Chapter 9: Lt. S'Vrall discovers the only thing worse than being on a ship crewed by humans is being on a ship crewed by human fangirls.
I woke.
Eee-t. Eee-t. Eee-t. Sickbay. It had to be. The medical monitor made this horrific scream, right into my ears, no, bypassing my ears to scream directly into my brain, as it proclaimed my vitals were abnormal for a human.
Like: really? Ya think?
Then the lights.
Having spent years on Vulcan, one adjusts to sunlight from three stars in the trinary system, but the lights in the medbay were something else: intensely white, concentrated, and lasering right into my eyes, ... no, right into my brain.
I coughed, weakly, experimentally.
Mistake.
I just discovered I had three cracked ribs. And cuts. And bruises. And we're not talking an 'ouchie'-bruise. No, we're talking 'disruptor hit square on my back'-bruise. I was fortunate my own captain didn't murder me with friendly fire.
Real, honest-to-God, combat training, the way it was intended. I felt adrenalin rushing through every part of my body. My limbs were visibly shaking, and I was both in agony and ecstasy at the same time.
When the adrenalin flushed from my system, though: man, I was going to pay for this.
A nurse rushed to my side. "Doctor! She's awake!"
I winced. My whole body winced.
Why do humans have to scream at the top of their lungs, ... all the time? You ever hear a Vulcan do that?
Humans, do me a favor: shut the fuck up.
I groaned.
"Aren't we the chipper one?"
That was the voice of Captain Lorca, to my side. At least his tone had some nuance to it. I glanced over to him only to be surprised to see him lying down in his own medbay, his chest bandaged up.
The bandages were soaked red.
"Sir?" I asked, pointing my eyebrows at his wound.
"Stabbed," he said. "When you said safeties were off, you weren't kidding, were you?"
"Nosir," I sighed, "I wasn't."
Fuck! I thought. My Captain stabbed, and he saw what a fuck-up I was.
"Sorry, sir."
"Eh," he said casually. "Who needs a liver when you can get your sliced-up one patched up, better than new?"
He sat up then grimaced.
Dr. Culber came with the nurse in tow.
She was looking at me funny, or, that is, trying hide that she was looking at me. I stared back at her openly, and, when her eyes caught mine, she looked away fast, and blushed.
O, fucking great. The only thing worse than humans that resented Vulcans were the humans who worshiped us, like we were these perfect, logical gods, or something. I was perfect ... at being a counter-example to that, but, then again, I also am not Vulcan.
Not that anybody on this ship knows that, ... nor anybody alive, for that matter.
I made sure of that.
But that's a story for another time.
Dr. Culber: "Captain, I'm going to have to ask you to lie back down. You're just out of surgery and I do not want that wound to reopen."
Captain Lorca regarded Dr. Culber levelly. "Thanks for your medical advice, Doctor. Where's the XO?"
Commander Saru materialized. Actually, he didn't, he sat up from beyond Captain Lorca's bay, but the XO had a way of seeming to appear out of thin air like that, the creep.
"Ah!" Captain Lorca said. "XO. Reinstate Lt. S'Vrall to security officer. S'Vrall, good work in there."
I looked at Captain Lorca in confusion. "You're ... joking? This is what humans call 'a joke,' correct?"
Captain Lorca blinked. "Why would you say that?"
"You were there, sir. You saw how I fucked up. The exact same place as the real battle, too. And my kill-count was way down from the actual battle." No thanks to me having to babysit you the whole time, I thought darkly.
"Wait," Captain Lorca said. "That really happened like that?"
"Well, no, sir," I replied. "There were some differences, but all-in-all, well, approximately the first half of the battle transpired as simulated..."
"How come I didn't see this in your record?" he asked.
"The court martial was expunged when all charges were contravened," I replied.
Captain Lorca blinked. "Come again?"
"The court martial was expunged when all charges were contravened," I repeated. Are humans that hard of hearing? I wondered.
The captain and the XO exchanged glances. "Court martial, ..." Captain Lorca stated slowly.
It was then Michael Burnham came in. "S'Vrall," she said by way of greeting.
"Burnham," I replied, equally coolly.
It was then that the nurse had to go to the back office for some reason. Michael Burnham's eyes followed her exit, then she raised an eyebrow at me. I shrugged.
Do you see how Vulcans communicate, humans?
"Court Martial, ... for what?" Captain Lorca demanded.
"Murder, first degree, multiple counts. Violation of terms of war with regard to treatment of the enemy, multiple counts. Unnecessary infliction of bodily harm, mul-..."
"Waitaminitwaitaminitwaitaminit," Captain Lorca interrupted. "You were court martialed for killing Klingons?" His voice rose in shock.
"Nosir," I replied. "I was court martialed for killing Klingons unnecessarily and ... well, the Vulcan term is something like: 'disrespectfully.' I did not provide quarter nor aid when called to do so. In fact, I did the opposite."
"But they were boarding your ship! They were slaughtering your shipmates!" Captain Lorca shouted.
Michael Burnham jumped in. "That doesn't matter, sir. You saw her in action. That wasn't a Vulcan. That was a monster, one that spits at everything Vulcans have upheld for centuries. Her conduct on the battlefield shamed herself and all Vulcan."
I smiled bitterly. "Thank you, Michael Burnham."
I had a really bitter taste in my mouth. I felt sick.
Michael Burnham regarded me levelly. "You are welcome, S'Vrall."
She wasn't calling me 'Lt. S'Vrall.' It was like I was a bug to her. No: Vulcans honored bugs more than me now. It was like I was scum.
I felt really sick.
Captain Lorca looked between me and Michael Burnham. He came to a decision. "That's bullshit. She basically saved that ship by herself. We all saw it."
"But, sir, the battle for engineering, I ..."
"You threw yourself in front of disruptor fire saving your shipmates and me, allowing us to mount a counterattack that broke their offensive. If you hadn't led the charge, the Klingons would've had engineering, easily. And if engineering fell, the whole ship would be under their control. You saved the day, lieutenant."
"That's not how the Vulcans saw it, sir, or, one, in particular."
The CO, XO, and Michael Burnham looked at me, waiting.
"Sublieutenant T'hiru, ... who had been field-promoted to Commander T'hiru after the battle, was the one who court martialed me, sir."
Captain Lorca just stared at me a moment, and I couldn't meet his eyes anymore.
I wanted to cry now, but I couldn't. I can't. I'm a Vulcan, you see, and Vulcans don't feel hurt, nor loss, nor regret, nor ... anything.
We're fucking walking computers, right, humans? Cold, emotionless machines.
Beep. 3 + 4 = 7. Beep.
That's us to you, isn't it?
What hurt me was the look in Captain Lorca's eyes. He saw me, and he saw my pain. And I couldn't take that. His knife wound looked like it hurt less than him seeing that, how inside now, I was just a ball of pain, and nothing else, ... except self-hatred. At least I had that going for me.
I swallowed.
"XO," Captain Lorca stated, "I want a letter of commendation written for Lt., ... no, it was 'sublieutenant,' S'Vrall, the hero of the Battle of Nivalla, and entered into her service record, stat."
"Nosir," I said. "You're not going to do that."
"Excuse me?" he said. "I'm the captain of this Goddamn ship, and I can do whatever the hell I want, lieutenant."
"But, sir, ..." I began.
"But nothing, lieutenant! You exemplified leadership, adaptability, bravery, courage, and goddamn getting the goddamn job done! If the Vulcans don't want or need that, by God, Starfleet sure as hell does. Goddamn, if half the officers in Starfleet showed half the initiative and dedication that you did there, we'd've won this war already. Fuck, if I knew you Vulcans had half this gumption you showed in there, I'd take on ten more of you for my security division and not even think twice about it, ... and are you taking this down, XO?"
"Sir," Michael Burnham said softly, "Lt. S'Vrall is correct."
"What?"
"Think about it, sir," she said. "The Vulcans court martialed her, then expunged the incident from her record. Why? Think like a Vulcan, sir."
"I make it my habit never to think like a Vulcan, Michael Burnham. You two are two too many Vulcans on my ship, and I only keep you around because you're so damn good at what you do."
Michael Burnham smirked at that. "I know that, sir. But think: you'd be causing an interstellar incident if you lauded something the Vulcans look upon with shame. You'd be rubbing their faces in a matter they'd rather forget."
"Correct. That is exactly what I'd be doing." Captain Lorca replied.
"Sir, aren't Human-Vulcan relations strained enough as it is?"
Captain Lorca glared at Michael Burnham. He turned to me. "Don't you have anything to say about this?"
I did, if he would've listened to me. Apparently, Michael Burnham speaks, and he listens to her.
"I apologize, sir, for burdening you with a security officer with a shameful past and many, many reprimands in her service record. I'll be happy to breathe hard vacuum now, and unburden ev-..."
"Don't you," ... Captain Lorca pointed at me furiously. "Don't you ever say that shit to me again, mister, you hear me?"
"Yessir. Aye, sir." I replied.
"You're not like those other fuck-heads. I don't give a shit about them and their Vulcan-whatever. You're you. Be proud of that. Because you're my goddamn security officer now, and if anybody has a beef with that, they'll have to deal with me! My ship; my goddamn crew, isn't that right, XO?"
"Yessir," Commander Saru replied coolly, but you could tell he wasn't just a yes-man here. His answer carried with it the weight of his experience.
"Let's get the hell outta here, XO." He turned to me. "You holding up? When can you return to duty?"
"Now, sir," I said, and got up from the medbay, my face, expressionless, as I stood.
"Really?" he asked surprised. "Great! Because I want my ... that is: your whole security team to be on par with what I saw today. You up for another go at, say, 0800 hours tomorrow morning?"
"Yessir," I replied.
"Nosir."
That was Michael Burnham.
The Captain looked to her.
"Do you see how she's standing, sir?" Michael Burnham pointed out.
Captain Lorca looked. He raised his eyebrows.
"She's in agony, sir. She's favoring her right side. I surmise she has serious injuries that are incapacitating now, and will not be healed, even with a deep Vulcan healing trance, by 0800 hours tomorrow. In fact, I recommend she not be returned to duty until she is healed."
Captain Lorca turned to me. "This true?"
"She's exaggerating, sir," I said mildly.
"No, I'm not," Michael Burnham said levelly. "You put her back into the simulator, even just to train others, which I hope you'll see is an impossibility for her just to stand by, you'd be lucky to get her back to sickbay before she dies from internal hemorrhaging."
Captain Lorca appraised this information. "What do you say then?" he asked her.
"Don't I get a say in this?" I demanded.
"No," Michael Burnham replied.
"Apparently," Captain Lorca chuckled, "you don't. So...?"
"I'd say three days, bed rest. No activity whatsoever, and if she attempts to break curfew, add three more days for each infraction."
I laughed weakly. "And there's not a war on, and I don't have standard operating duties during each day anyway, and the sky is made of cotton candy clouds. Sir, I'll be ready for duty at 1700 hours tomorrow evening."
"No, you won't." Michael Burnham stated firmly.
Captain Lorca raised his hands placatingly. "How about ... 1700 hours tomorrow, I, or XO, check on you in your quarters, and, if you're a good girl and look fit for duty, we can reinstate you then, okay?"
"No," Michael Burnham replied.
Captain Lorca chuckled. "What, are you her mother now?"
Michael Burnham's jaw worked, but then she tried another tack. "You know how Vulcans are, sir. They'd rather work themselves to death than admit they need two whole seconds to take a break."
Captain Lorca nodded. "Yeah, I've seen that, but you know what's worse for a Vulcan than working themselves to death? It's prolonging their convalescence, or do you deny that, Michael Burnham?"
From the look on her face, he had her there.
"I need a beer. XO, let's go get a beer. What do you guys drink? Do you drink beer?"
"Water, sir," I replied.
Captain Lorca shook his head. "Don't tell me: Vulcans don't drink?"
"We drink water, sir." I said.
Captain Lorca sighed. "Let's go, XO. You staying here?" He asked to me.
"Not only no, sir, but, hell, no, ... sir." I stated.
Captain Lorca chuckled. "I feel you."
That's when Dr. Culber stepped out of his office. "Uh, no. Denied. I'm not letting you walk out of here with three fractured ribs and multiple contusions."
"And I'm not staying in a human medical facility with your monitors screaming at me with all the wrong readings and your staff administering me human medication that will royally fuck up my system, no, thank you, doctor."
"I don't need the profanity, lieutenant" Dr. Culber's brow darkened.
"Noted, sir." I said.
"She does have a point, Doc," Captain Lorca chimed in.
"Actually, she doesn't," Dr. Culber replied. "She needs to stay here, on bedrest, where we can monitor her and administer aid in an emergent situation."
"Actually, Doctor, she does have a point," Michael Burnham countered. "Vulcan healing requires darkness and quiet, neither of which are available here. Her quarters are a safe space where she can meditate and heal in peace."
Dr. Culber shook his head. "No," he said. "I can't release you in this condition, 'Vulcan healing' or no. There are..."
"Doctor, let the Vulcans do their Vulcan-thing, okay?" This from Captain Lorca.
"Captain, ..." Dr. Culber began.
"Look, if they need you, they know where sickbay is. If you need to check up on Lt. S'Vrall, you know where her quarters are."
Dr. Culber made to object.
"Hugh," the captain interjected. "Give it a rest. If you're right, she ends up in sickbay, and she'll have to say she's sorry and you're right, okay?"
Dr. Culber sighed angrily through his nose.
Captain Lorca smirked. "XO?"
The two of them left sickbay.
"CAPTAIN ON DECK!"
Ouch. A female voice shouted, almost screamed, the attention. Captain Lorca, situated in the corridor now, surveyed the situation before him.
He snickered. "Hey, Lt. S'Vrall," he called to me. "You have got to see this!"
I walked, completely at ease, for a Vulcan with three fractured ribs, that is, to the corridor.
The entire security division lined both sides of the corridor, ramrod-straight, at attention.
"SIR, LIEUTENANT S'VRALL, SIR! SECURITY DIVISION: ALL PRESENT AND ACCOUNTED FOR, SIR!"
I looked at the young ensign who shouted in my face, and I thought it was illegal to be shorter than Michael Burnham. It turns out I was wrong. 4'11" or I'm dying if I'm wrong. Red hair. Freckles entirely covering the blush covering her entire face and neck. If you washed her face with a washcloth, it would come away with polkadots.
"Ensign ... Doran, correct?"
Her blush blushed. Harder. "SIR! YES, SIR!"
She was practically vibrating in place. 19 years, to the day, which was impossible, because Starfleet didn't accept kids 14-15 years old into the Academy, but here, impossibly, she was, so wet behind the years it was almost painful to take all that enthusiasm leaking out of every single one of her pores, or so it seemed.
And that scream. In my face.
"Ensign Doran, I can hear you quite well already, no need to shout, please? and thank you."
"SIR! YE-...um, YES, ... um, ... sir!"
Her shout dailed down from 11 to 9.5.
This would be a work in progress.
I examined the security division. "I appreciate this warm welcome, I do. I must ask: is it because you observed the Captain and myself on the simulation deck?"
"SIR! YES, SIR!" They all responded in chorus with the pride of every fiber of their being.
The wall of sound hit me and I reeled from the physical blow of it. Michael Burnham discreetly put a steadying hand on my shoulder. I felt green in the gills.
"Ah," I said. "A show of hands, please, those who saw the Captain and me in that engagement."
Every last one of them raised their right hand in salute.
"Mm, hm." I said. "You're the security division. Keep your hands up if you joined us in that training."
Every hand went back down.
It got a lot ... quieter in the corridor.
"Yes," I said. "That confirms my conjecture. Listen to me. You're security. You, each of you, have the most important duty of any crew member aboard this ship, because you are to safeguard this ship and protect the lives of ever crew member on board. You saw it: without security's action, every last member of the D'Kyr would be dead and the ship, itself, would be in Klingon hands. And: every child rescued from Nivalla was rescued by security. You don't act, people die unnecessarily."
I walked up and down the line glancing at each member of Security. "I don't know what you thought security was, but I swear by the Immanence, I will train you to be the best damn security team Starfleet, or, Hellguard: that the Vulcan Defense Force has ever seen. I'm not the best security officer in the Galaxy because I'm Vulcan. I'm the best in spite of it, which means each and every one of you will be able to take me down, or I've failed in my job, do you hear me?"
"SIR! YES, SIR!" They shouted.
O fuck me, that hurt.
"Goddamn!" Captain Lorca chimed in gleefully. "I asked for the best damn security officer Starfleet could send me, I got fuckin' better than that! You listen and learn from Lt. S'Vrall, you hear me?"
"SIR! YES, SIR!"
Seriously, I think I was going to puke.
"Captain Lorca and I have discussed incorporating what we did into your training, daily. Be ready to receive further instructions from Ensign Doran and ... Senior Chief Wilson, where are you, Senior Chief?"
A hand stuck out at the head of the division. "Here, sir!"
I went to his position. Senior Chief Wilson had more scars than skin on his face. One scar cutting through and blinding one eye, which he seemed to choose not to replace with prosthesis. And it looked like he had breathed more vacuum than most of the rest of the crew, combined.
"I'm going to lean heavily on your experience, Senior Chief, aye?"
"Hells yeah, sir," he grinned.
I returned to front and center. "Inspection, 0800 hours tomorrow morning –" There were groans. "– and every morning going forward until the Security division is Starfleet's Goddamn poster-child, you hear me?"
"SIR! YES, SIR!"
Hellguard! I was talking like a crew member of the USS Discovery now. End me.
"Ensign Doran, dismiss the division."
"AYE, SIR!" she piped up. "SECURITY DIVISION! DIS! MISSED!"
"HUWAH!" they all shouted. ... was that their 'thing'? ... and they detached themselves from the buikhead.
I pretended my head didn't hurt like hell.
"Um, ... sir, ...?" Ensign Doran approached me.
Fuck me, what now? "Yes, Ensign?" I asked patiently.
"Um, can I say how much I admire you and ..."
"No, Ensign, you cannot."
"Oh," she said dejectedly.
She looked like a puppy, ... a puppy I had just kicked out into a rainstorm, ... then run over with my hovercraft.
"You can show me, Ensign, understood?"
She snapped to attention at that. "Sir, I will totally, ..."
I put my fingers to my mouth. "Less talk, more walk, Ensign, hm?"
"SIR! YES, SIR!"
I winced.
"Um, ... sir?"
I sighed. "Yes, Ensign?"
"Can I, um ... see you later? It's about an important security matter, sir."
"Can it wait until your after-inspection report tomorrow?" I asked wearily.
"Um, ... no sir, it um ..." She, honest-to-God, twirled her curly hair with a nervous finger. "... it can't, um, sir."
By now all my strength was draining into a puddle on the deck beneath me. I would soon follow suit. I said something to her. I don't recall what. It could've been "Okay," or "fuck you" I could barely put two words together meaningfully.
Captain Lorca and the XO approached me.
"Goddamn, S'Vrall, why didn't you show this from day one? Holy shit!" and he punched me in the arm.
I hissed and cringed, swaying.
"Oh," he grinned in embarrassment. "Sorry!"
"I did show you, day one, sir," I replied. "Or did you forget the two phasers and portable shield you wrote me up for?"
"The reprimand was for calling the Captain, and I quote, an 'asshole,' and then the insubordinate remarks following," Commander Saru supplied.
Captain Lorca laughed at that. "Although, to be fair, her comment was accurate. I am an asshole, right, XO?"
"It wouldn't be proper for me to comment, sir."
Captain Lorca guffawed. There was no turning off his 'happy'-switch now, apparently.
"So, a round before you do your Vulcan-healing thing?" the Captain pressed.
I nodded. "Burnham, too, right, sir?"
"Sure, sure! The more, the merrier!"
Off we went to Ten Forward, ... the USS Discovery's pub.
...
I don't remember much, actually, after. I remember Captain Lorca saying, disparagingly, 'Water? Seriously?' and my reply was something like: when you go days without pissing, because even one drop of water is hard to come by during the long dry months, then, yes, water, blessed, blessed water.
Captain Lorca gave me this wall-eyed expression. 'Noted,' he said, as he took a pull from his beer.
...
I leaned, very heavily, on Michael Burnham, as she escorted me back to our quarters. She could have escorted me out the airlock, for all that I could process.
They serve really strong water on Deck Ten Forward. Or the adrenaline had finally leached out of my system.
Either way.
I couldn't take off my boots. The pain was so bad now I was emitting little, tiny whimpers as I sat on my bunk. Michael Burnham gave me very severe accusing eyes as she eased my boots off my feet.
I was about to slump, very carefully, onto my rack, when the door signaled a visitor.
"Dha'rudh! Faelirh ch'susse-thrai!" I cursed.
Ensign Doran stood blinking at the doorway. "Ra tor 'dha'rudh' tvai?" she asked.
Michael Burnham smiled. "You speak Vulcan?"
Ensign Doran smiled. "I took two semesters at the Academy. Ish-veh kelek nam-tor smusma!"
She bounced in place as she said this, just so pleased with herself.
Michael Burnham glanced at me. 'Your house is prosper,' is what she just said to us.
That would get you a failing grade in even Vulcan 101, anywhere.
Michael Burnham said. "Your Vulcan is very good," all diplomacy.
"E a amton'wi'kha!" I snarled, just wanting for her to leave me alone!
"... W-what did she say?" Ensign Dolan asked Michael Burnham, a bit fearfully now.
Good.
"I'm actually not sure," Michael Burnham replied. "I'm not familiar with the dialect."
"O-oh!" Doran said, "I-I thought it was because I was, um ... you know ... um ..."
"Ensign," Michael Burnham said kindly. "Lt. S'Vrall is very unwell. She needs to rest and recover. Would you please respect that and check in with her tomorrow?"
"Actually, um, ..."
Persistent little fuck, I grumbled to myself.
"... I'm here because of that. I, um, found, um, this in one of the, um, crew member's storage, and I, uh, think it's like, um ... contra-..."
Ensign Doran ran out of words. So, she handed a felt bag to Michael Burnham. Inside the bag was a wooden box.
Inside the box ...
Michael Burnham slide back the cover, and her eyes went wide.
"Do you know what this is?" she demanded.
Ensign Doran nodded.
Michael Burnham sat on my rack next to me. She showed me the box.
Inside the box was a bottle with an engraving in Romulan. The bottle, clear, had a rich, clear, electric blue liquid inside.
"Romulan ale," I murmured, awestruck. The label dated the casting: 30 years.
I looked at Ensign Doran. "You do know this stuff is illegal as fuck?" ... and twice as expense.
30 year Romulan Ale? People would murder to obtain this bottle. They could sell it and live like kings for the rest of their, and their children's, lives!
She blushed. "Uh ... I mean ... I heard it might help you ... cuz, um, ... you're Vulcan and stuff, and it, um ... you know? for medicinal purposes? to help you, you know, h-heal, and ..."
"Wait a minute," I said. I lifted the bottle, reverently, from the box.
It wasn't topped off. In fact, two fingers were gone and the seal was broken.
I looked at her. "You didn't drink this much, did you? You know that can kill you, right? Please tell me, little human, you did not drink this much!"
"Um, ..." she said.
"Burnham," I said, "get her hydrated, stat! Do not, under any circumstances, induce vomiting. I'll contact sickbay."
"Actu-..." Ensign Doran clapped her hand over her mouth, turned green, and sprinted to the head.
"Do not vomit, Ensign!" I called after her.
Her reply was the sounds of a prolonged and copious regurgitation.
Fuck! "Fuck!" I screamed. Could this day get any worse?
"On it!" Michael Burnham said, rushing to the bathroom to tend to Ensign Doran.
I dragged my carcass off the bed and went to the comms.
"I'm fine! I'm fine! It's just that it hit me harder this time, is all." Ensign Doran called from the bathroom.
"You are not fine, Ensign," I shouted, but something was off with her voice, something smelled ... funny, coming from the bathroom, a scent over the vomit.
"Um," Michael Burnham said, her voice conflicted. "Um, ... you have to see this, S'Vrall."
"I'm calling sickbay," I shouted back.
"Don't!" they both said in chorus.
I closed my eyes.
"I swear by the Imm-..."
I started my vow as I marched my beaten and broken-boned body over to the head, but I stopped mid-swear.
Leaning against the commode, hugging it, almost, sitting on the floor, was ...
... a Vulcan.
She looked up, wearily. "It hurts so bad, every damn month, ... I just thought ..."
She smiled at me. "Hi! I'm T'Sil!"
Long, brown, straight hair, pointed ears, copper-toned skin, freckles gone, sea green eyes replaced by brown irises. It was Ensign Doran, but it was so not Ensign Doran.
She raised her hand in the Vulcan salute. "Dif-tor heh smusma." she said the 'live long and prosper,' like she were the happiest person in the world.
Her accent still assaulted my ears like the screeching sound of metal tearing against metal: the sound of a Klingon raider ramming the D'Kyr.
That's how I knew it was still her. "Hi!" she said. "I'm T'Sil!' she said.
So blissfully unaware.
I wondered, idly, if I could throw her out the airlock without anybody noticing.