Enterprise – The Maiden Voyage

by Soledad

For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the Introduction

The Vulcan food items are from the Memory Alpha wiki.

More notes are at the end of the chapter.


Chapter 18 – Guess Who's Coming for Dinner

To say that Hoshi was uncomfortable with Jack's orders to decrypt T'Pol's personal correspondence would have been an understatement. She was a linguist with no interest in spy stuff, as she called it; her own clash with Starfleet Intelligence – no to mention the consequences – had been enough for a lifetime. Aside from that, she was also a very private person who found it inappropriate to violate another person's privacy.

Especially that of a Vulcan whose people were a great deal more jealous of their own privacy than any human could ever be.

Especially that of this particular Vulcan, whom she had come to respect very much in the short time they had spent aboard Enterprise.

But orders were orders and anyway, there were very few things she wouldn't do for Jack, even without ordered to do so. Besides, there was still a faint chance that T'Pol really wasn't playing fairly. So she went to work.

The task proved harder than she had expected. The code was insanely complex. Reed and Mayweather had already boarded the shuttlepod and left for the comet by the time she finally cracked it. As expected, the message was in Vulcan; no surprise there. She downloaded it to a PADD and went to Jack's Ready Room to make her report.

She found Charlie with Jack; which, again, was no real surprise. Due to the neural damage suffered from the Iconian weapon he could still only do such work down in Engineering as didn't require fine motor skills, and had to rely heavily on his second-in-command, Lieutenant Hess – which frustrated him no end. Not that Anna Hess wouldn't be competent enough on her own, but Charlie was the kind of guy who liked to do things with his own hands.

The two men – her old friends and highly valued colleagues – gave Hoshi fond grins as she entered the Ready Room.

"Any luck?" Jack asked.

Hoshi nodded. "It's done, Captain. Sorry it took so long. The code was pretty complex."

"What's it sayin'?" Charlie was clearly eager to know. But there again, all his life he'd been even more suspicious about Vulcans and their possible intentions than Jack himself had been – and that was saying a lot.

"It's in Vulcan," Hoshi replied evasively. "You'll have to run it through the translation matrix."

"You didn't read it?" the chief engineer asked in surprise.

Hoshi shook her head. "I didn't feel it'd be right."

The two men exchanged somewhat ashamed looks; then Jack turned back to her. "Look, Hoshi… I know you aren't comfortable with this. And you might even be right; this might be a personal matter. Which is why I want you to read the damn message."

"Me, sir? Why me?"

"Because it might be personal, and at the very least you're a woman, too. If it is personal, I won't ask you about the details. But if there's the slightest chance that the High Command is trying to do something behind our back, I need to know about it."

"Think about it," Charlie added. "Once Reed learns about the transmission, he won't hesitate to read it; and I don't think T'Pol would be happy with him snoopin' around in her private correspondence."

"Understood, sir," Hoshi sighed unhappily. "May I use your interface, Captain?"

Jack stood and gestured towards his desk. "Be my guest!"

Hoshi sat, connected her PADD to the computer interface and ran the translation program. Not that she would really need it, being quite fluent in several Vulcan dialects; she just wanted to make absolutely sure that there wouldn't be any mistakes.

The message was quite short; but the thought of having read it made her extremely ashamed. Even though she'd been acting under orders.

"Well?" Jack asked, a little impatiently.

Hoshi looked up from her PADD. "It's not what you might have expected, Captain. It's a letter."

"And? What did it say?" The captain seemed to be losing his remaining patience rapidly.

Hoshi gulped. "It's… personal."

"How personal?"

"Very personal," she emphasized. "Captain, you promised you won't ask me about details – I ask you to keep that promise. I'll tell you if you order me, but you wouldn't be happy if I did. We've violated her privacy enough as it is – and there's nothing that would endanger Enterprise in any way."

"So why the hell was it encrypted?" His frustration was obvious. At a guess, he too was mortified by having effectively spied on the personal correspondence of one of his officers.

"That's what I want to know, too," Charlie added indignantly.

Hoshi shrugged. "Maybe Vulcans encrypt all their personal letters?"

Jack shook his head in exasperation. "This is ridiculous! All they had to do was send it through regular channels, mark it personal, and we'd have left it alone. But no, they had to encrypt it, force us to start snooping…"

"Perhaps they didn't trust us to leave it alone," Hoshi offered quietly. "Not with Lieutenant Reed on board."

"She does have a point," Charlie admitted. "After all, it was Reed – or rather his right-hand-woman – who found the transmission in the first place." He paused, frowning unhappily. "We've got to tell her, Jack."

The captain pulled an equally unhappy face. "How's that going to help?"

"It's the right thing to do," the chief engineer insisted. "At least I'll be able to look her in the eye without feelin' guilty."

The captain gave his oldest friend a fond look. "You're a good man, Trip Tucker." After a moment of consideration he added, grinning, "You might want to take a phase pistol with you for that conversation."

"I might need one," Charlie agreed glumly. "Damn spies and their constant snoopin'!"


Tucker found their resident Vulcan on the Bridge, in serious scientific discussion with Crewman DePinto.

He cleared his throat nervously.

"Got a minute? In private?"

T'Pol nodded and raised an eyebrow in DePinto's direction. "Excuse us, crewman."

Sandro dePinto returned to his station and Tucker lowered his voice almost below the human reach of hearing – which was still clearly audible to the sensitive Vulcan hearing.

"We've got a problem," he said. "Lieutenant Reed found out about your message from the Vulcan ship. Well, actually Soccorro found it, but she went straight to her boss with it."

T'Pol seemed completely unfazed by his confession. "I see no problem here, Commander. It was a personal matter."

"Why wasn't it sent through normal Starfleet channels then?" Tucker asked.

She still didn't seem particularly disturbed. "That takes time. The letter was important."

"So they sent it in code?" The human rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Do you have any idea how suspicious that looked?"

The first officer gave him a look that could have evaporated a titanium asteroid. "You read my letter?"

Tucker shook his head. "No; Hoshi did. She felt pretty rotten about it, the poor girl, but, you know, Captain's orders and all that…"

"I can imagine," the Vulcan said dryly. "Has anyone else read the letter?" Her tone indicated that she wouldn't have been entirely surprised if it had been circulated for general information around the ship's notice-boards.

"Nope. Hoshi told the captain that it was a very personal matter, and Jack left it at that."

"I see." She remained silent for a moment. "I would appreciate it if the matter would not be made common knowledge."

"Don't worry, it won't be." He was glad to be at least able to assure her of that. "Hoshi is nothing if not discreet. She has to be, in her position as communications officer."

"I am well aware of Ensign Sato's outstanding qualities," T'Pol said curtly. "If that is all, Commander, I have work to do."

"Sure. I just wanted to apologise for, you know, violating your privacy and all…"


He trailed off uncertainly and shuffled away, clearly uncomfortable about and embarrassed because of the situation. T'Pol withstood the very un-Vulcanlike urge to shrug. What was done was done – no amount of regret would change it. They all had more important things to do.

Still, she was relieved that Ensign Sato was the only one who had read the letter. Sato was indeed very discreet, beyond the demands of her position.

If she thought she could return to her analysis, though, she was mistaken. Only minutes later the comm summoned her to the captain's Ready Room. She suppressed a sigh, rose and crossed the Bridge to follow the call.

"I thought I'd invite Captain Vanik for a visit," Archer told her. "If he's so interested in how we do things, he might as well come see for himself. Once he realises we're not going to blow up the galaxy, maybe he'll leave us alone."

"I would not hold my hopes high if I were you, Captain," she replied. "He has his orders; and he is an individual who takes those orders quite literally – which is why I find the fact that he has blatantly gone against protocol… disturbing. Still, I am sure he'll appreciate the gesture."

"Sure he will." The captain's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Anyway, dinner's a good way to break the ice. I was hoping you might give Chef some menu suggestions."

"Certainly." T'Pol was fairly sure that Captain Vanik would find the menu disagreeable on principle, which was highly illogical, as Chef had proven surprisingly talented at handling Vulcan recipes, with most satisfactory results. She chose not to warn Archer in advance, though. He seemed so very taken with his idea.

"A little food, a little wine," he mused, clearly reliving past experiences when the method had worked. This time, however, he was heading for a disappointment, in T'Pol's expert opinion.

"Vulcans do not drink wine," she reminded him, earning an expressive eye-roll in response.

"You know what I mean. Just help me make him go away."

"To achieve such a result, may I suggest inviting Gerasen Gerasal for dinner as well, Captain? In my experience Viseeth are very good at making the more… complicated individuals of my people behave."

Archer's face lit up like a Christmas tree. T'Pol, who had never seen an actual Christmas tree before, had done some research into the matter; the metaphor still did not make any sense. Not beyond the fact that the captain was now beaming at her as if she had just handed him the Moon on a silver platter – another human colloquialism that made no sense. At all.

"You know, I might just do that," he said. "Would you mind delivering the invitation to her quarters?"

"Not at all, Captain." She rose from her seat. "If that is all…" She could feel the first signs of an upcoming headache behind her eyes. The pressure was… most unpleasant.

"Dismissed." Archer was already back to the reports from the various sections of his ship.


T'Pol's first detour to the guest quarters was unsuccessful, but that fact did not disturb her too much. Since Gerasen Gerasal did not mingle with the rest of the crew and Ensign Sato was currently on duty, logic dictated that the Viseeth would be going through their daily check-up in Sickbay. Therefore that was where she headed next.

Logic, as always, served her well. Gerasen Gerasal was indeed in Sickbay, looking much better than even back at home – being subjected to the memory machine must have been rather unpleasant – studying Dr Phlox's bizarre menagerie with great interest.

"Our medical technology is very different," they explained. "We have not used living creatures for healing purposes for ages. Literally."

They were clearly done with their medical check-up and Dr Phlox appeared pleased with the results. T'Pol wondered, though, why they would not restore their hair; not that any of the Viseeth on Berengaria VII would have sported any body hair, either.

"We do not grow hair naturally," Gerasen Gerasal explained; being a telepath, they picked up her stray thought. "I underwent a nanotechnology treatment to blend in better with humanoids. Now that the crew has got used to my general appearance such disguise is no longer necessary. Besides," they added, running a graceful, webbed hand over their finely-shaped head, "it looked ridiculous."

"Not in the eyes of any humanoid male, regardless of the species," Dr Phlox said with one of his wide, clown-like grins. "Long, lush hair on a female is generally considered very attractive. Well… except for Vulcans, probably," he added.

"On the contrary, Doctor," T'Pol corrected calmly. "Vulcan women – save for those of us who are members of the military – consider the aesthetic sculpting of their hair an art form."

Not with the intent of drawing male attention, of course. There was no need for that in the time-honoured tradition of arranged marriages and childhood bonding – but trying to explain that to most other species would have been a hopeless undertaking, so she decided not to waste her time.

Gerasen Gerasal was familiar with Vulcan customs, of course. Therefore they simply nodded and asked how they could be of assistance.

"Captain Archer decided to invite Captain Vanik from the Starship T'Mur for dinner," T'Pol explained. "I suggested extending the invitation to you as well – in the hope that your presence would help curbing Captain Vanik's more… offensive tendencies."

The Viseeth nodded again. "Certainly, I shall be glad to help. My people are partly to blame for the… problematic relationship between Vulcans and Humans. This is the least I can do to ease the situation. Besides, Vulcan cuisine agrees with me, and the human chef of this ship is surprisingly good at preparing Vulcan food."

"Captain Archer will appreciate your help," T'Pol said, hiding her relief; she was not looking forward to facing Captain Vanik at the dinner table alone. "Th-i oxalra," she added formally in Vulcan.

"You are welcome," replied the Viseeth in Standard; then they gave her a long assessing look. "You are in pain. I suggest you use the opportunity and allow the doctor to do something about it."

"It is merely a headache." T'Pol tried to evade but the Denobulan doctor was already approaching her, with a hand-held medical scanner at the ready.

"I should be the judge of that, if you don't mind. Please, sit here." He steered her to a biobed and made her sit down on the edge. "When did these symptoms begin?"

"Two days ago." T'Pol suppressed her annoyance. Gerasen Gerasal had been right: she did have a problem, and since she was in Sickbay already, it would have been illogical not to use the opportunity to have it treated.

Her answer made the doctor frown; obviously, his other patients did not wait for days before getting help. He checked her neck and frowned again.

"Perhaps you slept in an awkward position," he offered.

"I have not slept," T'Pol replied.

"For two days?" the doctor asked, his disapproval obvious. "That can't be healthy; unless you're a Denobulan, of course. Something on your mind? It appears to be a tension headache. You know anything said between us is strictly confidential. Would you like to talk about what's troubling you?"

"No." The mere thought of talking about her private problems – and to such a gregarious extrovert at that – filled her with deep unease.

The Denobulan gave her a thoughtful look.

"I don't know if there's anyone on this ship you would feel comfortable talking with, but if there is, it might feel good to get whatever's bothering you out in the open." He gave her a dose of medication. "This is a simple analgesic. I can give you something later to help you sleep this evening, if you'd like."

"Thank you, Doctor." She had no intention of asking for stronger medicine. What she needed was some undisturbed time to meditate; which was unlikely to happen before both the visit to the unnamed ice comet and the dinner with Captain Vanik were over.


She went down to the galley next to discuss the dinner menu with Chef. Crewman Williams proved enthusiastic over the prospect of cooking up a formal dinner for a ranking Vulcan officer. He invited Petty Officer Daniels to join the conversation, since the quartermaster was known to have all inventory lists in his head and could tell them at once whether they had the required ingredients to any given recipe without having to check.

"What about Ulan soup?" It was Daniels who made the first suggestion. "It is said to be more flavourful than Plomeek soup and not so common."

"It is," Chef agreed. "But we might be out of redspice. I've used it fairly often lately."

"We aren't," Daniels said with calm confidence. "If you use it sparsely, the reserves are enough for another six meals."

"Ulan soup with Kreyla bread would be agreeable for starters," T'Pol nodded.

"Unfortunately, I can't offer much of a variety for the main course." Chef pulled an unhappy face. "It's either Pok'tar or Klentanna with Florati sauce; and the only thing I can come up with as a side dish is T'Mirak rice."

"I suggest Pok'tar," T'Pol said. "Florati sauce has many variables, and people from different places prefer different methods of preparation."

Chef nodded. "Pok'tar it is; with steamed Lirs perhaps? Would that be acceptable for a VIP guest? I know it's rather common, but it would go better with Pok'tar than the rice dish."

"Is Lirs that thing that looks and tastes like spicy porridge?" Daniels asked with an unhappy grimace.

Chef grinned. "You'll live – assuming you get to try it. There's nothing wrong with porridge and besides, the cow lady likes Lirs a lot."

"Acceptable," T'Pol said. "I would suggest Ameelak for dessert; humans appear to like it. I was told it tastes like fried bananas."

"It does," Chef said. "At least then there will be something on the table that the captain likes. And hot Seya as the last course, I guess?"

"It is traditional," T'Pol agreed. "Its absence would be unfavourably noticed."

"Heaven forbid!" Chef produced a very convincing shudder but his eyes were laughing. "Well, it seems we're done, then. Thank you for your help, Subcommander, Ianto."

Daniels simply nodded and made to leave.

T'Pol, however, took notice of the overly familiar address and gave Chef a disapproving eyebrow. "Crewman Williams," she said coolly, "is it appropriate to address a superior officer in such a manner?"

Chef looked mightily uncomfortable, but the quartermaster just laughed.

"Subcommander," he replied, that peculiar lilt in his accent – the one Crewman Williams also had – thickening considerably, "we might be both non-comm Starfleet personnel, but first and foremost we're both Welsh. I asked Rhys to call me by my given name. I don't expect you – or anyone else on board – to understand."

"I have given up the effort to understand humans as hopeless after my first year on Earth," she commented dryly; her headache was getting worse. "I shall not attempt to do so now. Good day, Petty Officer, Crewman."

She left the galley, her temples throbbing. Thanks to her Vulcan discipline, she was able to compartmentalize the pain, but its echoes kept breaking her concentration, despite the medicine she had received from Dr Phlox.

Perhaps the doctor was right. Perhaps speaking about the unfortunate situation would help. Thinking over the possibilities, there was really only one feasible choice. She stepped to the nearest comm unit and activated it.

"T'Pol to Ensign Sato. Ensign, would it be possible for you to meet me in my quarters after our shift ends?"

She waited until Hoshi acknowledged, then she returned to the Bridge. Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Mayweather were down on the ice planet, on a potentially dangerous mission. Her personal problems could wait.


In the meantime Reed and Mayweather were having the time of their lives – for various reasons.

"I've never stood on a comet before." The armoury officer looked around on the frozen vista in awe.

"Has anyone?" Mayweather burrowed his hand in the snow, regretting that he couldn't actually feel it through the protective gloves.

"Not to my knowledge; the almost complete lack of gravity would make it impossible."

"How is it that we can actually stand on the surface, then?" the young helmsman wondered while helping Reed to drag the drilling rig out of the shuttlepod.

"It's the eisilium deposits," Reed explained. "According to our resident Vulcan it's some kind of super-dense stuff; denser than osmium, even, and therefore very heavy."

"That's good news for gravity."

"But bad news for the drill," Reed pointed out. "We'll have to be very careful with it."

"Do you think we'll find anything else except that eisilium stuff, sir?" Mayweather took the charges out of their box and handed them to Enterprise's demolition expert.

"History." He placed the charges in a pre-set pattern. "The beauty of ice is that it records everything like a blank page. The farther down you drill, the farther back in time you go."

Mayweather nodded absently and looked around with a wistful smile. "I've only seen snow twice in my life. I wish we could…"

He was interrupted by Reed's communicator beeping. "Archer to Lieutenant Reed."

"Go ahead, sir."

"How are you doing, Lieutenant?"

"We've just set the charges, Captain, and are ready to go."

"I'm sure I don't need to remind you we're being observed." Archer's voice sounded grim, even through the communicator.

"No, sir." No, he didn't need the reminder. He had dealt with Vulcans – including Vulcan intelligence officers – often enough to be very, very careful.

"We want this to go as smoothly as possible," the tinny voice of the captain continued. "Make a good impression."

"In that case, sir, you might want to inform the Vulcans we're about to make a very loud noise," Reed answered with a wolfish grin.

They distantly heard the captain give Ensign Sato the respective order, and then finally the word came, "Blast away, Lieutenant!"

"Understood, sir." Reed looked at his companion. "Let's find some cover, Ensign; these are very powerful charges."

They crouched down behind a huge ice pinnacle and the lieutenant set off the charges with practiced ease. They made a very loud noise indeed – or would have, had the comet possessed anything resembling an atmosphere. But even soundlessly, it was a rather spectacular explosion.

"Impressive," Mayweather judged when the whirled-up snow had slowly settled again, as he inspected the resulting crater.

"I was hoping for a little more symmetry," replied the armoury officer in a falsely mournful tone.

Mayweather rolled his eyes.

"I'll get the drill," was all he said. "We need to fix it in position."

~TBC~


Notes: For those who are missing the funny "snowman" scene from the episode: I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it. I simply don't find it believable that any sane Starfleet officer – especially such a suspicious and disciplined one as Malcolm Reed – would behave like a silly kid. Not with his Intelligence background. Not knowing that the Vulcans were watching them like vultures. So I ejected that misplaced moment of "levity".

I also tried to address the problem of gravity. On a comet that small (comparatively seen), they'd have floated over the surface, together with their drilling rig and the shuttlecraft. So I came up with the super-density of the fictional eisilium. I have no idea if it is scientifically feasible or not, but I needed an explanation for how they were able to move around on the surface at all, so… poetic licence here.