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13
"One more time, Krintu. Just to be sure. "
"Yumur..."
"Come on, let's hear it. Rule number one?"
Malcolm sighed. Yumur was a diminutive, dark-skinned woman of about forty, and she ruled her attendance of kitchen staff and servers like Nelson had ruled the Victory, seeing to it that every man did his duty, whether he wanted to or not. As a new-comer, the first thing Malcolm had learned was that there was no arguing with the First Cook.
"Rule number one: No speaking in the presence of the Noble Family."
Yumur nodded. "Unless?"
"Unless I am addressed, in which case I answer "Yes, S'haile" and "Yes, T'Sai"."
"Rule number two?"
"No display of emotion in the presence of the Noble Family, and no indication that I'm aware of anything that's being said."
"Including comments on your own person." Yumur narrowed her eyes at him. "If I hear you've so much as smiled in there, you can forget about your evening meal. Is that clear?"
"Yes, First Cook."
"Number three?"
"No touching the food, the plates or the cutlery with my bare hands. I'm to wear these all the time." He held up his gloved hands, and Yumur nodded in acknowledgment.
"That's right. If you get them dirty, get yourself a fresh pair from the cupboard." She pointed at one of the storage compartments that lined the kitchen walls. "Never use a pair of gloves that's not perfectly clean, even if there's only a small stain on it. They will notice, and, more importantly, I will notice. Understood?"
Malcolm nodded. He had only been in this house for three days, but he had already noticed that the food was prepared and served with an almost obsessive attention to hygiene. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good. And rule number four?"
"I'm to stay in the background and pay attention to every person at the table. If someone requires my services, I'm to attend them immediately and be as quick and unobtrusive as possible."
"How do you serve beverages?"
"From the left."
"And food?"
"From the left as well."
"And how do you take away empty plates?"
Malcolm paused, noticing the way she was watching him out of the corners of her eyes. "I don't take them away. That's the clearers' job."
The ghost of a smile crinkled her eyes. "Exactly. As a server, you don't touch any dirty dishes."
"Yes, ma'am."
Satisfied, Yumur nodded at the elderly man who had been waiting patiently in the background. "Hay'ak will keep an eye on you. Let him serve the Ladies and their husbands while you attend the younger members of the Family. Just do what he's doing."
"Yes, ma'am." Malcolm bit back another sigh. Compared to this, the stiff family dinners he remembered from his childhood seemed downright lively. The Noble Family insisted on strict protocol, and not only concerning mealtimes; there was endless list of things to do and not to do, and for the human servants it was mostly the latter kind.
"Krintu!"
"I'm coming." Malcolm took a tray from the counter and followed the rest of the servers, carefully keeping balance so none of the plomeek broth would spill. He didn't want to risk another slip. The Noble Family ate twice a day; as a servant, it depended on his conduct and on the mood of the person in charge if there was a bowl of leftovers waiting for him after work. On the previous day, Malcolm had gone to bed hungry after he had inadvertently touched a fori tuber with his bare hand while paring vegetables. He didn't want to find out what would happen if he offended a member of the Family on his first day as a server.
Heading down the wide, tapestry-hung corridor that led to the Meal Hall, Malcolm caught a glimpse of himself in one of the wall mirrors. He looked strange, clad in a house servant's austere black tunic and pants; almost like a person from another century. It wasn't hard to imagine a Roman slave looking like this on his way to the atrium, where the patrician family lounged on couches and waited for their mid-day meal. Maybe, through an ironic twist of fate, one of his ancestors had found himself in a similar situation. The thought brought a dry smile to his lips, and he quickly smothered it before anyone saw that he had broken rule number two.
They had arrived at the carved double door of the Meal Hall, and Hay'ak turned around to look at his three fellow servers. "Yonakh, you'll assist me with the Ladies. Kesek, show Krintu where to start, will you?"
The stocky, blond man next to Malcolm nodded. "Sure."
Hay'ak touched a panel, and the double doors swung open noiselessly. It was the first time that Malcolm saw the Meal Hall, and he was impressed in spite of himself. The room was as spacious as the messhall back on Enterprise, its walls decorated with gobelins and ancient-looking weapons. A large panoramic window overlooked the gardens that surrounded the noble House of Sreman. On a waist-high platform in the middle of the room stood a long, wooden table, its design striking Malcolm as vaguely Japanese. The Family was seated on small pillows alongside the table, about twenty persons on the whole. None of them turned their heads as the servers came in, not even the children who were sitting at the far end. They perched on their pillows cross-legged and stiff-backed, their heavy, embroidered robes discouraging any movement that went beyond a small nod. Talking in quiet, dignified tones among themselves, the Vulcans seemed to be attending a ceremonial gathering rather than waiting for dinner.
Kesek touched Malcolm's arm with his elbow, mouthing something in Vulcan which Malcolm guessed meant "this way". He followed the other man to the children's end of the table, and at a nod from Kesek took position on the left-hand side. Hay'ak and Yonakh were waiting at the other end, standing stiffly and motionless, obviously waiting for some sort of signal. Eventually, the white-haired lady at the head of the table struck a small gong. In an instant, the rest of the Family ceased talking. Malcolm caught another nod from Kesek. The first course was to be served.
Copying Kesek's movements, Malcolm began to place bowls of plomeek broth in front of the younger members of the Family, starting with the oldest girl and working his way down to a small boy of about four. None of them paid him any notice except for the boy, who turned his head when Malcolm served the broth.
"Can you help me with this?"
Malcolm was momentarily confused, until he saw the napkin the boy was holding out to him.
"Yes, Osu." Protocol or no, it seemed a ridiculous address for someone who had just asked for help with his bib. It was hardly the boy's fault, though. Setting his tray onto a small serving table, Malcolm took the napkin and began to tie it around the child's neck, just like he had done with Maddy when she was little.
"I don't know you," the boy stated earnestly, tilting his head slightly to one side. "What's your name?"
Malcolm was about to answer when one of the older girls cut him off. "Sikar," she said, giving the boy a reproachful look. "Do not speak to him."
"Why not?" the boy wanted to know.
One of the men sitting a few meters further down frowned at him. "Do as your cousin says, Sikar."
The boy inclined his head. "Yes, uncle," he muttered.
"No."
Heads were raised all along the table, and Malcolm also turned to see who had spoken. He was surprised when he realized that it was one of the Ladies. She seemed to be almost as old as the matriarch, her white hair partially hidden under a black scarf, a crutch leaning against the table next to her seat. The eyes in her hawk-like face were untouched by age, though, and there was a flash of anger in them as she continued.
"Let the child speak. I believe he has more to say than any of you."
The man sitting next to her, a frail-looking old gentleman, cleared his throat. "T'Var, aduna're..."
She ignored him, and suddenly Malcolm found himself the focus of her dark gaze. "Please," she said, and he realized that she was the first Vulcan here to say this word to him. "Answer my great-grandson's question."
Now all the Vulcans were staring at him. Malcolm found himself getting nervous in spite of himself. "My name's Krintu. T'Sai," he added quickly. Forgetting to properly address one of the Ladies would surely earn him another missed dinner, and maybe a flogging to boot. From the looks some of the Family were giving him, he supposed they would have liked to hand out the punishment right there and then.
The beginning of a smile crossed T'Var's face. "Thank you for helping my great-grandson, Krintu. I would like to do it myself, but I am afraid our Noble Protocol requires me to sit here while my favorite dinner partner is banished to the other end of the table."
Malcolm sensed that in this case, silence was indeed gold, and so he only bowed his head respectfully. To his relief, T'Var seemed to accept this and turned back to her dinner, ignoring the Family who were exchanging looks as they, too, returned their attention to their meal.
From the other side of the table, Kesek raised his eyebrows at him. "Close call", his expression said, and Malcolm agreed. There was obviously a friction here that went beyond a single incident during the evening meal.
Soon, the clearers came in to take away the soup dishes, and by the time the second course was served, the tense moment seemed to be over. The Vulcans were conversing in quiet, dignified voices, but Malcolm didn't really listen to what was being said. The Family didn't pay much attention to the carefully arranged vegetables on their plates; they hardly seemed aware of the food.
Malcolm wondered if Trip had eaten at all since Silak had sold him.
The worry was always there, at the back of his mind, and when he lay on his narrow cot at night, it wasn't the hunger that kept him awake. He knew he had to help Trip somehow; there was no way the engineer could escape on his own in his weakened condition. And of course, security would be especially strict in a weapons' factory. It was foolish to assume that Trip would be able to find a way out of there.
Unfortunately, his own chances of escape were equally slim. There were, of course, security cameras and laser sensors everywhere in the house and the gardens, but those he might be able to bypass or deactivate. The real problem was the collar. House Intendant Sahriv had placed the thin metal band on Malcolm's neck himself, calmly pointing out that any attempt to escape was illogical and a waste of time. The sensors inside the collar would alert the guards if Malcolm tried to leave the premises, and if he tried to break the metal, he'd trigger a shock mechanism that would render him unconscious for several hours. "I believe I do not have to tell you that the consequences of such an attempt would be extremely unpleasant," Sahriv had remarked mildly, and Malcolm saw no reason not to believe him. Trip, of course, might have found a way to undo the thing. The man was a real Houdini that way.
Malcolm stared out the window, at the lawns, the exotic trees and the garden wall beyond. There had to be a way. No prison was a hundred percent escape-proof; there were always gaps in security. He simply had to look in the right places.
An unobtrusive cough broke into his thoughts. Kesek's eyebrows were raised, and Malcolm suddenly became aware of the glass one of the Vulcan men was holding out to him. Quickly, he picked up a wine pitcher and hurried to refill the Vulcan's drink. From the other side of the table, Kesek was glaring at him, and Malcolm supposed he had hesitated a second too long. He sighed inwardly. If his fellow server decided to report him to Yumur, his dinner would go straight into the bin.
The Vulcan, a stout man with curly black hair, didn't seem to have noticed the delay.
"... do not believe that we should consider this investment an option," he was saying to the man next to him when Malcolm poured the wine. "Sonak does not use his workers to the highest possible gain. It is quite illogical."
"Very intriguing, Sesik." Like before, there was a pause in conversation when T'Var spoke up. Malcolm finished his task and quickly retreated into the background. He didn't want to be the focus of attention yet again. This time, however, the old lady only seemed interested in the curly-haired Vulcan.
"So you believe we should not invest in Sonak's company?" she asked, her tone deceptively mild.
"No, Lady," Sesik replied. He looked uncomfortable, seeming to realize that he had just maneuvered himself into a tight spot. "It does not seem the logical choice to me."
She raised an eyebrow. "And why would that be?"
"It appears to me that economic gain is not very high on Sonak's list of priorities. He purchases workers, but he does not use them to his profit."
"He lets them rest once in a while and does not starve them down to living skeletons, is that what you are trying to say?" T'Var's tone was still light and conversational.
Sesik seemed to shrink on his pillow. "Lady, I am merely saying..."
"You are saying that it is illogical to take your fellow beings' needs into consideration when there is money to be made, isn't that right?"
Sesik seemed at a loss for words. "Lady..."
"Let me see, Sesik... your living quarters are kept clean by humans, your meals are cooked by them, you are waited on hand and foot by humans every day... yes, I can see that there is no need for you to consider their well-being. It is not as if they give you anything in return."
"T'Var..." The old matriarch raised a hand. "It is true that we should endeavor to treat our fellow beings with kindness. Needless cruelty is illogical, as is excessive solicitude."
T'Var turned to her. "Am I to understand that you consider it "excessive solicitude" to acknowledge that humans are sentient beings, just like ourselves?"
"Humans have their place in the universe, as do we. It has always been that way."
"It has not." T'Var rose to her feet. "I would have expected better of you, sister. Who are we to decide how the universe was intended to work? 'The spear in the other's heart is the spear in your own'."
"Surak," Sesik muttered quietly, but not quietly enough. T'Var's eyes came to rest on him.
"Surak indeed," she said calmly. "And he would cover his face in shame if he could see us today."
Awkwardly, she picked up her crutch and began to climb down the stairs that led from the platform. The Family sat in silence, watching her go. Almost at the door, T'Var turned around again.
"Enjoy your meal, Sikar," she said, and her hard expression softened a little as she looked at the boy. "If you wish, meet me later for a game of kal-toh. I am sure you will beat me this time."
"Yes, great-grandmother," Sikar replied happily, oblivious to the icy silence around him.
T'Var allowed herself a small smile. "I shall be looking forward to it."
With that, she was gone. The silence continued for a second or two, then Sesik raised his glass and emptied it in one gulp.
"Sometimes I would prefer to have my meals served in my living quarters," he muttered.
The matriarch looked at him. "Sesik, you are welcome to remain in your living quarters as you please. Yet if you decide to join us I expect you to show proper respect for your elders. That will be all."
Sesik bowed his head in embarrassment, and the rest of the Family returned to their dinner. No one commented on Lady T'Var's premature retiring, as the matriarch had made it clear that she would not condone any disrespectful remarks.
On the other side of the table, Kesek rolled his eyes at Malcolm, then schooled his face back into smooth, protocol-abiding indifference. Malcolm glanced at the door that had closed behind T'Var. There was a chance he had just found the gap in security he had been looking for.
"How long, T'Pol?"
T'Pol checked her readings, not commenting on the fact that the Captain had asked the same question only four minutes ago.
"The anomaly will establish itself in 2.35 minutes, Captain."
Archer nodded and turned back to the main screen. His posture betrayed tension, and although T'Pol did not allow herself to feel anything beyond mild anticipation, she understood why Archer was nervous. It had taken them six days to build the probe, and the simulations suggested that it would be able to pass through the anomaly undamaged. Yet there was a difference between simulations and the "real thing", as a human would have put it. As a scientist, T'Pol was the first to admit that there was no guarantee the probe would work when put to the test. There were too many variables they had not been able to take into account.
She glanced down at her console. "The anomaly is beginning to form again, sir."
All eyes immediately went to the main screen; illogically so, as there was nothing to see there. The naked eye, human or Vulcan, could not pick up a spatial distortion.
"The probe is ready for launch, Captain Archer," Halan announced from the tactical station.
Archer nodded once. "Take it in, Subcommander."
Halan entered the launching sequence, and Ensign Sato switched the main screen to the bow camera, giving them a view of the probe as it was dropped into space. T'Pol allowed herself a brief moment of pride as she watched the device glide towards the planet's surface. Even though it was a hastily assembled prototype, the probe was likely the most advanced of its kind.
"Five seconds until it enters the anomaly, Captain," she stated after a while. The probe was only a small glinting piece of metal now, hardly visible against the planet's blue surface.
"Switch to live view," Archer ordered. Ensign Sato made a few adjustments, and the main screen changed again, now showing the planet as seen from the camera inside the probe.
On T'Pol's viewscreen, the probe touched the first serrated line of the anomaly, passing into the distorted space. The image on the main screen wobbled a little, but other than that remained the same.
"Entering the anomaly now."
"I am diverting power to the probe's hull reinforcement," Halan announced from Tactical. "It should-"
He never finished his sentence. The main screen suddenly exploded in a cascade of colors, bright as lightning, as if someone had lit fireworks in space.
"T'Pol!" The Captain got up from his chair. "What's going on? Are we losing contact?"
"No, sir." T'Pol raised an eyebrow at the erratic readings. This was indeed fascinating, if unexpected. "It appears that the probe is recording the spatial distortions. What we see is a visual image of the electromagnetic charges inside the phenomenon."
"The hull reinforcement is losing power," Mevak said. He was bent over the engineering console, oblivious to the fiery spectacle in front of him. "The probe... I believe it is being sucked into some sort of vortex."
"Indeed," T'Pol said, suppressing a twinge of unease. As it appeared, the anomaly was not merely a "door" but a tiny spatial continuum of its own, its depths very capable of swallowing a small object like the probe. The computer simulations had not merely been faulty, they had been programmed on an incorrect assumption. At this point, T'Pol supposed Commander Tucker would have mentioned feces about to hit a ventilating device. "We're losing contact, Captain."
Archer took a step towards the tactical station. "Fire the thrusters! Now!"
As a precautionary measure, they had fitted the probe with miniature thrusters of its own, a measure which now proved its worth. For a moment, the image disappeared entirely, leaving the screen black and dead. Then, the camera went back online, the darkness erupting into color.
"T'Pol?"
"We are in contact with the probe again, Captain, but I do not believe that we will be for much longer. The circuitry has taken extensive damage inside the vortex."
She saw him biting back a curse. "Can we get it out on the other side?"
"I believe so," she said. "Subcommander Halan, divert more power to the thrusters. We should be able to record a sweep of the surroundings, if nothing else."
When the probe left the anomaly, it reminded T'Pol of a curtain being pulled open. The colors disappeared and suddenly the planet's surface came into view again, wisps of white clouds drifting over a turquoise sea.
"Doesn't look any different," Ensign Mayweather commented from the helm.
"It is not," T'Pol stated. "It seems that the planet exists on both sides of the phenomenon."
"So this is not the same planet we're seeing?" Sato asked, her voice colored with disbelief.
"It may be the planet's counterpart in the other spatial continuum," T'Pol replied. "Physically speaking, it is not the same world, no."
"Can you locate the shuttle anywhere on the surface?" Archer wanted to know. His demeanour was calm, but T'Pol noticed the underlying tension in his voice.
"No, Captain," she said. "But I believe I can calculate the approximate descent of the shuttle after it left the phenomenon. I am transmitting the coordinates to Tactical."
Directed by Halan, the probe picked up speed as it followed the shuttle's assumed course, breaking through layers of clouds. The ocean came into view, and T'Pol realized that the shuttle must have crashlanded in the water. Whether the two officers had still been alive at the time, she could only guess, but she refrained from doing so. The distress was visible on Archer's face as he stared at the waves.
"Captain, there is a mass of land only 2.3 kilometers away," she said. "I suggest we steer the probe in that direction. It is reasonable to assume that Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed would have tried to reach the coast."
"Main systems are failing," Mevak announced. "I am activating the back-up systems."
The image on the screen blurred a little, the sea and sky melting.
"T'Pol?" Archer asked.
"The probe is losing power, Captain. It will not be able to maintain its course for much longer."
Archer turned to Tactical. "Divert all power from the hull to the thrusters."
"The circuitry will not be able to withstand the pressure;" Halan began, but Archer cut him off.
"Do it! I want to get that thing to the coast, if nothing else."
Halan bowed his head in acknowledgment, and the probe picked up speed once again, hurtling towards the land like an old-fashioned cruise missile. T'Pol could make out a silvery beach, a forest of blue, feathery trees and-
The image collapsed all of a sudden, and there was a collective muttered curse from the humans on the bridge.
"The probe is still on course and recording," T'Pol said with a glance at her readings. "It does not have enough power left to transmit a visual image, though."
"How far to the coast?" Archer wanted to know. "Can you tell?"
"The transmitted data suggests that it has just reached the land, " T'Pol said.
"Back-up systems are failing," Mevak stated, and a moment later: "I believe the probe has crashed, Captain."
Archer briefly closed his eyes. "Great."
"Captain." T'Pol paused for a moment to control the sudden surge of emotion within her. She re-checked her readings to be sure. Yes, there it was. "I believe the probe has picked up the signature of a phase pistol on the beach."
T'Pol had to admit that the change in Archer's face was pleasant to watch, emotional and uncontrolled as it was. There was a split second of disbelief, then his face broke into a broad smile. T'Pol wasn't sure she had seen this expression at all since Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed had disappeared.
"Any bio signs?"
She checked the data the probe had transmitted shortly before the crash. "Only flora and wildlife," she replied. "But I believe the phase pistol is sufficient proof that Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed have made it to the coast."
Halan raised an eyebrow at her. T'Pol knew that her last statement had bordered on illogical; it was not necessary to remind the Captain of the implications of her find.
Archer smiled at her. "That it is," he said. "Looks like they made it out of the shuttle in one piece."
"And Malcolm managed to grab a phase pistol." Ensign Sato smiled. "I'm sure he's all right."
"I wonder why he left it on the beach, though," Mayweather added. "That's not like him at all."
Archer nodded slowly. "That's what I thought."
"Maybe it was broken," T'Pol suggested. "The signature would still be there even if the weapon was damaged."
"It's possible," Archer said. "Speculations aside, I'd say we get back to work. We've got two people to get out of there."
"Captain." T'Pol knew that he was not going to like what she had to say next, but it could not be left unsaid, either. "It may take time to find a safe way to cross the anomaly."
He gave a curt nod. "Understood."
From the look on his face, T'Pol was not so sure he was telling the truth.
TBC...
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