2. Juicy Details

T'Pol stood in the morning sun, wearing another of her white desert-suits which inspired her beloved's imagination so much. She couldn't tell why, but she had the distinct feeling that he was standing behind the curtains, observing her posterior. She could not quite understand why humans were so fascinated by a body part that served a vital, but not necessarily tasteful, purpose.

This was the second time she felt as though she was having a premonition or the ability to sense Trip's emotions. The first instance was when he woke up in the morning.

Since she had been awake quite a significant time before him, she had positioned herself on her side, observing his peacefully relaxed face while waiting for his sleep to end.

True to his own prediction he appeared most pleased to meet her glance right after waking up, although his attention had soon been drawn away and captivated by her bare bust as the blanket had slipped down to around her waist 'by accident'. That was the first time she noticed that she seemed to sense his pleasure, even though they were not in touch-telepathic contact. She had heard of the human saying 'the eyes are the windows of the soul', and she reasoned that his most elated look might have contributed to her premonition.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of the approaching shuttle. The white Starfleet vessel, left behind with them before Enterprise departed, looked slightly out of place in a sky full of copper-colored Vulcan shuttles. To say she wasn't witnessing the best landing in Starfleet history would be an understatement as she watched Ensign Sato set down the craft in a rather haphazard fashion. She became worried that the young officer's reunion with her friends might have included the intake of copious amounts of alcoholic beverages, but her acute sense of smell alleviated her fears as she entered the shuttle.

"I take it your celebration was a long one?" T'Pol remarked dryly as she closed the hatch and took her place in the co-pilot's seat. Ensign Sato did not look too well rested.

"It wasn't too long actually," the young human explained, as they checked their items on the pre-takeoff checklist. "Just lots of dancing in one of the civilian joints in the compound."

"On or off the stage?" she asked dead-pan, knowing that with the only seemingly shy human female there could well be a story to tell.

There was a slightly abashed giggle coming from the direction of the pilot's seat.

"Okay, twice on stage. The rest off it."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. The ship's comms officer was still relatively young, though well over twenty years of age. The advancement of maturity, however, had obviously not diminished her penchant for provoking appreciative male looks by divesting herself of her clothing for an audience. The ensign had apparently seen her minuscule reaction.

"Oh, come on, Commander, I barely get to do it these days. How often do we get to go to places where nobody knows I'm a Starfleet officer?"

"Such activity does not exactly lend itself to preserving your anonymity."

"You should try doing a striptease for Trip," her friend ventured in an obvious attempt to lead the conversation in a different direction. "Trust me, he'll go wild."

T'Pol heard the teasing tone in Ensign Sato's voice and decided that two could 'play this game'.

"Perhaps we should first visit one of your performances, so he can appreciate a professional at work before being exposed to my inept attempts at the art," she returned the barb.

"Tuesdays, twice a night," the ensign returned, equally dead-pan. "I'm going to make the most of my time here. Although in most cases it'll be more like a dance with little clothing instead of a full striptease. There's nothing more intoxicating than a bus load of guys gawking at you as if you are the most beautiful creature in the galaxy."

T'Pol stared straight ahead, trying not to show her perplexity at the dry riposte. It was obvious that the young linguist had comprehensively won this round of 'teasing' by stunning her into silence.

"By the way. What do I have to do to get you to call me Hoshi?" the young woman asked as they descended toward Mount Seleya.

"Requesting me to do so would be a start. Though obviously it would only be appropriate when we were both off-duty."

"Wait a minute. You've insisted on calling me ensign even though we've shared every single detail of our lives and been best friends for over three years, because I never formally asked you to call me by my first name?"

"Vulcans do never use the first name without being requested to do so. It would be a breach of privacy. I assumed you were aware of that."

Silence filled the cockpit as the young officer performed a much smoother landing this time.

"You have a point," the linguist admitted. "I should have known. I applied human standards to our situation. So to make it official: Would you accept my request to call me by my first name in private conversation?"

"Of course, Hoshi."

They were still sitting in their seats, despite having now arrived at the monastery.

"May I offer some unasked-for advice?" Hoshi said and T'Pol cautiously nodded her consent.

"You assume too much. I think that's part of the problems you had with Trip. You think someone should know or sense something, when it's sometimes easier to just say something. Look, the mistake was mine, but why didn't you remind me at some point a year or two ago?"

"I do not know."

"We'll work on that," her friend said and opened the hatch, smiling. "But first I want to see those caves."

=/\=

"Tally ho, coachman," Trip quipped theatrically with a forward-pointing arm gesture, earning him surreptitious glances from the two pilots.

He knew he was probably making a fool of himself and definitely not leaving a brilliant first impression on his two Vulcan hosts, but somehow he couldn't rein in his euphoria as quickly as he had hoped. Hell, he'd spent a whole night with the woman he loved and instead of shooting him down the next morning, something he had feared despite all her claims to the contrary, she had greeted him with a kiss. She had even endured his morning breath to do so. And there was no way that the blanket had just 'accidentally' slid down to her waist.

If the two Vulcans providing shuttle service to his meeting with Professor Solan of the Vulcan Science Academy were questioning his sanity, they were doing so remarkably silently. He started to force himself to adopt a more serious attitude.

What he really wanted to do was stick two fat cigars in the mouths of his two bemused pilots and pop open the champagne, but he was on his way to meet one of the Vulcan engineering masterminds and it wasn't the best idea to prove to T'Pol that she had chosen well by embarrassing her in the eyes of her fellow Vulcans.

Slowly he fought the idiotic grin off his face and grew serious – at least on the outside. Inside his mind was still dominated by euphoric happiness.

=/\=

T'Pol closed her eyes and stopped her descent into the catacombs. Euphoria was not an expected sensation when walking down the ancient stairs toward subterranean caves full of stale air. Now she was convinced that she was somehow able to sense his emotions, even though irregularly and only for short periods. There was a chance that this was merely a lingering after-effect of the rather prolonged and intensive touch telepathic contact caused by her head having rested the whole night on his bare chest, but the scientist in her did not believe in vague solutions. She needed to find out.

When she opened her eyes, she noticed that Hoshi was already scouting ahead. Any other human would probably have stopped to ask if everything was fine, but throughout their friendship, that now spanned three years, Hoshi had gotten used to her habit of sometimes stopping and closing her eyes to deal with an unexpected emotion immediately instead of shelving it for later meditation. It was not a method she could afford to employ in a duty situation, but she had come to do so frequently in off-duty time as it allowed her to process influences immediately, which in turn reduced the needed amount of meditation.

"Oh my God!"

Although Ensign Sato's cry did not sound like a distress call and was in fact followed by loud, nervous laughter, T'Pol hastened to reach the site of whatever discovery the young human had made. Once she arrived at Hoshi's side, she stopped immediately, desperately trying to keep her outward signs of shock to an acceptable minimum.

The view before her made it abundantly clear why access to this archaeological site was strictly regulated and limited to very few scientists. Their ancient ancestors had been obviously a lot more primitive and savage than they were described in the stories she had been told as a child, and she had always surmised that those were exaggerated in order to scare children into more diligence in their effort to learn emotional control.

The ancient drawings on the walls before her made the frightening fabrications of her mother appear like a first successful report on evolutionary progress. She sent her young companion a questioning glance in search of an explanation.

"I can see how that side is much more interesting," Hoshi explained with an unmistakably mischievous undertone. "But the actual start is over there."

T'Pol turned around towards the indicated corner of the cave waiting for further explanation.

"It's a mixture of narration and illustrated story," the linguist continued. "I can't make sense of all the symbols yet, but it seems to begin with a clan feud. Unless you know what Sh'hiran'lin'iijyliunh'rei'iy'iukn'hy'wen'lhia'ehrm'n means?"

T'Pol fought the instinctive gasp, and it took another closing of eyes and a few breathing techniques before she felt composed enough to answer the question.

"It is the name of my clan," she admitted, which elicited an abashed 'oops' from her friend.

"In that case, T'Pol, meet your ancestors. Your clan, it appears, was attacked by 'dvinsu ekon-ak' – 'those who serve the divine eye'. And a great battle began…"

Ignoring her confusion, she tried to divide her attention evenly between listening to Ensign Sato's translation of the ancient script and inspecting the disturbingly detailed images that supplemented the written narrative.

While the young linguist read out the account of heroic deeds by various warriors in the battle, she thought sarcastically to herself – 'at least we won'." It was the only redeeming aspect of the imagery. Hundreds of warriors, accompanied by trained sehlats and other predatory wildlife – trained to kill and mutilate their opponents – were depicted brutalizing each other in the most unspeakable ways.

"Apparently your clan won and returned back to their base in great triumph," Hoshi said, summarizing the last of the ancient script on this side of the cave.

Turning around, T'Pol asked the question that had been on her mind since she had seen the imagery on the other wall of the cave.

"And this battle is in some way related to the debauchery on these images?"

"Trip would probably say – 'boy, did your folks know how to party'," the young officer replied in unmistakable amusement.

"To me it appears that these are images of separate events," T'Pol said, pointing to the frescoes in question. "This one, while bacchanal and vulgar, seems to preserve a minute remainder of civility in the fact that the males sate their desires with only one partner, while this… This is unspeakable."

She inspected the second image that depicted some sort of celebration among the victorious warriors. The over-sized table was laden with more food than they could possibly consume, including copious amounts of meat. Drinks and more food were served by exclusively female, bare-breasted or completely unclothed servants. Other servants gave themselves up to the duty of sating the carnal desires of the warriors. Shockingly, some of them served more than one male simultaneously, while some of the celebrating males presented their bare backside for intimate perusal by higher-ranked members of the warrior caste.

"They are separate events," Hoshi confirmed. "But they are two events of the same celebration. The 'civilized' one is reserved for 'those who are never and always touching and not touched', which I would guess is a metaphor for married couples and what we see is a ritual communal mating act to 'bring back to the clan the life that was lost on the battlefield'".

"The second celebration was for unmarried and widowed folk and an everything-goes orgy, basically. I'm going to guess here, but coming to your wedding day as a virgin was not a concept your ancestors were believing in at that time. One passage said that some of the warriors were hired from outside the clan, so my best guess here is that this is a rather hefty way of increasing genetic diversity and probably get more babies and perhaps a few more marriages when one of the unmarried warriors knocked up one of the women. Leaves the question of how they found out who the father is or if they even cared about such 'details'."

T'Pol watched the explanation, following her friend's finger whenever she ran it along the elegant symbols while quoting directly from the ancient writing.

"I would suspect that everyone mates with his own wife in the 'married folk party' and I guess the military uniformity of their technique means that the sole purpose of it was to get their wives pregnant."

T'Pol wondered why Hoshi noticed such a detail, as that was how the act was supposed to be performed.

"What other ways are there to impregnate a female? They position themselves to facilitate vaginal penetration and the male inseminates..."

"I know about the birds and the bees, T'Pol," came the interruption from her smiling friend. "I just don't think that every couple preferred the good old missionary routine. I would have expected a doggy here or there or someone on the table. So if they all do it the same way can only mean it is meant specifically to maximize the chances of pregnancies. Whereas the second congregation, now that seems more geared to maximum fun..."

T'Pol saw Hoshi stop mid-sentence as if she remembered something.

"We didn't quite reach that part in our talks about the ins and outs of humanity, did we," the young human added after the short pause.

"Except the occasional recollection of past performances of your 'striptease' and the advantages of not wearing clothing in one's home, we have rarely touched matters of human sexuality, yet" T'Pol replied, dryly, but not without a hint of amusement. "This might however become necessary... for obvious reasons."

"Are you telling me the two of you spent the first night together actually sleeping?" Hoshi asked in bemused disbelief.

"There are complications due to Vulcan physiology that made immediate sexual relations impractical," T'Pol said. "But it is a topic I would prefer to discuss in the privacy of my home or your guest quarters. If, of course, you are comfortable doing so," she added conscientiously. To be sure, nothing so far had given her the impression that her companion was uncomfortable discussing intimate matters, but it was impolite to make that assumption.

She saw Hoshi look at the clock and nod. "I'd suggest my place. Unless you want to spend a bit more time looking at the galaxy's oldest porn magazine. I can check out the other caves another time. We've been in here over an hour anyway. I doubt Minister T'Pau warned us about the missing ventilation without a good reason. "

"Agreed."

=/\=

Trip looked around. Without warning the world around him had faded and he found himself in a surreal world that was... well, nothing. Everything was white and completely empty. He wanted to look around some more, but suddenly he stared into T'Pol's wide-with-surprise eyes.

As quickly as he had gotten there, the strange world vanished again after mere moments.

=/\=

Thankfully her quarters in the human compound had shades to avoid inquisitive looks from outside, so she could wear her favorite at-home clothes – nothing.

Not that the shades were strictly necessary for someone with an exhibitionist streak, but Hoshi didn't want to scandalize any Vulcans who might pass by outside and get a glimpse of her, and the situation with T'Pol on a visit could be misunderstood. Nobody would regard a Vulcan talking to a naked human as a commonplace occurrence.

She was now rummaging around in her chest of drawers. Knowing that the topic of human sexuality would someday come up in her friend's thorough research of each and every facet of human behavior, she had long collected material that might prove interesting to the Vulcan. Now she was searching for the PADD.

"Hoshi?"

The tone and the half-asking half-gasping nature of her speech told the young woman that her guest was utterly stumped by something. She wondered if her bending over had presented a too-graphic image to her friend, who was sitting behind her on the bunk. She turned around and was surprised to see an eyebrow configuration that was normally T'Pol's rendition of a howling guffaw.

"Are you sure that you really only performed your striptease routine yesterday?"

Hoshi could feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Ok, I was a bit tipsy doing the repeat performance later in the night and got a bit too brazen. I did a lap dance, non-contact," she added hastily. "There was this cute guy, who looked vaguely like someone I really like and he had smiled at me so nicely all the time…"

"He appears to have indeed appreciated the performance. He left his communications code on your posterior," she heard T'Pol report blandly.

She gasped and giggled nervously. "Well, he obviously really wanted me to have it," she said, bending over backwards in the vain attempt to get a look at her own butt. "It's survived three showers by now."

"It's on the left buttock. Fairly low down. I decline to speculate about the pose you struck at the time."

"Take the hand mirror," she asked her guest, coming to a halt in front of the full-height mirror of the wardrobe. She waited until T'Pol had found the correct angle for the hand mirror so she could read it in the big one.

"Well, Goldilocks definitely gets extra-credit for his skill," she said appreciatively, looking at the hastily scribbled number. "He must have incredibly nimble fingers getting that written on my butt without me noticing."

"Goldilocks?"

"Well, he had bright blond hair and some locks, so, not knowing his name I call him Goldilocks," Hoshi explained giddily.

"Are you planning to contact him?"

"I'm not sure," she said. "He was really nice-looking, and cute too. But you never know. Perhaps Trip could help me."

"How can Trip help? You want him to contact the person to assess his intentions?"

"Something like that. If Goldi wants more than just getting into my pants, even when I'm not wearing any, he'll be there next Tuesday. Trip could try to get into a conversation with him. They usually find out quite quickly if the other guy's motives are ulterior."

"You did not mean it in jest when you told me this morning that you will repeat the performance?"

Hoshi smiled in amusement at the disbelieving tone in her friend's voice, but then detected the note of anxiety in it. She was quick to realize the reason for this, and thus the next words did not come as a surprise.

"I am not sure how well I would react to seeing Trip aroused by watching you undress," T'Pol admitted.

"First of all," Hoshi explained. "I'm not exactly shabby looking, but I doubt I'm going to distract him away from you and knowing you, even if nothing happened between you last night, you've given him a very good look at parts of your anatomy by now."

She smiled at the slight green-ish tinge of a blush spreading on her friend's cheeks. For any other species it would mean T'Pol was sick, but a green-faced Vulcan was the equivalent of a red-faced human.

"And besides, I know Trip. If I ask him to watch another guy, because I'm not sure about his intentions, he will – if at all – perhaps give me a cursory glance. He'll watch Goldilocks like a hawk."

"While I spend the time getting 'pointers' for my own routine, presumably," she heard T'Pol remark dryly.

"That one actually was meant in jest," Hoshi said. "If you started to dance and undress, he'd know that it's not you. He'd know that you were following someone else's idea."

"What would 'be me'?" she asked.

Hoshi sat down and thought for a moment.

"I think you're the subtle type," she analyzed. "You'd give him a glance, but not all of it. If he came home, you would wait for him in a semi-transparent negligee rather than stark naked."

"Trust me, I am not 'the subtle type' when it comes to sexual relations."

She listened to T'Pol's explanation of what it meant for a Vulcan to try and have a satisfying sexual encounter with a human. When T'Pol came to the part of losing senses, and Trip's theory that she would probably go deaf and blind temporarily, Hoshi couldn't help but laugh; but she fought it back down, when she saw the other woman's slightly offended look.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't nice," Hoshi apologized. "We have a saying – 'Love makes you blind' – it was just funny for a moment that you seem to take this concept quite literally. I guess it won't be so funny for you."

"It is nothing to worry about," her friend answered and Hoshi noticed with relief that she seemed mollified by the apology. "It is a temporary impairment as my neural pathways are overloaded by the additional stimulus. It is not dangerous, however even if it occurs frequently. My mother has monitored her own vital signs countless times and came to the conclusion that this temporary overload is not detrimental to the health."

"Trip has his work cut out for him," Hoshi said, while donning civilian clothes. "Come on, we'll hit the shops. You need something 'subtle'."

=/\=

Trip waited patiently as his host reconfigured the subspace console to present its interface in Human Standard. In a way it was funny that a console in an area of the academy that no human before him had ever had access to would even provide the option.

Professor Solan, some sort of very far-flung uncle of T'Pol's and one of the more prominent members of her clan, was an immensely easy-to-talk-to character. He had been easily recognizable as one of the two Vulcan overseers who had given them a hard time during the Warp 3 program, but he seemed to have come to a better understanding of and tolerance for humanity over the years.

The reasons for Vulcans to study something as ancient as Earth's propeller planes had been initially somewhat elusive, but considering they had places like The Forge, where nothing electronic would work, the wish to learn at least some of the principles behind Earth's rugged bird-whackers became clearer.

The configuration change was complete and Trip initiated the connection after a thankful nod to his host, who left the room.

=/\=

"Starfleet Archive of Engineering, Ensign Carruthers. Please state your security authorization."

"Tucker, Charles III Foxtrot-Lima-Golf-Mike fifteen-five-eight."

"Accepted," the young woman declared after typing in the clearance. "What can I do for you, Commander?"

"I need access to some historical design documents from the mid- to late- 20th century."

"Data files before the year 2005 are incomplete, but if you have sufficient information to search for, I can try to find something."

"Okay. Could you try to find data about an airplane called 'Douglas DC-3', please?"

"Negative, sir," she answered after typing in the data.

"Crud. Could you try 'Lisunov Li-2' or 'Basler BT-67'?"

"Both negative, sir," she answered with an apologetic expression.

"Dammit! Okay, try the 'Antonov AN-2' please."

"Also negative," she answered, and watched the tongue of her conversation partner roll inside his cheek.

"You said you have everything after 2005?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then try to find the 'Shijiazhuang Y-5'. That's a Chinese copy of the AN-2 and they were still buildin' it in 2005."

"I found it, sir," she said and then added hesitantly: "That's one ugly beast."

"What do you expect, Ensign?" he replied with an indulgent smile. "It's a Chinese copy of a Ukrainian design that was almost 60 years old at the time. But it's one of the greatest planes ever built."

"I'll take your word for it, sir," she answered with a smile of her own. Commander Tucker was every bit as charming as he was rumored to be. "Do you need anything else?"

"Yeah, I need engine design documents. We won't get anywhere with the Shvetsovs. Do you have anything about an engine called 'Glushenkov TVD 20'?"

Her fingers rattled through the keystrokes again. "Negative, sir."

"Hm. Okay, how about 'Pratt and Whitney PT6A'?"

"We have something. In fact there are dozens of variants."

"Anyone of them named '67R'?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded happily.

"Great! Please bundle them up with the plane design specs and upload the whole shebang to these contact data."

"Um, sir," she started nervously. "According to my indications, the data belong to a private residence on Vulcan?"

"Yep, that's exactly where I am staying. This house belongs to Commander T'Pol, a Starfleet officer with a higher security clearance than mine, so you can safely transfer it, Ensign."

Seeing the commander's smile, she returned the gesture and started preparing the information for upload. Though just to make sure, she'd verify his statement before starting to transmit it.

"Just making sure, sir," she explained.

"Of course. Thank you, Ensign."

=/\=

Trip came home to their domicile and stopped dead in his tracks just as he had closed the door.

T'Pol had seemingly not noticed his arrival and continued preparing the evening meal at the kitchen counter. She wore a white kitchen apron and … well she wore an apron, and that was it. While it covered her front – which was after all the purpose of the garment – her behind was completely bare except for the straps, which were tied around her neck and her waist. Her firm, shapely rear-end wiggled slightly whenever she grabbed a new fruit or vegetable from the basket to wash it under the running water.

"Sweet mother of God," he whispered in delighted shock.

"I take it as a sign of approval, ashayam?" she ventured softly with a hint of insecurity in her voice. She did not look back at him.

"Approval given most emphatically, darlin'," he replied with a chuckle.

"You may touch my behind, if you so wish, and if you refrain from touching the food," she explained, still in a very soft voice, forcing him to stifle a laugh. He knew T'Pol too well. It was her way of letting him know that a gentle butt-groping would be 'most agreeable' and most desired right now.

He gently cupped her soft right buttock and leaned in to kiss her. The fruit she was working on fell into the sink as she eagerly returned the gesture. He could see that she quickly closed her eyes after the kiss and re-established her composure and suspected that she had relaxed her control for the tiniest of moments. She soon was back to her calm self, although the faint green flush in her face gave away that this might have been very different a few moments ago.

"You should take a shower. The meal will be ready in ten minutes."

"I'm smelling a bit, aren't I," he said, slightly self-conscious. "Sorry, the heat..."

His apology was preempted by a slight head-shake.

"Your smell has not been offensive to me anymore for a long time. But you have touched my posterior and I find the smell of your shampoo most invigorating."

"You say the sweetest things when I grope your butt while you wash fruit, darlin'."

With a last gentle squeeze of her gluteal musculature, he made his way toward the shower.

=/\=

They were sitting across from each other on the small table, eating their meal. The fact that there was a distinctive lack of dead animal on the menu didn't quite bother him at the moment. His dinner might be entirely made up of fruit and weeds, but that little detail paled into obscurity when across of him sat the most gorgeous creature in the galaxy with her well-sculptured anatomy barely hidden by nothing more than a kitchen apron.

She startled him out of his reverie with her next remark.

"Did you know that Ensign Sato has a habit of undressing for an audience?"

"Stripping? Well, I know she used to do it during her gambling weekends at STC," he said. "Considering that she seemed to do so purely for her own fun, I wouldn't be surprised if she still does it occasionally. I would guess though that she doesn't get much chance these days. It's hard to find a place where nobody recognizes you."

"Were you part of her gambling congregations?"

"Are you kidding me? Of course I was. I'd already graduated when Hoshi was a freshman, but hell, you could make a killing on those evenings! Hoshi had a simple rule: if someone had a Royal Flush, she'd be stripping. Mind you, if there was no Royal Flush all night, she'd still do it when the evening was about to end. But, that lured in a lot of folks who only came to see her get naked. Of course those folks were so green behind the ears as far as poker is concerned, they needed mowing. Had we really gone for the jugular, we would have bankrupted them in a single night."

"You abused Hoshi's predilection for undressing routines to defraud other players?"

The offended tone in her voice was hard to miss.

"Other way round darlin'. We had a strict code among ourselves: if someone had lost too much money, we stopped the game – 'we' being the regular crowd. But once word spread about her performances, it attracted a clientèle who didn't care about the game. They just wanted to see a fresh-faced cadet get naked. And some of them didn't quite understand the concept of 'looking but no touching'."

"And you inflicted heavy financial losses on them as a deterrent."

"And it was effective, too," Trip said, nodding to confirm her assessment. "Most of them realized that it wasn't worth losing half a month's wages and we were soon back to the regular crowd. We were actually quite protective of Hoshi."

"So you went because of the games, not because of the 'entertainment'," T'Pol said dryly and Trip could sense the lingering doubt in her words.

"I'm not sure where you're going with this darlin'," he said, slightly confused. "But yes, the games were the important bit. Starfleet wasn't exactly going out of their way with the entertainment program, so the games were a welcome distraction from the weekly routine. But I'm not gonna lie: Hoshi is not ugly and I knew she did it because she liked it, not because some pimp made her, so I didn't have a reason to feel guilty for watchin'. And, believe it or not, the fact that she was butt naked was entertainin', but that wasn't even the best thing about her performances."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"Hoshi's amazin'ly flexible. She used to put on moves that made your jaw drop to the floor. She could have done that in a winter coat and it would still have been an unbelievable show. Like I said, she's not ugly and the strippin' was a bonus. But she's one helluva dancer even if the dress stays on. Seriously darlin', what is that all about?"

"She has apparently found an establishment in the human compound where she can resume this interest in performing."

"The Spearmint Rhino," he said knowingly.

"You know the establishment?"

"Most Starfleet people know it, but nobody ever goes there. It's strictly restricted to civilians. So it'll be interesting to know how she got in to begin with. Spearmint Rhino was a chain of strip joints about a hundred and seventy years ago. They went bust before World War III. About ten years ago an Englishman bought the rights to the name and opened a couple of bars by that name – one here in the compound. They are known for their 'entertainment'."

"I worry about her," T'Pol admitted. "It does not appear to be a sign of self-respect to bare yourself for an audience. I can understand her predilection for not wearing anything in the privacy of her quarters. It is not entirely disagreeable to wear little clothing, especially at the current daytime temperatures. But doing so in public appears a bit extreme."

"That would have been true two hundred years ago, when women were forced to do that. But these days... The Spearmint Rhino is a rather strict arrangement. They allow people to perform – striptease, burlesque, stand-up comedy, amateur bands and whatnot, but strictly on a voluntary basis and without payment. Quite a few people started their career in the entertainment business by a first performance in a Rhino."

She nodded again.

"Word has it one or two days a week are reserved for 'adult entertainment' and an appropriately aged crowd. And as for the 'baring', Hoshi just likes to be admired. It's a normal, if rare facet of human sexuality. She's an exhibitionist. She likes to be looked at. And take it from a guy, once she starts movin', you don't really care if she wears anything or not. Her dancin' is sublime. I never understood why she went for Starfleet instead of becoming a burlesque dancer. She could have been filthy rich and famous by now. And she would have made a profession out of what she likes most."

T'Pol went silent. He wasn't nearly convinced, however, that she was really reassured about whatever was really bothering her.

"What is it, darlin'?"

"Hoshi will perform again in six days. She has met a male whom she seems most interested in and wants you to 'check out his motives'. For that we would have to visit one of her performances, but I am unsure about my reaction if you become aroused by watching the spectacle."

"Then we shouldn't go," he said with conviction, putting his cutlery down. "T'Pol, I will be aroused. That's how nature constructed us. It gave females a body that males are fascinated by, and by the looks of things, evolution was even more successful on Vulcan. A human male who doesn't react to a naked female body is either homosexual or dysfunctional. The former's a normal occurrence, but the latter is unhealthy. If that makes you uncomfortable, we just won't go and Hoshi will have to look for a different solution."

"I know about the evolutionary implications. I am merely unsure about how you will deal with that arousal."

"Let me put me this way, darlin'. Not counting that I'll spend most of my time watching how that other guy reacts to her every move, I might get hungry, but I know whom I want to have dinner with. And besides, I have seen Hoshi countless times back in the day; I won't see anything I haven't seen before. But I say it again: if you're even a little bit uncomfortable, we won't go."

She gently tugged at the straps of the apron behind her neck. The slipknot opened and the upper half of the apron slid down, baring her breasts. Trip looked at her, dumbfounded.

"So even if the grass on the other pasture is fairly green, too, you will not jump over the fence," she half stated, half asked, in an attempt at using a human metaphor, her face flushed with excitement at her own daring.

"Greener?" he said with a laugh and scooped her up off her chair. "It doesn't get any greener than you, darlin'. You should see your face."

She threw the apron away as he carried her naked body towards the bedroom.