First Light - Part 2-NC-17

First Light

by HopefulRomantic

Rating: PG-13 except for Chapter 6, which is rated NC-17 for sexual situations.
Disclaimer: see Part I.
Series Summary: The Reconnecting series is a reinterpretation of certain events of Season 4 that went AU shortly after “Home.” It focuses on the relationships of Trip and T’Pol and their extended family, and features characters introduced in Season 3, as well as original characters.

A/N: Batten down the hatches, naughty bits ahead! But they’re only in Chapter 6, so if this sort of thing isn’t your cup of tea, it’s easy enough to skip over. ;) Thanks to Mitchell for the inspiration.

Date: 12-14-06

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Part II (Chapters 5-8)

Chapter Five: Bethany

Bethany drew her knitted shawl more closely around her shoulders to ward off the chill as she headed up the dusty, deserted boardwalk of North Star’s Main Street toward the schoolhouse. Ahead to the east, the sky was beginning to lighten, turning from deep blue to rose, signaling the approaching sunrise.

Bethany searched the still-dark sky above. For what? A starship? Would she even see it from here? When she was aboard Archer’s ship Enterprise, looking down at her world, it had seemed impossibly far away. She found herself looking for a telltale glint anyway...a star that moved across the sky...

“Morning, Miss Bethany.” Sheriff MacReady emerged from his office as she passed, as he did each morning, and tipped his hat in gentlemanly salutation. “Walk you to the schoolhouse?”

“Thank you kindly, Sheriff,” Bethany smiled in reply, and they continued on together. It was more a comfortable ritual than a necessity nowadays; trouble rarely visited Bethany’s schoolhouse anymore. The parents who had objected to Skagarans being taught alongside humans had long since moved away, or pulled their children out of school. Uprisers had come in a steady stream at first, loudly decrying the town council’s new Tolerance Laws, aiming to disrupt Bethany’s class and shake her confidence with vandalism, threats, and calls for a new Uprising in the name of Cooper Smith. But Sheriff MacReady had unflinchingly arrested each Upriser as soon as they broke one of the new laws. His jail had been full to bursting for weeks.

Finally the hatemongers had seen the truth of things, and the excitement had died down. Word of North Star’s Tolerance Laws, as well as Sheriff MacReady’s reputation for stoutly upholding them, spread far and wide, and Skagaran families began immigrating to nearby Chanceville—formerly known as Skagtown—from half a dozen neighboring towns. Bethany’s class complement steadily grew, until the schoolroom was filled with children, both human and Skagaran, untainted by prejudice and eager to learn. When Bethany discovered that many of the Skagaran children went home each day and taught their parents what they had learned, she felt even more fulfilled.

She and the sheriff walked in companionable silence to the schoolhouse. Even after escorting her every day for the last six months, MacReady remained pretty tongue-tied around her—around all womenfolk, really, but especially Bethany. Perhaps it was because she was the teacher. Some men simply didn’t know how to act around an educated woman.

The sheriff hung back in the doorway as Bethany erased the blackboard. When she first began publicly teaching the Skagarans, MacReady would linger in the doorway during many a lesson, ostensibly to protect the children. Bethany suspected that he was secretly curious to learn what she was teaching—particularly the new lessons she based on the information she’d brought back from Archer’s ship, about the Time Away: Earth’s history of the last three centuries. Lately, though, his interest had faded, as had his hope that the Earth ship would return.

Bethany pulled out the padd that Archer had given her, tapping the touchscreen to call up the information she would need for the day’s lesson. Even though she’d quickly gotten comfortable using the little contraption, she still marveled at it—virtually an entire library accessible by the touch of her finger. She had no illusions that acclimating to Earth, the way Earth was now, would be so simple...but it was a beginning.

MacReady watched her write STARFLEET and ENTERPRISE on the blackboard. “Why do you keep teaching about them?” he asked. “It’s been over half a year, and we haven’t heard a thing from them.”

Bethany smiled to herself. They had the same conversation every month or so. She looked over her shoulder at him. “I saw Archer with his crew, Sheriff. His people respected him. I’d say he’s a man of his word. He told me they’d be back, and I believe him.”

MacReady tapped his boot heel on the wooden floor, and a fine layer of dust floated away from the well-worn leather. “Then why haven’t they come back?”

Bethany kept writing on the blackboard: ZEFRAM COCHRANE, WARP DRIVE. “They were at war, remember? It took almost three years for the humans to overthrow the Skagarans.”

MacReady frowned. “‘Humans,’ ‘Skagarans.’ I don’t rightly know why you put it that way...why you don’t say ‘us’ instead of ‘humans’.”

Bethany mentally berated herself for being so transparent. The sheriff wasn’t like most of the shoot-’em-up yahoos in town. If she wasn’t more careful, he’d figure out that she was more than just a Skagaran sympathizer—he’d realize that she had Skagaran blood running through her veins, and she was merely passing for human. She liked to think that it wouldn’t make much difference to MacReady if he were to find out, but a lifetime of ingrained prejudice wasn’t easy for anyone to overcome.

To the sheriff, she shrugged lightly. “That’s just teacher-talk. Presenting the two sides objectively keeps the children from developing prejudices. We’ve had enough of that, don’t you think?”

MacReady nodded with conviction. “Yes, ma’am.”

As Bethany turned away from the board, dusting the chalk off her hands, she saw doubt on the sheriff’s face. She put her hands on her hips. “You there in the back, near the door. Do you have something to contribute to the lesson today?”

MacReady folded his arms and studied her with a hint of what looked like concern. “You’re an optimist, Bethany. I can’t fault you for that. But I think you’ve set yourself up for disappointment.”

“Oh?” She crossed the schoolroom to stand before him. “Eight months ago, you were calling Skagarans ‘Skags.’ You still blamed them for something their distant ancestors did over two hundred years before you were born. And you thought Earth was a myth. But I never stopped hoping that your perspective would change. You didn’t disappoint me, Sheriff.”

MacReady gave her a wry grimace. “Getting shot by my own deputy aided my change of mind. Also seeing that the people who rushed to my aid there in the street were an alien and humans with guns that fired beams of light, just like the Skagarans used when they kidnapped our people.” He shrugged. “Things like that tend to persuade you mighty quick to rethink your point of view.”

“But you still don’t think Archer will come back?”

MacReady adjusted his hat, saying nothing, but his eyes were filled with skepticism. Bethany met his dark gaze with the calm of unshakable belief. “Why are you such a pessimist, Sheriff?”

He looked away, examining the toes of his boots for a long moment. Finally he murmured, “Maybe I just haven’t spent enough time with optimists.”

He’s the bravest man I know...and yet he’s afraid to hope. Gently, Bethany said, “We can fix that.”

MacReady looked up at her, and she smiled at him. Hesitantly, he smiled back.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Six: T’Pol

First Officer’s Quarters
NX-01 Enterprise
Orbiting Earth

Trip checked the chronometer as he walked T’Pol into her quarters. It was nearly 0600. “I can’t believe we’ve been up all night,” he said. “I don’t feel it at all.”

“Perhaps my Vulcan physiology is influencing you,” T’Pol theorized. “We can go without sleep for several days if the need arises.” She observed her husband’s contented, smiling face. “Although you appear distinctly un-Vulcan at present.”

“Do I?” Trip slipped his arms around her waist.

She nodded, sliding her hands up his arms to his shoulders. “In fact, you look quite pleased with yourself.”

“I am pleased,” he confirmed. “My mom adores you. My dad, well, he’s undergone a continental shift...he’s still pretty shell-shocked, but I see potential there. Our son is married to a wonderful girl. The Cap’n has laid a lot of ghosts to rest. So I’d say it’s been a good day all around.” He frowned. “Except for...”

“For what?” T’Pol asked with concern.

He adopted a distinctly hangdog expression. “Except for the unmerciful teasing my wife was giving me in front of the whole family last night.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is there such a thing as ‘merciful’ teasing?”

He looked pained. “Now there you go again.”

She kept her face neutral, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. “I find teasing to be much more satisfying when done before witnesses.”

Her husband cocked his head to one side, eyeing her speculatively. “Not necessarily.”

She felt the undercurrent of their bond subtly intensify, warm and inviting. “Indeed? Perhaps you would care to explain further.”

He leaned closer, brushing his cheek past hers, until his mouth was near her ear. His voice was soft with promise as he said, “There’s a lot to be said for teasing in private.”

A moment later, T’Pol felt his tongue tracing the outline of her ear, feather-light, from the lobe upward. It was far from an erogenous zone, to be sure, but the sensation was nevertheless most pleasurable. She held his shoulders more firmly, letting her eyes slip shut as a tingle passed through her body from head to toe. Trip’s tongue traveled up the rim of her ear, toward the sensitive tip...

...Then he pulled away. With a small sound of protest, T’Pol opened her eyes. Trip was face to face with her once more. “In a hurry, are we?” he asked lazily. “There’s four whole hours till the Board of Inquiry.”

She felt the bond flare between them again, even as she felt him beginning to harden against her thigh. She met his gaze challengingly. “Tease me further then, husband.”

Smiling faintly, Trip slowly ran his tongue over his lips. As T’Pol watched, she could already taste him. He leaned forward again, touching his moistened lips lightly to the corner of her mouth. Instinctively, she turned to kiss him fully, but he was faster, eluding her lips, dropping down to her jawline. He began planting a row of tiny kisses there, traveling down the side of her neck. T’Pol let her head fall back as his whisper-light touch left a trail of delicious heat along her skin. He stopped where her pulse throbbed at her throat, nuzzling her there, flicking his tongue over the spot, just barely enough to make contact. She sighed with pleasure, and heard him hum softly against her skin in reply.

Keeping his arms around her, Trip walked her backward to her desk chair, gently sitting her down. Kneeling before her, he let his hands drift languidly down the long skirt of her dark blue satin dress, until he reached her feet. T’Pol watched him and waited, her desire simmering.

Trip bent down and kissed the inside of her ankle, tickling the skin with his tongue. T’Pol drew in a breath of surprise and unexpected arousal. He glanced up at her, a smile briefly crossing his face, before he returned his attention to her ankle. As he slowly pushed the hem of her dress upward, he kissed and licked his way up her legs, alternating from one to the other, keeping to her sensitive inner skin. His touch was delicate, offering barely a hint of the overwhelming pleasures he had given her in the past, but the very suggestiveness of the action—and the anticipation it created—was remarkably evocative. By the time his mouth had reached midway up her inner thighs, T’Pol’s breathing had markedly quickened, and her hips were moving rhythmically in her chair, quite of their own volition.

Trip pushed her skirt up further, above her thighs, and sighed appreciatively at the mound of dark curls he uncovered. T’Pol, unwilling to mar the lines of the bias-cut sheath, had chosen to wear no undergarments. As Trip settled the material of the skirt around her waist, she spread her legs wider in anticipation of his approaching mouth and tongue...

...But, maddeningly, he pulled away again. “Do you mean to tease me, or torture me?” T’Pol gasped.

“Patience, t’hai’la.” Keeping his eyes on hers, Trip stood up, kicking off his shoes, and quickly divested himself of his clothes. As he removed his briefs, revealing an already impressive erection, T’Pol trembled, feeling the bond crackle between them. She could sense her husband’s desire as strongly as her own. He was hungry enough to take her right now...but again, he surprised her. Scooting her forward to the edge of the chair, he stretched her legs out and knelt again, straddling them. Then, lightly taking hold of her naked hips, he lowered his head to the juncture between her legs.

At first, T’Pol felt only his warm breath close to her core, which was stimulating in and of itself. Then she became aware of his tongue, moving through the curls above her hyper-sensitized skin. The effect was tantalizing, erotic, agreeably endless. She lay back in the chair, indulging in the physical sensations rippling through her body, and the far deeper mental and emotional resonance echoing between her and her bondmate.

When she felt the wet touch of his tongue on her clitoris, she jerked forward with a gasp. Direct contact with that most sensitive organ was enormously arousing after Trip’s preamble of gentle teasing. She tried to spread her legs to give him more access, but he kept them firmly trapped between his knees. She felt his tongue delving deeper, circling and feathering the nubbin of flesh until it was stiff and tingling. As he softly suckled it, he ran his fingers lightly over her behind, eliciting more shudders of pleasure from her .

T’Pol could not prevent the intermittent moans that were escaping her now. Her hips were undulating urgently, as if trying to free themselves from their confinement, despite the skillful ministrations of Trip’s tongue and fingers. She yearned for more of his touch—she wanted him inside her, making love to her. She knew she could overpower him with her superior strength—wrench open her legs and force his tongue lower, or pull him on top of her and guide his stiff shaft inside her before he had an opportunity to demur. But I asked him to tease me, she reminded herself. I shall be patient. No doubt the reward for my perseverance will be memorable.

She knew Trip sensed her frustration; she could feel a shift in the bond. His fingers left her hips and moved upward, along her still clothed midriff, until he reached the underswell of her breasts. But even now, he chose to titillate rather than satisfy, tracing the curve underneath. He squeezed gently, moving the satin fabric over her already erect nipples, which hardened further, straining against the material.

T’Pol was nearing a state of exquisite distress. “You have teased me sufficiently,” she said, her voice quavering slightly.

Trip paused, raising his head to meet her gaze, his chin still nestled between her legs. “I dunno,” he murmured doubtfully, though his eyes were playful. “I wouldn’t want to leave the job half-done.”

She squirmed; his fingers had not stopped moving. “I assure you that you have performed with your customary efficiency.”

He pursed his lips, weighing her statement, then shook his head. “I’d better make sure.” And he plunged his tongue between her legs once more.

There were certainly some measures T’Pol could take. She reached back and unzipped her dress, pulling it off her shoulders, freeing her breasts. Trip’s fingers never faltered as he made the adjustment from fabric to bare skin, but through the bond she heard him laughing delightedly at her boldness. T’Pol settled back again, focusing on the decidedly preferable feel of her husband’s fingernails lightly trailing across the skin of her breasts, as his tongue continued to tantalize her clitoris. She was fairly certain she had the patience to suffer through this stage of Trip’s teasing.

Trip’s erection lay heavy and throbbing against her legs. With alluring deliberation, he began rubbing himself against her. T’Pol moaned aloud as she felt a powerful wave of desire, his desire, wash over her. Her body was trembling with need now, desperate for more stimulation. She reached up to fondle her breasts—but Trip’s hands intercepted her, gently but firmly taking her by the wrists and pushing her hands down. She writhed, whimpering helplessly, her head lolling from side to side as she nearly wrenched herself from his grasp. The bond burned white-hot between them.

Suddenly the lightly teasing touch of Trip’s tongue on her clitoris became focused and all-encompassing. He suckled and licked in earnest, flicking rapidly over the erect flesh, sending T’Pol’s desire spinning dizzily upward. She felt hot moisture running down the inside of her legs— juices from Trip’s mouth, mingled with juices from within her. Her hips rocked wildly as she climbed higher, as his shaft throbbed insistently against her legs. Then his hands were on her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers, pinching them sharply, creating a shockwave of pleasure that sent her soaring into orgasm.

She grabbed his arms as she lost control, crying out, bucking in the chair as waves of ecstasy shuddered through her. He kept his face buried between her legs, swiping his tongue against her engorged clitoris as he continued to fondle her nipples. Each touch of his tongue and pinch of his fingers set off another paroxysm of pleasure inside her, until at last she collapsed back in the chair, gasping for breath, gloriously sated.

When her breathing had sufficiently calmed, she raised her head and regarded her husband. He was sitting back on his knees, smiling at her, as his erection throbbed faintly with the beat of his heart. Though her own need had been quenched, T’Pol could feel his, still growing merely at the sight of her. She felt humbled by the power she had over him, and by the love he had for her. Their bond, already fiery with desire, resonated anew with their mutual devotion.

She rose, letting her dress drop to the floor, and knelt over her beloved’s lap. They locked eyes as he entered her, effortless and deep, filling her body and mind and senses. As they held each other close, Trip began to move inside her, his rhythm achingly slow at first, then increasing in speed and urgency until he was panting in her embrace, gripping her waist as he drove in and out of her. T’Pol felt his pleasure rising, his body beginning to tremble as he neared completion—and then he thrust sharply, climaxing inside her with a deep groan of release

She held him to her, running her fingers through his hair as a final shudder shook his body. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, tasting herself on his lips. He hummed into her mouth with satisfaction, languorously intertwining his tongue with hers, as the bond glowed between them like embers of a spent fire.

When they parted, T’Pol regarded her husband with an expression of serene Vulcan calm. “Thank you for your explanation regarding private teasing. It was most informative. And comprehensive.”

Trip smiled. “We aim to please.” He glanced idly around the room. “So...got any other ideas on how to kill time before the Board of Inquiry?”

T’Pol arched a perfect eyebrow. “No doubt there must be some activity that bears further explanation...and demonstration.” She allowed the corners of her lips to turn upward in the barest hint of a smile. “For example, your past reference to ‘sixty-nine’...”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Seven: The Observer

The Observer stood at one of the aft systems consoles on the bridge of the dimly-lit Bird-of-Prey qeyllS, watching through the eyes of his Klingon host as the ship’s captain faced the forward viewscreen. Displayed there was the cramped interior of a Klingon shuttlecraft, and the landing party it was bringing back from the planet surface. Each man was struggling to conceal the feverish sweating, dizziness, and crushing fatigue that marked the advanced stages of the silicon virus.

The captain addressed the haggard commander of the shuttle crew. “I’ve heard from the doctor. He has determined that a cure won’t be found in time.”

The shuttle commander stiffened as the ramifications of the captain’s statement sank in. “Understood.”

The Observer hardly paid attention. This species’ response had been foolishly simple to determine, once he had seen that their ship was bristling with weaponry. Creatures with such a disturbing predilection for violence, and a culture that emphasized honor over life, would not be expected to have the sufficiently sophisticated medical technology on hand to develop a cure in time to matter—if they developed it at all.

“There is too great a risk of spreading the infection if you and the landing party return to the ship,” the captain continued, his voice harsh with finality.

The Observer noted that the captain’s declaration appeared to rouse the shuttle crew somewhat. They all drew themselves up with a distinct arrogance that belied their obviously failing health—almost as if they desired to look their defiant best as they approached death. The Observer mentally filed the tiny reaction away; it would make a curious footnote in his report.

The shuttle commander glanced at his three ailing men before turning back to his captain. “Sir, I cannot allow my men to die without honor, the shamed prey of a mere illness.” He spat out the last word with disgust.

The captain’s severe attitude did not waver. “Do not commit Hegh’bat, Commander. I give you and your crew the honor of killing the enemy that kills you.” He turned to his tactical officer. “Target the shuttlecraft. Forward disruptor cannons.”

The officer nodded and went to work at his console. The captain addressed the shuttle crew with savage pride. “You go to Sto-vo-kor this day!”

The commander saluted in return. “Today is a good day to die!” he declared, as forcefully as his weakened state would allow.

The Observer dispassionately noted the exchange for his report. So the sick were abandoned in order for the healthy to survive. It was the simplistic code of a warrior species—little different from the evolutionary mechanism that selected for the organisms best adapted to their environment. The only “intelligence” at work here was the rudimentary level needed to design and fashion ever more efficient killing machines.

The image on the viewscreen winked off, replaced by a starfield with a metallic dot in the distance: the doomed shuttlecraft, no longer approaching sanctuary, but rather an appropriately violent end.

The Observer had seen the same scenario play out...how many times now? He’d lost count. The number would be somewhere in his reports. The result was always the same with corporeals. As the magnitude of the crisis became apparent, and decisions were made under increasing pressure, the strongest instinct that prevailed was invariably the instinct for survival. It was understandable, given these beings’ pitifully short lifespans. However, it marked them as primitives, unable to look beyond themselves, and unworthy of further study—much less First Contact.

The Observer wondered at times what he was still doing here, really. He’d observed more than enough of these tiresomely predictable physical species during the past eight hundred years to make reasonable extrapolative conclusions regarding the whole lot. There was no need to waste more time with them. Yet his superiors were sending a second Observer to join him on this assignment. What did they still hope to find? Some species that had, against all probability, managed to make an intellectual leap beyond the realm of the mediocre? A miracle? Such was the stuff of fantasy, not empirical fact.

He sighed, part of himself automatically observing the Klingon tactical officer as he programmed the shuttlecraft’s coordinates into the weapons systems. Now the Observer would have to go about training the newcomer to assist him for an assignment in which assistance was entirely unnecessary. No doubt the young novice would be brimming with untenable new ideas to “improve” procedure, when the status quo served perfectly well, and had for centuries. It was all rather annoying—though, of course, the Observer would never presume to tell his superiors that.

“Target locked in, sir,” the tactical officer reported.

“Fire,” the captain commanded. The bridge crew watched impassively as twin bolts of disruptor fire burst from the Bird-of-Prey’s wing cannons and disintegrated the shuttlecraft.

The captain turned away from the viewscreen, and the sight of the shattered particles of the shuttle spinning away into space. “Turn about,” he said gruffly. “Make for Qo’noS, warp five.”

With the ease of long practice, the Observer smoothly altered his host’s memories before vacating the body. As he watched the Klingon craft jump to warp, he was already looking ahead to the arrival of the new Observer. He had no intention of being persuaded by an over-eager apprentice to deviate from protocol, no matter how many alleged “enhancements” the youngster came prepared to implement. Let him question and harangue and generally make a nuisance of himself, before he learned to toe the line. In the end, they would both be observing the same things, and coming to the same conclusions. Wouldn’t they?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Eight: Harrad-Sar

The Tellarite slave trader snuffled indifferently at the plate of sweetmeats that Navaar presented to him, then squinted across the opulently appointed entertaining room to Harrad-Sar. “What about that Archer incident?” he asked.

His reedy, shrill voice brought the conversation in the crowded room to a standstill. Harrad-Sar took his time before looking up, holding out his glass to Maras, who refilled it with Saurian brandy.

“There’s been talk among the slavers,” the Tellarite continued, when Harrad-Sar did not respond immediately. “And the distributors.” Patience wasn’t a quality found in abundance among Tellarites.

Navaar slinked to Harrad-Sar’s side, holding a plate of delicacies at his elbow. She nuzzled his ear. “What did I tell you?” she purred.

He ran a finger along her flawless cheek. “You are wise as always, Mistress.” Navaar had predicted that the Tellarite would be the one to bring up the Starfleet-incited riot at the processing station on Verex III. The man had lost valuable product when Archer’s ship, Enterprise, had descended upon the auction and stolen Starfleet’s former property back again. Though months had passed, the Tellarite had refused to let the matter rest.

Harrad-Sar selected a morsel from the plate and held it to Navaar’s lips. She accepted his gift, caressing his fingers with her tongue as she took the bit of food into her exquisite mouth. He found it almost impossible to remain focused on the task at hand...but he did not wish to displease his Mistress.

He turned at last to face the twitchy Tellarite, his olive face looking bored as he sipped his wine. “Archer ceased to be an issue long ago.” His silky basso voice, though soft, carried to every corner of the room. “You and all other buyers were generously compensated for the loss of product. The Orion Syndicate pays its debts.”

“Compensation is not our concern,” the Tellarite said peevishly.

“‘Our’?” Harrad-Sar echoed blandly.

Whether because of too much wine or the headiness of being the center of attention, the Tellarite was becoming bold. “It’s about confidence!” he retorted. “If Archer and his ship could so easily penetrate the defenses of one of your own strongholds, nullify the safeguards around your property, and spirit away whatever slaves they pleased, what is to prevent them from doing it again? At any Orion safe haven? What’s stopping them?” He sneered at Harrad-Sar. “The Syndicate?” He turned to the other guests—his fellow dealers and distributors. “They could put us all out of business.”

Harrad-Sar was well aware of the talk. Of those who spread idle gossip, whether for good or ill, the men assembled in this room were the worst offenders. Their wagging tongues, endlessly re-telling the tale of Verex III, had resulted in a dropoff of Syndicate sales over the past month, a flattening out of contracts, a distastefully high level of caution regarding Starfleet—especially Archer and Enterprise—and a distressing erosion of confidence in the Syndicate’s heretofore unquestioned dependability. Something had to be done to solidify the Syndicate’s reputation, and quickly. A response had been devised, but it might be months before it could be put into play; a psychological turnaround was needed now. And what better way to reassure clients and business associates in short order than by planting a hopeful seed in the ears of this pack of disgruntled rumormongers?

Navaar moved behind him. He could feel the heat of her, her breath tickling his skin, her fingers light upon his powerful arms as she reached up on tiptoe to whisper against the back of his neck. “Make me proud, Harrad-Sar.”

Now was the time to prove himself worthy of his Mistress’s trust. He crossed the room to stand before the Tellarite. The sniveling trader shrank back, his courage melting away in the shadow of the Orion slaver’s towering, formidable presence.

“The Orion Syndicate existed long before Starfleet came into being, and will be here long after Starfleet has passed away,” Harrad-Sar said calmly. “Did you really think we would allow this slight to go unanswered?”

There was a rustle of anticipation among the other guests. The Bolian looked up from his specially prepared dish of rancid heart of targ. “What are you planning?” he inquired eagerly. “A raid to recover your stolen slaves?”

Harrad-Sar allowed himself a small smile. “Our aim is considerably larger.”

The slavers exchanged curious looks. The Finnean blurted out, “The starship itself? Is that what you’re after? That’s it, isn’t it?”

Harrad-Sar said nothing, but his smile widened as he took a healthy swig of his drink.

“Think of the risk!” the Arkonian hissed, as he accepted a carafe from D’Nesh of the special liquid his body craved. “We’d have all of Starfleet down on our heads.”

“Think of the price a ship like that would fetch on the open market,” one of the Nausicaans countered, stroking his tusks thoughtfully.

His partner nodded. “We could sell the technology piecemeal. It would bring even more.”

Harrad-Sar held up a hand, chuckling. “Gentlemen, such talk is premature. Suffice to say that we will be sending a clear message to Starfleet...and Archer: You cheat the Orion Syndicate at your peril.”

The Arkonian’s suspicious growl became an appreciative rumble. “To humble the ‘hero’ Archer...” He drew the human’s name out disdainfully, and everyone laughed. “That would be sweet retribution.”

The Tellarite, true to form, remained stubbornly pessimistic. “It may be months before an opportunity arises to seize his ship.”

Harrad-Sar leaned down until he was eye-to-eye with the furry, snout-nosed wing-slug. The Tellarite froze, too frightened by his gargantuan host’s sudden proximity to withdraw. “The buyer with the advantage can afford to be patient,” Harrad-Sar said, pitching his voice loudly enough for all to hear.

The Tellarite managed a shaky nod. “Of course,” he squeaked meekly. “Of course.”

Harrad-Sar straightened, raising his glass to the rest of his guests. “Worry no more about Archer or Starfleet,” he said with smooth dismissiveness. “Enjoy the food, the wine—and the entertainment.” Setting down his drink, he clapped twice, and the musicians in the corner of the room struck up a lively, sensuous melody. The three Mistresses, who had been circulating among the guests, moved sinuously to the center of the room and began a hypnotic dance. The slavers watched the three spectacular beauties, transfixed, their refreshments immediately forgotten.

As Navaar undulated gracefully between her sisters, she caught Harrad-Sar’s eye and smiled at him...the transcendent smile she gave him when he had performed a task to her liking. He felt such a surge of pride at her good favor that he nearly allowed it to escape into the public eye. But it would not do for him to appear a giddy young thrall who had just pleased his Mistress. With an effort, he maintained his expression of privileged self-satisfaction, and settled for an inward sigh of relief. The plan had gone even better than she had predicted. Mistress Navaar was uncanny in the way she knew how men would behave...almost as if she could read the future.

Knowing what the Syndicate was planning for Enterprise and her captain, Harrad-Sar already felt a bit sorry for Archer. An alpha male such as that one was bound to be humbled by what awaited him. If they even allowed him to live.

Such was the price for defying the Syndicate.

~~tbc~~

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

Hopeful Romantic great chapter I enjoyed the looked at north star and the romantic interlude between Trip and T'Pol well done. the other things you have contnuing storyline with the orions looks intriguing . Look forward to the next part soon. As always an enjoyable read.

gr8 story so far i hope you finish be4 the closing date!
brilliant story xx

I have a feeling this story has a long way to go - and I, for one, want to go along for the ride! Please let us know where to go for the remainder of the series - I shall follow!

I am very interested to see how your season 4 plays out - Orians, Silicates and Old Westerns - Oh My!

Outstanding as always. By all means keep up the writing and just let us know where to look for it :)

Impressive. An ambitious and complex storyline. Very well-done. I look forward to more.

Okay, here's the plan:

The rest of First Light will be archived here.

For succeeding stories in the Reconnecting series, and new stories posted after December 31, go to my website:

http://www.geo cities.com/hopeful_romantic@prodigy.net/ (the Comments form is messing with me, so delete the space between "geo" and "cities" for the link to work)

I'll be posting my work there after the first of the year.

And thank you for letting me know that you're interested in seeing more of my work. Believe me, that's the most powerful motivator in the world to keep on writing. :)

Well here's some feedback for ya, IMO, in the field of Trip/T'Pol stories (and Enterprise Fanfic generally) you have no superiors and damn few equals :)

Wow this is good. More please.

I am really going to miss all the great works here. I am saddened that the site is closing down.
I think this is a great group of writers and it is going to be sad to lose everyone. However I am giving an open ivitation to any here who would like to post on my board after this one is closed.

I have two sites

1) http://firestarraven.proboards40.com/

2) http://firewolfe.proboards3.com/

If I get enough intrest I will create boards specifically for Trip/T'Pol and a Soval other Vulcan Annex.

I would just hate not to have places for us all to
be.

I love all your work and keep writing.

Lisa

Doomsayer, my head is spinning here. Thank you. :)

Lisa, you're such a sweetheart! Thanks for posting the links to your boards.

The good news is, the HoT BBS will remain open, even after this fanfiction archive stops accepting new stories, and after you can no longer leave comments here.

For those of you who have not yet registered at the HoT BBS, please take a moment and join. Here's why:

After December 31, authors will be starting threads in the Fanfiction Forum of the HoT BBS to announce when they've written a new story, and to post a link to where it can be found.

When you click on the link, it will open in a new window in your browser-- you don't have to leave the BBS to read. Then, if you wish, you can leave a comment right in that thread in the BBS when you're done.

So you see how the HoT BBS will fill in for the "Latest Updates" on the Fanfiction Homepage here, and for the comments sections after each story? You'll be able to keep up with the new fics and discuss them with the rest of the community... just in a different location.

Since the HoT BBS is not an "open" board, you'll need to register even to lurk, so please folks, join up, so you can buzz by the FF Forum starting in January for threads that announce new stories, and follow the links. And spread the word to everyone you know who comes to the T/T archive and reads the stories here.

All of you can help keep Trip/T'Polers and this great community alive, and give the authors encouragement to keep doing what they love. Thanks, y'all!

Have you considered getting an LJ? There's a great deal of fanfic there from every fandom imaginable. It's free and easy to use, and I'd love to see your stories on LJ.

beatrice_otter.livejournal.com