Disclaimer: See previous chapter disclaimers about this being all in good fun.
Rating: R for profane language and violence.
A/N: Plot moves forth. One more chapter and an epilogue to go.
Malcolm stared at T'Pol, who was taking an inventory of the weaponry that the security team would bring first to the station then on the leased transport that would take them to the mining colony. There, they would pay the Orions for Ravel.
Malcolm tapped his foot with impatience, and then he drummed his fingers on the console. He wanted to ask her something, but T'Pol was never much inclined to personal conversations. Still, this was both personal and business.
"May I ask you a somewhat personal question, Commander?"
T'Pol looked up. She was silent for a moment, then nodded.
"How did you approach Admiral Archer about you and the Captain getting married? As far as I've heard, Starfleet simply accepted you two — regulations be damned."
T'Pol stepped closer to Malcolm. He assumed she knew exactly why he was bringing this up.
"Our marriage took place on Vulcan," said T'Pol, "and we chose not to inform Starfleet until the ceremony was complete. However, at the time of our marriage we held the same rank, our personal relationship was not against regulations."
Malcolm nodded.
"How did you bring up the subject when you returned?"
"We didn't need to do so. We registered as a mated couple on the transport from Vulcan. When Starfleet began investigating our disappearance, they discovered the marriage and informed Admiral Archer."
Malcolm shifted restlessly from one foot to the other.
"How did he react?"
"When Enterprise retrieved us after our abduction, Admiral Archer informed us that he had requested that we be able to continue to serve together on his ship. Starfleet agreed, as long as Admiral Archer felt our personal relationship did not interfere with our service to the ship."
"He never said anything more than that?"
T'Pol raised an eyebrow.
"No," she said, "and he was most gracious in allowing us to combine living spaces."
Malcolm was silent.
"So you never had any problems?"
"No," she replied.
"But you also never asked anyone for permission, either. They couldn't have been pleased with that. And you had to have worried that they wouldn't react well to two married officers."
T'Pol tapped into her PADD and then looked up at Malcolm.
"Prior to our marriage, the Captain and I discussed the possibility that Starfleet would object. We both agreed that if Starfleet refused to let us serve together or took other punitive action, we would leave its service."
Malcolm searched T'Pol's face, knowing he wouldn't find any hint of emotion regarding what must have been a very tough decision for them. He was silent for awhile.
"Lt. Commander Reed," said T'Pol, "Is this your round about way of informing me that you have become engaged to marry Lt. Sato?"
Malcolm sighed.
"Did she tell you?"
"No," said T'Pol, glancing down at the simple titanium band she wore on her left finger "but she's been wearing a jeweled ring on her left finger. This is a human betrothal custom. I am also aware that you two are pursuing a romantic relationship."
Malcolm smiled.
"There are no secrets on this ship. There never have been," said Malcolm wryly, thinking of the rumors about T'Pol and Trip that flourished in The Expanse.
"Lt. Sato reports to me directly. She is not in your chain of command. I will not object to the marriage if Starfleet or the Captain asks my opinion."
Malcolm leaned over.
"How do you think Trip will react?"
T'Pol raised her eyebrow. Malcolm smiled. Trip wouldn't object as long as they didn't interfere with the ship's operations. How could he? It was Starfleet they had to worry about.
"I believe the Captain will be supportive. He knows that stable personal relationships can benefit crew efficiency and morale."
Malcolm smiled, remembering the chaos that had ensued when Trip and T'Pol had broken up. It nearly caused Trip to leave the ship, not to mention creating all sorts of tension. Breakups were far more detrimental to crew dynamics than happy marriages.
"We want to get married soon," said Malcolm, "I'm going to ask him to marry us as soon as we return from the colony."
The puzzled look on T'Pol's face was priceless.
"It's a human tradition. The captain of a ship can officiate weddings. It applies to space faring vessels just as it did to Terran sailing vessels. Travis once told me he'd seen his father perform at least four weddings. Hoshi and I don't want anything special, but we thought a dinner in the mess hall with everyone there would be fun. Nothing fancy. But Chef's going to want your permission for that."
T'Pol nodded.
"If the Captain agrees," said T'Pol, "I'll give my permission. . . Lt. Reed, the circumstances surrounding my marriage to the Captain were . . .unusual. Vulcan tradition considered us married before any ceremony was performed, and Ambassador Soval informed Starfleet Command of that. They made little objection to . . .the bond between the Captain and myself becoming official because they didn't wish to create a diplomatic incident. Any rejection of me as the Captain's wife could have been construed as an insult to my honor. . .Admiral Archer also told us that because I am Vulcan, Starfleet also believes that I am capable of making sure our relationship does not adversely affect ship's operations."
Malcolm thought about this for a moment. This was the most he had ever heard T'Pol speak about her marriage, and it wasn't much. But he realized she was telling him that Starfleet might not be as supportive of his impending nuptials.
"Well," said Malcolm, "We'll just have to make sure that Starfleet sees the wisdom in allowing married human couples serve together. Both Hoshi and I are valuable to the war effort. . .and I doubt they'd be able to easily replace us."
Malcolm hoped that his intention was clear. It seemed it was when T'Pol nodded.
"I'll see you at the airlock in two hours, Lt. Commander Reed," she said as she left the armory.
****
T'Pol entered the Ready Room and found Trip sitting at his desk staring grimly at the monitor screen. She sensed something had unsettled him. She stood formally in front of his desk in at ease position.
"Captain," she said, "Is everything all right?"
Trip shook his head no.
"This is a communique from Starfleet Command. There are six drone ships on their way — gunning to destroy this station. They should be here within 48 hours."
T'Pol nodded.
"I'll cancel the retrieval mission," said T'Pol, "I'm sure the Orions will be willing to wait until after the coming encounter."
"That won't be necessary. Archer is on his way here with the whole fleet. They'll be here in ten hours. The station will be well-defended. Enterprise is going to provide tactical support, but the newer battle-ready ships are going to face the drones head on. Our job will be to protect The Columbia, which is still crippled. Starfleet doesn't want her destroyed, sitting duck that she is. In the meantime, the boys at intelligence want Ravel. So, your mission is still on. But you and your team to stay out of the melee. You're not to even leave the mining colony until you get clearance from me. That's an order. "
T'Pol furrowed her brow. She understood what a "sitting duck" was from context, but this was the first she had heard the metaphor. Trip smiled a little at her, and he knew what she was thinking.
"I'm glad my human metaphors can still surprise you, at least," he said.
"Are you sure you won't need me? Malcolm can handle the retrieval, and I'll stay here."
"No," said Trip, "Malcolm hates the Orions. Doesn't trust Javon. And your brother has reason to hate Malcolm. I'd rather have you here, but it's better if you go and complete your mission. We'll be fine. When the fleet arrives, we'll have the drones outgunned."
T'Pol nodded. She didn't like the idea of being away from the ship during a battle, but his arguments were logical.
"One more thing, Captain. Lt. Commander Reed intends to marry Lt. Sato when we return from mining colony. I expect he will inform you soon, perhaps even before we leave this afternoon."
Trip grinned.
"I noticed the rock Hoshi's been sporting. I figured that'd be coming. . . I guess that means I'll be performing a wedding. . . .that'll be fun."
T'Pol nodded.
"Starfleet Command may not be so enthusiastic," replied T'Pol.
"Well," replied Trip, "it's not like we can stop them. They're two grown adults. I'll talk to the Admiral about it when things cool off. I'm sure he'll smooth things over. He did for us."
T'Pol didn't share his optimism, but she said nothing.
"Are you about all set to leave?" he asked.
"The preparations are complete," said T'Pol.
Trip glanced over at the chronometer.
"Very well, Commander. Dismissed."
"Thank you, Captain," said T'Pol, and she turned and headed back to the bridge.
****
Later that afternoon, T'Pol found herself on the bridge of a transport ship. The ship itself was about four times as big as a shuttlepod, and in addition to the bridge, it included three cabins, a galley and bathroom facilities. The chairs, chaises and tables arranged in each cabin designed for comfort and T'Pol's nose could detect a slight tobacco smell behind the antiseptics that had been used to scrub down the ship. The bridge was small, with only room for three people.
On one side of her was Malcolm and on the other was her brother, dressed in his Vulcan attire. Malcolm's security team were ensconced in the largest of the back compartments. They were simply waiting for Javon and Arian to arrive. The V'Shar agent and his Orion girlfriend were late, which irritated T'Pol, since Vulcans believed in punctuality. As if he was reading her thoughts, Enme spoke.
"I thought you Vulcans were monochronic," he said.
Malcolm looked confused.
"Meaning you show up precisely on time," said Enme, "My people are a little different. If you are requested to show up for dinner at seven in the evening, then you'd best not show until nine. It would be rude, otherwise. Perhaps your Javon has a little of us Romulans in him."
T'Pol glared at her brother.
"Javon has no doubt been delayed," she said, "The situation on the station is chaotic."
As if on cue, there was a commotion in the back compartment. Malcolm smiled, and T'Pol marched back to assess the situation. When she arrived, she saw Javon and Arian, both dressed in traditional, ornate Vulcan robes. They had several suitcases with them, and Arian was carrying a small animal of some kind. T'Pol didn't recognize the furry creature, but it appeared feline rather than canine yet it made a soft howl as it wiggled in its mistress's arms.
Javon turned to T'Pol.
"Arian heard a rumor that there are drone ships on their way to destroy the station. She wouldn't leave behind Moppet."
Moppet sneezed and then let out a faint whine. T'Pol realized that she somewhat missed Porthos, and then turned to Javon.
"The third cabin is yours. There will be plenty of room for all three of you."
"Very good," said Javon, "I hear the fleet is on its way. Let me know if Starfleet would like some recommendations for entertainment venues on the station. I'm sure Arian can provide plenty of recommendations."
"Of that I have no doubt," said T'Pol as she turned and headed back to the bridge. The sooner they were underway, the sooner the exchange could be made and she could return to the ship.
***
The next day, Trip sat on the bridge of the Enterprise. Admiral Archer appeared on the viewscreen before him.
"How's it going Trip?" he said, smiling.
"All is well," he said, "The Columbia has been evacuated. A third of her crew are aboard Enterprise, the rest I believe have boarded your ship."
"Erika says thanks for taking care of her ship. She's furious we ordered an evacuation, but with no weapons on line, it's the safest thing for her crew. Hopefully, the drones will concentrate on the station. Have you heard from T'Pol?"
Trip nodded.
"The exchange will happen at 1100 hours. Then, they'll wait until the all clear to return to the station. The V'Shar has been notified, as has Starfleet Intelligence - per your orders."
Archer nodded.
"Very good. Also, you'll see that the drone ETA has been stepped up. We expect them at 1123. Inform your crew."
"Yes, sir," said Trip, and he glanced around his bridge.
Malcolm's number 2, Lt. Carson was at tactical, but Trip decided to replace her with The Columbia's chief tactical officer, Lt. Soo. Soo had been on duty during the drone attack that had crippled The Columbia and had developed a strong tactical defense system for NX class ships.
Travis was at the helm, and Hoshi was on the comm. The only vacant position was the science station, and he would call down and have Lt. Leara Drake take that position. He wished that T'Pol would be there during his first real battle as Captain as she was highly experience at space combat, but on the other hand, he was happy that she was safe on the mining colony, surrounded by a robust security team.
Trip took a deep breath and glanced at the chronometer. The drones would be there in less than an hour.
****
Admiral Jonathan Archer sat in his ready room, staring out at the station and the twin NX Starships that were docked at her. Even though his current ready room was double the size of his old one, part of him wished he was still onEnterprise as the battle approached. His big, lumbering ship was certainly better armed, but it wasn't as maneuverable and would mostly be providing support for the small, swift battle cruisers that would be going after the drones.
Instinctively, he reached down into a cabinet under his desk and grabbed a bottle of bourbon. He poured himself a drink — but he didn't sip. He just stared at it as he stared out his window.
"Do you think you should be drinking this early? It's not even noon," said Erika, who had appeared in his doorway.
He said nothing, but he poured the drink back into the bottle.
"Oh. . .and there's a about to be a rather large space battle," she continued, "One that you are in command of."
Archer folded his arms. She approached the edge of the desk, and she folded her arms right back at him.
"Was that your first one? Or do I have to call the doctor to relieve you?" she continued.
Archer wanted to snap at her, tell her that she was out of line. He wanted to throw her in the brig. He could do that. He was the Admiral of this fleet.
But there was no judgement in her eyes, only concern and . . .strangely enough support. She was protecting him. He wasn't the most astute of men when it came to feelings, but he realized that.
"That was my first one," he said, "I'm stone cold sober."
Erika softened her stance.
"Good," she said, "Then there's nothing more to discuss. At least until after the battle. Then, if you want to talk about starting on anti-intoxicating meds, I'll be there to listen. Off the record. As your former girlfriend, not your subordinate."
Archer sighed with relief. Erika wouldn't say anything, unless she felt like she had to. She was in his corner.
"I want you on the bridge with me, Captain," said Archer, "I'll be depending on your expertise with drone ships."
"Yes, sir," she said.
"Dismissed, Captain."
Erika turned on her heel and exited the ready room. Archer then did something that he thought was somewhat sacrilegious. He took the bottle of Kentucky bourbon from under his desk and tossed it in the recycler. He winced, but until he talked to the doctor he couldn't have that temptation around.
He also thought about suggesting that Starfleet relax some of its fraternization rules. As long as Erika's ship wasn't in his fleet, there shouldn't be an issue.
***
T'Pol stared in mute horror at the woman the Orions presented to her. Ravel was curled up in a ball between the two landing parties, having been unceremoniously dumped there by one of the big Orions. Big, bronze bruises marred her face, her clothes were in tatters and her hair was tangled and matted. She also wore one of the odious Orion control collars. T'Pol felt a hint of emotion welling up deep inside her psyche, but she suppressed it. Nevertheless, she was disquieted by the memory of the competent and strong woman who had abducted her and Trip.
Standing next to her, her brother started swearing in Romulan. T'Pol's Romulan vocabulary was limited, but she recognized his words as profane from his inflections.
"Be calm, brother," whispered T'Pol, "She is alive, and she will be safe soon enough. But you must confirm her identity before Arian makes the exchange."
The were all standing on what once had been the Romulan Mining Colony's launch pad. T'Pol stood with her brother, Malcolm stood behind her with his security team and to the left of them were Arian and Javon.
Enme shouted something in Romulan to Ravel. She shouted something back.
"It's her," said Enme in English.
T'Pol nodded at Arian, who took the case with the payment and placed it next to Ravel.
"Now remove the collar," said Arian, so forcefully that everyone, except Javon, appeared surprised.
The big Orion did as Arian ordered, then he took the case and checked its contents. He nodded at one of the Orion females.
"Our business is concluded," said the female to Arian.
Arian nodded. In mere minutes, the Orions boarded their ship and the door shut behind them. As it began to take off, Enme went and knelt next to Ravel. He gathered her into his arms and started speaking to her in Romulan. She returned his embrace and then allowed him to help her to her feet.
"She needs medical attention," said Enme, "They shot down her ship and haven't even checked her for internal injuries."
"The Vulcan ship that is in orbit has plentiful medical facilities. They'll take good care of her. They know far more about Romulan physiology than the humans," said Javon.
"Our doctor is Denobulan," said T'Pol, "and he is an expert in humanoid biodiversity."
T'Pol glanced at Malcolm, and he glanced back at her. With only a look, they each conveyed their surprise at the presence of a Vulcan vessel in orbit.
Javon approached T'Pol and handed her a PADD.
"You'll see here that the Vulcans have been granted custody of the Romulan spy Ravel. As you know, she spent years undercover on Vulcan, and the V'Shar as well as the government at large wishes to know exactly what she reported to her former commanders."
Enme looked at T'Pol.
"It was my understanding that Enterprise was ordered to retrieve Ravel," said T'Pol.
"And you've fulfilled that order," said Javon, "and the V'Shar and the Vulcan government thanks you for your service. You'll see from the orders on that PADD that Starfleet Intelligence has approved of the V'Shar taking custody of the second defector."
Enme spoke briskly to Ravel, who turned to T'Pol.
"I request formal asylum from Starfleet," said Ravel in Vulcan, "I wish to defect to Earth not Vulcan."
T'Pol closed her eyes but just briefly.
"As a Starfleet officer," said T'Pol, "I must at least notify Starfleet Command of her request. Admiral Jonathan Archer is in the vicinity. I will make the request of him."
Javon shook his head.
"Admirals higher up than him have already made this decision," said Javon in English.
"You treacherous mother-fucker," said Enme in English, "You cocksucking bastard," he shouted.
Malcolm looked at T'Pol.
"You didn't teach him those words, did you Commander?"
"No," she said, "but it is possible that your fiance did. You might want to have a talk with her."
"Indeed," said Malcolm.
Meanwhile, Arian stepped between Enme and Javon.
"He doesn't practice incest or homosexual relations. And I'm in a position to know," she said firmly.
"The Vulcan ship is waiting to transport her," said Javon.
T'Pol took Javon to one side.
"The defectors are more likely to cooperate if they are together," said T'Pol, "It is unwise to keep them separated."
Javon whispered in her ear.
"Your regard for your brother is clouding your judgment, T'Pol. The possibility of seeing her someday might just be more conducive to his cooperation and less conducive to the two of them conspiring against us."
T'Pol glared at Javon.
"I disagree. . . ."
T'Pol couldn't finish. She felt a searing pain in her head, but she reached up to find no wound on it. Blackness consumed her and she fell to the ground.
***
On Enterprise, Hoshi knelt next to Trip, who had a head wound from flying debris. He was out cold, and Hoshi immediately flashed back to his time in The Expanse and his coma. It couldn't be a good thing that he had more head trauma. She used her hand to compress the bleeding.
"Lt. Drake," ordered Hoshi, "Call down to sickbay. Tell Phlox what has happened. The Captain needs to be taken to sickbay. Travis, evasive pattern 3B."
"Yes, ma'am," said Travis.
After Drake had called sickbay, Hoshi called her over so she could continue compressing Trip's head wound. Hoshi hoped the injury wasn't too severe, and she crawled up into the big chair. One of the drone ships had been gunning for The Columbia, and it appeared that Trip's targeting of its impulse engines with close range modified phase canon blasts had worked, but the move had created a kickback that had shaken the ship and wounded her captain
Nevertheless, the Captain had succeeded in protecting The Columbia and had crippled one of the drones. Hoshi just needed to finish the job.
"Soo," said Hoshi, "target the drone's warp core. We shouldn't have to get that close this time to destroy it."
