—Chapter 13—
It took the ship ten days to reach the market at Sebra and during that time Hoshi watched Trip and T'Pol like a hawk. Most of the time T'Pol was back to her prim and proper Vulcan SubCommander routine, though now and then Hoshi noticed the SubCommander watching Trip, only to then turn away the moment he sensed her attention and turned to face her. Only sometimes T'Pol did not turn away, and the eye contact between the two of them was interesting. The normally easy going Engineer looked as single-minded in his focus as a falcon on the wing, while the normally stoic Vulcan's gaze looked both subtly inviting and overtly challenging. What to make of that?
The course of events soon gave Hoshi other things with which to concern herself, for the ship reached the market at Sebra in due time. This time T'Pol would be going in as Hoshi's slave, while Malcolm and Trip watched from the sidelines.
"She looks cute as a redhead," said Malcolm to Trip, as they watched Hoshi and her pet eat lunch at a table reasonably close to theirs, say sixty feet or so.
"What?" said Trip. "What are you babbling about Lieutenant?"
"T'Pol. She looks cute as a redhead."
"Yeah, she does," said Trip, "though I didn't know Vulcan's had redheads until now."
Truthfully, redhead wasn't quite accurate. The Vulcan equivalent was something of a rich burgundy with streaks of dark copper. It looked almost black usually, but now and then, when the light struck at just the right angle, the color popped. It really was quite lovely. In any case, the long haired wig T'Pol was wearing was made of genuine Vulcan hair, so it looked authentic, and between that and a change in the clothing style of the SubCommander they all hoped it was enough to disguise them from the Happa.
"And that dress," said Malcolm, "it sure flatters her figure."
Trip turned to face Malcolm and said, "What the hell is wrong with you, Malcolm? Did you have stroke or something?"
The Lieutenant grinned shamelessly at Trip and said, "I'm just busting your chops, sir. Hoshi has this crazy theory that you and T'Pol are into each other. In case she's right, I couldn't resist poking the bear."
"There's a reason people don't poke bears, Lieutenant," said Trip, absentmindedly. "Unless you'd care to scrub this bear's toilet every morning and evening for the rest of your tour with the Enterprise. Well within my powers of discipline, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir."
"I don't think any Happa are going to take the bait," said Trip. "We've seen two Happa, they've seen T'Pol, but no one's approached Hoshi about her. We've spooked them."
"We don't know that," said Malcolm. "We don't know anything. Be patient."
"Ok, you're right."
It was three days later that they finally admitted defeat and tried another tack at Travis's suggestion. He, Malcolm and Trip were drinking in an Orion strip club, knocking about ideas and hoping some Happa would show up.
"You know," said Travis, "we're doing this all wrong."
"Share your wisdom, Travis," said Malcolm.
"If you want information on the Happa, go to an Orion," said Travis. "It's their market, everything's for sale."
"The Vulcans already tried that with the Orions they captured," said Malcom. "And they interrogated two hundred. Interrogated and more than that."
"Two hundred doesn't mean much," said Travis. "There must be millions of Orions in these sectors. Actually, more like billions."
"You might be right," said Malcolm. "But I do know that the Happa are steady customers who pay well. Why should the Orions betray a steady customer for a one-off payment from us?"
"No, not like that," said Travis, gesturing with his head towards a lithe Orion dancer doing some impressive aerial acrobatic maneuvers above the stage, from a series of rings, suspended on steel cables from the ceiling. "They live here, they know everything that happens here, and they don't care what business the Orion males have going on, far as I can tell. They're all about personal profit."
"Worth a try," said Trip. "We're getting nothing done here. Go on."
"We buy some dances, buy some drinks, probe discreetly for info on the Happa," said Travis. "We're just three innocent humans, first time out in space, at least this far, and we're just curious about everything. We don't just ask about the Happa, we ask about other species, merchandise to be found here, foods, drinks, everything. That way we don't tip them off."
"It will cost," said Malcolm.
"Oh, brother," said Trip, "I just know I'm going to enjoy justifying this expense to StarFleet and the High Command. What the hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. Let's start tomorrow night though. I've got a wicked headache, and I've had enough for tonight."
"Lap dances for information. Forgive me if I seem skeptical, but it sounds like a self-serving gambit," said T'Pol, later, aboard the ship as they all gathered round the dining table.
"Self-serving, SubCommander?" said Malcolm, and it was to the man's credit that he maintained a straight face.
T'Pol just looked at the Lieutenant for a moment, then said, "It is a ridiculous scheme, but let us hope it works."
"Let's hope," said Trip as he looked up at T'Pol from his place at the ship's griddle. "Malcolm, come get these."
A moment later, Malcolm laid down a dozen grilled cheese sandwiches for the humans and a salad, fresh flatbread and a bowl of wild mushroom soup in a clear vegetable stock for T'Pol. She looked at Trip as he sat down next to her with a pot of coffee for the table.
"Thank you, Commander."
He nodded, and said, "No problem. I know you don't like fatty foods."
"You don't know what you're missing, SubCommander," said Travis, even though the hot cheese was burning his mouth.
"Yum, yum," said Hoshi, hands greedly reaching for a sandwich. "Give me."
"Still, it was kind of you to go out of your way, Commander," said T'Pol.
Trip waved off his gesture as inconsequential but T'Pol was about to say something more to express her gratitude to Commander Tucker, when she noticed Ensign Sato looking back at her with an odd look in her eyes, so T'Pol began eating instead.
"Ok, ok, so now Trip is T'Pol's personal cook," said Hoshi to Malcolm, as the two of them washed dishes.
"Oh, come on, Hoshi," said Malcolm. "He cooks for all of us."
"No, no, Malcolm. He baked her a freaking basil flatbread, made her a bowl of mushroom soup and chopped up a salad, while we had some lousy grilled cheese sandwiches. There were three kinds of wild mushrooms in that soup, Malcolm. That's got to mean something."
"Mushrooms are mushrooms, Hoshi, and you love Trip's grilled cheese. You matched Trip, Travis and I bite for bite for two sandwiches."
"Yeah. Well they are the Cadillac of sandwiches. Two kinds of cheese, grilled crusty bread, onions sauteed in butter until carmelized."
"And who ate that last sandwich, when everyone else was stuffed?"
"Me," said Hoshi.
"And you know Trip would cook anything for you, if you asked for it. Hell he would have roasted a turkey for you if you'd asked for one, Hoshi."
"Yeah, I know, but he did it for T'Pol without being asked. He's looking out for her as a matter of course. She noticed it as well, Malcolm."
"You're reaching, Hoshi."
"Maybe you're right," said Hoshi, a bit crestfallen now, "and maybe you're not. I know I can't prove it to you yet, but I know I'm right, Malcolm."
"Of course you are, Hoshi."
"I know I'm right."