A/N: Translations at the bottom of the document again.

-o-o-o-

Chapter 7

The Veleth Hai are a humanoid race from a planet known to the Federation's databanks as Ilion VII, although that's almost certainly not what its inhabitants call it. The reason nobody's entirely certain what the inhabitants call it is because their communication is exclusively by way of a neural mist that envelops the planet and functions, apparently, as a kind of telepathic conductor. This works great for them but is less than conducive to conversational repartee when a psi-null species comes calling. Therefore, the Veleth Hai were the opposite of impressed when the Human crew of the USS Merrimac made first contact a little over three Terran months ago, and it turned out that the new guests had the collective psi-ability of a damp brick. In the usual order of things, their supercilious antipathy would have earned them a limp Federal handshake and a less than heartfelt, well, let's stay in touch, from the powers that be, except that the reason the Merrimac was in the Ilion system in the first place was because scanners show that the fourth and seventh planets are home to some of the most extensive seams of topaline, pergium and diamond detected anywhere in the galaxy. It'd be a shame to give up so easily on what could be a warm and promising friendship.

Negotiations, unsurprisingly, are not going well.

After the Veleth Hai made it abundantly clear that, as far as they could tell, the Human race was a collection of dribbling, barely-sentient knuckle-draggers whose command of warp technology was a development of questionable security for the rest of the galaxy, sole tactical authority for the Ilion project was, begrudgingly, ceded to the Vulcan High Command. Kirk thinks he has a fairly clear picture in his head of how that conversation proceeded, but anyway. Nobody in the return party was expecting balloons and home-baked cookies when they re-entered orbit around Ilion VII, but it turns out that the Veleth Hai don't think much of the kind of company the Vulcans are keeping, and it took the best part of seventeen days' negotiations to even get the diplomatic contingent beamed down to the planet's surface.

That was a little over a week ago. The Enterprise's new mission objective comes from Starfleet HQ, of course, and not the Federal offices, and so reading between the lines is a surprisingly illuminating experience, given the extraordinary levels of schadenfreude implicit in the summary that was appended to Fitzpatrick's communiqué. The lengthy silence from the surface of Ilion VII was just beginning to make the admiralty twitch when it was abruptly broken by the stone-faced Vulcan attaché to the Office of Federal Expansion, who was obliged to deliver the news that, no, no arrangement has yet been forthcoming, because the Veleth Hai, being a race who communicate exclusively by thought, don't actually have what might be colloquially termed "a language". It did not take anyone seven days to work that out, Kirk is privately certain. He'd bet his last bottle of Saurian brandy that ninety percent of the communication black-out was devoted to the best way of phrasing the news so as not to look as though they didn't actually do much better than the Humans.

Current speculation posits an emotional component to the Veleth Hai's communication structure, says the report, and the Captain can almost read, in the stark, prosaic lines of text, the smirks hidden behind a genteel cough or twitching lips. He's not sure how much of the background information he ought to share with Spock, who will definitely pretend not to notice the schoolboy air of one-upmanship, but will miss none of the pedantry and superiority complex buried beneath double entendre and implication. At which point he will presumably skewer the self-conscious Human aggrandisement with the simple observation, which is not lost on Kirk, that, regardless of humanity's superior lexicon of emotional nuance, the psi-ability thing is the most pertinent factor here and all the hugs and manly tears in the universe can't change that.

It's a delicate situation. Everyone's feeling a little bit humiliated, and everyone's a little bit touchy as a result. The Federation thinks – quite rightly, as it turns out – that Starfleet are laughing at them behind their backs; Starfleet thinks that the Federation are treating them like the embarrassing cousin that can't be trusted not to get drunk and ruin Christmas for everyone; the Humans think that the Vulcans are enjoying the fact that Humanity has basically been kicked off the Planet of Everlasting Riches for being too stupid; and the Vulcans think that the Humans are a little bit too happy to discover that they can't talk to the Veleth Hai either. Nobody knows what the Veleth Hai think. That's the problem.

However. In much the same way that there is a thriving academic population on earth devoted to deciphering cave drawings and Mayan hieroglyphs, there is a branch of anthropology in the Vulcan Science Academy whose singular fascination is the study of ancient Vulcan emotionality. Sorelan trensu is Professor of Morpholinguistics at the Vulcana Regar campus and is widely regarded as the leading scholar in his field. He has been hastily conscripted to the project against a backdrop of furious negotiation, threats and concessions, not least of which is, apparently, a substantial Federal funding injection directly into the Department of Morpholinguistics at Vulcana Regar that speaks of a certain reticence on the part of the professor himself. Kirk is unsure of the precise reasons that anyone wants the Enterprise to do the honors in terms of transporting Sorelan from Vulcan to Ilion VII, but it seems to be the one thing everyone actually agrees on at the moment, and the question of whether or not it actually makes sense to send a Constitution-class starship into taxi-duty is not his to ponder. They will arrive in a little under three ship's days. It should be interesting.

It's close to midnight by the time Spock returns to his quarters, and Kirk is not sure where the hours have gone, but that's not unusual for the evenings that they spend in each other's company. They danced necessarily through questions of protocol and logistics and staffing the professor's sojourn aboard the ship, but when business was concluded and Spock did not immediately stand up to leave, the Captain risked a segue into softer things, things that might make his friend stay for the sake of staying. They drifted over inconsequentials: a book of rare Vulcan poetry that Spock thinks the professor might find illuminating; the quality of background music on weekend nights in the gymnasium; the qualitative difference between a Master's degree on Earth and the tren'es from the VSA; and when the talk inevitably turned to the gravitational acrobatics of the Beta Aurigae binary, Kirk watched his First light up from within with that specific fire that shines out of his eyes when he is transcended by science, and realized – suddenly, brutally – how much he had missed these moments.

His quarters seem smaller now, cloistered and claustrophobic, still two shades too warm from where he surreptitiously turned up the heat a little over an hour ago. He roughly strips off his uniform and lowers himself onto the covers of his bed. Brandy swims in his brain, soothing but not quite narcotic, and he wonders idly how Spock plans to gracefully wriggle his way free of obligatory shore leave. Something sciencey is the most obvious candidate, though he's more likely to go a little more subtle now that he knows that it matters to the Captain.

That may have been a tactical error. Subtle is harder to counter, and Vulcans have subtle written into their genetic code.

But it was a good question. Why does it mean so much to Kirk that his friend spends time on his home planet? His only answer is hazy and uneasy at best, and it's not much of an improvement on the answer he gave Spock. Because home is important, and if it wasn't then Spock wouldn't have so much energy invested in trying to find where he belongs. Because he can be half-Human all he wants, but it's only ever dragged out as a qualifier when it grants him particular debating rights in any given dispute. Because it says Vulcan under Species and Homeworld in his personnel file, and it's how Spock thinks of himself and who he is. And because he's different from the man Kirk knew at the beginning of the mission – as though he's finally settling into himself – and that's part of a process of self-acceptance that inevitably leads to laying some demons to rest on the planet of his birth. And because this tiny, irrational part of the Captain hopes that maybe, if he's forced to do that now, he won't feel like he needs go back again for a while. Like, for example, as soon as the current mission ends.

Yes. That's not the sort of thought process best shared with his First Officer.

From the head comes the gentle sounds of Spock preparing for sleep: a clink of metal against metal, the splash of water into the sink, a muted cough. Kirk closes his eyes.

-o-o-o-

"Tell me, Mr. Spock – what do you know about Professor Sorelan?"

The First Officer swings around in his chair to face the bridge. "Regrettably, Captain, I am not familiar with the professor's work," he says. "Morpholinguistics is not my field."

The ship is about to drop out of warp on the edge of the Eridani system, which means that Spock has known about the existence of Sorelan trensu and his Department of

Morpholinguistics for a full sixty-seven hours now. Kirk waits.

"However, I have taken the opportunity to access the databanks of the VSA," he adds. Kirk purses his lips around a smile that Spock ignores. "His publication output is modest but intriguing. It seems likely that there is no scholar on Vulcan better suited to attempting communication with the Veleth Hai."

Earlier this morning, Lieutenant Afaeaki obviated a Vulcan hijack of the data processing project in Labs 1, 2 and 4 by virtue of steely-eyed determination and an innate talent for deftly charting the fine line between duty and insubordination. It seems a little too obvious to be the main thrust of Spock's offensive, though, and the Captain is on his guard.

"Why do you say that?" he asks lightly.

"Sorelan's research interests are focused mainly on tracing the evolution of body language through pre-Surakian texts," says Spock. "We know that the Veleth Hai use non-verbal visual cues during face-to-face communication – without it, the crew of the Merrimac would have been wholly unable to determine their… distaste. I believe that the professor's expertise in this area will act as a guide in interpreting their telepathic communication."

"Like a kind of Rosetta Stone, you mean?"

Spock inclines his head. This is probably not a good sign. The fact that there's not even a token protest about the Captain's use of Terran history to elucidate a point means he's almost certainly plotting something.

"Perhaps," he says. "As Starfleet Command have adduced, the emotionality of the Veleth Hai communication system is not easily adaptive to Vulcan telepathic norms. A code-breaker of sorts may well be required."

Only a Vulcan could take a neutral verb like adduced and load it so heavily with disdain and implied reproach. Decoding emotionality may require a scholar at the level of Sorelan trensu, but the general population seem to manage the encoding part pretty well all by themselves. Maybe it takes a Human to notice it, though. Kirk feels a smile twitch the corners of his lips.

"Dropping out of warp, sir," says Sulu from the helm.

"Thank you, Mr. Sulu," says Kirk. "Lieutenant Uhura, let me know when we're in hailing range of Vulcan Space Central."

"Yes, sir."

As the star streaks coalesce into Eridani's filigree backdrop and the engines scrape mournfully down the octaves from their supersonic warp-speed whine, Spock stands and crosses to stand at the right of the command chair.

"Full impulse, Mr. Sulu," says Kirk, turning his head to throw a smile towards his First Officer.

"Welcome home, Mr. Spock."

Spock folds his hands behind his back and trains his eyes on the viewscreen, which is dimming by degrees as 40 Eridani A expands across the upper right quarter. Two pinprick shadows are just visible against her heavy, yellow bulk. "Thank you, Captain," he says.

"I trust the circumstances are a little more…" – and Kirk suddenly realizes there is no appropriate way to end that sentence. Congenial? Implies that Spock's wedding was ever anything but. Relaxing? Really? He's going to reference pon farr on the bridge? To your liking? Well, for a start, they're not, and besides, that phrase conveniently combines the very worst semantics of the previous two options. He settles for, "a little more agreeable than our last visit," and knows even before he's finished speaking that his words will earn him an imperious glance and an eyebrow arched so high it's practically disappeared off the top of Spock's head. Kirk contents himself with plastering his most ingenuous expression across his face and returning the gaze until his First looks away.

"Indeed, Captain," says Spock smoothly, and if Kirk wasn't 100 percent certain that his friend has a bulletproof shore leave contingency plan meticulously plotted, well. He is now.

"Hailing frequencies open, Captain," says Uhura. "In range in twenty seconds."

"Mr. Spock," says Kirk, because he can't resist. Yes, he'll pay for it eventually, but right now he can't resist. "Would you care to do the honors?"

The look he receives confirms the certainty of retribution at some point in the future, but Spock says, "Thank you, Captain."

"In range, Mr. Spock," says Uhura.

He straightens almost imperceptibly, so that instead of standing poker-stiff he now approaches a quantum state of collinearity. "A'fic t'Stukh T'Khasi, nash-USS Enterprise se," he says formally, and something tightens in Kirk's belly, the way it always does when his First Officer breaks into his native tongue. There's something a little bit thrilling to be forcibly reminded that this is a man born into another race from another world, a man with whom he shares virtually no common cultural referents or experience, and still, still they have managed to forge the strongest and most complete friendship that Kirk has ever known.

There is a momentary silence, and then a voice replies, in Terran Standard, "USS Enterprise, welcome to Vulcan. Stand by to receive orbital co-ordinates."

"Standing by."

"Co-ordinates received, sir," says Chekov from the navigation console.

"Thank you, Vulcan Space Central," says Kirk. "This is Captain James T Kirk. Requesting permission to make ship to surface contact with the Vulcan Science Academy."

Another silence, this time stretching long enough to trail a sideways glance from the Captain towards his First. Spock meets it and offers a raised eyebrow in return.

A hiss from the turbolift announces Bones' arrival on the bridge and Kirk turns his head to acknowledge the Doctor as he takes up a position to the left of the command chair.

"Home sweet home, Spock," says McCoy drily, as the continued silence segues gracefully from common courtesy into possible comm malfunction.

"Vulcan Space Central, do you copy?" says Kirk. He glances towards Uhura, who is watching the ceiling with a look of furious concentration on her face. She catches the Captain's gaze and offers a tiny shake of her head.

"Frequency still open, sir," she says.

Kirk opens his mouth to repeat the question and gets as far as drawing breath before the steel voice finally cuts him off. "Permission granted," it says. "Proceed through conduit 117-38/4. Interference is expected due to weather conditions in the Raal region. Proceed through conduit 117-39/7 if contact is lost."

"Thank you, Vulcan Sp…"

"Transferring to Quarantine and Border Controls for final scans. Vulcan Space Central out."

There is a moment of perfect, speechless quiet on the bridge.

"Well," says McCoy presently, "Warm and welcoming as ever."

Kirk darts another quick glance at Spock, who is regarding the blank viewscreen with consternation.

"The expedient manner would seem to go beyond formality and prudence," he says slowly.

The Captain sighs. "They're not happy we're here," he says. He purses his lips. "This may be a little more delicate than we were expecting. Uhura, see if you can raise the VSA on either of those conduits and patch it through to my quarters. Mr. Spock, I want you to join me for the call and on the away party when we beam-down."

"Captain…" he begins to say, but Kirk holds up a hand to cut him off.

"I realize there's some history there, Mr. Spock, but I'm afraid you'll have to set it aside for now," he says. "I need you with me for this."

"Captain," says Uhura, "Unable to establish a link to either conduit supplied by Vulcan Space

Central. Interference is too strong."

Kirk curls his hand into a fist and gently strikes the arm of his chair. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Keep trying, and call Mr. Scott to the bridge. Mr. Sulu, you have the con until Mr. Scott arrives. Have him complete the final formalities with Quarantine and Borders. I'll be in my quarters." He stands, glancing a summons to his First, and adds under his breath, "Trying to work out what's going on."

-o-o-o-

"Jim," says Spock as the turbolift doors close on the bridge, "I do not believe my participation is advisable."

An on-duty Jim is always cause to take note of what follows, and Kirk twists his head to train an evaluative gaze on his First Officer. Spock is facing resolutely forward, hands folded tightly behind his back, and only the lines of tension in his face betray his distress. He says, gently, "I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, Spock…"

"It is not a question of my discomfort," says Spock, but he still won't look at the Captain. Whoever decided that Vulcans don't lie obviously didn't count prevarication under that general rubric. "However, the situation is politically sensitive. I believe that my presence will unduly complicate matters."

"Spock, it's been twenty years since you left Vulcan," says Kirk. "How long can the VSA hold a grudge?"

"Vulcans do not hold a grudge, Captain."

Kirk smothers a mutinous grin that is determined to worry its way across his face, because now is clearly not the time. The doors slide open onto Deck 5 and he says, as they step out of the lift, "But you feel that your decision to turn down your place at the Academy two decades ago is likely to exacerbate our current diplomatic difficulties?"

"It may contribute to a certain intransigence," says Spock.

"And you wouldn't call that 'holding a grudge'?" He knows the grin is in his eyes, but there's nothing he can do about that. Spock doesn't sigh, but Kirk can tell he wants to.

They have reached the Captain's quarters and he opens the door. "All right, Spock," he says as they enter and cross to his desk. "I'm not sure it matters what anyone calls it. I'll play it by ear, but it strikes me that it would look very odd not to include you in these talks. Especially if there are issues of cultural sensitivity at stake." He opens his comm port. "Kirk to Communications."

"Communications. Uhura here, Captain."

"How's that conduit looking, Lieutenant?"

"I've got a patchy signal, sir. No visuals but the VSA are standing by on an audio-only channel."

"Sorelan?"

"No, sir. Professor Sorelan was unavailable. I have the Dean of Anthropology for you, Professor T'Pilak."

Kirk glances at Spock. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Stand by."

"Standing by, sir."

The Captain straightens, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Please tell me this is a question of protocol," he says.

"It… may be," says Spock.

"But you clearly don't believe it is."

"It is redundant to speculate, Captain."

"Not always, Mr. Spock," says Kirk. He didn't feel this tired fifteen minutes ago. "It's an audio-only channel," he says, scrubbing his hand over his face. "At least we can gauge the general mood before we decide whether or not to announce your presence." He sighs and lowers himself into his chair. "All right. Have Uhura patch them through."

Spock flicks open the port. "Spock to Communications. The Captain is ready to receive the transmission from Professor T'Pilak."

"Aye, sir," says Uhura, and a deafening blast of static slices through the tense air of the Captain's quarters. Kirk winces.

"Vulcan Science Academy, this is Captain James Kirk of the USS Enterprise," he says over the hissing white noise. "Do you read me?"

"Cap… K, this is ….can Sci… my…"

The Captain closes his eyes and takes a breath. "Say again, Vulcan Science Academy. We have a lot of interference at our end."

"…."

"Vulcan Science Academy, this is Enterprise. Do you copy?"

"…can…" A high-pitched feedback whine, as of a starship hull gently rending under intense atmospheric pressure. "…lak, do you…" An explosive buzz of electrical interference, another shrill protest, and sudden silence. Kirk looks at Spock, who has already quirked an eyebrow at the comm.

"Vulcan Science Academy, this is Enterprise, do you copy?"

He is not expecting a reply, and the sudden muted hum that speaks of a conduit still open against the odds is something of a surprise. The voice, when it follows, is distant and distorted, with a disconcerting split-second echo, but there is no mistaking a note of iron-willed intransigence that does not bode well for the conversation. "Enterprise, this is T'Pilak trensu of the Vulcan Science Academy. To whom am I speaking?"

"Dif-tor heh smusma, T'Pilak trensu," says Kirk, in case it might make any difference. Even across a blind channel and some thousand kilometers of atmosphere and planetary surface, it palpably does not. "This is Captain James T Kirk." He glances up at Spock, meets his eyes, and shakes his head. Spock nods and steeples his hands. "I trust you received a communiqué from Starfleet Command informing you of our arrival."

"We received a communiqué, Captain," she says. Kirk waits, but she does not elaborate.

"I had hoped to speak directly to Professor Sorelan," he says when it becomes clear that she's not going to add anything further.

"I regret that Professor Sorelan is unavailable at present, Captain."

"In that case, perhaps you might be able to confirm the final arrangements for his transfer to Enterprise on his behalf," says Kirk.

There is a long, uncomfortable pause. Then T'Pilak says, "It appears there has been a miscommunication, Captain Kirk. Professor Sorelan is unavailable for transfer to your ship at this time."

"Excuse me?" says Kirk before his brain can flip his vocal cords back to diplomatic.

"Starfleet Command have been informed," she says.

In the absence of the appropriate Vulcan to glare at, Kirk transfers his wide-eyed fury to Spock, who furrows his brow in the direction of the comm port and sits forward in his seat.

"T'Pilak trensu, this is Commander Spock," he says. "This is most irregular."

"Ah, Spock," she says. For a sparse, two-syllable sentence, it is so heavily inflected with censure that it convincingly refutes Spock's earlier denial of the Vulcan capacity for grudge-holding. "Dif-tor heh smusma."

"Sochya eh dif," he answers perfunctorily. "Nevertheless, it must be clear that we have received no transmission from Starfleet Command rescinding the order to collect Sorelan trensu and transport him to the Ilion system."

"I cannot speak for Starfleet Command," she says. "The communication was made earlier today. I regret that you have had a wasted journey, Captain Kirk, but the fact remains: Sorelan is unavailable at present."

Kirk leans forward, elbows braced on the desk, and schools his features into something approaching patience. He says, "You must appreciate, T'Pilak, that we can't simply turn the ship around on your say-so. My orders stand until such times as they are officially revoked by my commanding officers."

"You must do what you must do, Captain," she says blandly.

"And when is Sorelan likely to become available?" he says. Frustration colors his tone freely now, but there's not much he can do about that.

There is a small silence. Then T'Pilak says, "I cannot say."

"Cannot or will not?" snaps Kirk, but his eyes have sought Spock's again and he reads in them a confirmation of what he has just begun to suspect: T'Pilak wasn't expecting that last question and it was clearly the right one to ask.

"I see no benefit in prolonging this communication, Captain," says the professor stiffly. "I have no doubt that Starfleet will find an alternative ambassador to the Veleth Hai. Live long and prosper. T'Pilak out."

She is gone before he can open his mouth to respond and the sudden absence of electrical hum sucks a vacuous silence into the room that makes the Captain's ears ring. He takes a deep breath and leans back in his seat. "Well," he says. "That was unexpected."

"Indeed," says Spock.

"Analysis?"

"Difficult to say," says Spock slowly. He straightens his spine, and rests his hands on either side of the chair. "The level of hostility is clear. However, it is impossible to determine its cause. I do not believe my presence contributed significantly to the antipathy already manifest in Professor T'Pilak's tone." A beat. Then, "Fascinating."

"Is Vulcan opposed to communication with the Veleth Hai?" says Kirk.

"Vulcan stands to benefit in equal measure with all members of the Federation if mining rights can be established on Ilion VII. I see no logical reason to oppose this mission."

"Nevertheless, Space Central weren't exactly welcoming. And now the VSA has followed suit."

"If Vulcan High Command were to depart from Federal policy on this matter, it seems likely that the Vulcan Science Academy would comply. However, T'Pilak's hostility need not reflect an overall policy shift. The VSA is quite capable of independent opposition to the Veleth Hai project."

"On what grounds?"

"I cannot say."

"But you have a suspicion?"

"Perhaps." Spock steeples his hands. "I am reluctant to verbalize it at present, Captain, without sufficient evidence. Moreover, we are neglecting to consider one pertinent fact."

"Which is?"

Now Spock looks up, and it's not quite amusement in his eyes and not quite mischief, but there's a glint of something. "Sorelan trensu may be, in fact, simply unavailable."

Kirk huffs a small laugh. "Touché, Mr. Spock," he says. He crosses his hands across his chest and lets a wide smile break across his face. "You know, if I didn't know better, I might suspect you orchestrated all this yourself."

The eyebrow shoots up. "For what purpose, Captain?"

"Well," says Kirk, "It seems highly unlikely I'll be beaming you down for mandatory shore leave now."

-o-o-o-

Translations:

trensu - teacher/master/professor

"A'fic t'Stukh T'Khasi, nash-USS Enterprise se." - "Vulcan Space Central, this is the USS Enterprise."

"Dif-tor heh smusma, T'Pilak trensu." - "Live long and prosper, Professor T'Pilak."

"Sochya eh dif." - "Peace and long life."