The bright light, so different from the dimness of his living quarters, hurt Enme's eyes. He squinted and stared out from the interior of the airlock at Hoshi, who stood patiently in the hallway. She had made no move to call security or even cry out for help. Enme realized that in a matter of minutes his life would be over. The thought didn't please him as he had always hoped to die in battle sometime after his 150th birthday.
"Do you want me to explain how to operate the mechanism? You can do it from inside the airlock. I won't operate it for you," said Hoshi in Romulan.
Enme examined the controls, which were bewildering to him.
"It will go faster if you do operate the controls. It's not like you'd get in trouble. I'm the enemy."
"You're a valuable asset," said Hoshi glumly, "but that's not why I won't do it. I don't want you to die, and I don't think you deserve to die."
"Well then, by all means, explain these knobs and this panel. It makes no sense whatsoever. I daresay it seems silly that you will explain to me how to do it but won't save me the trouble-" his voice drifted away.
"May I ask you a question?"
"Yes," he said.
"Do you want to die?"
"Of course not."
"Then why do this? There's a human expression. Where there is life there is hope."
He began pacing with his hands clasped behind his back.
"That is nonsense, and you know it. You tried to kill yourself when you were held by the Xindi. You told me that. You also told me that for months afterwards you wished you were dead because you had given up your code."
Hoshi stepped into the airlock and began looking at the interior controls.
"My people forgave me for what I did. They said it wasn't my fault."
"Romulans aren't humans," said Enme, "and you'd be more convincing if you told me you've forgiven yourself, which you clearly haven't."
He tossed aside the phase pistol. At this point, he wasn't going to shoot her, and he knew she knew that.
"I've noticed how different our two cultures are," she said, "Maybe you can't go back to your people, but you wouldn't be the universe's first exile."
"I'm not a traitor," he said, "but I did betray my people. I can't live with that."
For a long while, she looked at him, and then she got a very odd look her eye — one that Enme found chilling. She tapped into the controls. The door shut, trapping them both inside. A two minute countdown appeared, and Hoshi just stood there, watching it tick.
"There you go," she said flatly.
"Are you mad, woman?" he said, "Why have you-?"
Hoshi shrugged. "You're right. I was wrong. You never get over it, even if everyone says it's not your fault. Even if it isn't your fault, it just makes you dead inside."
Enme dashed to the corner and picked up the phase pistol.
"Turn it off," he said.
As he pointed the phase pistol at her, he recognized the absurdity of the action.
"Isn't this what you want?" she said.
"No," he said grabbing her arm and squeezing her with all his Romulan strength, "I don't want to die, and I don't want you to die, either."
Enme had a split second decision to make. He could attempt to shoot the controls to stop the countdown, but that might not work. Or he could try and convince Hoshi to stop the countdown.
He slammed the back of his head against the wall, and he tried to hold back tears. In just a few short days, his life had been utterly destroyed, and now it looked to be over.
"You know, my life was pretty damn good before…it was fantastic, actually, he said, "and it seems to me you've got a lot to live for. Lt. Commander Reed seems rather fond of you-"
Hoshi turned to him. His hands were shaking. He wondered if she recognized fear in him, or if she was too far gone.
"Turn it off," he said.
Tears formed in her eyes.
"The pain will stop," she said.
"So will the joy. So will the hope," he said as panic choked in his throat, fully aware of the irony in the sudden role reversal.
Hoshi brushed a tear from her eye.
"Please," said Enme, "Don't make me beg. Besides…think of your family. Think of Lt. Commander Reed…think of everyone who cares for you…you're very, very lucky to live in a society that forgives… it's a remarkable cultural trait. You should appreciate it, and take advantage of it. I'm envious of it. There, I said it, I'm envious of you humans. Now, please-"
Hoshi looked at the digital countdown. There were twenty seconds to go. She looked into his grey eyes, and he saw a flicker of emotion. Did she realize that he didn't want to die? Did she realize that at this point, she would be murdering him?
"Are you sure?" she said blankly.
"Yes, dammit."
She tapped a button, and the countdown ceased. She closed her eyes and leaned against the console as the door opened. Instinctively, he reached over and brushed a tear from her cheek, and he thought she looked disappointed.
A few days later, Trip and T'Pol spent their last evening in Mississippi having a quiet dinner with Elaine and Charlie. Once the pecan pie had been finished and the dishes were done, the four of them retired to the front porch to enjoy after dinner drinks and the cool evening air.
"Have you seen the latest headlines, son?" asked Charlie causally.
Trip shook his head.
"I've been avoiding the news. Didn't want anything to spoil my vacation."
"An interesting story came across the wire today. It seems that Jonathan Archer has been promoted to Admiral," said Elaine.
T'Pol raised her eyebrow and glanced at Trip. She had encouraged to him to tell his parents of his promotion, but he wanted to wait until the last minute so they wouldn't have time to make a huge fuss or worse, begin to worry. Now, it seemed the media had been the one to tell Charlie and Elaine. T'Pol sipped her wine and waited.
"Did it happen to say who the new captain of the Enterprise is?" said Trip, grinning.
Elaine reached over and gently smacked Trip on the arm.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I was going to tonight," said Trip, "I just didn't want you guys to make a big deal about it."
Elaine looked at T'Pol.
"I thought keeping secrets was illogical," she said with a hint of playfulness in her voice, "We could have announced something at the party! Everyone would have been thrilled-"
Trip gestured a firm no.
"I got the promotion because there's a war on. It's hardly reason to celebrate," he sighed, "but I'm glad you're proud."
Charlie sighed, too, and then he lifted his glass.
"Regardless, son. We're happy for you. Congratulations," he said.
The earlier enthusiasm had drained from his voice. Trip was right about the war, and Charlie probably recognized that Trip would be under more stress and in more danger than he had been as chief engineer.
Elaine turned to T'Pol, but before she could speak, her daughter-in-law anticipated the question.
"I shall remain aboard Enterprise as first officer," she said, "Starfleet believes our personal relationship will not interfere with ship operations."
"Thank goodness for that," said Elaine,"I'd hate to see you two separated."
"Starfleet knew we wouldn't stay if we were to be separated," replied T'Pol, "So, they will station us together."
"Wise decision," said Charlie, "Do you two know where you'll go next? What part of space?"
Trip shook his head.
"We'll be part of Jonathan's new fleet, but where we'll be going will probably depend on the Romulans."
"Who are these people? What to they want? Why have they been attacking? The press just seems to print speculation," said Elaine.
Trip and T'Pol again looked at each other. She knew it bothered him how much they were forbidden to say.
"They come from the Beta Quadrant. They have an empire. I guess there are no more worlds to conquer there, and they are coming after us. The best guess is they need more resources, more energy, more labor."
Charlie took a long drink from his beer.
"They're fools. I never thought anything would unite this quadrant. Now it seems Vulcans and Andorians and Humans and Tellarites all can agree on one thing. We've got to stop these Romulans."
"We will stop them," said Trip, "Our position is a defensive one, so we've got the advantage. It's not gonna to be easy, but we will win."
T'Pol could sense that Trip was verbalizing this as much for his own benefit as his parents. She didn't like the unsettled nature of his thoughts, so she resolved to change the subject. They were leaving for Ireland in the morning.
"Again, I would like to thank you both for your hospitality and for welcoming me to into your family."
Elaine reached over and hugged T'Pol.
"You keep an eye on my boy," she said, "Make sure he comes back in one piece."
T'Pol squeezed back, as she knew that is what a human would expect.
"I shall do my best to honor that request," she said.
Malcolm sat in his office watching the security video for the fourth time. It had been only that morning that it had been uploaded to him with the Romulan translations. He hadn't been certain what to expect, but he was certainly not expecting what he saw.
The Romulan had talked Hoshi out of throwing them both out the airlock; at least, that was what the UT's translation seemed to indicate. Normally, procedure would be to have it manually translated but the only human who spoke Romulan was Hoshi, and she had given only the thinest of details about the incident in the airlock.
For that, Malcolm was furious with her. And now, he was also terrified for her. Mostly, however, he was enraged with himself. He knew she had been bottling up her emotions, and he knew that she was dealing with - something. But in his mind he had made that something all about himself or about Enme. He now realized that whatever was going on in her head had little to do with either men.
Malcolm wasn't a psychologist, but he found himself looking up various definitions of and treatments for post traumatic stress disorder.
He stood up, and he walked intently through the halls until he found himself at the door of Enme's quarters.
He was one of the few people who had clearance to see the prisoner, whom he found at the desk reading from a PADD. At his own request, Enme had been provided with some works of human literature in translation.
"Hello, Lieutenant. Commander Reed," said Enme, "I've been expecting you. I assume you've finally gotten a look at the security video from the airlock."
Reed pulled up a chair and sat down.
"Your girlfriend nearly killed me," said Enme.
"You asked her to," said Reed.
Enme sat back.
"Excellent point, Commander."
"How serious was she? Was she really going to-? You saw the look in her eyes, tell me the truth."
Enme held up the PADD.
"I was just reading an English language poem called 'Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night,'" he said, "It's about savoring every moment of life, no matter how close one's death or how much pain one is in."
"I've read it," said Malcolm.
"You ought to give it to Hoshi," said Enme.
That was all Malcolm needed to hear, and he got up and headed for the door. Before he left, he turned back to the prisoner.
"Thank you," he said, "I owe you for saving her life."
Enme said nothing.
T'Pol stared at the man who sat across from her in the wooden booth of a cozy Irish Pub in the Temple Bar neighborhood of Dublin. His resemblance to Trip was remarkable. She estimated he was about a half-an inch shorter, with a wider nose and a longer jaw, but anyone who saw them side by side would realize they were brothers. There were other differences between the two besides the natural ones. Albert's hair, the same color as Trip's, was shoulder length, and he wore a dapper tweed suit that T'Pol knew Trip would not have been caught dead wearing. She also noticed that Albert's hands, with which he grasped a pint of Guinness, were not only un-calloused but manicured.
The pub, which had stone walls and low ceilings with wooden rafters, wasn't very crowded. A few older men sat at the bar, and a couple of students occupied another booth. T'Pol took a drink of her own Guinness, and she set the glass down.
"It's an acquired taste," said Bert who had not lost his drawl after years in Dublin, "and you don't have to acquire it."
"No visit to Dublin is complete without a pint," said Trip, hoisting his own pint of the bitter, dark liquid.
"This beverage was used as meal replacement for the poor, was it not?" said T'Pol.
"It's like drinking a loaf of bread," said Bert, "but really, we can get you some tea or cider."
T'Pol locked eyes with her brother-in-law and saw some of Trip's mischief there.
"That will not be necessary," she stated, "I would like my visit to Dublin to be complete."
T'Pol shivered. Her civilian clothes didn't protect her from Earth temperatures the way her Starfleet uniform did. Unlike Mississippi, which was hot and humid, Ireland proved to be cool and damp. A drizzle had driven them inside the pub as they walked to Bert and Ian's apartment from the transport station.
Their bags would be delivered to the building later in the day. Bert and Ian's son, Thomas, would not return from school for another two hours. Ian would return home an hour after that.
Trip took his jacket off and put it around T'Pol's shoulders.
"We'll have to get you one of the famous Irish sweaters while you're here," said Bert.
T'Pol blinked. She had seen sheep before, and she wasn't at all certain a garment made from their wool would be comfortable.
"T'Pol prefers silk," said Trip, "I'm pretty sure she's got every kind of silk from this quadrant represented in her civilian wardrobe - Vulcan, Triaxian, Tholian, Terran, even Andorian. Come to think of it, how did you come by that Andorian silk dress, given the hostility between your two races?"
"It was for sale at a Tellarite market," replied T'Pol. "Considering the temperature, I might be willing to try a cashmere garment."
"That would be cheating," said Bert, playfully, "Since cashmere goats aren't native to this island. But I can find you a terrific Donegal tweed jacket. It will match your eyes."
"That would be agreeable," replied T'Pol.
"So, Captain," said Bert, "What can you tell me about this war the news has been talking about? Do you think these Romulans will make it this far into the quadrant? Are we in danger?"
Trip drank his pint, slowly.
"I wouldn't bet against them getting at least a few ships this far," he said, "but thanks to the Alliance, I think we're in a pretty good defensive position."
Bert sipped on his pint in much the same way as his brother.
"After the Xindi, I thought things would settle down, that we'd have some quiet. We sure were spoiled as kids, weren't we? Not a care in the world."
"Nobody ever wrote any good novels or made any good movies about that era," replied Trip, "They had to go back to World War III to find the prerequisite angst. I hear a novel about the Xindi attack won the Mann Booker Prize this year. You ought to have Ian start one on the Romulan War, he'll be a shoe-in."
Bert smiled. His husband was a professor of literature at Trinity College, and he had written several critically acclaimed novels that no one had read.
"You, Lizzie and I didn't have a clue how lucky were were," said Bert ruefully, "Now Tommy looks up to the sky and feels fear instead of wonder. It's a damn shame."
T'Pol reached under the table and slipped her hand into Trip's, and she felt a terrible sadness in him over his nephew's fears.
"Perhaps Trip can talk to him," said T'Pol, "as we have seen some truly fascinating and aesthetically pleasing things during our travels. It would be incorrect for him to believe that outer worlds hold only danger."
Bert smiled.
"That's why I'm so glad you're here, T'Pol," said Bert, "so Tommy can see that Earth has many friends out there in the galaxy, including your people."
"I am honored," said T'Pol, "and I will be happy to tell the boy anything he wishes about Vulcan."
T'Pol looked out the window, and she noticed it was no longer drizzling. It was pouring down rain.
"At least you're getting typical Dublin weather," said Bert, "but no rain, no rainbows. Now, we might just see a rainbow on the walk home. Until then, I think we have time for another round. This time, I'll order you tea, T'Pol."
Malcolm rang the chime on Hoshi's door.
"Come in," said Hoshi cheerfully.
He entered her quarters and saw her in her civilian clothes — a flowered dress and heels. She looked beautiful.
"I thought we were going to go somewhere nicer than the mess," she said, noticing he was still in his uniform, "There's a Brazilian place on deck ten. I want to try it."
"We can go there," said Malcolm, "we can go wherever you like."
Malcolm was the only person besides Hoshi and Enme who knew what had transpired in the turbolift, and clearly, she didn't know that he knew.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Fine," she said, "Like I said earlier, there's no need to make a big deal about the other day. I've been through worse. Lots worse."
Malcolm walked over and sat down on the bed. He gestured for her to join him. She did, and while she was at it, she cuddled up next to him. She leaned up to kiss him, but he spoke first.
"So, you haven't had the urge to throw yourself out the airlock?"
She stiffened in his arms.
"I…I was only trying to get him to…"
"I saw the tape with a translation, and I talked to him. He thought you were serious."
She looked up at him and she seemed ready for a fight. But after a moment, the denial on her lips disappeared, and he saw tears forming.
"It's all right," he said.
She shook her head no, and he gently wiped away the tears.
"There are lots of ways to get better from this," he continued, "I've been researching it. I'm not an expert by any means, but I'm not going anywhere. And we'll find you an expert to talk to first thing in the morning. No one else will have to know."
She seemed as though she wanted to argue with him, but she didn't say a word. She settled back into his arms, and he felt her relax.
"Okay," she whispered.
"Good," he said, "and maybe in a little while, we can head down to that Brazilian place, if you're feeling up to it."
She nodded, still silent. He took a deep breath, and he hoped he'd be able to help her. This wasn't about his own pride anymore. He realized that he couldn't stand the idea of her in pain, and he'd do just about anything to help her. Even if it meant losing her.
