Redivivus- Ch 7

Redivivus

By HopefulRomantic

Rating: PG, for language
Disclaimer: Star Trek: Enterprise is the property of CBS/Paramount. All original material herein is the property of its author.
Series Summary: The Reconnecting series is a reinterpretation 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: Thanks as always to my betas boushh and Stephanie.

Date: 5-14-08

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Seven: Amends

4th day of the month of Yaria
Oroth Observatory
Oroth Province, Illyria

Braax was making his usual afternoon rounds of the observatory, answering patrons’ questions, watching the knots of wide-eyed schoolchildren as they wandered the exhibits. He found his attention straying, though. He hadn’t been able to concentrate since the Chancellory had contacted him this morning to inform him that an Earth starship was in orbit, and that the captain had asked to speak with him.

Now, wherever he went, Braax felt eyes on him. The staff had gotten wind of the news—spirits, the entire planet must know by now. Everyone seemed to be watching, waiting to see how he would react.

What would he say to Archer after all this time?

The answer had been easy enough months ago, when Braax’s outrage and guilt fueled him as much as his responsibility to his crew. He had imagined such a meeting, rehearsing his furious response to Archer over and over during those endless, uncertain days as the Rykos plodded slowly through empty space toward home. But that had been before Captain Jholli had plucked the ship out of its oblivion, and confirmed what Archer had told Braax about the humans’ war with the Xindi—the sneak attacks, the fierce battles, the millions of innocents killed on Earth.

The matter had been much simpler when Braax had believed Archer to be a thief, a ruthless thug, nothing more.

Braax was on the balcony overlooking the central atrium when he heard a commotion on the stairs. Someone was huffing his way up to the landing. It was an adjutant from the Chancellory—one of countless minor functionaries who operated with a vastly over-inflated sense of his own importance. Braax had forgotten the man’s name; there had been too many to remember during the crush of publicity that followed the rescue of the Rykos.

The adjutant was flanked by several security officers and herding along two human females, whose blue uniforms Braax recognized, though he hadn’t seen their like for many months. Both women were similar in manner and appearance—dark-haired, self-assured and observant—though the older of the two was apparently the leader, judging from the way the younger deferred to her. The adjutant waved them both to one side, telling them when to stop and where to stand, his manner terse and ill-mannered. It irritated Braax that the humans’ first impression of Illyrian hospitality was such poor treatment at the hands of a petty bureaucrat.

The little man scurried over to Braax. “Greetings, Captain,” he said with an obsequious little bow.

Braax sighed inwardly at the use of his rank. He had retired from service shortly after returning to Illyria, but “captain” was still often used as an honorific, though it made him uncomfortable.

“The coward Archer refuses to show his face here,” the lackey sniffed disdainfully, “but in his place, the humans sent another.” He checked his notes, then pointed to the older woman. “That one is Captain Her-naan-dez.” He then gestured dismissively in the direction of the younger human. “The other one is an underling, a pilot or some such.” He folded his arms importantly and waited.

“Was there something else?” Braax inquired thinly.

The adjutant didn’t seem to understand. “I’m their escort.”

“And you have performed your duty splendidly,” Braax said. “Now I would speak with them privately.”

The man’s expression twisted in perturbation. “But, Captain—”

“Thank you, Adjutant.”

Clearly peeved, the adjutant retreated stiffly to the stairway with his security detachment—just out of earshot, but not out of sight. Braax was far from alone with his visitors, however. The group’s showy arrival had attracted the attention of a sizable number of observatory patrons, who were now surreptitiously watching from the corridors and the atrium below.

Braax turned his attention to the humans. “I apologize. Illyria is known for its hospitality, not its rudeness. However, there is much resentment for humans among my people because of what happened.”

“So we noticed,” Her-naan-dez said. “We got the impression that your High Chancellor would have preferred to toss us in a prison.”

“If you were Archer, he might very well have,” Braax said. “Clever of you to be someone else.”

“This wasn’t Archer’s choice,” Her-naan-dez said. She seemed genuinely regretful. “From the day he got home, he was petitioning his superiors to return and search for your ship.”

“If he had found us three months ago, I probably would have locked him up myself,” Braax said dryly.

Her-naan-dez looked intrigued. “But now?”

Braax sighed. “Time, and the comfort of home, affords one the opportunity to ponder, to re-examine. Or to brood, according to my wife.”

The two humans exchanged glances, but said nothing. Braax realized they were waiting for him to elaborate. He began to pace back and forth along the balcony, wearing a puzzled frown. “The more I thought about it, the less it made sense. First of all, why would a criminal leave behind food and supplies for his victims? Not that I’m giving the food high marks, you understand. It seems to have been designed for little use beyond bare sustenance.”

Her-naan-dez smiled wryly. “They’re called ‘emergency’ rations for good reason.”

Braax hmmphed in agreement. “And why would a thief steal our ship’s warp coil, then give us a supply of trellium ore worth as much as the ship itself?” He stopped before the balustrade that bordered the balcony. Below, patrons were gathered in softly sibilant groups, like whisper-birds, observing him and the humans. “He also shared a few details regarding that war of yours.”

“Then you know what was at stake,” Her-naan-dez said. “Archer was faced with the destruction of our homeworld and the extermination of our race—the end of all of us. He could not fail.”

“I don’t expect my countrymen to sympathize with Archer,” Braax demurred. “Illyrians have been at peace for generations. For most, the idea of war is incomprehensible—a dim memory relegated to history books. Archer is an alien who committed an injustice against their fellows. His reason doesn’t interest them.”

“And what about you?” the captain asked.

To what lengths would you go if you were tasked with saving your world and its people from annihilation? The question was staggering and sobering, and it had haunted Braax for months. “I wanted to understand,” he said. “I am an astronomer, a teacher...but I was also a ship captain, with lives in my care. I too am responsible for what happened to the Rykos.”

For the first time, the pilot spoke. “It was an impossible situation, with no satisfactory solution,” she said fervently. “You were duty-bound to refuse Archer that warp coil, just as he was duty-bound to find a way to continue his mission. Taking the warp coil by force went against his deepest-held principles, but he had run out of options.”

Braax was struck by her passion—especially since she was defending his actions as well as Archer’s. “What is your part in this, aside from piloting?”

The woman glanced at Her-naan-dez before answering. “I am Archer’s kinswoman.”

Braax drew back in surprise. He studied the two humans speculatively. “So Earth sends a surrogate captain and a surrogate Archer that I may still have a target at which to vent my fury?”

“Lieutenant Archer truly is my pilot,” Her-naan-dez said. “She felt she could contribute to this meeting, and I agreed. We are both here, on behalf of Archer and Earth, to offer our apologies and our thanks to you and your crew, and to try to make amends in any way we can.” She smiled faintly. “We will, of course, accommodate your fury-venting, if you wish.”

Braax found that he appreciated these humans’ subtle humor, as well as their evident sincerity. “Thankfully, my fury has run its course, though I cannot say the same for most of my countrymen. But since you have decided against delivering up Archer, what else do you propose?”

“Financial reparation, perhaps?” Her-naan-dez suggested.

“Unnecessary,” Braax said. “Our rescuer, a freight captain, arranged for the sale of the trellium, for an exorbitant sum. After we compensated him for returning us home, the High Chancellor divided the remaining money among my crew—enough for us to retire from service if we chose.”

Her-naan-dez tried again. “Medical assistance for your crew, then.”

Braax shook his head. “Only one crewman fell seriously ill, and he has since recovered. The worst afflictions we suffered while we were stranded were loneliness and uncertainty. Uncomfortable, but temporary.”

“Trade?” the Archer woman offered. “Your planet appears to be an abundant provider, but if there is anything you lack that we can supply you...”

Braax chuckled. “I’m sure it would please the High Chancellor immensely to be able to demand some sort of trade goods from you.”

“Excellent,” Her-naan-dez smiled.

“There is one other thing.” Braax paused. “You can answer a question for me.”

Both humans regarded him curiously. “Certainly,” the captain said.

It was the first question Braax would have put to Archer, if they had met again...a mystery that had continued to taunt him, chasing away sleep and keeping peace of mind maddeningly out of reach. “Did it matter?” he asked quietly.

Her-naan-dez frowned slightly in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“The warp coil. Did it make a difference?”

The most extraordinary look of gentle disbelief crossed both humans’ faces, so spontaneous that Braax decided their reactions must surely be genuine. “Rest assured that it did, Captain,” Her-naan-dez said. “Your warp coil repaired Archer’s ship, enabling him to arrive at a certain location in time to meet a man—a Xindi, one of the enemy—who shared vital information regarding the weapon his people had created to destroy Earth.”

Braax remembered Archer mentioning such a weapon. A single device capable of laying waste to an entire world...it was impossible to imagine.

“That first meeting was critical,” Her-naan-dez continued. “It established a relationship of trust between Archer and this Xindi, which led to other meetings, and more Xindi allies. They helped Archer to blow up the weapon before it could destroy our world.”

Lieutenant Archer took up the tale. “Archer’s ship, Enterprise, also disabled the network of spheres responsible for the anomalous space you experienced in the Delphic Expanse.”

“Captain Jholli told us about those spheres,” Braax recalled. “They were created by another race that wanted to seize control of the region?”

The Archer woman nodded. “The spheres would have rendered the Expanse—and eventually the entire galaxy—uninhabitable to all of us, if not for Enterprise...and your warp coil.”

Her-naan-dez added, “You played a key role, however unwillingly, in the rescue of a planet, a species, a galaxy, a future from obliteration. All because you were simply in the wrong place, and Archer answered your distress call.”

The two humans fell silent. As Braax felt his lingering uncertainty put to rest at last, he took a deep breath for the first time since he could remember.

...And what if you could go back in time? With your engines and life support damaged, would you still steer the Rykos clear of Archer? Even if you took that risk, you might save your ship from being plundered and set adrift, only to doom the future of the galaxy—including Illyria. Perhaps the Rykos had been in the right place after all.

“Archer completed his mission, but he has been troubled ever since by what he did,” Lieutenant Archer said quietly. “As his kinswoman, I offer his humble apology for the hardship he caused you and your crew, and his deepest thanks for your sacrifice. He still hopes one day to tell you himself.”

Hardship...sacrifice...the travails of Braax’s crew seemed minor compared to what he had learned of the war’s toll on the humans. His people were alive and whole; their children were safe. “Tell him I look forward to our next meeting,” he said. “I doubt my countrymen’s perspective regarding humans will change quickly...but I believe it will change someday.”

The Chancellory adjutant was edging closer, looking as if he wished to leap in and rescue Braax from his unsavory visitors. Braax had had quite enough of the man. In a voice loud enough to carry to the packed atrium below, he told the humans, “On behalf of Illyria, I accept your apology, and your thanks. I propose that we begin again.”

Her-naan-dez’s eyes warmed with gratitude. “Agreed, Captain.”

The adjutant blanched. Braax felt oddly pleased as he beckoned to the two humans. “Here, let me take you on a tour of the observatory. It will give the oglers something else to gossip about.” The three strolled away, leaving the Chancellory lackey to stare in scandalized shock after them, as the onlookers erupted in a fresh flurry of whispered exchanges.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

September 18, 2154
NX-01 Enterprise
en route to Earth

Tensions on Enterprise eased considerably once the Sarajevo arrived to take charge of the Ericksons. However, many of the crew were sad to see Danica Erickson leave—none so much as the captain himself. Jon said his farewells to Dani with a promise to treat her to a “dinner and a few family surprises” once they were both back home on Earth.

Crew morale took an even bigger jump when, after two weeks of subspace interference, Hoshi received a mail burst from Echo 3 containing a backlog of messages from home.

September 7
Jon—
It’s good that Phlox submitted a proposal to Starfleet about adding counselors to starship crews. It would certainly help to deal with the stress of deep-space and military missions to have a designated sin-eater...

September 15
Jon,
So I’ve been catching some matches, now that the fall season is underway, and I’m a little confused. Why don’t they call it “water soccer,” or “water volleyball,” or even “water rugby”?...

“You’re smiling.”

Archer looked up from his padd to see Trip entering the Captain’s Mess, his expression one of eager expectancy.

Archer held up his padd. “Letters from Kyle.” He studied Trip as the engineer sat down. “I see you’re all smiles tonight, too.”

“Am I?” Trip asked pleasantly.

Archer nodded. “About...?”

“Don’t know yet,” Trip replied. “T’Pol’s in a good mood about something—I can feel it. Anything happen on the bridge today?”

“Let’s see... Crewman Holmes changed her hairstyle.”

“Hmm. That’s certainly the stuff of excitement—especially as soon as Crewman LaCoeur gets a look at her. But I don’t think that’s it.”

“Hoshi was pulling more mail in from Echo 3 as I was leaving the bridge. Maybe...” Archer shrugged.

Trip sat forward. “A letter from Vulcan, maybe? From the Social Ministry?” Then he held up a hand. “Nope, don’t get my hopes up. I got tired of holdin’ my breath weeks ago.”

“You’re probably right,” Archer agreed. “T’Pol could be reacting to an optimal diagnostic on the aft sensors, for all we know.”

“Exactly.” Trip fiddled with his napkin for a bit, then gestured to Archer’s padd, clearly needing a distraction. “So how’s Kyle?”

Archer looked wistfully at the letter on his screen. “Feisty. And very far away.”

Trip smiled. “Just hang on a few more weeks, and you’ll be back together, necking in the dark.”

“Not much of a relationship.” Archer sighed.

“Oh, I dunno,” Trip said. “Seems practical right now. Bein’ the girlfriend of the Hero of the Universe would probably be a pain for her. Remember what T’Pol went through when Starfleet announced that she was joining up?”

Archer grimaced. “That was awful.”

“Keep doing what you’re doing.” Trip nodded toward Archer’s letter. “Looks to me like it’s working.”

Archer smiled down at the padd. “I’ve read about long-distance courtships by correspondence, centuries ago...” He paused self-consciously. “Sometimes I feel ten years out of step, like a schoolboy getting everything wrong. But then she writes back, and we’re still fine, so...”

“Aw, you couldn’t get it wrong with her if you tried,” Trip chided.

Archer’s voice dropped to a soft murmur of wonderment. “Trip, she’s been watching water polo.”

“I rest my case,” Trip declared. “It’s gotta be love.”

Archer shook his head, marveling. “How did this happen? Karyn talks about it as if it were destiny. I keep thinking I’m just damned lucky.”

“Not luck, Cap’n,” Trip said firmly. “A confluence of forces all comin’ together at one perfect moment.”

Archer thought about it. “If you’re right, that would be...Callahan’s busted window.”

“That’s how you and Kyle met?” Trip scratched his chin. “I was picturing something more like, ‘Their eyes met across a crowded room...’”

Archer shook his head. “A glass-strewn sidewalk. With Callahan ranting about xenophobes.”

“Romantic.”

T’Pol entered the Captain’s Mess, her sublimely pleased expression a portent of good news. As Trip and Archer stood to greet her, Trip’s hopeful mood returned full force. “Well?”

Calmly, T’Pol clasped her hands behind her back. “The Vulcan Social Ministry has officially dissolved my marriage to Koss.”

All of Trip’s pent-up tension left him in a whoosh of relief. Archer clapped him on the back. “The end of a marriage isn’t typically cause for celebration, but in this case, I believe congratulations are in order.”

“Thanks, Cap’n.” Trip moved to T’Pol’s side, all smiles.

“What now?” Archer asked.

“Tomorrow morning, you will find two requests on your desk for a brief leave of absence once we have returned to Earth,” T’Pol replied. “Assuming the Columbia has returned to port as well.”

“Traditional Vulcan wedding ceremony,” Trip explained. “At least we hope so, if we can find a priest at the Vulcan compound who isn’t squirrelly about marrying us.”

“I’m sure you could find one on Vulcan,” Archer reasoned. “And being heroes of the Xindi war, you should be able to secure the extra month’s leave to go there for the wedding.”

Trip pursed his lips. “Wellll...aside from the fact that we don’t like trading on that ‘Xindi hero’ rep any more than you do...we’re already walkin’ on eggshells about this marriage as it is. If we can get Lorian and Karyn, and my folks, and a Vulcan priest, and ourselves in one place, all at the same time...we’ll take it, and be grateful.”

“Consider your requests granted, then.” Archer’s own smile faded. “And if Starfleet decides to transfer one of you off Enterprise?”

“Professionally speaking?” Trip shrugged. “Whichever one of us gets the transfer orders will go kicking and screaming.” He grinned briefly at T’Pol. “Or the Vulcan equivalent. Enterprise is our home—you know that, Cap’n. And we’ll keep fighting to get that non-fraternization policy changed. Like Admiral Tanith said, it’s getting obsolete, and fast.”

“I’ll be fighting right with you,” Archer said. “I don’t want to lose either one of you.”

“On a personal level...” T’Pol turned her luminous gaze on Trip. “Our physical separation will not matter.” She held out her hand, and Trip touched his fingers to hers in a sweet ozh’esta, as naturally as if he’d done it all his life.

Archer was reminded of the day Trip and T’Pol had first met, when she turned her back on his proffered hand. How far they’ve come. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’ll do as Phlox does and hope for the best.” He took his seat at the dining table. “So Trip, do you still have those plans you showed me for your joint quarters?”

“Are you kiddin’?” Trip said as he and T’Pol also seated themselves. “I’ve had everything figured out since a week after we left Spacedock—modifications designed, blueprints drawn up, Lieutenant Carson’s permission secured to swap quarters with me when the time comes. I’ve just been waiting for the Vulcan Social Ministry to get its sh—”

“Trip...” T’Pol quietly admonished.

“Er, just waiting for the wheels of Vulcan bureaucracy to finish turning, in their logical, sloooow fashion.” Trip rolled his eyes.

Archer stifled a smile. “Good.”

Trip poured T’Pol a glass of water, and himself an iced tea. “I’ll get word to everybody—Carson, Lt. Singh in Maintenance, Chief Quartermaster Hendley—and see about scheduling our little makeover. With your permission, Cap’n.”

“Again, granted.” Archer signaled the steward to bring in dinner. “I don’t have to remind you two about the importance of your continuing roles as models of discretion...”

“No,” they both said wearily.

This time Archer did smile. He raised his tea glass in a toast. “Here’s hoping for everlasting togetherness—low-key, of course.”

Trip and T’Pol raised their glasses. “To togetherness,” Trip echoed happily. “‘Bout damned time.”

-----

With Archer lingering over his pie and glancing at his unfinished letter out of the corner of his eye, Trip and T’Pol left him in peace after dinner. As soon as he was alone, Archer dropped his fork and hit the comm button. “Archer to the Quartermaster’s store. Mr. Hendley?”

“Hendley here, sir.”

Archer smiled gleefully to himself. “Chief, Operation Trailblazer is go.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The operation was carried out the following morning with the precision of a tactical assault—no surprise, since Archer had given Malcolm Reed the job of planning and executing the assignment over a month ago.

As soon as Reed received confirmation that both Trip and T’Pol had arrived at their stations for their duty shifts, he deployed teams from Maintenance and the Quartermaster’s store, with security personnel stationed at key checkpoints to keep abreast of the op’s progress and send hourly updates to Reed’s terminal at Tactical, encoded as Eyes Only and classified.

Across the bridge at the science station, T’Pol remained completely unaware of the frenetic activity taking place in and around her quarters a few decks below. She was absorbed with recalibrating the external sensors to extend their range, an elective project in which she had expressed interest at a senior staff meeting, and which Archer had casually suggested she pursue today.

Meanwhile, down in engineering, Lieutenant Hess was keeping Trip similarly occupied. She began the day by expressing a touch of concern that the engineering crew was losing its edge out here with little to do. Trip had responded by staging and supervising a series of readiness drills guaranteed to keep everyone hopping all day.

As the first shift neared its end, Operation Trailblazer barreled with extreme determination toward its meticulously timed conclusion. Debris was whisked away. The location of Trip’s newly unpacked belongings were precision-checked against the pre-move photos taken by Chief Quartermaster Hendley. Lieutenant Carson, getting settled in her new quarters on the far side of E-Deck, glanced out her viewport and did a doubletake, still unaccustomed to seeing the stars whizzing by in the opposite direction. And at precisely 1655 hours, Chef swept into the hub of controlled chaos, accompanied by a retinue of security escorts, to personally hand-deliver his own contribution to the operation.

At 1700 hours, as the second shift crew began arriving on the bridge, Archer glanced at Malcolm, who gave him a subtle nod, signaling that all was in readiness. Archer crossed to T’Pol’s station as she rose from her console. “Commander, I have a few ideas about your cabin refit. What do you say we collect Trip and swing by your quarters before dinner?”

“That would be agreeable,” T’Pol replied. “I warn you, however, that he is most resolute concerning his conception for the modifications.”

Right on cue, Hoshi called from the comm station. “Captain, there’s a message coming in for you from Starfleet.”

“I’ll take it in my ready room.” Archer turned apologetically to T’Pol. “A slight delay. You and Trip go on ahead. I’ll be there soon.”

T’Pol nodded. As Archer headed for his ready room, she boarded the turbolift. A few seconds after she was gone, Archer peeked back out onto the bridge. “All clear?” he asked quietly.

Hoshi checked her sensor board. “She just passed B-Deck...C-Deck...you’re safe, Captain.”

Archer bounded back up the steps. “Malcolm—the card!” he exclaimed worriedly. “Is the card—”

“Signed and delivered, sir,” Reed replied calmly. “I received confirmation three minutes ago.”

Archer sagged against the railing in relief. “I can’t believe everyone got this done in eight hours.” To Malcolm, he said, “Pass along my thanks to Chief Hendley, Lieutenant Singh, and their crews.”

“Very good, Captain.”

“You too, Malcolm,” Archer smiled. “And your people. Well done.”

“Thank you, sir.” Reed allowed himself a small smile at the captain’s praise. It had been a well-executed op, at that.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Trip and T’Pol arrived at her quarters to find a note tacked to her door, written in Archer’s handwriting.

T & T—

—J.A.

Trip frowned at the note. “I thought you said he was meeting us here.”

“Perhaps I misunderstood.” T’Pol opened the door, took two steps inside—and abruptly came to a halt. Trip bumped into her from behind, before he saw what had stopped her.

The left wall was gone, revealing the adjoining cabin—formerly Lieutenant Carson’s, but now transformed into a spot-on replica of Trip’s quarters, except for the mirror-image placement of the furniture.

“Holy shit...” Trip wandered into the room, whistling softly in admiration at the meticulous placement of the knickknacks on his shelves, the diver’s helmet positioned just so, even the paperwork on his desk looking exactly as he had left it this morning. It was eerie.

The only significant difference was the absence of his bunk. In its place—just as he had planned it months ago—was a cozy dining nook. The table was set with dinner for two; fresh tea, both hot and iced, and several covered dishes waited. Trip peeked under a few lids. Fresh salad, baked bread and krei’la, pasta primavera, pla-savas and pecan pie...it all smelled wonderful. “I’d say Chef had a hand in this little—”

“Trip.” T’Pol pulled his attention back to her cabin. Her bunk had been replaced by a double bed, neatly made and topped by a regulation bedspread, with her own throw pillows arranged in front of the headboard.

Trip stared. “Damn, it’s beautiful.”

She pointed. “There are cabinets in the headboard, and drawers in the base. This is your design, is it not?”

Trip studied the bed more closely. “It sure is, down to the placement of the reading lights. But I never showed the plans to Hendley or Singh.” He sat on the bed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “How did the Cap’n pull this off?...”

T’Pol sat beside him. “He saw your plans.”

“I showed him once! Two months ago, right after we left Earth.”

She folded her hands delicately across her knees. “And?”

Trip felt a distinctively you’re three steps behind kind of vibe drifting subtly through the bond. “And what?” he said defensively. “Are you tellin’ me the Cap’n has an eidetic memory or something?”

“No,” T’Pol said calmly.

He squinted at her. “But you’re lookin’ at me, darlin’, as if I...” Then it hit him. “Wait. I remember now. I got a call from engineering...” He shook his head, unbelieving. “Aw, now hang on, I was out of the room for maybe two minutes...”

“Captain Archer has demonstrated singular determination and resourcefulness in the past,” T’Pol pointed out.

Trip was amazed. “He’s had this scheme in the works for two months...Singh’s had the work order to knock down the wall, Hendley’s had the bed all built, hidden under a tarp somewhere... They were all waiting, just like us, for that all-clear signal from Vulcan.” He laid back on the bed, giggling. “Can you imagine what it must’ve looked like down here today? I’ll bet the whole damn crew from Maintenance was in here, tearing the wall apart, packing like crazy. And how they got my room over here intact...d’you think they locked the transporter on my stuff and beamed it over? Nah, I doubt even ol’ Emory could do that, no matter how many of his nutball-genius cylinders were firing.”

T’Pol rose to survey their new domain. She noted that her meditation pallet had been moved in front of the viewport, and her Vulcan wall sculpture to the wall over the desk. “Your plans appear to have been followed to the letter.”

“Yeah, they did a bang-up job.” Trip sat up. “Now that you see it in three dimensions, what do you think?” He chewed his lip, trying not to sound nervous. “Do you like it?”

Thankfully, he felt her contentment, even before she had a chance to speak. “It is quite pleasing, t’hai’la.”

He relaxed into a grin. “Good.”

T’Pol sat beside him again, handing him an envelope. “I found this on my desk. Another message from the captain?”

“Let’s find out.” Trip opened the envelope and pulled out a hand-made paper greeting card with a drawing of a house on the front. Inside, it read: There’s no place like home. The rest of the card was filled with short notes of well-wishes and signatures from Archer, Malcolm, Hoshi, Anna Hess, Celia Carson, Singh, Robert Hendley, and crewmembers from Maintenance and the Quartermasters store. Naturally, Chef’s flamboyant signature was larger than anyone else’s.

They sat in silence for a long moment, marveling at all the names. “It looks like half the crew was in on this,” Trip finally said.

“We are fortunate to be a part of them,” T’Pol said quietly. Trip could feel how touched she was. She had felt an outsider for so much of her life...not only as a Vulcan on Enterprise, but among her own people, because of her curiosity and her affinity for emotion. Trip was happy that the crew had finally accepted her, and that she felt she belonged here.

Carefully, he set the card down on the bedside table, then turned expectantly to her. “So which do we try out first? The intimate dining experience?” He smiled suggestively. “Or the spacious new bed?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Do all humans spend such an inordinate amount of time thinking about sex?”

“I’m a newlywed!” he protested with a laugh.

T’Pol frowned faintly. “That is irrelevant. The mating urge brought on by our bonding dissipated long ago.”

“Sex can serve a variety of different functions for humans,” Trip explained patiently. “It’s a fun contact sport, it’s a stress reliever...and it’s a way of expressing love.” He stroked her cheek with his fingers, a gesture that was part human caress, part ozh’esta. “I love you to pieces, darlin’. I’m so full of love for you that sometimes I think I’m gonna burst apart. I want to share it with you any way I can, every chance I get. I never want to stop telling you I love you.”

He felt a surge of sweet affection from her. She closed her hand over his, her gaze warm and welcoming, and said softly, “Dinner can wait.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“There’s a vessel,” the junior Observer reported. “Configuration and markings don’t match any information on file.” With unmistakable eagerness, he added, “It’s altering course, approaching the planet.”

So it begins again. The senior Observer recalled a time when he’d felt that same thrill of anticipation regarding the prospect of studying a new species...centuries ago, before he’d stopped expecting to find any race among these short-lived corporeals with any appreciable potential.

His new apprentice was clearly still flush with idealism and hope. That would fade, as time passed and the disappointing predictability of these physical beings dulled his interest.

“Mind the protocols,” the senior Observer instructed. “Objectivity and dispassion are key. We are here to observe and report, not to theorize or make judgments.”

The junior Observer made an effort to affect a calmer demeanor. “I’ll remember.”

Together, they awaited the vessel’s arrival.

Chapter 8

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