Enterprise – The Maiden Voyage

by Soledad

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction.

Notes are at the end of the chapter.


Chapter 02 – Compromises

Had Ambassador Soval been anything but a Vulcan, he would have felt a great deal of satisfaction from the discomfort of Admiral Forrest. As a Vulcan, he stood above such petty feelings – above any feelings in general – of course. Still, seeing the human squirm did give him a sense of tolerant amusement, and he was determined not to give the man what he needed… not without a price, that is.

"How can I be of assistance today, Admiral?" he asked politely.

Maxwell Forrest gave him a baleful look. "As if you didn't know already."

"Indeed I do," Soval admitted. "However, official requests still need to be voiced, as you know, Admiral. So; what, exactly, do you want from me?"

"Information," Forrest tried to curb his anger; from a human, it was an impressive – albeit futile – attempt. "I need to know everything there's to know about the Berengaria system; and how to get there."

"To tell you everything would require several of your weeks; a time span that you definitely do not have at the moment," Soval steepled his fingers in the stereotypic Vulcan gesture of contemplation. "I can, however, give you the basics. Berengaria is a red giant, orbited by thirteen planets. The seventh and eighth are both Minshara-class; the other eleven are actually huge asteroids with no atmosphere. Berengaria Seven has three moons, named simply Alpha, Beta and Gamma...(*) or rather after the equivalent three letters of the Viseeth alphabet, which would have no meaning for you. These are the only natural satellites in the system."

"Do both M-class planets have sentient life?" the admiral asked.

"No," Soval replied. The dominant inhabitants of Berengaria Seven are a species of winged reptiles, which measure nine to fifteen feet in length. Fortunately, they are docile and strictly herbivorous. The Viseeth gave them a name that has the same meaning as the English word dragon; though, of course, they are by no means mythical creatures."

"But they don't live on the same planet as these dragon things, do they?" Forrest asked.

"Not originally, no, though they have long established large colonies on Berengaria Seven as well," Soval explained. "The two Minshara-class planets are so close to each other that they are clearly visible on each other's night sky like large moons. Berengaria Seven is a lush jungle world. Berengaria Eight, the actual Viseeth homeworld, is only marginally cooler and drier. Aesthetically both planets are quite appealing, even though the high vapour levels in their atmosphere are challenging for the Vulcan system that has developed on a desert world."

"So you've been there?" Forrest clarified.

Soval nodded. "Of course. Vulcan and Berengaria Eight have maintained diplomatic relations for several millennia. The Viseeth are one of the oldest species in our quadrant of the galaxy."

"Does this mean that you can provide us with the coordinates and the necessary star charts to the Berengaria System?" the admiral pressed on.

"We can; and we will," Soval declared with dignity. "Under one condition; which, I fear, your friend Captain Archer will not like."


As almost everything a Vulcan had ever said, that predicament was an understatement. In this particular case it could have been called the understatement of the century. Jack Archer all but exploded into the face of his commanding officer upon hearing the news.

"They want us to do what?" he demanded.

"They want you to take Subcommander T'Pol with you as your temporary science officer," Forrest repeated calmly.

"I don't need a science officer!" Jack exclaimed angrily.

"Yes, you do," Forrest replied. "Every ship built for deep space exploration needs one; more than just one, in fact. And you don't even have a single one yet."

"Well, I certainly won't choose a Vulcan; and one from Soval's lackeys, at that!" Jack growled. "Besides, this is not the actual mission yet. We'll just deliver the cow lady... gentleman... whatever to their home planet; then we turn around and come back."

Forrest raised both eyebrows. "You don't see the first ever visit to a previously unknown planet as part of your mission? Jack, you disappoint me!" Jack grinned involuntarily, and the admiral continued. "However, to get there in the first place you'll need the Vulcan star charts. And they're only giving us those if you take her along for the trip. It is that simple."

"To spy on us," Jack muttered angrily.

The admiral nodded. "Most likely, yes. But it's only for this one trip, Jack. Once you're back, she'll be gone. And she's a scientist. A good one; I've seen her credentials. She might prove useful."

"A bloody nuisance, more likely," Jack muttered.

"Perhaps," Forrest allowed. "You'll have to work with less than cooperative aliens who are immune to your legendary charm in the future, Jack. Consider her a chaperone; as an opportunity to learn working with her people."

"Yeah, sure," Jack pulled a face but the admiral was not in the mood to continue an argument he saw as pointless.

"This is not up to discussion, Captain. You wanted this mission – you've got it. You'll have to live with the conditions it comes with."

"Ain't I the lucky guy?" Jack muttered.

But he was bested by the bloody Vulcans once again and he knew it. There was nothing left for him but to clench his teeth and live with it.


It was doubtful that the knowledge would have made Jack Archer any happier, but he wasn't the only one completely lacking any enthusiasm about the arrangement made between Ambassador Soval and Admiral Forrest. T'Pol was not happy with the arrangement, either. As a trained and disciplined Vulcan officer, however, she accepted it without protest, of course.

She had been instructed to report to duty in the next morning, local time. That meant she still had the chance to wrap up her current duties and leave everything in correct order and ready to be picked up upon her return.

Therefore, like once in every local week during the last two Earth years, she sat down at her computer terminal at exactly 1500 hours local time to compose her report to High Command. This was one particular aspect of her duties as science attaché that she found tedious. She had little enough to report and nothing that would not turn up in the reports of other junior diplomats or researchers who also had to send in weekly reports.

Personally, she saw no logic in sending in multiple descriptions of nothing. They were supposedly here to study humans, their ways and their technology in more depth; and to tutor and guide them. But how could they have learned anything of importance when they practically never met any humans, save for official meetings?

Leaving the Vulcan compound was, if not expressly forbidden, empathically discouraged, with the reasoning that all the violence and uncontrolled emotionality humans displayed on a regular basis could do serious damage to a young and as-yet inexperienced person's mental shielding. And that was something no Vulcan could afford. They needed to remain in control, all the time.

It was sound reasoning, beyond doubt. Still, T'Pol did not think any of them would be truly so weak that they would need constant protection. They were an old and strong race. They had faced worse threats during their long history and emerged unscathed. She had served on more dangerous posts during her career and survived.

So she had chosen to use her chance while they were still not forbidden to leave the compound. On several occasions, she had disguised herself as a human and went out to explore the night life of San Francisco, visiting several establishments the locals favoured in their spare time.

She had to admit that she was reluctantly impressed. Yes, humans were loud, illogical, often overly emotional, treacherous and steered by their base instincts more often than not. On the other hand, as T'Kahr (*) Soval had repeatedly pointed out in a private conversation, they were also inventive, passionate about their work, gregarious, impulsive and sometimes downright brilliant. She could never know which side of them would surface in any given situation, and she admitted that the challenge was... stimulating.

Just like the infinite facets of their music.

The excursions had stopped after she had given a particularly obnoxious human male with aggressive sexual interest for her a bloody nose. S'toss, T'Kahr Soval's diplomatic attaché had been icily outraged about the incident, and now she was forbidden to leave the compound on her own. She did not truly mind. She did not like the part of herself that had surfaced in the face of that particular emergency.

T'Kahr Soval, though, disagreed with her.

"You should not consider your heritage a burden, T'Pol-kam, (*) " he often said. "I imagine it can appear like that sometimes; but it will also enable you to understand humans better than anyone else among us. One day that can prove useful."

She suppressed a rather un-Vulcanlike snort. Her so-called heritage had caused her nothing but trouble, all her life. And having been assigned to the human ship supposed to take an important and gravely injured Viseeth courier home – one that had obviously been chased across half the galactic quadrant already – had the unpleasant taste of punishment… if not downright exile.

Although the order came from and was personally delivered by T'Kahr Soval, she suspected the hand of S'toss in it… and that of his influential supporters in High Command. It was a disquieting thought that promised nothing good for her future career.


A little later on the same day two uniformed Starfleet officers were standing in the transporter alcove of the Enterprise, watching as a shipment of cargo containers materialized on the transporter platform. The one with a lieutenant's stripes on his uniform was a buttoned-up Englishman in his early forties, with wavy dark hair and a thin, animated face. The other one, a dark-skinned ensign in his mid-twenties, seemed so excited to be there in the first place that he couldn't stop grinning.

"I heard this platform's been approved for bio-transport," he said.

"I presume you mean fruits and vegetables," the lieutenant stepped up to the platform to examine the cargo. "I hope you mean fruits and vegetables."

The ensign shook his head. "No, I mean security chiefs and helmsmen."

The lieutenant, who happened to be aforementioned security chief of the ship, frowned. "I don't think I'm quite ready to have my molecules compressed into a data stream."

The ensign shrugged. "They claim it's safe."

"Do they indeed?" the lieutenant mused, not really convinced. "Well, I certainly hope the captain doesn't plan on making us use it."

The ensign laughed. "Don't worry, from what I'm told, he wouldn't even put his dog through this thing."

The lieutenant gave him a jaundiced look. "And who could have possibly told you that, Ensign Mayweather?"

"Oh, but that would be telling," Mayweather replied with twinkling eyes. "Let just say that they have big cow eyes, brown hair and a gap between their front teeth."

The lieutenant rolled his eyes. "You shouldn't take anything Crewman Cooper tells you to face value. She has a very vivid imagination."

"Yeah, but she works in Engineering, and everyone knows that Commander Tucker is one of the captain's oldest friends," pointed out Mayweather. "Besides, she heard it from the quartermaster, so it must be true."

"Not necessarily; Petty Officer Daniels never met the captain before this assignment," the lieutenant opened one of the newly arrived boxes and breathed a sigh of frustration. "This is ridiculous. I asked for plasma coils and they sent me a case of valve sealant. There's no chance I can have the weapons online in three days."

The ensign looked at him in surprise. "What's the emergency? We're just taking an injured alien back to their homeworld. Why would we need weapons?"

The lieutenant pulled a face. "Because, apparently, the others are taking offence that we are taking their courier back and not their pet Vulcans. These cow people seem a shady lot."

Mayweather frowned. "Cow people, Mr Reed?"

"Apparently, they are called the Viseeth," Lieutenant Malcolm Reed explained. "Have you ever met one? You've travelled the farthest of us all."

Mayweather shook his head. "Not in the flesh. I've heard of them, of course. Every space boomer has. They're something of a legend in outer space but they rarely put in an appearance."

"Well, you'll get your chance this time," Reed promised. "Care to come to Engineering with me? I'll have to complain about my plasma coils, though, no doubt, Mister Tucker will reassure me that my equipment will be here tomorrow," he put on a horribly fake Southern accent, clearly trying to imitate the chief engineer. "Keep your shirt on, Lieutenant."

They smiled and headed to Engineering together. Around them crewmembers were putting finishing touches on the ship, working at wall panels and opened deck plating. They had to thread carefully not to step on anyone's fingers or bump into people.

"Is it me, or does the artificial gravity seem a bit heavy?" Mayweather suddenly asked.

Reed took a few measured steps. "Feels all right to me... Earth sea level."

"My father always kept it at point eight G," Mayweather smiled, reminiscing. "He thought it put a little spring in his step."

"After being raised on cargo ships, it must've felt like you had lead in your boots when you got to Earth," Reed paused at an opened wall panel, where a young, brunette female crewman was tuning a series of power conduits with a small device. "You may find that if you re-balance the polarities, you'll get that done a bit faster, Crewman Cooper," he said.

The young woman gave him a grateful, gap-toothed smile. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"It did take some getting used to," Mayweather said, referring to Reed's previous comment, as they continued down the corridor towards Engineering.


To be perfectly honest, the newly assigned chief helmsman of the Enterprise had expected the engine room of the brand new starship to be spacious and brightly-lit. It was, however, none of those things. Instead, he and Reed found themselves in a somewhat cramped place, not much larger than the engine room of his father's cargo ship… although considerably cleaner and better equipped.

The engineering crew was swarming all over the place like a colony of extremely busy ants, making it look even more cramped, while getting the ship ready for launch. A lean, blond man, with a commander's stripes on his duty uniform – doubtlessly the chief engineer of the ship – was working atop the warp core, extended horizontally across the room.

"Okay, Alex, give it some juice!" he shouted down; Mayweather recognized the Southern drawl Reed had tried to imitate previously.

A somewhat oriental-looking crewman below threw a series of levers, and a pulsing pillar of plasma coursed through the warp core.

"Beautiful!" the chief engineer shouted. "Lock it off right there!"

He ducked and weaved through various outcroppings and slid down an access ladder, dropping to the deck below. He eyed the warp core with proprietary pride; then he noticed something and frowned. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and polished off a small smudge on the casing.

"I believe you missed a spot," Lieutenant Reed said, amused, as the engineer was inspecting his handiwork proudly.

The engineer pulled a face. "God beware us from British humour! You've brought company, Lieutenant?"

Reed nodded, making the introductions. "Commander Tucker, Lieutenant Travis Mayweather. He just arrived."

Tucker ducked under the rail and extended his hand. "Our space boomer, right? Welcome aboard, Ensign; it is good to have someone around who's actually worked in an engine room before."

Mayweather shook his hand, but couldn't keep his eyes off the engine. "How fast have you gotten her?"

"Warp four," Tucker replied proudly. "We'll be going to four-five as soon as we clear Jupiter. Think you can handle it?"

"Four point five..." Mayweather repeated in awe.

Reed cleared his throat. "Pardon me, but if I don't realign the deflector, the first grain of space-dust we come across will blow a hole through this ship the size of your fist."

Tucker waved off his concern. "Keep your shirt on, Lieutenant. Your equipment'll be here in the morning."

Reed and Mayweather exchanged wryly amused looks and the security chief rolled his eyes in exasperation.


In the dimly lit interrogation room of Starfleet's high security prison in Guantanamo – a prison that did not officially exist and to where people tended to vanish without a trial an without any hope to be released, ever – Jack Archer was looking with interest at the planet's supposedly best exolinguist. In the drab orange coverall and with the security manacles still fastened around her ankles, Hoshi Sato seemed one thing above all else: broken. Her eyes were lifeless and her expression so dull that Jack wondered if the prisoners were fed drugs to keep them better under control.

Such a treatment would have seriously endangered his plans. He needed Hoshi at her brilliant self, not as a broken shell. Yet there was a distinct possibility that if she'd indeed been given drugs, that brilliant mind of hers had taken serious, maybe irreparable damage. She was a certified genius; and the mind of a genius was a delicate thing to keep in balance. Was the spirited young woman he'd known only eight months ago still in there somewhere?

"Hoshi," he said in a low, urgent voice. "Can you recognize me? I'm Jack Archer; we worked together on the Warp Five Program last year."

It might have been wishful thinking, but it seemed to him as if something had stirred in those lifeless eyes.

"Commander," she said tonelessly.

"Actually Captain now, but who cares?" Jack grinned at her.

She nodded. "Your ship," she said. "It's finally completed."

The unasked question Have I been here for so long? hung between them in the air.

"We're still applying the last touches," Jack admitted. "But she'll be ready to go in two days' time. Trip's promised."

"Then she will," she replied simply; having worked with Charlie Tucker, she knew he was as good as his word.

"I'm still hunting down the last members of the command crew," Jack continued. "I got free hand to pick whomever I want… including you."

That announcement earned him a smile, albeit a bitter one.

"Yeah, sure. As if Starfleet Intelligence would ever let me out of here… except in a coffin."

"They will," Jack said. "Sure, they're not happy about it, but this is an emergency. We have to launch earlier than planned, and we have to deal with an old and powerful alien race; we can't afford any misunderstandings."

"What does it have to do with me?" she asked. "You need a diplomat."

"No, I need an exolinguist; a damn good one, with an ear for subtle detail no-one but a Vulcan might be able to notice."

"Then you should take a Vulcan with you," she pointed out.

"I do… and believe me, it's not voluntarily," he confessed with a grimace. "Which is the other reason why I need you. No-one else speaks all major Vulcan dialects. Most likely not even the best Intelligence officers. I need your ear, Hoshi; and I need your brains."

She remained silent for a while. "You really could get me out of here?" she finally asked, still not quite believing it.

Jack nodded. "I can and I will. There will be limitations, though. You'll be on probation for the next five years, which is the planned length of our first deep space mission. You'll be restricted to the ship or whatever planet we might visit. You'll start climbing the ladder from the bottom again, starting from square one as a green ensign. If you prove yourself, you can leave after the mission is completed as a free woman and do with your life whatever you want. Your record will be wiped clean."

She stared at him in shocked disbelief. "How many strings did you have to pull to achieve this?"

He shrugged. "Actually, it was Commander Williams who pulled the strings, although I suspect that Ambassador Soval had a hand in it, too. He still remembers your role in that particular conflict with the Klingons and voiced the opinion that it would be illogical to waste a talent like yours."

Her smile was just a tad more honest now. "That's Vulcan memory for you."

"No," he replied. "That's acknowledging true genius if they see it. Not many people would be able to learn several poly-guttural dialects constructed on an adaptive syntax in a matter of two weeks. That's exactly the ability we'll need on our first trip. Even the brass understand that… reluctantly," he patted her cold, clammy hand. "I've brought your new uniform; go and change and let us get the hell out of here before anyone could change their minds."

"Speaking of which," she said while standing hurriedly to follow his instructions, "last time I was in the condition to check, the Vulcans were opposed to our warp 5 program."

"They still are," Jack replied with a shrug and a grimace. "But we agreed to make a few compromises."


"What compromises, exactly, are we talking about, sir?" Lieutenant Reed asked calmly.

He was sitting in a nondescript office somewhere in the headquarters of Starfleet Intelligence in Annapolis with Commander Williams and the man he had hoped he would never see again. The man who'd given him the reason to transfer back to the fleet.

The man whom he had only ever known as "Harris".

"The Vulcans insisted on sending Subcommander T'Pol along with the first voyage of the Enterprise," Williams explained. "She may be a scientist now but she used to work for the Ministry of Intelligence, which means she's thoroughly trained in the Vulcan ways of espionage."

"How quaint," Reed commented blandly. "I presume you want me to keep an eye on her, sir?"

"Not only on her," Harris spoke up. "Starfleet Intelligence has agreed to release Ms Sato from Guantanamo because Captain Archer insisted on having her on board for the mission. This will be a five-year indentured service during which she must be constantly monitored."

Reed shook his head. "I'm not the right man for the job. I'll have more pressing duties; and besides, she know who – what – I am… what I was. I was the one who arrested her, after all. I shot her, for God's sake!"

"Exactly," Harris said with the expression of a cat that had just got the cream; but he refused to elaborate.

"Does Captain Archer know about this?" Reed said, dreading the answer. He'd left Section 31 because he wanted to leave such assignments behind; but apparently, it wasn't quite that simple.

"He knows you're an intelligence officer assigned to his ship for security reasons," Williams replied. "He doesn't know, however, that we've planted there Socorro as well, with the specifically assigned task to monitor Sato."

"Blimey!" muttered Reed angrily. "The mission hasn't even started yet, but Section 31 has already undermined it."

"Nonsense," Williams said sharply. "Socorro is our plant, not that of the Section; and she'll be an asset for your security team. She knows about eighteen ways to kill a man with a salt shaker."

"Is that her ultimate task?" Reed asked. "To terminate Ms Sato with extreme prejudice, should she behave suspiciously?"

"Not without your express order," Williams said. "She's just the means to reach that goal if needs must be. The decision is entirely yours."

"Wonderful," Reed said sarcastically. This was exactly what he'd hoped to escape by transferring back to the fleet.

"And don't forget, Lieutenant: Captain Archer must not learn about Socorro's true identity; or about her special task," Harris added with a thin, unpleasant smile. "He's a very impulsive man. He might do something… foolish if he knew. This mission is of utmost importance for mankind. It must not be endangered for personal reasons."


"Since when do we have Vulcan science officers?" Charlie Tucker demanded angrily

The senior officers of the Enterprise – minus Hoshi Sato and the alien doctor named Phlox, whom Jack had hired directly from Starfleet Medical – were gathered in the captain's ready room for a pre-flight debriefing. A rather routine briefing, all in all.

Until the captain dropped the bombshell, that is.

"Since we needed star charts to get to the Berengaria system," Jack replied. "No Earth ship has ever been so far out. We need directions. Reliable ones."

"So we get a few maps... and they get to put a spy on our ship?" Charlie asked hotly.

Jack gave him one of those false one hundred thousand megawatt grins. "Admiral Forrest says we should think of her more as a chaperone. Like Mary Poppins… just with pointy ears."

"I wonder if she can also fly with the help of an umbrella," Mayweather snickered, but Charlie was not in the mood for jokes.

"I thought the whole point of this was to get away from the Vulcans," he muttered angrily.

Jack shrugged. "Needs must, Trip. A not-so-short trip to Berengaria VIII and back, then she's gone… and we can keep Hoshi in exchange. In the meantime, we're to extend her every courtesy."

"In that case you might want to cut back on the flirting, Captain," Lieutenant Reed said quietly. "I heard Vulcan women have difficulties with understanding innuendo."

Jack grinned at him like a shark. "I'm sure that as an intelligence officer you've got a great deal more first-hand experience with Vulcans than the rest of us together," he said. "I'll leave the personal touch to you, Lieutenant; the two of you seem to have a lot in common. And when two icebergs collide, the resulting crash can be fun to watch, I think."

Mayweather laughed at that, but Charlie stared at Reed in open-mouthed shock. "He's a spy?"

"Intelligence officer," Reed corrected. "Yes, I was one; but I've transferred back to the fleet."

"How convenient," Charlie growled. "She spies on us, you spy on her – what a fun mission this is going to be – not! I'd be more comfortable with Porthos on the bridge than with either of you, to be frank."

Jack's Beagle, hearing his name, wagged his tail enthusiastically at Charlie. Jack, however, shook his head tolerantly.

"Try to be a little more open-minded, Trip," he chastised his chief engineer. "Right now we don't have a science officer, and if she was chosen to serve off-world, she must be good at what she does."

"She also served on the science vessel Seleya several years," Reed added. "Deep space missions are an old hat for her."

"And at least Hoshi will be glad for the chance to practice her Vulcan while she's aboard," Jack said.

"Assuming she's gonna lower herself to our level," Charlie said nastily.

"We should welcome her without prejudice; then she might consider it," Ensign Mayweather replied innocently.

Charlie opened his mouth to make an acerbic comment but the door chime prevented him from answering. Jack sighed and plastered a big, fake smile on his face.

"Here we go," he sighed; then he called out. "Come in."


The door opened, allowing T'Pol in. Without the flowing robes Vulcans generally preferred, she seemed surprisingly small in the regular Starfleet uniform. She was slim and trim, but her broad shoulders clearly showed that she wasn't the least fragile. With her short-cropped hair she might have looked like a young boy but the uniform revealed more from her curvaceous figure than the Vulcan robes would. The Flower Fairy she certainly was not.

She marched directly to Jack, ignoring everyone else in the room and handed him a PADD.

"This confirms that I was formally transferred to your command at oh eight hundred hours," she said in an even, emotionless voice. "Reporting for duty."

There was an uncomfortable silence while Jack studied the PADD. T'Pol's face remained inscrutable but her nostrils flared briefly – it was obvious that something smelled rather unpleasant to her. Looking around distractedly (as distracted as a Vulcan could ever get), her eyes finally fixed on Porthos, lying in the corner, his tail waggling a mile a minute.

At least Jack looked up from the PADD and noticed her discomfort.

"Is there a problem?" he asked with a frown.

"No, sir," T'Pol replied stiffly.

Reed cleared his throat in apology. "Captain, Vulcan females have a heightened sense of smell," he intervened smoothly.

Jack looked from the Vulcan to the dog and grinned with unholy glee, realizing he'd found a button to push.

"Oh, I forgot," he said with false compassion. "I hope Porthos isn't too offensive to you."

"I've been trained to tolerate offensive situations," T'Pol replied with an attitude of well-studied superiority that promised nothing good for future cooperation. charlie picked up on her attitude and gave Jack a mock-alarmed look.

"I took a shower this morning," he said innocently." How about you, Captain?"

This was an ages-old joke between them, based on the (never proved) fact that Jack was prone to sweating while charlie was not. In truth, they were both fastidious like cats… unless Charlie had to crawl elbow-deep onto the bowels of his engines.

"Men!" muttered Hoshi, who had just arrived, loud enough for said men to overhear and exchanged a look of deep female understanding with the Vulcan. "Permission to enter, Captain?"

"Granted," Jack gestured towards the empty seat next to Reed, which Hoshi deliberately ignored, walking around the table and taking the seat next to Mayweather instead. She looked very young, even a little lost in her new uniform, and kept giving Reed nervous glances when she thought she was not being observes.

Jack noticed those glances, of course, and made a mental note to find out the reason for them later. For now, he chose to make the necessary introductions first.

"I'm sorry, Subcommander. Let me introduce you our senior staff. This is Commander Charles Tucker III, our chief engineer. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, chief of security and tactical officer when the need arises. Ensign Travis Mayweather, chief helmsman. And, last but not least, Ensign Hoshi Sato, communications officer and exolinguist extraordinaire, with the sharpest ear on the entire planet. Everyone, this is Subcommander T'Pol, our science officer."

"The captain is exaggerating, as always," Hoshi told the Vulcan woman. "You'll get used to it… eventually."

"Unlikely, but I shall try," T'Pol replied dryly.

"Hey, telling others that you're the best isn't exaggerating!" Jack protested. "You are, and you know it. Or else you wouldn't have taught at university in your spare time at the age of twenty already!"

"A lot of people teach at university as post-graduate students, Jack," Hoshi said tolerantly.

"Yeah, but no-one is as good as you are," Jack replied. "Or as our Mr Tucker here."

"Charlie," the chief engineer corrected. "I'm called Charlie. Except by the captain here, who likes to call me Trip."

"A rather… unusual name… for a male person," T'Pol commented dryly. "T'Rip would be a female name on Vulcan."

"It's because I'm the third in the line of my family to wear that name," Charlie explained.

"I will try to remember that," T'Pol said, obviously finding that particular detail unnecessarily and irrelevant.

Jack was just about getting thoroughly fed up with her attitude and found it necessary to lay down the law right at the beginning.

"Let me set something very straight, Subcommander," he said coldly. "While you may not share our enthusiasm about this mission, I expect you to follow our rules... what's said in this room and out on that bridge is classified. Privileged information, if you want to put it that way. I don't want every word I say being picked apart the next day by the Vulcan High Command… or in Commander Williams's office," he added with a hard glance at Reed.

The chief of security had the decency to avoid his glance, but T'Pol stared right into his eyes.

"My reason for being here is not espionage," she stated calmly. "My superiors simply asked me to assist you."

"Your superiors don't think we can flush a toilet without one of you to assist us," Jack commented bitterly.

T'Pol hesitated for a moment before answering, as if seeking for the best way to phrase some unpleasant truth.

"I did not request this assignment, Captain, and you can be certain that when the mission's over, I'll be as pleased to leave this ship as you'll be to have me go," she finally said. "But you should consider this: you are about to travel to a sector of deep space no human has gone before. Vulcans have. I have. I have served on a Vulcan science vessel for years and have visited thirty-six different planets of the Minshara-class…"

"Planets capable of supporting humanoid life," Hoshi translated for the other humans.

T'Pol ignored the interruption and went on unerringly. "So yes, there is a strong possibility that I actually might assist you in this mission. If for no other reason then because I have already had contact with the Viseeth and you have not," she glanced down at Porthos who had left his cosy corner and was now sniffing her leg. "If there is nothing else..."

Jack deliberately waited for a moment, letting Porthos sniff away. Yes, it was juvenile, but he found her discomfort, quite frankly, hilarious.

"Porthos!" he then said in a warning tone and the dog obediently moved back to its bed. Jack then turned back to the Vulcan. "That'll be all... for now."

T'Pol turned around and left the room, leaving four amused men and an embarrassed Hoshi behind.


In Sickbay, Dr Phlox was watching his currently only patient with interest. Like every space-faring race, the Denobulans had heard about the Viseeth but never actually got to see one in the flesh. Not even most physicians. Phlox was only an exception because he'd signed up to the Interspecies Medical Exchange program organized by the Vulcans, and Vulcans were the only known race having regular contact with the Viseeth.

Well, there were the Deltans, of course, but those were even less forthcoming with information.

By anyone's measure, the patient was beautiful, despite being hooked up to a dozen tubes and monitoring instruments. With that delicate face, like that of an Earth woman of African origins, that lush black hair, that intricate pattern covering their mahogany skin… they really looked like a work of art.

"She looks a bit like a fire salamander," commented Crewman Cricket Yee, walking up to the biobed.

She was one of the medical technicians, a dedicated young woman with short, dark hair. Phlox gave her a fond glance; he might have been the only actual doctor on board, but the short time he'd spent here revealed that medical personnel had been well and thoroughly trained.

"That is not surprising," he replied. "According to the Vulcan medical database, to which I, fortunately, have access as a participant of their medical exchange program, the Viseeth evolved from an amphibian creature not unlike an Earth salamander – only a lot bigger."

"You mean they're actually amphibians?" Yee asked in surprise. "She looks entirely human… well, save for the lack of external genitalia."

"The humanoid form has developed on many different worlds because bipedal locomotion and the use of hands are practical," Phlox explained. "In the inside, however, all these humanoid species are quite different. Take the Vulcans, for example: their hearts are in the place you humans have your livers, and their blood is based on copper, not iron."

"But these… these cow people have to procreate somehow, haven't they?" Crewman Ator Tamras, another female medical technician on duty, asked.

Anyone else Phlox would have reprimanded for calling the Viseeth cow people – which, unfortunately, almost everyone on board did – but Crewman Tamras was a Hindu. Coming from her it could have been interpreted as a sign of respect.

"They do," he replied. "However, by them it happens via asexual insemination."

"You mean they lay eggs?" Yee clarified, her eyes as big as saucers.

Phlox nodded. "As far as I know they have special breeding tanks – or pools, for individuals that prefer a natural environment – where they lay their eggs and then mutually fertilize each other's eggs. They are all hermaphrodites, you see. Like Terran snails."

"That's really sad; having the equipment for both sides and still not being able to use any of it for fun," Jack Archer sauntered into Sickbay and looked down at the beautiful alien woman that was, sadly, no woman at all." "No wonder they get on with the Vulcans so well; neither of them is familiar with the concept of fun."

"I can't say anything about the Viseeth," Phlox replied, "but if you made a little more effort to actually know the Vulcans, instead of seeing the enemy in them, they might surprise you," he re-checked the readings and turned to Jack. "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"I just came to check on our passenger," Jack replied.

He looked around with interest and picked up a jar that was filled with viscous pink fluid. Tiny corkscrew organisms flitted through the liquid as he turned the jar back and forth, studying the creatures' reaction.

"Love what you've done with the place, Doc," he commented. "It's really home-y, with pets and all. Never thought a sickbay could include an entire alien zoo."

Phlox got a bit alarmed by Jack's casual handling of the jar. "Those are immunocytic gel worms. Try not to shake them, Captain!"

Jack hurriedly handed the jar to Crewman Yee who placed it back to its proper place, without seeming particularly bothered by its contents. Medical personnel seemed to have adapted to their chief medical officer in record time, apparently. Which, in his book, was a good thing, especially on a journey heading for the great unknown.

"So what'd you think of Earth?" he asked, while Crewmen Yee and Tamras continued taking other articles out of a large packing case and putting them to their pre-assigned place.

Phlox beamed at him. "Intriguing. I especially liked the Chinese food. Have you ever tried it?"

Jack laughed. "I've lived all over the planet, but you can get it everywhere. Nowhere as good as in San Francisco, though. But actually, I meant what you think about our people."

"Ah!" Phlox nodded in understanding. "Well, you're a fascinating species, you humans. Anatomically are somewhat simplistic, but what you lack biologically you make up for with your charming optimism... not to mention your egg drop soup. Be very careful with the blue box!" he added, alarmed again, when Jack picked up a small blue box with breathing holes on either side. Some unseen creature was skittering within.

"What's in there?" Jack asked, not really sure that he actually wanted to know the answer. He got one anyway.

"An Altarian marsupial," Phlox explained. "Their droppings contain the greatest concentration of regenerative enzymes found anywhere."

"Their droppings?" Jack had the vague feeling that he might become sick.

Phlox gave him one of those creepy smiles. "If you're going to try to embrace new worlds, Captain, you must try to embrace new ideas. That's why the Vulcans initiated the Interspecies Medical Exchange. There's a lot to be learned," he added philosophically as Jack handed him the blue box.

"I'm sorry I had to take you away from your program, but our doctors haven't even heard of these Viseeth," Jack said. "Dr Harper, who'd been originally selected as the chief medical officer of the Enterprise, is a passable exobiologist, but the Vulcans would never let him access their medical database."

"And he has the worst bedside manner on the planet," Crewman Tamras commented. "Letting him treat an important alien dignitary would have lead to a galaxy-wide diplomatic outrage."

"Yes, but he can patch you together with a piece of surgical wire and some sellotape, even if he finds you in several pieces, " Jack returned. "I will pull him in, as soon as we're back, so get used to the thought of working with him. It's bad enough that I was forced to draft Dr Phlox for our first mission, but I had no other choice."

Phlox smiled at him broadly. "Please, no apologies! What better time to study human beings than when they're under pressure? It's a rare opportunity. And your Viseeth passenger... I've never had a chance to examine a living one before. The database can't be compared with the real thing."

Jack nodded in agreement. "We'll need about eighteen days to reach Berengaria VII," he then said. "Any chance the patient will be conscious by then?

"There's a chance they'll be conscious within the next ten minutes," Phlox replied. "Just not a very good one."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Eighteen days, Doctor. If she doesn't walk off this ship on her own two feet, we won't stand much of a chance with her people. Or with the Vulcans, for that matter."

"I'll do the best I can," promised Phlox. "Optimism, Captain!"

He gave Jack another one of those wide, inhuman grins that reminded one disturbingly of Batman's enemy, Joker. Realising that he'd got all he was going to get out of his temporary chief medical officer, Jack took one last look at the alien patient and headed for the door, missing his originally chosen doctor already.

Owen Harper might have the worst bedside manner in Earth's medical history, but at least one always knew what to expect of him. Jack preferred it that way.

~TBC~


T'Kahr = an honorary Vulcan title for a mentor from a student

kam = is an endearment used by a mentor in appreciation of a promising student

Berengaria System = the specifications are taken from "The Worlds of the Federation" by Shane Johnson. I only added Berengaria VIII as the Viseeth homeworld.

As I mentioned in the Introduction, character backgrounds are different from canon in places. Hoshi's was inspired by Torchwood's Toshiko's. Obviously.

Lines that appear familiar have been borrowed from the original script for the pilot, of course.