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Are We There Yet?
Rating: PG Author’s note: Reading the bit about indicator signals having different meaning in different cultures in The Lerteiran Chronicles, sparked the idea for this story. Shades of that VOY episode where Tom Paris had to take remedial spacecraft driver’s education from an alien, also came to mind. And then, maybe the long reaching shadows of Ricky and Lucy Ricardo having an animated conversation colored my thoughts. Chapter One “A traffic ticket! On Vulcan?” Trip peered at the screen on the dashboard of the groundcraft camper, as if the squiggly characters would morph into Terran words just be staring at them. T’Pol silently read the rest of the voluminous fine print typical of Vulcan legal documents and turned to her mate. “You were under the impression that civilized Vulcans do not have traffic rules?” The edges of T’Pol’s mouth crinkled and she raised one elegant eyebrow. “Well, of course I figured all planets with roads had traffic rules! Even Klingons, I suppose. Uh, does this say to insert my credit card. Guess there is a fine, huh?” “Naturally.” “And points to tarnish on my shiny new Federation Interplanetary Ground and Low Flying Hovercraft Driver’s License?” “That would be only logical, would it not? Did you read the rule book that you had to take a test on? How did you pass the test without knowing traffic light colors on Andoria, Telar, and Vulcan? Or the words for stop and go in each of those languages? Or the road markings for no passing at this point?” “Okay, okay, I knew that I was not supposed to pass there, but Surak’s Butt, T’Pol, there are no other vehicles for a hundred miles around out here on this wilderness road accept that researcher who was just creeping along and stopping to examine every damn rock for nasty critters sleeping under it. He must have called in our license number.” “Please do not take the name of our revered planetary hero in vain. No, the researcher probably did not report the violation. He knew he did not have to. The road bed senses violations and reads license numbers.” “Hooray for Vulcan ingenuity.” Trip removed his credit card. “How much did that cost?” “Ten Vulcan credits and the bonding of your first born to a needy inmate of the Vulcan Academy for the Negatively Gifted.” “T’Pol!” “It was a joke, Trip.” T’Pol turned her head so Trip could not see her face crack out of its Vulcan placidity into a shadow of a smile. “Just ten credits. There is no Vulcan Academy for the Negatively Gifted.” She turned and gave Trip the once over with her eyes. “Yet.” “And how many points?” “I do not want to make you a nervous driver.” “How many?” “Only one out of the ten needed to revoke your license…on four worlds.” “Lovely. You mean I could drive a starship all over the known universe but possibly be banned from driving on all four Federation worlds?” “Five. Denoblia just joined the Federation. Perhaps six by the end of this month if Betazed finally decides to join. But you have nine points yet. It is not a situation to spend emotional energy on.” “You wanna drive now?” “No, you need the experience.” “Ya mean you wanna to keep YOUR shiny new license clean.” “Trip, I know how to drive on my home world. It is you who needs the practice. You need to learn patience with my people. That researcher was only being thorough about his work.” “Well he can take all the time he wants, he lives longer!” “Now THAT is a childish and illogical excuse.” Trip pressed down on the acceleration button. “Until we approach the tail pipe of the next plodding Vulcan researcher, we can make up for lost time. Say, what’s the speed limit here? Is there one?” “Pull over.” “No. You had your chance to drive. You declined.” “I said, PULL OVER.” “Okay, okay, T’Pol. You don’t have to get all emotional either. Maybe we should just stop for awhile.” “That is the most logical thing you have said all day. Thank you.” Trip sighed and punched deceleration, turned on his directional signal and steered onto one of the many paved resting sidings. He braked smoothly, not wishing to give T’Pol more grist for the angst mill, but also as not wake their baby daughter sleeping in her car seat. T’Pol unbuckled and without a word stepped over the sehlat and into the rear of their campercraft to check on the baby. She was asleep, so T’Pol opened the food compartment. “Do you wish some refreshment?” she asked, her back to Trip and an edge to her voice. The sehlat on the floor growled an affirmative. The Human in the driver’s seat maintained a stony silence. He lowered the seat back and pulled his ball cap down over his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Suit yourself,” clipped T’Pol, while tossing a hunk of processed sehlat nutriberry treat to the pet who deftly caught it and started chewing. She then set a square meal packet in the microwave and set the dial. “Tea?” “No.” “Coffee?” “No.” “Water?” No answer. “How about I toss you a well aimed hunk of nutriberry treat seasoned with Vulcan angst?” “T’Pol, just let me rest, okay? Then you can drive.” T’Pol took her meal and went to sit in the front passenger seat again. She ate slowly, watching Trip slumber. Glancing between what she could see of his face under the cap and back at her sleeping child, she felt at peace in spite of her irritation. This was supposed to be a vacation – fun, in Human description – seclusion, in Vulcan words. Well, it WAS a change from the normal workday schedule. If this vacation would refresh their lives when getting back to the workday schedule remained to be seen. Perhaps the rigors and angst of Human vacations served the purpose of making one glad to get back to the normal routine? Sometimes the logic of Human culture became clear only after slogging through the less pleasant aspects of it. Lizi-Les was stirring. Not wanting to waken Trip, T’Pol slipped between the seats and sat beside her daughter. The baby’s eyes were wide open but the awakened state had not seemed to register yet. T’Pol waited until the baby’s eyes shifted in her direction, then picked her up for a nursing session. Like all mothers, T’Pol had discovered that nursing had a calming intimacy that rivaled that of a good meditation session. |
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