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“Star Trek: Birthright"
Rating: PG-13 Mess Hall Enterprise 9 April 07:10 UTC
Three Days Before Launch
His service record left no doubt that Major Jeremy Hayes was a young man, stated without equivocation in fact that he was just shy of his thirty-seventh birthday. Despite that, for some reason or another Malcolm Reed still expected someone older. Older of spirit perhaps, a battle hardened war hero, or the nearest equivalent for a society that hadn't faced full scale war in nearly a century. Hayes appeared to be a by-the-book soldier, the no-nonsense type the on-duty Reed preferred. Still, he couldn't help being disappointed, and he wasn't sure why. "Eat up, Lieutenant. Busy day ahead." Hayes set his fork down with finality and downed his third glass of water. Reed nodded absently, finished his juice and stood, leaving his eggs barely touched. "I'll make up for it at lunch." "We're working through lunch. Grab a muffin, let's go." Reed gathered his tray and the Major's to deposit in the reclamation area. There he found Commander Tucker doing the same with a pair of his own. The biting comment that came to Reed's mind, he suppressed. Excellent selection today, sir. What will you prepare for dinner? When they'd briefly met months ago, the two had gotten along well despite obvious cultural differences and Tucker's disregard of all but the most basic of military protocol. But he honored the chain of command, and that counted for something in Reed's reckoning. As fellow department heads, they might have developed a friendship on Enterprise, but since Tucker's assignment to XO, that simply wasn't feasible. "Commander," he said. "Morning, Lieutenant," Tucker returned. "Let me answer the question before you ask it: No, I did not cook breakfast this morning. No, I won't be cooking lunch. And I'm pretty certain I won't be cooking dinner either. Honestly, you help out once, and you're persecuted for life." Reed blinked. Was Tucker prescient? Ever so subtly, he took a step back. "I'd hardly call one day life, sir." "Don't start with me. It's not even eight o'clock, and three people have already asked that damn question." Ah, not prescient. Of course, not. What was I thinking? "I assure you, sir, if I'd mentioned yesterday's incident, it would have been to compliment you." Oh, hell, why not? "It was..." and at this he allowed the barest hint of a smile to curl his lip "...jolly, jolly good." Tucker grinned, said "Aw, shucks, Loo-tenant. Yer embarassin' me." "Good day, sir." "Good day, Lieutenant."
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Sato's Office Linguistics 08:20 UTC
As a diversion, Sato Hoshi created curse words and exchanged them anonymously with other linguists on the net. BasilBernstein001 has posted a new list earlier this morning using Denobulan cognate stems. Impressive, but Hoshi's best results combined Anglo Saxon with ancient Vulcan. She had gone through her entire arsenal during the past hour. Six years spent building a first rate linguistic library all for naught because the computer either refused to accept her files or displayed them incorrectly! Propriety file extensions, amateurish fonts without the proper diacritical marks--the computer wasn't even set up to read right to left. Would she have to work the entire mission using only her padd? "Motherf--" Her doorbell chimed. A breath, deep and cleansing. A second. "Come in." The door slid open, and in stepped the Vulcan liaison. Excellent. Hoshi raised her left hand and with a practiced ease split the fingers into a V. " Dif-tor heh smusma, fosh-dutar T'Pol." She reciprocated. "Sochya eh dif. Lieutenant Sato, I presume." "You presume correctly." Hoshi wore a dark pantsuit, having not yet received her uniforms from the quartermaster. "Sit. To what do I owe...this visit?" She almost said "the pleasure of this visit," but caught herself. "Captain Archer has requested that I assist you in drafting this vessel's first contact protocols," T'Pol said. "I am here in fulfillment of that request." "First contact, first contact..." Hoshi activated her terminal's messenger program. By default, messages from command level staff were anchored to the top of the message pane and sorted by rank. This left the captain's messages right under a single congratulatory missive from an Admiral. She deleted it. "First contact..." Half a dozen of the captain's were marked with the header "ORDERS:" To her irritation, one was marked "ODRERS:" Ah, here we are. Issued yesterday. "I need general first contact protocols on my desk before we launch. Nothing too specific. Cover the basics. Our Vulcan has experience in the area. (Search the database for "Endani.") I'm sending her to help." "All right, T'Pol," Hoshi said. "Let's get started.
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Engine Room 08:22 UTC
Once they were underway, Trip had Hess scheduled for a shift that intersected his own by two hours. Today, though, he had her on the early shift with him. At breakfast, she'd had the audacity to tease him about his cooking. He chalked it up to weariness from last night's emergency recalibration of the circuitry in G section; she'd apologized...but the cheek on that girl! Last night's repair session prevented his attending the captain's table. He had urged Jon to proceed with dinner and suggested Commander Matthews as his replacement. The scuttlebutt from Marcus was that the Captain made an appearance at dinner, but exited within ten minutes, taking his food to go and leaving T'Pol and Matthews alone for the rest of the meal, which all told lasted an additional five. Trip would have to reschedule the dinner for later this week. Tomorrow night perhaps. He would see to it that T'Pol received a proper welcome. XO responsibilities and all. That was the only reason. T'Pol could be married for all he knew--hell, she might have kids. He slid behind his desk and tried very hard to convince himself that was the only reason. Yeah, right. He opened her personnel file, found a list of close family members: Dradox, T'Les, T'Pau. A husband and two daughters, perhaps. Were any of those names even male? Why didn't the file specify which--? A chime and the door opened. Oh hell. "Hiya, Chuckles." "Amanda." She made certain the door was shut before she said, "Long time no see, lover."
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Linguistics 11:00 UTC
For longer than two back-to-back Tuesday/Thursday classes, Hoshi took notes as T'Pol, from memory, summarized Vulcan first contact protocol. When at last the linguist had all she could take, she held up a hand. "That's enough for now." She stared at her terminal, at rules upon rules upon rules, eighteen pages in all with far more detail than Archer had requested. She would need to rework much of it to suit human temperament and the goals of the Terran space program, and Hoshi had a few thoughts she'd like to inject as well. The "send in a probe first" approach she liked, and she suspected UESPA would as well. The expense would be a drawback though. Hoshi leaned back in her chair, cracked her neck, stretched her back. Then stood and discarded her blazer. "Thirsty? I have chamomile tea and papaya juice. The beverage dispensers in these offices are only big enough for two selections." "Tea would be acceptable." She set a glass in front of T'Pol and took a sip from her own. "So, tell me about yourself." T'Pol hesitated a moment. The pause was significant. A reluctance to reveal information. Was it personal information she did not wish to reveal or professional. Maybe--no, draw no conclusions until you have more information. "Following my education," T'Pol said, "I served in the Vulcan Defense Force for the term required of all able-bodied Vulcans." "How long is that?" Another pause. Interesting. "Twenty years. I rose to the rank of Subcommander before my term expired." "You chose not to reenlist." "I...chose not to." Careful not to push too hard. "Were you eligible?" Why did I ask that? "Ot-lan, ken-tor kominh bolau kup-tar-tor awek faik--" Too far. If she's rattled enough to slip into her native language, definitely too far. "I apologize, Consul." Get her to speak English again. You could learn more if she spoke Vulcan, but afterwards she would shut off permanently. "My training sometimes leads me to probe too deeply, even in friendly conversation. I meant no offense." Direct the conversation elsewhere. "My education is primarily in sociolinguistics and pragmatics. Are you familiar with the fiends?" T'Pol said, "I am not." "It means I am very good at discerning the meaning behind spoken words." At T'Pol's raised eyebrow, Hoshi amended, "It works best of course when the speaker is using his native language. I could tell you, for instance, that our first officer is less stereotypically Southern than he would like us to believe." "He is being deceptive, then?" "Deceptive is too strong a word." Hoshi drained the last of the tea from her cup. It needed more sugar. "I've no doubt that Commander Tucker is from the South. Pragmatics tells me so. It's next to impossible to hide all traces of that accent from a trained ear, and he's not even trying. In fact, his accent is too pronounced, as if at one point he trained himself to speak without the accent and now he's faking it." She set the cup down. "But why? What societal pressures or expectations is he following--or challenging? Sociolinguistics will answer that. I could share my findings...if you're interested." "That would be most inappropriate." "Perhaps," Hoshi said. "Still if you change your mind..." "I will not." "Back to work then."
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Engine Room 08:23 UTC
"Are you surprised to see me?" Amanda said. "Shouldn't the XO--congrats by the way. Shouldn't you know who's stationed on your ship?" "I didn't think to check the crew manifest for old girlfriends." "Girlfriend?" "You know what I mean." "I know what you wanted." "Amanda..." Trip's eyes traveled to her chest. "Corporal Cole--" She thrust out her chest. "What are you looking at, as if I didn't know?" "Y-Your rank patch. I see you haven't been promoted yet. Wonder why." "You're one to talk about promotions. Think they'll let you keep that third pop solid this time?" Trip exhaled loudly. "Why are you here, Corporal?" "Maybe I missed our verbal foreplay." "Cole--" "Or maybe Major Hayes sent me here to present a requisition list to the XO." Trip looked her up and down. "You don't have a padd." "I said 'maybe.'" From her pocket, she pulled a device roughly half the size of a padd and tossed it to him. "Marines use these now. I'll need it back after you've downloaded the data." Trip located the data port, plugged it into his terminal, nodded. "Why send you? Does he know--does anybody on board know about us?" "I don't kiss and tell," she said. "Thumb print sign if you approve." "You're not exactly known for your discretion." He pressed his thumb onto the screen and tossed the mini-padd back. "I promise I won't ruin your career, Chuckles, and I'm not looking to rekindle anything. Though you have to admit those two weeks in Key Largo we sizzled. The week after you graduated OCS too. And the weekend before the Andrew Cunningham shipped out." She laughed. "Relax. I'm just busting your balls. My aunt says hello, by the way." "Yeah, tell her hey." "Will do." The mirth vanished from Amanda's face as she struck a rigid pose, hand rising to her brow in salute. "If that will be all, Commander." "That'll be all." A pause. "Oh, dismissed." He watched her leave, the picture of military sharpness, and realized with more than a little annoyance he had no idea what he had just signed. His eyes scanned the data he had downloaded. "Oh hell. Cole!" He set off in pursuit.
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Weapons 08:29
Major Hayes flipped open his Agency-issued communicator. The Marine earpieces were easily enough integrated into the onboard comm system, but the brass were dragging their heels approving them. "Hayes," the major said. "We're a go, sir." "Acknowledged, Corporal. Good job." Correction: the earpieces had just been approved courtesy of Commander Tucker. The earpieces, and a few other things. "What did she mean by that, sir? What's a go?" The voice was Lieutenant Reed's. He was able to ask his question because he'd heard the call over the major's communicator. Damn things were set to speaker function automatically. Hayes dropped the communicator and before it struck the deck his fist struck Reed on the chin. Reed crumpled, and Hayes knelt to check his vitals. "Tour's over, Lieutenant." Hayes retrieved an earpiece from his pocket, slipped it over his ear, and tapped it to activate it. He heard static until the connection had been established. "All teams, get into position." Apes won't know what hit them. He stood and was checking his sidearm when he felt a hand at his ankle. The Brit had more fight than he credited him with. Don't waste time with a retort, EllTee. Just strike. "Already?" Reed said. "A pity. We were coming to the best part." At least that was what Hayes assumed Reed would have said. A dart from Hayes's gun rendered the lieutenant unconscious before he could complete his statement. Hayes flipped Reed over and tied his hands with a plastic cord. Recalling a favored quote, Hayes said. "I do not envy you the headache you will have when you wake. Sleep well and dream of large women." Then he chambered another round.
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Bridge 08:31 UTC
To test short-range sensors, Lieutenant Commander Matthews directed them toward Manhattan, Montana, a small town that because of its proximity to Bozeman benefited from that city's sophisticated sensor cloak. It also happened to be his wife's hometown and current location since she'd taken the kids there for an extended visit with her parents. Greg didn't expect he could detect their house from spacedock. Still he had to direct the sensors somewhere, and getting through that cloak was a challenge. That challenge would have to wait. Greg's screen went black. Judging by the murmurs coming from the other bridge stations, his wasn't the only screen down. "Let's get a repair crew up here. Yeoman, contact..." His voice trailed off. The blank screen was no loner blank. On it appeared a logo featuring a stylized shark and emblazoned with the words "UES Marines" and "Macos." Hayes's squad. The door opened, and the three who entered wore Marine BDUs. Greg stood. "What the hell?"
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Bridge 08:33 UTC
Gunnery Sergeant Carlos Tudyk loomed over the bound forms of the on-duty bridge crew, chagrined that one of them, Commander Matthews, was the vessel's third-in-command. At least the captain was safely ensconced under guard in the ready room. Standard Operating Procedure called for hauling out and depositing him with the others, but the gunny doubted he could steady his nerves while holding a gun, even a dart gun, on the CO. This deviation from SOP was justified, though, since segregating the captain ensured his officers wouldn't try anything. "This is Tudyk," the gunny said, tapping his earpiece. "Bridge is secure." ╠╦╩╦╣╠╦╩╦╣╠╦╩╦╣
Weapons 08:34 UTC
A sergeant, his voice distorted by its conveyance through the comm system, said, "Engine room secure." Another voice: "Armories one and three secure." And another: "Armory two and four secure." "Acknowledged," Major Hayes said. "Perkins, Weapons is yours. Barker, Watson, you're with me." The named Marines fell into step beside the major and escorted him to the bridge where he parted from their company and proceeded to the ready room. Inside he found the captain leafing through an astronomy text and his guard standing at attention with sidearm holstered. When the door had closed, Hayes too snapped to attention. Archer wheeled around. "I'm waiting for an explanation, Major." "Five minutes, Captain." "No, Major. Now." "What I mean, sir," Hayes said, "Is that within five minute my men infiltrated your computer system and secured all vital areas on your ship. As of this moment we are in control." A tense moment as Archer fought to maintain his composure, then, "Is this...drill over?" At the major's nod, Archer hit the intercom. "Yeoman, patch me into Weapons and Engine Control." "This is Corporal Callahan, sir," came the reply. "I can fulfill your request." Hayes spoke up. "Securing communications was a vital objective. I'll have your yeoman released immediately." "How about having all my people released? And restoring control of my computers?" "Of course, sir." Hayes tapped his earphone and relayed the orders. Noting the earphone, Archer said, "I don't recall authorizing those." "Commander Tucker did, sir." A pause. "Unintentionally." "Explain." He did, and Archer cursed.
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Conference Room 10:15 UTC
"In three minutes--" "It was five." "Excuse me, Commander?" "Nothing, Admiral." Archer groaned inwardly. Admiral Forrest's eyes were as cold as his voice; Trip should have known better than to speak. Given a few hours more, the engineer would gradually have abated, but it and his frustration were still open, throbbing wounds. Archer had seen it in the man's eyes when they met the Admiral at the airlock. It had remained there during the deathly quiet walk to the conference room, and it remained still. Forrest must surely have noticed it also, but was evidently in too foul a mood himself to care. Again, Trip reminded Archer of his dad, the brave scientist who kowtowed to no one. Henry had stood up to this very Admiral a time or two. But, unlike Henry, Trip had a military career to consider. Forrest continued, "In three minutes, Earth's brand new state-of-the-art flagship was taken, its computer systems commandeered by a virus installed by one of its command staff." He glared at Trip, daring him to speak. Wisely, the engineer bit his tongue. "Nice touch that, Major," Forrest said. Yesterday morning Archer had conducted his first departmental briefing in this room. Today his people were being chewed here out like first year cadets. His baser half was grateful to avoid the brunt of the tongue lashing, but his higher self, his officer self, his Archer self resolved to step into the metaphorical line of fire if Forrest did not switch targets. His people's actions were his responsibility. "So far," Forrest said, "we've been treating space exploration like it's one giant field trip. It's dangerous, but we've got our permission slips signed, so everything's going to be all right. Problems, when detected, are easily fixed. Stray meteoroids call for thicker hull plating. Faulty machinery for better designs. Human error for better people." At this, he skewered Tucker with another glance. Then he plowed on before Archer had time to make good on his vow. "Some problems have no easy solutions. "No longer do we describe ourselves as 'peoples of the earth.' Despite our differences, we are united. We have eliminated war and poverty from our planet. The few conflicts we do have are colonial disputes. The future looks bright, but it takes a lot of polish to maintain that shine. We settle our conflicts diplomatically, sacrificing our lives rather than taking up arms against our fellow humans." Was Forrest practicing a speech? Without realizing, Archer crossed his arms. He would have preferred hearing the Admiral rant. "Every time Earth has employed arms these past five decades it's been the Marines who have done it. On land. We've run sims, we've run drills, but never once has UESPA engaged in ship-to-ship combat. The farther we get from home, the more likely that scenario is to play out. We're headed into hostile waters. You all have access to the Vulcan database. There are races catalogued there that will fire on us with little or no provocation. It is the belief of Fleet Command that members of one such race attacked Palmyra one week ago today." "Have the Vulcans confirmed that, sir?" Archer said. "That question is best asked in private, Captain." "These are my best people. I trust every one of them." "But the Vulcans don't trust us," Trip said. "Not completely. It's okay, Captain. I'm sure the answer is beyond our clearance level for a reason." Trip's mask of good humor was back in place, but Archer could still detect a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Forrest said, "Actually, Commander, as Executive Officer you have the proper clearance." "Hmm. I'm still XO. What do you know?" "Trip," Archer said. "Sorry, sir." Forrest heaved a sigh and raised his voice to address the room. "No one planetside knows this drill happened, and it would be bad for morale if they did. I need not remind you that you are forbidden to speak about it to family, friends, and especially the press under penalty of court-martial. A security blackout is in effect thanks to Major Hayes. The blackout will be lifted within two hours. You are to relay this directive and its penalties to your subordinates before then. If this gets out, I will hold everyone in this room responsible. Captain Archer and Commander Tucker, please remain. The rest of you are dismissed." As his staff filed out, Archer noticed Lieutenant Reed raising the icepack he'd kept hidden beneath the table during the debriefing back to his face. The swelling would be awful by the time of the deployment ceremony. Nothing to be done for it except to send him to MedBay and give Phlox his first patient. Reed would have to settle on a cover story--Archer was thinking bar fight or training accident--or hide himself away during the ceremony. Trip sipped on a tumbler of water while Forrest consulted a padd. The silence drew on, until at last Forrest nodded to himself and powered down the padd. "Let's drop the military formality for now. Tucker, that was a damn stupid thing you did." "Cole is a Marine, sir. She's on our side." "She might have been compromised, or her equipment might have been sabotaged. You had no way of knowing." "I know her," Trip said. "Least I thought I did." "Is there something going on between the two of you?" "No." "Tucker?" Trip sighed. "We grew up in the same city. I met her in high school. I know her family. That's all." "All that makes her a prime target to subvert. It would be a sound tactic, getting to a command officer through an old...friend." Forrest didn't let Trip respond. "You're a hell of an engineer, with a hell of a mind. Use that mind to realize how thin the ice you're standing on is. We cannot have another incident. We do, and you're out of here. As in, off this ship. Behind a desk back in Bozeman." "Sir," Archer said. "Your influence only goes so far, Jon." "It goes higher than you." "Captain!" The voice was Trip's, as was the look that said, Thanks for what you're trying to do, but for the love of God shut up. "I understand, Admiral. It won't happen again." "See that it doesn't," Forrest said. "Your mission has become far more militaristic than we planned. Should the captain be incapacitated, your decisions will affect not only every life on this ship, but potentially every life on Earth. I don't want to lose you, Tucker, but I have to know I can rely on you to make such decisions. Tell me now, all cards on the table: can I rely on you?" Trip sobered up. "On my life, Admiral, you can." Forrest nodded, powered up his padd and slid it between the captain and his second. Both gasped. "Yes, gentlemen," Forrest said, "you're getting nukes. Pray God you won't need them."
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Ready Room 11:10 UTC
"It was my fault, Trip. Forrest knows that." "You're an Archer. Nothing is your fault. I shouldn't have gone along with you, and I don't blame you. So, let's drop it, okay?" "Okay." Archer leaned back in his chair. "About dinner tonight..." Trip shook his head. "After Hayes disrupted my Engine Room for two hours, dinner is the last thing on my mind." He fluffed up the bed's single pillow and leaned back against it. "You need an extra chair in here." "I can't eat with the Vulcan again without proper backup." "From what I hear, you didn't eat with her the first time. What? I have my sources." "So your uncle is a chef and a gossip," Archer said. "Half the crew is doubling up duties. Why not him?" Archer smiled. "At least he isn't tripling up. What's on the menu for tomorrow?" "Don't you start." "Be at dinner, and I won't have to." "What do you have against her?" Trip said. "That she's Vulcan?" "I don't know how to act around them. On duty I'm fine, but off--how do you socialize with someone who never cracks a smile?" "I bet your linguist could help with that. How about inviting her?" "Hoshi's been with T'Pol all morning," Archer said. "How about Reed?" "He's not up for it. Hayes practically broke his jaw." "Damn, those Maco boys play for keeps." Trip cracked his neck and Archer made a face. "Anyway," Trip said, "I haven't even invited her yet." "Well, do it." "Fine, I'll stop by her office." "She's probably still at Hoshi's." "Is that why Sato wasn't at Forrest's bore and grill?" "Careful, and yes. T'Pol's office is technically a Vulcan consulate, and they have to approve any military ops within two clicks of their soil. When the Marines went to clear it with her, she told them where she'd be." "So, you knew?" Archer shook his head. "Found out after the fact. They're probably still there if you want to get that invite out of the way." "Nah, I'll just message her." "Trip..." "I'll do it, I promise. But I ain't stopping by. If there's one thing my momma taught me, it's that a gentleman never interrupts girl talk." "Even interspecies girl talk?" "Especially interspecies girl talk."
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Captain's Mess 18:00 UTC
Fork in hand, Trip wondered what T'Pol would think of his selecting the vegetarian meal. A human woman--Sato for instance who sat to his left--might analyze his motive. Was he trying to impress T'Pol? Or being considerate of her distaste for meat? Some human vegetarians found even the smell of meat unpleasant. The same might be true of Vulcans. Maybe he was unintentionally extending her a diplomatic courtesy. Sato had also selected the vegetarian dish, and Trip figured that was her reasoning. This left Archer the odd man out as the only meat-eater at tonight's dinner, but the captain, happily munching on his steak, seemed unfazed. Eyeing the steak, Trip sighed to himself. Only twelve hours until Saturday morning sausage and eggs. Archer was setting down his fork. Time to amp up the conversation, or the captain would bring this meal to a close. "So, Captain..." What the hell could Trip ask him? How's your dad? Too private. How about those nukes? Too classified. Have you seen the new alien doc? Quirky fellow, ain't he? Too racist. And in front of the only other non-Terran on board. Bad idea. At last, "Repairs are coming along nicely. All evidence of the Marines' little stunt should be gone by tomorrow morning." Archer frowned. "There was damage?" "Some. My people put up a fight. Took out fifteen plasma relays and were on the verge of destabilizing a couple of the warp coils when Hayes's men subdued them." "You call that some damage." "Sure," Trip said. "I staffed my department with the best--well, the best that the W-5 Complex was willing to part with, anyway. They took out exactly the right systems to expedite our repairs and stymie anyone else's. With the shortcuts I taught them...like I said, we'll have everything fixed by tomorrow morning, well before launch time." Hoshi stifled a laugh. Archer raised an eyebrow. "What?" she said. "Tomorrow morning. Before launch time. It was funny." "I'll take your word on that," Archer said. Glancing at the chronometer on the wall, he said, "It's getting late--" "I'm curious, T'Pol..." Trip said, then paused unsure how to continue. His focus was off tonight. "That trait seems to be common among your species," T'Pol said. Hastily, she amended, "It is an admirable trait when employed in moderation." Archer grinned broadly. "I don't think Trip was finished, T'Pol." "No problem," Trip said. "Good advice is worth being interrupted for. Not that you interrupted me, T'Pol. I paused. So, it's...my...fault." You're rambling. "As I was saying, I'm curious about Vulcan humor. I assume you have it." T'Pol inclined her head. It was not exactly a nod. "Indeed. One does not need an emotional impetus to appreciate a clever phrase. Vulcan children create puns to aid development of their language skills." Ignoring the fact that he had just been compared to a child, Trip seized upon the opportunity given him. "Do you have children, Consol?" He thought switching to her title would make the question seem less personal. "I have none," she said. Useful information. Could he press her further without seeming to pry? So, are you married? God in heaven! Dial down the libido. This dinner was about fostering good relations between their governments, not fueling his fantasy life. "And you, Commander?" T'Pol said. "Me? No, no kids. I'm not married. Haven't even had a decent relationship in...that is, no, no kids." "Did you know, Consul," Sato said, "that puns are at the heart--I'm sorry, the core of Japanese humor?" "You need not apologize, Lieutenant. Human languages are replete with emotional terminology." She spared a glance at Trip. "French, I am told, is called the language of love." She turned back to Sato. "Yet it also a language of science and education. Tell me more of your people's humor." Trip heard the gentle whoosh of the door opening and looked up in time to catch Archer's exit. He sighed. The Captain had loosened up a bit. That was something. Trip speared a cherry tomato with his fork and took a bite. Time to learn a thing or two about Japanese humor. When he turned his attention back to the ladies, he was unnerved to find them both looking at him in silence. They averted their eyes and resumed their conversation after a moment, and Trip chalked it up to one of those weird happenstances that befuddle the male mind. Still, he wondered if he had missed something. Minutes later, after deciding that his primary goal had been accomplished and that any attempt to further his secondary goal of learning more about T'Pol would make him look foolish, he excused himself. A cup of coffee, a visit to the Engine Room, and then off to bed.
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"You know," Hoshi said, "I think he likes you." "I did not know," T'Pol said, "though I suspected. It is not an unwelcome development." "Oh, really?" "Yes, it will make working together more tolerable." "Or complicate it immeasurably," Hoshi said with a hint of a grin. Interpersonal relationships had a language all their own. Not as precise as spoken language, but often far more honest. This could get very interesting. "Out of curiosity, T'Pol, have you married yet?"
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Bridge 18:20 UTC
Reed found himself wishing he'd attended mass with his parents like he'd promised. Had he, he might not feel guilty about praying again. Okay, he would still feel guilty since he was praying for his three senior officers to be temporarily incapacitated. Were he in command, he could legally order Major Hayes to sod off. According to the brochures, UESPA was not the military. Yet it still utilized a traditional military rank structure, and according to that structure, Marine Majors outranked Agency Lieutenants. Though Reed was fourth in command of the ship, Hayes was the fourth highest ranking officer onboard. If he acquired shipboard certification, the next step was dual rank, and, after that, integration into the chain of command. Should any of the other six lieutenants on board receive a promotion for meritorious service and be advanced ahead of Reed, it would not match the blow to his ego of losing to his position to someone who already outranked him. Why? Because the bastard punched you in the jaw. Reed pressed the icepack to his face. Another hour until his relief arrived, and then a good strong belt of liquor and the bottle of pain pills the doctor had prescribed awaited him in his quarters. He had resisted taking any while on duty. When the door opened, Reed's hand moved to the wireless taser holstered at his side. His hand drifted away when he saw Captain Archer step off the lift. Reed stood and greeted the captain when he reached the command chair. "Lieutenant, how's the jaw?" "Fine, sir." "Doesn't look it," Archer said. "Take the rest of the watch off. I'll take over here." "Are you certain, sir?" "Absolutely. I'm waiting on a transmission from earth." With a nod and as much of a status report as the captain allowed him to offer with a swollen jaw, Reed took his leave. At the lift door, he turned back and watched Archer settle in. Captain's in his chair, he mused, all's right with the ship.
TBC
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