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"Purgatory" - Chapter 9 Rating: PG-13 (language) In which the inimitable Daniels visits T’Pol in the depths of despair and brings new hope. Twisted time lines are somewhat straightened, previously overlooked problems are addressed, long lost relatives are discovered, T’Pol cops an attitude, and dead people aren’t - or rather shouldn’t be and therefore weren’t. In which Trip makes a fashion statement, we learn more than we want to know about Vulcan baby showers and Le-Matyas, lawyers act like lawyers, some Andorians join the party, we get a detailed look at the inner workings of Terra Prime and how it actually functions, Soval takes a stroll down memory lane, and we learn that it’s a supremely BAD idea to piss off a Vulcan mommy. In which some long hidden truths see the light of day, Trip and T’Pol have their first real fight, T’Pau gets into the act, T’Pol has to bite the bullet and Trip has to bite his tongue, we learn what Koss has been up to and wish we hadn’t, the cloak and dagger stuff on Earth spills over to Enterprise and gets the kitchen all bloody, the Andorians see their chance and jump on it.Purgatory This one. It's time to wrap things up. If you haven't read the previous 8 chapters, don't bother with this one. You won't have a clue about what's going on. Chapter 9 T'Pol blinked. For some reason the transition felt different. Perhaps even more abrupt than usual for time travel. Of course, they were simply transferring location. Perhaps that was it. She recovered her balance with her normal speed and glanced around quickly to make a survey of the terrain. She and Daniels had transferred from T'Para's house directly into a meeting room of some kind. Human built, obviously. From the temperature, humidity and gravity T'Pol deduced that they were inside the embassy. This flickered through her mind like heat lightening along with a vague impression of marble flooring and wall panels, and a large faux oaken table in the center of the room surrounded by chairs. It was the occupants of the chairs, and most especially the new person standing in the room, who seized her attention. T'Pol felt power radiating from the strange figure, telepathic and otherwise. At P'Jem, when the priesthood gathered together to commune as one, she had felt their combined mental abilities blending. At the time T'Pol had been awestruck by the concentrated power she sensed. But this single individual gave the impression of far greater power alone than all of the priests of P'Jem could have mustered together. Psychic energy whipped and crackled in the very air around him, intimidating anyone who had even the most rudimentary ability to sense it. Human his ancestors may have been, at least in part. But he was not Human now, nor Vulcan, nor anything else she had ever encountered. "Daniels." Captain Archer's voice carried a mixture of chagrin, disgust, fatigue, curiosity, and sheer aggravation. "What the hell do you want now?" He stood up. "And who is this other guy with you?" “Captain!” T'Pol caught Archer's eye, indicating the newcomer with a tilt of her head. “I recommend discretion.” Archer's eyes narrowed. He glanced from T'Pol to the unknown figure. The other men at the table shifted around to stare at the time travelers and T'Pol. "Please sit down, Captain. All will be made clear," the newcomer told him in a friendly voice. Archer sat. Daniels cleared his throat nervously. "Gentlemen, and Lady T'Pol, may I present Supervisor Eaytke from Temporal Central Administration. Supervisor Eaytke has assumed direct authority over this era. He will be in charge of maintaining temporal integrity from now on." The stranger turned toward her and T'Pol felt a shock run through her system. His eyes burned with a cold silver fire of pure energy. She attempted to reinforce her already tight shields and saw a faint smile touch his lips. He inclined his head and gestured at the table. "Lady T'Pol, if you would please be so good as to take a seat, we can proceed with this meeting." "With all due respect, sir," a man carefully spoke up, and T'Pol recognized Ambassador Trask. "There was already a meeting underway." Eaytke ignored him and walked to the foot of the table, provoking a flush. “I will expedite this as much as possible,” Eaytke announced. “We-” “Just a minute.” Vice-Admiral Jendaro was boiling. Through clenched teeth he demanded. “How did you two get in here? This room is sealed. This is a top secret classified meeting, command staff or above clearance only. But the two of you just waltz in here and start babbling this nonsense about temporal shit that Archer tries to peddle. I don't know why -” Eaytke looked at him. Jendaro's mouth clamped shut and he froze. Nothing moved on Jendaro's body. Not his mouth, nor his hands, nor his eyes. He did not shift position, nor did he blink. T'Pol could not even detect that he was breathing. “There we go,” Eaytke said pleasantly. He turned back to the table. “The Vice-Admiral will not be harmed. You can all brief him later. My natural lifespan is considerably longer than your own. However, I see no reason to waste it arguing with fools. Does anyone else feel an irrepressible need to interrupt me?” No one volunteered. “Excellent. Agent Daniels and I have come here to provide you with information that you will need in order to win your upcoming war with the Romulan Empire.” Archer started to speak, but settled back down. Daniels glanced at Eaytke, who nodded. “What is it, Captain?” “Not important,” Archer said. “I was just under the impression that you tried to hide the future from us as much as you could.” “Ordinarily correct, Captain Archer,” Eaytke told him. “But this case is unusual in many ways. The original timeline at this point has been massively corrupted. Our primary and overriding objective is to repair the most blatant damage to history and ensure that major events occur, and with the proper timing. I am suspending the standard protocols for this mission in the interest of expediting the greater mission objective.” Archer said tiredly, “So we are definitely going to war with the Romulans? There is no way to avoid it? We were hoping that perhaps a diplomatic-” “None.” Eaytke flicked a finger. “Dismiss the idea completely. The Romulans intend to expand into this part of the Alpha quadrant. Their plans have been building for generations, and no amount of diplomacy will change that. The most serious obstacle to their plans is the formation of the fledgling Coalition of Planets, with Earth and Humanity as the driving force. Thus, their first target will be the Human species, with the intent of driving you out of interstellar politics.” “They don't know us very well,” Rinaldo smiled faintly. “They don't know or understand Humans at all during this time period,” Daniels admitted tiredly. “That misunderstanding is going to cost them, and you, millions of lives. We want to give you a technical edge. Since you are going to ultimately win anyway, at least with better ships and weapons you can finish the carnage as swiftly as possible.” “What exactly are you going to give us?” Archer wanted to know. Eaytke looked at Daniels, who seemed surprised. “First of all, Captain. We intend to expedite your technology trade with the Andorians. As you know there are some interests, mainly Vulcan, who are not happy about this. We will make sure that they cause no problems.” “Thank you,” Trask smiled affably. “That will be very helpful indeed. Most gracious of you.” Daniel's lips twitched. “Happy to help, Mr. Ambassador,” he said ironically. “We are also helping out indirectly.” He paused and cleared his throat. “This is somewhat embarrassing. Ur, Mr.... Jones? I believe is the name you currently use?” “That is correct,” Rinaldo told him easily. “My name is Robert Jones. I am the assistant manager for the maintenance staff here at the embassy.” Eaytke started chortling. “This is lovely.” He noticed them staring and shook his head. “I sincerely ask your pardon. I mean no offense. But I love to study the games that are played in the early times, and the various types of subterfuge that are employed. For countless reasons none of them would work in my time, but the creativity that you exhibit is quite enchanting. Please continue.” He actually grinned. Daniels hesitated, then shrugged. “Anyway. Mr. Jones, you may or may not be aware that your Section on Earth had a prisoner under interrogation until early this morning, when he disappeared. That prisoner provided Humans with all the data they need to install deflector shields and tractor beams on their warships.” “I see.” Rinaldo looked intent. “One of your operatives no doubt?” “Yes, of course,” Daniels confirmed. “At the time we were still attempting to maintain anonymity. Be aware that even with this information, the shields and tractor beams you install will not be as good as the ones on the Romulan ships. Earth simply does not have the production capability at this point in time. But at least you will have them. Otherwise your ships would be easy meat.” “I'm sure we can improve the design on our own,” Archer said confidently. “Especially once Trip gets back. By the way...” He looked at T'Pol. “He is well and safe, that is all I can tell you,” T'Pol responded. “Commander Tucker has been of incomparable assistance in repairing the time line,” Eaytke said seriously. “Without his help the entire course of history might well have been derailed. Certainly, you would not be receiving this assistance. It is even possible that you might lose the upcoming war.” “Really? What did he do?” Archer looked back and forth from the time travelers to T'Pol. “Several things,” Eaytke told him, “But this is one case where revealing the truth could potentially cause harm. It might even undo some of the repair work. Suffice that you will soon learn part of the truth through your own official sources. In any case, there is one more matter to deal with. Lady T'Pol, working on her own and making use of her own resources, has managed to achieve a major advantage for Earth.” “Again?” Archer rubbed his face. “I wish I could find half a dozen Humans who have done as much for Earth as you have.” T'Pol looked down and felt the tips of her ears getting hot. “You deserve a lot more recognition and thanks than you have gotten.” He paused. “So what did you do?” Daniels answered for her. “T'Pol has arranged a second, clandestine, technology swap with the Tellarites. Their ship hulls in return for Human photonic torpedoes.” “T'POL!” Archer howled. “No! You didn't!” He leaped to his feet and and actually grabbed a handful of his hair with one hand, waving the other hand randomly through the air. “Tell me it wasn't you that stole our torpedo! Please!” “Actually,” Daniels coughed into his hand, “it was not Lady T'Pol who took your torpedo.” Archer slumped in relief. “She merely brokered the exchange with the Tellarites and delivered it.” Captain Archer dropped into his chair put his face in his hands, moaning in what sounded like real pain. Trask cleared his throat. “I am embarrassed to admit it, but I am not up to speed on the advantages of Tellarite hulls. Could someone please enlighten me?” Eaytke replied offhandedly, “At this point in time the three dominant races in this portion of the Alpha quadrant, Vulcan, Andorian, and Tellarite each have their own particular talents.” Trask nodded. “OK, I can follow that much. I know that Vulcans make the best computer systems in this part of space, and even the Andorians admit it.” “Correct.” Eaytek smiled at Trask as if he were a pupil who had answered a math quiz with the right answer. “Vulcans excel at computer science, logistics, or any other field which requires rigorous application of rote data processing. Conversely, Andorians are exceptionally talented with multi-dimensional physics. Their mindset, and their innate sensory arrangement, gives them an advantage in this area. As a result, Andorian ships have the most powerful and efficient drives in the quadrant in this time period.” “And the Tellarites have a talent for ship hulls?” Trask asked. Eaytke chuckled. “In a sense. The Tellarites have a genius for material science. Their metallurgical skills in particular are unsurpassed. They lack the Andorian talent for warp physics, and they are not as adept with computers as the Vulcans. Thus their engines are neither as powerful nor as efficient as the Andorians. But the Tellarites are able to bypass this limitation by building ships that are proportionately stronger than anything produced by any other race. This allows them to mount engines that, while they may be inefficient, are still significantly larger and more powerful than their enemies.” “Ah...” Trask nodded. “Light breaks through the darkness. With Tellarite hulls we can mount oversized Andorian engines.” He smiled. “Which means our ships will be faster than either one. Which, unless I am mistaken, will also go far toward adjusting Vulcan attitudes toward our trading relationship.”
Trip whistled and poured another full canteen over his head, scratching deep into his scalp with his nails. “Man, that feels good,” he thought. It wasn't a shower, but it was the closest thing to one that Trip had enjoyed since he came into this hell hole. The sun had passed far enough to leave the whole mini-canyon in shade. The second group of MACOs had come and gone, taking the two Vulcan prisoners with them. Trip had fought hard to maintain a poker face at the slack jawed stares the newcomers inundated him with, but he thought T'Pol would have been proud of him. With maybe an hour left to kill until time to move out, it occurred to Trip that there was nothing but le'matyas and sehlats and such minor annoyances left to distract him. So he immediately stripped naked and started scrubbing off the sweaty grime of several days and nights. “Good thing they only keep watchers at the first and last watering spots,” Trip reflected. “If a Vulcan caught me using drinking water to do this,” he used a wet sock to thoroughly scrub his privates, “they would bust a blood vessel.” He didn't care. He had reached the point where death by abrasion from built up salt crystals started to look like a real possibility. The stink of his own hide was almost an open invitation to scavengers – surely nothing alive could smell this bad. Even without soap it was unbelievable how much difference a good hard scrubbing could make. Trip's skin was dry almost before he finished rinsing it, and his clothing dried before he got done washing his hide. His socks were last, since he used them as wash rags. He gave them a double once over and turned them inside out several times to make sure that they were bone dry before he put them back on. Feeling Human again, he considered the best option for the night's run. The next checkpoint was deep into the hills. He would have to climb one cliff face, and rappel down two more. Should he try to make the full run in one night? Or split it between two nights and then work to make up the difference on the easier runs later on? Trip decided to wait and see what kind of condition he was in after making the climb. The sun was hitting the horizon line. Close enough. Time to go. He started walking and counting his paces, then he broke into a trot. Then a few paces running, making sure at all times to keep his breathing steady... Nothing was going to stop him now. Nothing.
Soval took yet another deep breath and focused. Maintaining control was becoming increasingly challenging in the face of Sub-Minister V'Rald's tirade. However, it was not his place to offer an objection. A mere ambassador did not presume to interrupt the deliberations of the planetary High Council. Not even when the speaker was only a Sub-Minister. “We have already seen ample evidence,” V'Rald was ranting, “of complicity between Andoria and Earth regarding military as well as economic threats against our people. If we permit this technology exchange to occur, it will be seen as proof of weakness by the Andorians and an open invitation for them to move forward.” “In practical terms, V'Rald,” T'Pau asked him bluntly, “what do you suggest that we do about it?” “We must use whatever means are necessary to prevent this exchange from taking place,” V'Rald said decisively. “What specific means do you refer to, Sub-Minister?” Kuvak wondered. “Our available options are limited. The Humans are quite enthusiastic about the advantages to be gained from this exchange, and it is unlikely that we could offer them anything of sufficient value to dissuade them from following through with it. And of course, our influence with the Andorians is nonexistent.” “The threat is grave. We must be prepared to protect our interests.” V'Rald raised his voice. “It is unfortunate, but it may be necessary to consider taking direct action if they prove recalcitrant in this matter.”
Soval gasped and pressed his fingers to his temples. He recited the forms and went through the breathing disciplines of pain suppression. Then he did it again. Then one more time. A voice. Distant, but comprehensible. “I regret the discomfort. However Vulcans, particularly in this era, are notoriously reluctant to embrace new concepts. I am equally reluctant to spend valuable lifespan on redundant persuasion. Therefore a brief demonstration seemed the most logical course.” Soval blinked away the blurred vision to note the sudden presence of two newcomers in the Council's private meeting chambers. Both appeared superficially Human, until the taller of the pair turned and Soval saw his eyes. Shock vied with the ongoing pain in his mind for prominence. The ambassador glanced around the room to note several members of the Council were slumped over the table semi-conscious. Soval reached deep into his mind and attempted to raise his shields, only to realize to his distress that they were already in place at maximum strength. The stranger had simply crushed them without effort, as he had apparently crushed the shields of every Vulcan in the room. T'Pau was hanging onto awareness, but just barely. She croaked, “If your intent was to demonstrate your mental abilities, consider your point made. Your actions are causing significant distress for every Vulcan in this room. Please desist.” “Certainly.” The pain was gone as if it had never been. People began to stir all over the room. Soval noted that there were even a few mild grunts. Perhaps the cause was sufficient, he considered. The degree of pain had been intense. The taller stranger looked at the more normal seeming Human, who stepped forward and cleared his throat. “I am Agent Daniels, of the Federation Temporal Enforcement Authority. My companion is Supervisor Eaytke, of Temporal Central Administration. Supervisor Eaytke is responsible for the administration and safeguarding of history for this particular... portion... of space/time.” The Human stepped back behind his superior and assumed the position that Soval recognized as 'parade rest'. “Indeed,” T'Pau said dryly. “You are of course aware that the Vulcan Science Directorate has proven that time travel is inherently impossible?” Eaytke snorted impatiently. “I have already warned you once of my distaste for wasting valuable lifespan. Do you require further demonstrations?” T'Pau waved her hand mildly. “By no means. But if you ask us to believe something that our own scientists have told us is impossible, is it too much to request a brief explanation?” “I suppose not,” Eaytke told her grudgingly. He turned to Daniels and shook his head. “You were quite correct. Even after seeing and hearing it for myself, I find it difficult to credit. But I acknowledge that your warning was well given.” He waved Daniels forward. The Human squared his shoulders and addressed T'Pau. “The simplest explanation is this. Your Science Directorate is wrong. This is the same Science Directorate that proved Vulcan and Human DNA to be completely incompatible. This is the same Directorate that proved a matter transporter could not possibly function because it violated the principle of the conservation of mass/energy. This is the same Directorate that proved a dual nacelle warp drive was inherently incapable of exceeding warp three. Given their demonstrated incompetence, why do you still depend on their opinion?” “Enough, Human!” V'Rald stepped forward. “By the dead gods of Qo'noS,” Soval heard Eaytke mutter, “another one.” The Sub-Minister belligerently entered the open area before the Council table to confront the newcomers and sneered in their faces. “What kind of fools do you take us for?” “I am not certain, Sub-Minister,” Daniels replied calmly. “What kind of fool would you prefer to be taken for?” V'Rald's face turned deep emerald and his hand half raised. Eaytke's sigh was clearly audible as he flicked one finger nonchalantly. A tiny spark leaped from his hand and struck V'Rald's mid-section. The Sub-Minister was instantly engulfed in a sheath of glowing white energy and hurled backward at high speed until his progress was interrupted by the far wall of the meeting chamber. There was a substantial thud and a faint vibration which Soval was able to detect through the seat of his chair. The energy sheath disappeared and V'Rald slid to the floor, unconscious. “My stock of patience is rapidly becoming depleted,” Eaytke stated in a tone that Humans would classify as testy. “We have already briefed the Terrans of this time in their assigned roles. Whatever else may be said of their primitive minds, to their credit only one demonstration was required to get them to shut up and listen. It is imperative that you not only believe, but that you comply. Therefore I will agree to Agent Daniel's suggestion and offer one final demonstration in the hope that it will convince you. If this is not sufficient I will have no option but to utilize force to ensure that the time stream is properly maintained. The choice is yours.” Soval jerked in his chair. All of his senses deactivated for a timeless interval, then re-engaged. He blinked and looked around to find himself sitting in the same chair but in a different room—a very different room. The High Council was also present, still sitting at their table. However the room was several times larger than before with a domed ceiling supported by curved metallic beams. Between the beams the ceiling appeared to consist of some type of multi-hued synthetic material that shifted color according to one's angle of view. The floor was covered by a deep gray carpet. Immediately behind the Council's transported table was a straight wall, plain beige, with a red double door in the center. Most disturbing of all, aside from the single solid wall, the remaining circumference of the room consisted of a clear material which revealed nothing but an uninterrupted starfield. This, in addition to the gravity field that Soval estimated to be approximately one tenth Vulcan normal, informed him that they had all been moved into space. The red door split open to allow passage of a young Vulcan male wearing a black uniform and carrying a tray with a pitcher and cups. He paused just inside the room, offering the ta'al. “Peace and long life to you all. I am Ensign Lorcas of the Federation Temporal Enforcement Authority. Welcome to Space Station E-1. The Admiral will be with you soon.” He moved forward and started passing around the customary welcoming cups of water. Once formalities had been observed, Lorcas walked back to the door and pressed a button twice. The door dilated again and a strange looking vehicle came through. It was either a very large motorized chair or a very small ground car. Soval could not determine which. The operator was by far the oldest Human that Soval had ever seen. The few wisps of silver hair remaining on his scalp merely accentuated the liver spots and wrinkles. His ears however, might well have been invisible were it not for the tufts that emerged from their depths. His wasted arms culminated in large bony hands that, although gaunt, still retained an impression of competence as the manipulated the controls of his chair. His body was hidden in the depths of the chair from the chest down. His blue eyes were laser bright. Soval rose respectfully, along with the rest of the Vulcans. Although it was likely that the Human was no older than Soval, given the difference in lifespans, his extreme decrepitude entitled him to the courtesy. The Human pulled into place adjacent to the table and spoke, “Good afternoon, folks. My name is Admiral Dr. Leonard McCoy. I am supposed to be retired, and would be if they didn't keep harassing me every time I turn around to come back out here and fix something. Harrumph.” He rubbed his mouth and shifted position. “I have to apologize for not standing up. I can still function in low grav like this, but I haven't walked in years. Spinal nerves went kaput on me.” “Your apology is illogical and unnecessary,” T'Pau informed him. McCoy gave her a keen look and abruptly smiled. Incongruously, his teeth were perfect. No doubt false, Soval reflected. “You haven't changed much, Lady. Or rather, you won't change much. Please, everyone sit back down so we can get started.” He turned his head and ordered, “Ensign, we may be here a while. How about you go get our guests some tea and assorted fruit.” Lorcas hesitated and looked uncertain. McCoy waited a moment and snapped impatiently, “Well, what is it boy? Speak up.” Lorcas walked over to the Admiral's chair and started to bend over, but McCoy impatiently waved him off. “Just say it, Ensign.” The young man looked uncomfortable. “Sir. At the point in Vulcan history from which our guests were extracted, it was not customary to offer food and drink during a business discussion. Once the traditional water had been offered-” “Bah!” Lorcas halted. McCoy glared at him. “Ensign, how old am I?” Soval listened in shock as Ensign Lorcas dutifully repeated, “One hundred and seventy-two years, eleven months, and three days, sir.” “How many of those years have I spent working around Vulcans?” “One hundred and thirty-nine, sir.” “How old are you, Ensign?” Lorcas winced. “Forty-one years, nineteen days, sir.” “Go fetch the snacks, Ensign.” “Yes, sir.” McCoy waited until the young officer had left before leaning back and stretching. He met the fascinated eyes of the High Council members and noted, “The kid will make a fine captain someday. Once he lets loose of this screwy idea that the universe operates by some kind of rule book.” The old man leaned forward again. “Anyway. Those stuffed shirts in the Temporal Division came banging on my door a few days ago, begging and crying for me to come out here and talk to you folks. I finally agreed to do it just to get them to shut up.” Soval intercepted a direct look from T'Pau. He delicately made the attention catching noise that Humans referred to as throat clearing. When Admiral McCoy looked his way Soval asked him, “From your phrasing, I gather that you are not a member of the Temporal authority?” “Oh Lord, no,” McCoy snorted. “I'm a doctor, not a time jumper. They dragged me into this because they think I have some special connections that they can get some use out of. That's all.” “Connections?” Soval asked delicately. The others waited while the experienced diplomat dealt with this unusual Human. It was the most logical course of action. “Well,” McCoy rubbed his chin thoughtfully and glanced around the table, pausing to spend a few extra seconds examining T'Pau and, for some reason, Ministers Kuvak and Solkar. “Let us say that I have will be associated in your future with some people that are going to be important to some of you.” Ensign Lorcas reappeared with the requested food and drink. The old Human directed him to distribute tea and a plate of assorted fruit slices to each Vulcan. Courtesy leaving no option, the Council members accepted the hospitality and listened with interest while McCoy offered general information about their location. “This place, Station E-1, is located in an area that you haven't yet reached,” he told them, before taking a sip of his tea. He grimaced and looked accusingly at the Ensign. “I regret, Admiral,” Lorcas told him firmly, “that Dr. Krell has forbidden the addition of processed sugars to your beverages. As you are well aware.” McCoy growled something inaudible even to Vulcan hearing and looked back at the Council table. “Anyway, we are about a year out from Vulcan at Warp 5,” he continued. “This station is located deep in the heart of Federation territory though. Our ships usually keep a standard cruising speed around Warp 8, unless an emergency comes up. We really try not to exceed Warp 9 unless things get serious. We find that odd things can happen to space/time sometimes when you get above Warp 10. It's better not to take the chance if it can be avoided.” “I see,” Soval said calmly. “It seems a reasonable precaution. Would it be possible for you to inform us of the current year?” “Sure,” McCoy said casually, “It's Stardate 8423.5-” “Admiral!” Lorcas was standing stiffly with a look of distress on his face. “Please forgive the interruption, sir. But Starfleet Command specifically ordered that only the minimum necessary details be released. According to the uptime reports, contamination of the time line has already been profound. Providing further unnecessary information could only endanger matters to an even greater degree.” McCoy paused with his cup half raised. His face slowly changed and he put the cup down as a look of profound sadness came over his countenance. “You are right, Ensign. God knows I should understand that, if anyone does. I'm sorry. I guess I really am too senile to be allowed out without a keeper.” “Certainly not, sir,” Lorcas looked scandalized. “I am merely here to assist you in keeping track of extraneous details.” McCoy chuckled wryly. “All right, kid. You go ahead and keep up with the details. Just watch me like a hawk and don't let me do anything too stupid if you can stop me in time, ok?” “I shall do my best, sir,” Lorcas told him gravely. McCoy grinned at him and coughed into his hand. Soval watched the byplay with interest. He had never seen a Human and a Vulcan work together in such a relationship before. During his time at the earth embassy, on the extremely rare occasions where a student/mentor arrangement existed, the Vulcan was always the teacher. Soval found this reversal of roles quite fascinating. T'Pau, who had been leaning back in silence and listening like a sehlat waiting for her prey, stirred and sat up. “Admiral McCoy. You spoke earlier of connections. Please specify.” She forbore to ask what a Stardate was. McCoy leaned on one elbow and looked steadily at her. He maintained silence for several minutes, long enough for several members of the Council to start showing signs of discomfort. T'Pau however, merely waited. “I can see her.” McCoy spoke the words idly, without shifting position. “To whom do you refer?” T'Pau asked him dispassionately. “You,” McCoy told her. “Your future self. I can look at you here and now, sitting at this table. But in my mind's eye, I can see the old woman that you will become when I first met you, many years in your future when I was the young man just starting out. Ironic, isn't it?” T'Pau raised an eyebrow. “Indeed. If this is true I find it quite ironic.” “Oh, it's true. I assure you, Lady T'Pau.” McCoy gave a twisted smile. “You have no idea how true it is.” He laughed softly and shook his head. “You were, rather you will be, officiating at a wedding. I will be present as a guest of the groom.” He looked keenly at her. “Remember my name, T'Pau. Dr. Leonard McCoy. Can you remember it? A fairly young Human male, dark hair, Starfleet medical uniform. Dr. Leonard McCoy. Remember that name for the rest of your life, Minister T'Pau of Vulcan. If you forget your own name between now and then, so be it. But remember mine. Can you do that?” T'Pau sat stiffly. “I am quite capable of remembering any number of names, Admiral. You seem to have a very inflated opinion of your own importance. Why is it so critical that I remember your name?” McCoy leaned forward. “Not just my name, Lady,” he spoke grimly. “Remember all of it. Remember that you'll be officiating at a wedding. Remember my name. Remember that I'll be a doctor in Starfleet. Remember that I'll be a guest of the groom. And one thing more. This is the most important thing of all.” He glared at her. “Remember to give me room to work. I'll ask you for some things. Let me have them. They won't be big things. You won't have to violate any of your precious Vulcan customs or traditions. Just let me have them. Grant my requests. And have a little faith in that famous Human deviousness. That's all you'll have to do. If you do that, everything will turn out all right.” T'Pau sat rigidly. Soval considered the probabilities. For T'Pau to officiate at a wedding, it would have to be a Vulcan ceremony. If McCoy was invited as a guest, the groom would most probably either be a member of Starfleet or a Human, if not both. And for McCoy, a healer, to emphasize that he would require “room to work” indicated... Soval winced. “I will remember everything you have said, Doctor McCoy,” T'Pau finally told him. “Good,” McCoy slumped back in relief. “Millions of lives depend on it, Lady.” The entire Council stiffened as one person. “At least one war will be averted if you follow through on what I asked. At least one war. Maybe more than one.” “So this is the connection you referred to?” Soval asked him. “One of them,” McCoy rubbed his eyes and looked tired. Lorcas quickly moved over to the chair and opened a compartment on the side. He withdrew a hypospray and showed it to McCoy, who nodded and held out his arm. Lorcas administered the medication and keyed several controls on the chair, watching some kind of monitor closely. In a few seconds McCoy started breathing deeply and straightened up. Lorcas replaced the hypo and stepped back, resuming his position behind the admiral. “Sorry about that,” McCoy told them. “Old age is not only inconvenient, it's also undignified.” Soval started to speak, but McCoy waved him to silence. “Never mind. Let's move on with this.” He pressed a key on the arm of his chair and spoke into the comm. “We're ready in here Saavik. Come on in.” McCoy looked at the door, which naturally drew the attention of everyone else in the room. In five point three minutes the door parted to admit a Vulcan woman of full maturity, accompanied by a young Vulcan male approximately two thirds grown. They stopped to offer the ta'al and standard greeting, followed immediately by the young male walking swiftly across the room toward McCoy. The youngster was wearing a completely inappropriate smile, which paled in comparison to the admiral's grin. McCoy held out both hands, which the youngster gripped firmly. “It's good to see you again, Selek,” McCoy told the boy. “It is equally good to see you again, Godfather,” the youngster replied. The woman approached at a more dignified pace, wearing an expression of resigned patience. McCoy released the boy's hands to take hers, which she permitted without hesitation. “Saavik.” He held her hands and looked closely at her. “How are you? How have you been? How's that rock headed husband of yours?” He released her hands and settled back. Soval could only glimpse a portion of the woman's profile, but she appeared unfazed by the Human's enthusiasm. “We are all well, Leonard. Spock is currently on Bajor in company with Ambassador Worf, engaged in negotiating the new trade routes for the Alliance agreement. Selek and I are still dwelling in Spock's ancestral home while Selek pursues his studies. I am continuing in my assistant professorship at the University of Shikahr.” McCoy sighed. “It's been too long, girl. Much too long.” He paused to look at them both for a moment longer. Then he turned his chair to face the council table again and moved forward half a meter. “You asked about connections? Here's one that should catch your attention. Minister Solkar, I believe you have a son named Skon?” Solkar looked startled for an instant, but recovered swiftly. Of course. “That is correct, admiral. My son has recently become bonded.” McCoy nodded. “Their first child will be a boy. Seems like your family tends to run to boys for some reason. Just happens that way sometimes.” He turned and beckoned the newcomers forward. “Minister Solkar, I present to you the grandson of your grandson. Selek.” The boy stiffened and looked wide eyed. He stared at Solkar, then looked at his mother and McCoy for confirmation. They both nodded. Solkar sat like a stone figure. “I can only presume this to be what Humans refer to as a joke. I will tell you that I find it most distasteful.” “I figured that you would react like that,” McCoy sighed. “Blasting a new concept into a Vulcan skull requires a phaser drill and half a kilo of antimatter.” Several of the Ministers looked disgruntled. “Go ahead, Selek,” McCoy told the boy. “Show him.” Selek looked terrified. Saavik placed a hand on her son's shoulder and said evenly, “Be at ease, my son. I will accompany you in offering respects to your forefather.” The two of them paced together around the end of the table to stand beside Solkar's chair. Selek hesitantly offered his crossed hands in the palm forward gesture of familial greeting and bowed his head. Solkar and looked at the boy. He raised his eyes to look at Saavik, then back at the boy. He did not raise his hands or offer to respond... until McCoy snapped out, “Coward.” Solkar's head jerked around and he shot a blazing glare at the old Human. Then he leaned forward to place his fingertips against Selek's. The two of them closed their eyes briefly. Solkar's eyes flashed open and his head snapped up. He stared at Selek, then at Saavik. He offered his hands to the young woman, who reciprocated. After both had undergone the ritual greeting the Minister sat back looking stunned. “It is true.” The room exploded into speech. Solkar braced a shaking hand on the table and stood up. He looked down at the boy, then reached out to place his fingers against the contact points on Selek's face. Saavik started to raise a hand, but stopped herself. The conversations among the other members of the Council died away while the meld continued. Finally Solkar withdrew his hand and spoke, “I perceive.” He looked at Saavik. “You... you are not...” “No,” she told him. “I am half Romulan.” It was one shock too many. Not only did no one speak, Soval strongly suspected a temporary suspension of respiration throughout the entire room. Solkar took this latest revelation in stride, however. He merely nodded and looked back at his descendant. “Then it is your father.” Selek raised his chin. “Yes. I never had the advantage of knowing my grandmother. However I am reliably informed that she was a most admirable woman.” “I am certain that she must have been,” Solkar agreed gravely. “She was,” McCoy offered sadly. “A most admirable and remarkable woman.” He leaned back in his chair. “Is this demonstration sufficient?” A new voice asked. Soval turned to see that Daniels and Eaytke had appeared near the outer wall. The star studded backdrop offered a rather disconcerting contrast to the silver glow of the Temporal Supervisor's eyes. “Shit!” McCoy jerked in his chair. He started reaching for something at the side of his chairbut his hand stopped in mid-lunge, as if it were being caught and held. “Please, Admiral McCoy,” Daniels soothed. “We mean no harm. I am sorry that we startled you. I am Agent Daniels and this is Supervisor Eaytke. We are with the Temporal Authority.” “Supervisor?” McCoy made a strangled noise. “That... thing!... is a supervisor? Do you have any idea what that thing is capable of?” “Actually, he does,” Eaytke responded. “I presume your reaction is based on a misunderstanding.” He looked at Daniels, who hurriedly stepped forward to speak swiftly and rapidly into McCoy's ear at some length. McCoy slowly sat back, not relaxing at all. “So you're from that far uptime, are you? Hm... Why'd they send someone like you all the way back here to herd monkeys?” His suspiciously narrowed eyes never left Eaytke. The Temporal Supervisor returned McCoy's look with mild interest. “I assure you, Mr. McCoy, that I have not the slightest interest in causing harm to any of you. Given the realities of genetic distribution, it is a simple fact that everyone in this room is my direct ancestor. As to why I am here? I am here because extreme situations call for extreme measures. In order to ensure that the time line is repaired, or at least patched, sufficiently well to allow my time period to exist requires the intervention of agents with abilities that will not become extant for several... centuries.” “Several thousand centuries, you mean,” McCoy said tightly. “The report said Mitchell claimed it would take a million years. All right. Take over then. Like I could stop you.” “Thank you, Admiral,” Agent Daniels told him. He turned to address the Council. “Ambassador Soval, Ministers. Have you seen enough to convince you that temporal displacement is a fact?” “Yes.” Sokar's voice was decisive. No one felt like contradicting him. T'Pau looked thoughtful. “Ambassador Soval?” Daniels looked at him. “You will be the one primarily responsible for interacting with the Humans during their upcoming war with the Romulan empire.” Soval flinched. “Are you satisfied that we are telling you the truth? It is especially crucial that you believe us.” Soval slumped, feeling defeated. “Yes. I believe you. Too many things have happened over the last few years. Too many coincidences. Too many eyewitness testimonies from people that I trust. And now this.” He squared his shoulders. “I believe you. But are you certain that war is inevitable between the Humans and the Romulans?” “Yes,” Daniels said. “Yes,” Eaytke said. “Yes,” Saavik said. “Yes,” McCoy said. “Yes,” Lorcas said. Selek merely nodded solemnly. T'Pau told the temporal agents, “If you will return us to our chamber, we will undertake to offer whatever assistance to the Humans may be within our power. We failed them as allies when they were threatened by the Xindi. We will not make that mistake again.”
Lt. Commander Reed yawned and picked up a tray. The dinner line was thinning out. Not surprising, since he was almost an hour late. But this almost counted as being ahead of schedule considering the way his days had been running since he took over as XO. How T'Pol had ever managed to find time to eat and sleep was beyond him. But then again, she was Vulcan. Maybe she simply didn't eat or sleep. He glanced over the selection while he idly pondered what could be taking the captain so long. The meeting at the embassy was supposed to be a two hour affair. It was now running into its fifth hour and no word yet of any pending conclusion. Reed shrugged. Get a diplomat talking and what did you expect? He paused in surprise. Well now. Lasagna? He couldn't remember the last time Chef had made lasagna. It smelled home made too. He helped himself to a generous portion and moved on down the line. A nice salad, some tea and then check out the dessert rack. “Drat” The dessert rack was empty. Perhaps there was more back in the kitchen, Malcolm considered hopefully. He gave the buzzer a push and waited for a crewman to stick his head out. “Commander Reed? May I assist you?” Malcolm stopped breathing while cold prickles ran up his back. His head swiveled as of its own accord to face the doorway. A young woman's face, surmounting an apron and framed in a white kitchen cap, observed him with perfect equanimity. Reed fought hard not to pitch his tray, and make a break for the door. “Lady T'Jala,” he greeted her, in a voice half an octave higher than normal. “Fanc- Fancy meeting you here.” “It would seem inevitable that we would encounter each other eventually,” T'Jala noted. “As we are serving on the same ship.” Malcolm Reed stood silent and stupefied, his tray forgotten in his hands. T'Jala glanced at his selection and looked pleased. “I see that you have elected to sample my lasagna. I sincerely hope that it meets with your approval. Thus far I have received uniformly positive feedback regarding it.” Malcolm continued to stare. “Is there something you need, Commander?” T'Jala asked again. “If I am not mistaken, you did press the buzzer.” “I... dessert.” Malcolm did not shift his gaze or his hands. T'Jala permitted the slightest hint of a smile to lift the corners of her lips. “I am glad that you inquired. Chef has informed me that you particularly enjoy pineapple. I made a pineapple upside down cake in the hope that you might enjoy it. I will bring you a piece.” “You...” Malcolm watched the door swing shut in a daze. “No. She isn't here. I’m hallucinating from overwork. No, not that. I’m dreaming. That's it. I’m asleep. I’ve fallen asleep in the captain's ready room. Since I was hungry, I’m dreaming about the mess hall and now it has turned into a nightmare.” The door opened again and T'Jala emerged with a small plate holding a generous portion of cake. “Here you are, Commander. I would appreciate your evaluation of its quality. It is my objective to perfect my skills in all forms of Terran foods.” “I. I. I. Certainly, Lady T'Jala.” He took the cake with a fixed and glassy smile. “Crewman T'Jala, actually,” she told him helpfully. “Crewman T'Jala,” he acknowledged and fled.
The next checkpoint was a seep, high up on a cliff wall. Trip had to cling with one hand and both feet while he dug out the token and refilled his canteen. Then he painfully worked his way back down the natural chimney, all the while cursing the planet Vulcan, Vulcan culture, Vulcan traditions, Vulcan gravity, the Vulcan sun, Vulcan wildlife, Vulcan insects, Vulcan plant life, and himself for not demanding that they move to Alaska. The checkpoint after that was deep inside a low cave. The roof was barely a meter high at its peak. Trip peered blindly inside and realized that there was no way he would be able to find anything by T'Khutlight. Only during the last hour of the day would he be able to see far enough into the cave to be able to locate the spring. Of course, he could always get down on his belly and go crawling in blind... Yeah, right. He pitched his shelter next to the best positioned boulder he could find. Which wasn't very well positioned, actually. Then he sat down to wait. And wait. And wait. Counting the minutes until sunset, and thinking up new ways to curse himself for not cobbling up some kind of torch before he came into the mountains. He packed up and got ready to move as soon as the sun touched the upper rim of the cave. When the sunbeam sank below the entrance Trip started to slowly work his way inside. He was three body lengths in when he heard the rustling. Trip doubled back on his own length like a snake and made it back outside in four seconds flat. Then he bounded away from the entrance and stood gasping while he unwrapped his bola. A family of terrified k'bets came pouring out around his feet a moment later, streaming across the sand and dashing for the cracks and crannies in the rock pile behind him. Trip closed his eyes and slumped down on his heels, cursing every desert on every planet in the galaxy, and all rodents ever born. He went back in and used the bola to sweep the k'bet nest aside, clearing the spring and uncovering the token box. The next waterhole had to be dug out. It was kept covered by a shield of flat rocks and buried in sand to protect it from wind and animals. The token box was built into the side wall. The one after that was a wide pool inside a refreshing cave with plenty of room to stretch out. Trip slept like a baby in that one, until the scream of a hunting sehlat chased him out and up the nearby slope. He spent all night waiting for the saber-toothed grizzly bear to get tired and go away. Finally he lost patience and started flinging rocks at the animal, screaming challenge and curses. The small stones barely caught the beast's attention, so Trip looked around and picked up a piece of chert the size of his head and flung it overhead with both hands. The jagged edged piece of mineral struck the sehlat directly between the shoulder blades and provoked a squall of outrage. Eventually, the ongoing barrage convinced the sehlat to seek less abusive prey. One after another, the checkpoints passed. Trip felt his clothes loosening and his strength fading. But with each night, the final checkpoint crept closer.
“Thank you, Crewman,” Captain Archer said politely. “Certainly, Captain,” T'Jala told him. She nodded and turned to serve Malcolm his breakfast. “I hope you enjoy your eggs this morning, Commander. I obtained Chef's approval to use a Rigellian seasoning called tarka, similar to your pepper but not as pungent.” She offered him a tiny, but very bright, smile. “I'm sure they will be quite satisfactory, Crewman,” Malcolm told her stiffly. T'Jala finished serving and asked, “Will there be anything further?” They both indicated not, so she turned her cart and headed back toward the kitchen. Malcolm determinedly kept his eyes fixed on his plate until she had finished passing through the doorway. “Sir...” Malcolm simmered. “I honestly don't know how much longer I can take this.” “Oh come on, Commander,” Archer protested uneasily. “She has been perfectly proper ever since she arrived. At least from what I have seen.” Reed dropped his napkin with a shaking hand. “Perfectly? Proper?” He bit the words off. “I can't escape the bloody woman!” He glared at the captain. “When I step into the mess hall, she always, always has something special cooked up just for me. When I go into the gym, she is working out on the next mat, or the next exercise bike. And, excuse my bluntness Captain, but I would never have expected a Vulcan to wear such revealing workout clothing. An Orion would blush to be seen in public in some of the things she wears! When I am on the shooting range practicing, she shows up asking for lessons. When it's movie night, she needs someone to explain Human cultural symbols. I am starting to become paranoid about taking a shower with my quarters unlocked.” Archer rubbed his temple. “Malcolm, there's nothing I can do. I told you that. Admiral Gardner cut the orders himself. Minister T'Pau made a personal request to Trask, and Trask told Gardner that it would really smooth things out with the Vulcans as far as this tech swap goes. So we are stuck with her, come hell or high water.” “And that's the other thing,” Malcolm started to let his blood pressure rise. “She may have the so-called rank of Crewman, but we both know that she's nothing more than a civilian passenger with special privileges. You know as well as I do why she's here.” “Why she chose to come here has nothing to do with any choices you might make, Commander,” Archer suddenly turned serious. “If you are not interested, then don't let her, or Admiral Gardner, or anyone else push you.” “I know, Captain.” He looked frustrated. “I don't want to hurt her feelings. After all, she is a fine woman. Quite attractive really. But...” Archer shrugged and said neutrally, “Well, if she is attractive maybe you might consider talking to her. But of course that's up to you. Trip seems well satisfied.” Malcolm raised both eyebrows and pursed his lips. “He does, doesn't he?” He dug up a fork full of eggs. “I suppose the root of the problem is that I hate to be-” He paused with a strange expression, chewing thoughtfully. “These really are quite good.” “Attractive and she can cook,” Archer pointed out. “A man could do worse.” He took a sip of coffee and watched Malcolm eat his breakfast pensively.
The rock walls on either side started to spread out as the dirt underfoot sloped upward. Trip continued trudging, one foot in front of the other. The sun was sinking. The dirt was rising and the sun was sinking...and the dirt was rising...sun sinking... dirt rising... sun... rising dirt... sinking... dirt?... rising sun?... no dirt sinking... He shook his head. One more hill. Just one more hill. That's all. One. More. Hill. All he had to do was keep putting one foot ahead of another to get to the top ofthis... He was at the top. Trip weaved and staggered, then toppled forward to his knees in the sand. The rock walls of the canyon flared on either side of him to become the cliffs of Tan'yak-lir. Two hundred meters ahead of him was the final checkpoint. And the sun was still shining. He had made it. Mirages danced across the sand, warping the pavilion where the judges waited like the view of a starfield when a ship first broke warp. Behind the pavilion blinding light flared from the surfaces of aircars, neatly parked in rows. Trip groaned and got one foot under himself, pushing hard with both hands to lever his body back up. “It's all downhill from here.” Two hundred meters. Maybe three hundred staggering steps. He could do that. All he had to do was keep going downhill. Follow nice Mr. Gravity. Trip giggled and stumbled forward. One foot in front of the other, while the sunlight hammered and hammered and hammered the top of his skull. He didn't even feel the shade of the pavilion. He only knew that he had arrived when the edge of the judging table hit him at pelvis level. For a moment Trip stood dazed, clueless about what to do. “Oh. Yeah.” He threw back his hood and looked up. T'Pol was there, standing off at the far edge of the pavilion and looking proud. Suddenly nothing else mattered. The pain, the heat, the thirst, none of it mattered. His mate was here for him. Trip locked eyes with her and new strength flowed into his soul. His body still felt like shit, but his spirit was renewed. All he needed now was food and water and a bath and some sleep. He would be good as new. The three elderly Vulcans, two men and one woman, sat impassively watching him from the other side of the table. Trip wracked his brain until inspiration struck again. He stated his name, then started digging out the tokens one at a time and laying them on the table, giving a brief description of the location and configuration of each water site. When he had finished Trip stood stiffly and waited for them to confirm that he has passed the test and could go home. The center judge, a particularly wizened old fart with a permanently sour expression looked disdainfully at the pile of tokens, glanced at the sun which stood halfway below the horizon, and shook his head. “Unfortunately Commander Tucker, you have missed the deadline. The test requires that the entrants complete the course before sunset. The sun had already touched the horizon before your arrival.” Trip felt his scalp muscles tighten. “Why you...” T'Pol must have teleported. It was the only logical explanation. No other method could have gotten her across the intervening distance so quickly. “I dispute your finding, and I call upon the other judges for a consensus ruling. I base this dispute on the fact that when I took the test, several applicants reported on the final day after the sun had touched the horizon, yet were found to have completed the course.” “I concur,” the woman judge noted. “I see no reason to require Commander Tucker to adhere to stricter standards than any other applicant.” “Tucker is an adult,” the sourpuss snapped. “He is a Human,” the second man pointed out. “The Chief Minister herself has acknowledged that this places him at a disadvantage.” “Be advised,” T'Pol told them, “that if my dispute is rejected I will appeal the ruling to the High Council.” “Where it will no doubt be upheld,” the sourpuss sneered, “given that the Chief Minister herself has decided that this Human shall be granted citizenship. As I am outvoted, I withdraw my objection. You have passed the test.” “Listen, Chuckles,” Trip seethed. T'Pol tried frantically to signal him, which he ignored. “I'd like to see you haul your arrogantly withered ass to Earth and try an arctic survival course sometime. Or better yet, drag your helpless carcass down around the swamplands where I grew up. You would be gator bait before you finished getting your robes fluffed out to suit you.” “Trip,” T'Pol pleaded. He subsided with a final dirty look for the center judge and started around the table. T'Pol met him before he reached the halfway point. Trip stopped and felt a shiver of relief. He offered the two fingered greeting of mates with a smile. T'Pol looked at his hand for an instant, then enveloped him in a Human hug which was promptly return with interest. The Vulcans averted their eyes. “Ah, lady. I missed you.” Trip whispered into her ear. “You have no way of knowing how much I missed you.” “To the contrary, husband,” she murmured. “I believe I know exactly how much. Somewhat less than half as much as I have missed you.” He kissed her cheek in the interest of public decorum. “Is the car here? She nodded and led him toward their somewhat scratched and dented transportation. To Trip, it looked like a golden chariot. A chariot complete with air conditioning. It was like sitting down in a walk-in freezer. A whimper of joy worked its way out of him as he collapsed back against the seat. T'Pol started the lift motors and told him, “I have brought some root beer as well as water and a few light snacks for you. Nothing too substantial at first, though. You should give your stomach time to readjust.” “My goddess,” Trip told her. “I would bow down at your feet if I could move.” “Rest for now,” she told him. “It is over. We will be back at Shi'Kahr in approximately 43.7 minutes. From there it is perhaps 19 minutes to Eldest T'Para's home. Then you can recuperate at your leisure.” Trip reached down and pulled up a cold bottle. He smiled and put forth a distressing amount of effort to twist the cap off. The cold foam hit his belly hard. “Oof! I see what you mean,” he admitted. “But it sure feels good.” Trip leaned back again and gasped. “I have a few things to tell you.” “Indeed,” she said. “And I have some things to tell you as well. But there is no need to hurry.” Trip nodded and took another sip of root beer. “Did George talk to you before he went home?” T'Pol glanced over. “Yes. He made a point of visiting us to say goodbye. He told us that the assassins who were pursuing you had been dealt with, but he was reticent about details. We later learned that they are in the custody of Starfleet, undergoing intensive interrogation.” She paused, uncertain about continuing. “Yeah.” Trip looked forward out the windshield. “Did they spill the beans?” T'Pol told him gingerly, “They admitted that they had been hired to eliminate you.” She stopped. “Trip, there is no need to discuss this now. We can wait until you are feeling better.” “V'Rald.” Trip said. T'Pol winced. “Yes.” T'Pol took a deep breath. “Ganlas visited me at the Eldest Mother's two days ago. Ordinarily, he would have waited until your return. But since you saw fit to insist on providing me with the dagger...” Trip looked amused. “You are still feeling uncomfortable about that? Why? I trust you with my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor. What's the big deal?” Trip wondered. “I still don't understand it.” T'Pol looked vexed. “It is not necessarily a 'big deal', Trip. It is no a matter of trust either. It is... it is embarrassing.” “Embarrassing?” Trip scoffed. “How can it possibly be embarrassing?” T'Pol snapped, “How could you possibly find it embarrassing to go out in public wearing a woman's evening dress?” Trip paused with his mouth open. “Why did you seem uncomfortable during Elizabeth's Inclusion ceremony, when you were the only male present? Why do you not wear lipstick like Hoshi Sato does?” Trip subsided. “I never looked at it that way.” “No,” she scolded, “you did not. You made no effort to look at it that way, did you? To you, there was no reason for me to feel uncomfortable at conducting family business, therefore there must not be any reason. You refused to acknowledge that my culture might have good and sufficient reasons for placing the divisions between the genders that we do. But instead, you merely forced them aside with a contemptuous wave of your hand.” She sighed. “I am sorry, Trip. I... I am sorry. I did not realize that I was carry this much buried irritation. I have not been meditating well lately.” “It's not as if you haven't had reason,” Trip told her in a subdued voice. “I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. From now on I will try to carry as much of the load as I possibly can. OK?” She sniffed. “OK.” T'Pol smiled at him. “To continue. Ganlas reported that Starfleet has refused to turn over the prisoners. However, they have permitted the Security Directorate to have generous access to them and full access to the information they provide. Based on this, V'Rald has been arrested and his property has been forfeited to the government.” Trip chuckled warmly. “It couldn't possibly happen to a nicer guy. I take it that Koss won't inherit it now?” “Koss would not have inherited it in any case,” T'Pol told him. “Or not all of it. V'Rald has no sons.” Trip scratched his head and took another swig. “My brain is starting to cool off and maybe function a little bit. I thought Koss was his heir. I know women can't inherit property, that's why your mom's house went back to your dad's clan after she passed away. But if it doesn't go from uncle to nephew, how does it go? Grandfather to grandson?” “No,” she said. “If a man does not have sons, his property returns to his clan for distribution among his closest male relatives. Koss would have inherited part of V'Rald's holdings, his grandsons would have gained part, and so on.” “And now who gets it?” Trip wanted to know. “That,” T'Pol told him, “is the reason that Ganlas came to visit.” She looked across at him. “Vulcan law states that the victim of a criminal attack is entitled to compensation from the attacker. V'Rald not only hired those assassins to attack you, he also hired a different assassin to go to Earth and provide information to Terra Prime on our location. Both efforts failed-” “He what!?” “The assassin in question is dead,” T'Pol told him. “Ganlas strongly suspects that an operative of Starfleet Intelligence took it upon themselves to deliver summary justice, but he has no proof.” “I love those guys,” Trip muttered. “Go on.” “A portion of V'Rald's holdings has been designated to be presented as victim compensation. Specifically, you now own 15% of V'Rald's previous property.” “You gotta be kiddn' me.” Trip stared in slack jawed amazement. “I'm a Human!” “No, husband. I am quite serious.” She gave him another tiny smile. “You are a Human citizen of Vulcan, as of today.” Trip grunted and looked back out the window again for a few moments. “So then,” he finally said, “check if I understand this right. As long as I am alive we own 15% of what V'Rald used to have. But once I croak you and T'Lissa lose it all, right? Do any of my family get any of it?” “I- I would think not.” T'Pol considered. “I doubt that the Council would permit a non-Vulcan to own such potential sensitive installations.” She saw him slump and hurried onward. “But do not concern yourself, Trip. If need be, my clan will always provide for us.” “But if there were male members of my clan on Vulcan, you wouldn't have to worry about it?” Trip wanted to know. “Essentially, yes,” she told him. “But I doubt that any members of your family would be interested in immigrating.” “Well then,” Trip ruminated for a while. “I guess the only logical thing for us to do is have a son.” T'Pol considered the matter briefly and her smile widened. “I suppose, given the exigencies of the situation, it actually is the most logical course of action open to us.” “I wonder how T'Lissa will take to having a baby brother?” Trip speculated. “As long as she refrains from providing him with tutelage in climbing techniques, I will not complain,” T'Pol stated firmly.
Eaytke appeared in the middle of a graveled path along the perimeter of his family estate. He paused to take a deep breath of pure air and rest his eyes on the infinite depths of the open starfield overhead. The moon's primary, Filtikahr, was a third risen with bluish light splashing over the foliage that his wife had spent decades gathering from a hundred planets across uncounted eons. The moaning howl of a Terran dire wolf vibrated across the night as she called her cubs to join her in a new kill. Most likely a Bandoan kavo, he reflected. He smiled. L'pyra was an artist at the craft of ecological balancing. She had spent many long years calculating the perfect proportion for each species in this polyglot forest. There were trees, bushes, cycads, reeds, grasses, mosses, fish, insects, reptiles, birds, mammals, sauropods, and micro-organisms from not only various planets, but also from various time periods along the line on each planet. Earth for example, was represented by dire wolves, opossums, archaeopteryx, and passenger pigeons. The environmental dome overhead had undergone nearly constant adjustment over the years as his wife had tweaked the height and diameter, oxygen content, atmospheric density, gravity, and solar filtering. Finally, two hundred and thirty-seven years ago, she had declared it done - to everyone's great relief. Eaytke strolled leisurely through the fern trees and watched in amusement as a Talaxian porlos chattered angrily at a Klingon targ who was in the process of uprooting its home fern. The targ stopped and whuffed at the passing man curiously, then returned to business. The children had probably named it something, but Eaytke never bothered to remember. The ephemeral lifespans of such creatures made it not worth the effort. A faint scrape and a whisper of air just behind warned him and brought a delighted grin to his face. He got set just in time to turn a helpless fall into a forward roll onto the grassy sward. Eaytke twisted and got an arm around L'pyra, working his fingers into her hair and planting a wet kiss on her full lips. “Ahhrrrooow!” She growled in frustration. “You have to be more than a tenth Vulcan. I don't care what you say. With those ears you can't be otherwise.” “Can I help it if you have let your stalking skills get rusty?” he teased her. He worked the other hand into her hair and captured her mouth for a longer kiss before they both bounded to their feet. “I was afraid I would have to let the youngsters eat without you,” L'pyra told him as they started walking arm in arm. “They are to the point of gnawing the furniture already. If you had been late it would not have been pretty.” “Never,” Eaytke swore. “One advantage of working for the Temporal Patrol.” He grinned and leaned over to nibble her ear. She bared one tooth and looked up at him with shining eyes. “Heard anything from the Organians yet?” “Finally,” she told him. “They are being as hidebound as usual. But we finally got them to cough up the data they collected half a billion years ago. Back when they made their one, single, whole, entire, attempt to pierce the universal matrix.” L'pyra extended her retractile fingernails and started scratching her husband's back. He moaned in ecstasy. “Oh yes, right there. Wait, wait.” Eaytke peeled out of his shirt. “Now.” L'pyra chuckled and worked her nails in around his back ridge, provoking gratifying sounds of blissful contentment. “Ahhhh,” he finally said. “My friends warned me about marrying a woman with Caitan blood. They said you would claw me to pieces. But where else am I going to get a back scratch like this?” “Where indeed?” she purred. Then she nipped his shoulder. “Now, if we don't get inside the children are truly going to claw both of us to pieces.” “By all means,” her husband told her. They resumed walking toward the center of the estate. “Are the preparations for the initial probe on schedule?” L'pyra did not answer. Eaytke looked strangely at her. “You are blocking me. Why?” She stopped walking and looked away. “Tell me, husband. Do you ever wonder if we are going too far? We have long since passed the boundaries of our own galaxy. We manipulate the multi-dimensional fabric of space/time effortlessly. We chart the flow of alternate time lines. Sometimes we even permit the temporary formation of alternate lines for our own purposes. We play with space and times and the lives of lesser creatures as if we were gods. But this... Are we going too far, Eaytke? To open the underlying fabric of primal creation? To explore the basal matrix of existence?” Eaytke looked thoughtfully at her. “Do you remember the Q?” Her brow wrinkled. “Ye-ess. I think so. Energy beings, weren't they?” “Originally, yes,” Eaytke told her. “But they were static. They evolved soon after the universe and stayed essentially unchanged for billions of years. Unchanged, unchallenged, ungrowing.” He shook his head. “A few of them, a tiny minority tried to salvage their species by learning how to reproduce. But it didn't work. They learned how to replicate themselves. But they were still inherently incapable of self-improvement. And now they are gone.” “I see.” L'pyra said. She turned around. “I take your point. But I am still frightened, Eaytke. What will we find?” “If we knew that,” he said patiently, “there would be no point in going to look.” He added, “But theoretically we should be able to access other universes. An infinite number of other universes.” “As if one infinite universe isn't enough?” she scoffed. “It may be infinite, beloved,” he pointed out, “but we are not. At least not yet. Even singularity dilation has range limits. At our current lifespan, we will never be able to access more than fifty galaxies at most. If we are even able to reach that many. But with basal matrix transport there is no limit to how far we can travel. Instantaneously.” “I can only hope that you are right.” She started walking again with a pensive expression. “What have you been so bound up with these last few days? Aerlonas told me that it was confidential, but that you could probably tell me about it once things settled down.” Eaytke grunted in disgust. “It was a rather tedious, and at times nauseating clean up job in the pre-Federation Sagitarius-Alpha quadrant. I had to repair a mess that the incompetent primitives in the earlier Temporal Agency made.” “For four days?” she asked incredulously. “How could something so far back in such a limited area take so long to fix?” He sighed. “It's like...” He waved a hand around at the forest. “It's like ecology. Each piece fits into every other piece. Change one detail and the whole thing shifts.” “I understand,” she told him. “So what exactly was going on in the pre-Federation Sagitarius-Alpha quadrant. What Federation?” “You remember the Triax Confederacy don't you?” Eaytke asked her. “It lasted eighty thousand years and covered over half the Sagitarius galaxy. The first civilization to get that big since the fall of the T'Kon empire.” “I think I remember reading about it in pre-school,” L'pyra said doubtfully. “That was more years ago than I like to think about. So this was before that period?” “Well before,” he explained. “The word Triax is an ancient Human word that refers to the number three. The Triax Confederacy actually began as an alliance between the Romulan empire, the Klingon empire, and the Federation of Planets. I was working with the Humans and the Vulcans in the time before the formation of the Federation.” “So this Federation was an alliance between Humans and Vulcans?” she asked casually. Eaytke shrugged. “Among other races. You should know this stuff. We are talking about your ancestors after all. You have more Human blood than I do.” “Oh, I see,” L'pyra said ironically. “I am 23% Human, so I should be an expert on every aspect of Terran history? I have better things to do with my time that pore over the most obscure details of paleontology.” Eaytke laughed. “In any case, we-” “Father!” They both turned to see their youngest daughter, M'ress, come leaping and bounding at them from beneath the undergrowth. She made a final pounce and hit Eaytke in mid-chest, clutching him around the neck and nuzzling his hair. “'There's my girl,” he told her fondly, rumpling her bangs. Eaytke noted yet again how she had inherited her grandfather's brow ridges along with L'ypera's thick mane of hair. When combined with her bright sapphire eyes the child's appearance was remarkably striking. Though only seventy-one years old, she was already starting to turn the little boy's heads. Eaytke was starting to dread the day when they began to line up at his door. “I missed you, father,” she said. “Hurry up and come inside. I'm hungry. And Nusef and Ler'til are fighting because Ler'til took the first piece of meat and-” “I will go separate the gladiators,” L'pyra sighed. “Coming?” “You go help your mother remind your brothers how to act civilized,” Eaytke told M'ress. “I will be right in,” he added to his wife. He watched fondly as his womenfolk stepped into empty space and disappeared. He looked up again into the endless darkness, thinking. He remembered what his wife had said. “I am 23% Human...” They were all adventurers in those days. All of them. But something about the Humans of that time caught his imagination. They were special somehow. Just... he wasn't sure how to put it. Devil may care? Crazy? Perhaps there were no words to describe it. “To boldly go where no one has gone before.” “All right, Grandfather,” Eaytke mused. “If that's what you want. We can still do that. I hope we haven't disappointed you so far.” He lowered his gaze. Infinity awaited. Eventually. But for now... Eaytke grinned. He reached from deep within and laid his will upon the fabric of space/time, twisting and opening a localized wormhole. Then he stepped through to join his family at dinner. -finis-
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