Episode Two | Teaser - Good Night

Chapter 1
Tuvok
Moral Anchor

Chakotay seemed immovable. "Look, Tuvok… I know you don't agree, but I think it's for the best."

"Evidently." Tuvok didn't want to bring up, yet again, that crew policy was very much within his own sphere of control and press that boundary with Chakotay again. At this point, Tuvok was sure that making any changes to the uniform policy Chakotay had announced this morning would be counter-productive. Arguing with him about it, however, may not have been. "If you insist upon making such comprehensive changes in policy, may I ask that you at least advise me of such changes before you make an announcement to the crew?"

Chakotay leaned back in his chair, pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sure. Of course."

At least he sounded apologetic. "I would have presented several logical reasons to maintain Starfleet uniform policy."

"I know. And I appreciate the thought you've put into every last one of the objections you did give me." Chakotay sighed, and Tuvok was quite sure he didn't appreciate any of them. "But this isn't just about uniform policy."

That was a bad sign. Tuvok wasn't sure his attempt to rein Chakotay back into reality would succeed, but he had to at least try… "In the interest of saving us both time, I must strongly advise that we maintain all Starfleet protocol in regards to shift arrangement and maintenance."

"What do you expect us to do in places like Engineering, where our three Academy-trained engineers will be working virtually alone for the foreseeable future?" Chakotay asked.

"That is unfortunate." And, Tuvok had to admit, untenable for the long-term. But that didn't change his recommendation. "The best way to accommodate the requirements of protocol would be to cross-train in all areas. I planned to speak with Mister Paswan tomorrow myself."

"That's admirable, but there are still only thirteen officers on board the Defiant. That includes three of us traitors and a Romulan subcommander. It's not practical to expect a ship primarily manned by non-Starfleet personnel to adhere to superfluous Starfleet protocols. If Engineering doesn't need a full crew on it round-the-clock, then we shouldn't require it."

"Such protocols are in place to ensure the safe and reliable performance of deep-space exploratory vessels. Ships like the Defiant are designed with this in mind."

With a defeated sigh, Chakotay leaned back in his chair and nodded. "It's not that I don't see your point. This is a long trip ahead of us. We'll take care of her, but we have to remember this isn't just work anymore, Tuvok…"

"Please elaborate."

"This is our home for the next seventy years."

Tuvok at least understood the words, even if not the sentiment in its entirety. "The length of time in close-quarters is precisely what makes the use of protocol, such as uniforms, necessary. However… I am not unwilling to make concessions for the smooth operation of the ship," Tuvok said.

Chakotay nodded, evidently pleased with the allowance. "Alright, glad to hear it. So we agree that the ship-wide policy will not require uniforms, but each department head can choose to require them."

Tuvok considered that, and nodded at length. He knew that Worf would require uniforms of security—if he hadn't thought that would be the case, he would have insisted on that, as well. He did not know what Petty Officer Paswan would require, and Doctor Bashir was, at the moment, the only member of the medical staff.

They did not agree, but he wasn't going to argue. "I concede," he said. Now he was simply yielding the future battle, as well. He wouldn't address uniforms again unless it became necessary.

"We'll give field commissions to any Maquis that want it," Chakotay added. "You'll be in charge of trainings in that case. But I wouldn't expect anyone to show up for at least six months." He sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead as if in pain. "Everyone's just… pissed."

"That is obvious."

Chakotay chuckled, and Tuvok wasn't sure what was funny.

"We must also discuss… Neelix. And Kes."

"Right." Chakotay smiled again, more broadly. "I'd appreciate it if the next time you're considering the purchase of slaves you just give me a heads up."

Tuvok didn't appreciate being the punchline of a joke, but it seemed to have improved Chakotay's mood. "Ordinarily, I would; however, there was little time."

"Well, Kes is a sweetheart," Chakotay said, and Tuvok could only barely contain his shock. Chakotay still didn't notice, though. "She's already submitted plans for hydroponics gardens in the cargo bay. I don't know if she sent them to you."

"Indeed." Tuvok pulled up the message from Kes on his PADD. It was an efficient layout, and her calculations on power consumption versus savings over the long-term were impressive. Or perhaps they weren't, since they were only impressive in that they were correct. Tuvok hadn't realized his expectations were so low. "She requested we trade for certain types of seeds to supplement the nutritional needs of the crew."

"And Neelix let me know I haven't lived until I've tasted his, uh… something?"

"I believe it was angla'bosque."

"Sure. Whatever the hell that is. Does her plan make sense?"

Tuvok nodded. "Matter-energy conversion is extremely intensive energy use—which would ordinarily not be a problem with starbases every sixty-five lightyears on average. Most Starfleet vessels require a visit to starbase every three to five years, as we have no method of generating anti-matter on vessels. It is mechanically possible to maintain the Defiant ourselves, but access to rare materials and the time to perform maintenance is not guaranteed at optimal intervals."

"Okay. So I'll go ahead and approve that, then…"

"And Mister Neelix?" Tuvok pressed.

"What about him?"

Tuvok bristled gently against Chakotay forcing him to say the obvious outright. "He seems to be a thief prone to misleading and exploiting those he calls 'partners.' I would be remiss to neglect to point out the dangers in maintaining a working relationship with him."

"Huh." Chakotay seemed to consider that, and nodded a little. "Well, sure, but if I may remind you, Tuvok, I'm not the only one in this room who's been a spy before." He smiled.

Tuvok wondered if Chakotay and Thomas would ever cease to bring that up as if a decisive end to conversation. "Loyalty to one set of priorities over another is, by definition, trustworthy. I know Thomas is loyal to his personal code of honor which does not change—I can predict what he will do. Neelix, however, is only loyal to himself. Individuals are prone to constant adjustment to whims and emotions."

"Which brings us pretty neatly to his loyalty to Kes."

Tuvok said nothing, since he wasn't sure that was true. He had not known Neelix long enough to see if that loyalty was actually loyalty or simply a phase they happened to find Neelix in the middle of. If the former, then it might prove beneficial for them. If the latter… then perhaps they could prove beneficial to Kes.

And with plans like these for the hydroponics system, she might prove beneficial to them as well.

"Perhaps," Tuvok finally said.

Chakotay sighed as if in finality. "Well, I don't think we're going to get much more done about this tonight. Can we continue this argument tomorrow?"

Tuvok arched an eyebrow, but decided not to offer the obviously-expected statement that he was unaware they were arguing. Instead, he simply nodded. "Of course."

"Do you have anything else you'd like to discuss with me?"

Tuvok considered. There were two things he had to say, either of which might lead to discussion. "I completed the crew assignment roster for the foreseeable future." That was the easier of the two.

"Good."

"You are already aware that Engineering is dangerously understaffed, and Doctor Bashir is our only medical officer," Tuvok said, just in case Chakotay had somehow missed it or had overlooked it. "And we only have two pilots rated for control of this vessel: Ensign Adam Wyatt and Mister Paris."

Chakotay's expression neared gritting his teeth, but he withheld from the most obvious display of consternation. "Any of the Maquis crew have the aptitude?"

"I would like to more formally test each of the Maquis in the near future for this purpose," Tuvok said. "I am certain none of them would be amenable at the moment, and utilizing disciplinary measures on a crew of this size and composition seems unwise."

"Should Riker be in here…? He knows them. Or, more importantly, they know him."

Tuvok considered that, then nodded. "That would not be unwise. He has the respect of his crew."

"Alright, I'll let him know to join us for the morning briefing tomorrow."

"Where we can continue our argument." Tuvok watched Chakotay give a half-smile and move to rise, but he stopped him. "There is one other thing, Captain."

Chakotay settled again. "What is it?"

"I… did not expect your nomination for the position of first officer," he said, and paused to figure out how to say he was uncomfortable with it without using those exact words.

"It was the logical choice," Chakotay said in the silence.

That may have been true.

Chakotay sighed, and leaned back in the chair as if he had significantly more to say on the subject, and continued. "Look: I admit being in a room alone with you makes me sick. My skin's been crawling since I sat down, and I don't think we're ever going to be friends. But I know two things about you, and one of them is that you will do anything for this crew. If nothing else, I want them to have that. And I want us to have that in common."

Tuvok waited for him to finish, but when he stopped talking Tuvok found himself with very little to say. Very little except, "I apologize for your discomfort."

Chakotay waved that away, perhaps as an avoidance strategy. He had not accepted the apology. Perhaps he would never accept the apology.

Tuvok had accepted that initiating an adversarial mind-meld with Chakotay would complicate matters in these circumstances. He did not anticipate Chakotay taking control of the Defiant. Even more, he had not anticipated being Chakotay's first officer. Despite Tuvok's touch on Chakotay's mind, his upending metaphorical tables and rifling through cabinets and drawers inside, he had to admit he did not understand Chakotay at all.

"I will, of course, support and provide for the crew as well as I am able. However, as your first officer, my first loyalty is to you and the guidelines you have given me for your command," Tuvok offered.

Chakotay only blinked, but otherwise didn't move.

Tuvok continued for lack of any sort of response. "We are in, as far as I am aware, an unprecedented situation. I have no intention of exacerbating the discord that exists between us. I can only assure you that I will do what I can to demonstrate my reliability."

"I appreciate the sentiment."

"I am here to serve."

Chakotay smiled, possibly because it was, to him, a joke. There was a time when that was a standard greeting between Vulcan ships and other species'—a time not so far displaced that Tuvok didn't remember it personally. Now it did seem like a jest among Humans particularly.

He didn't know why it was seen with anything less than the sincerity with which it was intended. Except here, he did see. Chakotay rightfully didn't trust him. He rightfully didn't trust Chakotay. He had no idea what Chakotay intended to do to remedy that, but Tuvok knew what he had to do.

"Well, I'll hold you to that," Chakotay said.

Tuvok nodded.

"Is there anything else?"

"No."

"Thank you for your time, Captain."

Chakotay nodded, but didn't otherwise respond. It seemed for a moment that he might rise and leave. He didn't. He idled in apparent indecision until he said, "See you tomorrow, Tuvok. Get some sleep."

Chakotay left Tuvok alone in his office, in silence. He turned toward his computer and tapped it on. He was surprised a moment later that he hadn't been sure what his purpose in doing so had been. His fingers felt restless, and his breathing had shifted toward something unsettled. He had not meditated in almost forty hours, and he was afraid.

Not in any great amount or detail, of course, and the emotion passed so fleetingly that he almost didn't notice it… But he had to acknowledge that he'd never returned from a mission like that he'd just been on without the benefit of returning to Vulcan and realigning his morality. And now, the essential inaugural act of the next seventy years' voyage was to telepathically assault his captain. That had been damaging to both of them.

It had been necessary, and he did not regret his actions. Logic did not necessarily yield societally-compatible mentalities, especially among emotionally diverse species, even if he had been that to begin with. Tuvok knew himself. Perhaps, more than even most other Vulcans, logic, eventually, came easily to him because caring did not. He was too pragmatic to be considerate—and when he was irrational, he was impulsive and possessive. He already forcefully arrested and discarded the thought that he should control the Defiant.

He could very easily be dangerous without noticing, especially without the help and guidance of other Vulcans more accustomed to considering emotional well-being as part of a greater good. At the very least, he needed a stabilizing force here, but… he knew no one here. There was one other Vulcan on board, and he was too young to be of use to anyone.

Tuvok had the brief thought to record a message for T'Pel, but discarded it and picked up the crew manifest PADD instead.

Doctor Bashir had graciously volunteered to forego any further assignment to his department until tests could be done. The EMH, he said, would provide the necessary backup for the interim. Petty Officer Mahesh Paswan's fifteen years of engineering experience would make him an excellent chief, though he lacked the formal managerial experience the position required. Lieutenant Riker's expertise was still starship operations, and Tuvok was confident in his ability to run an ops department—assuming an ops department materialized from the personnel they had. Likewise for Worf's position in chief tactical. Dax held the tiny science department. Tuvok had assigned the Maquis nearly at random to them.

There were six remaining officers of any rank on board the Defiant, and five of them were ensigns. The Maquis were untrained, but not unskilled, and all were, in their own way, honorable. They protected each other to a sometimes absurd degree, and all of them were willing to fill in where necessary to get any job done. That would be a necessary concession if they were to travel as far as they must to return home. Of course, if they couldn't synthesize the two crews into one, Tuvok could think of a few people he would have preferred to cross the galaxy with.

He'd learned that Chakotay had plotted and politicked for months to ensure these events had transpired in such a way as to place all of them on the Defiant.

He only hadn't planned on the interference of an alien on the other end of the galaxy.

There was nothing else he could do with this. He placed the PADD back on the desk, and slid it away from himself. He pressed his fingertips together, but he could not concentrate.

Since his computer was on, he created an empty directory in his personal files and named it T'Pel. Seventy years was a very long time, and they would be old by the time he saw her again. Her dark eyes would be wrinkled, her hair grayed with time he didn't get to see pass. It was a most unwelcome reality that he would have to endure approximately ten cycles of the pon farr without her. Equally troubling was the thought of his children grown beyond his observation and outside his influence.

They would survive, and even thrive, even in his absence. But he regretted the distance, and the adjustment of his expectations as to his involvement in their lives was unpleasant.

He adjusted the camera and looked at it. "Computer," he said, and folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "Begin recording." He took a breath, and imagined T'Pel listening to what he had to say, as she always did. "Greetings, T'Pel. We have been in the Delta Quadrant for six days. I regret that events have transpired such that we will not be able to see each other for a very long time. That you have come to the likely conclusion that I am dead." He paused, and wondered again what he was doing.

"Computer, pause recording."

Was this logical? She would not see these messages for at least forty years—it would take that long to get into range that the messages wouldn't degrade before they arrived. He was keeping logs for Starfleet, though the same was true for those, and he didn't consider that illogical.

Perhaps because a stored message to his wife meant something. Something more… personal. It meant he was quite sure he wouldn't see her. Soon. Or ever again. He was, after all, on the short side of middle-aged. If his lifespan conformed to average, he had eighty years to live.

She might find another husband before he returned. She would not be incorrect to do so. It would even be logical.

Tuvok hadn't seen T'Pel in almost five months, and three months before that she had guided him through his fifteenth pon farr. He immediately put such thoughts away for another time. He had, approximately, six years before he sat on the verge of death again.

He didn't realize he'd been anticipating holding her hands in his, finding her familiar strength and care on the other side of a mind meld. He'd been in an unfamiliar and hostile environment, and, though the surroundings had changed, that circumstance had not. In many ways, it was now worse. His ability to cope with the situation hadn't reached its limit by any means—but that didn't mean he wanted to endure the discomfort.

The door chimed. "Come."

The Romulan Subcommander T'Rul stepped through the door, and Tuvok could see the male of her Reman attendants waiting in the hallway. "Lieutenant Tuvok?"

"Yes." Tuvok gestured at the chair across from his desk, wondering if Romulans considered some of the niceties Humans practiced to be rude. Vulcans would only find them mildly perplexing.

Whatever the subcommander thought of the offer, she sat. "Thank you."

A meaningless response, though polite by Human standards. She had, it seemed, prepared for her short stint with the Defiant. Or else she was familiar with Humans for some other reason. "I regret you will not be returning to your post on schedule."

The Romulan smiled, her harsh features softening. "I do, too. But I'll do my best to fulfill my role as a scientist here."

"And as an agent of the Tal Shiar?" Tuvok asked. He didn't even realize he'd been considering asking her so directly, and then he had. There was no point to being obtuse about it, this far away.

As if he'd flipped a switch, the smile disappeared. "You certainly don't play games, do you?"

"It would be illogical to consider this situation with anything other than sincerity and urgency."

She leaned back in the chair a bit and spread her hands. "I'm not an agent of the Tal Shiar. That's not to say part of my instructions weren't to inspect current Federation technologies. Of course, I was to observe and report back. I'm sure your Federation superiors knew that."

"I'm sure they did. How may I help you, Subcommander?"

She looked a bit mystified with his sudden change of subject, but redirected as easily. "After assessing the situation, I've decided it seems unlikely that anyone onboard the Defiant would steal the cloaking device, at least not for another seventy years. Attending to a single device in the meantime seems like an unproductive use of time. It looks to me like Engineering is running on spit and willpower."

Tuvok picked up his PADD. "And as first officer, I am responsible for crew assignments."

"What is it the Vulcans say?" She smiled. "We're here to serve?"

She said that, too, like a joke. He would wonder, later, idly, what had happened to make the phrase so funny. It wasn't that most Vulcans were spies.

"I would be remiss if I didn't consider all the skills available to us. May I take your name under consideration for the bridge science officer position?" Tuvok tapped into his PADD and found the subcommander's nearly-empty file. She was listed as an officer on loan from the Romulan Star Empire. Her two Reman attendants, Marius and Sulla, were listed as her subordinates. The only information he had on those two that he was relatively certain was true were their names. They were clearly not engineers as their files proclaimed.

The next time he looked at the subcommander, he realized she was shocked. "Bridge officer?"

"Yes, Subcommander. You are one of two dedicated science personnel on the Defiant at present."

Subcommander T'Rul broke out of her reverie enough to say, with a hint of amusement "There are very few Romulans, even Tal Shiar, who could boast such accomplishments."

Tuvok decided not to respond to the statement that such Romulans existed, however few, and simply nodded.

"I believe that is what Humans would call a joke, Lieutenant."

"I am aware. It will be several decades before we are able to put in for a replacement should Commander Dax be unable to fill the station for whatever reason."

"Was that also a joke?"

Tuvok shrugged and settled into his chair. "It was a fact," he said, checking the clock. Only two minutes had passed. "Did you only intend to report on the situation in Engineering, or did you have something else?"

Subcommander T'Rul nodded thoughtfully as she said, "Yes, though you've answered my question. I believe I may be of more use to this vessel than simply attending to the cloaking device. My attendants have already arranged with Mister Paswan to act as technicians as he has need."

That was news to Tuvok, but he hadn't spoken with Paswan in a professional capacity. He would begin in earnest tomorrow. "Are they qualified?"

"They are well-educated and intelligent. They are certainly at least as skilled as an ensign from your Starfleet Academy."

"I will leave that to Mister Paswan's discretion. And I'm sure Commander Dax will speak with you about the needs of the science department. Because of the Defiant's limited sensor capability, it seems unlikely that we will be investigating many anomalies…" Though, from what he could tell, Chakotay was a scientist, as well, though of a different sort. He anticipated more first-contacts than were strictly necessary.

"We do have a long way to go."

"We do."

"And we'll be here a very long time." T'Rul watched him, then, for an almost uncomfortable amount of time before she finally stood. "Very well, Lieutenant. Thank you for the information and for your consideration."

"And thank you," he said, though he wasn't sure why.

He watched her go.

Tuvok turned his attention back to the computer, brought the screen back to life with a tap and saw his recording to T'Pel still paused. He still wasn't sure whether he should continue. The sense of separation from T'Pel surely would not improve if he did.

But, then, he considered the future. That future could have easily held his death with as many other unknowns. He knew he would choose to have messages from T'Pel, if he could not have her with him. Still, recording messages that might never reach her seemed only sentimental, but he decided to think about it again tomorrow.

For now, he didn't know what to say, anyway. "Computer, resume recording," he said, and blinked at the screen. "In the event that this message reaches you..." He hesitated. Nothing had happened the way he expected. It was a long way to go, and anything at all could happen. "Convey my regrets to our children."

He would have preferred to speak to her about the soundness of his moral judgment, or the lack thereof. He would have preferred to rest if only for a moment in her solemn strength.

Tuvok sighed, and adjusted his seat. "I miss you," he said. "Computer, end recording and store in T'Pel directory." He tapped the computer off and went to his quarters.