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"The Logic of Emotion" by Lady Rainbow Rating: PG-13 The plot thickens as Trip gets into the intrigue surrounding Harris’s claims. Can you guess who his “mystery friend” is in the pub? (Hint: It’s not Malcolm, but another character. I’ll reveal it in the next chapter.) Six “Harris?” Malcolm raised his voice slightly and arched one sardonic eyebrow. “Captain Mark Harris? White hair, blue eyes, smooth talker, obnoxiously polite?” Trip stared at him. So did everyone else; Hoshi, in particular, looked concerned at the change in the doctor’s demeanor. “You know him?” “He was interested in certain elements of Vulcan biology and physiology that are rather...delicate. Harris doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.” Malcolm’s eyes drifted over to T’Pol, who was studying the depths of her tea cup. Trip felt a sudden surge of anger for T’Pol’s sake. What kind of slimy creep would—? “Sounds about right,” Jon commented dryly, breaking into Trip’s dark mood. “I saw him at the Consulate several times after the ‘incident’ with T’Saiya, then he disappeared for a while before coming right back. I think Soval actually threw him out. Picked him up by the collar and dumped him on his ass. Another time, Soval tried to prevent him from falling into San Francisco Bay, but wasn’t successful.” Trip suddenly laughed at the mental image. “Soval threw him out twice? Once in the Bay? Oh, man, I wish I would’ve seen that!” Jon shrugged and corrected, “The second time was kind of an accident, but I don’t think he was trying too hard to save Harris from floundering in the water. Most Vulcans dislike the water, you know.” T’Pol spoke up, “I believe Soval termed it as ‘poetic justice’.” There was laughter all around, then a cheerful voice interrupted, “I do enjoy hearing my crewmates in a wonderful mood. May I join your little gathering, Lieutenant Commander?” “Hi, Phlox.” Trip waved the last member of the Enterprise’s senior staff into the room, which by now was rather crowded. The Denobulan engineer shook his head as Hoshi offered him her seat. “I believe the greeting is ‘happy birthday’,” Phlox said as he handed Trip a wrapped package. “This is for you.” “Thanks.” Trip unwrapped the paper to reveal a long, rectangular wooden box. He unlatched the top and peered inside. “What the—? Where’d you get this?” “What is it?” Travis asked as he looked over Trip’s shoulder. The Armory Officer lifted out what looked like an oddly-shaped shotgun. It was single-barreled, its stock made of some exotic wood. Trip sighted down the barrel with an expert eye and whistled in delight. T’Pol glanced at Phlox with an expression of disapproval. “You gave him a weapon?” “It’s a part of Denobulan history, Ensign. That is a Mystakae, used by the infantry about two hundred years ago. The firing mechanism has been disabled. My third great-grandsire used it during his service. Lieutenant Commander, if you examine the underside, you’ll see Denobulan script there. It forms his name and the name of his unit.” “I’m honored that you’d give this to me, Phlox. Thank you.” The engineer chuckled and traded smiles with Hoshi. “You have no idea how difficult it is to bring a weapon on board without the Armory Officer’s knowledge, but Captain Sato knew about it.” “Thanks. I’ll take good care of it.” And Trip laid the Mystakae back into its box and placed it in a spot of honor close to his other birthday gifts. “You’re just in time to hear the interestin’ part of my story ‘bout my first meetin’ with Jon Archer and Ambassador Soval. I’d been assigned to the Consulate and within a week of bein’ there, I was already gettin’ into trouble...” March 17, 2145 Vulcan Consulate, San Francisco News of T’Saiya’s “attack” spread over the Consulate faster than an impulse engine gone ballistic. Although Captain Ramirez had taken Trip off the duty roster for the day, people found excuses to drop by his quarters. Most of the Security detachment came by to check on him, as well as some Vulcan residents of the Consulate. Trip didn’t mind; he was the warm, congenial Southern gentleman. He chatted with his visitors, asked about their histories, shared some Vulcan spice tea and non-alcoholic drinks. By the late afternoon, he’d formed a good idea of where most of the personnel stood as far as Human/Vulcan relations went. He and Kemper went down to the Dining Hall for dinner. Neither wore their uniforms, but civilian clothes, and Trip picked the middle of the room, where no one could miss them. “Hi there, Corporal,” said a man dressed in a MACO uniform. He was tall and dark-haired, with dark blue eyes. “Mind if I sit here with you two?” “Sure,” Kemper replied. “Corporal Lee Doumaides, Ensign Charles Tucker. Newest security guy assigned. Barely a week here.” “Pleased to meet you, Ensign,” said Doumaides, as he sat next to Trip. “Barely a week, huh? You’ve already made the grapevine, with what happened yesterday. Not many of us get flattened by a rabid Vulcan.” Trip raised his eyebrows at his words. “She was sick, not rabid. They said she’s getting the best medical attention possible.” Doumaides nodded at the correction. “I’m glad to hear that, Ensign. You aren’t hurt?” He chuckled and waved his fork. “All in one piece, appetite and all. Look, I just wanna forget about the whole thing, okay?” “Sure.” The three of them ate in companionable silence for a little while, then Doumaides said, “Hey, since you’re new to the Consulate and San Francisco, how about you and Kemper join us for a nightcap? Say, twenty-hundred hours? I know an out-of-the-way place where the Starfleet Security contingent hangs out.” “Sounds good,” Trip replied in a casual tone. “I’m tired of restin’. It’ll be good to get out for a bit.” Doumaides chuckled and said, “Yeah, we’ve all endured the trials at the hands of the Vulcan Healers. Sometimes, you just gotta get away and enjoy the hometown haunts. How ‘bout I come by and pick you up at nineteen-hundred and I’ll show you around.” “Thanks, Corporal. I’d sure appreciate that.” “Call me Lee. Everyone does.” He smiled at Kemper. “Ask Nate over here about the time I nearly got eaten by someone’s pet sehlat. It’s one hell of a story. See you in an hour.” After Lee left, Kemper gave Trip a look of amusement. “You know, sir, you’d make a great secret agent. Lee’s already extended you an invitation at the first meeting. It took me several weeks before he took me out for a drink.” Trip only shrugged. “You gotta know how to approach ‘em, Nate.” The “out-of-the-way place” was a little bar near the waterfront called “O’Charley’s”. It was meant to be an Irish pub, with real beer taps and genuine pub grub. Trip had been in several pubs in Ireland with his brother-in-law; he knew what the real thing was supposed to be like. Unfortunately, this wasn’t it. “This is god-awful,” he whispered to Doumaides. “You guys hang out here? It’s worse than a Saint Patty’s Day mock-up.” Doumaides chuckled and shrugged as he said, “That’s the point. No one bothers us here. Think of it like some kind of gentleman’s club for people like us.” “‘People like us’?” “Look around you. You don’t see any ‘Greenies’ or ‘Blueys’ here, do you?” Trip forced himself not to react to the offhand nicknames. “Greenies” were Vulcans; “Blueys” were Andorians. He scanned around to find that Doumaides was right. Every patron was Human, and one in particular caught his eye. The man was dark-haired, broad-shouldered, with the demeanor of a professional soldier. He caught Trip’s scrutiny and raised his mug in salute. Trip noticed the man’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Who’s that guy?” Trip whispered. “Ah..he comes now and then, when his ship’s in port. He used to be an engineer; now he’s first officer on a support ship somewhere. The brass got pissed at him when he slugged some Andorians at Jupiter Station and stuck him where he wouldn’t be an embarrassment. Sharp as a whip, though, and speaks a lot with his fists. Good guy to have at your side.” “Former engineer, huh?” Trip said casually. “Mind if I go over and chat with him?” “Go right ahead. I’ll keep the stool warm for you.” Trip approached the officer, whose green eyes flickered with interest. Wordlessly, he gestured to the chair opposite him and Trip took the offered seat. Trip noticed a bottle of whiskey on the table and two glasses. If the guy was planning on drinking himself to oblivion, he wasn’t doing a good job of it. The level of alcohol was still at the neck of the bottle. “You expectin’ anyone?” The officer shrugged. “Nah. You’ll do. Wanna drink? I’ll pour.” “Sure.” Trip watched him as he poured the whiskey into the glasses. He would have been handsome, if his mouth wasn’t turned down at the corners. Trip thought of his mother saying, “Don’t scowl like that; your face will freeze that way.” This man’s face was permanently frozen. “Heard you got attacked by a crazy Vulcan,” he said. “You all right?” Trip gave him an annoyed look. “Everyone keeps askin’ me that. I’m fine.” “Just checking. Guys over here tend to be overprotective of their buddies, especially when one of their own gets hurt.” The man shrugged again and added, “I can understand the sentiment.” Trip noticed the changes over the man’s face and thought, Okay, this man is pretty protective of the ones under his command. Lee said he was a first officer. You don’t reach that rank without some smarts or a lot of help. Seems like a decent sort, except Lee said he doesn’t like Andorians. “Lee told me you were an engineer. I’ve got some interest in that area. What’d you do in your previous life?” “You mean before I got tangled with the Andorians?” A note of bitterness crept into his tone. “Warp mechanics, mostly. I was a junior engineer on the Shenandoah.” “The Shenandoah? My brother was a consultant on their ship design.” The man grinned and Trip was startled at the transformation. “No kidding. Did a damn good job of it, too. In fact—“ That was the start of an enjoyable hour of talking about all kinds of engineering and security protocols. For a man who had been “an embarrassment” to Starfleet, he knew his business. When he’d started to lose Trip in an explanation, he didn’t hesitate to backtrack and rephrase it in words Trip understood. Again, Trip thought, Starfleet’s loss. This guy is brilliant. I could see him captaining his own ship someday, if he hadn’t gotten into trouble. Trip avoided mentioning the Andorians, but to his surprise, the man brought it up himself. “I’ve got myself a temper,” he admitted. “Now, I know I should know better, but their arrogance and their ignorance...it makes me want to wipe those smirks off their faces. They’re just as bad as the Vulcans, except they actually show it. I don’t know which on of the two is worse.” Trip hid his grimace under a gulp of whiskey. “Seems like there are some people who don’t care much for either one. Or anyone else, for that matter.” “Yeah, that’s why a bunch of ‘em have decided to take a stand. They want to protect what’s theirs. Not just in the Consulate, but all over San Francisco. Probably all over the planet. I’m not here a good bit of the time, so I don’t know much about ‘em, but I try to find out as much about ‘em as I can and keep in touch with the ones I’ve met.” He leaned forward, his green eyes intense. “If you want, I could share what I’ve got, if you’re so inclined.” Trip inclined his head, pretending to think it over. It was interesting that he’d referred to this group as “they” and “them” and not “we” and “us”. If this man was a member, he wouldn’t have talked about them in third-person. Which meant that there was more to him than people assumed. That, and the look in his eyes told Trip that he wasn’t as dumb as he seemed. “Deal. I’m interested.” Trip extended his hand and the man shook it. “Well, since it looks like we’ve got a partnership here, what’s your name? I think it’s rude to just say, ‘hey you’.” The grimace on his face melted into a genuine smile. “Call me Jeremiah.” |
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