "Thank you."
"I have a car waiting," the minister replied. "Take whatever time you need to collect your belongings."
"I don't have much," she admitted, taking a few steps and sliding her hands along the back of the couch for support. "Can I bring Harold?"
"I do not understand."
"He's Voris' cat," she explained, feeling saliva pooling in her mouth again, signaling that she was on the verge of dry heaving again. "Voris lets him roam the neighborhood to hunt, but he-" She took a breath to keep from retching. "He uh, he comes back every couple of days for water and food."
Sarek paused, giving the impression he was recalling some distant memory. "You may bring the cat."
"Thank you," she mumbled, before forcing herself to say more loudly, "Thank you."
"Do you require any assistance?"
"I think I can manage," she replied, stopping at the edge of the couch and dreading having the walk down the long hallway on her own two feet. She was exhausted. She was trembling. She was hungry and nauseated and dizzy.
"Are you well, Miss Skjeggestad?"
"Just a little tired," she lied. "I'll be ok."
As if to prove her point, she let go of the corner of the couch and proceeded toward the back bedroom. She made it exactly six steps before her left knee hit the tile floor with a loud "thunk." That was the last thing she remembered.
Voris surveyed the cargo bay, straining his eyes against the dim light to find a focal point. He sat on the floor of the observation deck, his legs splayed out in front of him and his back protesting from the uncomfortable position. His colleagues were asleep in the cramped guest quarters the captain had provided. He couldn't sleep through T'Nar's snoring so he'd sought out a quiet place to meditate, but meditation was a poor substitute for rest. He was troubled.
The New Vulcan High Council had refused to allow him, Veran, T'Nar, and Selaara back on the planet's surface out of fears of Orion lungworm. He sensed that the New Vulcan government had concerns about the Oglethorpe that extended beyond public health—they wouldn't have cutoff transmissions between the ship and the planet below based solely on fears of an outbreak—but that was the current justification for refusing to allow anyone to disembark.
Several hours ago, the Vulcan Health Ministry had sought his assistance in confirming the presence of Orion lungworm on the ship, so he'd taken blood and saliva samples from everyone on board and then transported the samples to a Vulcan medical ship in orbit where physicians could run tests in a contained environment.
He had requested that Veran, T'Nar, and Selaara be transported to the Vulcan ship as well for the three-day quarantine. He had agreed to stay on the Oglethorpe because there were patients who required ongoing care, and though the New Vulcan Heath Ministry had initially agreed to this arrangement, just before the transport was scheduled to happen, the New Vulcan Security Ministry had denied the request. They had also denied his request to send a message to Dagny, even through a third party. It now seemed that whatever happened, their fates had become intertwined with the crew of the Oglethorpe the moment they'd materialized on the transporter pad.
He understood the necessity of exercising caution if Orion lungworm was suspected to be aboard the vessel. Orion lungworm was a highly contagious airborne virus, not a parasite like the Bolian lungworm or the Terran rat lungworm. The disease was one of the most infectious viruses known to medical science—a susceptible individual coming into contact with an infected person had a ninety-eight percent chance of contracting it. It was also such a tiny microbe that it was not always removed by transporter biofilters. It was only known to cause disease in Orions and Vulcanoids, but most species, including humans, were capable of passively carrying the virus without exhibiting symptoms.
Orions would typically only suffer a three to seven day period of mild wheezing and coughing, but Vulcans, Romulans, and Rigelians often descended into respiratory failure without adequate medical intervention. Even with advanced medical treatment, it had a 15.4 percent mortality rate among Vulcans and a nineteen percent mortality rate among Rigelians. Morbidity among Romulans was unknown due to insufficient data, but there was no reason to believe they were immune.
The disease had been eradicated from the Federation after a successful vaccination program and there hadn't been a single case reported in more than forty years, but that data was only relevant within the Federation. It was possible there were reservoirs of the disease outside the Federation, and because Bergeron colony was home to many non-Federation species, it was also possible Orion lungworm could have made its way to Cestus III.
So it was logical for the High Council to exercise caution, since a large percentage of the New Vulcan population had either never been vaccinated or had waning immunity because so much time had transpired since their last immunization. Voris fell into the latter category, but he was not particularly concerned: he doubted whether anyone on the Oglethorpe was carrying the microbe. Given that it had an incubation period of two to seven Standard days and the crew and passengers of the Oglethorpe lived in such close quarters, it was a near impossibility that the two Orions and Romulan aboard the ship could have made the twenty-two-day journey from Cestus III to New Vulcan without falling ill if the virus were actually on board.
He had no doubt that the Security and Health Ministries understood this. He hadn't mentioned Rhaal in his report to the Health Ministry, but he had mentioned the Orions. He had included information about their medical histories, indicating that neither of them had ever been vaccinated against Orion lungworm, nor had they been sick at any point during their journey. When he'd explained the situation to Captain Diels, Diels had compared his Orion crewmembers to "canaries in coal mines," whatever that meant. Given the facts as he understood them, Voris would be very shocked to learn that anyone on board was actually infected with or passively carrying Orion lungworm.
So he had his suspicions that the quarantine was a pretense for something else, but as to what that was, it would be illogical to speculate. In the meantime, he was stuck aboard a ship in orbit of his home planet with no way to contact anyone on the surface.
It was 0358 hours. Voris had been due back at his home nearly nine hours ago. How was Dagny managing? She had enough medication to last for weeks and she had an endless supply of food from the replicator, unless the power went out, as it occasionally did.
Worry nibbled at him. Resetting the replicator following a power failure was an arduous process and he ought to have considered that possibility. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, reminding himself there was nothing he could do and that Dagny was intelligent and resourceful.
She was also human. Even if she possessed the things necessary for survival, he understood the typical human disliked being completely alone for extended periods of time. They were social creatures poorly suited to solitude.
The door creaked open and the small, round face of a woman appeared in the doorway. "Someone said you'd come in here; I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"No," he replied, facing forward once again.
"I brought you some plomeek soup," she said. "I figured it's almost breakfast time and I noticed you didn't eat much at dinner."
His stomach grumbled at her offering. She held out a simple gray bowl with steam wafting up from the top. "I am grateful to you," he answered, accepting the dish.
"Mind if I sit?" she asked.
"Please," he replied.
She slid down the wall and folded her legs underneath her body. "I've never had plomeek soup but Velara programmed it into the replicators. Said it was her grandmother's recipe."
Velara was a Vulcan name. Voris recalled Captain Diels explaining that Bergeron colony was home to people of all species and creeds, so perhaps there were Vulcans residing there as well. An intriguing thought.
He picked up the small spoon that was resting in the bowl and drew it to his mouth. The rich textures and distinct flavors made it difficult to believe it had come from a replicator. It reminded him of his own foremother's plomeek broth. He began to eat steadily.
"My name is Ann."
"I am Voris."
"It's nice to meet you. Thank you so much for coming aboard when you didn't have to."
"Your gratitude is unnecessary."
"I disagree. You saved Nicolas' life. My son. I was sure he was going to die from the decompression, but he woke up a little while ago. He's going to pull through."
"I am a healer," he replied. "I was merely performing my duty."
"I know this whole mess is keeping you away from your family and I just wanted to say how sorry I am."
"I fail to see how you are at fault," he replied, thinking of Dagny and wondering if she really constituted a family. "It is an unfortunate situation, but it will be resolved."
"Yeah, Captain Diels says the damage isn't as bad as he initially thought and thinks he can get it repaired in under two weeks so we shouldn't be in orbit much longer."
"Do you intend to continue on to Nausicaa?"
"Don't really have a choice. There are five hundred tons of lithium, lithium-6, and dilithium on this ship. People back home worked six months to mine it. They're counting on us to get it delivered and bring back some much-needed supplies. Besides, Nausicaa is only four days away at warp 5, assuming we can coax the engine into going that fast."
"Will you permit me a query about Bergeron colony?"
"You don't have to ask," she laughed. "Just ask."
It occurred to him that Dagny had once said a similar thing. As he came to that realization, he decided this woman reminded him of Dagny quite a bit. Though Ann was easily twice Dagny's age and had hair caught between gold and silver, they both radiated a similar pragmatic yet kind personality.
"Captain Diels said your colony was inclusive and that you admitted species from worlds that have been historically hostile to the Federation."
"Yes, it's true. I'm guessing you want to know how it's working out?"
"Yes."
"I won't lie—it hasn't been perfect, but I think it's a good enough place. We've got almost a thousand people now. With having so many people from so many different planets, we've had some bumps. We've had to ask a few people to leave because they couldn't get along, but that's pretty rare. Most of the people who come to Bergeron colony were rejected by their own people and I get the sense they're just tired. I see it mostly with the Romulans, but it's obvious in the Klingons, Nausicaans, and Gorn too. They're tired of fighting for their government or being persecuted by it—they just want to live their lives, you know? So we get by with very simple rules. No killing, no stealing, everyone contributes, no one gets left behind."
"Captain Diels said Rhaal was returning to Romulus to collect his family. Are there children there?"
"Oh yes. In some ways it's more of a community than a colony I suppose. I have four children of my own. You already know Nicolas—he's seventeen and almost full grown, but my youngest is nine. My other children stayed home with my husband."
"And you feel it is an environment safe and conducive for raising children?"
Ann laughed. "I spent more than half my life on a salvage ship, so 'safe' is probably relative to me. Maybe some people would think it's crazy to raise a family so near the Klingon border, but a life in space taught me that safety is an illusion. I mean, Vulcan was supposed to be a safe place to raise a family."
Voris raised an eyebrow and Ann suddenly seemed to remember she was speaking with a Vulcan. "I- I'm so sorry," she stammered. "I stick my foot in my mouth all the time. I didn't mean to offend-"
"You speak truly," he interrupted.
"I guess what I meant to say is life at Bergeron colony isn't easy, mind you, but it's really grown up over these last three years. We have a school and even a clinic now. Of course, Velara died three months ago and we haven't found a replacement doctor. We have Aisla—she's a nurse—but she's in over her head. I don't suppose you know anyone who'd want a job as a doctor on a remote colony world? Or even a paramedic?"
Dagny awoke what felt like seconds later, lying flat on her back on a biobed and staring up at two Vulcan faces and two medical tricorders. One was a woman she didn't know, but the other was a man she could never forget. He was Dr. Sevek, the surgeon who had kept her sane aboard the Albret in the immediate aftermath of the Battle of Vulcan.
Where was she? A hospital of some kind, obviously, but why? A gush of nausea swept over her and a painful hunger cramp hit her stomach. It started coming back to her. Sarek had been in the apartment and she must have fainted.
"Miss Skjeggestad, can you hear me?" Dr. Sevek asked.
"Dr. Sevek?"
"Yes. It is good to see you again," he remarked, lowering his tricorder. "Though the circumstances are regrettable."
"Where am I?"
"The Va'ashiv district hospital."
"Am I ok? Is the baby ok? Where is Sarek?"
The woman handed Dr. Sevek a PADD and left the room. His eyes flicked down at the information on the screen and he nodded. "The First Minister is waiting in the lobby. The intake information indicates he called for an emergency transport when you lost consciousness in your home three minutes ago. Your neural scans appear clear, though I would like to perform an additional assessment to rule out a concussive injury."
She'd been transported and scanned in less than three minutes. Vulcans were nothing if not efficient.
"I have a mild headache, dizziness, and nausea, but I had those before," she explained, beginning to run through the standard concussion screening from memory. "It's been some time since I've eaten and I'm currently-" She hesitated to explain her condition. She didn't really know Dr. Sevek that well, but somehow admitting her situation to him felt incredibly awkward. He was a doctor, but he worked in the same hospital as Voris. They probably knew each other. Maybe Dr. Sevek already knew.
"You are currently what, Miss Skjeggestad?"
"I'm five weeks pregnant with a high-risk Vulcan hybrid pregnancy," she finished. "But I don't have any neck pain or vision or hearing disturbances. I don't think I have a concussion, but if you want to do your own exam, I understand."
Dr. Sevek gave a small nod. "I have yet to review your medical file, but the nurse is checking your blood work now. You claim you haven't eaten for some time. Please specify."
"It's been more than twenty-four hours," she admitted.
He swiped his fingers across the PADD several times and said, "I see physicians on Aldebaran, my colleague Dr. Voris, and Dr. Govorski from the Kanunsh'es district hospital have all instructed you to gain weight. I also see no evidence of a psychological aversion to food, an emotional disorder involving obsessive weight loss, or a condition or medication that would suppress your appetite. Are you unable to obtain food?"
"Um, in a way, I guess," she muttered, biting her lip.
Her face grew hot. It was humiliating to explain to a distinguished surgeon that his colleague had gotten her pregnant and left her alone in his quarters but he never came back and she couldn't figure out how to use the replicator and didn't have any idea how to find or buy non-replicated food. She tried being as vague as possible and left Voris' name out of it because she wasn't sure how much Dr. Sevek knew, but he wasn't stupid. It didn't take Vulcan logic to put all the pieces together, and when she was done explaining that she didn't have anorexia so much as a complete inability to function in a society bigger than a medium-sized salvage ship, she noticed his jaw tighten slightly.
The longer she spent in the company of Vulcans, the more she was learning to read their muted facial expressions. He seemed uncomfortable, even if he would never admit it, and all she wanted to do was hide in a hole and pretend like none of it had ever happened.
Thankfully the nurse returned and broke the awkwardness before the silence grew unbearable. She said something inaudible to Dr. Sevek as she handed him a PADD, and after he skimmed the information, he said, "Your blood work indicates you are anemic and hypoglycemic, which are easily explained by your recent radiation exposure and lack of food. I would like to perform additional scans to ensure the fetus remains healthy, but it appears you have suffered an episode of syncope due to insufficient blood sugar. I shall have the orderly fetch a nutritional supplement. Do you wish me to notify First Minister Sarek of your current status?"
"Is he still here?" she sputtered, horrified at the thought of the most important person on the planet was hanging around a hospital waiting room all because she'd fainted.
"I am told he is."
Dagny groaned inwardly. It took another hour and a half for Dr. Sevek to determine she and the baby were not in any immediate danger. The nurse gave her dextrose tablets and a bowl of soup that tasted like thick, potato-flavored sweat, but she was so famished she didn't care. Her nausea faded almost immediately as the food hit her stomach, but the hunger pangs were replaced by tiredness.
It was 2358 hours when he released her from the hospital with instructions to eat small balanced meals at least five times per day and follow up with Dr. Govorski. Dagny was getting tired of being a patient, but she was sure there was a lot more of this in her future. She was practicing what she would say to Sarek in her head but the hallway into the main lobby was much shorter than she thought, and when she wandered into the waiting room, she found him sitting upright in a chair closest to the door and her rehearsed composure faded. The moment Dagny appeared, everyone turned to look at her.
There were four other Vulcans sitting in the waiting room. They sat opposite their First Minister, and the scene would have felt comical were it not so mortifying. They were trying hard to look like they weren't curious about the New Vulcan First Minister's presence in a hospital waiting room on a random night, but they weren't fooling anyone.
"Are you ready to depart?" Sarek asked, rising to his feet.
She nodded and gave him a thin smile, then wondered if smiling was appropriate. Probably not. She followed him outside to a long, black car that was waiting at the curb. Unlike the self-piloting cars she'd ridden in with Voris, this one had a driver, and the moment Sarek appeared, he exited the vehicle and opened the door. She waited for Sarek to get in—he was the more important person after all and she didn't want to assume she was entitled to the same treatment as a planetary leader—but he motioned for her to enter first.
She slid into the seat, thinking the soft texture of the fabric was the nicest thing she'd ever touched. She wanted to squeeze it and rub her face on it and she might have, if the First Minister wasn't there.
She halfway expected him to ask if she was ok, but he didn't. He simply asked, "Would you prefer to collect your belongings yourself or will you permit me to send a member of my staff?"
She would prefer the option that troubled everyone else the least, but she recognized there was no such choice. Sarek had already spent so much of his night attending to her, so the thought that she would make him drive all the way back to Voris' quarters just so she could pick up Harold, her PADD, her medicine, and the two bags of clothes she owned made her cringe. But sending a member of his staff to run a personal errand for her also felt wrong and she wasn't sure she wanted a Vulcan stranger rifling through her underwear. And what if they forgot something? Then she would have to go back.
"Your silence suggests you are deliberating the option which inconveniences me least."
She ran her bottom teeth along her upper lip. It was like he could read her mind. "You've already gone so far out of your way to help me."
"And my assistance would be irrelevant if you did not arrive at my home fully provisioned to care for yourself."
"I guess I would prefer to do it," she mumbled.
Sarek lowered the privacy divider between the backseat and the driver and gave him instructions to return to Voris' home. It was a short trip. She tried to be quick but the gravity of the planet still exhausted her and Harold was less than pleased at the idea of being shoved in a crate that she'd found at the back of Voris' closet. It took five minutes to collect her things and thirty more to convince Harold that captivity wouldn't hurt him.
Eventually they returned to the car with Harold uttering a series of throaty growls from inside the crate. Before they left, Dagny patched up the shallow scratches on Sarek's driver's hands with the dermal regenerator Voris had left her. As the car pulled away from the housing development, she brushed the tips of her fingers along the luxurious fabric of the car seats and said, "Thank you so much for helping me, First Minister."
"Your gratitude is unnecessary. It was logical to assist you when I learned of my nephew's circumstances."
"Have you talked to him?"
"The Security Ministry would not permit me at this juncture."
Dagny was about to ask how they could do that if he was in charge of the Security Ministry, but she realized she didn't know how the New Vulcan government worked. Maybe the Security Ministry didn't answer to the First Minister. She knew the Coridan military was completely independent from the Coridan civilian government, so maybe the New Vulcan Security Ministry worked the same way. Or maybe he was in charge but didn't want to press the issue for some political reason. Voris had referred to him as the interim First Minister and had said he was campaigning to be elected to a permanent position, so maybe there was some other reason he wasn't leaping to his nephew's aid.
Politics were frustrating. She didn't know much about the inner workings of New Vulcan's political atmosphere, but she wasn't a complete stranger to politics either. A transient life on a salvage ship had given her a firsthand look at what power struggles and internal conflicts could do, especially to innocent bystanders. The Federation raised and lifted its embargos on Orion goods almost every other year, depending on how connected the Orion government was to the Orion Syndicate at any given time. She remembered being ten years old and spending a tense few weeks stuck behind a Nausicaan blockade in Ithen's orbit.
She never really understood the point of political maneuvering, but she understood that it happened. At the root was the need to maintain power, resources, or relationships. It would be so much easier if people could just get along.
"May I ask a personal query?"
She hid a blossoming smile, wondering why Vulcans so often felt compelled to ask if they could ask a question that would be considered even remotely personal. "Of course."
"Do you know a woman named Ann Svendsen, or her son, Nicolas?"
"Of course I do!" she replied, unable to hide the excitement in her voice. "She was on the Albret. The whole Svendsen family was. She's actually my father's second cousin. They left the ship right after the incident at Vulcan and moved to Cestus III."
"Have you spoken with her recently?"
"I haven't talked to any of the Svendens since the day they left Andoria. I guess it's been more than a year and a half now."
"I see."
"Why do you ask, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Ann and Nicolas Svendsen are currently aboard the Oglethorpe, the vessel Dr. Voris boarded yesterday morning. They come from a non-sanctioned Federation colony called Bergeron colony, and the Federation Security Service has concerns it is harboring terrorists."
"That doesn't make any sense. The Svendsens aren't terrorists."
"You just admitted you hadn't spoken with them for a year and a half. Much could have changed during that time."
Dagny took a slow breath to try and temper the hostility in her voice. "You're right, but I've known the Svendsen family my whole life. Ann used to babysit me and when I got older, I used to babysit her daughters. She taught me how to sew. No way did her family become terrorists."
"I did not say they were terrorists, nor did I say I believed anyone on Bergeron colony is involved in terrorism. Bergeron colony is hardly the first colony where Federation citizens have lived peacefully with non-citizens, but they are the first to openly grant asylum to Romulans and Klingons. New Vulcan remains highly mistrustful of the Romulan Star Empire due to the loss of our planet two years ago, and tensions with between the Federation and the Klingon Empire are escalating due to territorial disputes."
"Can I ask why you're asking about Ann in the first place? Is she in some kind of trouble? Am I in trouble just for knowing her?"
"No, but the New Vulcan elections are in sixteen days," Sarek replied. "It is anticipated to be a very close election. There are certain individuals opposed to my appointment to First Minister who are seeking to discredit me in any way possible."
Dagny mulled it over in her mind for several seconds before replying, "So because you're connected to Voris and Voris is connected to me and I'm connected to Ann and Ann is connected to Bergeron colony and Bergeron colony has Romulans living there, they think you're involved in some kind of plot with the Romulans?"
Sarek's lip twitched, almost as if he was suppressing a smile. "You understand the situation quite well, Miss Skjeggestad."
"But that's ridiculous!" she cried, momentarily forgetting to try and reign in her emotions. "Do they think Voris went up there on your orders to have a private meeting with Ann or something?"
"No one has made any accusations or sought any formal charges, nor do I believe any will be forthcoming. There are other facts about this situation that I am not at liberty to discuss with you, but for the moment, it seems as though you and my nephew have been unintentionally caught in the middle of my political struggles."
"I'm so sorry," Dagny breathed. "This wouldn't have happened if-"
"It is illogical to apologize for that which is beyond your ability to control," he said, cutting her off. "Your association with the Svendsen family has been a factor in this developing situation, but so too has my relation to Dr. Voris."
They arrived at the First Minister's lavish home a short time later and the young Vulcan woman with the sharp features that had greeted her last time showed her to a spacious room with a bed that was obscenely large. Dagny let Harold out of his crate and he zipped around the room several times, trying to orient himself to his new surroundings. He ultimately darted under the bed and refused to come out.
Dagny crawled up on the tall bed, thinking the mattress must be the closest simulation to a cloud ever created. She stretched her arms out as far as she could, but she couldn't reach the edges of the bed. Surely this bed was designed to hold more than one person? All of the Skjeggestad girls could have slept in it comfortably without the risk of shoving their elbows and halitosis on each other in the middle of the night.
A flood of painful nostalgia crashed into her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember Ingrid and Frida and Hedda's faces. She tried to remember Erik. She touched her necklace and shuddered. They hadn't even been gone for a month and already she couldn't remember.
She was forgetting more than just their faces: she was forgetting them. She'd never been the sort of person to get attached to things—a life in space had taught her that things broke, deals fell through, people left, people died, but life went on. Every day since the loss of the Albret had been about getting up and enduring the waking hours and then trying not to cry herself to sleep every night. She wasn't always successful at keeping the tears at bay, and she failed in her efforts that night.
It felt like moments later when she heard a buzz at the door and rolled over onto her back. Light streamed through the tall narrow windows on the right side of the room and Harold was sleeping next to her pillow, apparently having forgiven her transgressions against him the night before. She sat up and rubbed her face, feeling the gritty sensation of dried tears.
"Miss Skjeggestad, it is T'Mir. It is well past first meal. Are you hungry?"
Her stomach growled and she tried to respond, but her throat was dry and the words came out garbled. She flung her legs over the side of the massive bed and stumbled to the door. She'd slept in her clothes and she was sure her hair was a mess, and though the woman at the door was a picture of immaculate and groomed professionalism, Dagny didn't feel self-conscious. Vulcans tended to be an intimidating lot, but this woman's dark eyes were bright and welcoming.
"You said your name was T'Mir?"
"Yes."
"It's nice to meet you. I'm Dagny."
"I know."
"I meant, you can call me Dagny. You don't have to call me Miss Skjeggestad. I know it's a mouthful."
T'Mir's eyes shifted but she canted her head slightly and replied, "If you like. Perhaps you would like to dress before first meal."
Dagny smoothed down her rumpled clothing and chuckled, suddenly starting to feel anxious.
"I shall wait outside," T'Mir added. "Please, take whatever time you need."
Dagny rushed to dress herself. The room had its own attached lavatory that was roughly the size of Voris' bedroom. She administered her morning dose of medication, brushed her teeth and combed her hair, and found T'Mir waiting in the hallway, just as she'd promised. She led Dagny down a back corridor and a short series of stairs into a kitchen so large it could have served as a cargo bay. There were four sinks and what looked like two thermal cooking units and the biggest replicator she'd ever seen next to an enormous food preservation unit. The kitchen looked like it could easily prepare a feast for hundred people in less than thirty minutes, but she figured New Vulcan's First Minister probably entertained a lot of guests.
"There is plomeek broth available and First Minister Sarek asked me to prepare cinnamon rolls this morning."
"Cinnamon rolls?"
"Yes, I am told they are a Terran delicacy. His deceased mate was evidently quite fond of them, and he asks for them on occasion."
"Oh," Dagny smiled.
"If neither of those options are appealing, there is fresh fruit and bread available, and the replicators are programmed with 1.2 million different Federation dishes."
"I think a cinnamon roll sounds really nice," Dagny said.
T'Mir opened the food preservation unit and extracted a plate with six large frosted buns. She warmed one in the thermal unit, and ten seconds later offered it to Dagny on a plain white plate with a fork. Dagny would have preferred to just pick it up and eat it with her hands, but she remembered the Vulcan aversion to touching food.
Dagny sat at a small table in the corner and T'Mir set to cleaning. She'd eaten pastries before, but none half so exquisite as this. There was just enough icing and cinnamon to complement the perfectly baked and flaky bread. She devoured it and it took a lot of discipline to avoid scraping the bits of icing off the plate with her fingers.
"You said you made this?" Dagny asked.
"I did," T'Mir replied without looking over from the cabinet where she was restocking cleaned dishes.
"It was so very good."
T'Mir glanced at her. Dagny expected her to either say thank you or tell her that praise was illogical, but instead, she said, "I remember you."
They locked eyes with each other and stayed that way for a time before Dagny stated the obvious. "I'm guessing you were on the Albret."
"I was," T'Mir admitted.
"I'm sorry."
T'Mir nodded solemnly. "As am I. I grieve with thee."
Dagny clenched her jaw, feeling the raw emotions from the night before threaten to bubble back to the surface. This woman was so kind; the last thing Dagny wanted to do was embarrass herself in front of her. "Can I- uh- can I help you with the dishes?"
T'Mir almost looked shocked. "You are a guest in the First Minister's home. You are not expected to perform work."
"I want to," Dagny mumbled, rising from the table to join T'Mir in the main kitchen area. "If that's ok with you, I mean. I'm not trying to take your job away from you or anything." She paused and looked up at the ceiling, wondering if she was offending this woman. "I think maybe it would be nice just to talk to someone again."
T'Mir looked uncertain, but she slowly bobbed her head. "You do not seem well-acquainted with Vulcan customs."
"I'm not," Dagny admitted. "But I would love to learn. The problem is I don't know any Vulcans aside from Voris and First Minister Sarek and his brother Silek. I started reading about some things in a database yesterday, but I feel like if I want to understand Vulcans, I need to actually talk to some."
T'Mir backed away from the stack of dishes, moved to the cycler, extracted a rack of silverware, and set it on the counter. "Wash your hands first. These go in the two drawers there," she said, pointing to a set of drawers by the replicator.
Dagny grinned. "Thank you."
T'Mir raised an eyebrow and returned to the stack of dishes that she had been putting in the cabinets. "What do you wish to know about Vulcans?"
"Anything," Dagny admitted, rolling up her sleeves to wash her hands in one of the sinks. "Everything. Whatever you want to tell me."